Tiger and Tom and Other Stories for Boys Part 19

With every rising of the sun Think of your life as just begun.

The past has shrivelled and buried deep, All yesterdays. There let them sleep,

Nor seek to summon back one ghost Of that innumerable host.

Concern yourself with but to-day, Woo it, and teach it to obey

Your will and wish. Since time began To-day has been the friend of man;

But in his blindness and his sorrow He looks to yesterday and to-morrow.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Laid the pile of bills on the counting room desk_."]

THE TWO CLERKS

Boys are apt to think that their parents and teachers are too strict; that they ought not to be obliged to get such perfect lessons, or to go to Sabbath school, to be so punctual and so particular. They wonder why they are not allowed a great many amus.e.m.e.nts and indulgences which they would like so much.

"What's the use?" they often discontentedly ask.

Well, boys, there is a _great deal_ of use in being brought up right; and the discipline which sometimes seems to you so hard, is precisely what your parents see that you need in order to make you worth anything.

I will tell you an incident, to ill.u.s.trate it, which has just come to my knowledge.

William was the oldest child of a widowed mother, and she looked upon him, under G.o.d, as her future staff and support. He was trained to industrious habits, and in the fear of G.o.d. The day-school and Sabbath school seldom saw his seat vacant. Idleness, that rust which eats into character, had no opportunity to fasten upon him.

By and by he got through school and succeeded in securing a situation in a store in the city.

William soon found himself in quite altered circ.u.mstances; the stir and bustle of the streets was very unlike the quiet of his village home; then the tall stores, loft upon loft, piled with goods--boxes and bales now, instead of books and bat; the strange faces of the clerks, and the easy manners and handsome appearance of the rich boy, Ashton, just above him in the store,--all these contributed not a little to his sense of the newness and strangeness of his position.

William looked at Ashton almost with admiration, and thought how new and awkward everything was to himself, and how tired he got standing so many hours on duty, and crowding his way through the busy thoroughfares. But his good habits soon made him many friends. The older clerks liked his obliging and active spirit, and all had a good word for his punctuality.

But William had his trials. One morning he was sent to the bank for money; and returning, laid the pile on the counting room desk. His master was gone, and there was no one in the room but Ashton. Mr. Thomas soon came back.

"Two dollars are missing," said he, counting the money.

The blood mounted to poor William's face, but he answered firmly:--

"I laid it all on your desk, sir."

Mr. Thomas looked steadily into the boy's face, and seeing nothing but an honest purpose there, said, "Another time put the money into my hands, my boy."

When the busy season came on, one of the head clerks was taken sick, and William rendered himself useful to the bookkeeper by helping him add some of his tall columns. Oh, how glad he was now for his drilling in arithmetic, as the bookkeeper thanked him for his valuable help.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _William Helped the Bookkeeper_]

Ashton often asked William to go and ride, or to visit the oyster saloons, or the bowling alley, or the theatre. To all invitations of this kind, William had but one answer. He always said he had no time, or money to spare for such things. After the day's work was done, he loved to get back to his chamber to read. He did not crave perpetual excitement, or any more eating and drinking than was supplied at his usual meals.

Not so with Ashton. This young man had indulgent parents, and a plenty of money, or it seemed so to William; and yet he ate it, or drank it, or spent it in other things, as fast and so soon that he was often borrowing from the other clerks.

Ashton joked William upon his "stiff notions," but the truth was that William was far the happier of the two.

At last a half bale of goods was missing; searching inquiries were made, and the theft was traced to Ashton. O the shame and disgrace of the discovery! but alas, it was not his first theft. Ashton had been in the habit of stealing little sums in order to get the means to gratify his taste for pleasure; and now that his guilt had come to light, he ran off, and before his parents were aware of it, fled to a far country, an outcast from his beautiful home, from his afflicted friends, and from all the comforts and blessings of a virtuous life.

William is rapidly rising in the confidence and respect of his employers, fearing G.o.d, and faithful in duty.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_An outcast from his beautiful home_."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Fatal Ten Minutes' Delay_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Ten minutes more to sleep in his chair_."]

TEN MINUTES' DELAY

All well-informed people are familiar with the sad account of the death of the young Prince Napoleon, who fell pierced by nineteen wounds at the hands of the Zulus, in South Africa, June 1, 1879.

Many will remember that Capt. Carey, in his published report, mentioned that after they had selected the camping ground,--the object for which the squad of six had been detailed,--and had had coffee and rested, he suggested that they should remount and return to camp. But the young prince, who commanded the squad, said,--

"No, let's wait ten minutes."

Just as they were preparing to remount, at the expiration of that ten minutes, a body of Zulus came on them, and all fled but the prince, whose horse broke from him. After a desperate resistance, he fell, covered with wounds, and died "in the tall gra.s.s of the douga."

I presume all do not know that this pleading for ten minutes' delay was a habit of the young prince from early childhood.

A correspondent of a leading Paris journal interviewed the empress as she was about leaving for the scene of the tragedy that had wrecked all her earthly hopes, and drew her into conversation on the subject of her son.

She talked freely during the interview, but with an evident anguish of spirit, which seemed only the more sad from her effort at control.

During this interview, while speaking of the childhood of her son, the prince, she unconsciously revealed the trait in his character that had caused all this woe,--to her, wrecked hopes and a broken heart; to him, the probable loss of a throne, an earthly future, and his life.

After describing her as still lovely in her lonely grief, the writer from whom we quote said:--

"The empress had now risen and stood, slightly trembling with emotion, when, stepping rapidly and gracefully across the room, she opened a cabinet, from which she took a pocketbook, and read therefrom on a leaf, 'Going with Carey,'--the last words ever written by the prince; then she added,--'Of all that Captain Carey has ever written in regard to my son, those fatal ten minutes alone, I hold to be true. It was ever his habit,' she continued, 'to plead for ten minutes' delay; so much so that I used to tell him they ought to call him Monsieur Dix Minutes.'

"'He always begged for ten minutes more sleep in the morning; ten minutes more at night to sleep in his chair; and when too much overcome with sleep to speak, he would hold up his two little hands, the ten fingers representing the ten minutes more for which he pleaded.'"

The habit of procrastination is a deadly foe to all prosperity in temporal or in moral affairs. We ought to do every duty as soon as it can be done.

I have a secret which I should like to whisper to the boys and girls if they will put their ears down close enough. I don't want father and mother to hear--for it is to be a surprise on them.