114 Sermon Illustrations on Discipline

During the three years' cruise of the Fairfield, says Mr. McNally, I do not believe a single day elapsed that punishment by flogging did not take place. At that time there was a custom in the service, directly contrary to law, whereby any officer of the deck could inflict punishment. This was not with the cat, as the law directs, but with what is termed a colt, a piece of eighteen-thread ratline, or one-inch rope, which generally has one or two hard twine whippings upon each end. Twelve lashes with this, over a thin frock or shirt, gave greater pain, and bruised the flesh more than the cat would have done; and it was with this instrument that the deck officers of the Fairfield punished the men, and there was no limit to the number of lashes, but just as many as it might please the officer to order—sometimes one dozen, and at other times three. Such punishment frequently brought the blood through the shirt, and often left the flesh black for two or three weeks, and then yellow for as many more, before it healed perfectly.

Never let citizens in the Northern States rail at slavery, or the punishment inflicted on slaves, or say that it is wrong, so long as their own sons, their own flesh and blood, their own seamen, their own free citizens, and the men to whom they look for protection in case of war, are daily subject to the same treatment as the southern slaves. The late John Randolph openly declared in the legislative halls of Congress, that he had witnessed, in a few months, more flogging on board the man-of-war that carried him to Russia, than had taken place during ten years on his plantation, where there were five hundred slaves.

4B. War and the Domestic Ties.

See SUCCESS IN FAILURE.

DISCIPLINE AMONG CHILDREN

It required just one minute and fifteen seconds for three thousand pupils and teachers of Public School 22, at Sheriff and Stanton Streets (New York), to file into the streets after the “four taps signal,” indicating that the building must be vacated with haste, a few minutes after a fire had been discovered. One incident indicated particularly the degree of discipline instilled into the children.

Harry Kagel, one of the smallest boys in the primary department, asked permission to go down-stairs just after the pupils had assembled for the afternoon session. As the boy was passing a room near the vestibule on the ground floor, he scented smoke. Opening the door, he found a fire blazing in waste paper and baskets. He did not cry out or run with fear from the building, but, remembering what his teachers had told him again and again, he ran quietly up-stairs to his class-room and whispered about the fire in the ear of the teacher, Miss Dixey.

She called an older boy and sent him to investigate. In a minute he was back with a verification. Then Miss Dixey hurried to Miss C. Knowl, principal of the primary department, and to John P. Townley, principal of the school, and the signal was sounded.

At once every child in the school went to his or her station, and all were in line or at the post assigned in a few seconds. Altho the thin smoke in the hallways, creeping into the sixty-six classrooms of the four-story building, indicated to pupils and teachers that this was not one of the regular drills, there was no confusion, and with the exception of the faces of pupils and teachers, which were a trifle more serious than at daily drill, the program was carried out perfectly.

One of the teachers, assigned to the piano, began the march, and the pupils began to file out of the rooms after the last bell. Monitors took their places on the stone steps to guard against confusion near the exits. Every door in the building was thrown open by those assigned to that duty.

As soon as they were in the streets, the classes hurried away from the exits, so that the march of those in the rear would not be hampered.

In the meantime the janitor, Duncan Robinson, had gathered a number of large boys of the grammar department and formed a bucket brigade. They made short work of the flames. There was no call sent in for the fire department.

God frequently improves men by shaking them up and running them through scouring-machines of misfortune, like the wheat mentioned in this extract:

The grain reaches Port Arthur in carloads, and is examined by a grain-inspector in the service of the Dominion Government. If found to be suffering from smut, it is separated into three grades, according to the amount of smut adhering to it. That which is least dirty is scoured and brushed until all vestige of smut is removed, while the dirtier grain is thoroughly washed and dried before being cleaned. The scouring-machine turns and tosses the wheat so vigorously that every grain becomes highly polished, and is said to be in a better condition for milling than ordinary wheat, since it has lost part of its outer integument, which would have to be removed. (Text.)--ARTHUR INKERSLEY, _The American Inventor_.

In a poem, “The Second Mile,” by Dr. Oakley E. Van Slyke, occurs the following verse:

Be mine, dear Lord, to think not what I must, But of the power bequeathed to me in trust. Be mine, I pray, to go the second mile, Do better than I need to all the while.

A native Korean, who was told to memorize the entire Sermon on the Mount, did so with remarkable exactness. When asked how he accomplished it, he said: “My teacher told me to learn it with my heart as well as with my memory, so I hit on this plan. I would try to memorize a verse, and then find a heathen neighbor of mine and practise it on him. I found the verse would stick after I had done that, and I couldn’t forget a word of it.”

The principle indicated in the extract will some day be adopted by Christianity in its treatment of the moral life. Mere palliatives are insufficient:

The aim of reasonable people should be to keep themselves in health rather than to be always straying, as it were, upon the confines of disease and seeking assistance from drugs in order to return to conditions from which they should never have suffered themselves to depart. The various alkaline salts and solutions, for example, the advertisements of which meet us at every turn, and which are offered to the public as specifics, safely to be taken, without anything so superfluous as the advice of medical men, for all the various evils which are described by the advertisers as gout or heartburn, or as the consequences of “uric acid,” do unquestionably, in a certain proportion of cases, afford temporary relief from some discomfort or inconvenience. They do this notwithstanding persistence in the habit or in the indulgence, whatever it may be, the overeating, the want of exercise, the excessive consumption of alcohol or of tobacco, which is really underlying the whole trouble which the drugs are supposed to cure and which at the very best they only temporarily relieve, while they permit the continuance of conditions leading ultimately to degeneration of tissue and to premature death. (Text.)--_The Lancet._

Oscar Wilde wrote:

I want to get to the point when I shall be able to say quite simply, and without affectation, that the two great turning-points in my life were when my father sent me to Oxford, and when society sent me to prison. I will not say that prison is the best thing that could have happened to me; for that phrase would savor of too great bitterness toward myself. I would sooner say or hear it said of me that I was so typical a child of my age that, in my perversity and for that perversity’s sake, I turned the good things of my life to evil, and the evil things of my life to good.

And if I then am not ashamed of my punishment, as I hope not to be, I shall be able to think, and walk, and live with freedom.

In the very fact that people will recognize me wherever I go, and know all about my life, as far as its follies go, I can discern something good for me. It will force on me the necessity of again asserting myself as an artist, and as soon as I possibly can. If I can produce only one beautiful work of art I shall be able to rob malice of its venom, and cowardice of its sneer, and to pluck out the tongue of scorn by the roots. (Text.)