Chapter I: WOULD not enter on my list of friends

(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility,) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.

COWPER’S TASK.

ABOUT fifty years after the birth of Christ there lived a Roman Emperor whose name was Nero. He was one of the most cruel and unmerciful men whose lives are recorded in history. He put to death many of the noblest citizens of Rome upon the very slightest and most unfounded charges. The most bloody and brutal act of his life was the persecution of the Christians in and about the city of Rome. He set fire to the city in order that he might enjoy the pleasure of seeing a conflagration similar to that of a great city which had been destroyed many years before. To silence the report of his having set fire to the city, the base Nero laid the guilt of it upon the new sect of Christians, whose numbers were rapidly increasing in every part of the empire. The death of these poor harmless Christians was aggravated with sport; “for they were either covered with the skins of wild beasts, and torn to pieces by devouring dogs, or fastened to crosses, or wrapped up in combustible garments, that when the daylight failed they might serve, like torches, to illuminate the darkness of the night.”

He not only inflicted upon them every manner of torture and suffering which his wicked and depraved mind could invent, but he also took a great delight in seeing the poor innocent creatures suffer. Sometimes he drove a chariot among the sufferers, and at others he stood among them as a spectator of scenes which would make the coldest heart melt with sympathy, and the eye of the most unfeeling shed tears of sorrow.

Such was the character of one of the most cruel and merciless wretches that ever lived. And to what thing do you suppose, dear reader, his cruelty may be attributed? To the great delight which he took, when a child, in inflicting pain on the harmless and inoffensive little insect. It was his delight to extract from it cries of sorrow, and to tread upon the worm in order that he might witness its painful writhings. As he was in childhood, so was he when he became a man. As in childhood he caught the fly and pierced its body through with pointed instruments, so in manhood did he cause his fellow-man to suffer every pain which his corrupt heart could wish, or his sinful mind invent.

Whenever I see a little boy or a little girl catching flies and pulling their legs and wings off, or piercing their bodies, I always think _there_ will be a _second Nero_, if that disposition is not changed by God, or a check put upon it by some kind friend.

Children, be kind to every thing around you, particularly the dumb brute. Do not throw stones at the harmless little sparrow, or the pretty little snow-bird. Life is as precious to them as it is to you. Doubtless they have feelings of love and tenderness for each other, and why do you wish to destroy their happiness? Even if they had ever wronged you, it would be your duty to return good for evil; and how much more is it your duty _not_ to _injure_ them, since they have never harmed you in the least. It always pains me very much to see a little boy throwing stones at every cow, horse, or hog that passes along within striking distance of him. Oh how unkind! How unlike Him who went about doing good!

I once saw a boy throw a stone at a beautiful young horse. He did it thoughtlessly, and did not intend hurting the animal; but the stone struck it in the eye and destroyed its sight forever.

Dear reader, if you had seen the agony and heard the screams of suffering which that _one_ stone caused that harmless horse, I am sure you would never throw another stone at a bird or beast as long as you live. The boy, when he saw the pain which he had caused the innocent colt, went off and wept most bitterly; and I am certain, learned a most instructive lesson. Children,

“Let love through all your actions run,
And all your _deeds_ be _kind_.”

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“SWEET it is to see a child
Tender, merciful, and mild;
Ever ready to perform
Acts of mercy to a worm;
Grieving that the world should be
Thus a scene of misery;
Scene in which the creatures groan
For transgressions not their own.

“If the creatures must be slain
Thankless sinners to sustain;
Such a child, methinks, will cry,
‘Treat them gently when they die;
Spare them while they yield their breath;
Double not the pains of death;
Strike them not at such a time,
God accounts the stroke a crime.’

“God is love, and never can
Love or bless a cruel man;
Mercy rules in every breast
Where His Spirit deigns to rest;
We ourselves to mercy owe
Our escape from endless woe;
And the merciless in mind
Shall themselves no mercy find.”

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SPARE THE INSECT.

“OH, turn that little foot aside,
Nor crush beneath its tread
The smallest insect of the earth,
That looks to God for bread.

“If He who made the universe
Looks down in kindest love,
To shape an humble thing like this,
From His high throne above—

“Why shouldst thou, then, in wantonness,
That creature’s life destroy?
Or give a pang to any thing
That He has made for joy?

“My child, begin in little things
To act the gentle part;
For God will turn His love away
From every cruel heart.”

THE RAILROAD.

“For we are sojourners, as were all our fathers.”—BIBLE.

THE cars were crowded. In one corner sat the grey-haired grandfather; by his side, the gay, thoughtless maiden; farther on, the youthful aspirant after the world’s honors; and at his elbow, the stern, thinking business man, intently engaged in reading the morning’s Prices Current, thinking only of Profit and Loss, and the rise and fall of articles for which he trafficked, forgetting, not the _almighty dollar_, but his _immortal soul_.

We started. On and on the fire-breathing iron horse drew us along:—now hurrying around the sweeping curves; now ascending some steep acclivity; now rattling through dark, dungeon-like tunnels; anon speeding with almost lightning rapidity over the smoothly laid track.

None seemed to fear. All was happiness and joy. One was thinking of the joyful welcome that awaited him at his happy home; another of the pleasure he expected to meet with from the friends of his childhood, from whom he had been separated many a long year; others were perfectly indifferent—no trouble to cloud their brows, no care to harass their hearts—gazing, with countenances of delight, on the fair fields of nature which stretched out before them, the mirror-like lake, or the cloud-capped mountain that lifted its proud head far above the bustle and confusion of the world.

None thought of danger. None thought that the next moment might find them a mass of bruised and mangled corpses, or struggling for life amid the waves of some roaring river. The engineer was at his post; the conductor would see that no harm should befall them.

My young friends, as I sat in that crowded car, many were the thoughts that rose in my mind. I thought this life was but a railroad; we the passengers. Some of us are thoughtful and considerate; many gay and inconsiderate. The railroad of life has many curves, to avoid the current of sin, or the pit of destruction; many a high acclivity of difficulty; many a dark, lonely tunnel of doubt and uncertainty; many a deep cut of affliction, from which the light of God’s countenance seems entirely withdrawn. The route lies along the flower-dressed meadows of happiness, and through the dark, dismal morasses of poverty and want. At one moment all is beauty, loveliness and grandeur; at another, the clouds of God’s wrath gather thick and heavy around us. Some of us are journeying to our heavenly home; others, far from that home, in search of what the world calls enjoyment, but, like the apples of Sodom, bitterness and remorse.

My young friends, if Christ be our engineer and God our conductor, we need fear no evil. All will be well; our journey safe and pleasant: and we shall safely reach a glorious home in Heaven, and there spend an eternity of blissful happiness in the company of the loved and lost who have traveled this road, and reached, without any collision or accident, its termination.

* * * * *

THE SPIRITUAL RAILWAY.

“THE line to heaven by Christ was made;
With heavenly truths the rails are laid;
From earth to heaven the line extends;
To life eternal—there it ends.

“Repentance is the station then,
Where passengers are taken in;
No fees for them are there to pay,
For _Jesus_ is Himself the way.

“The Bible is the engineer,
It points the way to heaven so clear;
Through tunnels dark and dreary here,
It does the way to glory steer.

“God’s love—the fire, His truth the steam
Which drives the engine and the train;
All you who would to glory ride,
Must come to Christ—in Him abide.

“In the first, second, and third class,
Repentance, faith, and holiness,
You must the way to glory gain,
Or you with Christ can never reign.

“Come, then, poor sinners, now’s the time,
At any place along the line;
If you repent and turn from sin,
The train will stop and take you in.”

A TRUE SKETCH

“LET us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.”

LONGFELLOW.

A VENERABLE minister of Christ left his home one bright, beautiful Sabbath morning, for the house of God. He was riding a restless, fiery mountain colt, but had no fears of his ability to manage him, as he had been raised from early childhood, as it were, on a horse’s back, and feared the wildest animal as little as he did a playful kitten.

He had gone but a short distance on his way, when the horse, becoming frightened, made a sudden leap, and threw his rider headlong against the projecting points of a large rock lying near the roadside. The rock entered his skull, and in a few moments that aged father in Israel breathed his last, with no kind friend near to whisper words of consolation in his dying ear, or wipe the sweat of death from his patriarchal brow.

The anxious congregation waited long and impatiently for the appearance of their much-loved pastor, but he came not. His spirit had winged its way to that bright, happy land,

“Where congregations ne’er break up,
And Sabbaths have no end.”

A portion of the congregation determined to find out the cause of his long, unusual delay, and accordingly set out along his accustomed road. After travelling several miles, what was their surprise and sorrow to find their grey-haired shepherd, who had so long and so cheerfully led them “beside the still waters, and through the green pastures,” who had taken the lambs of the flock in his bosom, and protected their tender little feet from the thorns which strew the pathway of childhood, lying stretched on the cold ground, a lifeless corpse. Many were the tears that moistened the noble brow of this man of God; bitter were the throbbings of stricken hearts that stood around the body of him who, Sabbath after Sabbath, had broken to them the Bread of Life.

There anxiously kneels at the side of her sainted father a little girl, whom they have failed to notice. What is she doing there? Come, gather closely around this scene, children, and look at one of your number. She heard the clattering of the horse’s feet as he hurried wildly from the spot where lay his lifeless corpse; she hastened quickly towards the church and reached her father only in time to hear the death-rattle in his throat, and see his brains all scattered over the ground. What does she do? She gathers them up, places them once more in his skull, and with her little hands endeavors to hold the shattered fragments together. But it is too late now. Dear, loving little Mary can’t recall the spirit of her departed parent back to earth; and the sorrowing members of that shepherdless flock bear her away to a home, around whose bright fireside and at whose morning and evening altar shall never again be heard the voice of one whom none knew but to love.

My young friends, I have witnessed and heard of many touching scenes, but for child-like innocence, and tender, loving affection, this surpasses them all.

I now leave you to learn the many lessons of affection and love this hasty sketch teaches, and hope you will not throw the book carelessly aside, and forget all about it; but think if you love your parents as fatherless little Mary loved hers.

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THE SPIRIT OF THE DEPARTED.