13 Sermon Illustrations on Prudence

Aristotle is praised for naming fortitude the first of the cardinal virtues, — as that without which no other virtue can steadily be practised: but he might, with equal propriety, have placed prudence before it; since without prudence fortitude is madness. Goodrich.

The day when an engineer could drive his train ahead at full speed, at his own discretion, and make up as much lost time as the recklessness of his daring permitted, has passed with the romantic age of railroading. No longer does he gamble thus with death to win back minutes. A cool-nerved human machine sits in an office miles away and tells him exactly how fast he may go. Mute signals stretch out their arms to him by day or glow red-eyed at night along the track and halt him if he rides too fast or if there is danger ahead. At intervals of from a thousand feet to five miles there are towers with men in them who note the minute and second of his passing, and telegraph it forward and back over the line. Nowadays the engineer is rarely out of touch with possible orders for more than a few minutes at a time. In place of the daring and the old speed madness that used to characterize the making up of time, the man who lasts the longest now in the cab is the one who possesses the calculating skill developed by long experience. He accomplishes much more simply by taking advantage of every trifle in winning back his time second by second.--THADDEUS S. DAYTON, _Harper’s Weekly_.

Probably the greatest menace to the safety of navigation at sea is the fog. Modern steamships are seldom endangered by the severest storms, but when the impenetrable envelop of mist encloses a vessel, she is exposed to the most terrible of perils--a collision at sea. A single ship may be comparatively safe even in a fog, but when there are a fleet of vessels the danger is greatly multiplied. In addition to the customary fog-horns and sirens a fleet of war-ships often will keep informed of their relative positions by the firing of signal-guns from the flagship. Another excellent method generally employed is the use of the fog-buoy.

Each vessel in a warship fleet carries a fog-buoy, a large cask painted a bright red. This is cast overboard at the first sign of any fog and floats from the stern of the vessel attached by a rope of grass fiber which does not sink beneath the surface of the water. Sufficient rope is paid out by each vessel, so that its fog-buoy floats at the bow of the ship next astern--two cable’s-length (four hundred yards) when in close order and double that distance in open order. By this means the exact stations of the individual ships of a fleet are maintained even tho proceeding at a moderate rate of speed.--_Harper’s Weekly._

Birds who sleep on the water--and they are numerous--are always in danger of drifting to the shore, where lies their greatest danger. In the Zoological Gardens of London it has been discovered that ducks and other water-lovers have evolved a way of avoiding this danger. Tucking one foot up among their feathers, they keep the other in the water and gently paddle, with the result that they revolve in circles and keep at a safe distance from land, a kind of sleepwalking turned to good account.--OLIVE THORNE MILLER, “The Bird Our Brother.”

What is said to be the largest plow in the world was made some years ago at Bakersfield, Cal. This plow was the result of the ingenuity of a ranch superintendent, who had authority to make improvements, but not to introduce steam-plows. The superintendent had grown very tired of preparing three thousand acres of land for wheat with ordinary nine- or twelve-inch plows drawn by two horses.

He argued that if two horses could pull a twelve-inch plow, six horses could pull a plow thirty-six inches wide, and that eight horses could pull a plow forty-eight inches wide. He made the calculations carefully, and, being clever with his pencil, made drawings also, and sent for blacksmiths and machinists to construct a plow on his principle.

Some simple folk told him that his great plow would not work, but they contented themselves with saying this dogmatically, without giving any mathematical reason therefore. So the superintendent went on with his plans.

The blacksmiths and machinists finished the plow in due time. The share was made to cut a fifty-inch furrow; the top of it reached five feet above the ground, to give room to throw the earth. The beam was more than a foot thick; but the machine was constructed to run between two great wheels, so that it could be turned around easily; and on the axle between these wheels was the seat for the man who was to drive the ten horses which were hitched to it.

The plow was brought to the great field, the ten horses were attached to it, the handles were raised, the driver mounted his seat, and the team was started. But as soon as the share struck well into the ground the horses stopt short. They were stuck fast. And yet the plow had not gone too deeply into the earth. But it was evident that they could not pull the plow. More horses were brought out, but not until fifty were attached did the plow move along.

Even then it required four men to hold the handles, in order to keep the plow in the furrow. It was an economic failure.

Then the superintendent, through the intervention of some one who was a better mathematician than he, learned that he should have cubed the capacity of his twelve-inch plow every time he doubled the width of it.--_Harper’s Weekly._

There are many ways in which a man is like a watch, as this curious epitaph shows, which can be seen in the churchyard at Lydford, Devonshire, England:

Here lies in a horizontal position The outside case of George Routledge, watchmaker. Integrity was the main-spring and prudence the regulator of all the actions of his life; Humane, generous and liberal, His hand never stopt till he had relieved distress;

So nicely regulated were his movements that he never went wrong,

Except when set a-going by people who did not know his key;

Even then he was easily set right again. He had the art of disposing of his time so well That his hours glided away in one continued round of pleasure. Till, in an unlucky moment, his pulse stopt beating. He ran down Nov. 14, 1801, aged 57, In hopes of being taken in hand by his Maker, Thoroughly cleaned, repaired, wound up and set a-going, In the world to come, when time shall be no more.