the door.

Henry.--Do you think George is a coward? You don't know him as well
as I do. Here, George, take this snow-ball, and show James that you
are not such a coward as he thinks you to be.

George.--I am not afraid to throw it. But I do not want to. I do not
see that it will do any good or that there will be any fun in it.

James.--There, I told you he would not dare to throw it.

Henry.--Why, George, are you turning coward? I thought you did not
fear any thing. We shall have to call you chicken-hearted. Come,
save your credit, and throw it. I know you are not afraid to.

George.--Well, I am not afraid to, said George. Give me the
snowball. I had as lief throw it as not.

Whack went the snow-ball against the door; and the boys took to their
heels. Henry was laughing as heartily as he could to think what a fool
he had made of George. George afterwards got a whipping for his folly,
as he richly deserved. He was such a coward that he was afraid of
being called a coward. He did not dare to refuse to do as Henry told
him do, for fear that he would be laughed at. If he had been really a
brave boy, he would have said,

"Henry, do you suppose that I am such a fool as to throw that
snowball just because you want to have me? You may throw your own
snowballs, if you please."

Henry would perhaps have tried to laugh at him. He would have called
him a coward, hoping in this way to induce him to obey his wishes. But
George would have replied,

"Do you think that I care for your laughing? I do not think it is
right to throw a snow-ball against the school-room door. And I will
not do that which I think to be wrong, if the whole town join with
you in laughing."

This would have been real moral courage. Henry would have seen at
once, that it would do no good to laugh at a boy who had so bold a
heart. And you must have this fearlessness of spirit, or you will be
continually involved in trouble, and will deserve and receive
contempt.

I once knew a man who had so little independence, that he hardly dared
express an opinion different from that of those he was with. When he
was talking upon politics, he would agree with the persons with whom
he happened to be conversing, no matter what their views, or what
their party. He was equally fickle and undecided upon the subject of
religion, differing from none, and agreeing with all. The consequence
was, that he had the confidence of none, and the contempt of all. He
sunk into m