Let me advise my young readers to be particularly attentive, next to their studies, to the neatness of their persons; for no character is more prejudicial to a youth than that of a sloven. But do not let them mistake me, and suppose that I mean, by neatness in their dress, foppish and ridiculous apparel.
It may easily be supposed, that these defects in his conduct rendered him contemptible in the eyes of those children who were at first much behind him, but soon overtook him, to his inevitable disgrace. His master was so much ashamed of him, as well on account of his ignorance as slovenliness, that whenever any visitors came to the school, poor Marcus was sent out of the way, lest such a figure as he was might bring disgrace on the academy.
It might reasonably be expected, that so many humiliating circumstances would have made some impression on his mind; but he continued the same course of inconsistence, indolence, and dissipation; nor did there appear the least dawn of hope, that he would ever return into the paths of industry and prudence.
His master was very uneasy on his account, and knew not how to act: to keep him at his school, he considered as a robbery on his parents, and to send him home as a dunce and a blockhead would be a cutting consideration to his father and mother. He would sometimes say to his unworthy pupil, "Marcus, what will your father and mother think of me, when I shall send you home to them, so little improved in learning and knowledge?" It was, however, in vain to talk to him; for he seldom made any answer, but generally burst into tears.
Two years had glided away in this miserable manner, without his having made the least progress in learning, and without showing the least inclination for study. One evening, however, just as he was going to bed, he received a letter sealed with black wax, which he opened with some degree of indifference, and then read as follows:
"MY DEAR MARCUS,
"This morning has deprived me of the most affectionate husband, and you of the most tender parent. Alas, he is gone, to return no more! If there be any thing that can enable me to support this dreadful calamity, it is only in what I receive from the recollection, that I have left in my son the dear image of his father. It is from you only therefore I can look for comfort; and I am willing to flatter myself, that I shall receive as much pleasure from your conduct as I do from my tender affection for you. Should I find myself disappointed in my hopes, should you be only like your father in person, and not resemble him in his industry, integrity, and virtue, sorrow and despair will put a period to my miserable life. By the person who brings you this letter, I have sent you a miniature picture of your father. Wear it constantly at your bosom, and frequently look at it, that it may bring to your remembrance, and induce you to imitate, all the purest virtues and uncommon endowments of the dear original. I shall leave you in your present situation one year longer, by which time I hope you will be complete in your education. In the mean time, do not let this slip from your memory, that my happiness or misery depends on your conduct, industry, and attention to your studies. That God may bless you, and give you patience cheerfully to tread the rocky paths of science, is my sincere wish."
The errors of Marcus were the consequence of bad habits and customs he had imbibed in his infancy, and not from any natural depravity of the heart. He had no sooner read this letter than he found every sentiment of virtue awakening in his bosom. He burst into a flood of tears, and frequently interrupted by sighs, exclaimed, "O my dear father! my dear father! have I then lost you for ever?" He earnestly gazed on the miniature picture of his parent, pressed it to his bosom, while he, in faultering accents, uttered these words:—"Thou dear author of my existence, how unworthy am I to be called your son! How shamefully have I abused your tenderness, in idling that time away for which you have paid so dearly! But let me hope that reformation will not come too late."
He passed that night in sorrow and contrition, he bedewed his pillow with tears, and sleep was a stranger to his troubled mind. If he happened but to slumber, he suddenly started, imagining he saw the image of his deceased father standing before him in the dreadful garb of death, and thus reproaching him: "Ungenerous youth! is this the manner in which you ought to return my past cares and attention to your interest?—Thou idle sloven, thou ungenerous son! awaken from your state of indolence, and properly improve the little time you have left for the pursuit of science, which you have hitherto so shamefully neglected; and do not, by an unpardonable inattention to yourself, shorten the few remaining days of your dear mother's life!"
I hope my youthful readers are well convinced that there are no such things as ghosts or apparitions, and that they are nothing more than the effects of a troubled imagination. Such was the ease with Marcus, who fancied he saw his father on the one hand, reproaching him for what was past, and his dear mother on the other, exhorting him to better conduct in future. "What a wretch I am," said he to himself, "to act in this manner! When my time for leaving this academy shall arrive, and I must appear before my mother to give proofs of my literary knowledge, what must be the pangs of her maternal heart, when she shall find that the child, on whom she had placed all the prospects of her future felicity, is an ungrateful, ignorant, and unworthy wretch? She will call on the friendly hand of Death to take her from such an insupportable scene!"
Poor Marcus thus lay rolling on the thorny bed of trouble and anxiety, till, at last, totally overcome by grief and despair, he fell asleep. As soon as he awoke in the morning, on his bended knees he implored the assistance of the Almighty in the reformation he intended to make in his conduct. He instantly hastened to his master's chamber, and there threw himself on his knees before him: "Behold, sir," said he, "prostrate before you, an ungrateful wretch, who has hitherto treated, with the most shameful indifference, all the wise lessons you would have bestowed on him. Yet, unworthy as I may be of your future instructions, let me implore you, for the sake of my dear mother, whose life I fear I shall shorten by my unworthy conduct, to extend your bounty to me once more, and I will endeavour to convince you, by my future conduct, how much ashamed I am of what is past."