65 Sermon Illustrations on Influence of Character

All history reveals the fact that music, wedded to stirring and patriotic words, has in every age had a powerful influence on the course of public events. Nor is this true alone of civilized peoples. Among almost all savage races, the warriors excite themselves to martial ardor by songs which thrill their souls. The war-dances alike of our North American Indians, of the African negroes, and of the semicivilized races which dwell in Asia, are accompanied by songs which, tho wild and incoherent to European ears, have an inspiring influence upon themselves. Carlyle wisely said, “The meaning of song goes deep”; and a more recent writer has declared that “it goes as deep as the heart of man, the throbbings of which it controls more readily and widely than do the speeches of statesmen, the sermons of preachers, or the writings of journalists.” It was clearly because the influence of legend and of patriotic appeal, joined with familiar tunes so strongly roused the emotions of the people, that the ancient bards of Ireland, Scotland, and Wales were held in such high honor in the old royal courts and princely castles of these lands, and were regarded with such veneration by the people everywhere. About two centuries ago Lord Wharton wrote a political ballad, which was set to music, the title of which was “Lillibulero.” It was very poor poetry, but somehow the rude verses struck a chord in the popular heart, and were sung everywhere. It was written in opposition to King James the Second; and so wide was its influence that Lord Wharton boasted, it is said, that it “sang James II out of three kingdoms.” The effect of the “Marseillaise” in arousing and exciting the revolutionary spirit of France is one of the prominent facts in the history of that country. To it, in no small degree, is attributed the success of the French arms against the allies who assailed the young republic. So potent, indeed, was the “Marseillaise” felt to be in kindling political passion, that both the Napoleons forbade it being sung or played in France during their reigns.--_Youth’s Companion._

To so affect a reader that his course of life becomes altered, must prove that the moving influence of fiction is strong indeed. With a weapon of such power placed in our hands, it rests with us to say how it shall be employed. If it has been used, carelessly so that low, selfish thoughts have been developed, it is our duty and joyous privilege to so write that lofty, noble sentiments shall rise and grow, tearing out all evil from the heart, as a growing tree splits a rock that once held it as a tiny seed in its moss-lined crevice. If the novel has inspired doubts as to the value, the grandeur, and joy of living, fostering that slow, insidious canker of pessimism which like the poisoned arrows of the Indian permeates the system with its virus, the novel must now be made to bring calm peace by presenting noble lives of heroism, self-forgetfulness and service by a high ideal consistently followed.--_Book Chat._

A few days ago Mr. Berth, a young New Yorker, committed suicide in a hotel at St. Paul, Minn. The explanation given for his rash act is that constant study of pessimistic literature had affected his mind. Among his books was found a melancholy tale by Edgar Saltus, in which Berth had marked many depressing passages. About eighty years ago fashionable society in London affected great admiration for Addison’s tragedy of “Cato.” After one of the stage renditions of the play a man named Budgell, imprest by the closing scene of the play, in which the hero commits suicide, left the theater and plunging into the Thames was drowned. On his body was found this couplet:

What Cato did and Addison approves Must needs be right.

While such susceptibility to pessimistic writing as was shown by Berth and Budgell is, of course, extremely rare, it is nevertheless, a fact that an author who depicts life in dreary colors is sure to exert a most undesirable influence over many of his readers. The force of this applies to all kinds of writing. Whether a man pens an epic poem or a newspaper editorial, the tone of his philosophy is sure to leave its ultimate effect on those who peruse his words.--New York _World_.

Of Thomas A. Edison, the inventor, _The Episcopal Recorder_ says:

In these days, when every millionaire comes in for his share of just or unjust criticism, it is refreshing to read the kindly comments made on Thomas A. Edison and his work. Mr. Edison is an enormously wealthy man, but strange to say, we seldom think of Edison and millions in the same moment. The enormous force generated by this brilliant man is seen in the fact that his inventions and those which he has materially assisted have given existence to industries capitalized at more than $7,000,000,000, and earning annually more than $1,000,000,000, while they find employment for half a million people. Even these stupendous figures do not cover the facts, for no figures can begin to indicate the value of the service Mr. Edison’s inventions have rendered to mankind. If we could take out of every-day life those things that owe their existence to his genius, there would be quite a conspicuous gap, and Mr. Edison has not finished yet. The impress of this quiet man of sixty-three is possibly one of the greatest ever made by any one. Certainly his conquests of peace far surpass all the conquests of war.

The Rev. Thomas Scott, in the early part of his life, was exceedingly fond of cards, but was induced to leave off the practice in the following manner:

One of his parishioners said to him, "I have something which I wish to say to you; but I am afraid you may be offended." "I answered," says Mr. Scott, "that I could not promise, but I hoped I should not." She then said, "You know A—B—; he has lately appeared attentive to religion, and has spoken to me concerning the sacrament; but last night he, with C—D—, and others, met to keep Christmas; and they played at cards, drank too much, and in the end quarreled, and raised a sort of riot. And when I remonstrated with him on his conduct, as inconsistent with his professed attention to religion, his answer was, 'There is no harm in cards—Mr. Scott plays at cards.'

This smote me to the heart. I saw that if I played at cards, however soberly and quietly, the people would be encouraged by my example to go farther; and if St. Paul would eat no flesh while the world stood, rather than cause his weak brother to offend, it would be inexcusable in me to throw such a stumbling-block in the way of my parishioners, in a matter certainly neither useful nor expedient. So far it eagerly; his attention was arrested; he was soon found in the company of Christians, seeking an interest in their prayers, and became a praying man. His conversion was the beginning of a revival. Others who had embraced the same error followed his example. The influence of the visits and volumes of the colporteurs was manifest in an increased spirit of inquiry and attendance upon public worship; and during the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, nearly seventy were added to the church under the pastoral care of our informant in that place.

# PLAYING.

from being offended at the hint thus given me, I felt very thankful to my faithful monitor, and promised her that she should never have occasion to repeat the admonition. That very evening I related the whole matter to the company, and declared my fixed resolution never to play at cards again. I expected I should be harassed with solicitations, but I was never asked to play afterwards.

I read a story recently of how a young man got his start in life through being courteous. This young man was an assistant doorkeeper in the capitol at Washington. His work was to direct people where they wanted to go in that great building. One day he overheard a stranger ask one of the other doorkeepers for help in finding one of the senators from California. The doorkeeper answered in a very discourteous way that it was none of his business where the senators were. "But can't you help me?" the stranger said. "I was sent over here because he was seen to come this way." "No, I can't," the doorkeeper answered. "I have trouble enough looking after the representatives." The stranger was about to turn away when an assistant, who had overheard the conversation, said: "If you are from California, you have come a long way, I will try to help you." Then he asked him to take a seat, and hurried off in search of the senator. He soon brought him to the stranger, who then gave his card to the doorkeeper and asked him to call at his hotel that evening. That stranger was Collis P. Huntington, who was a great railroad official in those days. When the doorkeeper called upon him that night, Mr. Huntington offered him a position at nearly twice the salary he was then receiving. He accepted the new position and was rapidly promoted from that time on. The lesson I would have you learn from this is that you never know when a good deed is going to return to you. I don't mean that you should be courteous, expecting that you are going to be paid for it each time, for the greatest pay for kindness is just the feeling that you have helped someone. As the old saying goes, "Civility costs nothing," and on the other hand, you never gain anything by getting the ill-will of anybody or anything, even of a dog. Be courteous: it is the mark of a gentleman, of a lady, and it is often the passport to success.

See APPEARANCE; TRUST.

CHARACTER AND FAME

Fame is what you have taken, Character is what you give; When to this truth you awaken, Then you begin to live.

— BAYARD TAYLOR

Victor Hugo did not love the brilliant son of Alexander Dumas, and when the latter was a boy the poet was very fond of snubbing him. It is on record that one day young Dumas asked Victor Hugo why he did not allow his children to take walks and have talks with him. “It is,” answered the poet, “because Mme. Hugo is alarmed about your morals. She is afraid you will lead away the boys; in short, you pass for having violent passions.” “Monsieur,” said the young Dumas, looking the poet in the eye, “if one has no passions at twenty he is likely to have vices at forty.” A day or two afterward the elder Dumas, meeting with Hugo, said: “How do you like my son? Do you not think he is witty?” “Yes,” said Hugo, “but he makes very bad use of his wit.”--Philadelphia _Press_.