p>No and Other Stories Compiled by Uncle Humphrey
PREFACE
This little book has been prepared for the instruction and amusement of my dear young friends, and it is hoped that they will be profited by its perusal. It will show them their duty, and lead them to perform it.
The little word No is of great importance, although composed of but two letters. It will be of great service in keeping us from the path of sin and misery, and of inducing us to walk in "wisdom's ways, whose ways are ways of pleasantness, and all whose paths are peace."
Exercise charity to the destitute, as did little Willy.
Be good sons and daughters, and you will be a comfort to your parents, in sickness or in health. "Forgiveness is an attribute of Heaven."
A guilty conscience gives us no peace.
Which of you have a place of resort that is like Aunt Lissa's Acorn Hollow?
Be industrious, and learn to make yourselves useful, if you would be respected and beloved.
Beware of envy, for it begetteth hatred.
In short, I hope the reader who is now looking at this preface will carefully read every word in the following pages; and not only read, but remember, the lessons there taught, and thereby become wiser and better.
And when you have read this book so much and so carefully as to be able to tell me what it is all about, when I come to your houses, another little volume will be prepared for the young friends of
UNCLE HUMPHREY.
LYNN, January, 1851.
STORY ABOUT THE WORD NO
"There is a word, my son, a very little word, in the English language, the right use of which it is all important that you should learn," Mr. Howland said to his son Thomas, who was about leaving the paternal roof for a residence in a neighboring city, never again, perchance, to make one of the little circle that had so long gathered in the family homestead.
"And what word is that, father?" Thomas asked.
"It is the little word No, my son."
"And why does so much importance attach to that word, father?"
"Perhaps I can make you understand the reason much better if I relate an incident that occurred when I was a boy. I remember it as distinctly as if it had taken place but yesterday, although thirty years have since passed. There was a neighbor of my father's, who was very fond of gunning and fishing. On several occasions I had accompanied him, and had enjoyed myself very much. One day my father said to me,
"'William, I do not wish you to go into the woods or on the water again with Mr. Jones.'
"'Why not, father?' I asked, for I had become so fond of going with him, that to be denied the pleasure was a real privation.
"'I have good reasons for not wishing you to go, William,' my father replied, 'but do not want to give them now. I hope it is all-sufficient for you, that your father desires you not to accompany Mr. Jones again.'
"I could not understand why my father laid upon me this prohibition; and, as I desired very much to go, I did not feel satisfied in my obedience. On the next day, as I was walking along the road, I met Mr. Jones with his fishing rod on his shoulder, and his basket in his hand.
"'Ah, William! you are the very one that I wish to see,' said Mr. Jones smiling. 'I am going out this morning, and want company. We shall have a beautiful day.'
"'But my father told me yesterday,' I replied, 'that he did not wish me to go out with you.'
"'And why not, pray?' asked Mr. Jones.
"'I am sure that I do not know,' I said, 'but indeed, I should like to go very much.'
"'O, never mind; come along,' he said, 'Your father will never know it.'
"'Yes, but I am afraid that he will,' I replied, thinking more of my father's displeasure than of the evil of disobedience.
"'There is no danger at all of that. We will be home again long before dinner-time.'
"I hesitated, and he urged; and finally, I moved the way that he was going, and had proceeded a few hundred yards, when I stopped, and said:
"'I don't like to go, Mr. Jones.'
"'Nonsense, William! There is no harm in fishing, I am sure. I have often been out with your father, myself.'
"Much as I felt inclined to go, still I hesitated; for I could not fully make up my mind to disobey my father.—At length he said—
"'I can't wait here for you, William. Come along, or go back. Say yes or no.'
"This was the decisive moment. I was to make up my mind, and fix my determination in one way or the other. I was to say yes or NO."
"'Come, I can't stay here all day,' Mr. Jones remarked, rather harshly, seeing that I hesitated. At the same moment the image of my father rose distinctly before my mind, and I saw his eyes fixed steadily and reprovingly upon me. With one desperate resolution I uttered the word, 'No!' and then turning, ran away as fast as my feet would carry me. I cannot tell you how relieved I felt when I was far beyond the reach of temptation.
"On the next morning, when I came down to breakfast, I was startled and surprised to learn that Mr. Jones had been drowned on the day before. Instead of returning in a few hours, as he had stated to me that he would, he remained out all the day. A sudden storm arose; his boat was capsized, and he drowned. I shuddered when I heard this sad and fatal accident related.—That little word NO, had, in all probability, saved my life."
"'I will now tell you, William,' my father said, turning to me, 'why I did not wish you to go with Mr. Jones.—Of late, he had taken to drinking; and I had learned within a few days, that whenever he went out on a fishing or gunning excursion he took his bottle of spirits with him, and usually returned a good deal intoxicated. I could not trust you with such a man. I did not think it necessary to state this to you, for I was sure that I had only to express my wish that you would not accompany him, to insure your implicit obedience.'
"I felt keenly rebuked at this, and resolved never again to permit even the thought of disobedience to find a place in my mind. From that time, I have felt the value of the word NO, and have generally, ever since, been able to use it on all right occasions.—It has saved me from many troubles. Often and often in life have I been urged to do things that my judgment told me were wrong: on such occasions I always remembered my first temptation, and resolutely said—
"'NO!'
"And now, my son," continued Mr. Howland, do you understand the importance of the word No?"
"I think I do, father," Thomas replied. "But is there not danger of my using it too often and thus becoming selfish in all my feelings, and consequently unwilling to render benefits to others?"
"Certainly there is, Thomas. The legitimate use of this word is to resist evil. To refuse to do a good action is wrong." "If any one asks me, then, to do him a favor or kindness, I should not, on any account, say, no."
"That will depend, Thomas, in what manner you are to render him a kindness. If you can do so without really injuring yourself or others, then it is a duty which you owe to all men, to be kind, and render favors."
"But the difficulty, I feel, will be for me to discriminate. When I am urged to do something by one whom I esteem, my regard for him, or my desire to render him an obligation, will be so strong as to obscure my judgment."
"A consciousness of this weakness in your character, Thomas, should put you upon your guard."
"That is very true, father. But I cannot help fearing myself. Still, I shall never forget what you have said, and I will try my best to act from a conviction of right."
"Do so, my son. And ever bear in mind, that a wrong action is always followed by pain of mind, and too frequently by evil consequences. If you would avoid these, ever act from a consciousness that you are doing right, without regard to others. If another asks you, from a selfish desire to benefit or