The Iron Rule | Page 2

to the division of a penny. The radical fault of his character
was coldness and intolerance. Toward wrong-doing and wrong-doers,
he had no forbearance whatever; and to him that strayed from the right
path, whether child or man, he meted out, if in his power, the full
measure of consequences. Unfortunately for those who came within the
circle of his authority, his ideas of right and wrong were based on
warped and narrow views, the result of a defective religious education.
He, therefore, often called things wrong, from prejudice, that were not
wrong in themselves; and sternly reacted upon others, and drove them
away from him, when he might have led and guided them into the paths
of virtue.
The first year of Andrew Howland's married life was one of deep trial
to the loving young creature he had taken from her sunny home to
cherish in his bosom--a bosom too cold to warm into vigorous life new
shoots of affection. And yet he loved his wife; loved her wisely, as he
thought, not weakly, nor blindly. He saw her faults, and, true to his
character, laid his hands upon them. Alas! how much of good was
crushed in the rigid pressure!
To Mr. Howland life was indeed a stern reality. Duties and

responsibilities were ever in his thoughts. Pleasure was but another
name for sin, and a weakness of character an evil not to be tolerated.
Enough, for our present purpose, can be seen of the character of
Andrew Howland in this brief outline. As our story advances, it will
appear in minuter shades, and more varied aspects. Seven years from
the day of his marriage we will introduce him to the reader.
"What shall I do with this boy?" said Mr. Howland. He spoke sternly,
yet in a perplexed voice, while he walked the floor of the room with a
quickness of tread unusual. "If something is not done to break him into
obedience he will be ruined."
"He needs all our forbearance," Mrs. Howland ventured to remark, "as
well as our care and solicitude."
"Forbearance! I have no forbearance toward wrong, Esther. You have
forborne until the child is beyond your control."
"Not entirely," was meekly answered, as the mother's eyes drooped to
the floor.
At this moment a servant, who had been sent for the child, came in with
him. A few doors away lived another child, about the same age, of
whom little Andrew was very fond, and whose companionship he
sought on every occasion. Against the father of this child Mr. Howland
had imbibed a strong prejudice, which was permitted to extend itself to
his family. Rigid and uncompromising in everything, he had observed
that Andrew was frequently in company with the child of this neighbor,
and felt impelled to lay a prohibition on their intercourse. But Andrew,
a light-hearted, high-spirited boy, who inherited from his father a
strong will, was by no means inclined to yield a ready obedience in this
particular. He loved his little companion, and never was happier than
when in her society. Naturally, therefore, be sought it on every
occasion, and when the positive interdiction of their intercourse came,
the child felt that a duty was imposed upon him that was impossible of
fulfillment. Young as he was, he could endure punishment, but not give
up his little friend. Advantage was therefore taken of every opportunity

to be with her that offered. Punishments of various kinds were inflicted,
but they acted only as temporary restraints.
As to this little girl herself, let it be understood, Mr. Howland had no
personal objection. He had never seen anything that was wrong in her,
and had never heard a word of evil spoken against her. The simple, yet
all-embracing defect that appertained to her was his dislike of her father;
and this dislike had its chief foundation in a wrong estimate of his
character, the result of his own narrow prejudices. Somewhat hastily,
we will admit, did Mr. Howland utter the word that was to separate the
little friends, and the word was half-repented of as soon as spoken. But
once uttered, it was a law to which he required the most implicit
obedience. He thought not of the wrong the separation might do his
child; he thought only of enforcing obedience--of breaking a stubborn
will. Obedience in children was, in his eyes, everything--and he visited,
with the sternest displeasure, every deviation therefrom. The
consequence was, that his little ones, in their nest at home, rarely saw
in the face of their father a smile of affection; rarely heard his voice in
words of tenderness. Something, in their conduct was ever displeasing
to him, and he attempted its correction by coldness, repulsion, harsh
words, or cruel punishment. He never sought to lead, but to