One Drop At A Time.
HAVE you ever watched an icicle as it
formed? You noticed how it froze one drop
at a time, until it was a foot long, or more.
If the water was clear, the icicle remained
clear, and sparkled brightly in the sun; but
if the water was but slightly muddy, the icicle
looked foul, and its beauty spoiled. Just
so our characters are forming; one little
thought or feeling at a time adds its influence.
If each thought be pure and right, the soul
will be lovely and sparkle with happiness;
but if impure and wrong, there will be final
deformity and wretchedness.
The Stolen Melons.
A STORY FOR BOYS.
CHARLIE RAYMOND was the only child of
a poor widow. Mrs. Raymond was obliged
to work early and late to procure the clothes
which enabled Charlie to attend the district
school, as well as the food, wholesome, but
coarse, which helped to make him one of
the healthiest and merriest boys in the village.
Charlie was blessed with a good mother:
and, although she took in washing and did
odd jobs for her more favored neighbors
and paid her daily visits to the little grocery
on the corner in a faded calico dress, she
carried a heart as honest and pure as any
lady in the land. Mrs. Raymond was one
of the most humble creatures in the world
too; and yet when her son came bounding
home from school, his cheeks rosy with
health, and his bright eyes beaming with
intelligence, no matter how tired and worn
out she felt, she forgot it all in an outburst
of prideful emotions for her darling. She
would look forward to the time when Charlie
would be the comfort of her old age,
and many were the airy castles she built for
his future.
One afternoon, Charlie entered the little
room where his mother was engaged in assorting
clothes for the next day's wash. His
manner was less frank than usual, and a
faint color swept over his broad forehead as
he said :
"Mother, Ned Jones and "Will Garnet,
and all the other boys, are going out for a
little fun tonight, and they want me to go
along. May I go?"
"Ned and Will are wild boys, my son,
and no fit companions for any well-behaved
lad. But where are they going tonight?
There will be no moon. Why not go this
afternoon?"
Charlie colored more deeply, and fidgeted
uneasily in his chair.
"They are only going out as far as the
toll-gate. We'll be certain to be back by
nine o'clock, if not sooner;" and Charlie
picked up a stick and commenced whittling
awkwardly.
"I'm afraid, Charlie, there is mischief
brewing. Ned Jones and Will Garnet do
not go out on such a night as this for nothing.
Why are they going to the toll-gate?"
Charlie hung his head, but made no reply,
while Mrs. Raymond continued, with feeling:
"You, my boy, are my all. Your integrity
and honor are worth more to me than
anything else in the world, and it is my duty
to watch over you, to guard you against the
influence of evil companions; therefore I
must refuse to allow you to accompany those
boys tonight."
Charlie was old enough to have an idea
that it would be unmanly to cry, so he kept
back his tears; but his handsome face wore
doleful expression of anger and resentment
as he went out by himself and sat
down in the shadow of the well-curb, instead
of doing little errands for his mother,
as was his wont. Charlie had quite set his
heart on going with his schoolmates, and he
felt his disappointment sorely.
"Mother's good enough, I suppose," he said
to himself; "but she's awful queer. What
will Ned and Will say, I wonder? Some
Somehow I never can have any fun, like other
boys. Won't it be jolly though, when I'm
twenty-one, and can go where I please?"
The next day, Mrs. Raymond received a
visit from the gate-keeper, who informed her
that her son, with others, had entered his
garden on the previous night, and after picking
as many melons as they could carry
away, had completely destroyed the remainder,
together with the vines. Mrs. Raymond
listened to the recital with blanched
cheeks and trembling limbs. She could
hardly believe that her son was a thief, and
yet Charlie's manner that morning had been
such as to convince her that the man spoke
truly. The gate-keeper demanded payment
for the damage done, and threatened exposure
if not amply remunerated. The poor
woman wrung her hands in anguish. She
had barely money enough to buy her next
meal, and could give him only promises,
which were received ungraciously enough.
The parents of the other boys were in easy
circumstances, and the next day only Charlie
Raymond's name was mentioned in connection
with the raid made on the gate-keeper's
garden. Piously educated, as he had
been, he keenly felt the reproach heaped
upon him; and ere a week had passed away,
he had left his native village and was gone,
no one knew where.---
Within the narrow limits of a felon's den,
a tall man was pacing to and fro. He was
young in years, but the guilt of many crimes
was shrouding his heart in perpetual shadows.
His hands were dyed with the blood
of a fellow-creature, and for this last and
darkest crime, his own life was to be given
up. That day his twenty-first birthday,
the day he had in childhood looked forward
to with such eager longing he had received
his sentence of death, and now he was waiting,
in anguish and remorse indescribable, a
visit from one to whom he owed his life,
and yet to whom he had rendered only
cause for tears and deepest sorrow.
The prison door opened and a tottering
form, over whose bent shoulders fell locks
whitened for the grave, but not with years,
entered the cell. This was her first meeting
with her son (for the unhappy prisoner was
no other than Charlie Raymond) since he
left her roof, hoping to flee" from the shame
of his first transgression, but for which: he
said it himself, with mournful emphasis and
with his dying breath he might have ended
his days honored and happy, instead of
meeting the fate of a convicted felon.
Boys, bear in mind that a man does not
become an incendiary, or a burglar, or a
murderer, all at once, but that he goes step
by step from a lesser to a greater sin; and
remember, too, when tempted to commit some
trifling misdemeanor, it may lead the way
or you as the theft of the melons did for
Charlie Raymond to the gallows.
Select.
WE should count time by heart-throbs,
He most lives who thinks most feels the
noblest acts the best.
GOD never made his work for man to mend.
RELIGION is not an art, a matter of dexterity
and skill, but a new nature.