LESSON XXXVI. INTEGRITY. D. S. DICKINSON. HERE is yet another rule for the guidance of the young business-men, more important than any to which I have adverted, and without which the subtle deductions of political economy and the ornate science of commercial law would be useless. It is not defined by the chapters of statutes, nor divided into sections; nor has it grown up with the progress of civilization, to suit the demands of society, or answer the exigencies of trade; but it is coëval with human existence, and is written upon the tablet of every heart. 2. It comprises a code of exquisite completeness for man's moral government, and points the pathway for his footsteps, which, carefully pursued, will place length of days in his right hand; and in his left, riches and honor: and it admonishes with startling significance of the terrible penalties which await those who disobey or seek to evade its mandates. This law is as unalterable as the renowned Medes and Persians* fancied were their far-famed edicts. "It lives through all time, Operates unspent." 3. It is not taught in the schools, nor is study requisite to its possession; but the young and the old, the ignorant and the learned, the rich and the poor, the lofty and the low, * Daniel, vi. chap. 8 verse. understand it alike, by that spark of divinity which electrifies the soul, and gives the conscience intuition. It is INTEGRITY, — integrity, including all the cardinal and social virtues which form a code for the moral government of man. It is a capital which never depreciates with fluctuations, is never at a discount, but is a sure reliance in every vicissitude and trial. It points to honorable success in life's pilgrimage with unerring certainty; and is both sword and shield to him who would wage, with the true heart of manhood, the great battle of life. 4. What though the tempests howl, the storms beat, the lightnings flash, the thunders roar, and the angry ocean cast up its mire and dirt: he who holds fast to his integrity will outride the danger, and may laugh at the fury of the elements. His bow of promise will arch itself up again in the heavens, more beautiful than ever, as a living witness that truth can never die. The slaves of vice, and the votaries of indolence and fraud, may flourish for a season; but they perish by a law of being as fixed and certain as the power of gravitation; and, when they have closed their ignoble existence, the devotees of truth will rise above their ruin, like the flowers of spring upon the bleak desolations of winter. 5. Go forth, then, young man, into this broad field of labor, and hope, and reward, and peril! Be temperate, industrious, frugal, and self-reliant; and whenever temptations shall cross your pathway and seek to allure you, pause and reflect,― remember this time and occasion, your associates and him who addresses you; and remember, too, and repeat this one word which I give you, as a talisman or charm to shield and protect you from all evil, and bear you through life's journey in safety; and that word isINTEGRITY! LESSON XXXVII. 1 TRANS FIGURE (from TRANS, implying change, and FIGURE, a form or shape) is to change the form or figure; to transform. 2 THE SOUTHERN CROSS is a brilliant little constellation, consisting of four principal stars; too far south, however, to be seen by us in these northern regions. THE POLAR STAR is a star of the second magnitude, forming the extremity of Ursa Minor, or the Little Bear. HERE THE VISIBLE AND THE INVISIBLE. EPHRAIM PEABODY. ERE is a whaling vessel in the harbor, her anchors and her sails unfurled. The last boat has left her, and she is now departing on a voyage of three, and perhaps four years in length. All that the eye sees is that she is a fine ship, and that it has cost much labor to fit her out. Those on board will spend years of toil, and will then return, while the profits of the voyage will be distributed, as the case may be, to be squandered, or to be added to already existing hoards. So much appears. But there is an unpublished history, which, could it be revealed, and brought vividly before the mind, would transfigure1 her, and enshrine her in an almost awful light. 2. There is not a stick of timber in her whole frame, not a plank or a rope, which is not, in some mysterious way, enveloped with human interests and sympathies. Let us trace this part of her history, while she circles the globe, and returns to the harbor from which she sailed. At the outset, the labor of the merchant, the carpenter, and of all employed on her, has not been mere sordid labor. The thought of their homes, of their children, and of what this labor may secure for them, has been in their hearts. 3. And they who sail in her, leave behind homes, wives, children, parents; and, years before they return, those who are dearest to them, may be in their tombs. What bitter partings, as if by the grave's brink, are those which take place when the signal to unmoor calls them on board! There are among them young men, married, perhaps, but a few weeks before, and those of maturer years, whose young children cleave to their hearts as they go. 4. How deeply, as the good ship sails out into the open sea, is she freighted with memories and affections! Every eye is turned toward the receding coast, as if the pangs of another farewell were to be endured. Fade slowly, shores that encircle their homes! Shine brightly, ye skies, over those dear ones whom they leave behind! 5. They round the capes of continents, they traverse every zone, their keel crosses every sea; but still, brighter than the Southern Cross or the Polar Star, shines on their souls the light of their distant home. In the calm moon-light rise before the mariner the forms of those whom he loves; in the pauses of the gale, he hears the voices of his children. Beat upon by the tempest, worn down with labor, he endures all. Welcome care and toil, if these may bring peace and happiness to those dear ones who meet around his distant fireside! 6. And the thoughts of those in that home, compassing the globe, follow him wherever he goes. Their prayers blend with all the winds which swell his sails. Their affections hover over his dreams. Children count the months and the days of a father's absence. The babe learns to love him, and to lisp his name. Not a midnight storm strikes their dwelling, but the wife starts from her sleep, as if she heard, in the wailing of the wind, the sad forebodings of danger and wreck. Not a soft wind blows, but comes to her heart as a gentle messenger from the distant seas. 7. And, after years of absence, they approach their native shores. As the day closes, they can see the summits of the distant highlands, hanging like stationary clouds on the horizon. And long before the night is over, their sleepless eyes catch the light, glancing across the rim of the seas, from the light-house at the entrance of the bay. With the morning they are moored in the harbor. 8. The newspapers announce her arrival. But here, again, how little of her cargo is of that material kind which can be reckoned in dollars and cents! She is freighted with human hearts, with anxieties, and hopes, and fears. There are many there who have not dared to ask the pilot of home. The souls of many, which yesterday were full of joy, are now overshadowed with anxiety. They almost hesitate to leave the ship, and pause for some one from the shore to answer those questions of home, and of those they love, which they dare not utter. There are many joyful meetings, and some that are full of sorrow. His feet had been 9. Let us follow one of this crew. He is still a youth. Years ago, of a wild and reckless and roving spirit, he left his home. He had fallen into temptations which had been too strong for his feeble virtue. familiar with the paths of sin and shame. But, during the present voyage, sickness and reflection have "brought him to himself." Full of remorse for evil courses, and for that parental love which he has slighted, he has said, “I will arise and go to my father's house;" they who gave me birth, shall no longer mourn over me as lost. I will smooth the pathway of age to them, and be the support of their feeble steps. 10. He is on his way to where they dwell in the country. As the sun is setting, he can see, from an eminence over which the road passes, their solitary home on a distant hill |