A Knight of the Nineteenth CenturyRoe, Edward Payson
General
A Knight of the Nineteenth Century
Roe, Edward Payson
Fiction
"I trust that your hopes may be realized, and your efforts meet with
success; but I cannot help warning you that I fear you do not realize
what you are attempting. The world is not only very cold, but also
suspicious and wary in its disposition toward those who have forfeited
its confidence. I cannot learn that you have any definite plans or
prospects. I have never been able to accomplish much without God's help.
You not only seem to forget your need of Him, but you are not even
willing to receive aid from me or your own mother. I honor and respect
you for making the attempt upon which you are bent, but I fear that
pride rather than wisdom is your counsellor in carrying out your
resolution; and both God's word and human experience prove that pride
goes but a little way before a fall."
"I have reached a depth," replied Haldane, bitterly, "from whence I
cannot fall; and it will be hereafter some consolation to remember that
I was not lifted out of the mire, but that I got out. If I cannot climb
up again it were better I perished in the gutter of my shame."
"I am sorry, Egbert, that you cut yourself off from the most hopeful and
helpful relations which you can ever sustain. A father helps his
children through their troubles, and so God is desirous of helping us.
There are some things which we cannot do alone--it is not meant that we
should. God is ever willing to help those who are down, and Christians
are not worthy of the name unless they are also willing. It is our duty
to make every effort of which we ourselves are capable; but this is only
half our duty. Since our tasks are beyond our strength and ability, we
are equally bound to receive such human aid as God sends us, and, chief
of all, to ask daily, and sometimes hourly, that His strength be made
perfect in our weakness. But there are some lessons which are only
learned by experience. I shall feel deeply grieved if you do not come or
send for me in any emergency or time of special need. In parting, I have
one favor to ask, and I think I have a right to ask it. I wish you to go
and see your mother, and spend at least an hour with her before she
returns home. As a matter of manly duty, be kind and gentle. Remember
how deeply you have wounded her, and that you are under the most sacred
obligations to endure patiently all reproaches and expressions of grief.
If you will do this you will do much to regain my respect, and it will
be a most excellent step toward a better life. You can gain society's
respect again only by doing your duty, and nothing can be duty more
plainly than this."
After a moment's hesitation he said, "I do not think an interview with
mother now will do either of us any good; but, as you say, you have a
right to ask this, and much more, of me. I will go to her hotel and do
the best I can; but somehow mother don't understand human nature--or, at
least, my nature--and when I have been doing wrong she always makes me
feel like doing worse."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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