It was the custom of Mr. Clayton to present gifts to his children on their birthdays, and his gifts were of less or greater value, according to their industry, improvement, and good conduct during the year. It was also the wish of Mr. Clayton that his eldest son and daughter should each keep a journal of all their actions. He did not desire to see this journal himself, but he advised them to read over at the end of each week what they had written, that the record of what
was good might incite them to other acts of virtue, and the history of their mistakes and errors serve as a warning for the future.
This kind, indulgent father seldom had cause to punish his children; they were indeed very good and docile children, always respecting the commands of their parents, and loving each other with the true fondness of brothers and sisters.
One only of these children went to school, and that was the eldest boy, Laurence Clayton. The others were instructed by a governess at home. Laurence was a fine boy, the hope and pride of his family. For nine birthdays he had received gifts from the hand of his father as the reward of his good conduct, and now his tenth birthday was approaching, and Mr. Clayton had
heard so pleasing an account of Laurence from his schoolmaster, that he said, beside the present he meant to give him, he would on the birthday grant any favour Laurence should ask of him.
A week only was wanting to complete Laurence's tenth year. Company was invited, and the young folks were all thinking and talking of the expected pleasures of that day—all but Laurence, who became pensive and silent, shunned his brothers and sisters, and even the presence of his father, to shut himself up in his own room; but, as he replied, when asked about his health, that he was very well, it was supposed that he was busy at his studies, and they still prepared for the birthday.
On the 24th of August Laurence was ten years old, and a finer
morning than it proved was never seen. The two families that were invited came to breakfast. All were assembled in the parlour, and admiring a very handsome pair of globes, which, mounted on mahogany stands, were to be presented to Laurence; when he entered the room, not dressed in the suit of clothes that had been laid in his chamber, but in his oldest jacket, his cheeks quite pale, and his eyes red and swelled with weeping. He turned his head away as he passed the globes, and, dropping on his knees before his father, he said, 'O, sir, you promised to grant me a favour this day, pray let it be your forgiveness! I know I do not deserve your pardon, but if you will forgive me this once, I am sure I never, never can deceive you again.'
Mr. Clayton, shocked and surprised, desired to know what fault he had committed, when Laurence took his journal-book from his pocket and gave it into his father's hand, saying, 'I am ashamed to repeat what I have done, but it is written there, sir.' Mr. Clayton took the book, and told Laurence to withdraw till he had read it. On opening the journal Mr. Clayton found that all was regular down to the entry for the 2nd of August, which ran thus:—