“It is so to every one, Marston; you are no exception. The more you read and study the Bible, the more you will learn that life is a continued warfare. Good and great as St. Paul was, he felt this more keenly than you do. The natural heart is deceitful, depraved, and desperately wicked; and even when renewed by divine grace, still constant watch and care are needed lest we fall into temptation.”
“Who then can be good?” I asked.
“All those who lean upon the Saviour. But so soon as we aim to walk by ourselves, we are lost. You must do this, Marston;” and Robert Lovell slid his arm around me, and in the silence of my own room, prayed with me as Mr. Kirby had done, that I might become an earnest follower of Christ; that I might be willing to be taught of him; and that now, in the morning of life, I might dedicate both heart and life to his service.
“This is what I want to do,” I said as we rose from our knees; “but when I try hardest, my thoughts will fly off to something else, or hasty, impetuous feelings will rush over me, and make me feel there is no use in trying. Oh Robert, you don’t know what a wicked boy I am.”
“There is no good in ourselves, Marston. It is all of His mercy. Go to the Saviour just as you are, and ask his assistance, his Spirit. He knows all your temptations, all your weaknesses, and he also knows all your efforts. Love and trust him, and his Spirit will help you to overcome. You will try to do this? say that you will;” and he held me firmly by the hand.
“I will, Robert; I will.”
Rockdale was less than half a mile from Terryville. It had been Mr. Harlan’s custom to have his pupils go to Mr. Farnham’s church, leaving him free to preach in the neighborhood adjacent. In this way many were favored with the preached word that would otherwise have been deprived of it; and it is to be hoped much good was done by thus scattering the seed in out-of-the-way places.
But while Mr. Harlan was doing all the good he could, and Robert Lovell was not unmindful of the work before him, active in the double position of both teacher and pupil, there were at Rockdale other spirits quite as energetic in another direction—boys that seemed to have no idea of any thing beyond physical enjoyment, to elude the teachers, escape study, and “have a good time.” This was the great end and aim of their school life.
As Robert Lovell’s home was at the extreme part of the village, I did not see as much of him as of some of the others; and no doubt he thought me weak and vacillating, contrasting as I sometimes did the industrious, painstaking pupil with the selfish, ease-loving one, who seemed to get along just as well. Happy, cheerful, fun-loving spirits, with plenty of money to spend, and always ready for a forage on watermelons or into the cakes and pies in Mrs. Harlan’s pantry. Their only concern was, not to be discovered. Like the Spartan, they held it was no harm to steal; the only disgrace was in being discovered; every other consideration was too trivial for a moment’s notice.
“Such boys will not make men,” said Robert Lovell. “Look in your ‘Self Helps’—you will find no such examples.”