Preface.

Dear young friends (perhaps I may rather welcome some amongst you as old friends), I would once more gather you around me to listen to my simple stories. I have in each one endeavoured to exemplify some truth taught by the wise King Solomon, in the Book of Proverbs. Perhaps the holy words, which I trust that many of you have already learned to love, may be more forcibly imprinted on your minds, and you may apply them more to your own conduct, when you see them illustrated by tales describing such events as may happen to yourselves.

May the Giver of all good gifts make the choice of Solomon also yours; may you, each and all, be endowed with that wisdom from on high which is more precious than rubies; and may you find, as you proceed onward to that better home to which Heavenly Wisdom would guide you, that her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.

CHAPTER I. THE TWO SONS.

It was a clear, cold morning in December. Not a cloud was in the sky, and the sun shone brightly, gilding the long icicles that hung from the eaves, and gleaming on the frozen surface of the lake, as though he would have melted them by his kindly smile. But the cold was too intense for that; there was no softening of the ice; no drop hung like a tear from the glittering icicles. Alas! that we should ever find in life hearts colder and harder still, that even kindness fails to melt!

Many persons were skating over the lake—sometimes 10darting forward with the swiftness of the wind, then making graceful curves to the right or the left, and forming strange figures on the ice. And there were many boys also enjoying themselves as much, although in a different way—sliding along the slippery surface, and making the air ring with their merry laughter.

THE FROZEN LAKE.

One of the gayest of these last was a rosy-cheeked boy, who looked as though care or sorrow had never traced a line on his face. He had just made a very long slide, and stood flushed with the exercise to watch 11his companions follow him on the glistening line, when Dr. Merton, a medical man, who was taking his morning walk, and had come to the lake to see the skating, lightly touched the boy on the shoulder.

“Paul Fane, is your mother better to-day?”

“Oh, she’s well enough—that’s to say, she’s always ailing,” replied the boy carelessly, still keeping his eye upon the sliders.

“Did she sleep better last night?”

“Oh, really, why I don’t exactly know. I’ve not seen her yet this morning.”

“Not seen her!” repeated Dr. Merton in surprise.

“Oh, sir, I knew that she’d be worrying me about my coming here upon the ice. She’s so fidgety and frightened—she treats one like a child, and is always fancying that there is danger when there is none;” and the boy turned down his lip with a contemptuous expression.

“I should say that you are in danger now,” said Dr. Merton, very gravely.

“How so? the ice is thick enough to roast an ox upon,” replied Paul, striking it with his heel.

“In danger of the anger of that great Being who hath said, Honour thy father and thy mother—in danger of much future pain and regret, when the time for obeying that command shall be lost to you for ever.”

Paul’s cheek grew redder at these words. He felt half 12inclined to make an insolent reply; but there was something in the doctor’s manner which awed even his proud and unruly spirit.

“Where is your brother Harry?” inquired Dr. Merton.

“Oh, I suppose at home,” replied Paul bluffly, glad of any change in the conversation; and still more glad was he when the gentleman turned away, and left him to pursue his amusement.

And where was Harry on that bright, cheerful morning, while his brother was enjoying himself upon the ice? In a little, dull, close room, with a peevish invalid, the sunshine mostly shut out by the dark blinds, while the sound of merry voices from without contrasted with the gloomy stillness within. Harry glided about with a quiet step, trimmed the fire, set on the kettle, prepared the gruel for his mother, and carried it gently to the side of her bed. He arranged the pillows comfortably for the sufferer, and tended her even as she had tended him in the days of his helpless infancy. The fretfulness of the sick woman never moved his patience. He remembered how often, when he was a babe, his cry had broken her rest and disturbed her comfort. How could he do enough for her who had given him life, and watched over him and loved him long, long before he had been able even to make the small return of a grateful look? Oh! what a holy thing is filial obedience! God commands it, God has blessed it, and He will bless 13it for ever. He that disobeys or neglects a parent is

planting thorns for his own pillow, and they are thorns that shall one day pierce him even to the soul.

HARRY TENDING HIS MOTHER.

“Where is Paul?” said Mrs. Fane with uneasiness. “I am always anxious about that dear boy. I do trust that he has not ventured upon the ice.”

“I believe, mother, that the ice has been considered safe, quite safe, for the last three days.”

14“You know nothing about the matter,” cried the fretful invalid. “I had a cousin drowned once in that lake when every one said that there was no danger. I have forbidden you both a thousand times to go near the ice;” and she gave her son a look of displeasure, as though he had been the one to break her command.

“Will you not take your gruel now?” said Harry, again drawing her attention to it, and placing yet closer to her that which he had so carefully made.

“I do not like it—it’s cold—it’s full of lumps; you never do anything well!”

“I must try and improve,” said her son, struggling to look cheerful, but feeling the task rather hard. “If you will not take this, shall I get you a little tea?”

Mrs. Fane assented with a discontented air, and Harry instantly proceeded to make some; while all the time that he was thus engaged his poor mother continued in a tone of anxiety and sorrow to express her fears for her elder son.

“Are you more comfortable now, dear mother?” said Harry, after she had partaken of her nice cup of tea. Her only reply was a moan. “Can I do anything else for you?—yes, I see; the top of that blind hangs loose, and the light comes in on your eyes; I will set it right in a minute!” and he jumped lightly on a chair to reach it.

His mother followed him with her eyes—her deep, 15sunken eyes. Gradually the moisture gathered in them, as she looked at her dutiful son; for, fretful and unreasonable towards him as illness might sometimes make her, she yet dearly loved him, and felt his value. When he returned to her side, these eyes were still fixed upon him; she feebly pressed his hand, and murmured, “You are my comfort, Harry!”

And there was another Eye beholding with love that obedient and dutiful child! He who was once subject to an earthly parent, who cared for her even amid the agonies of the Cross—He looked approvingly down upon the true-hearted boy, who was filling the post assigned him by his Lord—who was letting his light shine in his home!

The red sun was setting before Paul returned; for, heedless of the fears to which his absence might give rise, he had taken his noonday meal with a neighbour. It was not that he did not really love his fond mother, but he loved himself a great deal more. He had never chosen to consider obedience as a sacred duty, and irreverence towards a parent as a sin. He never dreamed of sacrificing his will to hers; and a smile or a kiss to his mother, when he had been more than usually selfish or rude, had hitherto been sufficient to quiet the boy’s conscience, and, as he said, “make all right between them.” But wounds are not so easily healed, a parent’s claims are not so easily set aside, and the hour had now 16come when Paul was to feel the thorns which he had planted for himself.

DR. MERTON AND PAUL.

“I shall have a precious scold from mother,” muttered the boy half aloud, as he approached the door, “for going on the ice, and staying out all day. I should like to know what is the use of a holiday, if I am not to spend it as I like? I would rather be in school than moping away my time at home like Harry! I wish that I were old enough to go and enlist, and be out of hearing of mother’s endless chiding!”

“You will never hear it again,” said the solemn voice of one just quitting the door as Paul came up to it. He started to see Dr. Merton.

“What is the matter?” cried Paul, a strange feeling of fear and awe coming over his heart.

“Your poor mother, about two hours ago, was taken with an alarming fit—I dare hardly give hopes that she will see the morning!”

Paul stayed to hear no more, but rushed into the 17house. One of the neighbours was there, who had kindly offered to stay that night to help Harry to nurse his dying parent. The young boy was now praying beside her bed—praying for his mother on earth to his Father in heaven!

Paul went up to the bed, cold, trembling with his emotions. He gazed in anguish on the altered features of one whose love he had so ill repaid. Mrs. Fane lay unconscious of all that passed—unconscious of the bitter tears shed by her sons. She no longer could rejoice in the affection of the one, or be stung by the neglect of the other. Oh! what would not Paul have given, as he hung over her now, for one forgiving look from those closed eyes! What would he not have given to have heard those pale lips speak, even though it had been but to chide! But his grief and his fears now came too late—his mother never spoke again!

In a few days both the boys stood by the open grave, and no one who had seen the sorrow of both, without being aware of the former circumstances of their lives, would have known what different recollections filled their hearts—like poison in the bleeding wound of one, soothing balm in that of his brother! “My last act towards my mother was that of disobedience—her last feeling towards me was of displeasure and pain! I clouded, perhaps I shortened her life; and the anger of my God is upon me!” Such were the thoughts of Paul—his 18agonizing thoughts—as he heard the earth fall on the coffin of her who had loved him best upon earth. But not for untold wealth would Harry have exchanged the remembrance of his parent’s last fond look, her last sweet words to him. “Harry, you are my comfort!” sounded in his ears as though an angel had repeated it to the mourner.

THE FUNERAL.

And not then alone, but when time had softened his 19sorrow—yes, even through the long course of his honoured, useful life, if care weighed on his heart, he thought of those words, and they lightened his burden of care; when joy elated his spirit, they yet brightened that joy—his mother’s blessing seemed for ever resting upon him! Honour thy father and mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish man despiseth his mother.

CHAPTER II. THE PRISONER RELEASED.

There were many bright young faces in the daily school which was taught by Willy Thorn, but there was one face which, though young, never wore a smile. In play-time many an orange, apple, or cake, was given by the school-boys to each other; but there was one of whom no one ever seemed to think, one who never received even a look of kindness. Many of the boys returned to cheerful homes to repeat to their parents what they had heard from their teacher; but one felt desolate and alone in the world, there was none to welcome him to his wretched dwelling, for such a place cannot be called a home. Why did his companions dislike sitting next in school to the pale boy with the sunken cheek and the drooping 22eye, and why in the merry hours of play did they seek to exclude him from their circle? Alas! there was a stain on the character of Seth Delmar—he had once been in prison for stealing bread from a baker, he was now shunned and despised as a thief!

The poor boy had deeply repented of his sin, and now bitterly felt its consequences. In vain he showed himself ever ready to oblige, bore meekly the taunts and neglect of his companions, and was most watchful over his own conduct. Thorn remarked the painful position of the child, and feeling that to drive him into despair might be to drive him further into sin, and that not a little self-righteousness was at the bottom of the scorn with which his school-fellows treated the unhappy Seth, he resolved to take the first opportunity of speaking to them upon the subject, and of showing to them their conduct in its true light.

Seth, who was patient and persevering with his tasks, had gained from his teacher the prize of a small book; and the first gleam of pleasure which any one present had ever seen on his wan features, lighted them up for a moment as he received it. It immediately faded away, however, as he glanced timidly round on his companions, and saw that no one cared for his success, that perhaps it would only add to the dislike felt towards him.

The next day Thorn observed the boy bending over 23this book, while large drops, in spite of his efforts to stop them, forced their way from his eyes as he looked on it. Seeing that something must have occurred, Thorn walked up to the spot, and found out at once the cause of Seth’s distress. On the title-page of the book Thorn had written his name; but just under it now appeared, in a very different hand, the single terrible word THIEF!

“This has been a most thoughtless—I wish that I could say only thoughtless act,” said Thorn, with an expression grave almost to sternness. “I will not ask who is the author of this cruel insult, but we must suppose that he who thus condemns another, notwithstanding the warning, Judge not, that ye be not judged, is at least conscious that his own heart is pure, that he never has sinned.”

The children looked at each other in silence, and then one of the elder boys, Bat Nayland, muttered, half aloud, “Conscious of never having stolen a farthing!”

“I did not say, conscious of never having stolen, but of never having sinned. All sin is disobedience to the Most High, as sin to be repented of, and as sin to be punished, whether it be theft, falsehood, or unkindness to another. The law forbidding us to covet in our secret hearts was as solemnly given amid the terrors of Sinai, is as binding upon man as Thou shalt do no murder. If the chain-cable upon which the safety of 24a vessel depends be snapped asunder in a storm, no matter how small be the link that gives way, the chain is as truly broken, and the vessel as certainly in danger, as if it had been dashed into a thousand pieces.”

“Still, I do think,” said Bat Nayland, “that there are some greater sinners, and greater commandments, and that we are not to be put on a level with thieves.”

“Do you remember,” said Thorn, mildly, turning to a boy who was near him, “which our blessed Lord Himself said were the two great commandments of the law?”

“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”

“And those who break the great commandments must, of course, be great sinners?”

There was a general murmur of assent.

“And now tell me,” said Thorn, speaking more earnestly, and looking around him as he spoke, “which of us can plead not guilty to the charge of having broken these great commandments—broken them often—broken them every day of our lives?”

No voice was raised in reply—conscience was bearing silent witness against all. Thorn continued: “The Almighty has a claim to our greatest love; He has 25created us, preserved us, redeemed us—He has deigned to say, My son, give Me thy heart! but which of us have obeyed the heavenly call? Has it been our delight to serve Him, to pray to Him? have we thought on Him with reverence, gratitude, and love; seeking His glory before our own pleasure, making His will the law of our lives? This it is, my children, to keep the first commandment: if any one present feels in his heart that he never has wilfully broken it, let him now raise up his hand in token that he can say Not guilty to this charge!”

Every hand remained motionless and still.

“And who has loved his neighbour as himself? Who has never done an unjust action, nor spoken an ill-natured word, nor harboured an envious thought in his heart? Guilty, all guilty we stand before our God! we have broken His commands, we have offended against His holiness; alas! who can say, I have made my heart clean, I am pure from my sin!”

“And now,” continued Thorn, after another solemn pause, “which of you here can give me a verse from the Word of God which tells us the just punishment of sin?”

Seth answered, in a very low voice, which would not have been heard but for the great silence which prevailed through the room, “The soul that sinneth, it shall die!”

“Then what is to become of us all?” cried William Browne, who had but lately joined the school; “must 26all be punished, as all have sinned? is there no hope of escape?”

“Our hope is in the blessed Son of God, who came down to earth that He might raise us to heaven—who bore our punishment that we might share His bliss. Through faith in Him even the chief of sinners may be saved—the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.”

“But then,” said Nayland, “if those who have sinned much, and those who have sinned less, may all go to heaven if they only believe, it seems as if it did not matter whether we tried to obey or not—as though, the Lord having done all, we have nothing left to do.”

“God forbid that you should think so,” hastily interrupted Thorn. “All must strive for holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord. If any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His. The Bible abounds in passages that show that for the wilfully disobedient, who will not repent, the Lord’s despised mercy will but add to the punishment of their sin!”

“I do not quite understand this,” said William Browne.

“In order to explain to you how our salvation is only from the Lord, and yet that we must work out our salvation with fear and trembling, I will repeat to you a little allegory or parable. Remember that my tale is intended to convey a deeper meaning than what may at first sight appear; exert your minds to discover 27that meaning, I am telling you the history of man, I am telling you the history of yourselves.”

All the school listened with silence and attention, as, after a minute’s consideration, the teacher began.

“There was a great and powerful Sovereign, who ruled over an extensive kingdom. But wise and just as were his laws, formed to make all happy who obeyed them, there were rebels who rose against their King, broke his commands, despised his statutes, and most justly deserved the sentence of death pronounced upon them as traitors. Amongst these was a youth, whom I need not name, who, after having had judgment passed upon him, was confined in a prison named Condemnation, until the executioner, Justice, should be sent to carry out the sentence of the law.

“Very strong was his prison, very thick its walls; the grated window, through which the light scarcely came, forbade all hope of release. Sometimes the youth tried to flatter himself with the idea that his Sovereign was too merciful to destroy him; but then the sentence of the judge rose in his mind, he felt that Justice demanded his punishment. Then he sought amusement to drive away the fear of death, and sometimes succeeded in his miserable efforts to be gay; but still the thought of what was before him forced itself on his mind, and he never could be really happy.”

“A wretched state to be in,” observed Nayland.