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TRIUE ASND) FA, E 'RIEND SI It'
TRUE AND 7ALSE FRIENDSHIP
1Anb ther Storiez.
LONDON:
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY:
56, PATERNOSTER Row; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD;
AND 164, PICCADILLY.
MANCHESTER: CORPORATION ST. BRIGHTON: WESTERN ROAD.
CONTENTS.
TRUE AND FALSE FRIENDSHIP:
CHAP. PAGE
I THE CONTRAST 5
II. GREAT EXPECTATIONS 17
III. DISAPPOINTED HOPES. .29
IV. THE Two ENDINGS 37
THE PASSIONATE BOY 42
ADA'S TWO RESOLUTIONS 48
CHAPTER I.
,- THE CONTRAST.
SN the village of Harlstein, a
"small out-of-the-world place,
lying deep in the heart of
the Thuringian Forest, the
i peasants have a tale regard-
V ing two boys respectively
-named Fritz and Karl, whose
friendship was famous in the
days of their grandfathers.
S Fritz was the son of the
village notary, that is to say, attorney. Karl
was the orphan nephew of the village black-
smith. Their rank in life was different, and
such distinctions tell as powerfully in the
rustic village as in the courtly capital. Fritz's
6 True and False Friendship.
father, the notary, was one of the Harlstein
gentry, a body consisting of himself, the
antman or magistrate, and tax-gatherer, the
pastor, and the schoolmaster. Karl's uncle
belonged to the commonalty, which included
all the rest of the village. Moreover he had
six boys and girls of his own to keep, and
had brought up Karl among them, with no
prospect but hard work and rough fare for
him and his cousins; while the notary had
but two daughters and one son, and grand
relations living in the city of Weimar, who
were expected to do something for them all,
and particularly for Fritz.
The present station and future outlook of
the boys being thus different, it was a marvel
to all Harlstein that from their earliest days
of learning at the village school, or playing
in the fields, Fritz and Karl were familiar
and almost inseparable friends. Wherever
the one was seen everybody knew the other
was not far off. In schemes of boyish sport
or pleasure, they went always hand in hand;
and in visitations for all misdoings in which
the one was detected, it was generally found
necessary to-include the other as aiding and
abetting. Yet the boys were known to be as
The Contrast. 7
different in disposition as their families were
in rank. Fritz was a keen clever boy, with
a high opinion of himself, and a strong in-
clination for showing off to the best advan-
tage in all companies. He had high spirits,
but little of serious thought, was a deal less
given to work than play. Nobody could
learn his lessons quicker than Fritz, but no-
body could forget them more rapidly; and
those who knew him best said that his pro-
mises and professions were apt to be forgotten
too, if the fulfilment did not some way or
other forward his own interest or amusement.
Karl did not shine like his friend in school
lessons or schemes of play. He was a slower,
most people thought a duller boy, not so
ready to answer, not so keen to perceive, and
not by any means so lively a playmate. But
what Karl did learn, he learned and remem-
bered long; what he did perceive he was apt
to think of in a sober, earnest manner, and
come to very sensible conclusions for his years;
and everybody knew that what Karl promised
or undertook might be depended on to the
uttermost extent of his ability.
Besides their natural diversities of character,
there was a contrast in the bringing up of
8 True and False Friendship.
the two boys, in the maxims they heard and
the examples they saw at home, which doubt-
less operated to make each what he was.
The notary and his family were thought
highly respectable among their neighbours
in conduct as well as in station; but all the
week they were thinking of where they should
go and what amusement they should have on
Sunday after church time, which the father
and mother slept away comfortably in their
respective corners, while the children surveyed
and criticised the looks and dresses of the
young people round them, and were always
glad when the service was over. There was
nothing thought of, nothing talked of in their
house but how to get and how to spend. The
notary was a shrewd man of business: some
people said he encouraged disputes and law-
suits among the villagers, in order to get
employment. His wife was great in house-
hold affairs; but the highest ambition of both
was, that their children should make the finest
appearance, have the best portions, and cut
the most conspicuous figures in the world,
which to them signified the village of Harlstein.
The poor blacksmith and his family had
to work harder and fare worse from one week's
The Contrast. 9
end to another. But they found time to read
a chapter in their German Bible, and sing one
of their old German hymns every evening
before retiring to rest. They went to church
on Sunday to worship and to hear, and were
thankful for the peace and privileges of the
sabbath-day. The father and mother taught
their children to work honestly with their
hands, that they might neither want nor be
dependent in future days; and also taught
them to remember that in this world they
had no continuing city, but were only passing
travellers bound for the New Jerusalem, where
their treasures and their hearts should be.
As might be expected, all their boys and girls
were the better and the wiser for that teaching.
Karl benefited by it too, for he had been
early taken into the family. His father and
mother died within a year of each other while
Karl was yet an infant; and the honest black-
smith, saying it was his duty to take his
brother's child, at once adopted him into the
number of his children, and all inquirers on
the subject supposed that he had seven. Some
of them were older, some younger than Karl,
but they all grew up together, getting the
same rough fare, the same rustic garments,
10 True and False Friendship.
the same hardy honest training, and the same
kindly looks and words at the humble hearth
or the poorly-furnished table. If there were
any difference perceptible among the seven,
it was in Karl's favour. The blacksmith and
his wife had tender consciences; it was their
daily dread that the orphan might get, or
seem to get, unkindness from their hands,
that their own children might be uncon-
sciously preferred to him in those small affairs
of household life which appear so important
to the young, and are apt to tinge the back-
ward memories of after years. It was the
good people's mistake, but it sprang from a
noble purpose, namely, to supply his lost
parents' place in spirit as well as in fact to
their young nephew. So it happened that in
spite of their wise and worthy intentions to
bring Karl up exactly as one of their own sons,
the boy got too much of his own way, and
it led him to continual, almost inseparable
association with the notary's son Fritz.
The popular saying concerning them was,
that Fritz got Karl into scrapes, and Karl
got Fritz out of them. The villagers might
have added that Fritz got Karl into bad prac-
ticos, which Karl never got Fritz out of.
The Contrast. 11
Brought up to think of nothing but his
own interests, pleasures, or whims-for Fritz
got the largest amount of spoiling in the
family in right of being the only son-it was
his custom to ridicule, reason down, as a pre-
sumptuous ill-taught boy could, and laugh to
scorn, the sober, pious habits enforced in the
blacksmith's house, particularly what Fritz
called that stupid, humdrum manner of keep-
ing Sunday. "You see, Karl," he would say,
in those private attacks on his playmate's
better learning; "you see nobody of rank or
fashion keeps Sunday in that way. It is only
the poor rustic clowns of the country, who
know nothing but what their preachers tell
them, and go humdruming on from one year
to another just as the people did before the
flood, I'll warrant. But people who live in
towns and courts know better; my uncle and
aunt in Weimar always go out picnicking on
Sunday afternoons, and to the play in the
evenings. I shall be going to serve my ap-
prenticeship with uncle some of these days,
and will send you all the news how fashion-
able people get on. In fact, Karl, I hope you
are not going to be a rustic creature all your
life; you know the friendship I have for you,
12 True aqd False Friendship.
and if you would only look up a little, get
enlarged ideas, and not be bound down to
those narrow-minded, old-fashioned ways, I
might get my uncle to find you a situation
in Weimar. Those cousins of yours don't
care for you at all; they are too stupid to
care for anything but the smutty forge and
the barley field. I'll warrant the old black-
smith groans every night over the burden
you are to him. But never mind, Karl, I'll
stand your friend, and you and I will have
glorious times in Weimar. Now, don't forget
to have your fishing-rod ready, and meet me
at the garden-gate as soon as we get out of
church to-morrow."
Such was the general drift and conclusion
of Fritz's private lectures, which were com-
monly delivered on Saturday afternoon, when
school was over early, and the boys had time
to talk and play. Karl did not exactly be-
lieve all Fritz said on those occasions. He
knew his cousins did care for things beyond
the smutty forge and the barley field, and that
his good uncle did not groan over the bur-
den he was to him. But somehow he could
not contradict Fritz. The notary's son had
got the lead of him and kept it, partly by
The Contrast. 13
professions of friendship, of which Fritz was
never sparing, partly by assuming a know-
ledge of what was done in the great world of
towns and courts, so little known to the forest
people, but made manifest to Fritz through his
grand relations in Weimar, and partly by sel-
fishly working on the fond and foolish affection
which made Karl unwilling to dispute with or
to refuse him anything. All the while the
simple boy did not perceive that Fritz was
making a convenience and a plaything of him.
There was nobody in all the village that would
listen to or serve the notary's son as Karl
did. Fritz called him his friend, and stood
stoutly up for the connection against his
mother and sisters, who thought the black-
smith's nephew a very ungenteel companion,
and far beneath his rank and expectations.
The notary thought so too, but Fritz was his
only son, had a will of his own, and would
have his own way. Karl pleased him better
than any one, loved him better, he was sure;
in short, he would play and go with nobody
else, and between sulks and threatening to run
away, the family got half tired, half fright-
ened, and Fritz was allowed to keep company
with Karl.
14 True and False Friendship.
These two households were disquieted by
the friendship of Fritz and Karl. It was true
there were no such stormy scenes in the black-
smith's cottage as in the notary's house, but
the good man and his wife were vexed to
find the orphan nephew they had brought
up stealing away with fishing-rods and bow
and arrows to meet the notary's son after
church time on Sundays, and ramble with
him through the fields and the woods till
nightfall; to see the needful work left undone
and the requisite task neglected on week days,
because Fritz had whistled Karl off to some
sport or pastime; and, worse than all, to see
idle, careless, if not graceless habits thus
fostered in the boy, and likely to be intro-
duced among their own children. The honest
pair grieved over these things, they made Karl
a burden to them indeed, and many an earnest
remonstrance and many a sound advice and
many a kindly warning he got against the
danger of such courses.
Karl knew that all his uncle and aunt said
was just and right-the boy had good sense
as well as good nature-and if left alone with
his honest kinsfolk, would have followed their
precepts and profited by their example. But
ine Contrast. 15
the friendship, the grandeur, and the clever-
ness of Fritz were too much for him. Karl's
good resolutions, and even his promises, were
overcome by the first invitation to fish in
the stream, or hunt rabbits in the woodland.
"I can't go with you next Sunday, Fritz,"
he would sometimes get the length of saying;
"it vexes my uncle so, and I don't think it
is right myself."
"Oh, you can't," Fritz would answer; "well
that is like a friend, after all I have stood
at home for being seen with you Sunday or
week day. You care for your uncle and his
old humdrum notions more than you do for
me, Karl; but never mind, if you are too good
to go with me, somebody else will. Franz,
the antman's son, would be glad enough; but
I did not expect to be treated in such a
manner by one I have suffered so much for."
By the time Fritz got to the end of that
discourse, poor Karl was ready to beg his
pardon, and promise to go with him any-
where or any day he pleased. The fishing-
rods and the bow and arrows were again
in requisition as sure as Sunday came, the
week-day lesson was unlearned, the week-
day work undone, and the good blacksmith
16 True and False Friendship.
and his wife had another cause of vexa-
tion and remonstrance. They would have
used more authoritative measures with their
own children; and thoughtful neighbours
blamed them for being too remiss with Karl.
But the dread of seeming unkind to their
orphan nephew, his general good conduct in
every other respect, and the probability which
Karl believed and tried to make them believe
of the service which such a distinguished
friend as the notary's son might be to him
in future years, the situation which his uncle
would get him in Weimar, and the like,
wrought on their honest simple minds, to the
overlooking of many a broken promise and
many a neglected duty.
^' N'
CHAPTER II.
GREAT EXPECTATIONS.
SHE pastor of Harlstein was a man so far
stricken in years, and so burdened with
the infirmities of age, that he could scarcely con-
duct the service of his Lutheran church; but
he was attached to his congregation, and his
congregation was attached to him. When he
first settled among them the forest country was
traversed by hostile armies in the closing strug-
gles of the great French war. From that time he
had preached and prayed for them through fifty
years of peaceful labour and rustic quiet, while
fields were sown and harvests gathered, the
young generation born, and the old laid down
to rest in God's acre, as the Germans call the
churchyard. The villagers could not part
with the pastor who had mourned with them
by their fathers' graves, married their sons, and
baptized their children. They could not see
a stranger, however faithful and efficient, come
to take his place, and do his duties. So the
old pastor continued to preach and pray,
C 2S
18 True and False Friendship.
hoping, as he said, that the Lord of the vineyard
would Himself make up for the failing strength
of His servant. But in other respects his
parishioners were almost left to their own
guidance, and would have been entirely so
but for the village schoolmaster, Ernest Maltz.
Ernest was a distant relation to the pastor,
but the pastor had no nearer one. Brothers
and sisters, wife and children, all had died
out in the course of his long life, and left him
alone at its close.
The parish was poor; he had been hospitable
and charitable, and would have little or
nothing of worldly goods to leave. The
schoolmaster's salary was also scanty in that
forest village; but Ernest had come there
partly to be near and serviceable to his aged
relative, partly the better to pursue a course
of private study, and save up sufficient to pay
his expenses at the university of Weimar.
Ernest was a serious, thoughtful young man,
and had made up his mind to devote himself
to the ministry. Such of the pastoral duties
as he could discharge were cheerfully under-
taken, and faithfully performed. The villagers
relied upon him for giving religious instruc-
tion to their children, for visiting families in
Great Expectations. 19
times of sickness or distress, and for affording
good counsel to young and old in those
difficulties and perplexities which cross the
most quiet lives. The judgment, discretion,
and kindly nature of the young schoolmaster
were so well known to the people of Harlstein,
that they were in the habit of consulting him
on all their troubles, spiritual and temporal;
and the more thoughtless of the community
knew that when his advice was not sought,
though very much wanted, Ernest was apt to
give it in such a gentle and friendly manner,
that those he reproved thought the better of
him and it ever after.
The schoolmaster was well aware (as who in
the village was not ?) of the blacksmith's diffi-
culties with his nephew and the notary's
son. He had a good opinion of Karl, liked
the good-natured, steady-going boy, and kept
up the hearts of the blacksmith and his family
with good hopes concerning him, in spite of
that unsafe and troublesome friendship; but
he saw plainly enough how and where it was
leading the boy, and used to make small
opportunities for private talk with Karl.
Sometimes he would waylay him in his goings
to meet Fritz, sometimes ask him to stay
20 True and False Friendship.
behind the rest of the scholars to see some-
thing new in his books or in his garden; and
still their talk concluded with the same kindly
and earnest remonstrance against grieving his
good uncle, and being led into what he knew
to be wrong by the arts and flatteries of a
selfish companion.
"He is no true friend to you, Karl, or he
would not vex your nearest relations, and get
you into trouble, merely for his own whims
and amusements. Besides, you know these
Sunday sports to be wrong doings, and you
are sacrificing to the notary's son not only
your own and your family's peace, but the
love and favour of your everlasting Friend
above. My boy, remember what your Bible
says, 'The friendship of the world is enmity
with God.' The text holds true for boys as
well as for men, and you will find this Fritz
a friend after the world's false fashion."
So the good schoolmaster would speak, and
Karl would listen with serious convictions
that all his teacher said was true, except as
regarded Fritz. The boy could not be per-
suaded that the playmate who made such
mighty professions of standing his friend, and
loving him beyond all the world in spite of
Great Expectations. 21
the difference of rank and relations, was not
staunch and trusty, and never would forget
him even among the great people in Weimar.
While that belief remained in Karl's mind
Fritz had a bridle with which to lead him
about at his pleasure; and about he did lead
him for many a day, to the great vexation of
his uncle, and everybody who wished Karl
well, till Fritz himself got something finer
to do.
The forest country of Thuringia lies, as the
map will show you, in the centre of Germany.
A long stretch of some seventy miles, varying
in its breadth, but always narrow in pro-
portion to the length, runs through some
half-dozen principalities among which it is
divided. The district in which Harlstein was
situated belonged to the Grand Duchy of
Weimar. Its capital-called by the same
name, where the Grand Duke lived and kept
his court, from whence new fashions and
dealers in all rare and foreign goods came
down to the forest country-though at no
great distance, and not so large as a third-rate
town in England, was, in the talk and fancy of
the villagers, the greatest city in the world.
Few of them had ever seen it. The slow-
22 True and False Friendship.
going and hardworking Thuringian peasants
were no travellers. They had no money to
spend in its shops and warehouses; there
was no absolute want in the forest land; but
there was general frugality: all necessary
things were home-made, and nobody thought
of better; but the people of Harlstein had
a great admiration for Weimar and everything
that came out of it.
The notary's chief distinction had been long
built upon the fact of his having relations in
the great city. They consisted of a brother,
also a notary, with his wife and son, said to
be living in extraordinary style; for the head
of the family did business for two barons, one
count, and the Grand Duke's deputy chamber-
lain. They were often boasted of, but never
seen, and little heard from in Harlstein. It
was whispered that the two brothers had not
agreed well in their early days, and were con-
siderably estranged by time and distance.
But at this period of our story it so happened
that the notary in Weimar lost his son by
sudden sickness. When he and his wife re-
covered from the shock of that heavy loss
they agreed to adopt their nephew Fritz if he
behaved well, and bring him up to the busi-
Great Expectations. 23
ness, that neither it nor the money they had
gathered for their own boy might go to
strangers. Fritz's father was written to ac-
cordingly, told of the prospects that awaited
his son, and asked to send him without
delay on a twelvemonth's trial before they
took him entirely. Fritz's father and mother
caught at the proposal. The notary's business
was little in that' forest village. The boy
would be provided for, and they could save
up money for their girls.
All Harlstein heard of the prospect thus
opened to Fritz: he was to be adopted by his
rich uncle, made heir of nobody knew how
much in the Weimar bank, and brought up
to the business which was done for two
barons, one count, and the Grand Duke's
deputy chamberlain. Fritz became a kind of
nobleman himself in the eyes of the simple
villagers when that great news was published,
and the young gentleman did not fail to
enlarge on the grandeur he should see and
share in to all his acquaintances, and especially
to Karl.
"Yes," said he, "it is come at last, and I
always knew it would come, didn't I, Karl ?
My friends will have cause to be proud of me
24 True and False Friendship.
yet. I am going to be made a notary, you
see; and a notary who does business for court
people may rise to anything in Weimar.
I dare say I shall go to court some day myself
in a fine gold-laced coat, a cocked hat, and
a sword by my side. But I'll not forget you,
Karl, in all my prosperity. I'll write to you
every post. I'll tell you all the news and all
the fashions, and see if I don't get my uncle
to find a situation for you, and take you from
among those stupid forge people."
Karl believed his friend, as he had always
done; and Fritz, after promising the same
things and more over and over again, was
made ready with his best clothes, provided
with a seat in the carrier's waggon, which
once a month passed through the district on
its way to Weimar, taken leave of by the
whole village, and escorted by all its young
people for some miles on his triumphant
journey.
Karl sat with him in the waggon, and went
a mile beyond the rest. (We are speaking of
English, and not German measure, which
happens to be a great deal longer.) Then the
friends parted with tears and protestations
never to forget on both sides. The notary's sop
Great Expectations. 25
went on to the courtly capital, and the black-
smith's nephew came back to his village home.
Henceforth there was peace and quiet in
two houses of Harlstein. The notary's family
had nobody to scold for keeping low com-
pany, and the blacksmith and his wife were
not vexed by the forbidden doings of their
nephew. Having no Fritz to whistle him off
from work or better things, Karl went on
soberly and steadily in the good old ways of
his uncle's family; and as in that kindly
household bygones were allowed to be by-
gones, and every allowance made for the
young orphan, Karl would have found him-
self the better and the wiser for the parting
on the Weimar road but that his heart still
missed and mourned for his early friend.
From work and from play his thoughts went
after Fritz to the great and unknown city.
When school was over on the Saturday
afternoons he would steal away to their old
haunts in the woodlands, the streams where
they fished, and the dells where they rambled
together, and sit there alone, wondering what
Fritz was doing now, if he would ever come
back, or send for him to the promised situa-
tion in Weimar; He had not forgotten him,
26 True and False Friendship.
Karl was sure of that, for letter after letter
came, some by the postmen who crossed the
forest country on their way to distant towns,
some by the travelling traders who sold
Weimar wares, and bought up forest produce
in Harlstein.
A more experienced reader would have
observed that every letter was so filled with
Fritz's own grandeur, the fine presents he
had got from his aunt and uncle, the fine
things they and their friends said of him, the
fine house in which he livedwith them, the
fine sights he saw, and the great things he
expected-that there was only room in the
last corner for a brief inquiry after Karl's
health and welfare. Still it was the news and
the fashions of the grand courtly city; what
was more, it was the glory and honour of his
friend; and Karl read the letters not only to
the family at home, but also to all his school-
fellows and all the villagers. The notary's
household thought it beneath their son to
write to such a boy; but they overlooked the
fault in consideration of so much grandeur
being published. Most of the simple people of
Harlstein thought Karl's fortune half made by
having such a friend, and getting such letters
Great Expectations. 27
Even the blacksmith and his wife were not
a little pleased that the notary's son should
remember and write to their nephew; but the
good man sometimes warned him not to
expect too much from folks in their prospe-
rity, nor build too high on the friendship of
boy or man.
Thus time passed. Karl's school-days came
to an end. It was necessary to think of what
trade he should be apprenticed to, for there
was no intelligence of the promised situation.
Karl had looked for it, hoped for it, ever
since FEitz left him; to get to Weimar, and
be near his friend in any capacity, was the
thought of his aay and the dream of his
night. He had dropped gentle reminders in
his replies to the grand letters. They were
generally written under packets of choice
fish-hooks and dried.forest flowers, by which
Karl showed at once his skill and his friend-
ship. Fritz admired them immensely, pro-
mised to show them to his grand acquaint-
ances, but took no notice of the reminders,
and latterly his letters began to grow few
and far between, he was so much engaged
in learning the notary's business.
It was time, however, that Karl should
"28 True and False Friendship.
be apprenticed like other honest village lads.
IIe did not like the blacksmith's trade.
Fritz had always called it low and dirty;
but his uncle's wife had a brother, named
Matz, living at Kirksdoff, a village half way
between Harlstein and Weimar, and esteemed
one of the best carpenters in the forest
country. Matz happened to want an ap-
prentice. His own son preferred the black-
smith's trade; and it was settled that a fair
exchange should be effected. Karl should go
to Kirksdoff, and young Matz should come
to Harlstein. Karl went with a light heart;
he would be so much nearer the great city,
and his friend Fritz could write to him
just as well at Kirksdoff-could send for
him when the situation was ready; and
perhaps in some holiday time, Karl might
get the length of Weimar, and see the
notary's son in the midst of his grandeur.
Such were his hopes, and Karl wrote them
all to Fritz; but he got no reply: the
learning of the business was, doubtless more
than usually difficult.
CHAPTER III.
DISAPPOINTED HOPES.
ETTLED in his new home, Karl commenced
the carpenter's trade. He found it hard
at first, as all trades and learning are, but
would have got on pretty well if it had not
been for vexation at his friend's long silence,
and also for the tempers of his new master
and mistress. Matz and his wife, though so
nearly connected with Karl's aunt and uncle
in Harlstein, were very different people. The
husband had a hard, inconsiderate way of
dealing with those under him. The wife had
a remarkable memory for everything disagree-
able, and a great readiness of tongue in
recalling the like.
They both knew of the trouble Karl had
given in the matter of his friendship with
Fritz; and though not generally agreed on
any subject, they both thought his uncle
and aunt had spoiled him by their gentle-
ness, and were determined to make up for
80 True and False Friendship.
whatever was wanting in that respect. So
Karl got harshly ordered and sharply re-
proved on all occasions. His master expected
him to think of nothing but carpentering,
learn everything without being half taught,
and above all things, to be worth his board
in the house, for liberality was not among
the forest carpenter's virtues. His mistress
took every opportunity to remind the ap-
prentice of his former misdoings and dis-
obedience to his uncle; and what Karl thought
still worse, the pair, together with their two
journeymen and numerous relations, made
an especial point of throwing despite and
ridicule on his friend Fritz. They had never
seen the notary's son, it was true, but they
knew all about him from their Harlstein
kindred, and Karl was simple enough to
make an early boast of his present grandeur
and future prospects. From that unlucky day
the boy had no peace; foolish and spiteful
young men, mischievous urchins, cross old
women, and above all, the ready tongue of
his mistress, did their best to take down his
pride of the notary's son in Weimar. Karl
was a sober, steady, good-natured boy; but
all Kirksdoff had got a thorn in his side; and
Disappointed Hopes. 31
who can stand against the continued attack
of numbers ? He got angry, got into quarrels,
got reproved and threatened, got tired and
sick of his apprenticeship, and at length one
.day, after a fierce dispute with the two
journeymen, in which both master and mis-
tress took part against, and the carpenter
struck him, Karl made up his mind to run
away.
He could not think of going back .to his
uncle, where young Matz was now in his
room; and all at once it occurred to him to
set out for Weimar, see how Fritz was getting
on, and ask if he could get him the situation.
"He will be glad to see me, anyway," thought
Karl; "and I can surely get something to do
in the great city. I'll do anything, or take the
poorest place, to be near him, and away from
these spiteful people." With those thoughts
Karl bundled up his few clothes before day-
break on the following morning, stole out of
the carpenter's house-nobody locks up doors
in the forest country-left Kirksdoff behind
him, and was far on the Weimar road by the
rising of the sun. Part of the way he knew,
having often studied it; for the rest he in-
quired of carriers and travellers, who grew
32 True and False Friendship.
more numerous as he emerged from the
forest, and reached the cultivated lands.
Pocket-money had never been plenty with
Karl. He left the carpenter's house with only
half a groschen (about fivepence English
money); but at the first village inn where
he stopped and asked shelter for the night,
the landlord allowed him to share the family
supper, sleep in the hay-loft, and breakfast on
broken victuals for that sum. He was told
he should reach Weimar by noon, however,
and that kept Karl's heartland spirits up. On
he went, much admiring the great farms and
rich crops through which his road lay, still
more the gentry's country seats and the clean
white villages which thickened as he ap-
proached the town.
At length there was a far-off prospect of
towers and steeples, a passing of vehicles, a
thronging of people. Karl was glad, for he
was footsore and hungry. The day was in-
tensely hot. It was that time of the year
when summer and harvest meet, and he had
journeyed far. But there was Weimar, and
there was Fritz, no doubt, ready to take him
by the hand, and welcome him with the looks
and tones of their early friendship. So Karl
Disappointed Hopes. 33
hastened on, passed through the northern
gate, and found himself in the streets of
the busy town.
A wondrous place it seemed to the forest
boy, accustomed to the sight of wide woods
and fields, with his own poor village made up
of one small church and the old timber cot-
tages straggling round it. The shops aston-
ished Karl, the public buildings overwhelmed
him, and the din of the streets almost con-
founded his senses. He knew the address
Fritz had given him in his letters, and began
to ask his way of everybody he met. They
all looked strangely at him, he thought. Karl
was dressed in the forest costume of coarse
blue cloth, with yellow cords and brass but-
tons. His Thuringian dialect was scarcely
intelligible to most of the townspeople; but
he was walking on, and asking his way, when
his eye was caught by the flash of gold and
diamonds in a jeweller's shop-window. There
was a tall lady in black going in at the door,
and close behind her who but his friend Fritz,
dressed in a handsome suit of city-made
clothes, and looking so grand that Karl
scarcely knew him. But the forest boy's
heart leaped for joy. Here was an end to
D 28
84 T'rue and False Friendship.
all his wanderings and misfortunes. He ran
up to Fritz, laid his hands on his shoulder
just as he was entering the shop, and cried,
"Here I am, Fritz, come to see you in
Weimar."
But Karl got no grasp of the hand, no wel-
come. Fritz turned round and looked at him
as if he were the most unpleasant sight in all
the world, shrunk back to the wall, and said
in a very low tone, lest the lady, who had by
this time gone in, should hear him, "What
brings you here ?"
"To see you, and to get a situation," said
Karl, as soon as he could speak, for the unex-
pected reception stunned him like a blow.
"There are no situations for forest people
in Weimar," said Fritz, looking still more dis-
pleased; "and I can't be seen by my aunt
speaking to you in such a trim as that. Do
go away."
Karl turned from him with a sickening sen-
sation. Was that the end of all his friend-
ship, of all his promises ? The boy was tired,
hungry, and a stranger; but not for all the
wealth of Weimar could he have brought
himself to stay another minute, and ask
help or countenance from the notary's son.
Disappointed H hopes. 85
He ran down the street like one pursued by
his enemies, turned up lanes, down alleys, and
across squares without knowing where they
were leading him. All parts of the town were
the same to poor Karl since he had been dis-
owned by the friend in whom he trusted so
long.- But what was he to do, what was to
become of him, without money and without
friends in the strange town? He knew that
what Fritz said was true-the forest people
were thought outlandish and of no account-
for everybody stared at and nobody seemed
to understand him. At last, when the sun
was getting low, and the evening coming on,
he found himself able to walk no farther, and
sat down on the steps of a deserted house in
one of the great squares. All the inhabitants
seemed within doors, having their suppers, as
Karl thought. It was the hour at which
people gave up work in the forest village.
His uncle, aunt, and cousins would be gather-
ing round their table now, young Matz would
be sitting in his place, the grace would be
said, and the provisions divided. Many an
evening he had come in too late, and been
reproved for his idle goings with Fritz; many
a day he had left his tasks undone; many a
36 True and False Friendship.
Sunday he had broken the sabbath rest,
grieved his uncle and aunt, and done things
against his own conscience to please the boy
who now cast off and forsook him in the
midst of the strange town. There was no
one to see him or care what he did, and
Karl wept sore in the bitterness of his
heart.
\-\L>"
2>. ** n, '"
37-
CHAPTER IV.
THE TWO ENDINGS.
T seemed to Karl that hope and strength
and courage had forsaken him with Fritz.
It was the heaviest, hardest grief, the sorest
disappointment, that he had ever known; and,
like all the young and inexperienced, he
thought that nothing could be worse. But
while he sat with his head bowed almost to
his knees, and his frame convulsed with thick
coming sobs, a kindly hand was laid on his
shoulder, a voice called him by his name, and,
looking up, Karl saw the village schoolmaster,
Ernest Maltz. "What are you doing here,
my boy, and what has happened to you?"
said the friendly teacher, sitting down on the
steps beside him. He was quite as well
dressed as Fritz, and looked as much of a
townsman.
"Oh, sir !" said Karl, unable to command
either his tears or his tale, "I have run away
from my master, the carpenter of Kirksdoff,
88 True and False Friendship.
and come here all the way to see Fritz; but
he has turned from me, said he couldn't
speak to me in this trim, and bade me
go away."
Exactly what I should have expected from
him," said the schoolmaster; "but do not grieve
about it, Karl. Fritz or anything he does
is not worth grieving for. He was not worth
the trouble you took to serve and please him
in former times. Had there been any worth
in him he would not have allowed you to do
it. But don't grieve: it is a hard lesson, but
a good one, and may be of use to you all your
life as a warning to avoid selfish and graceless
companions. In the meantime you will come
home with me. I am a student here now;
our old pastor has gone to his everlasting
rest; they have got a young minister and
a new schoolmaster in Harlstein, and I
have come to finish my studies at the
university."
Karl went home with his former adviser
whose warnings had proved so true, got
warmed and comforted with a good supper
and a kindly welcome, and told his story
over again with full particulars. Ernest
Maltz promised to consider what was best
The Two Endings. 39
to be done, got Karl a good bed for that
night, where the tired boy slept soundly;
and though his sorrow was not forgotten,
it was very much softened in the morning.
In conversing with him, his former school-
master found reason to believe that the
lesson he had got at the jeweller's shop-door
would serve the blacksmith's nephew for the
rest of his life. At the same time he hap-
pened to know a worthy cutler in the town
who wanted an apprentice, and had come
from the forest country in his youth. This
man consented to take Karl on Ernest's re-
commendation; and after some difficulties
with the Kirksdoff carpenter, his indentures
were allowed to be cancelled, out of regard
to his uncle and aunt in Harlstein, but with
a prediction from his master and mistress
that Karl would never come to good.
That prophecy signally failed of fulfilment.
Having got one lesson against idle and worth-
less companions, Karl was careful with whom
he associated ever after. The words of Solo-
mon, "My son, if sinners entice thee, con-
sent thou not," were the rule of his conduct;
and the wise and pious teachings of his early
home remained in his memory, and guided
40 True and False Friendship.
his daily walk in the courtly city. He finished
his npi.l're'ti':..-hllp with credit to himself and
satisfaction to his master; and- the latter
having no son of" his own, took Karl first
for his journeyman, then for his partner, and
finally for his heir and successor in business.
Thus the forest boy became a tradesman
of good repute and some wealth. it the
city of Weimar.
But as KarlPs fortunes rose, those of Fritz -
fell. The idle, careless habits which the
notary's son had brought with him from
his native village, though kept in check for
some time by the novelty of his position,
and the dread- of his uincle and aunt, who
were close-handed and strict people, returned
in full force as soon as he became accustomed
to town life; and as one could gu n coirn tlere
much easier than in the forest country, Fritz
got lii'uilif and his relations into trul:'i,:..
The Weimar uncle sent him back to his
father more than once, and finally, after
Sundry trials of his good behaviour, which
l\,:- I'' vC1il fiih I i, disinherited and turned
him out upon the world a half-made notary
and a worthless young man. From that time
Fritz went about as people of his sort do, ir
The Two L',,.1;, 41
all countries, getting situations, and losing
them, getting into scrapes of every variety,
and hanging on friends and relations as long
as they would allow him. Fain would he
have renewed association with Karl, and
made many an effort for that purpose, re-
minding him of their old days in the forest
land, and hoping he would not keep malice
for what he, Fritz, had been obliged to do in
the way of disowning him for fear of his
proud old aunt. But Karl answered him
calmly, "I bear no malice, Fritz: it is un-
worthy it' a man and a Christian. If you
are in necessity I will assist you. If you
will take advice, I counsel you to follow a
better course of life. I owe you this much,
because it was from you I learned the differ-
ence between true and false friendship."
,e*' i
I. ^^~~
42
Sh!e HPassianate aBJy.
"- -. E. EVER let me witness the like
". of this again," said a kind
-* -i, - Christian father, as his eye
''. a sorrowfully rested on the
Sbosom of his youthful son,
r- agitated by a burst of passion.
l A younger brother had de-
prived him of a favourite toy only for a few
minutes, and he had just then revenged the
wrong as his father entered the play-room.
The culprit hung his head. Guilt makes a
coward of a man, why not of a boy ?
"George," continued he, "how often will
my heart be rent by such exhibitions of my
child's temper ? Willing as I am to forgive
you, I cannot but tremble for you, should you
persist in the conduct you are now pursuing."
The usual excuse was about to be offered,
"I will never do it again."
The Passionate Boy. 43
"But, no, George," interrupted his father,
"I will not listen to such vows; they are like
impressions on the sand; the first wave of
temptation will wash them away. First en-
deavour to understand the nature of your
error, and then strive to correct it, earnestly
seeking in prayer the aid of Him who was
meek and lowly as a lamb."
Mr, L-- was no slave-master: in con-
demning the frailties of others he did not
display his own, but strictly obeyed the in-
junction, "Be ye angry, and sin not." Like
hiS Father in heaven, he pitied while he chided
-loving the sinner, though hating the sin.
How careful parents ought to be in this
respect the following story well illustrates.
A mother had one day chastised her little son
with unnecessary severity, and in a condition
of feeling inconsistent with a profession of
Christianity. He then retired to his own
apartment, and she, curious to know his rea-
son for so doing, followed him, and overheard
the following prayer: "0 God, take away
my bad temper; and, oh, take away my
mother's too !" Children are acute observers,
small though they be, and parents would be
wise to tax their memories with how they
44 The Passionate Boy.
felt, and what they thought, when but few
summers had passed over them; and they
would be fitter judges of the thoughts and
the feelings of their youthful offspring.
"Father," remonstrated little Edward, as he
observed Mr. L-- leading George towards
the door, "forgive him for this time, and he
will never be angry with me again."
"You have a generous, forgiving spirit,"
replied his father; "I am not going to punish
George for this offence, but I will take him to
my study, and reason with him there upon
the impropriety of his behaviour."
So saying, he took him down-stairs, and,
closing the door, knelt with the offender, and
pleaded for Divine direction. Then taking
his hand affectionately, he said: "My dear
George, I have no doubt you sincerely repent
of your fault; but you know not the amount
of evil you may already have committed.
You may forget your foolish acts, but others
will not; and the effect of past sins will cling
to you, even after your personal appearance
and circumstances have undergone many a
change. A school-boy, possessed of a very
violent temper, was ordered by his master to
drive a nail into the wall every time he ren
The Passionate Boy. 45
dered himself ridiculous. By this device, he
became scrupulously careful, and succeeded
so far, that upon each manifestation of self-
denial he was permitted to displace a nail.
On taking a survey of the school one day, his
master observed that all the nails were out.
'I am delighted to see this,' said he; 'it gives
hope for the future.' Perhaps it does,' replied
the now humbled youth, 'but the marks are
still there.'
"Yes," continued Mr. L--, thoughtfully,
"the marks will remain; and I would warn
you to watch and pray, lest this 'root of
bitterness, springing up, trouble you.' 'No
man liveth to himself:' as long as you live,
you will exercise an influence for good or evil;
and if you do not check now this grievous in-
clination to quarrel, you may yet commit
crimes whose rehearsal at this moment would
make you shudder. I believe you feel indig.
nant at the bare supposition, but let not this
be a ground of security. Others have equally
scorned the idea, and yet lived to prove the
truth of the alarming prophecy. Before
Hazael became king of Syria, he was informed,
during an interview with Elisha the prophet,
that he would commit cruelties of the most
46 The Passionate Boy.
unmerciful nature when he had attained to
the high position in store for him. 'What !'
cried he, 'is thy servant a dog, that he should
do this great thing ?' Yet done it was, and
by him, for he became the scourge of the
children of Israel for their transgressions, and
fulfilled to the letter all that had been fore-
told. How true it is that 'man knoweth the
beginning of sin, but who can bound the
issues thereof? Who can say that the
thought of murder filled the heart of Cain
when he first felt very wroth with his brother ?
Yet it led to it, as surely as the streamlet
gives birth to the mighty river. There is but
one instance of irritability recorded in the
history of the meek Moses; yet, for the sake
of those who looked up to him as their
example, as well as for the honour and glory
of God, the offence was punished, and he who
had longed to behold the 'land flowing with
milk and honey' was not allowed to enter
it."
Observing that George was much affected,
Mr. L-- kindly drew him to his side,
saying: "I am aware, my dear boy, that you
have had many disadvantages. The loss of
a mother's influence at an early period of life
The Passionate Boy. 47
can never be supplied, and my line of business
has called me oftener from home than any
who are anxious about the training of their
children would wish. Under your own feeble
care, this evil habit has grown strong, but not
too strong to be conquered by diligent effort;
and I fondly hope to see the day when your
disposition will be as gentle as it is now
boisterous. Pray, therefore, my dear boy, for
the grace of the Holy Spirit to take away this
sinful temper; and if you pray aright, your
prayer will surely be heard."
^""
48
:Lda's WT wo :tsolutior s.
CHAPTER I.
CAUSES OF FAILURE.
l'" o HALL you take me with you
0 to the missionary meeting
to-morrow, mamma?" asked
SAda Marshall, before setting
off for school, one fine May
morning.
"Will not to-morrow be soon enough to
answer that question, Ada?" replied her
mother.
For me it would, of course, mamma; but
Miss Hunter always likes us to tell her if we
are likely to be away from school; then she
does not feel uneasy at our absence."
"Then you may tell your teacher, my dear,
that, all being well, I hope to take you with
me to the meeting"
Causes of Failure. 49
Oh, thank you, dear mamma! I am so
glad," said Ada; and away she tripped to
school.
On the following morning, as Mrs. Marshall
was putting on her bonnet, her little daughter
again came to prefer a request, and this time
with rather a sad countenance, as though
scarcely hoping that it would be granted.
"Mamma," she began, "I am very sorry,
but I have spent nearly all my money. I
quite intended to save a good deal to give to
the missionaries; but somehow I first saw
one thing I wanted, and then another, so
I put off beginning to lay any by. Now," she
continued, holding out sixpence, "I have no
more than this left. Will you give me a
little money, just another shilling, to add
to it, for this is scarcely worth offering ?"
"If my little -daughter can prove that all
her own store, or even the half of it, has been
wisely spent, I shall have no objection to
advance a shilling, to be repaid out of her
regular allowance of pocket-money."
Ada's face turned crimson in an instant.
She bethought herself of many little articles
purchased to gratify a momentary whim, and
then cast aside as useless. Too late she
E L
50 Ada's Two Resolutions.
wished she had saved at least a part of their
price; but, alas! wasted money, like wasted
time, cannot be redeemed.
So she replied in a low voice: "Mamma,
I have not spent my money wisely; but
indeed, if you will let me have some now,
I will try to keep sufficient in store for such
another time as this."
"I believe you expressed precisely the
same determination after being at the last
year's gathering of friends to aid the mission-
ary cause, did you not ?"
Poor Ada I too well did she remember the
circumstance to which her mamma alluded.
She had returned from the missionary meet-
ing greatly moved by the narratives she had
heard from some zealous missionaries, who,
after years of earnest soul-seeking in foreign
lands, had returned to give an account of
their success, and incite others to aid, as far
as lay in their power, the spread of the gospel.
She had built many castles in the air, be-
lieving them to have a more substantial
foundation. She had resolved that she would
do a great deal to help the missionaries, that
she would save every penny of her pocket-
money, and add all her presents to it; and
Causes of Failure. 51
yet now, at the year's end, there was-this
one solitary sixpence. Poor child! She was
like many an older person and more experi-
enced Christian; she found it so much more
easy to resolve than to perform. She might
have said, as the great apostle of the Gentiles
did so many hundred years ago, "To will
is present with me, but how to perform that
which is good I find not."
There was a short pause before Ada spoke
again, and when. she did she made no attempt
to defend herself, for conscience told that her
mother's words were only too true. So she
said, Then will you not do what I asked you,
mamma?"
"I am very sorry to refuse you anything,
my dear child; but I think you must be
sensible that I cannot do otherwise. If I
were to place the money in your hands to
bestow, it would still be my gift; not yours."
Some of my young readers may probably
think that Mrs. Marshall was very severe with
her daughter; but, perhaps, when I have
explained matters, they will understand that
she acted more kindly in refusing than she
would have done in granting Ada's desire.
The little girl was too much in the habit of
52 Ada's Two Resolutions.
talking about her good intentions, and then
failing to perform them, and her mother
wished to give her a lesson which might
produce a lasting impression. Besides, Ada
had a regular allowance of pocket-money,
quite sufficient to have enabled her to spare
far more than a little sixpence in aid of the
missionary cause; and she had always been
taught by her kind mother that we should
not offer to God what costs us nothing.
It is a very easy thing indeed for us to
ask our parents for money to give to the poor,
to the sabbath-schools, or to the missionary
fund, but not quite so easy to do without
something we very much like, in order to
make a little offering to the cause of God.
So Ada had found it, ahd had deferred
making a beginning until this season was lost.
But if Ada regretted all her wasted six-
pences before she went, how much more did
she wish them once more in her possession,
when she heard stories of the heathen nations
who had been brought to a knowledge of
God, and the anxiety of many a poor Indian
and African to possess a Bible, which, alas !
could not be given, for want of money to ob-
tain more, Ada's own Bible had never before
Causes of Failure. 53
seemed half so precious, nor had she thought
nearly as much of God's goodness to herself.
As she and her mother walked home to-
gether, Ada was often tempted to say that
she really had resolved to begin to save at
least half her allowance, that when such a
meeting was again held, she need not go
almost empty-handed.
But something within seemed to whisper,
"You said so last year, Ada; how do you
think your mother can have any faith in
your words ? Better not speak than fail to
perform." So the child was silent, though her
thoughts were very busy, as she trudged along
by her mother's side.
Perhaps Mrs. Marshall guessed what was
passing in Ada's mind, for she asked, "Ada
did you hear what was said by one of the
ministers about a child's gift to help the
missionary work ?"
"Yes, mamma; he said a little girl had
given two whole sovereigns. I think she
must either have a great deal of pocket-
money, or else her friends had provided her
with it on purpose for to-day."
"You are quite mistaken, Ada. That child
never had half as much pocket-money as
54 Ada's Two Resolutions.
yourself, and yet she offered what was really
her own, because earned by the labour of her
hands. I happen to know all about it, and
can assure you those two sovereigns were won
by the busy fingers of a child a year younger
than my little daughter."
"Then she is not more than nine years old,
mamma. I think I could not earn two sove-
reigns if I were to work for as many years.
How did she manage to get so much ?"
"By spending first a few pence in purchas-
ing materials, and then by always devoting a
little of her spare time daily to making up
pretty fancy articles for sale amongst her
friends. Those beautiful mats on the drawing-
room table were made by her, and their price
helped towards the two sovereigns, which
seemed such a large sum for a child to give."
"What a clever little girl she must be,
mamma !"
"She is a very diligent one, my love. I
think she must often call to mind these words
when she is at her work, 'Whatsoever thy
hand findeth to do, do it with thy might;
for there is no work, nor device, nor know-
ledge, nor wisdom in the grave, whither thou
goest.'"
Causes of Failure. 55
"Those are very solemn words, mamma."
"They are indeed, my child. It is a great
thing to bear in mind continually that the
labours performed in this world are not for
time, but for eternity."
Mamma," asked Ada, "do you think God
has set me any work to do for Him ?"
When we reach home we will look in the
Bible and see, dear."
Ada thought this a very strange answer
indeed, and felt quite sure there would be
nothing about her in the Bible. But when
she had taken her dress off, and sat down
beside her mamma, Mrs. Marshall found the
twenty-fifth chapter of St. Matthew, and bade
her read the parable of the talents.
Ada did so, and then said, I do not find
anything about myself here, mamma."
"But you have read how one man received
five talents, another two, and another one.
from his Lord. Each was entrusted with
something, in proportion to his ability."
"Yes, mamma, I know all that."
"But, Ada, does it tell you of any servant
to whom nothing at all was given ? "
"No, oh no. I think I understand now.
Everybody has something which God has
56 Ada's Two Resolutions.
given him to answer for. No person is left
quite without; and we are not to think
because we are little, and have little, that God
does not expect us to use it well."
"Just so, my dear. Do not forget that,
Ada."
CHAPTER II.
THE SECRET OF SUCCESS.
DA MARSHALL did not forget what her
mother had said about all persons having
to account for the gifts which our Almighty
Father places in our hands. Neither did she
fail to remember what she had heard of mis-
sionary labourers, and their claims on the
sympathy and help of their Christian brethren.
"If I were even to save half of my pocket
money," she thought; "that is, if I could but
shut my eyes when I pass the shop-windows,
and learn to do without some of the things I
have been used to buy, I might give more
than a sovereign when the next missionary
meeting comes round. And I will not say a
word about it, for fear I should not be able to
The Secret of Success. 57
persevere. Only I will ask God to help me
to think of those who have not heard the glad
news of salvation."
Ada knelt, therefore, and prayed earnestly
that she might resist temptation, and have
strength to do what she felt would be accept-
able in God's sight. When she rose from her
knees, the thought flashed across her mind:
"Why can I not do what another child
younger than myself has done ? If I were to
buy working materials with my money, I
might perhaps earn more. But, oh dear me !
I never liked sewing, and my work is never
very neat, mamma says. Then how am I
to find time to make anything without being
seen ?"
Ada was not a little perplexed. To will
was indeed present with her, but how to per-
form she knew not. However, she did not
act as she probably would have done a year
before, but kept turning the matter over in
her mind, and puzzling her young head with
thinking of ways and means.
At first she was half inclined to put off
beginning, thinking she would try to sew
better at school before she commenced; "and,
besides, was there not a whole year to
work in ?"
58 Ada's Two Resolutions.
But something seemed to say, "Better
begin now, Ada;" so she decided on making
her first purchase when she received her
weekly allowance, which would be on the
following day, Friday. The next question
which suggested itself was, "What time can
I spare ? for that is needed as well as money."
This seemed more difficult to answer than
the last. To be sure, there was Saturday
afternoon, which she was always permitted
to call her own; but sometimes she had little
visitors, and occasionally she went out to take
tea with her young friends, so that she could
not reckon on much more than one afternoon
in a fortnight. To such a young needlewoman
this seemed very little indeed.
Again a bright thought came to Ada's help:
"Could I not get up an hour earlier every
morning, while the weather is warm and the
day is long ?"
This idea pushed itself into her mind while
she was sitting in the dining-room with her
mamma; and so engrossed was she with her
project that, forgetting any one was near, she
started from her chair, and cried aloud, "That
will be the very thing."
"What, Ada ?" said Mrs. Marshall, smiling.
Ada blushed: and replied, "I was thinking
The Secret of Success. 59
about something I would do, mamma. I did
not intend to speak aloud; but indeed it was
nothing wrong."
"I do not wish you to tell me, love; only
let me beg, if you are forming another good
resolution, that you will try, by God's help,
to keep it. And I also," she added, "will
pray that my daughter may be strengthened
in every good purpose, whatever it may be."
"Thank you, dear mother," replied Ada;
and she thought, "Oh, what a happy thing
it is to have a kind mamma! who not only
shows she loves her child by taking care of
her body, but who prays to God to bless her,
and help her to do right."
To the great surprise both of her parents
and teachers, Ada from this time began to
show a very great wish to improve in sewing.
Industry is not often confined to one branch
of study alone; for the same spirit which first
induces us to work, if it be persevered in,
becomes a habit. So it was with Ada. She
began really to like spending her time in
labours which had the good of others for their
object, and insensibly greatly benefited herself
while thinking only of her fellow-creatures.
Every morning in the quiet of her own little
60 Ada's Two Resolutions.
room, her busy fingers sped in their wonted
duty. Scarcely a week passed without some
new article being added to her fast-increasing
store.
Mrs. Marshall was surprised to observe that
Ada gladly took possession of all the spare
bits of silk which could possibly be turned
to account; and one day she said: "My
dear, I think you are too old to spend your
time upon the manufacture of dolls' garments.
Those hands of yours are now so skilful that
they ought to be employed on something
better."
"I shall not wish to make many more,
mamma," said Ada, with a happy smile; for
another missionary meeting was near at hand,
and she was joyfully thinking of her almost
completed task, and considering how the fruits
of her labours were to be disposed of.
"If I only knew the name of that little
girl who gave the two sovereigns last year,
I would ask her what I ought to do," thought
Ada. However, when only one month of the
year remained, Ada led her mamma to the
secret store, and displayed to her astonished
sight such a large collection of articles, that
Mrs. Marshall could scarcely believe her eyes.
The Secret of Success. 61
These cannot be all your own making,
Ada," said she.
"Indeed they are," she replied. "Every
stitch is my own; but I do not want to keep
anything. Dear mamma, do tell me how I
may get money for them, that I may give it
to help those who go to tell the heathen
about the Saviour who died for them, as
well as for us."
"But, Ada, my darling, how could you find
time for all this work, even in a year?"
Then Ada told her mother all: how she had
resolved to do something, how she had been
tempted to delay, and how God had been
pleased to give her strength to persevere. The
joyful tears flowed from Mrs. Marshall's eyes.
"God has indeed answered our prayers,
Ada," said she; "for He it is who has assisted
you, since of yourself alone you could not have.
overcome a besetting sin, such as your old
habit of constantly adding to the number of
your unfulfilled resolutions."
How happy Ada felt on hearing her mo-
ther's words! Truly every step we take in
the right path brings us within reach of a
reward for having made the effort.
Most willingly did Mrs. Marshall help her
62 Ada's Two Resolutions.
daughter in that which still remained to be
done. At her suggestion, Ada wrote a num-
ber of little circulars to inform her young
friends that she should hold a bazaar at a
certain time and place; and as such an un-
dertaking was a somewhat novel one to be
under the conduct of a child, a goodly
number of juvenile purchasers came, eager
to expend some of their pocket-money. But
besides her youthful customers, many of her
mamma's friends accompanied the children;
and as there were many pretty things which
even they might buy, Ada's stock rapidly
disappeared. Guess her delight when, after
the bazaar was over, she found herself the
possessor of three sovereigns, a half-sovereign,
and eight shillings. She never thought of
gaining such a sum, but even a very little
girl can do a great deal in a year, and Ada
knew that it was fairly earned.
Our young readers will not wonder that she
thought the few days which must elapse be-
fore the missionary meeting very long indeed,
or that the money was very often counted over
in the meanwhile.
"If I had two shillings more, they would
have made four sovereigns," said Ada, after
The Secret of Success. 63
having looked at her treasure for the last time
before devoting it to the purpose for which
it was intended.
"Would you like me to give you the two
shillings, my dear ?" inquired Mrs. Marshall.
"Oh no, thank you, mamma! Perhaps, if
I live until another year, I may do more;
but whatever I give must be of my own."
"Then you are not weary of well-doing,
Ada ?"
"Oh, mamma, how could I be weary, when
I think what a happy year this has been ?"
Then, after a pause, Ada added:. "Mamma,
do you remember setting me to read the
parable of the talents, and telling me that
no servant was left without any ?"
"Yes, my love, I do. Did that help to
strengthen you in your work ?"
"Indeed it did, mamma. I felt as though
I should like to be faithful, and spend both
the little time and money that God had given
me, so that I might gain more for Him. Now,
do you think He will trust me with more
talents?"
"Strive to do the best you can with what
you have, my dear, and leave the rest to your
heavenly Father, who gives every one accord-
04 Ada's Two Resolutions.
ing to his ability. And while devoting your
humble gains to the cause of the gospel,
do not forget to pray that the fruits of your
labours may bring spiritual food to some poor
soul hungering and thirsting after righte-
ousness."
If any of our little readers wish to know
whether the story of Ada's labours is a true
one, let me assure them that it is; and we
pray God that He may give them the will
and strength to do likewise.
LONPON: KNIGHT, PRINTER, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.
A.* "1
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