With such remarks as these he grew more and more in earnest. “And now,” said he, “I wish to talk to you from my inner soul, and I want to make an impression that may never leave you as long as you live.” I will not try to give his words. I thought so much of what he meant that I did not remember the phrases he used. He talked to me of uncleanness of thought in which is the root of all evil, of uncleanliness of speech, of uncleanliness in deed. He told me of things that made cold chills rush through me and gave me such a fright of impurity that I think this talk was the greatest blessing of my life. He warned me against improper associates. “If you cannot get good company, it were better to be alone. If a boy makes any improper suggestion or indulges in improper talk, check him at once, show him the evil of it, persuade him, do him good in every way, but if he will not desist, run from him as if from a leper or from fire, and keep away from him as you would from a foul or poisonous thing. Better to throw yourself into the filth of the gutter than to allow yourself or any one to throw filth on your mind. You can wash your body or your clothes, but never wash your mind. The stains that are made upon it can never be erased. They are more indelibly engraved on the memory than any engraving on the hardest substance known. Memory is God’s judgment-day book, or rather men’s, for each one keeps his own daily and eternal record, and this he will take with him when he departs this life, and he will possess it, for it is a part of his soul, and carry it with him for ever; and this record will be a constant and perpetual witness for or against himself and make his heaven or his hell. This record is as indestructible as the soul itself; nothing of it can be lost, for nothing in the memory can ever be forgotten. Man is the architect of his own fortune, not only in this life, but for the life to come. Now Charles, I have told you all this as a sacred duty, and I beg of you in the fear of God, and for the love and regard you have for me, remember and obey these things.” How well do I remember this. We had come into the garden and taken our seats on one of the benches. He took one of my hands in each of his and looking me in the eyes he talked with such warmth and tenderness as if his soul was in every word. And I am sure it was. Had I been his own son, and he upon his death-bed looking into eternity and giving me his last parting words, he could not have expressed himself with more solicitude and loving tenderness. How often in my life have I thanked God for such a wise friend and those words that have kept me from falling into many a snare and from getting many a stain and wound.