A Knight of the Nineteenth Century | Page 3

those
naturally attractive to a boy.
But while his mother was blind to the evil traits and tendencies which
she was fostering with such ominous success, there were certain overt
acts naturally growing out of her indulgences which would shock her
inexpressibly, and evoke even from her the strongest expressions of
indignation and rebuke. She was pre-eminently respectable, and fond of
respect. She was a member "in good and regular standing" not only of
her church, but also of the best society in the small inland city where
she resided, and few greater misfortunes in her estimation could occur
than to lose this status. She never hesitated to humor any of her son's
whims and wishes which did not threaten their respectability, but the
quick-witted boy was not long in discovering that she would not
tolerate any of those vices and associations which society condemns.
There could scarcely have been any other result save that which
followed. She had never taught him self-restraint; his own inclinations
furnished the laws of his action, and the wish to curb his desires
because they were wrong scarcely ever crossed his mind. To avoid
trouble with his mother, therefore, he began slyly and secretly to taste
the forbidden fruits which her lavish supplies of money always kept
within his reach. In this manner that most hopeless and vitiating of
elements, deceitfulness, entered into his character. He denied to his
mother, and sought to conceal from her, the truth that while still in his
teens he was learning the gambler's infatuation and forming the
inebriate's appetite. He tried to prevent her from knowing that many of
his most intimate associates were such as he would not introduce to her

or to his sisters.
He had received, however, a few counter-balancing advantages in his
early life. With all her weaknesses, his mother was a lady, and order,
refinement, and elegance characterized his home. Though not a
gentleman at heart, on approaching manhood he habitually maintained
the outward bearing that society demands. The report that he was a
little fast was more than neutralized by the fact of his wealth. Indeed,
society concluded that it had much more occasion to smile than to
frown upon him, and his increasing fondness for society and its
approval in some degree curbed his tendencies to dissipation.
It might also prove to his advantage that so much Christian and ethical
truth had been lodged in his memory during early years. His mother
had really taken pains to acquaint him with the Divine Man who
"pleased not himself," even while she was practically teaching him to
reverse this trait in his own character. Thus, while the youth's heart was
sadly erratic, his head was tolerably orthodox, and he knew theoreticaly
the chief principles of right action. Though his conscience had never
been truly awakened, it often told him that his action was unmanly, to
say the least; and that was as far as any self-censure could reach at this
time. But it might prove a fortunate thing that although thorns and
thistles had been planted chiefly, some good seed had been scattered
also, and that he had received some idea of a life the reverse of that
which he was leading.
But thus far it might be said with almost literal truth, that young
Haldane's acquaintance with Christian ethics had had no more practical
effect upon his habitual action and thought than his knowledge of
algebra. When his mother permitted him to snatch his sisters'
playthings and keep them, when she took him from the school where he
had received well-merited punishment, when she enslaved herself and
her household to him instead of teaching considerate and loyal devotion
to her, she nullified all the Christian instruction that she or any one else
had given.
The boy had one very marked trait, which might promise well for the
future, or otherwise, according to circumstances, and that was a certain

wilful persistence, which often degenerated into downright obstinacy.
Frequently, when his mother thought that she had coaxed or wheedled
him into giving up something of which she did not approve, he would
quietly approach his object in some other way, and gain his point, or
sulk till he did. When he set his heart upon anything he was not as
"unstable as water." While but an indifferent and superficial student,
who had habitually escaped lessons and skipped difficulties, he
occasionally became nettled by a perplexing problem or task, and
would work at it with a sort of vindictive, unrelenting earnestness, as if
he were subduing an enemy. Having put his foot on the obstacle, and
mastered the difficulty that piqued him, he would cast the book aside,
indifferent to the study or science of which it formed but a small
fraction.
After all, perhaps the best