Personal Reminiscences in Book Making, Robert Michael Ballantyne [the best ebook reader for android txt] 📗

select the pit, and the comparatively delicate man will prefer the crossing.

I repeat, to say that any creature was called into being for no purpose at all, is to question the wisdom of the Almighty. Even if a babe makes its appearance on this terrestrial scene, and wails out its brief career in a single day, it was sent here for a special purpose, else it would not have been sent, and that purpose must have been fully accomplished, else it would not have died.

To my mind this is an exceedingly cheering view of things, for it encourages the belief that however poor or feeble may have been our efforts to live a good life, these efforts cannot have been made in vain, even although they may fall very far short of the "best." And there is also this very hopeful consideration to comfort us, that the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, that wisdom sometimes proceeds out of the mouths of babes, and that "we little know what great things from little things may rise."

To be sure, that cuts both ways, for, what sometimes are called "little sins" may result in tremendous evil, but, equally, efforts that seem insignificant may be the cause of great and unexpected blessing.

If, then, as I sincerely believe, every living being has a special work to do--or, rather, has a variety of appropriate paths in any one of which he may walk with more or less advantage to himself and his fellow-men--it behoves every young man to find out what path is the best one for him, and to walk in it vigorously. Fatalism is folly. No one believes in it. At least no one in this country acts upon it. When I say that every being has a special work to do, I don't mean that it has been decreed _exactly_ what each man has to do. Were this so, he would have to do it, _nolens volens_, and there would be no such thing as responsibility--for it would be gross injustice to hold a man responsible for that which he could by no means prevent or accomplish. That which has really been decreed is that man shall have free-will and be allowed to exercise that free-will in the conduct of his affairs. It is a most mysterious gift, but there it is--an unquestionable fact--and it must be taken into account in all our reasoning. There is a confusion here into which men are sometimes liable to fall. Man's will is absolutely free, but his action is not so. He may will just as he pleases, but all experience tells us that he may not do just as he pleases. Whether his intentions be good or bad, they are frequently and effectively interfered with, but his will--never.

Seeing, then, that there is a best way for every one, and that there are sundry common sense methods by which the path may be discovered, it may be well to consider for a moment whether there are not some obstacles which stand in the way of a young man's success in life, not only because they are providentially allowed to lie there, but because the young man himself either carelessly or unwittingly has planted them in his own path.

Selfishness is one of those obstacles. And by selfishness I do not mean that gross form of it which secures for the man who gives way to it a bad name, but those subtle phases of it which may possibly be allied with much that is good, amiable, and attractive. It is not unfrequently the consequence of that thoughtlessness which results in evil not less than does want of heart.

Talking too much about oneself and one's own affairs, and being too little interested in the affairs of others, is one aspect of the selfishness to which I refer. Some men, the moment they meet you, begin to talk energetically about what they have been doing, or thinking, or about what they are going to do, and if you encourage them they will go on talking in the same strain, totally forgetting that _you_ may chance to be interested in other things. Such men, if they begin young, and are not checked, soon degenerate into "bores," and no bore, however well-meaning or even religious, ever succeeded in making the best of life. The cure for this is to be found--as usual--in the Scripture: "Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? by taking heed thereto according to thy word." And what says the word? "Look not (only) on your own things, but upon the things of others."

I have a friend who was the confidant of a large number of his kindred and of many other people besides. It was said of him that everybody went to him for sympathy and advice. I can well believe it, for he never spoke about himself at all that I can remember. He was not unusually wise or superlatively clever, but he had "a heart at leisure from itself to soothe and sympathise." The consequence was that, in spite of a good many faults, he was greatly beloved. And it is certain, reader, that to gain the affection of your fellow-men is one of the surest steps in the direction of success in life. To be too much concerned in conversation about yourself, your affairs and your opinions will prove to be a mighty obstruction in your way. Perhaps one of the best methods of fighting against this tendency is to resolve, when meeting with friends, _never_ to begin with self, but _always_ with them. But it is hard to crucify self! This mode of procedure, be it observed, would not be a hypocritical exhibition of interest where none was felt, but an honest attempt to snub self by deliberately putting your friends' interests before your own.

It is probable that we are not sufficiently alive to the influence of comparatively insignificant matters on success in life. Illegible handwriting, for instance, may go far to retard or arrest a youth's success. It sometimes interferes with friendly intercourse. I once had a friend whose writing was so illegible, and the cause of so much worry in mere decipherment, that I was constrained to give up epistolary correspondence with him altogether. There can be little doubt that many a would-be author fails of success because of the illegibility of his penmanship, for it is impossible that an editor or publisher can form a fair estimate of the character or value of a manuscript which he has much difficulty in reading.

There is one thing which men are prone to do, and which it would be well that they should not do, and that is, "nail their colours to the mast" in early youth. The world is a school. We are ever learning--or ought to be--and, in some cases, "never coming to a knowledge of the truth!" Is not this partly owing to that fatal habit of nailing the colours? I do not for a moment advocate the holding of opinions loosely. On the contrary, whether a man be young or old, whenever he gets hold of what he believes to be true, he ought to grasp it tenaciously and with a firm grip, but he should never "nail" it. Being fallible, man is liable to more or less of error; and, therefore, ought to hold himself open to correction--ay, even to conversion. New or stronger light may convince him that he has been wrong--and if a man will not change when he is convinced, or "fully persuaded in his own mind," he has no chance of finding out how to make the best of life, either from a young, or middle-aged, or old man's standpoint. Why, new or stronger light--if he would let it illumine him--might even convince him that his opinion was not only true, but involved much greater and grander truths than he supposed. It is difficult to go more minutely into details, even if it were advisable to do so. I may fittingly conclude by saying that the sum of all that might be written is comprehended in the statement that obedience to God in all things is the sure and only road to success.

Of all the bright and glorious truths with which our fallen world is enlightened, there is one--a duplex truth--which lies at the foundation of everything. It is unchangeable. Without it all other facts would be valueless, and I would recommend every man, woman, and child to nail it to the mast without hesitation, namely--"God is love," and "Love is the fulfilling of the law."


CHAPTER ELEVEN.


FORGIVE AND FORGET: A LIFEBOAT STORY.

Old Captain Bolter said he would never forgive Jo Grain--never. And what Captain Bolter said he meant: for he was a strong and self-willed man.

There can be no doubt that the Captain had some ground of complaint against Grain: for he had been insulted by him grossly--at least so he thought. It happened thus:--

Joseph Grain was a young fisherman, and the handsomest, tallest, strongest, and most active among the youths of the little seaport town in which he dwelt. He was also one of the lifeboat's crew, and many a time had his strong hand been extended in the midst of surging sea and shrieking tempest to save the perishing. Moreover, he was of a frank, generous disposition; was loved by most of his comrades; envied by a few; hated by none.

But with all his fine qualities young Grain had a great and serious fault--he was rather fond of strong drink. It must not, however, be supposed that he was a drunkard, in the ordinary sense at least of that term. No, he was never seen to stagger homeward, or to look idiotic: but, being gifted with a robust frame and finely-strung nerves, a very small quantity of alcohol sufficed to rouse within him the spirit of combativeness, inducing him sometimes to say and do things which afterwards could not be easily unsaid or undone, however much he might repent.

One afternoon Grain and some of his mates were sauntering towards the little lighthouse that stood at the end of their pier. It was an old-fashioned stone pier, with a dividing wall or parapet down the middle of it. As they walked along, some of the younger men began to question Jo about a rumour that had recently been spread abroad.

"Come, now, Jo," said one, named Blunt, "don't try to deceive us; you can't deny that you're after Cappen Bolter's little gal."

"Well, I _won't_ deny it," replied Jo, with sudden energy and somewhat forced gaiety, while the blood mounted to his bronzed cheeks: "moreover, I don't care who knows it, for there's not a sweeter lass in all the town than Mary Bolter, an' the man that would be ashamed to own his fondness for her don't deserve to have her."

"That's true," said a young fisherman, named Guy, with a nod of approval--"though there may be two opinions as to which is the sweetest lass in all the town!"

"I tell 'ee what, Jo," remarked a stern and rather cross-grained bachelor, named Grime, "you may save yourself the trouble of givin' chase to that little craft, for although old Bolter ain't much to boast of--bein' nothin' more than the skipper of a small coastin' craft--he thinks hisself far too big a man to give his darter to a