MY BROTHER'S KEEPER
Letters from James Alexander (1804-1859)
to his younger brother, on the virtues and
vices, the duties and dangers of youth.
Gratitude to Parents
My dear brother,
I wrote you on this subject thus early in my course of letters, because I
think that gratitude to parents is the foundation of a great many virtues;
and that one of the first and most distressing symptoms of a decline from
the paths of virtue is the unkind or contemptuous treatment of parents. The
first commandment with promise is the command to 'honor our parents', and
our earliest duties are those which we have to render to our father and our
mother. You will find counsels on this subject scattered through my letters;
but as young people are apt to be impressed by narrative, I will give you a
little history, which I am sure you will find interesting.
There lived two poor men in a very rough and mountainous
country, where they kept their flocks, and cultivated such little spots of
earth as they could find among the rocks and crags. It was a region
abounding in rapid streams, which poured in torrents from the precipices.
There was scarcely any point from which you might not see the tops of
mountains covered with snow. The hills were so rough that it was difficult
and dangerous to travel even a mile, from one hamlet to another. Carriages
were almost unknown, and most of the inhabitants traveled on foot, and
carried their goods upon mules or donkeys .
Each of these men had large families, and in each of
these was a little boy about eleven years of age. These boys often played
together—but they were exceedingly unlike in temperament. Little Ulrich
was sullen and crude; while his playmate Godfrey was kind and
gentle. Ulrich's mother found it very hard to manage the stubborn little
boy. He was undutiful and unkind, and gave his parents many hours of
anxiety. Sometimes when he was sent to look for the cattle, which strayed in
the mountains, he would go to some of the neighbors' houses, and stay
several days, while his mother would be in the greatest alarm, lest some
accident had befallen him. The ungrateful boy seemed never to think of what
might be the cares of his parents. He did not reflect on the hours and days
and months of solicitude which his poor mother had felt on his account; how
she had watched by his pillow when he slept, and nursed him when he was
sick, and provided his food, and sat up many a long night to make or mend
his clothes. Forgetful of all this, Ulrich would be sulky and sour when she
spoke to him, and would even reproach her in the harshest and most
inappropriate language.
Little Godfrey was just the reverse of all this. He loved
his parents most tenderly, and delighted to obey them in every particular.
Consequently he was far happier himself, and made all around him happy.
One afternoon, Ulrich's mother had directed him to do
some little piece of work which was not quite agreeable to him, and the bad
boy as usual flew into a passion, and called his mother several harsh names.
The poor woman wept as if she would break her heart—but this only made him
rage more furiously. At last, giving his mother a look more like that of a
wild beast than a son, he dashed out of the house, muttering to himself that
he would never return again. This was as foolish as it was wicked, for the
silly child had no place where he could live for any length of time; and he
might have known that his father, whose temper was as violent as his own,
and who was often drunk, would soon drag him back home, besides chastising
him.
But people in a rage seldom stop to consider—and Ulrich
hastened away, and began to ascend one of the steep mountain paths. As he
advanced, his mind was drawn away, by degrees, to other thoughts. At one
moment he would pause to examine the scanty flowers which peeped out from
among the rocks; at another, he would stand and listen to the distant
waterfall, or the hunter's rifle; and then he would be attracted by the
circling flight of the Alpine eagle. Amidst these thoughts his conscience
began to whisper to him, "Ulrich, Ulrich, you are a wicked boy! You are
breaking the heart of your affectionate mother! Go back, go back!"
As Ulrich sat by a tall cliff, looking westward to where
the sun was going behind a range of blue mountains, he thought he heard
voices in the winding path above him. "I think I know that voice," said he;
"it must be old Mr. Simon, coming down the valley. Poor old man! I wonder
that he does not fall and break his neck among these sharp crags." I ought
here to mention, that Mr. Simon was a very aged man, more than eighty years
old, who used to travel about the mountains with the aid of a little dog;
the faithful animal ran before, with a little bell at his collar, and the
old man, who was totally blind, felt his way with a long staff, and held a
small rope which was fastened around the dog's neck. But on the day I have
mentioned, the poor little dog had been disabled by a large stone which fell
upon his back from one of the crags, and Mr. Simon was forced to sit down
and wait some hours for assistance. It was indeed his voice which Ulrich
heard—but to whom was he speaking? Ulrich listened, and soon perceived that
it was a child's voice, and a moment after, as the blind man came into
sight, by turning a corner, Ulrich saw that he was guided by his playmate,
little Godfrey.
"Step this way, Mr. Simon," said the kind little boy, as
he helped the poor old man along. "Now lean on my shoulder, and put your
right foot down into this hollow." "May Heaven reward you, my dear boy,"
said the old man; "happy are the parents who have such a son. My poor
sightless eyes cannot behold your face—but I hear the gentle tones of your
voice. I am weary; let us rest for a few moments here, where the ground
seems level." So saying, Mr. Simon slowly bent his aged limbs, and sat down
by the side of a rock. At the same moment Godfrey recognized his neighbor
Ulrich, who was seated a few paces off, and whom he was delighted to meet.
I have said that Ulrich was in no very pleasant state of
mind. Conscience was piercing him for his filial ingratitude; and, at such a
moment to see his friend Godfrey engaged in an act of kindness made him feel
still more guilty. He could not help saying to himself, "See what Godfrey is
doing for that old man. He is kinder to a poor stranger than I am to my own
mother! Indeed, I must be a very wicked boy."
As these thoughts passed in his mind, he drew near to the
others, and Godfrey told Mr. Simon that this was one of his friends and
playmates. "Well, my children," said Mr. Simon, "if you will rest with me
here for a short time, I will try to say something to you which may be
useful. This little boy has been very kind to a poor old blind man; he has
perhaps saved my life, for since I have lost my dog, I have no friend left,
and I might have lain and perished on the mountain. My child, God sees and
approves such conduct, and he will reward it. The command of God is, 'You
shall rise up before the hoary head, and honor the face of the old man.' I
hope you remember what became of the youth who cried after an old prophet,
'Go up, you bald head!' When I find a child who is very kind to poor and
aged people, I feel sure that he is affectionate and obedient to his
parents."
Ulrich felt very badly when he heard this, for it seemed
as if the old man had known what was passing in his mind. Mr. Simon went on
to say—"I often say these things to young people, because I remember with
sorrow many things I might have done for my parents when I was a child; and
I think of them the more because Providence has left me in my old age
without son, or grandson, to take care of me. Children, mark my words—if
you desire to lead happy lives, obey your parents; love them, honor them,
and serve them. Never let the evil one tempt you to give them a harsh
word or an angry look.
Little Godfrey looked up, and said, "Mr. Simon, I think
none but a very wicked boy could be cross to his dear father and mother."
Ulrich's face became as red as crimson at these words, because he knew that
he was just such a boy.
Mr. Simon went on to say—"If you wish to make your
parents happy in their old age, take pains to please them in every way. 'A
wise son takes a glad father; but a foolish son is the heaviness of his
mother.' Your parents are the best friends you can ever have in this world;
never let your conduct give them pain. 'A foolish son is a grief to his
father, and a bitterness to her who bore him.' When parents become old and
weak, their greatest comfort is in their children; be sure to attend to
their wishes. 'Hearken unto your father that begat you, and despise not your
mother when she is old.' For if you should grow up in wickedness, and treat
your parents with contempt, you will fall under that awful curse—'The eye
that mocks at his father, and despises to obey his mother, the ravens of the
valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it.' The whole
course of God's providence will be as much against you, as if the birds of
prey which you see every day in these mountains were to turn against you,
and tear you with their talons."
Here the old man, being somewhat rested, arose, and
taking Godfrey's hand, proceeded on his way. Ulrich sat still under the
rock; he was so agitated and alarmed, that his limbs trembled. At length he
suddenly arose, and said to himself, "I will go back to my mother." He
quickened his steps, as he saw that night was coming on, and soon reached
his father's cottage. As he went along, he thought a great deal about what
he would say to his offended parent. He slowly lifted the latch, and found
her sitting in her little room mending his clothes. Her eyes were red with
weeping, and she was so grieved by his conduct that she hid her face in her
hands, and was unable to speak. O, what a return was this for a mother's
love and kindness! Ulrich was moved to tears. He fell upon her neck, and
begged her forgiveness. She put her arms round him, and forgetting all his
unkind looks and reproachful words, pressed him to her bosom. Ulrich
promised to love and obey her, and if at any time he felt for a moment
disposed to be angry or sullen, he remembered the promises and tears of that
day, and the words of Mr. Simon.
Your affectionate brother,
James