[The Difficult Duty.]
MORAL DOUBTS.
Monsieur de Flaumont one day said to his children:—"I am going to relate to you a circumstance which has come to my knowledge, in order that you may give me your opinion on it."
Henry, Clementine, and Gustavus hastened to take their seats near him, when he related what follows:—
"A workman named Paul, the father of several children, who were dependent on his industry, was walking by the side of a very rapid river, then greatly swollen by recent rains. The water formed a whirlpool under one of the arches of a neighbouring bridge, and drew into it, with a great deal of noise, the remains of a boat laden with planks, which it had already dashed to pieces. Paul gazed upon the torrent and thought, 'If I were to fall into it, I should have some difficulty in getting out again.' Yet Paul was an excellent swimmer, and had even saved the lives of several persons who had been near drowning in that very river; but at that moment the danger was so great, that in spite of his natural courage, he felt there was sufficient cause for fear. Then his thoughts reverted to his children, who were entirely dependent upon him for support: to his eldest boy, a lad of some twelve years of age, who promised to be a good workman, but who, if deprived of his father, would have no one to instruct or protect him. He thought of his daughter, whom he hoped soon to be able to apprentice out, and of his little one just weaned, whom his sister took care of, for the children had lost their mother. It was delightful to him to reflect how neat and clean they were kept; how well fed they were, and what good health they enjoyed; and he said, 'All this would be greatly changed were I taken home dead!' and, so saying, he involuntarily withdrew from the river's edge, as if there were really some danger of his being dragged into the water. As he walked on, he observed upon the bridge a man bearing on his shoulders a bundle of old iron rails. He was looking into the water, and watching a plank on the point of passing under the bridge. He bent over to see if it cleared the arch well, but, leaning too far, his head turned giddy, the load on his shoulders threw him off his balance, and he was precipitated into the water, uttering a fearful cry. Paul also uttered a cry of distress, for he felt himself chained to the shore by the remembrance of his children, while his kind feelings made him anxious to aid the unfortunate being whom he beheld on the brink of destruction. He looked around him with inexpressible anguish, and perceiving a long pole, he seized hold of it, and endeavoured, by advancing into the water, without losing his footing, to push a plank to the unfortunate man, who was trying to swim towards him. But all in vain; the torrent was furious, and after a few efforts, the poor wretch sank, rose again to the surface, and then disappeared altogether. Paul remained motionless at the side of the river, with his eyes fixed on the spot where the miserable man had been engulfed. He continued there until it became quite dark, then returned home, a prey to the most intense melancholy, but still saying to himself, 'I do not think I have done wrong.' For several days he refused food; sleep fled from his eyes, and he scarcely spoke to any one. His neighbours, seeing him in this condition, inquired the cause, and he told them. The greater part considered that he had done right, some few were of a contrary opinion, but he himself always said, 'Still, I do not think I have acted wrong.'—What is your opinion, my children?"
Clementine.—Certainly, he did quite right, to preserve his life for the sake of his children.
Henry.—Oh! yes! that is a most convenient excuse for not doing one's duty.
Gustavus.—But he owed nothing to this man who was so clumsy as to fall into the water: he did not even know him.
Henry.—Papa has always told us that we ought to do all the good we can to our fellow-creatures; and Paul might at least have tried to save the poor man: he was not sure of perishing with him.