“He’s a brick, every inch of him,” said Walter, in a voice half-choked with tears; “and much more than a brick too—he’s a great square block of marble, or Scotch granite, as fine a one as ever Freemason tapped with a trowel—there. And now, auntie, for the historical examples.”
“My first,” said Miss Huntingdon, “is that of a very remarkable man—John Wesley, the father of the Methodists. An order having been made by the House of Lords in his day for the commissioners of excise to write to all persons whom they might have reason to suspect of having plate without having paid the duty on it, the accountant-general for household plate sent to Mr Wesley a copy of the order, with a letter stating that hitherto he had neglected to make entry of his plate, and demanding that he should do it immediately. Mr Wesley replied:—‘Sir, I have two silver tea-spoons at London, and two at Bristol. This is all the plate I have at present; and I shall not buy any more while so many around me want bread.—Your obedient servant, John Wesley.’
“My next example is that of an equally remarkable man, Oberlin, the French pastor of Ban-de-la-Roche, a wild mountainous district between Alsace and Lorraine, where, single-handed, and in the midst of extraordinary difficulties and privations, he was privileged to work wonders amongst a most ignorant and poverty-stricken people. The knowledge of several pious and excellent institutions had reached the secluded valley where Oberlin was stationed before it was received by the rest of France. No sooner had he learned that there were Christians who left their homes to convey to the benighted heathen the promises of the gospel, than he parted with all his plate, with the exception of one silver spoon, and contributed the proceeds of the sale to mission work, expressing at the same time his regret that he was unable to send more. That one silver spoon he afterwards bequeathed as a legacy to the Church Missionary Society.
“I have yet another example of the same kind to bring forward. It is that of a most earnest and devoted American missionary, Reverend George Bowen of Bombay. This good man was once an infidel. His father was a rich man; but when he himself was converted, he gave up friends, country, and fortune, and consecrated himself and his whole life to the service of Christ among the heathen. For many years he lived in a miserable hut in the native bazaar, among its sadly degraded population. Yet he was a man of deep learning and refined manners, who had travelled much, and knew some dozen languages. After spending about a year in India, he was led to believe that his influence would be greater if he were not in the receipt of a salary from a missionary society; so for thirty years past he has received none. For some years he earned his livelihood by giving an hour daily to private tuition; for a still longer time he has trusted to the Lord to supply his need without such occupation, and has always had enough and to spare.
“Now I have not mentioned these cases because I think we are all bound to do as these good men have done. When God calls to such special sacrifice, he gives special faith and grace for it; but he does not call all Christians to the same. My reason for selecting these instances has been that I might put them before you as beautiful examples of that kind of moral courage which is exhibited in acts of exalted self-denial. And surely we may learn from them this lesson, to be more willing than most professing Christians are to deny self, that we may do good to others, or carry out some great and self-sacrificing purpose. And another thing is to be noticed in such examples as these, that it requires more moral courage to go counter to our own tastes, likings, and habits in comparative trifles, and to persevere in this course, than to make some great sacrifice on the impulse of the moment.”
“Thank you, dear auntie,” said Walter. “Yes, you have hit the right nail on the head; for our dear hero Amos has been showing just such steady, persevering moral courage. I see it all. Well, I hope I shall be the better for what you have told us.”
At dinner-time Walter was nowhere to be found; all that was known was that he had gone off on his pony, and had left a message behind him that he had a little bit of business in hand, and that they must not wait dinner for him if he should happen to be late. The other members of the family were not particularly surprised at his absence, knowing that he would be leaving home for the sea-side next day, and that he might have some little matter to settle with some friend in the neighbourhood. But they became a little anxious when old Harry remarked, in reply to a question from his master, that he had seen Master Walter ride off two hours ago with his rifle and fishing-rod in front of him, and that it seemed to him a little late for catching a big fish and then blazing away at him. By nine o’clock, however, Walter had returned, his pony evidently having had a sharp gallop home.
“Much sport, Master Walter?” asked the butler, who was standing in the stable-yard when he rode up.
“Oh, pretty good,” was the reply; “just a whale or two, and some half-dozen sharks.”
“They must have been tremendous big ’uns, I should say,” remarked the old man, “for they seem to have swallowed your rifle and your rod.”