s. But Colonel Gardiner was not a
man to do things by halves: he was now enlisted under Christ's banner as
a soldier of the Cross, and he must stand up for his new Master and
never be ashamed of him anywhere. But to do this would bring him
persecution in a shape peculiarly trying to him,--I mean in the shape of
ridicule. He would, he tells us, at first, when the change had only
lately taken place in him, rather a thousandfold have marched up to the
mouth of a cannon just ready to be fired than stand up to bear the scorn
and jests of his ungodly companions; he winced under these, and
instinctively shrank back from them. Nevertheless, he braved all, the
scorn, the laughter, the jokes, and made it known everywhere that he was
not ashamed of confessing his Saviour, cost what it might; and he even
managed, by a mixture of firm remonstrance and good-tempered persuasion,
to put down all profane swearing whenever he was present, by inducing
his brother officers to consent to the payment of a fine by the guilty
party for every oath uttered. And so by his consistency he won at
length the respect of all who knew him, even of those who most widely
differed from him in faith and practice. There, Walter, that is what I
call true and grand moral courage and heroism."

"So it was, so it was, dear auntie; but why have you brought forward
Colonel Gardiner's case for my special benefit on the present occasion?"

"I will tell you, dear boy. You think it fine fun to play off your
jokes on Amos, and nothing seems to please you better than to raise the
laugh against him and to bring the hot flush into his cheeks. Ah! but
you little know the pain and the misery you are inflicting; you little
know the moral courage it requires on your brother's part to stand up
under that ridicule without resenting it, and to go on with any purpose
he may have formed in spite of it. I want you to see a reflection of
Colonel Gardiner's noblest courage, his high moral courage, in your own
dear brother, and to value him for it, and not to despise him, as I see
you now do. You say you want to be free from moral cowardice; then,
copy moral courage wherever you can see it."

"Well, auntie," said her nephew after a minute's silence, "I daresay you
are right. Poor Amos! I've been very hard upon him, I believe. It
wasn't right, and I'll try and do better. But it's such a funny idea
taking _him_ as a copy. Why, everybody's always telling me to mark what