Part 10
One of the bravest and truest friends of humanity that I know of is Andrew Carnegie, the great iron king. He has retired from business now, and is spending his time in giving away his money for the good of his fellow men. In addition to smaller gifts, he has given to the city of New York $5,200,000 for libraries for all the people. He has given $10,000,000 to Universities in Scotland, his native country, and he has also founded the “Carnegie Institution,” of Washington, D. C., with the liberal sum of $10,000,000. Every colored boy and girl in America has a special reason for thanking Mr. Carnegie for his splendid gifts to Tuskegee and Wilberforce and other colored schools. In addition to the $600,000 given toward Tuskegee’s endowment fund, he has given Tuskegee and Wilberforce library buildings, costing about $20,000 each. The words of such a humanitarian and philanthropist should carry weight everywhere, and should be studied by all. Among other things, Mr. Carnegie says, in speaking to young men:
“Do not make riches, but usefulness, your first aim, and let your chief pride be that your daily occupation is in the line of progress and development; that your work, in whatever capacity it may be, is useful work, honestly conducted, and as such ennobles your life.
“Whatever your salary be, save a little; live within your means. The man who saves a little from his income has given the surest indication of the very qualities that every employer is seeking for.
“The great successes of life are made by concentration. Do not think you have done your full duty when you have performed the work assigned you. You will never rise if you only do this.
“You hear a good deal about poverty nowadays, and the cry goes up to abolish poverty, but it will be the saddest day of civilization when poverty is no longer with us. It is from the soil of poverty that all the virtues spring. Without poverty, where will your inventor, your artist, your philanthropist come from?
“There are three classes of young men in the world. One starts out to be a millionaire. Another seeks reputation, perhaps at the cannon’s mouth. A third young man, who will be successful, is he who starts out in life with self-respect and who is true to himself and his fellow-men. He cannot fail to win.”
LIV. DIRECTIONS FOR LITTLE GENTLEMEN.
1. The essential part of good breeding is the practical desire to afford pleasure and to avoid giving pain. Any boy possessing this desire requires only opportunity and observation to become a little gentleman.
2. Never be guilty of what are called practical jokes; that is to say, never place a pin in a chair so that somebody may come along and sit on the pin’s point; never pull back a chair when a person is about to sit down, and in that way cause such a person to fall on the floor. No little gentleman will play such tricks.
3. Whenever a lady enters a room, it is proper for boys to rise, if they are seated, but you must never offer a lady a chair from which you have just risen, if there is another chair in the room.
4. Never engage in conversation while a person is singing. It is an insult not only to the singer but to the company.
5. Always take off your hat when assisting a lady to or from a carriage.
6. If in a public place, you pass and re-pass persons of your acquaintance, it is only necessary to salute them on the first occasion.
7. Do not wear anything that is so conspicuous as to attract attention; and, particularly, avoid the ruffian style.
8. Do not lose your temper. Particularly if you are playing innocent games for amusement and happen to lose; avoid the exhibition of anxiety or vexation at lack of success.
9. In all your associations, keep constantly in view the old adage, “too much familiarity breeds contempt.”
LV. THE LETTER OF THE LAW.
It was a bright and balmy afternoon in spring. Mrs. Anderson, in keeping with the practice of neighborly kindness which was in vogue in the Berkshire village, had sent a large plate of ice-cream across the street to Mrs. Van Ingen’s. The cream was quite toothsome, and little Annie Van Ingen, “six years old, going on seven,” felt when the plate had been emptied that she would like to have some more.
With tears in her eyes she confided her wish to her mother. The maternal explanation, “My darling, mama didn’t make any cream to-day,” failed to satisfy Annie.
“Well, where did you get that we had?” she asked.
“Mrs. Anderson was kind enough to send it to us,” answered the patient mother.
“I’m going over there and ask her for some more,” abruptly interposed little Annie.
“No, no, no, my precious;” said Mrs. Van Ingen, “you mustn’t think of doing such a thing. Mama doesn’t want the neighbors to know that her little Annie is a beggar.”
For reply Annie’s tears flowed fast and faster. Finally, seeing that nothing else would avail, to pacify Annie, Mrs. Van Ingen said,——
“I’ll tell you what to do, dearie; you go over to Mrs. Anderson’s and tell her that you’ve come to play awhile with her little girl. Now, be careful, don’t ask her for any cream, but I’m sure she’ll offer you some before you come back.”
The crying stopped immediately, and pretty soon Annie went tripping across the street to play with Mrs. Anderson’s little girl.
Mrs. Anderson met her at the door and kissed her affectionately.
“I wanted some more cream,” volunteered little Annie; “the cream you sent mama was very nice, and I wanted some more. Mama told me not to ask you for any more, but she said that if I would come over here and play with Bessie you would give me some more before I went back home. So, I have come over to play with Bessie.”
And, having relieved her mind of its burden, little Annie, with perfect delight and joyous innocence, ran hastily up the stairs to the nursery in search of Bessie.
LVI. THE BEST BOOKS FOR CHILDREN.
According to some of the most thoughtful people who have lived in this world, a good way to deal with children in regard to the books that they are to read is to give them the freedom of a library which contains a few thousand of the best books in the world, and let them browse at will. This was originally, I think, Charles Lamb’s idea. Charles Lamb was a lovable man who wrote readable books for children. But this statement of Lamb implies, of course, the possession of a good library. Unfortunately many of my readers will not be found among those who live in homes which are well-stocked with books. That is one reason why it seems wise to make one or two suggestions as to the best books for children to read. If you cannot have all of the best books in the world, it is important that you should have at least a few of the best books in the world; and I shall name a few which I believe every boy and girl in America ought to know something about.
For children between the ages of six and twelve, I should put at the head of my list Daniel Defoe’s “Robinson Crusoe,” a good edition of the “Arabian Nights,” and Hans Andersen’s fairy tales. In addition to these I would get Hawthorne’s “Wonder Book,” Andrew Lang’s “Fairy Book” and some book full of absurd fun like Lear’s “Nonsense Book” or “Alice in Wonderland.” We must not forget Joel Chandler Harris’s “Uncle Remus,” for it ought to have a place in every collection of children’s best books. Kipling’s “Jungle Book” is good, and so is Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress.” “Tom Brown at Rugby,” Lamb’s Shakespeare Tales, and Ruskin’s “King of the Golden River” must not be overlooked. John Burrough’s “Birds and Beasts” might as well end the list, since I haven’t room to give all the best books for children.
But whatever else you do, boys and girls, if you wish to widen your spiritual horizons, do not close the windows on the emotional and imaginative side by neglecting poetry. Somebody has said that “There is in every one of us a poet whom the man has outlived.” “Verse and Prose for Beginners” by Horace E. Scudder is a delightful book to have, and another book of poems called the “Children’s Garland.”
The best books for a child are the books that widen his world. A man or woman in middle life or old age who loves poetry and great pictures and statues, who is familiar with Shakespeare, who has a sense of humor and a love of nature, knows a deal about the joy of living and is full of resources. No one can ever have these resources and that joy who has not had them from early childhood.
LVII. THE RIGHT TO PLAY.
The right to play is one of the divine rights of men and women, of boys and girls, and is just as essential to the peace, happiness and prosperity of the world as is the right to pray. Never be afraid or ashamed, my young friends, of honest, vigorous, healthy play. Dominoes, lawn tennis, baseball, football, ping-pong, golf, foot-racing, leaping and jumping, boxing and wrestling, pole-vaulting, punching the bag, swinging dumb-bells or Indian clubs, and a hundred other things are perfectly sane and wholesome amusements for old or young. To refrain from all forms of amusements is just as destructive of happiness and injurious to character as is the other extreme of indulging too freely in pleasures and pastimes. Puritan austerity and unrestrained excess are alike to be condemned. But a certain amount of play—play of the right kind and within proper limits—is a divine right of young people. Young people must have fun and relaxation, and, if they do not find it in their own homes, it will be sought in other and perhaps dangerous places.
For myself, I believe that anybody is an enemy to young people who desires to repress and crush out the naturally buoyant spirits of childhood and youth, and he is a benefactor of humanity who makes it a part of his business to see that proper places of amusement are provided for the young people. Aside from the physical advantages of play, there are moral advantages also. A man who helps to keep his body in good condition by regular exercise is, in that way, beyond a doubt, adding to the number of his days; that is to say, he will live longer than the man who doesn’t play. But beyond and above that, he is a happier man while he lives; he gets more joy and satisfaction out of life than the other fellow. Sane and healthy play tends to blot out the remembrance of cares and hardship; it gives our minds something else to think about. But young people must be careful not to become absorbed in these things. I believe in play; I believe in pleasure, in fun. But when I see young people, or old people for that matter, devoting all their time to wheeling, footballing, card parties, the giddy whirl of the dance, the bacchanalian hilarity of the dram shop, and so on, I am forced to say that things which may be right when taken in moderation, and as a relief from the overtaxing burdens of life, are wrong when they become the chief object for which one lives.
LVIII. A CHRISTMAS PRESENT.
A forsaken little kitten wandered up and down the street on the day before Christmas. It had no home; it had no name; it had no ribbon around its neck; and it had no saucer of nice milk in one corner.
It began to grow dark, and colder too, and the stars came peeping out, and the first flakes of a real Christmas snowstorm began floating down through the air. The kitten mewed a trembling little mew, which told as plainly as it could that it was very hungry, and it fluffed out its fur to keep itself warm.
Now, somewhere along that street, up on top of a house (hiding behind a chimney where he couldn’t be seen), was Santa Claus, getting everything in shape before starting on his evening round. When old Santa saw that lonesome little kitten strolling around he smiled—yes, old Santa Claus smiled. He smiled because he knew that two blocks up the street a little girl was standing with her nose pressed against the window, looking out into the deepening night.
He had seen her as he went by. And he had also seen the poor little supper laid out for two on the table, and heard her say to her mother, in a quavering voice:
“Not even one present, mamma—not the teeniest little one!”
“No, Susie,” her mother had answered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get anything for my little girl this year, but—you know there wasn’t any money dear.” And there was a tremble in her mother’s voice too.
Susie wiped away the tears, and turned to look out of the window.
“Perhaps,” she said to herself; “perhaps Santa Claus has something for me after all!”
Now, the sad, really dreadful part about it was that Santa Claus didn’t have one single thing for Susie in his pack. Perhaps it was because she had moved into that house since last Christmas, or perhaps for once old Santa had made a mistake. Anyway he was just saying to himself: “Why, bless me, what shall I do about it?” when he caught sight of that shivering little kitten.
“The very thing,” he thought. “I’ll give them to each other!” and he chuckled till his reindeer looked around to see what was the matter.
And what happened next? Well, that kitten never knew really. It only seemed as if there was a sudden rush and jingle of bells, which frightened it so that it flew up the street as fast as its four little legs could carry it, until it saw a small friendly face at a window, and rushed up some steps nearby. Then a door opened, and two soft little arms picked it up gently from the cold snow and a voice cried:
“Oh, mamma, see the poor little kitten—it’s so cold—oh, we’ll keep it, won’t we, mamma! The poor little thing. Do you think it would drink milk?”
Would it drink milk? What a question to ask about a little kitten. While the little kitten was nearly choking itself trying to drink a saucerful of milk and purr at the same time there was a jingle of bells outside, and Susie said:
“Mamma, I hear old Santa’s bells, and, of course, this is the present he brought.”
LIX. DRINKING AND SMOKING.
There is food for reflection in a saying of somebody who lived a great many years ago, ’way back in 1878. Here it is:
“Our government land costs one dollar and twenty-five cents an acre, and good whiskey two dollars a bottle. How many men die landless who during their lives have swallowed whole townships—trees and all?”
Alongside of this statement might go this other one, which is equally true:
“The young man who smokes three five-cent cigars a day—and many young men use double the quantity at double the price—puffs away enough money in the course of ten years to give anyone a handsome start in business, or to provide anyone a comfortable home.”
From a purely business standpoint, not to say anything about religion or morals—from a purely business standpoint young people drink too much and smoke too much. Every five cents spent for beer is five cents thrown away. Every ten cents spent for whiskey is a total loss. It would bring far better returns if it were put into a savings bank and laid away for a rainy day. As for smoking, it is a silly, senseless, expensive habit. It literally burns money up. The following figures show the expense of smoking two cigars a day at five cents each from the age of twenty to the end of each period of five years up to the age of seventy, 6 per cent compound interest semi-annually being reckoned upon the money:
Two Cigars a Day at 5 Cents each. From the age of: No. Years. Principal. Prin. & Int. 20 to 25 years 5 $ 182.50 $ 209.21 20 to 30 〃 10 365.00 490.39 20 to 35 〃 15 574.50 868.25 20 to 40 〃 20 730.00 1,376.07 20 to 45 〃 25 912.50 2,058.44 20 to 50 〃 30 1,095.00 3,094.99 20 to 55 〃 35 1,277.50 4,367.46 20 to 60 〃 40 1,460.00 6,078.73 20 to 65 〃 45 1,642.50 8,378.52 20 to 70 〃 50 1,825.00 11,469.25
Boys, I am glad to be able to put these figures down where you can see them, and study them for yourselves. I want you to reflect upon them. It is not what you make, but it is what you save that makes you rich. If you ever expect to be even well-to-do men, not to speak of being rich men, you must begin early to learn and practice the habit of saving your money. If you will learn to leave out of your expenses the bills for whiskey and tobacco it will not be hard for you to see then how you can also save by cutting down your expenses for trifles, such as knickknacks, candy, red lemonade, peanuts, etc. First in importance among public institutions, next to the church and the school house, I place the savings bank. No matter what your occupation, no matter what your salary, it is possible for every young person to save something out of his earnings, however small they may be. But if this habit of saving is not acquired in early life it will be very hard to learn it later. Saving is not the miser’s habit necessarily, nor is it the spirit of avarice and parsimony. It is prudence and forethought. Money is a good thing. It is the love of money—not money—that is the root of all evil.
LX. THE NICKEL THAT BURNED IN FRANK’S POCKET.
Deacon Hepworth kept a little fish market.
“Do you want a boy to help you?” asked Frank Shaw one day.
“Can you give good weight to my customers and take good care of my pennies?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Frank.
Forthwith he took his place in the little store, weighed the fish and kept the room in order.
“A whole day for fun, fireworks and noise to-morrow!” exclaimed Frank, as he buttoned his white apron about him the day before the Fourth of July. A great trout was thrown down on the counter by Ned Tant, one of Frank’s playmates.
“Here’s a royal trout, Frank. I caught it myself. You may have it for ten cents. Just hand over the money, for I’m in a hurry to buy my firecrackers,” said Ned hurriedly.
The deacon was out, but Frank had made purchases for him before, so the dime spun across to Ned, who was off like a shot. Just then Mrs. Sinclair appeared.
“I want a nice trout for my dinner to-morrow. This one will do; how much is it?” she asked as she carefully examined it.
“A quarter, ma’am,” and the fish was transferred to the lady’s basket and the silver piece to the money drawer.
But here Frank paused.
He thought to himself: “Ten cents was very cheap for that fish. If I tell the deacon it cost fifteen cents he’ll be satisfied, and I shall have five cents to invest in firecrackers.”
The deacon was pleased with Frank’s bargain, and when the market was closed each went his way for the night.
But the nickel buried in Frank’s pocket burned like a coal. He could eat no supper, and was cross and unhappy. At last he could stand it no longer, but, walking rapidly, tapped at the door of Deacon Hepworth’s cottage.
The old man was seated at a table, reading the Bible. Frank’s heart almost failed him, but he told the story and with tears of sorrow laid the coin in the deacon’s hand.
Turning over the leaves of the Bible, the old man read:
“He that covereth his sins shall not prosper, but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy.”
“You have forgiveness, Frank,” he said. “Now go home and confess to the Lord, and remember you must forsake as well as confess. Here, you may keep this coin as long as you live to remind you of your first temptation.”
LXI.
In the city of Columbus, Georgia, there was erected in the year 1904 a monument to the memory of a colored man named Bragg Smith. Mr. Smith lost his life in the autumn of 1903 in an effort to save the life of the city engineer of Columbus, who had been buried under an excavation in the street. A large crowd of colored men was at work digging deep trenches in which were to be placed pipes for running water about the city. In some way the sides of the narrow trench had not been properly supported by planks or otherwise, and by-and-by a great stretch of dirt caved in. Unfortunately the city engineer, a white man, was caught underneath the falling dirt. Bragg Smith did not stop to say: “Oh, it’s a white man; let him die!” but at once jumped down into the ditch and tried to pull the white man from under the heavy dirt. It was while he was engaged in this work that the dirt fell from both sides a second time, and Bragg Smith, in his effort to save the life of the white man, lost his own life. The Bible says: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man will lay down his life for a friend.”
The city council at its first regular meeting after the accident voted to erect a suitable monument to the memory of Mr. Smith. The monument was dedicated in April, 1904. The monument is of Vermont and Georgia marbles, and bears on one side this inscription:
“Erected by the City of Columbus to mark the last resting place of Bragg Smith, who died on September 30, 1903, in the heroic but fruitless effort to save the life of the city engineer.”
On the other side appears this quotation from Alexander Pope:
“Honor and fame from no conditions rise; Act well your part; there all the honor lies.”
LXII. THE BAD BOY—WHO HE IS.
My dear children, I am happy to say that all boys who are called bad boys are not bad boys. There is quite a difference between a bad boy and a merely mischievous boy. A boy is not necessarily bad because he makes unearthly noises about the house, or now and then twists the cat’s tail just to hear her mew, or muddies his clothes in an effort to catch crawfish. He is not bad just because he likes to “play fantastic” on the fourth day of July. So many people complain of their boys being bad when they are only mischievous—that is to say, when they are only full of life. Some people think that a good boy is one that has a pale face and looks sickly; one that wears a sanctimonious look and moves along through the world as though he were afraid to put one foot in front of the other. That isn’t my kind of a boy. I do not think that kind of a fellow is a boy at all—he is ’most a girl! A boy who never enjoys a romp in the woods, who never climbs the apple tree before or after the apples are ripe, who never plays ball, who will not shoot marbles, etc.—this sort of a boy usually dies young, or he grows up to be a “male woman.” I mean by that, that he grows up to be a man who acts like a woman; and that kind of man is hardly fit for anything.