Part 9

First impressions are always most lasting. We may not recognize or understand it at the time, but the boys and girls, the very young people, whom God has committed to our care in the home or the Sunday-school or the public school, gather in their early days, in the formative and impressionable period of their lives, the inspirations and impulses which shall guide them in after years either on the road to good or on the road to ruin. I happen to have high testimony on this point. It is the testimony of the grandest preacher who ever stood in an American pulpit. I mean Henry Ward Beecher. The following testimony is taken from a sermon of his preached in Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, on Sunday, January 18, 1874. The subject of the sermon was “Soul Power.” Among other things, Mr. Beecher said:

“In reading the life of Goethe, written by himself, you will notice how he marks the various stages of his self-culture, and says, ‘At this point I met such a man, and he was of great use to me in such and such respects.’ Goethe’s educators were living men, active and powerful, around about him.

“I can look back upon my own early life, and see how one and another took me, and how one prepared me for another. I can see how the largest natures did not always get access to me. It was late in life before my father influenced me very much. I think it was a humble woman who was in our family that first gained any considerable control over me. I feel the effects of her influence to this day.

“I next came under the influence of a very humble serving-man. He opened up new directions to me, and gave me new impulses. He was a colored man; and I am not ashamed to say that my whole life, my whole career respecting the colored race, in the conflict which was so long carried on in this country, was largely influenced by the effect produced on my mind when I was between eight and ten years of age, by a poor old colored man named Charles Smith, who worked on my father’s farm. He did not set out to influence me; he did not know that he did it; I did not know it until a great while afterwards; but he gave me new impulses, and impulses which were in the right direction; for he was a Godly and hymn-singing man, who made wine fresh every night from the cluster. He used to lie upon his humble bed (I slept in the same room with him) and read his Testament, unconscious apparently that I was in the room; and he would laugh and talk about what he read, and chuckle over it with that peculiarly unctuous throat-tone which belongs to his race. I never had heard the Bible really read before; but there, in my presence, he read it and talked about it, to himself and to God. He turned the New Testament into living forms right before me. It was a revelation and an impulse to me.”

What noble testimony this is! And from what a noble source! All of us have what is called influence, and, consciously or unconsciously, we are all influencing others, especially the young. It is a matter worth our deepest and most prayerful thought. If Charles Smith, “a poor old colored man;” if Charles Smith, “the very humble serving-man;” if Charles Smith, “the Godly and hymn-singing man,” was used of God to give impulses—and impulses which were in the right direction—to a little boy who was afterwards to become the greatest preacher that America has ever known, may not some of us be likewise used of God for the glory of our Common Master, even Christ, and for the good of our fellow-men? I tell you, friends, we may. And when we think of the great friend of humanity, Henry Ward Beecher, let us not forget to think of Charles Smith, who had so much to do, according to Beecher’s own testimony, with giving this great man a right start.

XLVIII. ROUNDING UP A CHICKEN THIEF.

I was not the chief actor in the story which I shall now tell. I played only a minor part. My father-in-law was “leading man.” Soon after I married I accepted a very cordial invitation to take up my residence with my wife’s parents. Our bed-rooms happened to be on the same floor, so that it was very easy for us to hear in one room any unusual noise made in the other. My mother-in-law was a great hand at the poultry business. She had a large number of the choicest breeds, and she found great pleasure in looking after them. Now, the old-folk’s bed-room was at the rear. Our room was in front. Late one night I heard a voice calling.

“Thomas! Thomas!”

It sounded sad and far-away. At first I thought it might have been a ghost. I raised myself up and listened. Pretty soon I heard the voice again, calling in strangely sepulchral tones.

“Thomas! Thomas!”

And then I could not be mistaken. It was my mother calling the old man. Father drawled out sleepily,——

“What is it?”

“There’s somebody out there at my hen house, just as sure as you’re born. Don’t you hear the chickens calling for help?”

There was a short silence. After awhile I heard the old lady say impetuously,——

“Thomas, why don’t you get up and go and see after them chickens?”

There was another pause. By-and-by mother spoke again,——

“Thomas, you don’t need on your top-shirt. Go on, just as you are. My chickens are in danger. If I were a man, I wouldn’t have stopped to put on my pants even. You’re a coward—that’s what you are!”

Next I heard the old man speak. I do not know whether he was looking out of the window or not, but I heard his say,——

“Hi, there, look out! I’m coming out there! Look out, I’m going to blow your daylights out!”

If the old man meant this remark to impress his wife with his bravery the effect was certainly lost on the woman, because I heard her say louder than ever,——

“Get out of the way, you coward baby, you! I’ll go myself! Where’s my slippers?”

In less than a minute I heard the old lady’s voice at the back door, at the head of the steps which ran down into the yard. She said,——

“Bring the lamp, Thomas! Bring the lamp!”

Curiosity pulled me and my wife out of bed. I stepped quietly into the hall, and stood well in the dark, not desiring to be in any way conspicuous in the investigations which were proceeding. My wife was by my side—trembling, anxious. Her angelic mother had already descended the steps, and neither of us knew what fate might befall her there. Wife whispered that we had better go to the rescue. We started for the door where father stood with the lamp. On the way I stumbled against a little table and knocked off a pitcher of ice-water, which fell to the floor with a terrific crash. It sounded louder than usual, not only on account of the stillness of the night but also on account of the fact that our nerves were already keyed up to a very high tension by the exciting events then taking place. At the sound in the hall, father turned quickly and looked behind. The light flashed into our faces. He must have thought we were ghosts or burglars. Immediately the lamp fell out of the old man’s hands, and he went sailing down the back stairs, hallooing at the top of his voice,——

“They’re in the house, wife! They’re in the house!”

When wife and I reached the door father was already, as I afterwards learned, safely buried behind the chicken house, and mother was lodged under the steps.

“Father!” I called out. “Father!”

There was no response.

“It’s me and Nannie, mother,” I said.

Still we heard nothing.

I went back to our room, and got our lamp. My wife was following me, foot to foot. Returning, I descended the steps and stood on the last one. Wife remained at the head of the steps, anxious, waiting, and ready to fly back into the house at the first outcry.

“Father!” I called again. “Father! Mother! There’s nobody in the house but me and Nannie. I made that noise myself, father. Where are you?”

Simultaneously the old folks emerged from their hiding-places.

The old lady said,——

“Thomas, you’re the biggest coward in all the world! I’ll never speak to you again!”

Father addressed me, ignoring his wife’s complaint. Said he,——

“Son, it’s a mighty lucky thing for you and Nannie that I didn’t have my gun.”

XLIX. SHIELDS GREEN, THE MARTYR.

Near the south-east corner of the cemetery in Oberlin, Ohio, there stands an unpretentious monument of clouded marble, about eight feet in height, bearing the following inscriptions:

S. GREEN, Died at Charlestown, Va., Dec. 2, 1859. Aged 23 years.

J. A. COPELAND, Died at Charlestown, Va., Dec. 2, 1859. Aged 25 years.

L. S. LEARY, Died at Harper’s Ferry, Va., Oct. 20, 1859. Aged 24 years.

These colored citizens of Oberlin, The Heroic Associates of the Immortal JOHN BROWN, Gave their lives for the Slave. Et nunc servitudo etiam mortua est, laus Deo.

In 1876, Frederick Douglass, who was once an associate and intimate friend of John Brown, lectured at Oberlin College. Among other things, Mr. Douglass said that Shields Green, who had once been a student of Oberlin College, was residing in the Douglass family shortly before the raid on Harper’s Ferry. At the call of Brown, Green went with Douglass to an appointed spot near the borders of Virginia. There John Brown confided to them the details of his plans, including the capture of Harper’s Ferry. Mr. Douglass objected to the plans as unwise and hazardous, and, finding entreaty unavailing, he withdrew from the enterprise. Shields Green, nevertheless, followed his old commander. When John Brown was finally surrounded, Green and one other companion were in the mountains on some errand. When they returned, they saw at a glance that the rescue of Brown was impossible. Green’s companion counseled flight, and did himself escape, but Shields Green—the former Oberlin student—replied that he preferred to “go down and die with the old man,” meaning John Brown.

And he did.

There is scarcely a more touching incident than this in all our national history.

L. AIMING AT SOMETHING.

It is true, boys and girls, that it is what you hit, not what you aim at, that counts; but, nevertheless, it is a very important thing to take the right aim. The man who aims deliberately at the center of the target stands a better chance, a hundred to one, than the man who shoots without taking aim. So, in life, that boy or girl who has a purpose—who is aiming at something—will be more successful than those boys and girls who have no plans and who aim at nothing.

It is not sufficient, in the moral world, to aim at something, but every boy and girl should aim at the best things. The best and highest things in this world are the unseen things, the eternal things, the things that will last forever. Money is a good thing, but there is something higher than money. A high position in the business or professional or political world, is a good thing, but there is something higher and better than office and position. Character is the grandest, the highest and best thing in this world. We include in this one little word “character” a world of things. Honor, uprightness, speaking the truth, dealing fairly with people, being willing to help the lowly and unfortunate, paying your debts promptly, these things, and many other things like them, are included in the one word “character.” And these are the things that are worth while in this world. These are the things that every boy and girl should aim at. It may not be possible for every boy and girl to become a millionaire; it may not be possible for every boy and girl to fill high offices in this world, or succeed in large business enterprises; but one thing is certain: every boy can be a good and true boy, every girl can be a noble and beautiful girl. Beautiful as to conduct, as to words and deeds, I mean. Good boys are the fathers of good men. Pure girls are the mothers of pure women. For, what, after all, is a boy? And what is a girl? What is a man? What is a woman? I will tell you. A boy is a little man—that’s all; and a man is a grown-up boy. A girl is a little woman—that’s all; and a woman is a grown-up girl.

It is important, then, that boys and girls should aim at the right things, the good, the true and noble things early in life. What boys and girls aim at, in nine cases out of ten, they will reach as men and women. And to help you in taking the proper aim early in life, I am going to give you something to aim at. Let every boy and girl make this little motto his rule of life:

Know something—know it well; Do something—do it well;— And be Somebody!

LI. “THE BLACK SHEEP” OF THE REYNOLDS FAMILY.

Will Reynolds was “the black sheep” of the Reynolds family. He knew it and felt it, because he had been frequently slighted and treated with contempt by his relatives. The only person who never lost faith in him was his mother. She always felt that there was something good in her wayward son, and often said that it would show itself some day. But Will’s mother died in the early stages of his backslidings. Will’s father married the second time, and the boy, finding it impossible to get along with his stepmother, left home. He went from bad to worse. Being arrested on the charge of drunkenness and vagrancy, he sent to his two brothers, who were prosperous brokers in D. St., asking them to pay his fine. Word came back that they would not interfere in his behalf. His brothers sent word that he had brought the trouble upon himself and he must get out of it the best way he could. Will was sent to the Work House for six months. And nobody’s hand was raised to help him.

While he was serving his time, his only sister, a young woman not yet grown, died. He knew nothing of it until about a month after it occurred, and then he read the account in an old newspaper which he had borrowed from a fellow prisoner. The news of his sister’s death deeply affected him. His sentence was shortened by one month on account of his good behaviour. The first thing he did, on coming to the city, was to visit the family lot in Myrtle Hill Cemetery. He carried with him some wild flowers and green leaves, being too poor to purchase a floral offering from the dealers in such things. With uncovered head, he knelt and placed these tokens of respect on the graves of his mother and sister. This done, he stood in silence for a moment, and then wept like a little child. While riveted to the spot, he made a solemn vow that he would quit the old life and make a man of himself. “It’s in me,” he said to himself, “and I’m going to prove it.”

Slowly he turned away from the sacred place. He went directly to the offices of his brothers. He had been furnished with a new suit of clothes, according to custom, upon leaving prison, and so made quite a decent appearance. He found his oldest brother, John B. Reynolds, seated at a desk in the front office. He entered at once and said,—

“Well, John, I suppose sister is dead?”

“How dare you,” exclaimed John, rising to his feet,—“how dare you to speak of Annie as your sister, you jailbird, you miserable convict! Get out of here this minute! Leave this room at once, and never set foot in it again!”

There was fire in the man’s eye as he spoke. Will attempted to speak, but was not permitted. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he left the room. He had gone to tell of his new determination and ask for another chance, and this was the reception which he met. On his way down the steps, he came face to face with his other brother, Thomas Reynolds. Thomas tried to pass without speaking, but Will intercepted him.

“Tom,” he said, “I’m your brother still. I’m not asking help now; I only came to tell you that I’m going to do better. I thought you would be glad to hear it.”

“I want to hear nothing from you,” said Thomas. “You’ve disgraced us forever, and you can go your way; we don’t want anything to do with you; we don’t want to see you again!”

Will went forth into the street weeping.

* * * * *

Thirty years have come and gone since Will was driven away from the offices of his brothers. What changes have these years worked?

Soon after leaving prison Will was a constant visitor at the Railroad Men’s Branch of the Y. M. C. A. Through the Secretary of the Association, he soon secured a place as a day laborer in the machine shops of the Big Bend Railroad. After securing regular employment, he went to live in the Y. M. C. A. building. At the close of his first year’s service with the railroad, he was promoted from a common laborer and made an apprentice. After four or five years, he had learned the trade and was receiving the daily wages of a machinist. After twelve years with the company, he was made the Master Machinist. At the end of fifteen years’ service, he was made Superintendent of Construction. Five years later he was made a Division Superintendent. At the expiration of more than twenty-five years of faithful service, Will Reynolds was able to write after his name, “General Manager of the Big Bend Railroad.” He had, also, been married for several years, and was the father of five children.

Will’s father and brothers lost sight of him for nearly twelve years, or until the papers announced his appointment as Master Machinist of the Big Bend Railroad. They suddenly awoke to find that their conclusions that he had probably long since died a drunkard’s death, or had gone off as a tramp and had been killed, or was again serving a sentence in prison somewhere—were wrong.

The same week that Will was made Superintendent of Construction of the Big Bend Railroad, the newspapers spread all over the country the news that Col. Oliver P. Reynolds had committed suicide. According to their way, the newspapers gave all the sickening details of the tragedy, together with the whole family history. They said that Col. Reynolds had been driven to suicide by his wife. They said that she was much younger than he; that she was extravagant; that she was a leader in gay society; they told how, on her account, Col. Reynolds had driven his son away from home fifteen years before; they declared that the old man’s life had been a hell to him; and that his wife had brought him almost to the verge of bankruptcy, and, in order to escape facing open disgrace, he had murdered himself.

When Will heard of his father’s death, he hastened at once to the city, but was denied admission to the family residence, and had to attend the funeral in the little church around the corner not as a member of the family but merely as an outsider.

We are not concerned in this story with the fate of Will’s stepmother. But, as to Will’s brothers,—well, the crash came eight or ten years after the death of Col. Reynolds, or a short while before Will became the General Manager of the Big Bend Railroad. John B. Reynolds and Thomas Reynolds, members of the firm of John B. Reynolds & Bro., had been arrested and placed in the Tombs, charged with misappropriating $175,000 of trust funds. Again the family history was rehearsed in the newspapers. The papers did not fail to recall the suicide of Col. Reynolds, nor did they fail to tell how these two brothers had earlier in life turned their backs on a younger brother.

Will read the papers, and, saying to his wife, “Well, Mary, perhaps they’ll be glad to see me this trip,” he went immediately to offer his services to his brothers.

He had prophesied correctly. John and Thomas were very glad to see him. They had no friends among those high in financial circles because they had for many years conducted their business in such a way that business men had no confidence in them. They had no credit and could get nobody to go on their bonds. Will took in the situation at a glance. He had been thoughtful enough to bring along with him the leading attorney of the Big Bend Railroad, and he put matters straightway into his hands. Bail was arranged, the brothers were released, and the lawyer then turned his attention to the prosecutors. It was discovered that almost half of the amount stolen was the property of Simon B. Nesmith, President of the Big Bend Railroad. When Will Reynolds and the lawyer found that their own superior officer had been so heavily hit by John B. Reynolds & Bro., they came near fainting. Fortunately Nesmith when he heard the whole story agreed not to prosecute, and not only said that he would be satisfied with any settlement that the Railroad’s Attorney might arrange but also volunteered to see the others concerned and use his influence in having them do likewise.

In a short time matters were adjusted, and John Reynolds and Thomas Reynolds were saved from prison. But they lost all their earthly possessions and their brother, “the black sheep” of the family, had to secure them for the sum of $40,000 besides.

John B. Reynolds and Thomas Reynolds came to their senses. It was their time to cry now. Amidst great sobs they said,——

“We treated you wrongly, brother Will; we ought to have helped you many years ago; we are so sorry we didn’t; and it was such a small matter, too.”

But Will said,——

“Don’t talk about the past: I’m your brother still. Go and do as I did. Start over and make men of yourselves—you’ll have enough time. That’s all I ask.”

LII. THE HOLY BIBLE.

I heard a minister say the other day that a mother had not necessarily done much for her boy because she had bought him a nice Bible and put it in his trunk, when he was about to leave home to seek his fortune in the world. I think it wrong for anybody—minister or what not—to indulge in such loose and flippant talk. The effect is bad—always bad, and no hair splitting, and no higher criticism, and no curiously ingenious explanations can mend the matter. As for me, give me the old-fashioned mother who sends her son out into the world with a Bible in his trunk, and give me the old-fashioned boy who reads that Bible every night with tears in his eyes, as he thinks of the old folks at home and of their simple lives devoted to Jesus Christ. Give me the man, woman or child, whose hands touch the Bible reverently, instead of slinging it about as a dictionary or some common dime novel. Give me the plain old fellow who quickly takes leave of that circle in which critics are proceeding to ably explain away certain chapters of the Bible.

As for me, I want no new theories about the Bible—no new versions—no new criticisms. No man has a right to weaken the faith of others. No man has a right to knock away the staff that supports the crippled wayfarer. And no man has a right to tell an aged mother that it does no good to give her boy a Bible unless he can suggest a better substitute. Destroy the old-fashioned idea concerning the Bible, and we shall have a nation of infidels defying God, defying the law, and repeating the licentiousness and horrors of the French Revolution. We should make the Bible first in all things. Make the Bible first in the family, in the Sunday-school and church, make it first in state and society, and we shall have a Republic that will grow brighter and brighter as the years come and go, and then we “shall go out with joy, and be lead forth with peace: and the mountains and the hills shall break forth before us into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”

LIII. ANDREW CARNEGIE’S ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN.