a fallacy into which men and women of mature years are apt to
fall--namely, that the cares and sorrows of the young are light.

How many fathers and mothers there are who reason thus--"Oh, the child
will grow out of this folly. 'Tis a mere whim--a youthful fancy, not
worthy of respect,"--forgetting or shutting their eyes to the fact,
that, light though the whim or fancy may be in their eyes, it has
positive weight to those who cherish it, and the thwarting of it is as
destructive of peace and joy to the young as the heavier disappointments
of life are to themselves.

True, the cares and sorrows of the young are light in the sense that
they are not usually permanent. Time generally blows them away, while
the cares of later years often remain with us to the end. But they are
not the less real, heavy, and momentous at the time on that account.

Those troubles cannot with propriety be called light which drive so many
young men and women to rebellion and to destruction. Well would it have
been for Mr Osten if he had treated his son like a rational being,
instead of calling him a "young fool," and commanding him to "obey."

Will, however, was not an untractable young lion. He went through
school and entered college, despite his unconquerable desire to go to
sea, in obedience to his father's wishes. Then he resolved to study
medicine. Mr Osten regarded the time thus spent as lost, inasmuch as
his son might have been better employed in learning "the business" to
which he was destined; still he had no great objection to his son taking
the degree of MD, so he offered no opposition; but when Will, at the age
of eighteen, spoke to him of his intention to take a run to the north or
south seas, as surgeon in a whaler, he broke out on him.

"So, it seems that your ridiculous old fancy still sticks to you," said
Mr Osten, in great wrath, for the recurrence of the subject was like
the lacerating of an old sore.

"Yes, father; it has never left me. If you will listen for a few
moments to my reasons--"

"No, boy," interrupted his father, "I will _not_ listen to your reasons.
I have heard them often enough--too often--and they are foolish, false,
utterly inconclusive. You may go to Jericho as far as I am concerned;
but if you do go, you shall never darken my doors again."

"When I was a boy, father," said Will earnestly, "your speaking sharply
to me was natural, for I was foolish, and acted on impulse. I am
thankful now