Part 2 (2/2)

Can any child read this narrative without trembling at the thought of disobedience, even in the most trifling affair? If you once disobey your parents, it is impossible to tell to what it will lead.

Crime follows in the steps of crime, till the career is closed by irretrievable disgrace and eternal ruin. The consequences reach far, far beyond the grave. They affect our interests and our happiness in that eternal world to which we are all rapidly going. Yes; the child who utters one falsehood, or is guilty of one act of disobedience, may, in consequence of that one yielding to temptation, be hurried on from crime to crime, till his soul is ruined, and he is shut up, by the command of G.o.d, in those awful dungeons of endless despair prepared for the devil and his angels.

And how ungrateful is disobedience! A n.o.ble-hearted boy would deny himself almost any pleasure; he would meet almost any danger; he would endure almost any suffering, before he would, in the most trifling particular, disobey parents who had been so kind, and had endured so much to make him happy. How different is such a child from one who is so ungrateful that he will disobey his parents merely that he may play a few moments longer, or that he may avoid some trifling work, that he does not wish to perform! There is a magnanimity in a child who feels so grateful for his parents' love that he will repay them by all the affection and obedience in his power, which attracts the respect and affection of all who know him.

Suppose you see a little boy walking before his mother. The boy's father is dead; he has been killed in battle. You see the orphan boy carrying upon his shoulder his father's sword and cap. You look at his poor mother. She is weeping, for her husband is dead. She is returning in sorrow to her lonely house. She has no friend but her dear boy. How ardently does she love him! All her hopes of earthly happiness are depending upon his obedience and affection. She loves her boy so well, that she would be willing to die, to make him happy. She will work night and day, while he is young, to supply him with clothes and with food. And all she asks and hopes is, that her boy will be affectionate, and obedient, and good.

And, oh! how ungrateful and cruel will he be, if he neglect that mother, and by his unkindness cause her to weep! But you see that he looks like a n.o.ble-hearted boy. His countenance seems to say, ”Dear mother, do not cry; if ever I grow up to be a man, you shall never want, if I can help it.” Oh, who can help loving the boy who loves his mother!

There was a little boy about thirteen years old, whose name was Casablanca. His father was the commander of a s.h.i.+p of war called the Orient. The little boy accompanied his father to the seas. His s.h.i.+p was once engaged in a terrible battle upon the river Nile. In the midst of the thunders of the battle, while the shot were flying thickly around, and strewing the decks with blood, this brave boy stood by the side of his father, faithfully discharging the duties which were a.s.signed to him. At last his father placed him in a particular part of the s.h.i.+p to be performing some service, and told him to remain in his post till he should call him away. As the father went to some distant part of the s.h.i.+p to notice the progress of the battle, a ball from the enemy's vessel laid him dead upon the deck.

But the son, unconscious of his father's death, and faithful to the trust he posed in him, remained in his post, waiting for his father's orders. The battle raged dreadfully around him. The blood of the slain flowed at his feet. The s.h.i.+p took fire, and the threatening flames drew nearer and nearer. Still this n.o.ble-hearted boy would not disobey his father. In the face of blood, and b.a.l.l.s, and fire, he stood firm and obedient. The sailors began to desert the burning and sinking s.h.i.+p, and the boy cried out ”Father, may I go?” But no voice of permission could come from the mangled body of his lifeless father. And the boy, not knowing that he was dead, would rather die than disobey. And there that boy stood, at his post, till every man had deserted the s.h.i.+p; and he stood and perished in the flames. O, what a boy was that! Every body who ever heard of him thinks that he was one of the n.o.blest boys that ever was born. Rather than disobey his father, he would die in the flames. This account has been written in poetry, and, as the children who read this book, may like to see it, I will present it to them here:

CASABIANCA.

The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck, Shone round him, o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though childlike form.

The flames rolled on; he would not go, Without his father's word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud--”Say, father, say 'If yet my task is done.'”

He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son.

”Speak, father,” once again he cried, ”If I may yet be gone.”

And--but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breach, And in his waving hair; And looked from that lone post of death, In still, yet brave despair;

And shouted but once more aloud, ”My father, must I stay?”

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapped the s.h.i.+p in splendor wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky.

Then came a burst of thunder sound The boy--oh! where was he?

Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea.

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part, But the n.o.blest thing that perished there, Was that young, faithful heart.

O, who would not love to have such a child as that! Is not such a boy more n.o.ble than one who will disobey his parents merely that he may have a little play, or that he may avoid some unpleasant duty? The brave little Casablanca would rather die than disobey. He loved his father. He had confidence in him. And even when death was staring him in the face, when

”The flames rolled on, he would not go, Without his father's word.”

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