A Book of Golden Deeds | Page 2

of Rome, the Legend of St.
Genevieve, the Letter of Gertrude von der Wart, the stories of the Keys
of Calais, of the Dragon of Rhodes, and we fear we must add, both
Nelson's plan of the Battle of the Nile, and likewise the exact form of
the heroism of young Casabianca, of which no two accounts agree. But
it was not possible to give up such stories as these, and the thread of
truth there must be in them has developed into such a beautiful tissue,

that even if unsubstantial when tested, it is surely delightful to
contemplate.
Some stories have been passed over as too devoid of foundation, in
especial that of young Henri, Duke of Nemours, who, at ten years old,
was said to have been hung up with his little brother of eight in one of
Louis XI's cages at Loches, with orders that two of the children's teeth
should daily be pulled out and brought to the king. The elder child was
said to have insisted on giving the whole supply of teeth, so as to save
his brother; but though they were certainly imprisoned after their
father's execution, they were released after Louis's death in a condition
which disproves this atrocity.
The Indian mutiny might likewise have supplied glorious instances of
Christian self-devotion, but want of materials has compelled us to stop
short of recording those noble deeds by which delicate women and
light- hearted young soldiers showed, that in the hour of need there was
not wanting to them the highest and deepest 'spirit of self-sacrifice.'
At some risk of prolixity, enough of the surrounding events has in
general been given to make the situation comprehensible, even without
knowledge of the general history. This has been done in the hope that
these extracts may serve as a mother's storehouse for reading aloud to
her boys, or that they may be found useful for short readings to the
intelligent, though uneducated classes.
NOVEMBER 17, 1864.

WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED?

We all of us enjoy a story of battle and adventure. Some of us delight in
the anxiety and excitement with which we watch the various strange
predicaments, hairbreadth escapes, and ingenious contrivances that are
presented to us; and the mere imaginary dread of the dangers thus
depicted, stirs our feelings and makes us feel eager and full of
suspense.
This taste, though it is the first step above the dullness that cannot be
interested in anything beyond its own immediate world, nor care for
what it neither sees, touches, tastes, nor puts to any present use, is still
the lowest form that such a liking can take. It may be no better than a
love of reading about murders in the newspaper, just for the sake of a

sort of startled sensation; and it is a taste that becomes unwholesome
when it absolutely delights in dwelling on horrors and cruelties for their
own sake; or upon shifty, cunning, dishonest stratagems and devices.
To learn to take interest in what is evil is always mischievous.
But there is an element in many of such scenes of woe and violence
that may well account for our interest in them. It is that which makes
the eye gleam and the heart throb, and bears us through the details of
suffering, bloodshed, and even barbarity--feeling our spirits moved and
elevated by contemplating the courage and endurance that they have
called forth. Nay, such is the charm of brilliant valor, that we often are
tempted to forget the injustice of the cause that may have called forth
the actions that delight us. And this enthusiasm is often united with the
utmost tenderness of heart, the very appreciation of suffering only
quickening the sense of the heroism that risked the utmost, till the
young and ardent learn absolutely to look upon danger as an occasion
for evincing the highest qualities.
'O Life, without thy chequer'd scene Of right and wrong, of weal and
woe, Success and failure, could a ground For magnanimity be found?'
The true cause of such enjoyment is perhaps an inherent consciousness
that there is nothing so noble as forgetfulness of self. Therefore it is
that we are struck by hearing of the exposure of life and limb to the
utmost peril, in oblivion, or recklessness of personal safety, in
comparison with a higher object.
That object is sometimes unworthy. In the lowest form of courage it is
only avoidance of disgrace; but even fear of shame is better than mere
love of bodily ease, and from that lowest motive the scale rises to the
most noble and precious actions of which human nature is capable--the
truly golden and priceless deeds that are the jewels of history, the salt
of life.
And it is a chain