State Convention—O un boys. 
247 
tempt a subject so prolific in beautiful suggestions, but look for 
something more homely, and perhaps from the wilder and neg¬ 
lected fields of experience I shall be able to quarry out some stone 
in the rough, which the master hand of the great future can fash¬ 
ion into the shapely structure, although it may not become the 
chief corner. A homely old maxim tells us that “ honesty is the 
best policy/’ and I sometimes find myself wondering if men of 
good moral and religious principles—men who with their fellow 
men are strictly just,—ever for a moment consider that the prin¬ 
ciples of their lives will apply as well to their own families, to the 
little boy of perhaps only 10 months, as to the whole outside 
world. And perhaps I shall be better understood if I draw a 
practical illustration. 
A cold rain in March found a little lamb, bereft of its mother, 
lying apparently dead in the fence corner. Its feeble bleating 
reached the ears of Johnny, the farmer’s youngest and much 
loved son. The tender heart of the child responded to its cry, 
sought it out, bore it tenderly to the house, and in a far corner of 
the woodshed made warm by the child’s ingenuity, it was cared 
for, loved, cherished and finally reared to strength and size by 
its kind foster parent. Of course it was Johnny’s lamb. Father 
and mother both said so, and the older brothers and sisters gladly 
acknowledged the ownership. Summer passed and the foundling 
became a sheep—the largest in the flock—and took its place 
in winter quarters. ' The village butcher called one day while 
Johnny was at school. His practiced eye at once discovered the 
extra pounds wrapped up in the soft fleece, and the extra few 
shillings offered won the prize. And when Johnny next looked 
for his pet it was nowhere to be found—it was Johnny’s lamb but 
father s sheep —and although the young heart was sorely smitten 
it could not be comforted, because the lamb was not. Where 
was the money ? Gone to help pay the taxes. And what was 
in Johnny’s heart? A wounded, bleeding sore, and a stern resolve 
that “ when I get to be a man I’ll go away, I wont live on this 
farm. I’ll go where things which are mine —are mine." Laying 
aside all higher motives of justice, would not honesty have been 
the best policy ? Although the idea may seem a strange one, and 
perhaps far fetched, I firmly believe that many a farmer’s boy is 
