CHAPTER IX.
MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS.
Section I.—Fickleness.
Hunting Squirrels.
JOHN ALSOP was about fifteen years old, when his father, who had just moved into a new settlement, was clearing land. One day the father and a neighbor were engaged in building a log fence; which was made of the trunks of the trees that were cleared off the lands. First, they laid the fence one log high, with the ends of each length passing a little way by each other. Notches were cut in the ends, and a block was laid crosswise, where the ends lapped, and then another tier was laid on the cross pieces, till the fence was high enough. To roll up the top logs, they would lay long poles, called skids, one end on the top of the logs, and the other on the ground, and roll up the logs on these. But, as the logs were very heavy, they were obliged to stop several times to rest, or to get a new hold; and it was John’s business, when they stopped, to put a block the under side of the log, above the skids, to keep it from rolling back. Having given a hard lift, and tugging with all his might, the father called out, “There, Johnny, put under your block quick.” John started nimbly, and snatched up his block, when suddenly the loud chirp of a squirrel struck his ear. Instantly, down went his block, and away he ran after the squirrel, leaving his father and the other man to hold the log till he came back.
This anecdote gives you John’s character. He was too fickle to follow any one object or pursuit long enough to accomplish any thing. Thirty years after this, a gentleman who had known him in his youthful days, inquired about him of one of his neighbors, who related this anecdote, and added, “he has been running after squirrels ever since.” He never was steady and persevering in pursuit of any thing. When he was a young man, he could never make up his mind decidedly what employment to follow. He would try one, and get tired of it, and take another; but followed no business long enough to get well acquainted with it. When he had a family, and found it necessary to make exertion, he was busy early and late, but to little purpose. He moved from one place to another; and “a rolling stone gathers no moss.” He very often changed his employment, and by that means lost all the advantage of past experience. Now, he was a farmer, then a trader, then a post-rider, then a deputy sheriff, then a mechanic, without having learned his trade. By the time he had got fairly started in a new business, he would hear or think of something else, and before any body thought of it, he would change his business. In this way he wasted his money, and kept his family poor, and neglected his children’s education. He was always hunting the squirrel.
Now, boys, don’t hunt the squirrel. Whatever you begin, stick to it till it is finished—done, and well done. If you always follow this rule faithfully, you cannot fail of being somebody and doing something. But, if you go through life hunting the squirrel, when you die, nobody can tell what you have done, and the world will be neither wiser nor better for your having lived in it.
Section II.—Independence of Character.
THERE is a certain kind of Independence of Character, which is indispensable to success in any undertaking. I do not mean a proud, self-confident spirit, which despises advice, and makes one self-willed and headstrong. This is obstinacy. But true independence is that sort of self-confidence and resolution which leads one to go forward in what he has to do, with decision and energy, without leaning upon others. Without this, a man will gain to himself that unenviable distinction described by the homely but expressive term shiftless. The following description, from Mrs. S. C. Hall’s “[Sketches of Irish Character],” furnishes an admirable illustration of the results of a want of independence of character:—
“Shane Thurlough, ‘as dacent a boy,’ and Shane’s wife, as ‘clane-skinned a girl,’ as any in the world. There is Shane, an active, handsome looking fellow, leaning over the half-door of his cottage, kicking a hole in the wall with his brogue, and picking up all the large gravel within his reach, to pelt the ducks with. Let us speak to him. ‘Good morning Shane.’ ‘Och! the bright bames of heaven on ye every day! and kindly welcome, my lady; and won’t ye step in and rest—its powerful hot, and a beautiful summer, sure,—the Lord be praised!’ ‘Thank you, Shane. I thought you were going to cut the hay-field to-day; if a heavy shower comes, it will be spoiled; it has been fit for the scythe these two days.’ ‘Sure, it’s all owing to that thief o’ the world, Tom Parrel, my lady. Didn’t he promise me the loan of his scythe; and by the same token I was to pay him for it; and depinding on that, I didn’t buy one, which I have been threatening to do for the last two years.’ ‘But why don’t you go to Carrick and purchase one?’ ‘To Carrick. Och, ’tis a good step to Carrick, and my toes are on the ground, (saving your presence,) for I depinded on Tim Jarvis to tell Andy Cappler, the brogue-maker, to do my shoes; and, bad luck to him, the spalpeen, he forgot it.’ ‘Where’s your pretty wife, Shane?’ ‘She’s in all the wo o’ the world, ma’am, dear. And she puts the blame of it on me, though I’m not in the fault this time, any how. The child’s taken the small pox, and she depinded on me to tell the doctor to cut it for the cow-pox, and I depinded on Kitty Cackle, the limmer, to tell the doctor’s own man, and thought she would not forget it, becase the boy’s her bachelor; but out o’ sight out o’ mind—the never a word she tould him about it, and the babby’s got it nataral, and the woman’s in heart trouble, (to say nothing o’ myself;) and its the first and all.’