The Advantages of Truth.
George Elliot the son of a respectable gentleman, had been paying a visit to his uncle, and on his return home, was accompanied by one of his cousins, who was to spend a few months with him at Hartley, Mr. Elliot's country residence.
George was a boy of a frank and generous disposition, and good abilities; these being cultivated by a careful education, made him at the age of eleven years, a well-informed and agreeable boy. Charles Morden his cousin, was much his inferior in every respect. Accustomed to excessive indulgence, he became fretful and idle, and often entered into mischief, for the sake of having something to do; his parents so plentifully supplied him with play-things, that he was consequently tired of every thing he possessed, and only desirous of what was in expectation; nay, worse, for to obtain any particular gratification, he would not scruple making use of falshood. Such was the boy, now unfortunately the constant companion of George Elliot.
Mr. Elliot indulged his son in every innocent amusement proper for his age, but loved him too well to suffer his faults to pass unnoticed. George had been long anxious for a poney, and as soon as a proper one could be purchased, his father presented it to him, and often allowed him to ride out, either accompanied by himself or a servant, but particularly forbade him from ever mounting any other horse in the stables, telling him at the same time, the many fatal accidents that had occurred, owing to boys attempting to ride horses they were unable to manage. George promised obedience, and had strictly adhered to his word.
It was settled that Charles was to share the studies, as well as the amusements of his cousin, and the gentleman to whose care George's education was confided, paid equal attention to both, though he soon perceived that Charles had little delight in useful occupations: and he was always glad of some excuse that might save him the trouble of attending Mr. Darford, and laughed at George for being always fagging as he called it.
About two months after his son's return, Mr. Elliot was obliged by some business of importance, to take a journey that he thought might detain him about a fortnight from home. He embraced the children at parting, desired them to behave well, and at his return they should be rewarded.
For the first week after Mr. Elliot's departure, the boys were so good, and their tutor so well pleased with their conduct, that one fine day he gave them a holiday, telling them, that provided they avoided all mischievous amusements they were at liberty to spend the day in any manner most agreeable to themselves.—During several hours, they were employed in catching their balls, flying their kites, working in the garden, &c. At length, Charles seeing a little boy going by on horseback, said he should like nothing so well as a nice ride before dinner. "Nor I neither," answered George, "but you know it is impossible, my father having expressly forbidden us to ride out alone during his absence. Mr. Darford is not at home, and I know that all the men are busy." "What does that signify?" returned Charles, "we are surely old enough to take care of ourselves, and as to my uncle, he will never know any thing of the matter."
George was at first quite shocked at the idea of disobeying his father, but he at last suffered himself to be persuaded by the artful entreaties of his cousin, to do what he knew to be wrong. They went to the stables, where George took out his own little poney, and Charles one of his uncle's large horses, assuring his cousin that he could manage it very well. At their first setting out, they agreed not to go far from home, only just to ride round the paddock; the pleasantness of the weather, however, soon tempted them to alter their resolution, and they ventured into the high road. They went on very well for some time, and were just thinking of returning, when Charles's horse took fright at some object on the side of the road, and by a sudden start threw his rider; he was not much hurt by the fall, but the horse galloped away, and they soon lost all trace of the way he took: after wasting some time in fruitless endeavours to follow him, they were obliged to return home.
George was very uneasy, and bitterly repented the fault he had committed. "O Charles," cried he, "why did you ask me to disobey my father! Alas! I fear he will never forgive me."
"Don't cry so, pray," answered his cousin, "come, follow my advice, and this affair will never be discovered."—"How can that be? you surely forget the horse is lost, and besides, I would not upon any account tell an untruth." "You are very foolish then, let me tell you; for as nobody saw us go out, if we deny knowing any thing about the horse, we shall never be suspected."
"No, Charles, that I will never do; I had rather suffer the severest punishment that could be inflicted upon me, than tell a lie. Nothing shall induce me to add to the fault I have already committed. When my father comes home, I will confess what I have done, and rely upon his indulgence for pardoning a disobedience I so sincerely repent."
"Well then," said Charles, "if you will not follow my advice, at least you have no occasion to say it was I who persuaded you to take out the horses."—"I shall not even mention your name: but come, let us waste no more time, in regretting an action that cannot be recalled, we had better try by our future conduct, to make some reparation for the past."—So saying, he took his cousin by the arm, and they were together leaving the room, when Mr. Elliot entered. The young lads drew back in dismay; Mr. Elliot ran to embrace his son. "You see me here, my dear boy, sooner than you expected; but fortunately the business that called me hence, was concluded much earlier than I could have imagined." Some few minutes had elapsed, before George could gain courage to answer his father, at length he said, "you are convinced, my dear sir, that your company has always given me pleasure, but to day it causes me pain, for I have just been guilty of a fault that will I fear deprive me of your confidence." George here related to his father, all that had passed, except carefully concealing the part his cousin had acted; when he had finished, Mr. Elliot thus addressed him, "I am charmed with your noble conduct, my dear boy, and most willingly forgive the error you have committed, because I believe your repentance to be sincere, and am convinced you have told me the exact truth. Listen, now, to the consequences that would have ensued, had you concealed it: I was in the adjoining apartment, and heard the whole conversation that passed between yourself and Charles; so, had you, as he wickedly advised, had recourse to a falsehood, it would not have deceived me, but only have proved that you were unworthy my care and affection: whereas, I now rejoice in the virtuous resolution of a son thus rendered dearer to me than ever. Always speak the truth, and be assured it is the easiest and surest way of extricating yourself from every difficulty.—As for you, Sir," continued Mr. Elliot turning to Charles, "I shall not take the trouble of punishing the meanness and depravity of your conduct, because I fear that any punishment I could inflict, would have little effect on a liar: I shall immediately send you back to your parents, with an account of this day's transactions, at the same time advising them to find some place far distant from all who belong to you, and where, under a severe discipline, you may be made to repent of your wickedness, and I hope in time recalled to that virtuous conduct from which you have now so miserably erred."
Mr. Elliot then taking his son by the hand led him out of the parlour, and left Charles at leisure to reflect on the sad consequences of a habit of lying.
This story being finished, Mrs. Harley said, it is not necessary my dear Anne, that I should comment on the subject of which you have been reading; the advantages arising from a strict adherence to truth are too obvious not to be immediately perceived, and I trust, from the principles I have always endeavoured to instil into your young mind, that you will ever prefer the fair and open path she points out, to the intricate labyrinths of despicable falshood.
Anne. Indeed, mamma, if ever I should be tempted to tell an untruth, I will think of this story, and then, I am sure I shall reject it, even though I were certain it would remain undiscovered.
Mrs. Harley. Do not imagine that would ever be the case, as it is impossible for children, however artful, long to dissemble their actions or even thoughts from persons interested about them.
I will now conclude my account of Europe.