Praeteey <1
ly Hive
| Mendy Sebboet
“ Mr Harding introduced Maurice to his new friends, and all were
agreeably impressed by his kind, gentlemanly 1anners, his fine, open
countenance, and his pleasant smile,â€â€”Page 16.
THE NEW SCHOLAR;
OR,
ge
THE FEAR OF GOD & THE FEAR OF MAN,
HOW THEY DIFFER AND WHICH TO CHOOSE
GALL & INGLIS.
Edinburgh : London:
BERNARD TERRACE. | 25 PATERNOSTER SQ?
CONTENTS.
—_>—_—__
CHAP. PAGE
i, Mavricr Gray, . a = B 5
tr. TEMPTATION, . ‘ 3 ’ a 19
1. NuRsE, ; : : i 5 . 38
Iv. Tue LAME Boy, ‘ ° : 56
v. Tue TRUTH, . é , ; 70
Vi. CONTRASTS, . iS ‘ ie . a 85
vu. REsvLts, , ; ° ° A oto)
THE NEW- SCHOLAR,
CHAPTER L
MAURICE GRAY.
“News, boys! I have some news to
tell you,†cried Frank Henley,—
running towards the playground,
where a number of boys were
assembled. He was soon sur-
rounded by a group of them.
“What is it, Frank? What is
it?†asked many voices.
“We are to have a new scholar,
and he is coming to-morrow,â€
answered Frank. “Not a_half-
8 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
new scholar stand round me, and
we will cast lots who shall go and
ask Mr. Harding, and then there
will be no trouble about it.â€
The lot fell upon little Joseph
Green, one of the smallest boys.
Joseph was very timid, and it was
a hard task for him, but he felt
ashamed to own it, or complain of
his lot.
“ Now,†said Frank, “it will not
answer to ask too many questions
of Mr. Harding, for he would think
that rude, and perhaps not tell us
any thing.â€
“Well,†said one, “ask his name,
of course. There is a great deal in
aname. It seems to tell one how
a boy looks.â€
“Ask his age,†said another.
“ Ask where he is from,†said another.
“Where he will sit,†said a third.
“Where he will sleep,†said a fourth.
“What kind of a boy he is,†said a
ith,
“Oh, that is too many,†said one
MAURICE GRAY. 9
of the older boys. “It would
never do to ask so many. I think
three questions are as many as it
will do to ask.â€
“T think so too! I think so
too!†said several voices. “Three
are enough—what shall they be ?
Three will tell very little.â€
After some discussion, it was
decided the three most important
items were his name, his age, and
whether he was from the city or the
country ; and little Joe Green was
despatched to acquire the important
information. He soon reached the
summer-house where Mr. Harding
was sitting, who raised his eyes
from his book as he heard the
approach of footsteps.
“Well, Joseph,†he said, kindly,
“what do you wish?â€
“ Please, sir,†said Joe hesitatingly,
“the boys sent me to ask you if
you would tell us the name of the
new scholar who is coming to-
morrow.†—
10 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
“How did you know there was
one coming?†asked Mr. Harding,
smiling.
“Frank Henley heard you tell
Mr. Neville so, sir,†replied Joe.
“Well, his name is Maurice
Gray,†said Mr. Harding.
“Please, sir, tell me how old he
is?†asked Joe.
“He is several years older than
yourself, Joe,†answered Mr. Hard-
ing. “ He is fourteen, I believe.â€
“The boys told me to ask you,
sir,†continued Joe, “whether he
was from the city or the country ?†.
“He is from a small country
village, a hundred miles from here,â€
replied Mr. Harding.
“Thank you, sir,†said Joe, bow-
ing and preparing to run away.
“Would you not like to know
something more of him?†asked
Mr. Harding, good-naturedly.
“Yes, sir, very much,†answered
Joe; “but the boys told me I must
only ask you three questions, or you
MAURICE GRAY. 11
would think we were very rude;â€
and without waiting for further infor-
mation, Joe left Mr. Harding, and
hastened back to the playground.
“Maurice Gray—fourteen years old
—from a country village,†he said
as soon as he could, and as fast as he
could speak, and in a very loud
voice, as if he was anxious to com-
plete all the duties of his mission
as soon as possible.
““« Maurice Gray, —a pretty name,
is it not ?†said Frank Henley.
“Fourteen years old,—that is
just our age, Dick,†said Tom
Bailey; “he will be one of the
oldest scholars. I hope he has not
an old sober head like Philip
Graham, who thinks it such a con-
descension to play with us now and
then, and seems to think it is
wicked to laugh or have any fun
at all. Mr. Harding thinks him a
model of good conduct, and a pattern
for us all. I think he is a very dis-
agreeable fellow; he is proud, and
12 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
never notices the younger boys at
all, and seems to think boys are
made for nothing but to study and
go to church! I hope Maurice
Gray is a real jovial fellow, Dick,
like you and me.â€
“Yes, indeed I do,†answered
Dick. ‘I hate ‘ pattern boys,’ like
Phil Graham. One never feels at
ease with them. If the fellow that
is coming is to my mind, I shall be
quite polite to him, for I like a new
friend once in a while. As he is
from the country, I suppose we
shall have to teach him a thing or
two. I suppose he is not much of
a scholar. This is probably his first
coming out into the world. Well, we
shall see what he is like to-morrow.
I wonder if he will come in the
coach at eleven o'clock, or whether
his father will bring him. To-
motrow is not a great way off.â€
To-morrow came in its proper
place, and a bright, lovely summer
day it was; and at eleven o’clock
MAURICE GRAY. 13
every ear was listening as the old
stage-coach came rumbling leisurely
along, and great was the satisfaction
that beamed from divers faces as it
was distinctly heard to stop at the
front door. Mr. Harding left the
room to receive his new pupil, and
after being absent half-an-hour, re-
twmed without him, to the evident
dissatisfaction of the many eyes that
were fixed upon the door, for they
all knew they must now wait until
after school to be introduced to the
new scholar.
They had not been long assembled
on the playground after school,
before Mr. Harding and Maurice
Gray were seen coming from the
house together.
“Here he comes! here he comes!â€
said several voices; but no—they
walked down the neat gravel walk,
and then into the garden. Mr.
Harding was talking very busily to
Maurice, who was “listening with
great attention.
14 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
“ He is not so tall as Lam by an
inch or two,†said Philip Graham,
drawing up his thin figure to its
full height, “though he is fourteen
years of age.â€
“Oh, he cannot equal Phil
Graham in any thing, of course,â€
said Tom Bailey aside. “No one
pretends to equal the model scholar,
the ‘pattern of propriety,’ even in
outward appearance. I am sure I
hope Maurice is not such a stiff con-
ceited fellow, looking down upon
everybody else.â€
“Why,†said Dick Wells, “ how
should we know how straight we
cught to walk, or how sober we
ought to look, how perfectly we
ought to recite, how still we ought
to be in school hours, how obedient
to the rules of the school, if we had
not some such perfect pattern before
us as Phil Graham |â€
“Mr, Harding says,†said Louis
Tarleton, a lame, sickly-looking boy,
leaning on a crutch, “that if we all
MAURICE GRAY. 15
kept a Bible on our desks as Philip
Graham does, and studied it each
day, we should all know how to do
right.†:
This was a long and a bold speech
for Louis Tarleton to make, and he
coloured deeply, for all eyes turned
upon him.
“Tt is one thing to keep a Bible
there, and another thing to read it,â€
said Dick, whistling and walking
off.
“Oh, here they come, certainly,â€
said Frank Henley, “straight towards
the playground,’ as Mr. Harding
and Maurice approached. “Mr. Hard-
ing introduced Maurice to his new
friends, and all were agreeably im-
pressed by his kind, gentlemanly
manners, his fine, open countenance,
and his pleasant smile; there was
also a dignity and self-command
about him above his years, which
inspired a feeling of respect.
“ Well, Maurice,†said Mr. Hard-
ing, upon leaving him, “I see
16 THE NEW SCHOLAR,
you will soon make friends here,
and I hope we shall make you
happy.†_
“J will try to deserve friends,
sir,†said Maurice, respectfully, “and
then I do not fear but I shall make
them.â€
“T love him already,†said Mr.
Harding to himself, as he walked
towards the house. ‘‘ He will be a
friend to me, and an ornament to
the school,—lI see it in the very ex-
pression of his face. He is aserious-
minded, conscientious boy, or I am
much mistaken, though his eye and
lip have a merry smile.â€
Maurice Gray joined eagerly in
the games proposed, and showed
himself expert in them all, and
seemed as much interested in the
plays of the youngest boys, as those
of his own age. He left his game
of ball to disentangle little Joe
Green’s kite from a high tree, and
gave his arm most kindly to lame
Louis, as they walked towards the
MAURICE GRAY. 17
house, at the ringing of the dinner-
bell.
“Nothing of a scholar, of course,
or he would not be so fond of play,â€
muttered Philip Graham to himself,
looking very wise, as he put a book
in his pocket.
“ A right merry, pleasant feliow,â€
said Dick Wells and Tom Bailey.
“How obliging and good-natured
he is!†said Joe Green.
“ A new broom sweeps clean,†said
Frank Henley.
“Tt is not often I have anything
but my crutch to lean on,†said lame
Louis, looking up gratefully into
Maurice’s face, with his sad eyes, as
the other boys all passed quickly by
and left the two far behind.
“My arm shall always be at your
service,†said Maurice, “if it suits
you.â€
“Tcan get along much faster with
it,†said Louis, “and then I do not
feel so lonely either, to go with some
one, for the boys always reach the
B
18 THE NEW SCHOLAR,
house, and get seated at table long
before I can get there.â€
A smile of satisfaction might have
been seen on Mr. Harding’s expres-
sive face, as Maurice Gray entered
the dining-room, with lame Louis
leaning on his arm, and a look as if
he would have said, “I am not de-
ceived, I am sure, in my first im-
pressions of this boy.â€
TEMPTATION. 19
CHAPTER II.
TEMPTATION.
Mr. Harpine’s residence was about
two miles from the beautiful village
of Norton. There wasa fine garden
in front, a large playground at one
side, and behind the house were a
farm-yard and vegetable garden.
Beyond were thick woods, pleasant
fields, and shady roads. He had
built the house expressly for his
school, and all was well arranged
according to a plan of his own.
The chambers were large and airy,
each containing four beds, one in
each corner of the room. A door
opened near each bed into a light,
good-sized dressing-room. One of
these was appropriated to each
20 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
scholar, to contain his clothes, ete.
Each was fitted with a neat writing-
desk and chair, so that it was a -
pleasant and quiet place for a boy to
retire for study or solitude, if he felt
so disposed.
In addition to his boarders, Mr.
Harding received at his school day-
scholars from the neighbouring vil-
lage. One wing of the house was
occupied by Mr. Harding and his
family, which consisted of a wife and
twin daughters, Minna and Rose,
eight years of age. They attended
the school each day regularly, occu-
pying small seats by their father’s
desk. They were allowed occasion-
ally to visit the boys’ playground
as spectators of their games, and
considered it a great treat so to do.
But they were always attended by
one of their parents, or placed under
the especial care of one of the most
trusty boys. Philip Graham had
this honour conferred upon him
oftener than any other boy, and he
TEMPTATION. 21
was quite proud of the trust reposed
in him.
Once in three months, Mr. Hard-
ing had what he called a public
day, when gentlemen from the vil-
lage and the neighbouring country-
seats were invited to attend the
school, and hear the recitations, or
examine the boys, as they pleased.
Mr. Harding would allow no special
preparation for this day. He wished
the boys to show exactly what they
were, and this was a great incitement
to them to be diligent students. He
allowed the boys free access at all
times to his fine garden, under
certain restrictions, and it was sel-
dom his laws in this respect were
broken.
*“Look here, Dick! Quick, or I
shall be discovered,’ said Tom
Bailey one day, about a week after
Maurice Gray had entered the school,
as he was creeping stealthily from
Maurice’s closet. ‘Come quickly,
Tom.†Tom obeyed. “ Here,†said
22 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
Dick, “is your good, merry fellow
we have been calculating upon.
Why, he is worse than Philip
Graham. See here! Phil has only
a Bible on his desk, which I do not
think he opens very often, though
he would have Mr. Harding think
he does; but Maurice Gray has a
Bible, and a book of sermons, and
some tracts! They are all for show,
of course. No boy would ever read
such books, I am certain, unless he
was compelled to, and I would not
believe Maurice ever reads them if
he told me so. He is worse than
Phil Graham, is he not ?â€
“He may be,†answered Tom,
“in some respects, but he is a much
pleasanter fellow than Philip, and
does not think half so much of him-
self. He loves a good game so well,
that I guess we can make something
of him. I suppose he has been
living in the country with some old
grandmother, who has made him a
parting present of her whole library
TEMPTATION. 23
for a keepsake; but whether he
reads such dry books or not, he is
nothing like Phil Graham. He has
none of that sanctified, long-faced,
stiff look, that Phil has.â€
“Well, time will show,†said
Dick, “what we can make of
Maurice Gray. Though he is
sociable and talkative, he manages
somehow to keep one at an awful
distance. I cannot understand it,
for he is any thing but proud or
haughty. I saw him to-day helping
Peter to lift a large box into the
house, which was too heavy for him.
T am sure Phil Graham would have
let Peter break his back before he
would raise a finger to assist any
servant boy.â€
“There is one thing very certain,â€
said Tom, “and that is that Mr.
Harding takes a great liking to
Maurice. Never since I have been
here has he invited a boy to take tea
with him during the first week of
his being here, and Maurice last
24 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
evening not only took tea with him,
but took a walk of an hour after tea,
with Mr. and Mrs. Harding, and
Minna and Rose. I saw them re-
turning. Minna had his hand, and
Rose was skipping by his side, and
they were both talking to him as if
they had known each other for a
long time.â€
“Well, to-day is Saturday, and
our afternoon for the woods,†said
Dick. “TI guess we shall find out a
little more about Maurice on our
walk. Bob Newton is coming out
to go with us. I gave him a little
commission to execute for me in the
village. Some half-dozen of us older
boys will separate from the rest and
go along together, and Maurice shall
be one. I wish Bob Newton was a
boarder, don’t you? He is such a
clever fellow.â€
“ He would not be so useful to us
if he was,†said Tom Bailey, smiling
significantly. “I had rather trust
him with my errands in the village,
TEMPTATION. 25
than any other day-scholar we have,
or even Peter. He knows so well
how to manage things, and keep an
innocent face on all the while. It
requires some talent to do that.
Do you think we can trust Maurice
Gray ?â€
“No knowing until we have tried
him,†said Dick. “I am not sure
but it is too soon to begin, but
he is such a pleasant fellow he is
worth trying for; if he has a few
rusty notions I think we can wear
them away, and make a friend of
him.â€
It was a glorious summer after-
noon, and as soon as dinner was
over the whole school set off to enjoy
their half-holiday in a long ramble
through woods and fields. Soon
after entering the woods, six or
eight of the older boys separated
themselves from the others, Dick
Wells so managing that Maurice
Gray should be one of the number.
They were shortly after joined by
26 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
Bob Newton from the village, who
carried on his arm a basket, which
he delivered to Dick. After wander-
ing about until they were weary,
amusing themselves with chasing
squirrels, searching for wild flowers,
etc., they seated themselves to rest
near the outskirts of the wood, in
a lovely spot, commanding a view
of fresh and flower-bespangled
meadows, and thriving fields of
corn and grain.
“ Here is a nice place to take our
lunch,†said Dick, throwing himself
on the grass and opening his basket.
The others gladly seated themselves
round him. Dick removed slyly
part of the contents of his basket,
and passed the basket containing
the remainder to the boys, as they
sat. It contained a generous supply
of cakes and dried fruits, which
were soon consumed with great
relish by the little party.
He then produced a couple of
bottles and proceeded to uncork
TEMPTATION. 27
them. “You got them from the
right place, Bob,†he said, “so we
may be sure it is good, for poor
champagne is bad enough.â€
He poured out a glass, and pre-
sented it first, from courtesy, to
Maurice Gray, as he was a stranger.
To his surprise and mortification,
Maurice politely, but decidedly,
declined it.
“Are you not accustomed to
drink champagne, Maurice?†said
Dick. “If not, just try this. It is
very nice, and quite refreshing after
a walk.â€
“No, I thank you,†said Maurice,
“you must excuse me, Dick, I had
rather not take any.â€
“Why, you are not very polite,â€
said Dick, “to decline taking it,
when I got it on purpose to treat
you with, thinking to give you
pleasure.â€
“JT am sorry you should consider
me impolite,†said Maurice. “I do
not intend to be so. but I would
28 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
rather be thought impolite, than do
what I feel to be wrong.â€
“Wrong!†said Dick; “why, what
can there be wrong in a simple glass
of champagne? Do not be so queer.
A young man, fourteen years of age,
is certainly at liberty to take a glass
of wine, if he pleases. We no
longer consider ourselves children.
Tam sure I, for one, feel capable of
judging what is right and fitting
for me to do; but there are plenty
to drink it if you will not, Maurice;â€
and the bottles were speedily emptied
by the other boys.
“You lost a most excellent glass
of champagne, Maurice,†said Bob
Newton. “ What is there wrong in
taking it, I should like to know ?â€
“Would you have done the same
if Mr. Harding had been here?â€
said Maurice, gently. “Would you,
Dick, have done the same as you
have done, if Mr. Harding had been
of our party ?â€
“Well,†said Dick, hesitatingly,
TEMPTATION, 29
“to speak the truth, Maurice, I
should not; but we are not obliged
to be all the time under his eye.
He will know nothing of it.â€
“My father placed me here,†said
Maurice, “to be under Mr. Harding’s
care, in his absence from home. He
told me to regard him as a friend,
master, and protector, and expects
me in all things to consult Mr.
Harding’s wishes and opinions ; and
I should feel as if I was acting very
wrong to do any thing contrary to
them. I would not do, when absent
from him, what I would not do in
his presence; and besides that, I
know my father would disapprove
of it. He is far away at sea,
thousands of miles from here, and
would never know it, but I love him
too well to do what I know he
would condemn.â€
“Oh, you are too particular
altogether,†said Tom Bailey. “You
will lose some of these ideas after
you have been here a while, and see
30 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
what capital times we have. A boy
of fourteen must begin to act a little
independently, and to think a little
for himself, or he will be a baby all
his life.â€
“T have begun to think for my-
self, and to act independently,â€
answered Maurice; “and that is
one reason why I decline taking
wine. I scorn the character of a
hypocrite. To think one way and
appear to act one way, and in reality
be doing things directly contrary to
the principles and appearance, is
what of all things I despise. I am
afraid to begin at fourteen years of
age to drink a glass of wine, for in
a short time I might want a bottle,
and then, losing my relish for wine,
I might be induced to take some-
thing more stimulating and powerful,
and who can tell what the end
might be? I might become an
indolent, useless man, or a habitual
drunkard, and perhaps lose soul
and body both. I do not say this
TEMPTATION, 3l
would certainly be the case, but it
has been the case of very many,
and I might add another to the
number. It is best to be on the
safe side, depend upon it; and I
am determined to do what I think
is right in this case, even though I
should lose your good opinion by
so doing. I should be glad to join
you any time in an innocent frolic,
when my conscience does not inter-
fere; but when that speaks to me,
I must obey its voice. My father
allows me enough of pocket-money ;
and a treat of cakes and fruit on
our walks, if Mr. Harding does not
disapprove of it, I shall always be
ready to give in my turn; but you
must never expect wine from me,
nor invite me to join with you in
drinking it; and now, suppose you
all make up your minds to give it
up, before it becomes necessary to
your pleasure to have it. It will
cost you now little but self-denial,
and by-and-by it may cost you much,
By THE NEW SCHOLAR.
or you may have imbibed so strong
a relish for it, that you will think
you cannot give it up at all.â€
“Tam not ready to agree to an
such proposition,†said Dick ; “ but
you will not inform on us, Mau-
rice 2â€
“T shall never do any thing to
bring you into difficulty,†replied
Maurice ; ‘‘ be assured of that; but
you must not invite me to join your
parties as long as you use champagne
or wine of any kind. I shall be
quite content to join the younger
boys on a walk or in a play.â€
Maurice stood up as he spoke,
and though, at first, some of the
boys were inclined to ridicule him,
he spoke with so much dignity and
independence, and commanded so
much respect by his manly bearing,
that no laugh was raised, and all
seemed desirous of conciliating his
good-will.
“ He isa fine, independent fellow,â€
said Frank Henley. “If his notions
TEMPTATION. 33
are strict, I am not sure but they
are correct. I like a boy,†con-
tinued he, rising, ‘“ who is not afraid
to express an opinion, though he
knows every one is against him.
Give me your hand, Maurice,—I
stand by you; and though I drank
the wine, I think it would have
been better not to have done it, and
for the very reasons you have
given.â€
Maurice gave his hand cordially.
“Tf you would all reflect a little
upon the subject,†he said, kindly,
looking around, “I do believe you
would all be of my mind. By doing
when absent from Mr. Harding
what you would not do in his
presence, you show more respect to
him than you do to your Maker, in
whose presence we always are.â€
A pause followed, which was
presently interrupted by the sound
of some one approaching from the
meadow which outskirted the wood.
The boys started and looked eagerly
c
34 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
in that direction to ascertain who
was coming to interrupt their retire-
ment.
One figure only appeared. Bob
Newton, who was nearest the
meadow, said, “It is Philip Graham,
but he sees nothing but the book
he is reading. He does not know
we are here,—but look! Dick,
Tom, Frank—stand here, just where
Iam. He is now leaning against a
tree. See! he has a cigar in his
mouth; and do you not recognise
by the cover of that volume, that it
is no book from Mr. Harding’s
library, [am sure? We know where
it came from, do we not? Mr.
Shaw’s circulating library,—plain
as the sun. I can tell the cover of
his books as far off as 1 can see
them.â€
“So can I,†said Dick; “I am
quite sure it is from Shaw’s. There
is your ‘ pattern, model boy,’ stealing
off alone to break two of Mr. Hard-
ing’s rules. He little suspects his
TEMPTATION. 35
‘model’ of such deceit. That is
the way your stiff, long-faced fellows
often turn out.â€
“Why,†said Bob Newton, “do
you remember, Dick, what a row
Mr. Harding made, when I brought
that cigar to school to give you,
and set you a few lessons in smoking
—what a long speech he made to
us about boys at fourteen getting
into such habits, and how he strictly
forbade any one ever to bring a cigar
to school?â€
“T remember it well,†said Dick.
“Mr. Harding would hardly believe
that his best boy would stealthily
break two of his rules. The circu-
lating library is forbidden, as we all
know, decidedly and entirely.â€
“Well, that is a foolish rule, I
think,†said Tom; ‘and whenever
I get a chance, I must say I get a’
book now and then, but I do not
set up to be a _ pattern, like
Philip.â€
The boys had unawares raised their
36 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
voices, and Philip started, and look-
ing in the direction from whence
they proceeded, discerned, through
the trees, the group that was watch-
ing him. He hastily pulled the
cigar from his mouth, and concealed
it, and pocketing the book, he
approached the woods with a grave
aspect.
“That must be a very interesting
book, Philip,†said Bob Newton,
“as we have been looking at you
certainly for ten minutes, without
you being aware we were so near
ou.â€
“And a fine cigar, I should
imagine also,†said Dick. “Pray,
where do you buy your cigars, Mr.
Graham? Does Mr. Harding fur-
nish you? We need not inquire
whose circulating library you encour-
‘age, as the cover of the book speaks
plainly enough for itself. There is
no mistaking that.â€
Philip looked exceedingly embar-
rassed. The colour flew to his face,
TEMPTATION. 37
he made an attempt to speak, but
turned and walked away, without
a word.
“‘ Well,†said Bob, “the next time
Mr. Harding tells us to imitate
Philip Graham, I shall think of
this.â€
Mark the difference between
Philip Graham and Maurice Gray:
Philip served in the letter, Maurice
served in the spirit. Philip loved
best the praise of men ; but Maurice,
the praise of God. The other boys
cared for none of these things.
38 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
CHAPTER IIT.
NURSE.
Two or three weeks after the last-
mentioned incident, a group of boys
were assembled on the playground,
when there appeared at the gate an
aged woman of quiet and quaint
aspect. Her dress was old-fashioned
and peculiar, and her manner and
appearance were those of one who
seldom crept from her own homely
fireside, to mingle in the great
world. Her face, though bearing
deeply the stern mark of time, wore
such an expression of peace, and
sweet, holy serenity, that none could
look at it without loving it, and
feeling that they were in the pre-
sence of one who walked with God.
NURSE. 39
She opened the large gate timidly,
and looked rather dismayed to find
herself suddenly in the midst of a
large party of boys, all curiously
looking at her.
“Ys Maurice Gray here?†she
asked.
“No, he is not, ma'am; he is in
the house,†was the answer. ‘“ You
seem to have a nice, large basket.
Have you brought any thing to
sell 2â€
“No, I have not,†she replied.
“T called to see Maurice Gray. Will
you tell me where I shall find him?â€
“Tf you will tell us what you
have in your nice, large basket,†said
Bob Newton, looking around him
very mischievously, “I will promise
to find him for you.â€
“ How can you be so rude 2†said
lame Louis, who stood near. “I
will go and find Maurice for you,
ma'am; but I cannot go so quick as
the other boys, because I am lame ;â€
and Louis walked towards the house.
40 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
“Now, please, old lady,†said Dick,
“just tell us if you are Maurice’s
grandmother, who taught him to be
such a good boy.â€
“Tam sorry,†said the old lady,
“that Maurice has such rude com-
panions.â€
“We all know he had a good old
grandmother,’ said Dick, “or he
would not have a pile of such good
books, and so many stupid notions
about some things. It is a thousand
pities it is so, for he is such a plea-
sant, good-tempered, merry fellow,
and such a favourite with us all, in
spite of his odd ideas.â€
“ Please, give us a peep,†said Bob
Newton, “ into your nice basket, and
we will praise Maurice up to the
skies.â€
The old woman made no answer.
Her eyes were fixed on the distance,
for she saw Maurice approaching,
and hastened forward to meet him.
Maurice looked grieved and vexed
when he saw her surrounded by the
NURSE. 41
boys, all rudely looking at her, but
running hastily towards her, ex-
claimed, “ My good, kind nurse, how
glad Iam to see you!†and giving
her his arm, and relieving her of
her basket, he led her towards the
house.
“Nurse! he called her nurse!â€
said Dick; ‘then she is not his
grandmother. I did not suppose
she was.â€
“T fear she will think us but a
rude, wild set of boys,†said Frank
Henley. “I could not treat an old
person so rudely.â€
“Why, it was all in fun,†said
Dick and Bob, looking rather
ashamed. “It was only fun. I
would not harm the good old lady
for a crown.â€
About half-an-hour after this,
Maurice, with his old nurse, and
Mr. Harding, were seen leaving the
house together, and quitting the
grounds, proceeded down the road
towards the village.
42 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
In less than an hour, Maurice
and Mr. Harding returned together.
Mr. Harding went into the house,
and Maurice approached the play-
ground.
“ Now, Bob,†said Frank Henley,
“if Maurice was a quarrelsome, cross
fellow, you and Dick would have a
battle with him for your treatment
of his old nurse ; for he looked much
vexed when he saw how she was
situated.†But Maurice came to-
wards them with his usual pleasant
smile.
“What is the name of your good
old nurse, Maurice?†said Louis
Tarleton.
“Burton,†answered Maurice;
“and I am sorry she was not better
‘received by my friends on her first
visit to me; but probably none of
you feel towards an old person as I
do, or have had the same cause.
But I must persuade you to love
and respect her, for she is coming to
live in the little green cottage, half-
NURSE. 43
a-mile from the school, and Mrs.
Harding has promised to employ
her when sickness or any extra occa-
sion shall require her services. I am
sure, when you know her, you will
never treat her disrespectfully again;
let me tell you something of her.â€
The boys gathered round Maurice.
“T suppose all of you have mothers
who watched over your childhood,
wiped your tears, and gave you
every pleasure, but I have no remem-
brance of my mother. She died
when I was hardly a year old.
My father, who is an officer in the
navy, was absent on a long cruise
at the time, and I was left entirely
to the care of good Nurse Burton.
She has often described to me my
mother’s farewell of me. She was
very young, scarcely twenty, when
she died. My nurse took me to
her, and laid me on the bed by her
side. She placed her feeble hand
on my head, and prayed silently
a few moments, and then said, ‘I
44 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
have put up once more, and for the
last time, the one only prayer I
have offered for my little Maurice
since the first hour of his birth. It
is that he might be in spirit and
in truth a follower of the blessed
Redeemer. Oh! nurse,’ she said,
‘you watched over my motherless
childhood—be the guide of this
dear little boy—I commit him in
confidence to you; and I give you
but one injunction in regard to him,
and that is that you will teach him,
as you did me, from the earliest
opening of his reason, to have the
single eye that discerns clearly God’s
will, and the single purpose that
fulfils it. As it regards this world’s
wealth, honours, or pleasures, God’s
will is mine. So long as my Saviour
is his Savour, through life and
through eternity, I ask nothing
more.’
“My dear mother died; and
strictly and faithfully did my good
nurse perform my mother’s dying
NURSE, 45
request. Her time, her strength,
her mind and soul were devoted
wholly to taking care of me. In
health and sickness, by night and by
day, she watched over me, studied
my happiness and improvement in
all things, and thought nothing a
sacrifice on her part that might
contribute to my welfare and plea-
sure. My father returned home
about a year after my mother’s death;
but his home was so desolate, that
after committing me again to the
tender care of Nurse Burton, he left
us. My nurse is a woman of excel-
lent sense. Her mind is elevated
by religious truths, She has a good
common education, and she was the
only instructor I had, or required,
in my earliest childhood. She
patiently toiled with me through
the first elements of education, but
the chief and most delightful study
to us both was the Bible. Before I
could read, she told me pleasant
stories from its pages, and instilled
46 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
into my mind its sacred truths.
And if there is now within me any
desire of right, or any proper notions
of duty, I owe them all, under God’s
blessing, to her pious and early
instructions. As soon as I could
speak, she taught me to pray, and
endeavoured above all things to im-
press upon my mind, that I was
ever in the presence of the all-seeing
God, and that outward forms, with-
out the spirit of religion, were
abomination in His sight. O! how
happily and quietly we lived together,
—my father’s visits to us alone
interrupting and giving variety and
delight to our humble home.
“ My first grief was when, at the
age of ten years, after having been
a year under my father’s instruction,
he was ordered to sea, and I was
sent to a school about six miles from
our home ; but I was to return every
Saturday and stay until Monday,
and my nurse would visit me during
the week, and so we became recon-
NURSE. 47
ciled, At that school I remained
until I was thirteen years of age,
when it was broken up, and for a
year I was again under the instruc-
tion of my father ; but on his again
being ordered to sea the other day,
he placed me here under the care
of Mr. Harding,—having, at the
earnest request of my kind nurse,
obtained a home for her in this
neighbourhood, where she could often
see me. She gladly left her native
village, and many friends who
valued her, to come here among
strangers to be near me. Only
think what a desolate childhood mine
would have been without her love
and care, and how ignorant I] might
have been of the best knowledge,
that of right and duty, without her
faithful teachings. When you think
of the love you bear your mothers,
and remember this was the only
mother I ever knew, you will not be
surprised at the attachment and
respect I feel towards her. I hope I
48 THE NEW SCHOLAR,
shall have the pleasure of taking
some of you to see her at her little
green cottage, and when you know
her you will learn to love her too.â€
The bell soon summoned the boys
to their rooms to prepare for after-
noon school. Several entered their
chamber together. They observed
the large basket which Nurse Burton
had carried on her arm, on a table
near Maurice’s bed; and the cover
being off, they saw it contained
some plum-cake, most temptingly
iced, and a quantity of fine ripe
peaches and plums. Maurice and
Philip Graham first entered the room
together.
“ Maurice,†said Philip, in a low
voice, on observing the basket, “you
had better put those things out of
the way, if you wish to keep them.
Conceal them among your clothes,
or you will get into trouble, if Mr.
Harding discovers that you have
them.â€
Several other boys, entering at
NURSE. 49
the same time, said the same thing,
telling him it was against the rules
of the school for any presents of that
kind to be accepted.
“Indeed,†said Maurice, “I did
not know it was against the rules of
the school, or I would on no account
have accepted them from my kind
nurse, though it would have dis-
appointed her much had I refused
them.â€
“Well,†said Dick, “you have
done it now, and so nothing remains
but to hide them. You must do it
quickly, too, for there is the second
bell.â€
The boys hastily descended to the
school-room, and they had all taken
their seats before Maurice entered ;
and to their surprise he held in his
hand the basket, and walked directly
up to Mr. Harding’s desk, and ad-
dressing him said—
“JT did not know, sir, it was
against your rules for us to receive
presents of this kind, or I should not
D
50 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
have accepted this that my good
nurse brought me to-day ; though it
would have grieved her much if I had
refused it, as she made the cake for
me herself, and brought the fruit all
the way from our own garden,
thinking I would like it better if it
came from home. Be so kind, sir,
as to pardon me for accepting it, and
not oblige me to return it to my
nurse, as it would disappoint her
much. I am willing you should do
what you think best with it.â€
Mr. Harding’s eyes beamed with
pleasure, as he looked upon the open,
ingenuous countenance of Maurice.
“Maurice!†he said, “ your honesty
merits my warmest praise. I give
you permission to accept the present
from your good nurse, and to do with
it as you please.â€
Satisfaction beamed from the
faces of many of the boys at this
eulogium from Mr, Harding, and
one only expressed envy and dis-
content. Philip Graham had always
NURSE. 51
merited, by his outward conduct and
good scholarship, the esteem of his
teacher, who necessarily could only
judge of his character by what he
saw; but Philip had done nothing
to win the affection of his teacher.
The friendly confidence with which
Maurice regarded Mr. Harding had
evidently won his love. Philip saw
a rival in the new scholar, who would
take his place in Mr. Harding's es-
teem ; and his cold heart, instead of
feeling that there was room enough
in the world for all, looked upon him
with envy and dislike. But Maurice
was wholly unaware of it, and
equally unaware that he had done
anything to excite praise or surprise
in any one. He was habitually
honest and upright. The Bible
taught him that as God knows all
things, it is of little importance to
hide anything from the knowledge
of man, and that deceit and hypoc-
risy were hateful in God’s sight, and
would sooner or later be unveiled.
52 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
“ Come, boys,†said Maurice, after
school, as they entered the play-
grounds, “one and all take seats on
the grass here, and help me to dis-
pose of the contents of Nurse Bur-
ton’s basket, and you will see what
excellent cake she makes, and what
fine fruit grows in our old garden.
Come, Philip,†he said, as Philip
Graham seemed turning away, as if
he thought it too childish to join the
eroup. “I know that boys as big
as you like a good slice of cake as
well as we—so come, take a seat
with us. This is a generous loaf,
and quite enough for all, and I have
borrowed a plate and knife that I
may serve it up handsomely.â€
Such a pleasant, good-natured
smile accompanied Maurice’s words,
that Philip could not resist them,
and he joined the party.
“No, I thank you, Maurice,†said
Bob Newton, as Maurice handed him
a slice in his turn. “I was so rude
to your good nurse to-day, that I
NURSE. 53
do really believe it would choke me,
if I should attempt to eat it. The
truth is, Maurice, I never did any
thing I was more ashamed of, and I
am willing to own it.â€
“ Nor I either,†said Dick. “ Bob
and I both feel alike about it, and
wish to go with you to see your good
nurse, to apologise to her, and ask
her pardon for our rude, ungentle-
manly conduct. We were much
excited and in a high frolic when
she appeared at the gate, and you
know her dress and appearance are
peculiar, and we were very thought-
less and did wrong, and must
certainly apologise for our mis-
conduct.â€
“Well,†said Maurice, “I am glad
you feel so about it, boys. I knew
if I told you all about her you would
respect her, and when you know her,
you cannot fail to love her; but she
is so good, she will never remember
it against you. I will forgive you
in her name, and we will go together
54 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
and explain all to her, and all will
be forgiven and forgotten; so now
do oblige me by helping to eat up
the cake and fruit, or I shall not
enjoy my slice at all.â€
“Well, Maurice,†said Bob, “ you
always make us do whatever you
please ; so we will accept our share,
though we do not at all deserve it.â€
“You were a bold fellow, Mau-
rice,†said Tom Bailey, “to take this
basket to Mr. Harding.â€
“Why, what else could I have
done with it?†said Maurice. “I
had accepted it, unconscious that I
was doing what was forbidden. You
do not suppose I would hide it and
deceive Mr. Harding? That would
indeed have been hard for me to do;
but there was nothing hard in telling
him that I had unintentionally
broken his rules. I am sure, had I
concealed it, I could never have eaten
any of it. Besides, I should have
done wrong, and offended God and
my own conscience.â€
NURSE. 55
“You are a strange fellow, Mau-
rice,†said Frank Henley, “ but I like
your way of dealing. I do not
believe another boy in school would
have done so ; but you have proved
that it is the best way.â€
“The right way is always the best
way,†said Maurice, “and the only
way in which we ought to act.â€
56 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
CHAPTER IV.
THE LAME BOY.
“Do not look so sad, Louis,†said
Maurice one day, as he joined the
lame Louis, who was sitting alone
under a tree in the playground, and
with dejected face watching the boys
at play. His crutch lay beside him
on the ground. The board on his
knee showed that he had been try-
ing to amuse himself with some
solitary game. ‘‘ Come, let me help
you at a game. I should like it
much.â€
Tears filled the eyes of the lame
boy. ‘Oh, no, indeed,†he said,
“vou must not sit moping here with
me. You are such a good hand at
play, and enjoy it so much, the boys
THE LAME BOY. 57
will all be after you. You sat here
a long time with me yesterday, and
through all the recess to-day. In-
deed, I cannot permit you to do it
now.â€
“Oh, I have had play enough
and want to rest now,†answered
Maurice. “I want to be with you
a while. There are plenty to play
without me.â€
“T shall never forget your kind-
ness to me, even if I live to be an
old man; but if you insist upon
sitting here with a poor lame boy
like me, let us talk a little, instead
of taking a game. I should like to
tell you a thought that was in my
mind just as you came up.â€
“Well, what was it?†asked
Maurice, kindly.
“T was wondering why it is, that
of all the boys here, I am the only
one that is deformed and lame. I
should be so happy if I could run
about and play with the others.â€
“Ah, Louis,†replied Maurice,
58 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
“there is but one answer to that
question, It is your heavenly
Father’s will, God is your Maker
and mine. He is the Maker of all
mankind. He makes some sound
in mind and body, and others weak
and deformed. He makes some
rich and others poor. As we are
all the work of His almighty hand,
He certainly has a right to create
us as He pleases. All He does is
for some wise purpose, and it is not
for us to question His ways. You
must hear my good nurse speak on
these subjects. She can teach you
far better than I can. You have
been promising me you would call
and see her for a long while. We
shall have plenty of time ; let us go
there now. Take my arm, and we
will walk slowly, so as not to tire
you.â€
Louis, leaning with one arm on
his crutch and the other on his
friend, walked slowly down the
shady road, and reached the little
THE LAME BOY. 59
green cottage. Under the porch,
covered with creepers and honey-
suckles, quite shaded from sight, on
a low bench, sat Nurse Burton with
a Bible on her lap.
“Ah, my dear child,†she said, as
she saw Maurice, “I thought you
would come to-day. You are just
in time for us to read our evening
lesson together, as we used to do at
home. And who is this young
gentleman,†she asked, looking pity-
incly at lame Louis. “I recollect I
saw him the day I first called on
you at the school.â€
“Tt is Louis Tarleton—one of
my best friends, nurse,†answered
Maurice, “and I know you will
love him. But first we will read
together, and then we will talk a
while.â€
Maurice seated himself by his old
nurse, and they read through a
chapter alternately, Nurse Burton
often stopping to explain and com-
ment on different verses as they
60 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
read. There was, indeed, a striking
contrast between the stooping, worn-
out form, the wrinkled face, and the
trembling voice of the old nurse,
and the youthful figure, glowing
countenance, and musical tones of
Maurice, as they sat there together
pondering the blessed word of life—
the help and strength of the aged,
the guide and counsellor of the
young. The descending sun gleamed
through the fresh creeper and honey-
suckle, and fell with its golden light
across their faces,—an emblem of
the blessed Sun of Righteousness
which inwardly shed its sanctifying
rays over their spirits.
“Do you not love the Bible,
young gentleman ?†said Nurse Bur-
ton, addressing Louis, as she closed
the book.
“T have never read it much,
except in the Church service,â€
answered Louis; “but you and
Maurice seem to enjoy it so much,
and it appears to make you both so
THE LAME BOY. 61
happy, that I wish I could love to
read it. You see I am lame, and I
cannot play like the other boys ; so
I read a great deal, and am often at
a loss for something to interest me,
and Mr. Harding says no one ever
tires of reading the Bible. I do not
know why, but it has always seemed
a dull book to me. Do you not
think it is hard for me to be lame,
nurse, and unable to run or jump
with the other boys? I have to sit
moping alone, or crawl around on
crutches.â€
“ Ah, speak reverently, my child,â€
said Nurse Burton, “of your afflic-
tion; it is God’s hand upon you.
You see not its purpose yet, but be
assured there is a wise purpose in it.
Let the language of your soul be,
‘My Father’s hand will never cause
His child a needless tear.’
and,
‘I cannot, Lord, Thy purpose see,
But all is well, since ruled by Thee;’
“Have you learned, dear child,
62 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
to love God as a father and friend?
If not, your lot is indeed a hard
one, and your cross a heavy one;
but only learn that, and you will
have but the single desire that His
will may be done in you and by
you. You will prefer to keep your
affliction if He wills it, and it will be
to you a visible token of His care
over you.â€
“Oh, how I wish I could feel
so!†said Louis, with emotion, tears
filling his eyes. “ How can I, good
nurse? Will you teach me ?â€
“The blessed Spirit will teach
you, dear child,†replied the good
nurse ; “and you can obtain all you
need, and that freely, by asking of
Him who giveth liberally. Begin
now to pray for it, and you will
receive in abundance. Study the
blessed Bible; and if my poor assist-
ance can help you to understand its
wondrous truths, come to me with
dear Maurice, and we will read it
together.â€
THE LAME BOY. 63
“T have long felt,†replied Louis,
“that I might be happier if I could
feel reconciled to my lot. Perhaps
if I learned to love God, I should
think less of my own troubles and
more of Him, and then I might be
happier.â€
“Tt surely would be so, my dear,â€
replied the nurse. “ Have you no
parents, Louis?â€
“My parents both died when I
was an infant,†answered Louis,
“and I have neither brother nor
sister.â€
“Then you must feel the more
need of a heavenly Friend, my dear
child,†answered the nurse. “ He
can supply the place of all others in
your heart, and by His presence life
will become to you so full of sweet
flowers, lovely music, and pleasant
pictures, that you will be as happy
as you can desire. What relatives
have you, my dear?â€
“T have an uncle,†replied Louis,
“who is always generous and kind
64 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
to me, but he is himself a lonely
man, having neither home, wife, nor
children ; and though he sometimes
takes me to the house where he
boards, on a visit, it is not pleasant
to me, and I generally pass my
vacations at school; and then, good.
nurse, | am often very sick. Last
spring I was so ill that my life was
despaired of. I have never felt so
strong since, and I heard the phy-
sician tell my uncle, that I could
never bear so severe an illness again.
That has often made me think a
rreat deal about dying, and I have
concluded that it would be quite as
well to die, as to live here in pain,
weakness, and mortification, through
along life. For of what use can I
ever be in the world, or what
pleasure can I take in living?â€
“Oh, my dear child,†answered
the nurse, “speak not so of the lot
God ordains for you. Light from
above will be shed upon your path,
and then all will be bright and
THE LAME BOY. 65
happy to you. Oh, Father of
mercies,†continued the godly wo-
man, raising her eyes and hands
to heaven, “ send down Thy blessed
light and truth into the soul of this
child of Thine. Give him the oil of
joy for mourning, and the garment
of praise for the spirit of heaviness,
for Jesus Christ’s sake.â€
The boys sat a few minutes longer,
conversing with the good nurse;
and as they walked homeward,
Maurice saw that a calmer and more
chastened spirit expressed itself in
the sad and dejected face of his
companion ; and his heart rejoiced,
for he hoped the poor lad would
now find the Comforter he so much
needed.
It was a public day at the school.
‘There was a class arranged for reci-
tation, and many visitors were pre-
sent. Frank Henley was at the
head of the class, Maurice second,
and Philip Graham third.
tion was given to Maurice, who
E
66 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
hesitated. He was quickly prompted
by Frank; but instead of availing
himself of his assistance, he replied,
““T do not recollect the answer to
that question.†The question was
passed to Philip, who replied cor-
rectly, and took Maurice’s place.
Frank Henley seemed quite
puzzled at this, and as several boys
stood together on the playground
after school, he said, ‘‘ Maurice,
did you not hear me prompt you
this morning? You must have
heard, for I spoke right into your
ear.â€
“Yes,†answered Maurice, “I
heard you, Frank, and am much
obliged to you for wishing to assist
me.
“Then, if you heard me, why did
you not answer the question ?†asked
Frank.
“Because,†replied Maurice, “ it
was my memory, and not yours, that
ought to have been ready, [t would
have been you answering, and not
THE LAME BOY. 67
me, and that would not have been
right.â€
“And so you preferred the morti-
fication of missing the question,â€
said Frank, “ before all the visitors,
and losing your place in the class, to
using my memory! Besides, allow-
ing Philip Graham, who would not
have hesitated (had he not known
the answer) to have made use of the
prompting I intended for you, to
take your place.â€
“Philip would not have been so
simple,†said Bob Newton, “as to
have lost his place, if he could have
kept it by any means. He knows
well enough how to get along, and
save himself from disgrace. When
he has not properly prepared his
lessons, I have many a time seen
him with a scrap of paper in his
hand, which he adroitly concealed,
and adroitly read, too, if occasion
required. If Mr. Harding knew
that, what would he think of his
model! You are too particular,
68 THE NEW SCHOLAR,
Maurice, you may depend upon it,
to get along here; and you will
find it so by-and-by.â€
“T must do what my conscience
tells me is right,†answered Maurice,
“whether I get along well or not.
If I do not, I should be very un-
hap
“Which would cause you to feel
most unpleasantly ?†asked Frank—
“to miss a question on exhibition
day, lose your place in the class,
and cause the visitors to think you
were an indolent, careless scholar, or
to answer one single question by my
prompting ?â€
“T should prefer missing several
questions,†answered Maurice, “to
have the character of an indolent
scholar, than do what I thought was
dishonest ; but I have only missed
one to- -day, and I have answered
many in various classes correctly,
and I do not think that either Mr.
Harding or the visitors will be so
unreasonable as to think I am
THE LAME BOY. 69
usually indolent or careless about
my lessons.â€
“Well, you are a strange fellow,â€
said Bob Newton, “and all I can
say is, there is not another boy in
school that has such notions.â€
70 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
CHAPTER V.
THE TRUTH.
“Ou, what have I done? What
have I done?†cried Maurice Gray.
“What shall I do? What will Mr.
Harding think of me. My unlucky
ball! I was so engaged in my game,
that I did not notice how near I was
to the conservatory, and thus have
disobeyed my teacher, and now I
am punished for it.â€
“What is it? What is it,
Maurice ?†cried several voices, and
the boys quickly gathered round to
ascertain what had happened.
“ Alas!†answered Maurice, “ my
ball has broken a square of glass in
the conservatory. I threw it with
such force that I fear it has thrown
THE TRUTH. 71
down some plants, for I heard a
loud crash. Let us go and see.â€
The boys hastened to the conser-
vatory. They were allowed to view
the flowers from the outside, but
were strictly forbidden to enter
it . without permission from their
teacher.
“Yes, it is too true,†said
Maurice. “Oh, I am so sorry. I
have thrown down that beautiful
scarlet cactus in full bloom, which
Mr. Harding showed us yesterday,
and have probably injured it very
much, What will Mr. Harding
think of me ?â€
“Oh, say nothing about it—say
nothing about it,†said Dick Wells ;
“such things have often happened
here before, and no one could ever
tell who did the mischief. Mr.
Harding has tried in vain, every
way, and offered rewards to have
the offender made known. But we
have a way of managing such things.
So do not trouble yourself about it,
72 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
Maurice. You are too good a fellow
to get punished. None of us will
allow it; depend upon that.â€
““T suppose he will be glad enough
to hide that from Mr. Harding,â€
said Philip Graham, aside to Bob
Newton, “though he was so bold in
acknowledging his fault about the
present from the old nurse. This is
quite a different and a more serious
affair.â€
“ Broken glass and broken flowers
are two things which very seriously
try Mr. Harding’s temper,†said
Bob Newton aloud. “He thinks
such things are always the result of
carelessness or wilfulness, and he has
preached more upon them than upon
almost anything else.â€
“Oh, never mind, Maurice,†said
Frank Henley. “I can easily get
you out of the scrape, and I will do
it.â€
Maurice stood thoughtfully look-
ing at the mischief he had done, and
hardly heeding the various remarks
THE TRUTH. 73
made by his companions; and did
not observe that Frank Henley had
instantly left the group, after saying
that he could and would get him
out of his difficulty.
“How fortunate,†said Tom Bailey,
“that Mr. Harding is absent this
afternoon! I saw him ride away
with his family immediately after
dinner, and he will not probably
return until dark, and he will not
find this out until to-morrow. So
we have time to arrange all about
the matter, and to prepare ourselves
for the cross-questioning we shall
all get on the subject.â€
At this moment Frank Henley
reappeared with Maurice’s ball in
his hand, and presented it to him.
Maurice looked at him with surprise.
“ Here, Maurice,†said Frank, “ here
is your ball. You are now safe
from discovery. It is not every
boy in school I would have broken
one of its rules to serve. But I
cannot see you punished.â€
74 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
“Oh, Frank,†said Maurice, “you
have not entered the conservatory
against Mr. Harding’s commands!
How could you 2â€
“How could I! Why,†said
Frank, “to make you safe. There
will now be no ball found there, and
Mr. Harding will not know how the
glass was broken. We will all agree
that we know nothing about it, and
he will think it was the gardener,
or Peter, or one of the other ser-
vants, and you will get off. I
really thought you would be grate-
ful for my services, but your looks
express any thing but gratitude.
[ should think I had injured
ou.â€
“ Oh, Frank,†said Maurice, “ you
intended to do me a service, and
have acted from feelings of friend-
ship and kindness to me. I do feel
truly grateful for your intentions,
but you have injured yourself, with-
out at all assisting me.â€
“How do you mean, Maurice,
THE TRUTH. 75
that I have not assisted you?†said
Frank. ‘The ball cannot now
testify against you. It is easy
enough for all of us to keep quiet,
and you will never be discovered.†.
“Oh, but I have done wrong,â€
said Maurice, “‘and I cannot con-
ceal it from my teacher. I shall
go to him directly when we assemble
in the hall for prayers to-night, if I
cannot see him before. I could
not rest to-night without confessing
all and receiving his forgiveness for
my disobedience and carelessness.
Tam sure he will not be unreason-
able or unkind, and I prefer receiving
the punishment I deserve to deceiv-
ing him.â€
“You will not be such a simple-
ton as that, surely,†said Bob New-
ton, “when Frank has done so
much to get you out of the difficulty.
It would be treating him very
unhandsomely, and exposing your-
self unnecessarily to Mr. Harding’s
censure.â€
76 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
“T am not ungrateful to you,
Frank, for the kindness you intended
me,†said Maurice; ‘“ but there is
only one path for me, and that is
the right one. It is ever plain and
open to us all, if we will but see it.
There are many winding and crooked
ways, but they are always full of
perplexity and trouble. Suppose I
follow your advice, and conceal
what I have done from our teacher,
I shall cause you all to practise
deceit, the blame of the accident
will rest on the wrong person, and
feeling that he has been injured and
deceived, it will be a long time before
Mr. Harding forgets the affair. But
if I do right and confess my fault,
and submit myself to my just pun-
ishment, no one will be involved
but myself, and no one but the real
offender will be suspected.â€
“And Frank—what will he do
in that case?†asked little Joe
Green, who stood intently gazing at
Maurice, and apparently quite con-
THE TRUTH. V7
founded at the new doctrines he
was uttering.
“Oh!†said Frank, “I can man-
age it easy enough for myself. If
Maurice does not choose to accept
my assistance, 1 can easily replace
his ball where I found it; that is
clear enough. I have not the fancy
for being punished that he has, and
am willing to be obliged to a friend
once in a while.â€
“And so am J, Frank,†said
Maurice, ‘‘and to no one sooner
than yourself; but suppose I
deceived my teacher, I cannot
deceive God, who knoweth all
things. I feel that His all-seing
eye is upon me, and I must act as
in His sight.â€
“You are a proud fellow, Mau-
rice,†said Frank, in an angry tone,
and seizing the ball roughly from
his hand, he walked towards the
conservatory.
The bell rang for evening prayers.
“T guess Maurice will change
78 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
his mind to-night about confessing
this accident,†said Phil Graham to
Frank Henley, as they walked to-
gether towards the hall. “ Depend
upon it, with all his bragging and
preaching about right and conscience,
he has repented fifty times of not
accepting your offer to get him out
of his scrape without exposure.â€
“T do not agree with you there,
Phil,†said Frank. ‘ He would not
accept it now, if it was made to
him this moment; but he is a char-
acter you cannot well understand,
Phil. Your motto has always been
plain enough to us all, ‘ Make clean
the outside of the cup and the
platter, but Maurice’s seems to be
‘Make clean the inside.’ I must
own he is anoble fellow. Though I
was provoked with him this after-
noon for spurning my assistance, I
have got over it now, and I like
him all the better for it, and I wish
I was like him.â€
“Well, we shall see how he'll
THE TRUTH. 79
manage it,†answered Philip. “ De-
pend upon it, his heart will fail to-
night, and he will be glad to keep
clean the outside, and let the inside
0.
It was quite a large assembly
that gathered at morning and even-
ing prayer at Mr. Harding’s school.
It included his own family, his
pupils, and the numerous servants
of his household. Mr. Harding was
in his accustomed place when the
boys entered, and was thoughtfully
turning over the sacred volume that
lay before him. The silence in the
room was interrupted by Maurice,
who, leaving his seat, approached
Mr. Harding, and asked permission
to speak a few words to him before
the evening exercises commenced ;
adding, “I have done something
unintentionally, but carelessly, sir,
which will displease you, and I
cannot retire for the night happily,
until I have confessed to you.
He then related the occurrences
80 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
of the afternoon, and blamed him-
self very much for becoming so
absorbed in his game as to approach
so close to the forbidden part of the
playground near the conservatory,
and concluded by saying, “I am
exceedingly sorry, sir. I submit
myself cheerfully to the punishment
I deserve; only let me know that
you will not think I would wil-
fully do any thing to injure you,
or deliberately disobey your com-
mands.â€
There was a profound silence in
the room while Maurice spoke, and
his words were heard distinctly by
all.
The silence continued a moment
after he had ceased to speak, when,
to the surprise of all, Frank Henley
left his seat, and approaching his
teacher, said—
“‘T too have done wrong to-day,
sir, and have disobeyed you; and
though in times past I have always
endeavoured to conceal from you
THE TRUTH. 81
the accidents and disobedience of
which I have been guilty, I so
admire the bold and honest conduct
of Maurice, that I am induced to
follow his example. Unknown to
Maurice, and wishing to save him
from exposure, I entered the con-
servatory, contrary to your orders,
and took away his ball. I presented
it to him, telling him, as that could
not now witness against him, it
would be easy for him to get out of
the difficulty ; that you would never
suspect him, but would impute the
blame to some other person, who I
could answer for it would never be
discovered. I was angry with him
for decidedly, but kindly, refusing
to accept my proposal and conceal
it from you; and seized the ball
roughly from his hand, saying, I
was not then going to get myself
into trouble, and that I should re-
turn it to the conservatory. I left
him intending so to do; but as I
walked along, my own mean con-
EF
82 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
duct contrasted with the brave and
honest course of Maurice presented
itself vividly to my mind. He was
so different from any boy I had ever
met with before, that I could not
help admiring him and desiring to
imitate him. A voice seemed sound-
ing in my ear, ‘Truth, brave Frank,
—be honest, Frank.’ It was a new
idea for me to act upon, and I did
not know that I should have courage
to do it; but I am glad I have, sir,
for I feel much happier than if I
had concealed my disobedience, and
I am willing to be punished as I
deserve.â€
Frank ceased to speak. Mr.
Harding looked much agitated, and
seemed struggling to command his
feelings. There was a_ breathless
silence in the room. All eyes were
turned, first on the teacher, and then
on the two manly youths who stood
before him. At length Mr. Harding
said— .
“Maurice, you have done me
f
THE TRUTH. 83
more service to-day, than you could
have done me injury, had you
broken all the glass in my conserva-
tory, and destroyed every plant that
it contains. I would be willing that
such an accident should occur very
often, for the sake of your good
example, and feel grateful to you for
its effect upon Frank—lI trust it will
be of lasting benefit to his character.
I freely forgive you your carelessness;
and to show my esteem for your
character and influence, will reward
you by forgiving Frank the fault he
has committed in his effort to serve
you. Frank!†he continued, turn-
ing towards him, “ you deserve com-
mendation for the effort you have
made to confess your fault. The
struggle must have been hard for
you, if you have hitherto been in
the habit of deceiving and conceal-
ing. I trust you will henceforth
follow the good example of Maurice,
and I hope ere long you will be
uniformly actuated by the same high
84 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
notions of duty which influence him.
For that which alone gives perman-
ency to any good intentions or
resolutions is to act in the fear and
love of our heavenly Father.â€
Mr. Harding then extended his
hand kindly, first to Maurice, and
then to Frank. They bowed and
retired to their seats, and the exer-
cises of the evening proceeded.
CONTRASTS. 85
CHAPTER VI.
CONTRASTS.
Tr was the Lord’s day. The ser-
vices of the sanctuary were over.
It was a rule of Mr. Harding’s that
each boy should pass the intervening
time from the close of the afternoon
service until tea-time, in his own
closet. Books appropriate for the
day were provided for all, and a
lesson in the Bible was to be learned
for the evening, that part of the
Sabbath being devoted entirely by
Mr. Harding to the religious in-
struction of his pupils. Let us
glance for a moment into the closets
of some of the boys most conspicuous
86 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
in our story, and see how they are
passing the precious hours of God’s
holy day, when none but the all-
seeing Hye is upon them.
Frank Henley sat at his desk; his
Bible and question-book lay open
before him. He had evidently been
studying his lesson, but his head
was now leaning on his hand, and
an expression of thought was upon
his features quite foreign to his usual
light-hearted, gay look. He seemed
pondering in his mind some import-
ant subject. Yes!—new thoughts
had lately sprung up in his heart.
He had felt the nobleness of confess-
ing a fault even to his fellow-crea-
ture, and that led him to reflect how
often he had deceived him. The
words of Maurice—‘‘ We cannot
deceive God, who knoweth all
thingsâ€â€”had led him to think how
often, by deceit, and falsehood, and
neglect of duty, he must have
offended his great Creator. The
Bible lesson of the afternoon had
CONTRASTS. 87
drawn his thoughts into a serious
train ; the Spirit of the Holy One
was near, hovering around his re-
tirement with most precious and
blessed boons and benedictions, all
ready to pour into his youthful soul.
God grant he may open his heart to
receive them, and not grieve Him
away by thoughtlessness or love of
ease |
Dick Wells had stolen into the
closet of Tom Bailey, unknown to
any one; they were sitting close
together, talking very earnestly in
low whispers, lest it should be dis-
covered that they had transgressed
a rule of the school, and were pass-
ing the hours together. They
appeared to be laying a plan for
something which was difficult to
settle, as they often paused thought-
fully, and then resumed their con-
versation, as if undecided what course
to take. Had one been near he
might have heard such phrases as
these—‘ Splendid horses â€â€”“‘ Best
88 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
circus in the country ’—“ Fine
musicâ€â€”‘“I am determined I will
go†—“Somehow or other I am quite
decided about that. I had rather
be punished for going than not go at
all; but we can manage so as not to
be discovered, I know.â€
“Bob Newton is going,†said
Dick, “and Frank Henley will go,
and Harry Blake and Will Foster—
we are sure of those. Will it do to
ask Maurice Gray ?â€
“T should like much to have
him, if we could persuade him to
join us,†said Tom; “but he is so
very strict, I do not think there is
any use in asking him, for we do
not of course wish any one to
know of it, who will not heartily
join us.â€
“Maurice delights so much in
horses,†said Dick, “that we might
perhaps persuade him to go.â€
“Don't you believe it,†answered
Tom. ‘He loves fun and horses
too, I know, as well as any of us;
CONTRASTS. 89
and could he go with Mr. Harding’s
permission, he would enjoy it much;
but Maurice would never run away
and go. I am certain of that.â€
“He is bold enough to do it, if
he chose,†said Dick. ‘‘ There is no
cowardice in him. Iam no coward,
but I dare not act as he does in
some things. I have not the same
kind of courage. There is some-
thing I cannot understand about
him, but I do like him exceedingly
for all that.â€
“There will be no harm in sound-
ing him some time,†said Tom.
“We are sure of one thing, he will
not betray us, or get us into any
trouble.â€
“Our best plan,†said Dick, “I
think, will be to ask permission to
go to the woods on Wednesday
afternoon, when the circus is in the
village; and then the older boys
can separate themselves from the
rest. That will not excite suspicion,
for we often do that; and then
90 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
make the best of our way as fast as
possible to the village, and if we
have good luck, and do not meet
Mr. Harding, nor his assistant Mr.
Neville, we shall get along well;
perhaps we may think of some other
way before the time.
“Well,†said Tom, “we will con-
sider this plan settled unless we
can think of a better.â€
Philip Graham sat at his desk,
with his Bible and question-book
before him, studying his lesson most
attentively for a short time—for he
was quick to learn—and it was not
many minutes before he had it
prepared. He then slyly drew a
book from his desk and looked
around the room. But why? No
person could possibly be concealed
there. He then looked from his
window, and then drew his chair
back a little that he might not be
seen from the outside, and then
opened the book he had taken from
his desk, and was soon absorbed in
CONTRASTS. 91
its pages. Dick and Tom would
have recognised it at a glance as
belonging to Mr. Shaw’s circulating
library.
Lame Louis begged permission of
Maurice Gray to pass the hours with
him; but Maurice firmly refused
his request unless he could obtain
the consent of Mr. Harding; and
to oblige Louis, Maurice went with
him to their teacher to request
the favour, which was kindly
granted.
The sad and dejected expression
of Louis’s pale face was softened
into a look of more gentleness and
submission, which was quite touch-
ing. They appeared deeply inter-
ested in the evening lesson, and
Louis often paused and with much
earnestness asked his young teacher
the explanation of various passages
as they proceeded. After they had
completed their lesson, Maurice
turned to another part of the Bible,
and they read and conversed with
92 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
great interest on the subjects of
various chapters.
The hours passed rapidly away,
and the ringing of the bell to
summon them to tea, still found
them studying with pleasure that
Holy Book which can alone make
us “ wise unto salvation,†and afford
us consolation under all the difficul-
ties and trials of life.
“Maurice,†said Philip Graham,
entering his closet one day, where
Maurice sat preparing his lessons for
school, “I have a word to say to
you alone.â€
“Well, what is it, Philip?†said
Maurice, laying down his book.
“Can I do any thing to assist
you?â€
“Oh no,†said Philip, “‘ quite the
contrary; I want to do you a
favour.â€
“T am much obliged to you,â€
said Maurice. ‘“ What may it
be?â€
“T observe you are very fond of
CONTRASTS. 93
reading,†said Philip. “Is it not
so 2â€
“Yes, indeed,†said Maurice, “it
is one of my chief pleasures. The
having lived all my life in the
country, and being greatly depend-
ent upon myself for amusement,
has given me, I suppose, a taste
for reading.â€
“ And how do you like the books
of Mr. Harding’s library,†asked
Philip;—“ such as we are permitted
to use?â€
“Very much, indeed,†replied
Maurice. “I have not been at a
loss since I have been here for
interesting reading, and it must be
a long time before I have exhausted
the library, especially as Mr. Hard-
ing is so kind as to be constantly
adding to it.â€
“But would you not sometimes
like a change,†asked Philip, “in
your reading? I have a plan I
think you would like, which will
make a pleasant variety in your
94 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
reading, give you much pleasure,
and I will take all the trouble of it.
IT am a subscriber to Mr. Shaw’s
circulating library, and I thought
if you would like to pay half the
subscription, you can pay the money
to me. I will obtain and return all
the books, and so no one will know
that you have anything to do with
‘liek ‘
“T dare say, Philip,†said Mau-
rice, “‘you intend me a favour, and
therefore I am obliged to you; but in
the first place, I will never wilfully
break any of Mr. Harding’s rules,
and you know one of them is, that
we shall never take books from the
circulating libraries. In the second
place, my father has expressed a
wish to me that I should never
read frivolous books, as he says it
gives one a disrelish for useful read-
ing; and as Mr. Harding provides
us with works of history, biography,
and travels, I therefore can have no
use for Mr. Shaw’s books. And in
CONTRASTS, 95
the third place, I have no taste now
for works of fiction, and do not wish
to acquire one, as I fear it might
injure me, and cause me to waste
my time.â€
“Oh,†answered Philip, “as for
that, I like history, biography, and
travels, also; but I must have a
variety. Novels are delightful, and
will never injure you. I have been
reading as many as I choose for
several years, and I do not see that
{ am any the worse for it.â€
“But the love you have acquired
for them,†said Maurice, “leads you
deliberately to disobey your teacher
to obtain them. I should think
that was evil enough, and you know
not to what else they may lead
you.â€
“Oh! such rules I always think
are made for the younger boys,â€
said Philip. “I am no longer a
child, and will not submit lke a
child to every such regulation. If
I set a good example and keep my
96 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
own counsel, that is enough, I am
sure. When have I ever failed in
a lesson, or been reproved by my
teacher? There is not a boy in
school more perfect than I am.
But come! do not be a child any
longer, Maurice,†he continued,
drawing a book from his pocket,
“just take this and examine it.
It shall cost you nothing. Itisa
most thrilling story. If you read
this, I know you will thankfully
accept my proposal.â€
Maurice drew back, and refused
_ the book.
“No, Philip,†he said, “you can-
not, by any means, tempt or per-
suade me to have anything to do
with that book, or any other that is
forbidden us. It is wrong, and I
am afraid to do what is wrong.â€
At this moment the bell rang
for dinner. Footsteps were heard
in the hall. Philip, unperceived by
Maurice, hastily concealed the book
under some pamphlets and papers
CONTRASTS. 97
on Maurice’s desk, and left him.
Maurice thought no more of the
book; and Philip was that day
summoned home to visit his father,
who was very ill.
A fortnight passed away, when
one morning Mr. Harding was
called out of school, and after
being absent a few minutes, he re-
turned, looking unusually grave,
and addressing his school, said
“that Mr. Shaw from the village,
had just called to look up a book
that had for several weeks been
missing from his library, and which
was taken out by one of the pupils
of the school. He refuses to give
the name of the boy, as he is under
a solemn promise of secrecy, unless
the book cannot be otherwise ob-
tained. The book, he said, was a
new one, and the only copy he had;
and as one volume was missing, he
could not use the other, or he
would not have made known the
circumstances to me. But as the
G
98 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
young gentleman who had it had
not called for some time, he must
excuse him for using the most
prompt method for obtaining his
property, and he should make
known his name unless he received .
his book without needless delay.
I am exceedingly grieved,†con-
tinued Mr. Harding, ‘that any one
should have violated what I con-
sider one of the most important
rules of my school, as you all know
how strongly I have often expressed
my abhorrence of the kind of books
usually found in circulating libraries,
such as Mr. Shaw’s. It seems to
me also an act of ingratitude, as
I have been at the personal expense
of purchasing a library for your
use, of such books as I approve. I
advise whoever has the book Mr.
Shaw is in search of, to confess it
immediately, otherwise Mr. Shaw
will himself make it known.â€
No one spoke or moved.
Mr. Harding looked carefully
CONTRASTS. 99
around the room, and then added,
“There is no one absent from the
schooi now but Philip Graham, and
his conduct has been such as to
exonerate him from the suspicion of
so gross a Violation of duty, and of
course it must be one of those now
present.â€
Mr. Shaw returned home, and
Mr. Harding then directed the boys
to remain in their places while he
visited their rooms in search of the
missing book. He was absent but
a few moments, when he reappeared
in the school-room, bringing a book
which they all knew came from the
forbidden circulating library. His
countenance was very grave, and he
said, with unusual emotion—
“‘T have found this book where I
least expected to find it, and where,
before searching, I should have
felt certain it would not be found.
It was concealed under papers and
pamphlets on the desk of Maurice
Gray.â€
100 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
Maurice involuntarily started at
the sound of his name, but soon
recovered himself and looked
steadily at his teacher.
“Oh, Maurice!†said Mr. Hard-
ing, with much feeling, “have I
indeed been deceived in you? Why
did you not, as on former occasions,
come forward and confess your
fault ?â€
Maurice arose in his seat, and
said, respectfully, “I have nothing
to confess, sir. I did not know the
book was there.â€
“Then you accuse some one,â€
said Mr. Harding, “of secreting the
book under papers upon your desk,
do you ?â€
“Tt must have been done by
some one else, sir,†answered Mau-
rice, “for I have never read, nor
even taken into my hand, a book
from the circulating library, since I
entered your school.â€
“The missing book is found
secreted upon your desk, Maurice,â€
CONTRASTS. 101
said Mr. Harding. “Every thing
looks against you, but I am per-
suaded you have never yet deceived
me.
“Circumstances are certainly
against me, sir,†said Maurice,
looking calmly at his teacher with
his full honest eye, “ but I do not
dare to lie or deceive. I believe I
have never given you cause to doubt
my integrity, and I hope you will
believe me, when I say I did not
know the book was there. As it
has been found there, and has been
missing for a fortnight, I know of
but one way in which it could have
been put there. But I beg of you
to take some other method of ascer-
taining the truth. I may implicate
one who is innocent, and nothing
but your express commands can
cause me to make known my sus-
picions. If you will please to wait
a day or two longer, perhaps all
will be cleared up.â€
“T have such confidence in you,
102 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
?
Maurice,†said Mr. Harding, “and
feel such a respect for your wishes,
that I will let the matter rest until
to-morrow, when Mr. Neville re-
turns, and I will consult with him -
as to the best course to pursue.â€
Philip Graham returned that
evening to school. He looked very
sad and much softened. He had
come from the deathbed and funeral
of his father, and was received with
much kindness and sympathy by
Mr. Harding.
Mr. Neville returned the next
day, but not until the boys had
been assembled in school for an
hour, and of course Mr. Harding
had no opportunity to consult
with him on the discovery of the
offender.
After the lessons were over, Mr.
Harding related to Mr. Neville, in
presence of the whole school, the
circumstances of the missing book,
and concluded by asking him if he
could conceive who would have
CONTRASTS. 103
taken the book from the library, or
how it could have been concealed
on Maurice’s desk without his know-
ledge. “I have had this in my
possession,†he added, producing
the book, “and have examined its
contents, and it has made me the
more determined to discover who
among my pupils could have such a
low and depraved taste as to feel
inclined to read it. I feel ashamed
to think that I have a boy in my
school who has a taste for such
reading.â€
Mr. Neville looked much dis-
turbed while Mr. Harding was
speaking, and after a few moments
he said—
“Tt is most painful to me to
be obliged to bring disgrace and
reproach upon one who has hitherto
occupied a high position in the
school, in every way; but it is my
duty to state what I know of this
affair, that suspicion may not rest
where it is undeserved. I intended
104 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
to have made known to you,
sir,†he continued, addressing Mr.
Harding, “the circumstances which
occurred a fortnight since; but as
I was very much occupied at the
time in preparations for my journey,
it escaped my mind, and I had
quite forgotten the affair, until you
mentioned what occurred _ here
yesterday.
“It was about a fortnight since,
I was on my way to the room of
Maurice Gray. I wished to speak
with him alone. As I approached
the room, I heard some one con-
versing with him within, and not
wishing to interrupt them, I retired
to a window in the room to wait
until his visitor departed, and
unintentionally overheard all the
conversation within. Some one was
urging Maurice to become a sub-
scriber to the circulating library,
telling him he should have no
trouble about it, that he would pro-
cure and return all the books, etc.,
CONTRASTS. 105
and he seemed at the same time to
be urging upon him a volume to
read. Maurice Gray firmly and
positively refused to have any thing
to do with it, giving the best of
reasons for so doing, that he would
never wilfully break a rule of the
school—that his father entirely dis-
approved of such reading—that he
did not wish to cultivate a taste
for it himself—that he was perfectly
satisfied with, and much interested
in, the books which were provided
for him to read. His companion
was still urging Maurice to do as
he desired, when the bell interrupted
them, the other boys entered the
room, and he was obliged to leave.
I saw no book in his hand when he
left the closet. I think it must
then have been left there. The
boy who was conversing with Mau-
rice, and whom I saw leave the
closet, was Philip Graham.â€
Mr. Harding started with sur-
prise. He was well aware that
106 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
among his older pupils there were
some he could not trust, as they
preferred their own will to his; but
Philip Graham, from outward con-
duct, had always been exemplary,—
what the boys called “Mr. Hard-
ing’s model.†He was a brilliant
scholar—punctual and _ studious,
and was supposed by his teachers
to be a boy of strict moral principles.
His comrades knew him better, but
it was a great disappointment to
Mr. Harding to find he had been
so deceived. He sat silent at his
desk for some minutes, and then
called Philip Graham, who arose in
his seat.
“There can be no doubt,†said
Mr. Harding, “ of the entire correct-
ness of Mr. Neville’s statement. If
you have any excuse to make, or
any explanation to give, you have
an opportunity.â€
Philip stood erect. His eyes were
cast down, but his countenance was
unmoved, and he made no reply.
CONTRASTS. 107
“Tt grieves me more than I can
express,†continued Mr. Harding,
“to be compelled to look not only
with suspicion and distrust, but
with deep disapprobation, on one
whom I have always regarded with
confidence and esteem. I must
henceforth regard you as opposed
to my plans and my interests.
This is the first offence of yours
that has ever come to my knowledge,
but it is one of great aggravation.
You have deliberately disobeyed
me, and as you are a subscriber to
the library, your offence is probably
one of long standing. Nor is that
all. You have used your influence
to induce another to break my rules,
and to pervert his mind with such
vile trash as this book contains. I
cannot suppose that this is your
only attempt. It may be that you
have induced others, whose minds,
unlike that of Maurice, are not for-
tified by good principles, to follow
your example. I need not say that —
108 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
you have lost the high place in my
regard which you formerly held,
and nothing but a long course of
correct conduct can restore you to
my confidence. My sympathy
with your great affliction leads me
to suspend for the present the
infliction of merited punishment.
One word of advice I must give
you. Of all the severe judgments
which our blessed Redeemer de-
nounced, none were more severe
than those which respect hypocrites
—those who appeared outwardly
righteous, but were within full of
deceit and wickedness. May He
give you a clean heart, and renew
a right spirit within you!â€
Young men, learn here what
power there is in a good character
to carry men safely over the rough
voyage of life; while a want of
such character is sure to send the
brightest and most briliant to a
dishonoured tomb.
What training, then, can be com-
CONTRASTS. 109
pared with that of preparing men
to have a law within themselves ?
You may put a Bible into the hands
of a young man and charge him to
read it, you may lay down rules for
the government of his conduct and
beg him to observe them, you may
set before him the example of good
men, and exhort him- to follow it;
but all will not answer unless the
principle of right-doing is imbibed.
There will be hours of forgetfulness
when that Bible will not be read;
there will be assaults of temptation,
when those rules will be neglected ;
and there will be allurements to
evil, when the example of others
will be powerless. Nothing, noth-
ing, will serve the purpose, short of
fixed and settled principles of action,
based on the love of God in our
hearts. Remember the exclamation
of Cardinal Wolsey—“ Had I but
served my God with half the zeal I
have served my king, He would not
have forsaken me in my old age.â€
110 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
CHAPTER VIL.
RESULTS.
“Untucky! unlucky! unlucky !â€
cried Dick Wells, joining a group
of the older boys on the playground.
“Ts it not, Tom, the most unlucky
thing in the world that the birth-
day féte and the circus come on the
same day? I never heard of any
thing more provoking. How can
we manage it?â€
“It is indeed bad enough,â€
answered Tom, “but we must do
the best we can, and that is, to
leave home as early as possible, and
come out of the circus before it is
over, and try to be at home again
RESULTS. 111
by four o'clock, which is the hour
we are invited to the féte.â€
“Yes, that is all we can do,â€
answered Dick, “unless we give it
up altogether, and that is what I
will not do, happen what may.
There never was such a tempting
handbill, and I must go, and think
of the consequences afterwards.â€
“We must obtain permission,â€
said Tom, “to go to the woods
immediately after dinner, and as
soon as we are out of sight, make
the best of our way to the village.
One of us must try to keep an eye
to the time, and just before four we
must leave; and if we are fifteen
minutes too late, Mr. Harding will
think we did not know the hour, or
that we wandered farther than we
intended.â€
“Well, that ig what we will
decide upon,†said Dick. ‘“ How
many of us are there? Bob New-
ton joins us at the tent. He is to
buy our tickets and have all ready,
112 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
so that there will be no delay.
Why, Maurice, I did not observe
you were here. I did not mean you
should know our secret, as I thought -
there would be no use in inviting
you; you are so fearful of disobeying
Mr. Harding. Come now! do be
somebody for once. Join our party,
and see the most delightful circus
in the world.â€
“ You must, Maurice,†said Bob
Newton ; “as you have overheard
the whole plan, you cannot help it.
You are so fond of horses, and ride
so well yourself, you will enjoy it ;
and you may learn something use-
ful too in the way of managing a
horse—eh ?â€
“Oh! say nothing more to me
about it,†answered Maurice. “ You
all know very well that I will not join
you ; but I fear you will all get into
trouble, so you had better give it
up. Jam sure the pleasant enter-
tainment Mr. Harding gives us on
Wednesday ought to be sufficient
RESULTS. 113
amusement for us, and suppose you
were detained, or did not know the
hour, how mortified you would all
feel to be discovered at such a time
—to say nothing of the disobedience,
and the meanness of skulking away
in such a manner to attend a circus.
Better give it up.â€
“We have thought it all over,
Maurice,†said Dick, “and are quite
resolved to run all risks and go, and
nothing you can say will induce us
to change our minds. So if we
cannot induce you to join us, we
will drop the subject.â€
Maurice made no answer, but
putting his arm within Frank’s, he
coaxingly led him away.
“ Now, Frank,†he said, as they
walked along, “it is but a short
time since you determined to be
more conscientious, and that you
again would not violate Mr. Hard-
ing’s rules. Why will you allow the
first temptation to draw you away
2 29
from your duty ? X
114 . THE NEW SCHOLAR.
“Oh, Maurice!†said Frank, “I
cannot withstand such a temptation
as this. It is too much for me.
Of all things in the world, the circus
is my delight. After this I do in-
tend to try to do right.â€
“Until thenext temptation comes,
Frank,†said Maurice. ‘Where is
the virtue of doing right, when there
is no temptation to do wrong 2â€
“ That is true,†said Frank ; “ but
this once, Maurice, I must follow
my inclination. I am quite as de-
termined as the others. Happen
what will, I attend the circus this
time.â€
“J fear you will repent of it,â€
answered Maurice. “It seems to
me to be quite impossible for you
to leave the village after the circus,
and be here in time for the féte.
If you are late, Mr. Harding will
think you very ungentlemanly, and
feel as if you treated him with great
rudeness.â€
“Oh! trust us, Maurice,†said
RESULTS. a Aalto
Frank, “for slipping in unobserved.
We have done such things before
now. Mr. Harding will never know
but what we came in with the rest,
there will be so many there. De-
pend upon it, we will not be dis-
covered.â€
“J am sorry to see you so deter-
mined, Frank. I hoped I might
persuade you to abandon the plan ;
though I had but little hope of in-
fluencing the other boys. But you
are more guilty than the others, be-
cause you are breaking a resolution
to do right, and had already taken
one step, and are now going back-
wards, and will find it harder than
ever to commence again.â€
“YT wish I was thoroughly good
like you, Maurice,†said Frank,
“then I could do right easily enough.
But Inevercan be. I never thought
I should like to be good until I
knew you. Almost all the boys I
ever knew before who pretended to
be good, were like Philip Graham ;
116 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
good enough before their teacher,
but elsewhere just like all the other
boys. And though I never pre-
tended to be good myself, I always
despised hypocrisy more than any
thing else. But it seems to make
no difference with you where you
are or who you are with, and that
is a character I would like to imi-
tate.â€
“Do not talk to me so,†said
Maurice. ‘No one knows my heart
save myself, and Him who knows
all things ; so no one can know how
often I fail in all my endeavours to
be and to do what I desire. But
my heavenly Father, through His
mercy in Christ Jesus, has compas-
sion on my weakness, and gives me
the earnest, constant desire to serve
and to please Him. He pardons
my manifold transgressions, and
comforts me with assurances of His
love and care towards all those who
sincerely wait upon Him.â€
“ Well, Maurice,†said Frank, “I
RESULTS. 117
would like to be as good as you, and
after the circus, 1am going to try
again, but I cannot give up that
now, so good-bye.†And off ran
Frank to join the circus party.
The long expected Wednesday at
last arrived. Now it happened that
some indispensable article for the en-
tertainment was forgotten, and Mr.
Harding mounted his horse, and pro-
ceeded to the village forit. He was
detained longer than he expected,
and it was but a moment or two
before four o’clock, when he turned
his face homeward. He happened
to be passing the circus ground just
as the people were leaving it, and
reined up his horse to let the crowd
pass. To his great surprise, among
the first who came from the tent
were several boys of his own school,
who, casting an anxious look at the
old church clock, set off in rapid
steps for home. He had hardly re-
covered from his surprise before the
crowd had dispersed, and he was
118 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
again moving onward, when he saw
a solitary figure emerge from the
tent, and strike into a circuitous
route leading towards his house. It
was Philip Graham !
The boys were quickly home, and
feeling sure they were not detected,
enjoyed the festival to the full.
“Oh! lucky, lucky,†said Dick and
Tom when returning ; “ two frolics
in one day is a rare thing. Now,
Maurice, do you not wish you had
gone? Who is the wiser for it?
I would not have missed it for any
thing.â€
The school was assembled next
morning, when Mr. Harding entered.
He stood in his desk, and addressing
his pupils, said, “‘ Before commenc-
ing the lessons of the morning, I
have a few words to say. The chief
design I have in celebrating the
little festivals on the birthday of
my children, is to give a pleasant
holiday to my school. You must
perceive it is attended with much
RESULTS. 119
trouble and expense, and did I not
think it gave much pleasure to you
all, and that it would be among the
pleasant remembrances of your
school-days in after life, and cause
you to feel that your teacher loved
you, and was desirous of promoting
your pleasure in every innocent
way, as well as your improvement,
be assured the celebration of yester-
day would be the last.
“There are many among you
who understand my plans, and
appreciate my indulgence, and I
am sure they look upon me as a
friend as well as a teacher ; but there
are others among you of a very
different disposition. I do not
doubt that you all enjoyed yester-
day’s pastimes, and you doubtless
thought I did also; but you are mis-
taken. I hoped to have enjoyed
the day as I usually have done, but
there was one circumstance which
brought a chill over my heart and
spirits, and made the joyous scene to
120 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
me one of darkness and sadness. It is
hard to meet with deceit and ingrati-
tude, and to receive it too in return
for kind sympathy and affection.â€
There was a pause. The older
boys looked askance at each other.
Mr. Harding resumed, “I rode to
the village in haste yesterday
afternoon to execute a forgotten
commission connected with our
little festival, and was on my return
home, when the spectators of the
circus were just leaving the tent.
I stopped to let the crowd pass, and
imagine my surprise and sorrow,
when I saw among the crowd a
number of my own pupils, hastily
moving towards their home as if
fearful of being late at my festival.
[saw them distinctly, and recognised
each, or I could hardly have believed
them capable of such bold disobedi-
ence, and that too on the very after-
noon when I was doing all in my
power to promote their happiness.
Now, I wish every boy present,
RESULTS. 121
who attended the circus yesterday
afternoon, to stand up.â€
One after another, with coun-
tenances expressive of great mortifi-
cation, the boys reluctantly arose in
their seats, until the six who had
gone in the party together were all
standing.
Mr. Harding looked around.
“This is not all,†he said. Still, no
one moved.
‘This is all who were of our party,
sir,†said Dick Wells. ‘There were
but six.â€
“There is another present,†said
Mr. Harding, “who did not join
your party, but who attended the
circus, whom I saw slyly leave the
tent, after all the spectators had
gone, and make his way home by a
circuitous route. Philip Graham!
why do you not rise in your seat
with the rest ? Do not think because
you went more slyly and stealthily
than the others, and wished not
only to keep a fair face before me,
122 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
but also before your schoolmates,
that you were unseen ?
“It is hardly a year since some
of you requested permission to attend
the circus, and then, in denying
your request, I stated to you that
as long as you were under my charge,
I would never consent to your fre-
quenting a place where you would
probably hear vulgar and profane
language, and where you might
imbibe a taste for mountebank
exhibitions, and the lowest grade of
dramatic performances. As there
are some present who have entered
school since that time, I again
express my opinion, and repeat my
commands on the subject. The
punishment I shall inflict on those
who disobeyed me yesterday, will
be to suspend them from the school
for one month at the end of this
term. Philip Graham will be sus-
pended for two months. I shall
also write to your parents the par-
ticulars of your conduct, that they
RESULTS. 123
may deal with you as they think
proper.
“As for you, Frank,â€â€™ continued
Mr. Harding, “you had _ boldly
taken the first step in the paths of
honesty and rectitude, and are cap-
able of becoming an honourable and
high-minded youth. I feel greatly
disappointed that the first temptation
has caused you to fall. I fear you
are too much governed by your
associates. If you were always to
choose good ones, you might do
well; but there is no security for a
person who cannot stand alone, who
does not possess in his own heart
those principles and that strength
which will lead him to act rightly,
independently of all outward cir-
cumstances, and to resist in the
hour of temptation. Each of us
must bear his own burden, and give
his own account to the Judge of all.
Strive and pray, I entreat you, for
that grace and light from above—
that firm religious conscientiousness
124 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
and love to your Creator—which
can alone give you the victory over
sudden temptation.â€
Frank Henley seemed deeply im-
pressed by Mr. Harding’s advice,
and much distressed at his own
misconduct, but Philip Graham ex-
hibited no emotion!
And here we must take leave of
Mr. Harding’s little community.
The diversity of character which we
have seen in it may be found in
larger and older communities all the
world over—and each of them
answers to some representation or
image, which we find in the sacred
Scriptures.
There are those who fear God and
desire to please and obey Him.
Their habitual thought is, “ Thou
God seest me;†and so convinced
are they that to love God and keep
His commandments is their reason-
able duty, that they would suffer
any reproach or ridicule rather than
disobey them—no matter what
RESULTS. 125
numbers may be found in the way
of evil, nor what flattering promises
of enjoyment may be held out, the
RIGHT or WRONG of the thing is first
in their thoughts. Concealment or
detection they have nothing to do
with, for there is nothing they wish
to conceal or fear to expose. They
are sincere and earnest people.
Maurice Gray belongs to this
group.
And then we have another class,
and the world is full of them. The
chief motive which leads them to
do right is that it is more creditable.
They oblige themselves to maintain
two opposite characters, and while
they vainly suppose themselves to
be in favour with the wicked com-
panions whom they despise, and
with the good whom they cannot
but respect, they seldom fail to lose
the confidence of both, and to be
exposed and detested as deceivers
and hypocrites. Philip Graham is
a striking example of this class of
126 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
persons. The history of both not
only illustrates the worldly proverb,
that “honesty is the best policy ;â€
but the higher and far more com-
prehensive truth, that “the fear of
the Lord is the BEGINNING OF KNOW-
LEDGE.â€
Some one remarked to the cele-
brated John Wesley, as he was
entering upon his religious course,
“You must either find companions,
or make them.†This is true of
every one. It is not good for man
to be alone. Even the bliss of
Paradise was not deemed complete,
until Adam had a companion to
unite with him in his labours, and
share with him his joys.
This is a law of our nature,
operating upon all, but felt with
most force in early life. Young
people are formed for intercourse
and companionship. It would make
them wretched to immure them in
a hermit’s cell. But just in propor-
tion to the strength with which
RESULTS. 127
their feelings fasten upon those
whom they call their friends, will
be the power of these friends to be
either a blessing or a curse to
them.
You will have associates, and you
will feel their influence. The link
is mysterious which binds human
beings together, so that the heart of
one answers to the heart of another,
like the return of an echo; but such
a link exists. There seems to be a
sort of welding process, by which
the feelings and principles of two
individuals, who before were entire
strangers, are soon reduced to a
complete identity. One catches the
spirit, and copies the manner of the
other, so that in a short time the
same characteristics belong to both.
Wax does not more certainly retain
the figure of the seal, than does the
‘mind retain the impression produced
by intercourse and association. The
influence is often silent and un-
perceived, like the tide in a quiet
128 THE NEW SCHOLAR.
sea; but like that same tide it is
mighty and resistless.
If you make wise and good Chris-
tian men your chosen companions,
you put yourselves in the direct
way of becoming like them.
What you desire to be, five, ten,
twenty, or forty years hence, that
strive to be and pray to be at once.
If you would ever love the Bible,
begin to read it carefully and prayer-
fully now. If you would ever put
your trust in Christ, begin to study
the beauties of the Cross now. If
you would ever live a holy life,
begin to fear and obey God now, for
“ Now ts the accepted tume, and now
is the day of salvation.â€
THE END.