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Page 36
"I can't see how, father."
"Why, the boy, when he was thinking what he would do about going on that
fishing excursion, could not have foreseen all that would happen if he
went. Do you think he could?"
"No, sir, not all, I suppose. But I am sure he was a very bad boy, whether
he knew what would happen or not."
"Yes, no doubt. But I want you to see exactly where his guilt lay. It was
simply in his not yielding to his mother's wish, when she so kindly left
him at liberty to do as he chose; especially as he knew she was ill, and
needed his assistance."
"Charley deserved a good whipping."
"Well, he _was_ punished severely."
"Did his mother punish him?"
"No, for weeks she was too ill for that; and if she had been well, probably
she would not have punished him."
"How did he get punished?"
"By his own conscience. He felt that he had done wrong, and that made him
very unhappy. He saw, then, that he had been very unkind to his mother, and
that his unkindness cost her pain and sorrow. He would rather have given
all his playthings--every one of his toys--than to feel as he did then.
Indeed, I think he would prefer the severest punishment from his mother, to
the wound which his conscience inflicted. Do you understand now, my son,
what is meant by conscience?"
"I think I do. When we are sorry for any thing we have done, it is the
conscience that makes us feel so."
"Not always. Charles was no doubt very sorry he had tried to cross the
river on the tree, because he fell into the water, and came near being
drowned. But the conscience had nothing to do with this sorrow. When we see
that we have carelessly or wilfully injured some one--hurt his feelings,
perhaps--or when we reflect that we have disobeyed God, and feel grieved
and sorry on this account, then the conscience is the cause of our pain. So
you see that it is one of the numerous proofs of the wisdom and the
goodness of God, that he has given mankind a conscience. Take care, my son,
that you listen to its voice."
OLD NED.
Not many years ago, Farmer Jones had an old horse named "Ned," who appeared
to have almost as much sense as some people. Ned was a favorite with his
master, who petted him as if he were a child instead of a dumb animal. The
horse seemed to understand every word that the farmer said to him, and
would obey him quite as readily and with as much intelligence as Rover, the
house dog. If his master came into the field where he was grazing, Ned
would come galloping up to meet him, and then caper round as playfully,
though not, it must be owned, as gracefully, as a kitten.
Farmer Jones, on these occasions, generally had an ear or two of corn in
his pocket; and Ned, whose nose had been many a time in that capacious
receptacle of odds and ends, after sweeping around his master two or three
times, would stop short and come sideling up, half coquetishly, yet with a
knowing twinkle in his eye, and commence a search for the little tidbit
that he had good reason for knowing lay snugly stored away in the pocket.
[Illustration: OLD NED.]
If any one besides his master went into the field and tried to catch Ned,
he was sure to have a troublesome time of it; and if he succeeded in his
object before circling the field a dozen times in pursuit of the horse, he
might think himself lucky. But a word or a motion of the hand from Farmer
Jones was all-sufficient. Ned would become, instantly, as docile as a
child, trot up to his side, and stand perfectly still to receive the saddle
and bridle.
When Farmer Jones was on the back of Ned, or sitting behind him in the old
chaise, no horse could be more even in his gait, or more orderly in all his
movements. But it wasn't safe for any one else to try the experiment of
riding or driving him. If he escaped without a broken neck, he might think
himself exceedingly fortunate; for the moment any one but his master
attempted to govern his actions in any way, he became possessed with a
spirit that was sometimes more than mischievous. He would kick up, bite,
wheel suddenly around, rear up on his hind feet, and do almost every thing
except go ahead in an orderly way, as a respectable horse ought to have
done.
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