away bad thoughts. "Granted," says Bishop Thompson, the most graceful writer ever bestowed on the American Church, "that the will depends upon the emotions, passions and tempers; that the emotions, passions, and tempers depend upon the views we take of objects. Has not the will power over both? Let a man indulging in fretfulness be visited by companions whose good opinion he esteems, and how soon will he put on the appearance and assume the voice and language of cheerfulness! Let a young man in anger see his lady love approach, how quickly will the scowl depart and the smiles appear! Or, let the young lady, blackened with revenge, be brought into the presence of her lover, will she not change the feelings of her mind as readily as she could change the notes of her piano? And who has not power over his thoughts? True, thoughts may come unbidden as birds; but we can drive the one away as well as the other. It needs but a little violence to change the current of the most interesting stream of thought. The merchant can drop his novel or his reverie when his cuзtomer enters; the warrior can drop his Homer or his letter when the signal fire is lighted; the student can drop his ball or leap from his bath when the bell calls to study. It may be more difficult to change the train of thought at one time than at another; but if it cannot be done, the man is insane. One of the most striking marks of insanity is the fact that the maniac remains under the power of a single thought or train of thoughts. But if we have power at all times to change the train of thought, then is our character in our own hands; for the feelings, the tendencies, the deeds of a man are but the outgoings of his thoughts. Who steals, who murders, who lies, who deceives, without first thinking of stealing, murdering, lying? Who writes poems or speeches, who delivers sermons or orations, who builds colleges or fights battles, or carries forward reforms, without first thinking them all over in his own mind? These all are but the development of the thoughts of the soul, and over these the will sits as monarch-not that it can call up a thought by its own power, but that it can admit or exclude thoughts at its pleasure, and choose the region of thought, whether good or bad, in which the mind shall dwell. Some men exert far more influence over their thoughts than others; but this is due more to habit than to nature. A man may so represent to his mind God, all lovely as he is, as to hate him; and so present to it the devil, all hateful as he is, as to come in time to love him." To successfully banish evil thoughts, we must welcome good ones. The good ones, under the force of our will, may force out the bad, and fill our minds. This must be done. No upright life is likely to follow vile and wicked thoughts. "As a man thinketh, so is he." Thoughts make character. "Pure thinking is the fountain of all purity; good thinking the fountain of all goodness; but evil thinking is poison in the fountain which vitiates all the branches of life." INTEGRITY. By a man of integrity is popularly understood "a square man ; man;" a man whom "you can count on every time; ."" a person whom you "know where to find;" one "you can tie up to;" a "level man ;" a gentleman "true as steel;" a fellow you 66 can vouch for." As John Webster says— "Integrity of life is fame's best friend." Nothing more quickly creates for an individual a fair and advantageous reputation than such life and speech as impress the community with a conviction of his moral soundness. No term of greater praise in political circles and commercial transactions is known, than—“He is a man of integrity." The very word is weighty with good meaning. It is It is "wholeness," "purity," "rectitude," "an unimpaired state. "As a principle," says Dr. J. L. Withrow, "integrity refers to character. It is descriptive of character. It applies to one of high character; to one on whom dependence can be placed; to one who has been tested, and has come out as gold that has been tried in the fire. Character is integrity at work, just as integrity is conscience at work, and just as conscience is God at work. And where God so works by conscience as to effect the most perfect integration of all the powers and possibilities of our personality, there we see growing up the most perfect character." When Sir Thomas Moore was Lord Chancellor of England a gentleman who had a suit pending before him sent him a present of two silver flagons. The chancellor immediately gave orders to his servants to fill them with the best wine in his cellar, and carry them back to the gentleman, and tell him that it gave him great pleasure to have an opportunity of obeying him; and that when the flasks were empty, he should be welcome to have them filled again. This was a nice instance of judicial integrity. When Sir Walter Raleigh, confined in the Tower, was preparing for the press the second. volume of his "History of the World, he chanced to go to the window just at the moment of an uproar in the court, and saw a man run through the body with a sword. Next day, an acquaintance of Sir Walter called upon him, a man of whose severe probity and honor Sir Walter was fully convinced. The conversation turned on the affray of the preceding day, which his friend, who had been in some degree engaged in it, related so entirely different from what Sir Walter conceived to be the fact, that had not they known each other too well to doubt their fidelity it might have lead to a dispute. The conversation was therefore changed, and the visitor departed. As soon as he had left the room, Raleigh took up the manuscript of the volume just completed. "How many falsehoods are here?" said he. "If I cannot judge of the truth of an event that passes under my own eyes, how shall I truly narrate those which have passed thousands of years before my birth; or even those that have happened since my existence? Truth, I sacrifice to thee" He then threw his invaluable work, the labor of years, into the fire, and saw every page of it consumed. In this is a striking but regretful proof of literary integrity. Public life is a field in which integrity is tried. History perhaps furnishes no finer illustration than in the case of General George Washington. During his administration as first President of the United States, a gentleman, the friend and companion of the general throughout the whole course of the Revolutionary War, applied for a lucrative and very responsible office. This gentleman was at all times welcome to Washington's table: he had been, to a certain degree, necessary to the domestic repose of a man, who had for seven years fought the battles of his country, and who had now undertaken the task of wielding her political energies. At all times and in all places, Washington regarded his revolutionary associates with an eye of evident partiality and kindness. He was a jovial, pleasant and unobtrusive companion. In applying for the office, it was accordingly in the full confidence of success; and his friends already cheered him on the prospect of his arrival at competency and ease. The opponent of this gentleman was known to be decidedly hostile to the politics of Washington; he had even made himself conspicuous amongst the ranks of opposition. He had, however, the temerity to stand as a candidate for the office to which the friend and the favorite of Washington aspired. He had nothing to urge in favor of his pretensions but strong integrity, promptitude and fidelity in business, and every quality which, if called into exercise, would render service to the state. Every one considered the application of this man hopeless; no glittering testimonial of merit had he to present to the eye of Washington; he was known to be his political enemy; he was opposed by a favorite of the general's; and yet, with such fearful odds, he dared to stand candidate. What was the result? The enemy of Washington was appointed to the office and his table companion was left destitute and dejected. A mutual friend, who interested himself in the affair, ventured to remonstrate with the president on the injustice of his appointment. "My friend," said he, "I receive with a cordial welcome; he is welcome to my house and welcome to my heart; but, with all his good qualities, he is not a man of business. His opponent is, with all his political hostility to me, a man of business; my private feelings have nothing to do in this case. I am not George Washington, but President of the United States; as George Washington, I would do this man any kindness in my power; but as President of the United States, I can do nothing.' Well would it be for our land and nation if every successor in the presidential office had observed, and would now and hereafter observe, similar virtuous principles in administering the affairs of state. Then would nepotism not have been our shame, and political corruption our curse. While public morality is not in as deplorable a condition among us as among some of the nations of the Old World under the emperors, we could yet, with Alex ander the Macedonian, profitably go to the heathen for some lessons in simple integrity and virtue. On his way to conquer the world, so runs the story, Alexander reached a country in Africa where the people, separated from the rest of the world, dwelt peacefully in huts and knew nothing of wars and conquerors. Alexander was led into the presence of the ruler of this people, who received him hospitably. The ruler placed before him dates, figs and bread, but all made of gold. "Do you eat gold here?" asked Alexander. "I put it before you," replied the ruler, "because you have nourishing food in your own country, and could not have come here to seek it." "Your gold did not entice me here," replied Alexander, "but I would learn your customs." "Indeed!" replied the other; "then stay with us as long as you will." While they were conversing, two citizens came to ask for judg ment. The plaintiff said: "I bought a piece of land of this man, and in digging it I have found a treasure. This is not mine; I only purchased the land and not the treasures which were hidden in it; but still he from whom I bought it will not receive it back." The defendant answered: "I am as conscientious as my fellow citizen. I sold the land and all that it contained, and therefore the treasure." The judge repeated their words, that he might be certain he had understood the case, and after some reflection he said: "You have a son, my friend, have you not?" "Yes." "And you a daughter?" "Yes." "Well, your son shall marry his daughter, and the treasure shall be given to the pair for a marriage portion." Alexander appeared surprised. "Is my decision unrighteous?" asked the ruler. "Oh, no,” replied Alexander; "but it surprises me.” |