Part 4 (1/2)

I see plainly enough that I have been working half an hour or more to no purpose, and that very likely I have made matters worse. Yet what was my error?

Simply this: that I spent all my strength at the short arm of the lever. If I had gone to work with a kind and tender spirit, something as Nathan went to work at David, once on a time, and used the other end of the lever, I should have got a good _purchase_, at least, and I am not sure but the stone would have yielded. As it is, however, the troublesome thing is there yet, and it seems to be settling into the ground deeper than ever.

I know some good people, among whom I can count half a score of ministers, who try very hard to keep bad books and periodicals out of the family circle.

There is no end to their talk against these things. They tell their children that they must never read such and such books, and that if they ever catch one of them reading these books, they shall take good care to punish them for it.

But in spite of all the efforts of these people, they don't succeed in keeping these bad books out of the family. In some way or other, they are smuggled into the hands of a boy or girl, and they are read, while the parent, perhaps, knows nothing of it. That is all wrong, of course. I don't mean to say anything to excuse the boy or girl--nothing of the kind. But why didn't these parents go another way to work? Why, instead of preaching all those long sermons on bad books, and threatening their children with punishment in case they read these books, why did they not provide other books, equally interesting, though innocent and useful? That would have been a wiser course, methinks. That would have been the right end of the crow-bar to work at. The way to get rid of an evil is to find something else to put in its place. So I think.

But some of these very fathers and mothers, though they cry out so loudly against immoral books and periodicals, say they cannot afford to buy books for their children. It was only last week that I heard one of them tell a friend, who asked him to subscribe for a magazine for his daughter, that he was poor, and could not afford it. Poor! he gave one party last winter, on this same daughter's account, which cost him more than a hundred dollars. He cannot afford it! Well, if he does not afford to furnish reading for those children, I am afraid they will afford it themselves.

I have seen a little girl, when her sister had been doing something wrong, run straight to her mother, and tell her of it. But it only made the little mischief-maker worse. She went the wrong way to work.

She labored hard enough to come at her sister's fault; but her labor was all thrown away. She was at the wrong end of the crow-bar. If, instead of posting off, as fast as she could run, to her mother, every time that sister did wrong, as if she really _liked_ to be a tell-tale, she had said, as kindly as she could, ”Susy, don't do so; that's naughty,” or something of the kind, I presume it would all have been well enough.

VII.

THE FOX AND THE CRAB;

OR, A GOOD RULE, WITH A FLAW IN IT.

A FABLE.

A crab boasted that he was very cunning in setting traps. He used to bury himself in the mud, just under a nice morsel of a clam or an oyster; and when the silly fish came to make a dinner of this dainty morsel, he would catch him in his claws, and eat him.

He pretended to have a good deal of honor, though. He was quite a pious crab, according to his own account of himself. When he had caught a fish by his cunning, he used to say, ”Poor fellow! it is his own fault, not mine. He ought to have kept out of the trap. If one does not know enough to keep away from my claws, he _ought_ to be caught. Poor fellow! I'm sorry for him; but it can't be helped.”

That is the way he took to quiet his own conscience, and to excuse himself to others, when they complained of his deceitful conduct.

An old fox, having heard of our crab's mode of catching fish, and what he said about it, determined to set a trap for the crab. He did so. He went down to the sea sh.o.r.e, and thrust his long, bushy tail into the water. The crab, thinking he had got another dinner by his wit, seized the fox's tail with his claws. But the fox, giving a sudden spring, brought the crab out of the water, and prepared to make a meal of him at his leisure.

The crab complained, and accused the fox of being a deceitful fellow, and a murderer to boot.

”But,” said Reynard, ”I have only acted according to your own rule. If one does not know enough to keep away from a fox's tail, he _ought_ to be caught. It is the same thing as if he caught himself.”

”Ah!” said the crab, with a sigh, ”I made that rule for others, and not for myself. I see now that _there is a flaw in it_.”

VIII.

THE GREEDY FLY.

A FABLE.

A fly, who was a great lover of sweet things, came across a cup full of mola.s.ses. He alighted on the edge of the cup, and commenced sipping the mola.s.ses. It pleased him very much. He thought he had never tasted anything so good before. At length, beginning to be surfeited with his dinner, instead of flying away, and going about his business, until he should be hungry again, he plunged into the mola.s.ses, so as to enjoy as much of it as he could.