b'5V 4526 \n.J3 \n1830 \nCopy 1 \n\n\n\n\nPRESENTED BY \n\n\n\nTHE \n\n\n\nFAMILY MONITOR, \n\n\n\nOR A \n\n\n\nHELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\nBy JOHN ANGELL JAMES, \n\nAUTHOR OF 11 THE CHRISTIAN FATHER\'S PRESENT/\' &C. &C. \n\n\n\n" Behold ! how good and how pleasant it is, for brethren to dwell \ntogether in unity. \n\n" It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down \nupon the beard, even Aaron\'s beard ; that went down to the skirts of \nhis garments : As the dew of Hermon, and as the dew that de- \nscended upon the mountains of Zion : for there the Lord commanded \nthe blessing, even life for evermore." Psalm cxxxiii. \n\n\n\nNEW EDITION ENLARGED. \n\n\n\nBOSTON: \nPUBLISHED BY LEONARD W. KIMBALL, \nPollok Press, 11 Cornhill, \n\n1830. \n\n\n\nPREFACE. \n\n\n\nThe substance of the following chapters, was delivered \nby the Author in a course of sermons which followed \na series of expository lectures on the Epistle to the \nEphesians. The consecutive method of preaching, which \nhe principally uses, is attended, he thinks, with this, \namong many other advantages, that it brings under the \nreview of a minister, many subjects which would other- \nwise be overlooked ; affords an opportunity for the in- \ntroduction of some topics, which, from their peculiarity, \nseem to require such a way of access to the pulpit ; and \nalso furnishes an apology for the discussion of others, \nwhich the fastidiousness of modern delicacy has almost \nexcluded from the range of pastoral admonition. On en- \ntering upon the first branch of relative duties, the Author \nwas so much under the influence, perhaps improperly, of \nthis excess of refinement, and felt so much the difficulty \nof making a public statement of the duties of husbands \nand wives, that he had determined at one time, to relieve \nhimself from the embarrassment, by merely reading large \nextracts from Mr. Jay\'s beautiful sermon on this subject. \nAfter he had preached two discourses, and thus discharg- \ned, as well as he was able, this rather perplexing task, \nhe received a numerously signed petition from many hus- \nbands and their wives, belonging to his congregation, \n\n\n\niv \n\n\n\nPREFACE. \n\n\n\nrequesting that they might be permitted to read in print, \nthe statement of their mutual obligations, which they had \nheard delivered with so much fidelity and impartiality \nfrom the pulpit. Instead of being limited by this request, \nthe Author has gone beyond it, and sent forth the whole \nseries of relative duties, thus furnishing a manual of \nadvice, in which all the members of the household may \nfind something appropriate to the peculiarity of their cir- \ncumstances. \n\nIt is an unquestionable truth, that if a man be not \nhappy at home, he cannot be happy any where ; and the \nconverse of the proposition is no less true, that he who \nis happy there, need be miserable no where. " It is the \nplace of all the world I love most," said the interesting \nAuthor of the Task, when speaking of home. And he \nmay be felicited who can say the same. Any attempt, \nhowever feeble, to render the domestic circle what it ever \nshould be, a scene of comfort, is at least benevolent. Nor \nis this a hopeless effort; for he who has the Bible in his \nhand, and speaks as the oracles of God, can disclose at \nonce, and in few words, the important secret. The prin- \nciples of greatest consequence to mankind, whether we \nrefer to science or to morals, lie not buried deep in gloom \nand mystery, but are to be found, like the manna of the \nIsraelites, upon the surface of things. The secret of \nhappiness lies folded up in the leaves of the Bible, and is \ncarried in the bosom of religion. The Author knows of \nno other way to felicity, and therefore does not profess to \nteach any other. Let the two parties in wedded life, be \nbelievers in Christ Jesus, and partake themselves of the \npeace that passeth understanding ; let them, when they \nbecome a father and a mother, bring up their children in \nthe fear of God ; and as a master and a mistress, be dili- \ngent and successful in instructing their servants in the \nprinciples of religion, and if happiness is to be found up- \non earth, it will be enjoyed within the hallowed circle of \na family, thus united by love, and sanctified by grace. \n\n\n\nPREFACE. \n\n\n\nThe Author does not deny, that much of worldly com- \nfort may be, and often is, enjoyed in some families, which \nneither possess nor profess a serious regard to the claims \nof religion ; while it must be acknowledged on the other \nhand, that there are to be found professors of religion, \nwhose households are any thing but happy ones. In refe- \nrence to the former, it may be affirmed, that piety, while \nit would raise their enjoyment to a sublimer kind, and a \nhigher degree of happiness in this world, would also per- \npetuate it through eternity ; and in reference to the latter, \nit may be remarked that their disquietude is not produced \nby religion, but occasioned by the want of it. A mere \nprofession of the Christian faith, is rather a hindrance to \nfelicity than a help : nothing short of real religion can be \nexpected to yield its joys. \n\nIn the following pages, there will be found numerous \nand long extracts from an incomparably excellent work, \nby the Rev. Christopher Anderson of Edinburgh, enti- \ntled "The Domestic Constitution." Of that volume, \nthe Author feels that his own is not worthy, in any in- \nstance, to be the harbinger; but should he find that he \nhas introduced any families to an acquaintance with a \ntreatise, so well worthy of their most serious attention, he \nwill be thankful for that measure of benefit, and rejoice \nthat he has not labored in vain. \n\nEdglaston, September 13, 1828. \n\n\n\n(i*) \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. \n\nTHE DOMESTIC CONSTITUTION, AND THE MUTUAL \n\nDUTIES OF HUSBANDS AND WIVES, .... 7 \n\nCHAPTER II. \n\nTHE SPECIAL DUTIES OF HUSBANDS AND WIVES, . 34 \n\nCHAPTER III. \n\nSOME REMARKS ON THE FORMATION OF THE \n\nMARRIAGE UNION, 65 \n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nTHE DUTIES OF PARENTS, 83 \n\nCHAPTER V. \n\n\n\nTHE DUTIES OF CHILDREN TO THEIR PARENTS, . 130 \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. \n\nTHE DUTIES OF MASTERS, 157 \n\nCHAPTER VII. \n\nTHE DUTIES OF SERVANTS, ........ 185 \n\nCHAPTER VIII. \n\nON THE FRATERNAL DUTIES, 207 \n\n\n\nTHE \n\n\n\nFAMILY MONITOR : \n\nOR A \n\nHELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER L \n\nTHE DOMESTIC CONSTITUTION, AND THE MUTUAL \nDUTIES OF HUSBANDS AND WIVES. \n\n" By Thee \nFounded in reason, loyal, just and pure, \nRelations dear, and all the charities \nOf Father, Son, and Brother, first were known. \nFar be it that I should write thee, sin or blame, \nOr think thee unbefitting holiest place, \nPerpetual fountain of domestic sweets \'." Milton. \n\nA family ! Haw delightful the associations we form \nwith such a word! How pleasing the images with \nwhich it crowds the mind, and how tender the emo- \ntions which it awakens in the heart ! Who can won- \nder that domestic happiness should be a theme dear \nto poetry, and that it should have called forth some \nof the sweetest strains of fancy and of feeling ? Or \nwho can be surprised, that of all the sweets which \npresent themselves in the vista of futurity, to the eye \nof those who are setting out on the journey of life, \nthis should excite the most ardent desires, and engage \nthe most active pursuits ? But alas ! of those who in \nthe ardour of youth, start for the possession of this \ndear prize, how many fail ! And why ? Because \ntheir imagination alone is engaged in the subject: \nthey have no definite ideas of what it means, nor of \nthe way in which it is to be obtained. It is a mere \n\n\n\n8 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nlovely creation of a romantic mind, and oftentimes \nwith such persons, fades away, \n\n" And like the baseless fabric of a vision, \nLeaves not a wreck behind." \n\nIt may be of service, therefore, to lay open the \nsources of domestic happiness, and to show that these \nare to be found, not in the flowery regions of imagina- \ntion, but amidst the sober realities of piety, chaste \nlove, prudence, and well formed connexions. These \nprecious springs are within the reach of all who will \ntake the right path that leads to them : and this is the \nway of knowledge. We must make ourselves ac- \nquainted with the nature, designs, and importance of \nthe family compact: we must analyse this union to \nascertain its elements, its laws, and its purposes. Who \ncan be a good member of any state, without knowing \nthe nature of its constitution, and the laws by which \nit is directed ? And it is equally vain to look for do- \nmestic happiness, without a clear insight into the \nends and laws which Providence has laid down in the \nformation of the household. \n\nIn the discussions which have been agitated, to settle \nthe question, as to the form of civil government best \nadapted to secure the welfare of the human race, the \nfamily constitution has been too much overlooked. \nSpeculation has been indulged, and theories proposed \nby their respective authors, in reference to the greater \naggregations of society, with all the confidence of \noracular authority ; while at the same time, it is evi- \ndent they have forgotten, how much the well being \nof states is dependant on the well being of the fami- \nlies of which all states are .composed. If there be \nany truth in the figure, by which a nation is compar- \ned to a pillar, we should recollect, that while indi- \nviduals are the materials of which it is formed, it is \nthe good condition of families that constitutes the \ncement which holds it together, and gives to its fine \nform, solidity and durability. Let this be wanting, \nand however inherently excellent the materials, how- \never elegant the shape, however ornamented the base, \nthe shaft, or the capital may be, it contains in itself \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n9 \n\n\n\na principle of decay, an active cause of dilapidation \nand ruin. \n\nThe domestic constitution is a divine institute. God \nformed it himself. He taketh the solitary, and setteth \nhim in families ; and like all the rest of his works, it \nis well and wisely done. It is, as a system of gov- \nernment, quite unique ; neither below the heavens, \nnor above them, is there any thing precisely like it. \nIn some respects it resembles the civil government of \na state ; in others, the ecclesiastical rule of a church; \nand it is there that the church and the state may be \nsaid to meet. " This meeting, however, is only on \na very small scale, and under very peculiar circum- \nstances." When directed as it should be, every family \nhas a sacred character, inasmuch as the head of it acts \nthe part of both the prophet and priest of the house- \nhold, by instructing them in the knowledge, and lead- \ning them in the worship of God ; while at the same \ntime, he discharges the duties of a king, by Supporting \na system of order, subordination, and discipline. Con- \nformably with its nature, is its design: beyond the \nbenefit of the individuals which compose it, and which \nis its first and immediate object, it is intended to pro- \nmote the welfare of the national community to which \nit belongs, and of which it is a part: hence every \nnation has stamped a great value on the family com- \npact, and guarded it with the most powerful sanctions. \nWell instructed, well ordered, and well governed fa- \nmilies, are the springs, which, from their retirements, \nsend forth the tributary streams that make up by their \nconfluence, the majestic flow of national greatness \nand prosperity : nor can any state be prosperous, where \nfamily order and subordination are generally neglect- \ned; nor otherwise than prosperous, whatever be its \npolitical form, where these are generally maintained. \nIt is certainly under the wise instruction, and the \nimpartial sceptre of a father, and within the little \nfamily circle, that the son becomes a good citizen ; it \nis by the fire side and upon the family hearth, that \nloyalty and patriotism and every public virtue grows j \nas it is in disordered families, that factious dema- \n\n\n\n10 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR \' OR \n\n\n\ngogues, and turbulent rebels, and tyrannical oppres- \nsors, are trained up to be their neighbor\'s torment, or \ntheir country\'s scourge. It is there that the thorn \nand the briar, to use the elegant simile of the prophet, \nor the myrtle and the fir tree are reared, which are \nin future time, to be the ornament and defence, or the \ndeformity and misery of the land. \n\nBut has the domestic constitution a reference only \nto the present world and its perishable interests ? By \nno means. All God\'s arrangements for man, view \nhim, and are chiefly intended for him, in his relation \nto eternity. The eye of Deity is upon that immortality \nto which he has destined the human race. " Every \nfamily has, in fact, a sacred character belonging to it, \nwhich may indeed, be forgotten or disdained ; but the \nfamily is constituted, and ought, therefore, to be con- \nducted with the prospect of the rising generation \nfollowing that which precedes it, not only to the grave, \nbut to eternity."* Every member of every household \nis an immortal creature ; every one that leaves the \ncircle by death, goes into an eternity of torment or \nof bliss. Now since all the institutes of God look to \nanother world as their chief and ultimate reference, \nsurely, surely, that institute which is the most power- \nful of all, in the formation of character, must be con- \nsidered as set up with a special intention to prepare \nthe subjects of it for " glory, honor, immortality, and \neternal life." \n\nNo one judges aright of this household compact, \nnor can any be in a capacity rightly to perform its du- \nties, who does not consider this double relation which \nit bears to the state and to the church, and who does \nnot view it as a preparatory system, for training up the \ngood citizen and the real christian. And for these ob- \njects, how great is the power which it really possesses : \nhow considerable is the mutual influence of husbands \nand wives, in moulding each others tastes, or modify- \ning each others dispositions ; of parents, in forming the \ncharacter of their children and servants ; and of broth- \ners and sisters, in stimulating and guiding each others \n\n\n\n* Anderson. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 11 \n\n\n\npursuits. The power of other constitutions is remote, \noccasional, and feeble ; but this is close, constant, and \nmighty. With other systems, the character is only \ncasually brought into contact ; but this always touches \nus. We live, and move, and have our being, in the \nvery centre of it. So powerful is the influence of \nthis association on its members, that it has preserved \nthem, by the blessing of God, in the possession of \npiety and morality, in times and places of the greatest \ncorruption of manners. " On what vantage ground \ndoes the conscientious christian parent here stand! \nThe springs of public and social life may be greatly \ncorrupted ; the nation in which he dwells may degen- \nerate into licentiousness, into idolatry, or into the most \ndaring infidelity. Retiring then to this sacred enclo- \nsure, he may entrench himself, and there, lifting up a \nstandard for God, either wait the approach of bet- \nter days, or leave a few behind him, on whom the \nbest blessings of those days, will certainly descend. \nThough the heavens be shut up and there be no dew, \nthe little enclosures which he cultivates, like the \nfleece of Gideon, will discover evident marks of the \nDivine favor. It actually seems as though in the wide \nscene, where the vices of the age, may, and can reign \ntriumphant, this were some secure and sacred retreat, \ninto which they cannot, dare not enter."* \n\nIt must be evident, however, that the great ends of \nthe domestic economy, cannot be kept in view, nor \nthe moral power of it displayed, unless the heads of it \nrightly understand their duty, and have a disposition \nproperly to perform it. They must be christians in \nreality, or no christian government can be maintained. \nWhere religion is wanting as the basis of their union, \nthese happy fruits of it cannot be expected. The in- \nferior and secondary object may be accomplished in \nthe absence of parental piety, though neither so cer- \n\n* Mr. Anderson, in support and illustration of this beautiful senti- \nment, brings forward the families of the Kenites, and the Rechabites, \nwhose history he traces, and shews it to be like a pure and vigorous \nstream, urging its course through a turbid lake, with the waters of \nwhich it refuses to blend, and maintaining its own characteristic, \namidst surrounding impurity. \n\n\n\n12 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\ntainly, nor so effectually ; but as to the more sublime \nand permanent end of the family constitution, which \nconnects its members with the church of God on earth, \nand the company of the redeemed in heaven, this can- \nnot be looked for, where the father and the mother \nare destitute of true religion. Oh, how many inte- \nresting households are to be found, where all the mere \nsocial virtues are cultivated with assiduity, where the \ndomestic charities all flourish, and public excellence \nis cherished, but which, on account of the want of vital \ngodliness, are still losing the highest end of their \nunion, are carrying on no preparatory course of educa- \ntion for the skies, and are destined to be swept away \nwith the wreck of the nations that know not God, and \nthe wicked who shall be turned into hell. Alas, afas ! \nthat from such sweet scenes, such lovely retreats of \nconnubial love and domestic peace, to which learning, \nscience, wealth, elegance, have been admitted, reli- \ngion should be excluded ; and that while many wise \nand interesting guests are continually welcomed to \nthe house, He only should be refused, who blessed \nthe little family of Bethany ; who, wherever he goes, \ncarries salvation in his train, and gives immortality to \nthe joys which would otherwise perish for ever. \n\nPrecious, indeed, are the joys of a happy family ; \nbut, oh, how fleet! How soon must the circle be \nbroken up, how suddenly may it be ! What scenes \nof delight, resembling gay visions of fairy bliss, have \nall been unexpectedly wrapt in shadow and gloom, by \nmisfortune, by sickness, by death. The last enemy \nhas entered the paradise, and by expelling one of its \ntenants, has embittered the scene to the rest; the \nravages of death have been in some cases followed by \nthe desolations of poverty, and they who once dwelt \ntogether in the happy enclosure, have been separated \nand scattered to meet no more. But religion, true \nreligion, if it be possessed, will gather them together \nagain, after this destruction of their earthly ties, and \nconduct them to another paradise, into which no ca- \nlamity shall enter, and from which, no joy shall ever \ndepart. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 13 \n\nHappy then would it be, for all who stand related \nby these household ties, if the bonds of nature were \nhallowed and rendered permanent by those of divine \ngrace. To found our union on any basis which does \nnot contain religion in its formation, is to erect it on \na quicksand, and to expose it to the fury of a thou- \nsand billows, each of which may overturn the fabric \nof our comfort in a moment: but to rest it upon reli- \ngion, is to found it upon a rock, where we shall indi- \nvidually still find a refuge, when the nearest and the \ndearest relations are swept away by the tide of dis- \nsolution. \n\nIt is a pleasing reflection, that the domestic consti- \ntution depends not for its existence, its laws, its right \nadministration, or its rich advantages, either upon \nfamily possessions, or the forms of national policy. It \nmay live and flourish in all its tender charities, and \nall its sweet felicities, and all its moral power, in \nthe cottage as well as in the mansion ; under the \nshadow of liberty, and even under the scorching heat \nof tyranny. Like the church of which it is in some \nrespects the emblem, it accommodates itself to every \nchanging form of surrounding society, to every nation \nand to every age. Forming with the church the only \ntwo institutions ever set up by God, as to their frame \nwork ; like its kindred institute, it remains amidst the \nruins of the fall, the lapse of ages, and the changes of \nhuman affairs, the monument of what has been, the \nstanding prediction of what shall be. Tyrants that \ncrush the liberties of a state, cannot destroy the con- \nstitution of the family: and even persecutors that \nsilence the preacher, and scatter the congregation, \ncannot hush the voice of parental instruction, or ex- \ntinguish parental influence. Religion, hunted and \ndriven by human power from the place of public con- \ncourse, would still find a retreat, as it often has done \nunder such circumstances, in the household of faith ; \nand there would keep alive upon the family altar, \nthat holy fire, with which the sacrifices of the temple, \nunder \'happier auspices, shall be offered. Neither \nfamilies nor the church of the redeemed, shall ever \n2 \n\n\n\n14 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nbe entirely lost, whatever changes the world may yet \nhave to pass through : " but blessing and being blest, \nwill of themselves alone one day introduce the mil- \nlennium."* \n\nTo all, therefore, who are united in the bonds of \nthis relationship, I offer the consideration of these \npages ; which prescribe duties, and present advan- \ntages, belonging alike to all. Domestic happiness, in \nmany respects, resembles the manna which was grant- \ned to the Israelites, in the wilderness ; like that pre- \ncious food, it is the gift of God which cometh down \nfrom heaven; it is not to be purchased with money; \nit is dispensed alike to the rich and to the poor, and \naccommodates itself to every taste ; it is given with \nan abundance that meets the wants of all who desire \nit; to be obtained, it must be religiously sought in \nGod\'s own way of bestowing it; and is granted to man \nas a refreshment during his pilgrimage through this \nwilderness, to the celestial Canaan. \n\nMarriage is the foundation of the domestic \nconstitution : this, says the apostle, " is honorable in \nall ;" and he has condemned, as " a doctrine of devils," \nthe opinions of those by whom it is forbidden. It is \nan institute of God, was established in Eden, was \nhonored by the personal attendance of Christ, and \nfurnished an occasion for the first of that splendid \nseries of miracles, by which he proved himself to be \nthe Son of God, and the Saviour of the world. But \nthere is another mark of distinction put upon it by the \nHoly Ghost, where it is said, " This is a great mys- \ntery, but I speak concerning Christ and the church." \nEph. v. 32. Many commentators, I am aware, con- \nsider the term mystery as having no allusion to the \nnuptial tie, but as applying exclusively to the union \nof Christ and the church. If this be the case, it \nseems difficult to account for the introduction of this \nunion at all, or to explain what bearing it has upon the \nsubject in hand. Besides, the two-fold reference to \nthe mediatorial undertaking of Christ, which is made \nby the apostle, when he enforces the duties of hus- \n\n\n\n* See Anderson and DwighL \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n15 \n\n\n\nband and wife, seems to confirm the opinion, that he \nrepresents the conjugal union, as a type or symbol of \nthe close and endearing relation in which the church \nstands to its divine Redeemer. Nothing can throw a \nhigher sanctity over this connexion, nor invest it with \ngreater honor than such a view of it. Distinguishing, \nas it does, man from brutes ; providing not only for the \ncontinuance, but for the comfort of our species ; con- \ntaining at once, the source of human happiness, and of \nall those virtuous emotions and generous sensibilities, \nwhich refine and adorn the character of man, it can \nnever as a general subject be guarded with too much \nsolicitous vigilance, nor be contracted, in particular \ninstances, with too much prudence and care. \n\nIn proportion to the importance of the connexion \nitself, must be a right view and a due performance of \nthe obligations arising out of it. \n\nFirst There are duties common to both par- \nties. \n\nSecondly. There are duties more particularly \n\nENJOINED UPON EACH. \n\nMy first object will be to state those duties which \n\nARE COMMON TO BOTH HUSBAND AND WIFE. \n\n1. The first which I mention, and which is the \nground of all the rest, is love. \n\nLet this be wanting, and marriage is degraded at \nonce into a brutal or a sordid compact. This duty, \nwhich, though for reasons which we shall consider in \ndue place, is specially enjoined on the husband, be- \nlongs equally to the wife. It must be mutual, or there \ncan be no happiness ; none for the party which does \nnot love, for how dreadful the idea of being chained \nfor life to an individual for whom we have no affec- \ntion ; to be almost ever in the company of a person \nfrom whom we are driven back by revulsion, yet driven \nback upon a bond which prevents all separation and \nescape ; nor can there be any happiness for the party \nthat does love ; such an unrequited affection must \nsoon expire, or live only to consume that wretched \nheart in which it burns. A married couple without \nmutual regard, is one of the most pitiable spectacles \n\n\n\n16 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR *. OR \n\n\n\non earth. They cannot, and, indeed, in ordinary \ncircumstances, ought not to separate, and yet they \nremain united only to be a torment to each other. \nThey serve one important purpose, however, in the \nhistory of mankind, and that is, to be a beacon to all \nwho are yet disengaged, to warn them against the sin \nand folly of forming this union, upon any other basis \nthan that of a pure and mutual attachment; and to \nadmonish all that are so united, to watch with most \nassiduous vigilance their mutual regard, that nothing \nbe allowed to damp the sacred flame. \n\nAs the union should be formed on the basis of love, \nso should great care be taken, especially in the early \nstages of it, that nothing might arise to unsettle or \nloosen our attachments. Whatever knowledge we \nmay obtain of each others tastes and habits before \nmarriage, it is neither so accurate, so comprehensive, \nnor so impressive, as that which we acquire by living \ntogether ; and it is of prodigious consequence, that \nwhen little defects are first noticed, and trivial faults \nand oppositions first occur, they should not be allowed \nto produce an unfavorable impression upon the mind. \nThe remarks of Bishop Jeremy Taylor in his inimita- \nbly beautiful sermon, entitled, "The Marriage Ring," \nare so much in point, that I shall introduce a long ex- \ntract in reference to this idea. \n\n"Man and wife are equally concerned to avoid all \noffences of each other in the beginning of their con- \nversation ; every little thing can blast an infant blos- \nsom, and the breath of the south can shake the little \nrings of the vine, when first they begin to curl like the \nlocks of a new weaned boy ; but when by age and \nconsolidation they stiffen into the hardness of a stem, \nand have by the warm rays of the sun, and the kisses \nof heaven, brought forth their clusters, they can endure \nthe storms of the north, and the loud noises of a tem- \npest, and yet never be broken : so are the early unions \nof an unfixed marriage ; watchful and observant, jeal- \nous and busy, inquisitive and careful, and apt to take \nalarm at every unkind word. For infirmities do not \nmanifest themselves in the first scenes, but in the \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 17 \n\n\n\nsuccession of a long society ; and it is not chance or \nweakness when it appears at first, but it is want of \nlove or prudence, or it will be so expounded ; and that \nwhich appears ill at first, usually affrights the inexpe- \nrienced man or woman, who makes unequal conjec- \ntures, and fancies mighty sorrows by the proportions \nof the new and early unkindness. It is a very great \npassion, or a huge folly, or a certain want of love, that \ncannot preserve the colors and beauties of kindness, \nso long as public honesty requires a man to wear their \nsorrows for the death of a friend. Plutarch compares \na new marriage to a vessel before the hoops are on, \nevery thing dissolves its tender compaginations ; but \nwhen the joints are stiffened and are tied by a firm \ncompliance and proportioned bending*, scarcely can it \nbe dissolved without fire, or the violence of iron. After \nthe hearts of the man and the wife are endeared and \nhardened by a mutual confidence and experience, \nlonger than artifice and pretence can last, there are a \ngreat many remembrances, and some things present, \nthat dash all little unkindnesses in pieces. \n\n" Let a man and wife be careful to stifle little things, \nthat as fast as they spring, they be cut down and trod \nupon; for if they be suffered to grow by numbers, \nthey make the spirit peevish, and the society trouble- \nsome, and the affections loose and uneasy by an ha- \nbitual aversion. Some men are more vexed with a fly \nthan with a wound ; and when the gnats disturb our \nsleep, and the reason is disquieted, but not perfectly \nawakened, it is often seen that he is fuller of trouble \nthan if in the day light of his reason he were to con- \ntest with a potent enemy. In the frequent little acci- \ndents of a family, a man\'s reason cannot always be \nawake ; and when his discourses are imperfect and a \ntrifling trouble makes him yet more restless, he is soon \nbetrayed to the violence of passion. It is certain that \nthe man or woman are in a state of weakness and folly \nthen, when they can be troubled with a trifling acci- \ndent ; and therefore it is not good to tempt their affec- \ntions, when they are in that state of danger. In this \ncase the caution is, to subtract fuel from the sudden \n2* \n\n\n\n18 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nflame ; for stubble, though it be quickly kindled, yet it \nis as soon extinguished, if it be not blown by a per- \ntinacious breath, or fed with new materials. Add no \nnew provocations to the accident, and do not inflame \nthis, and peace will soon return, and the discontent \nwill pass away soon, as the sparks from the collision \nof a flint; ever remembering, that discontents pro- \nceeding from daily little things, do breed a secret un- \ndiscernable disease, which is more dangerous than a \nfever proceeding from a discerned notorious surfeit." \n\nIf they would preserve love, let them be sure to \nstudy most accurately each others tastes and distates, \nand most anxiously abstain from whatever, even in the \nminutest things, they know to be contrary to them. \nThe ancients in their conjugal allegories, used to re- \npresent Mercury standing by Venus, to signify that \nby fair language, and sweet entreaties, the minds of \neach other should be united. \n\nIf they would preserve love, let them most carefully \navoid all curious and frequently repeated distinctions \nof mine and thine : for this hath caused all the laws, \nand all the suits, and all the wars in the world ; let \nthem who have but one person, have also but one in- \nterest. Instances may occur in which there may and \nmust be, a separate investiture of property, and a sove- \nreign independent right of disposal in the woman ; in \nthis case, the most anxious care should be taken by \nthe husband not to attempt to invade that right, and \nby the wife, neither ostentaciously to speak of it, nor \nrigidly to claim it, nor selfishly to exercise it. In \nordinary cases, " they should be heirs to each other, \nif they die childless ; and if there be children, the wife \nshould be with them a partner in the inheritance. But \nduring their life the use and employment is common \nto both their necessities, and in this there is no other \ndifference of right, but that the man hath the dispen- \nsation of all, and may keep it from his wife, just as the \ngovernor of a town may keep it from the right owner; \nhe hath the power, but not the right to do so." \n\n2. Mutual respect is a duty of married life; for \nthough as we shall afterwards consider, especial reve- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 19 \n\n\n\nrence is due from the wife, yet is respect due from the \nhusband also. \n\nAs it is difficult to respect those, who are not enti- \ntled to it on any other ground than superior rank or \noommon relationship, it is of immense consequence, \nthat we should present to each other, that conduct \nwhich deserves respect and commands it. Moral es- \nteem is one of the firmest supports, and strongest \nguards of love ; and a high degree of excellence can- \nnot fail to produce such esteem. We are more accu- \nrately known to each other in this connexion, than \neither to the world, or even to our own servants and \nchildren. The privacies of such a relationship lay \nopen our motives, and all the interior of our character ; \nso that we are better known to each other than we are \nto ourselves. If therefore, we would be respected, we \nshould be respectable. Charity covers a multitude of \nfaults, it is true ; but we must not presume too far \nupon the credulity and blindness of affection ; there \nis a point beyond which, even love cannot be blind to \nthe crimson coloring of a guilty action. Every piece \nof really sinful conduct, the impropriety of which can- \nnot be mistaken, tends to sink us in each others es- \nteem, and thus to remove the safeguards of affection. \nPerhaps this has not been sufficiently thought of in \nwedded life, the parties of which have been sometimes \nanxious merely to cover their delinquencies from the \nworld, forgetful that it is a dreadful thing to lose their \nmutual respect. It is delightfully striking to observe, \nhow some pairs, of eminent moral worth, regard each \nother ; what reverence is blended with their love, and \nhow like to angel forms of heavenly excellence they \nappear to one another. \n\nIn all the conduct of the conjugal state then, there \nshould be the most marked and unvarying mutual re- \nspect even in little things : there must be no searching \nafter faults, nor examining, with microscopic scrutiny, \nsuch as cannot be concealed ; no reproachful epithets ; \nno rude contempt; no incivility; no cold neglect: \nthere should be courtesy without ceremony; polite- \nness without formality ; attention without slavery ; it \n\n\n\n20 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nshould, in short, be the tenderness of love, supported \nby esteem, and guided by politeness. And then, we \nmust maintain our mutual respectability before others ; \nstrangers, friends, servants, children, must all be \ntaught to respect us, from what they see in our own \nbehavior. It is in the highest degree improper, for \neither party to do an action, to say a word, or assume \na look, that shall have the remotest tendency to lower \nthe other in public esteem. \n\n3. Mutual attachment to each other\'s soci- \nety, is a common duty of husband and wife. \n\nWe are united to be companions ; to live together, \nto walk together, to talk together. The husband is \ncommanded "to dwell with the wife according to \nknowledge." " This," says Mr. Jay, " intends noth- \ning less than residence, opposed to absence and rov- \ning. It is absurd, for those who have no prospect of \ndwelling together, to enter this state ; and those who \nare already in it, should not be unnecessarily abroad. \nCircumstances of various kinds will doubtless render \noccasional excursions unavoidable ; but let a man re- \nturn as soon as the design of his absence is accom- \nplished, and let him always travel with the words of \nSolomon in his mind, 4 As a bird that wandereth from \nher nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place.\' \nCan a man while from home, discharge the duties he \nowes to his household ? Can he discipline his child- \nren ? Can he maintain the worship of God in his \nfamily ? I know it is the duty of the wife to lead the \ndevotion in the absence of the husband; and she \nshould take it up as a cross, if not for the time as a \nprivilege. Few, however, are thus disposed, and \nhence one of the sanctuaries of God for weeks and \nmonths together is shut up. \xe2\x80\x94 I am sorry to say, that \nthere are some husbands who seem fonder of any so- \nciety than the company of their wives. It appears in \nthe disposal of their leisure hours. How few of these \nare appropriated to the wife ! The evenings are the \nmost domestic periods of the day. To these the wife \nis peculiarly entitled \xe2\x80\x94 she is now^most free from her \nnumerous cares, and most at liberty to enjoy read- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 21 \n\ning and conversation. It is a sad reflection upon a \nman when he is fond of spending his evenings abroad. \nIt implies something bad, and it predicts something \nworse." \n\nAnd then to ensure as far as possible, the society \nof her husband, at his own fire side, let the wife be " a \nkeeper at home," and do all in her power to render \nthat fire side as attractive as good tegnper, neatness, \nand cheerful, affectionate conversation can make it ; \nlet her strive to make his own home, the soft green \non which his heart loves to repose in the sunshine of \ndomestic enjoyment. We can easily imagine, that \neven in Paradise, when man had no apparition of \nguilt, no visions of crime, no spectral voice from a \ntroubled conscience, to make him dread solitude, and \nflee from it, that even then, Adam liked not, on his \nreturn from the labor of dressing the garden, to find \nEve absent from their bower, but wanted the smile of \nher countenance to light up his own, and the music of \nher voice to be the melody of his soul. Think, then, \nhow much more in his fallen estate, with guilt upon \nhis conscience, and care pressing upon his heart, does \nman now, on coming from the scenes of his anxious \ntoil, need the aid of woman\'s companionship, to drive \naway the swarm of buzzing cares, that light upon the \nheart to sting it ; to soothe the brow ruffled with sad- \nness ; to tranquillize the bosom agitated with passion ; \nand at once to reprove and comfort the mind that has \nin some measure yielded to temptation. O, woman! \nthou knowest the hour when " the good man of the \nhouse" will return, at mid-day, while the sun is yet bow- \ning down the laborer with the fierceness of his beams, \nor at evening, when the heat and burden of the day are \npast ; do not let him, at such a time, when he is weary \nwith exertion, and faint with discouragement, find, upon \nhis coming to his habitation, that the foot which should \nhasten to meet him, is wandering at a distance, that \nthe soft hand which should wipe away the sweat from \nhis brow, is knocking at the door of other houses : nor \nlet him find a wilderness, where he should enter a gar- \nden ; confusion, where he ought to see order ; or filth \n\n\n\n22 THE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\nthat disgusts, where he might hope to behold neatness, \nthat delights and attracts. If this be the case, who \ncan wonder, that in the anguish of disappointment, and \nin the bitterness of a neglected and heart stricken \nhusband, he turns away from his door, for that comfort \nwhich he wished to enjoy at home, and that society \nwhich he hoped to find in his wife, and put up with \nthe substitutes for both, which he finds in the houses \nof other men, or in the company of other women. \n\nUnited to be associates then, let man and wife be \nas much in each other\'s society as possible : and there \nmust be something wrong in domestic life, when they \nneed the aid of balls, routs, plays, card parties, to re- \nlieve them from the tedium produced by home pur- \nsuits. I thank God, I am a stranger to that taste, \nwhich leads a man to flee from his own comfortable \nparlor, and the society of his wife, from the instruc- \ntion and recreation contained in a well-stored library, \nor the evening rural walk, when the business of the \nday is over, to scenes of public amusement for enjoy- \nment; to my judgement, the pleasures of home, and \nof home society, when home and home society, are all \nthat could be desired, are such as never cloy, and \nneed no change, but from one kindred scene to an- \nother. I am sighing and longing, perhaps in vain, for \na period, when society shall be so elevated, and so \npurified ; when the love of knowledge will be so in- \ntense, and the habits of life will be so simple ; when \nreligion and morality will be so generally diffused, \nthat men\'s homes will be the seat and circle of their \npleasures ; when in the society of an affectionate and \nintelligent wife, and of well educated children, each \nwill find his greatest earthly delight; and when it \nwill be felt to be no more necessary to happiness, to \nquit their own fire side for the\' ball room or the con- \ncert, than it is to go from the well spread table, to the \npublic feast, to satisfy the cravings of a healthy appe- \ntite ; then will it be no longer imposed upon us to \nprove, that public amusements are improper, for they \nwill be found to be unnecessary. \n\nBut the pleasures of home must not be allowed to \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 23 \n\ninterfere with the calls and claims of public duty. \nWives must not ask, and husbands must not give, that \ntime which is demanded for the cause of God and \nman. This is an age of active charity, and the great \npublic institutions which are set up, cannot be kept \nin operation, without great sacrifices of time and lei- \nsure by very many persons. Those, who by their wis- \ndom, talents, rank, or property, receive the confidence \nof the public, must stand prepared to fill up and con- \nduct the executive departments of our societies ; nor \nshould they allow the soft allurements of their own \nhouses, to draw them away from what is obviously the \npost of duty. We have known some, who, till they \nentered into wedded life, were the props and pillars \nof our institutions, yield so far to the solicitations of \ntheir new and dearest earthly friend, as to vacate their \nseat at the board of management, for ever after. It \nis, indeed, a costly way of contributing to the cause \nof religion and humanity, to give those evening hours \nwhich could be spent so pleasantly in a country walk, \nor in the joint perusal of some interesting volume ; \nbut who can do good, or ought to wish to do it, with- \nout sacrifices ? I know an eminently holy and useful \nminister, who told the lady to whom he was about to \nbe united, that one of the conditions of their marriage \nwas, that she should never ask him for that time, which, \non any occasion, he felt it to be his duty to give to \nGod. And surely, any woman might feel herself more \nblessed in having sometimes to endure the loss of a \nhusband\'s society, whose presence and talents were \ncoveted by all public institutions, than in being left to \nthe unmolested enjoyment of the company of one, \nwhose assistance was coveted by none. \n\n4. Mutual forbearance is another duty. \n\nThis we owe to all, not excepting the stranger, or \nan enemy ; and most certainly it must not be denied \nto our nearest and dearest earthly friend. For the \ncharity that suffereth long and is kind ; that envieth \nnot; vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up; that doth \nnot behave itself unseemly ; seeketh not her own; is \nnot easily provoked ; thinketh no evil ; rejoiceth not in \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\niniquity, but rejoice th in the truth ; that covereth all \nthings ; believeth all things ; hopeth all things ; en- \ndure th all things : for this charity there is both need \nand room in every relation of life. Wherever sin or \nimperfection exists, there is scope for the forbearance \nof love. There is no perfection upon earth. Lovers, \nit is true, often fancy they have found it ; but the more \nsober judgement of husbands and wives, generally \ncorrects the mistake; and first impressions of this \nkind, generally pass away with first love. We should \nall enter the marriage state, remembering that we are \nabout to be united to a fallen creature ; and as in \nevery case, as Mr. Bolton remarks, it is not two angels \nthat have met together, but two sinful children of \nAdam, from whom must be looked for much weakness \nand waywardness, we must make up our minds to \nsome imperfection; and remembering that we have \nno small share of our own that calls for the forbear- \nance of the other party, shall exercise the patience \nthat we ask. Where both have infirmities, and they \nare so constantly together, innumerable occasions \nwill be furnished, if we are eager, or even willing to \navail ourselves of the opportunities for those conten- \ntions, which, if they do not produce a permanent sup- \npression of love, lead to its temporary interruption. \nMany things we should connive at, others we should \npass by with an unprovoked mind, and in all things \nmost carefully avoid even what at first may seem to \nbe an innocent disputation. Affection does not for- \nbid, but actually demands that we should mutually \npoint out our faults ; but this should be done in all \nthe meekness of wisdom, united with all the tender- \nness of love, lest we only increase the evil we intend \nto remove, or substitute a greater one in its place. \nJustice, as well as wisdom, requires that in every case, \nwe set the good qualities against the bad ; and in \nmost cases we shall find some redeeming excellencies, \nwhich, if they do not reconcile us to the failings we \ndeplore, should at least teach us to bear them with \npatience : and the more we contemplate these better \naspects of the character, the brighter will they appear \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n25 \n\n\n\nfor it is an indubitable fact, that while faults diminish, \nvirtues magnify, in proportion as they are steadily \ncontemplated. As to bitterness of language, and vio- \nlence of conduct, this is so utterly disgraceful, and in \nthe circle which I am accustomed to instruct, alto- \ngether so rare and unusual, that it scarcely need be \nintroduced even by way of cautioning against it. The \nancients, we are informed, took the gall from their nup- \ntial sacrifices, and cast it behind the altar, to intimate \nthe removal of all bitterness from the marriage state. \n\n5. Mutual assistance is the duty of husbands and \nwives. \n\nThis applies to the cares of life. Women are not \nusually very conversant with matters of trade, but still \ntheir counsel may be sought in a thousand cases with \npropriety and advantage. The husband should never \nundertake any thing of importance, without communi- \ncating the matter to his wife ; who, on her part, instead \nof shrinking from the responsibility of a counsellor, and \nleaving him to struggle alone with his difficulties and \nperplexities, should invite him to communicate freely \nall his anxieties : for if she cannot counsel, she can \ncomfort; if she cannot relieve his cares, she can \nhelp to bear them ; if she cannot direct the course of \nhis trade, she may the current of his feelings ; if she \ncannot open any source of earthly wisdom, she can \nspread the matter before the Father and fountain of \nlights. Many men under the idea of delicacy to their \nwives, keep all their difficulties to themselves, which \nonly prepares them to feel the stroke the heavier when \nit does come. \n\nAnd then, as the wife should be willing to help the \nhusband, in matters of business, he should be willing \nto share with her, the burden of domestic anxieties \nand fatigue. Some go too far, and utterly degrade the \nfemale head of the family, by treating her as if her \nhonesty or ability could not be trusted in the manage- \nment of the domestic economy. They keep the mo- \nney, and dole it out as if they were parting with their \nlife\'s blood, grudging every shilling they dispense, and \nrequiring an account as rigid as they would from a \n3 \n\n\n\n\n26 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nsuspected servant ; they take charge of every thing, \ngive out every thing, interfere in every thing. This \nis to despoil a woman of her authority, to thrust her \nfrom her proper place, to insult and degrade her be- \nfore her children and servants. Some, on the other \nhand, go to the opposite extreme, and take no share \nin any thing. My heart has ached to see the slavery \nof some devoted, hard working, and ill used wives ; \nafter laboring all day amidst the ceaseless toils of a \nyoung and numerous family, they have had to pass \nthe hours of evening in solitude, while their husbands, \ninstead of coming home to cheer them by their society, \nor to relieve them for only half an hour of their fatigue, \nhave been either at a party or a sermon : and then \nhave these hapless women had to wake and watch \nthe live long night, over a sick or restless babe, while \nthe men whom they accepted as the partner of their \nsorrows, were sleeping by their side, unwilling to give \na single hour of their slumber, though it was to allow \na little repose to their toil-worn wives. Why, even the \nirrational creatures shame such men ; for it is a well \nknown fact, that the male bird takes his turn upon the \nnest during the season of incubation, to aljow the fe- \nmale time to renew her strength by food and rest: and \nwith her, also, goes in diligent quest of food, and feeds \nthe young ones when they cry. No man should think \nof marrying, who does not stand prepared to share, as \nfar as he can do it with his wife, the burden of domes- \ntic cares. \n\nThey should be helpful to each other in the concerns \nof personal religion. This is clearly implied in the \nApostle\'s language. "For what knowest thou, O \nwife, whether thou shalt save thy husband ? Or how \nknowest thou, O man, whether thou shalt save thy \nwife ? w * Where both parties are unconverted, or only \none of them is yet a partaker of true piety, there should \nbe the most anxious, judicious, and affectionate efforts \nfor their salvation. How heathenish a state is it, to \nenjoy together the comforts of marriage, and then \ntravel in company to eternal perdition ; to be mutual \n* 1 Corinthians, vii. 16. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 27 \n\n\n\ncomforters on earth, and then mutual tormentors in \nhell ; to be companions in felicity in time, and com- \npanions in torment through eternity. And where both \nparties are real christians, there should be the exercise \nof a constant reciprocal solicitude, watchfulness and \ncare, in reference to their spiritual and eternal welfare. \nOne of the ends which every believer should propose \nto himself, on entering the marriage state, is to secure \none faithful friend, at least, who will be a helpmate for \nhim in reference to another world, and to assist him \nin the great business of his soul\'s salvation, and that \nwill pray for him and with him ; one that will affec- \ntionately tell him of his sins and his defects, viewed \nin the light of a christian ; one that will stimulate and \ndraw him by the power of a holy example, and the \nsweet force of persuasive words ; one that will warn \nhim in temptation, comfort him in dejection, and in \nevery way assist him in his pilgrimage to the skies. \nThe highest end of the connubial state is lost, if it be \nnot rendered helpful to our piety ; and yet this end is \ntoo generally neglected, even by professors of religion. \nDo we converse with each other as we ought on the \nhigh themes of redemption by Christ, and eternal sal- \nvation ? Do we study each other\'s dispositions, snares, \ntroubles, decays in piety, that we may apply suita- \nble remedies ? Do we exhort one another daily, lest \nwe should be hardened through the deceitfulness of \nsin ? Do we practice fidelity without censoriousness ; \nand administer praise without flattery ? Do we invite \none another to the most quickening and edifying \nmeans of a public nature, and recommend the perusal \nof such instractive and improving books as we have \nfound beneficial to ourselves ? Do we mutually lay \nopen the state of our minds on the subject of personal \nreligion, and state our perplexities, our joys, our fears, \nour sorrows ? Alas, alas, who must not blush at their \nneglects in these particulars ? And yet, such neglect \nis as criminal, as it is common. Fleeing from the \nwrath to come, and yet not doing all we can to aid \neach other\'s escape ! Contending side by side for the \ncrown of glory, honor, immortality, and eternal life, \n\n\n\n28 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nand yet not doing all we can to ensure each other\'s \nsuccess ! Is this love ? Is this the tenderness of con- \nnubial affection ? \n\nThis mutual help should extend to the maintenance \nof all the habits of domestic order, discipline, and piety. \nThe husband is to be the prophet, priest, and king of \nthe family, to instruct their minds, to lead their devo- \ntions, and to govern their tempers ; but in all that re- \nlates to these important objects, the wife is to be of \none mind with him. They are in these matters, to be \nworkers together, neither of them leaving the other to \nlabor alone, much less opposing or thwarting what is \ndone. " When the sun shines, the moon disappears ; \nwhen he sets, she appears and shines ; so when the \nhusband is at home, he leads domestic worship, when \nhe is absent, the wife must ever take his place." Some \nmen refer the instruction of young children exclusively \nto their wives, and some wives, as soon as the child- \nren are too old to be taught upon the knee, think that \nthey are exclusively the subjects of paternal care. \nThis is a mistake in the important economy of the fa- \nmily, the members of which are never too young to \nbe taught and disciplined by the father, nor too old to \nbe admonished and warned by the mother: he may \nsometimes have a great influence in awing the rude \nspirits of the younger branches ; while her soft per- \nsuasive accents may have delightful power to melt \nor break the hard and stubborn hearts of older ones. \nThus they who have a joint interest in a family, must \nattend to them in the exercise of a joint labor. \n\nThey must be helpful to each other in ivorks of hu- \nmanity and religious benevolence. \n\nTheir mutual influence should be exerted, not in \nrestraining, but in stimulating zeal, compassion, and \nliberality. What a beautiful picture of domestic life \nis drawn by the pen of the Old Testament historian. \n" And it fell on a day that Elisha passed to Shunem, \nwhere was a great woman ; and she constrained him to \neat bread. And so it was, that as oft as he passed by, \nhe turned in thither to eat bread. And she said unto \nher husband, Behold now, I perceive that this is a holy \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS 29 \n\n\n\nman of God, which passeth by us continually. Let us \nmake a little chamber on the wall, and let us set for \nhim there a bed, and a table, and a stool, and a can- \ndlestick, and it shall be, that when he cometh to us, \nhe shall turn in thither. And it fell on a day that he \ncame thither, and he turned into the chamber, and lay \nthere."* Every part of this scene is lovely. The \ngenerous and pious wish of the wife, to provide ac- \ncommodations for a destitute and dependant prophet ; \nher prompt and prudent effort to interest her husband \nin the scheme of her benevolence ; her discreet and \nmodest keeping of her place in not acting without his \npermission ; her dignified claim of a right to be asso- \nciated with him in this work of mercy, for said she, let \nus make a little chamber on the wall ; all is delightful, \nand as it should be, on her part: and no less so on the \npart of the man ; for there was no surly refusal, no \nproud rejection of the plan, because it did not originate \nwith him, no covetous plea for setting it aside, on the \nground of expense. Delighted, as every husband \nshould be, to gratify the benevolent wishes, and sup- \nport the liberal schemes of his wife, so far as prudence \nwill allow, he consented ; the little chamber was erect- \ned, and furnished by this holy pair, and soon occupied \nby the prophet : and never was a generous action more \nspeedily or more richly rewarded. Elisha had no \nmeans of his own, by which to acknowledge the kind- \nness ; but he who said in after times, "he that receiv- \neth a prophet in the name of a prophet, shall receive \na prophet\'s reward," took upon himself, as he does in \nevery instance, the cause of his necessitous servant, \nand most munificently repaid the generous deed. \n\nA lovelier scene is not to be found on earth, than \nthat of a pious couple, employing their mutual influ- \nence, and the hours of their retired companionship, in \nstirring up each other\'s hearts to deeds of mercy and \nreligious benevolence ; not Adam and Eve in Paradise, \nwith the unspotted robes of their innocence about \nthem, engaged in propping the vine, or trailing the \nrose of that holy garden, presented to the eyes of \n* 2 Kings iv. S\xe2\x80\x94ll. \n\n3* \n\n\n\n30 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nangels a more interesting spectacle than this. What \na contrast does such a couple present, to the pairs \nwhich are almost every where to be found, whose cal- \nculations are not what they can save from unnecessary \nexpense to bestow upon the cause of God and hu- \nmanity, but what they can abstract or withhold from \nthe claims of benevolence, to lavish upon splendid \nfurniture, or domestic luxuries. Are there no wives \nwho attempt to chill the ardor, to limit the beneficence, \nto stint the charities of their husbands ; who, by their \nincessant and querulous, and almost quarrelsome sug- \ngestions, that he is doing too much for others, and \ntoo little for his own family, drive the good man, not- \nwithstanding he is lord of his own property, to ex- \nercise his liberality in secret, and bestow his charities \nby stealth ? And what is oftentimes the object of such \nwomen ? nothing more than the pride of ambition, or \nthe folly of vanity. Only that they might have these \ntaxations and parings of charity, to spend upon dress, \nfurniture, and parties. \n\nPerhaps the question will be asked, whether it is \nproper for a wife to give away the property of her \nhusband in acts of humanity, or religious benevolence ? \nSuch an inquiry ought to be unnecessary ; for no wo- \nman should be driven to the alternative of either doing \nnothing for the cause of God and man, or doing what \nshe can by stealth. A sufficient sum ought to be \nplaced at her disposal, to enable her to enjoy the \nluxury of doing good. Why should not she appear \nin her own name upon the honorable list of benefac- \ntors, and shine forth in her peculiar and separate glory, \ninstead of being always lost in the radiance of our \nrecorded mercy ? Why should she have no sphere of \nbenevolent effort? Why should we monopolize to \nourselves the blessings of those that are ready to per- \nish? It is degrading a married female to allow her \nno discretion in this matter, no liberty of distribution, \nno power to dispense, even in cases that concern her \nsex, but to compel her to beg first of a husband, that \nwhich others come to beg of her. If, however, she be \nunhappily united to a Nabal, a churl, whose sordid, \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\nm \n\n\n\ngrasping, covetous disposition, will yie]d nothing to \nthe claims of humanity or religion, may she then make \nup for the deficiency of her husband, and diffuse his \nproperty unknown to him ? I am strongly tempted to \nanswer this question in the affirmative ; for if in any \ninstance we may deviate from the ordinary rule, and \ntaking the man at his own word, which he uttered, \nwhen in the solemn act of matrimony, he said, " with \nall my worldly goods I thee endow," may invest the \nwife with a joint proprietorship, and a right of appro- \npriation, it is in such a case as this. But still, we must \nnot sacrifice general principles, to special cases ; and \ntherefore, I say to every female in such circumstances, \nobtain if you can, a separate and fixed allowance for \ncharitable distribution ; but if even this be not possible, \nobtain one for personal expenses, and by a most rigid \nfrugality, save all you can from dress and decoration, \nfor the hallowed purpose of relieving the miseries of \nyour fellow creatures. \n\n6. Mutual sympathy is required. \n\nSickness may call for this, and females seem both \nformed and inclined by nature to yield it* \n\n" O woman ! in our hours of ease, \nUncertain, coy, and hard to please, \nAnd variable as the shade \nBy the light quivering aspen made ; \nWhen pain and anguish wring the brow, \nA ministering angel thou !" \n\nUnwilling, and indeed, unable to subscribe to tne \nformer part of this description, I do most readily assent \nto the truth of the latter. If we could do without \nher and be happy in health, what are we in sickness \nwithout her presence and her tender offices ? Can we \nsmooth, as woman can, the pillow on which the sick \nman lays his head ? No. We cannot administer the \nmedicine or the food as she can. There is a softness \nin her touch, a lightness in her step, a skill in her ar- \nrangements, a sympathy looking down upon us from \nher beaming eye, which ours wants. Many a female, \nby her devoted and kind attentions in a season of \nsickness, has drawn back to herself that cold and \nalienated heart, which neither her charms could hold, \n\n\n\n32 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nnor her claims recover. I entreat you, therefore, mar- \nried females, to put forth all your power to soothe and \nplease in the season of your husband\'s sickness. Let \nhim see you willing to make any sacrifices of pleasure, \nease, or sleep, to minister to his comfort. Let there \nbe a tenderness in your manner, a wakeful attention \nand sympathy in your look, a something that seems to \nsay, your only comfort in his affliction, is to employ \nyourselves in alleviating it. Hearken with patience \nand kindness to the tale of his lighter, and even of his \nimaginary woes. A cold, heartless, awkward, unsym- \npathising woman, is an exception from the general \nrule, and therefore, the severer libel upon her sex. \n\nNor is this sympathy exclusively the duty of the \nwife ; but belongs equally to the husband. He cannot, \nit is true, perform the same offices for her, which she \ncan discharge for him : but much he can do, and all \nhe can he should do. Her sicknesses are generally \nmore numerous and heavy than his ; she is likely, \ntherefore, to make more frequent calls upon his tender \ninterest and attention. Many of her ailments are the \nconsequence of becoming his wife : she was, perhaps, \nin full vigor, till she became a mother, and from that \ntime, never had a moment\'s perfect ease or strength \nagain. That event which sent into his heart the joys \nof a parent, dismissed from her frame the comforts of \nhealth. And shall he look with discontent, and indif- \nference, and insensibility, upon that delicate flower, \nwhich, before he transplanted it to his garden, glowed \nin beauty and in fragrance, to the admiration of every \nspectator ? Shall he now cease to regard it with any \npleasure, or sympathy, and seem as if he wished it \ngone, to make room for another, forgetting that it was \nhe that sent the worm to the root, and caused its head \nto droop, and its colors to fade ? Husbands, 1 call \nupon you for all the skill and tenderness of love, on \nbehalf of your wives, if they are weak and sickly. \nWatch by their couch, talk with them, pray with them, \nwalk with them, wake with them. In all their afflic- \ntions, be you afflicted. Never listen heedlessly to \ntheir complaints ; and oh, by all that is sacred in con- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 33 \n\njugal affection, I implore you never, by your cold \nneglect, or petulent expressions, or discontented look, \nto call up in their imaginations, unusually sensitive at \nsuch a season, the phantom of a fear, that the disease \nwhich has destroyed their health, has done the same \nfor your affection. Oh ! spare their bosom the ago- \nnizing pangs of supposing, that they are living to be a \nburden to your disappointed heart. The cruelty of \nthat man wants a name, and I know of none sufficiently \nemphatic, who denies his sympathy to a suffering wo- \nman, whose only sin is a broken constitution, and \nwhose calamity is the result of her marriage. Such a \nman does the work of a murderer, without his punish- \nment, and in some instances, without his reproach; \nbut not always without his design or his remorse. \n\nBut sympathy should be exercised by man and wife, \nnot only in reference to their sicknesses, but to all \ntheir afflictions, whether personal or relative : all their \nsorrows should be common : like two strings in unison, \nthe chord of grief should never be struck in the heart \nof one, without causing a corresponding vibration in \nthe heart of the other ; or, like the surface of the lake \nanswering to the heaven, it should be impossible for \ncalmness and sunshine to be upon one, while the other \nis agitated and cloudy: heart should answer to heart, \nand face to face. \n\nSuch are the duties common to both ; the obligations \npeculiarly enjoined upon each, will be the subject of \nthe next chapter. \n\n\n\n34 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. \n\nTHE SPECIAL DUTIES OF HUSBANDS AND WIVES. \n\n" Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the \nLord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the \nhead of the church : and he is the Saviour of the body. Therefore, as \nthe church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own \nhusbands in every thing. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ \nalso loved the church, and gave himself for it ; that he might sanctify \nand cleanse it with the washing of water by the word, that he might \npresent it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, \nor any such thing ; but that it should be holy and without blemish. \nSo ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth \nhis wife, loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh, \nbut nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church : For \nwe are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones. For this \ncause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined \nunto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. This is a great mys- \ntery : but I speak concerning Christ and the church." \n\nEphesians v. 22\xe2\x80\x9432. \n\nObserve the sublime and transcendently interesting \nfact, which stands amidst the duties of domestic life, \nas stated by the apostle, in the language quoted above, \nlike the sun in the centre of the planets, illuminating, \nimpelling, and uniting them all. Every part of this \nmost comprehensive and beautiful passage is inimita- \nbly striking. The design of the whole, is to magnify \nChrist\'s love to the church ; in order to this, the moral \ncondition of the church, previous to the transforming \nwork of redeeming grace, is supposed to be that of \nloathsome impurity ; yet notwithstanding this, he ex- \nercises the tenderest compassion for her welfare, and \nis not repelled by excessive defilement. To effect \nher redemption, he does not merely employ the ope- \nrations of his power and of his wisdom, but surrender- \ned himself into the hands of divine justice, that, as a \nsacrifice of atonement, he might ransom the object of \nhis regard, at the price of his blood ; thus manifesting \nan affection stronger than death, and " which many \nwaters could nor quench." The ultimate design of \nthis act of mysterious humiliation, is, to render her in \nsome measure worthy of his regard, and meet for that \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 35 \n\n\n\nindissoluble union with himself, unto which, as his il- \nlustrious bride, she was about to be received ; for this \npurpose, the efficient influences of the Holy Ghost were \nto be poured upon her mind, that, in the cordial recep- \ntion of the truth, she might be purified from iniquity, \nhave the germ of every virtue implanted in her heart, \nand the robe of righteousness spread over her frame ; \ntill at length, under the dispensations of his providence, \nthe means of his grace, and the sanctifying agency of \nhis Spirit, the last spot of moral defilement might be \neffaced, the last wrinkle of spiritual decay removed, \nand, like " the king\'s daughter, all glorious within, and \nwith her clothing of wrought gold, she might be pre- \nsented, covered with the beauties of holiness, to the \nLord Jesus, in that day, " when he shall come to be \nadmired in his saints, and glorified in all them that be- \nlieve." Behold, what manner of love is this ! And it \nis this most amazing, this unparalleled act of mercy, \nthat is employed by the apostle, as the motive of all \nchristian conduct. He knew nothing of moral philo- \nsophy, if by this expression be meant, the abstract \nprinciples of ethics. He left as he found them, the \ngrounds of moral obligations, but he did not enforce \nvirtue by a mere reference to our relations to God as \ncreatures, but by a reference to our relation to Christ, \nas redeemed sinners. He fetched his motives to good \nworks, from the cross ; he made the power of that to \nbe felt, not only on the conscience, as supplying the \nmeans of pardon, but upon the heart, as furnishing the \nmost cogent, and at the same time the most insinua- \nting argument for sanctification : he not only irradiates \nthe gloom of despondency, or melts the stubborn ob- \nstinacy of unbelief, or stays the reckless progress of \ndespair, by inspiring a feeling of hope ; no ; but by the \ndeath of a crucified Saviour, and an exhibition of his \nmost unbounded compassion, he attacks the vices of \nthe depraved heart, and inculcates all the virtues of \nthe renewed mind. The doctrine of the cross is the \nsubstance of christian truth, and the great support of \nchristian morals : and the apostle\'s mind and heart \nwere full of it. Does he enforce humility ? It is thus : \n\n\n\n36 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\n"Let the mind be in you which was in Christ Jesus." \nAn unreserved devotedness to God? It is thus: \n"Ye are not your own; for ye are bought with a \nprice ; therefore glorify God with your body and in \nyour spirit, which are his." Brotherly love ? It is \nthus : " Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that \nhe loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for \nour sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also \nto love one another." A forgiving temper? It is \nthus : " Be ye kind one to another, tender hearted, \nforgiving one another, even as God for Christ\'s sake \nhath forgiven you." Benevolence to the poor ? It is \nthus: "For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus \nChrist, who, though he was rich, for our sakes became \npoor, that we, through his poverty might be made \nrich."* And who but an apostle would have thought \nof enforcing conjugal affection by a reference to the \nlove of Christ to his church. And he has done this ; \nand has thus represented redeeming love, as a kind \nof holy atmosphere, surrounding the christian on all \nsides, accompanying him every where, sustaining his \nspiritual existence, the very element in which his re- \nligion lives, moves, and has its being. And this, in- \ndeed, is religion ; not a name, not a creed, not a form, \nnot an abstract feeling, not an observance of times and \nplaces, not a mere mental costume or holy dress which \nwe put on exclusively for certain seasons and occa- \nsions ; no ; but a moral habit, a mental taste, the spirit \nof the mind, which will spontaneously appear in our \nlanguage, feeling, and behavior, by a reference to Je- \nsus Christ, as the ground of hope, and the model of \nimitation. \n\nIn stating the duties especially enjoined on the two \nparties in the conjugal union, I shall begin with those \nof the husband. He is commanded to love his wife. \n\nAs we have already shown that this is a duty of \nboth parties, the question very naturally arises, " For \nwhat reason is it so specially enjoined upon the hus- \nband ?" Why is he so particularly bound to the exer- \n\n* Phil. ii. 5. 1 Cor. vi. 20. 1 John iv. 10, 11. Ephes. iv. 32 \n$ Cor. vM. 9. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 37 \n\nelse of affection ? Perhaps for the following reasons : \n1. Because, in the very nature of things, he is most in \ndanger of failing in this duty. Placed by the Creator \nas " the head of the wife," and invested with a certain \nright to govern his household, he is more in peril of \nmerging the tender sensibilities in the predominant \nconsciousness of superiority. 2. Because he is actu- \nally more deficient in this duty than the other party. \nThis has ever been the case in Pagan and Mahomme- \ndan countries. In barbarous nations, especially, con- \njugal affection has ever been exceedingly weak, and \nit is probable, that even in the more civilized countries \nof Greece and Rome, it was not so generally strong \nand steady, as it has since been made by Christianity. \nBut without even going beyond the limits of Christen- \ndom, it may be truly said, that husbands are usually \nmore deficient in love than wives : the latter, in my \nopinion, excel the former in tenderness, in strength, in \nconstancy of affection. 3. Because a want of love on \nthe part of the man, is likely to be attended with more \nmisery to the other party : he can go to greater ex- \ncesses in violence, in cruelty, in depravity. The want \nof this tender passion in him, is likely to have a still \nworse effect upon his own character, and the peace \nof the wife, than the want of it, in her ; in either case, \na destitution of this kind, is a melancholy thing ; but in \nhim, it is on several accounts, the most to be dreaded. \n\nThe apostle lays down two models or rules, for a \nhusband\'s affection ; the one is, the love which Christ \nhas manifested for his church ; and the other, the love \nwhich, a man bears for himself \n\nIn directing your attention to the first, I shall exhibit \nthe properties of Christ\'s love, and show in what way \nour affection should be conformed to his. \n\nChrist\'s love was sincere. He did not love in word \nonly, but in deed and in truth. In him there was no \ndissimulation ;. no epithets of endearment going forth \nout of feigned lips ; no actions varnished over with a \nmere covering of love. We must be like him, and en~ \ndeavour to maintain a principle of true regard in the \nheart, as well as a show of it in the conduct. It is a \n- 4 \n\n\n\n38 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR OR \n\n\n\nmiserable thing to have to act the part of love, without \nfeeling it. Hypocrisy is base in every thing, but next \nto religion, is most base in affection. Besides, how \ndifficult is it to act the part well, to keep on the mask, \nand to support the character so as to escape detection! \nOh, the misery of that woman\'s heart, who a,t length \nfinds out to her cost, that what she has been accus- \ntomed to receive and value as the attentions of a lover, \nare but the tricks of a cunning dissembler. \n\nThe love of the Redeemer was ardent. \n\nLet us, if we would form a correct idea of what \nshould be the state of our hearts towards the woman \nof our choice, think of that affection which glowed in \nthe bosom of the Saviour, when he lived and died for \nhis people. We can possess, it is true, neither the \nsame kind, nor the same degree of regard, but surely \nwhen we are referred to such an instance, if not alto- \ngether as a model, yet as a motive, it does teach us, \nthat no weak affection is due, or should be offered to \nthe wife of our bosom. We are told by the Saviour \nhimself, that if he laid down his life for us, it is our \nduty to lay down ours for the brethren ; how much \nmore, for the " friend that sticketh closer than a broth- \ner." And if it be our duty to tay down our life, how \nmuch more to employ it while it lasts, in all the offices \nof an affection, strong, steady, and inventive. She \nthat for our sake has forsaken the comfortable home, \nand the watchful care, and the warm embrace of her \nparents, has a right to expect in our regard, that which \nshall make her " forget her father\'s house," and cause \nher to feel that with respect to happiness, she is no \nloser by the exchange. Happy the woman, and such \nshould every husband strive to make his wife, who can \nlook back without a sigh upon the moment, when she \nquitted for ever, the guardians, the companions, and \nthe scenes of her childhood ! \n\nThe love of Christ to his church was supreme. \nHe gives to the world his benevolence, but to the \nchurch his complacency. " The Lord thy God in the \nmidst of thee," said the prophet, " is mighty ; he will \nmve thee, he will rejoice over thee, with joy ; he will \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n39 \n\n\n\nrest in his love ; he will joy over thee with singing." \nSo must the husband regard his wife, above all else ; \nhe must " rest in his love." He should regard her not \nonly above all without his house, but above all within. \nShe must take precedence both in his heart and con- \nduct, not only of all strangers, but of all relatives, and \nalso of all his children ; he ought to love his children \nfor her sake, rather than her for theirs. Is this always \nthe case ? Gn the contrary, have we not often seen \nmen, who appear to be far more interested in their \nchildren than in their wives ; and who have paid far \nless attention to the latter than to grown-up daugh- \nters ? Plow especially unseemly is it, for a man to be \nseen fonder of the society of any other woman, than \nthat of his wife, even where nothing more may be in- \ntended than the pleasure of her company. Nor ought \nhe to forsake her, in his leisure hours, for any com- \npanions of his own sex, however interesting might be \ntheir manners or their conversation. \n\nThe love of Christ is uniform. Like himself, it is \nthe same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. Conjugal \naffection should have the same character ; it should \nbe at all times, and in all places alike : the same at \nhome, as abroad ; in other persons\' houses, as in our \nown. Has not many a wife to sigh and exclaim \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Oh that I were treated in my own house, with the \nsame tenderness and attention as I receive in com- \npany." With what almost loathing and disgust must \nsuch a woman turn from endearments, which, under \nsuch circumstances, she can consider as nothing but \nhypocrisy. Home is the chief place for fond and \nminute attention ; and she who has not to complain of \na want of it there, will seldom feel the need or the in- \nclination to complain of a want of it abroad, except it \nbe those silly women, who would degrade their hus- \nbands, by exacting not merely what is really kind, but \nwhat is actually ridiculous. \n\nThe love of the Redeemer was practical and la- \nborious. He provided every thing by his mediation \nfor the welfare and comfort of the church, and at a \ncost and by exertions of which we can form no idea* \n\n\n\n40 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nIt has been already declared, that both parties are to \nassist in the cares of life* A good wife cannot be an \nidle one. Beautiful is her portraiture, as drawn by the \nwise man. " Who can find a virtuous woman ? for her \nprice is far above rubies. The heart of her husband \ndoth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need \nof spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the \ndays of her life. She layeth her hands to the spindle \nand her hands hold the distaff. She stretcheth out her \nhand to the poor, yea she reacheth forth her hand to the \nneedy. Her husband is known in the gates, when he \nsitteth amongst the elders of the land. She openeth \nher mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law \nof kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her \nhousehold, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her \nchildren rise up and call her blessed ; her husband \nalso, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done \nvirtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favor is de- \nceitful, and beauty is vain ; but a woman that feareth \nthe Lord she shall be praised. Give her the fruit of \nher hands, and let her own works praise her in the \ngates." Proverbs xxxi. This exquisite picture, \ncombining as it does industry, prudence, dignity, \nmeekness, wisdom and piety, cannot be too frequently \nor minutely studied, by those who would attain to high \ndegrees of female excellence. The business of pro- \nviding for the family, however, belongs chiefly to the \nhusband. It is yours, my brethren, to rise up early, to \nsit up late, to eat the bread of carefulness, and to \ndrink if necessary, the waters of affliction, that you \nmay earn by the sweat of your brow, a comfortable \nsupport for the domestic circle. This is probably what \nthe apostle meant, when he enjoined us to give honor \nto the wife as to the weaker vessel: the honor of \nmaintenance, which she, in consequence of the weak \nness of her frame, and the frequent infirmities which the \nmaternal relation brings upon her, is not so well able \nto procure for herself. In most barbarous countries, \nand in some half civilized ones, the burden of manual \nlabor falls upon the female, while her tyrant lord lives \nin indolence, feeding upon the industry of the helpless \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 41 \n\nbeing whom he calls a wife, but treats as a slave. \nAnd are there no such idle tyrants in our age and \ncountry, who, so as they can live in indolence, and \ngratify their appetites, care not how they oppress their \nwives ? Wretches who do little or nothing for the \nsupport of the family ? How utterly lost to every \nnoble and generous sentiment must that man be whose \nheart cannot be moved by the entreaties or tears of \nan interesting woman, and who can hear in vain her \npleadings for his child at her breast, and his child by \nher side, and who by such appeals cannot be induced \nto give up his daily visits to the tavern, or his habits \nof sauntering idleness, to attend to his neglected bu- \nsiness, and stay the approaching tide of poverty and \nruin. Such a creature is worse than a brute, he is a \nmonster ; and it seems a pity, that there is no law and \nno convict ship to bear him away to a land, where if \nhe will not work, so neither could he eat. \n\nIn general, it is for the benefit of a family, that a \nmarried woman should devote her time and attention \nalmost exclusively to the ways of her household: her \nplace is in the centre of domestic cares. What is \ngained by her in the shop, is oftentimes lost in the \nhouse, for want of the judicious superintendence of a \nmother and mistress. Comfort and order, as well as \nmoney, are domestic wealth ; and can these be ration- \nally expected in the absence of female arrangement ? \nThe children always want a mother\'s eye and hand, \nand should always have them. Let the husband \nthen have the care of providing ; the wife, that of \ndistributing ; for this is the rule both of reason and \nrevelation. \n\nAnd as Christ labored for his church, not only dur- \ning his abode upon earth, but made provision for its \nwelfare when he departed from our world, in like man- \nner should the husband take care of his wife. I never \ncould understand that custom, which is but too com- \nmon, of providing by their wills so much better for the \nchildren than they do for the mother. Does this look \nlike a supreme love ? Every man who raises a woman \nto the rank of his wife, should take care, however in- \n4* \n\n\n\n44 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nto draw with a sigh, a contrast between the affection- \nate attention she received as a lover and as a wife. \n\nI urge affection to a wife, by the recollection of \nthat solemn moment, when, in the presence of heaven \nand earth, before God\'s minister, and in God\'s house, \nyou bound yourself, by all the deeply awful formalities \nof a kind of oath, to throw open, and keep open your \nheart, as the fountain of her earthly happiness, and \nto devote your whole life to the promotion of her \nwelfare. \n\nI appeal to your regard to justice. You have sworn \naway yourself to her, and are no longer your own. \nYou have no right to that individual, and separate, and \nindependent kind of life, which would lead you to seek \nyour happiness, in opposition to, or neglect of hers. \n" You twain are one flesh." \n\nHumanity puts in its claim on behalf of your wife. \nIt is in your power to do more for her happiness or \nmisery, than any other being in the universe, short of \nGod himself. An unkind husband is a tormentor of \nthe first class. His victim can never elude his grasp, \nnor go beyond the reach of his cruelty, till she is \nkindly released by the king of terrors, who, in this \ninstance, becomes to her an angel of light, and con- \nducts her to the grave as to a shelter from her op- \npressor. For such a woman there is no rest on earth : \nthe destroyer of her peace has her ever in his power, \nfor she is always in his presence, or in the fear of it : \nthe circumstances of every place, and every day, fur- \nnish him with the occasions of cruel neglect or un- \nkindness, and it might be fairly questioned, whether \nthere is to be found on earth, a case of greater misery, \nexcept it be that of a wretch tortured by remorse \nand despair, than a woman whose heart daily withers \nunder the cold looks, the chilling words, and repul- \nsive actions of a husband, who loveth her not. Such \na man is a murderer, though he escapes in this world \nthe murderer\'s doom ; and by a refinement of cruelty, \nhe employs years in conducting his victim to her end, \nby the slow process of a lingering death. \n\nIf nothing else can prevail, interest should, for no \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 45 \n\nman can hate his wife, without hating himself, for \n" she is his own flesh." Love, like mercy, is a double \nblessing ; and hatred, like cruelty, is a double torment \nWe cannot love a worthy object without rejoicing in \nthe reflex beams of our own affection. Next to the \nsupreme regard we cherish towards God, and which it \nis impossible to exercise and not hold communion with \nangels in the joys of heaven, connubial love is the most \nbeatifying passion 5 and to transform this into un- \nkindness, is to open at the very centre of our soul, a \nsource of poison, which, before it exudes to torture \nothers, torments ourselves. \n\nI cannot here avoid inserting the exquisite and \ntouching appeal, which Mr. Jay puts into the lips of \nmarried women to their husbands. \xe2\x80\x94 " Honor us ; deal \nkindly with us. From many of the opportunities, and \nmeans by which you procure favorable notice, we are \nexcluded. Doomed to the shades, few of the high \nplaces of the earth are open to us. Alternately we \nare adored and oppressed. From our slaves you be- \ncome our tyrants. You feel our beauty, and avail \nyourselves of our weakness. You complain of our \ninferiority, but none of your behavior bids us rise. \nSensibility has given us a thousand feelings, which \nnature has kindly denied you. Always under re- \nstraints, we have little liberty of choice. Providence \nseems to have been more attentive to enable us to \nconfer happiness, than to enjoy it. \xe2\x80\x94 Every condition \nhas for us fresh mortifications ; every relation new \nsorrows. We enter social bonds ; it is a system of \nperpetual sacrifice. We cannot give life to others \nwithout hazarding our own. We have sufferings \nwhich you do not share, cannot share. \xe2\x80\x94 If spared, \nyears and decays invade our charms, and much of \nthe ardor produced by attraction departs with it. \xe2\x80\x94 \nWe may die. \xe2\x80\x94 The grave covers us, and we are \nsoon forgotten ; soon are the days of your mourning \nended, soon is our loss repaired : dismissed even from \nyour speech, our name is to be heard no more \xe2\x80\x94 a suc- \ncessor may dislike it. \xe2\x80\x94 Our children, after having a \nmother by nature, may fall under the control of a moth- \n\n\n\n46 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\ner by affinity, and be mortified by distinctions made be- \ntween them, and her own offspring. \xe2\x80\x94 Though the du- \nties which we have discharged invariably, be the most \nimportant and necessary, they do not shine : they are \ntoo common to strike : they procure no celebrity : the \nwife, the mother fills no historic page. Our privations, \nour confinements, our wearisome days, our interrupted, \nour sleepless nights, the hours we have hung in anx- \nious watchings over your sick and dying offspring."\xe2\x80\x94- \nBut we forbear. \n\nI NOW COME TO THE DUTIES ENJOINED UPON THE \nWIFE. \n\nThe first I mention is subjection. \n\n" Wives submit yourselves unto your own husbands \nas unto the Lord ; for the husband is the head of the \nwife, even as Christ is the head of the church ; and he \nis the Saviour of the body. Therefore as the church \nis subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own \nhusbands in every thing." The same thing is enjoin- \ned also in the epistle to the Colossians. Peter unites \nwith Paul in the same strain. " Ye wives be in sub- \njection to your own husbands." Before I state the \nkind of subjection here commanded, it is necessary to \nstate the nature of the authority to which it is to be \nyielded. Here I would observe, that with whatsoever \nkind and degree of authority the husband is invested \nover the wife, it is such as is in no way incompatible \nwith, or trenches upon the strongest and tender est af- \nfection. And it is worthy of remark, " that the apostle \ndoes not enjoin husbands to rule, nor instruct him how, \nbut merely to love ; so that it seems to be with them, \nas with bishops and priests, to whom much honor is \ndue, but yet so that if they stand upon it, and chal- \nlenge it, they become less honorable." \n\nIt is such an authority, as is compatible with religion \nor the claims of God ; for no man has a right to enjoin, \nand no woman is bound to obey any commands which \nis in opposition to the latter or spirit of the Bible. \xe2\x80\x94 \nIt is such an authority, as is consonant with sound \nreason, its injunctions must all be reasonable, for \nsurely it is too much to expect, that a wife is to be- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 47 \n\ncome a slave of folly, any more than of cruelty. It \nis an authority, that accords with the idea of compan- \nionship. It was very beautifully observed by an an- \ncient writer, that when Adam endeavored to shift the \nblame of his transgression upon his wife, he did not \nsay, the " woman thou gavest to me," no such thing, \nshe is none of his goods, none of his possessions, not \nto be reckoned amongst his servants ; but he said " the \nwoman thou gavest to be with me," that is, to be my \npartner, the companion of my joys and sorrows. \n\nLet conjugal authority be founded upon love, be \nnever exercised in opposition to revelation or reason, \nand be regulated by the idea of companionship, and \nthen there need no particular rules for its guidance ; \nfor within such limits, it can never degenerate into \ntyranny ; nor can it ever oppress its subjects : to such \na power any woman may bow, without degradation, for \nits yoke is easy and its burden light. In every society, \nfrom that which finds its centre in the father\'s chair, \nto that which in a wider circle rests upon the throne, \nthere must be precedence vested somewhere, and \nsome ultimate authority, some last and highest tribunal \nestablished, for the decision of which, there lies no \nappeal. In the domestic constitution this superiority \nvests in the husband : he is the head, the lawgiver, the \nruler. In all matters touching the little world in the \nhouse, he is to direct, not indeed without taking coun- \nsel with his wife, but in all discordancy of view, Ae, \nunless he choose to waive his right, is. to decide ; and \nto his decision the wife should yield, and yield with \ngrace and cheerfulness. No man ought to resign his \nauthority, as the head of the family, no woman ought \nto wish him to do it: he may give up his predilections \nand yield to her wishes, but he must not abdicate the \nthrone, nor resign his sceptre. Usurpation is always \nhateful, and it is one of the most offensive exhibitions \nof it, where the husband is degraded into a slave of \nthe queen mother. Such a woman looks contempti \nble even upon the throne. I admit it is difficult for a \nsensible woman to submit to imbecility, but she should \nhave considered this before she united herself to it : \n\n\n\n48 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nhaving committed one error, let her not fall into a \nsecond, but give the strongest proof of her good sense \nwhich circumstances will allow her to offer, by mak- \ning that concession to superiority of station, which \nthere is no opportunity in her case for her to do to \nsuperiority of mind. She may reason, she may per- \nsuade, she may solicit, but if ignorance cannot be \nconvinced, nor obstinacy turned, nor kindness con- \nciliated, she has no resource left but to \xe2\x80\x94 submit: and \none of the finest scenes ever to be presented by the \ndomestic economy, is that of a sensible woman employ- \ning her talents and address, not to subvert, but to sup- \nport the authority of a weak husband ; a woman who \nprompts but does not command, who persuades, but \ndoes not dictate, who influences, but does not compel, \nand who, after taking pains to conceal her beneficent \ninterference, submits to the authority which she has \nboth supported and guided. An opposite line of con- \nduct is most mischievous ; for weakness, when placed \nin perpetual contrast with superior judgement, is \nrarely blind to its own defects ; and as this conscious- \nness of inferiority, when united with office is always \njealous, it is both watchful and resentful of any inter- \nference with its prerogative. There must be subjec- \ntion then, which, where it cannot be yielded to superior \ntalents, because there are none, must be conceded to \nsuperiority of station. But let husbands be cautious \nnot to put the submission of their wives to too se- \nvere a test. It is hard, very hard, to obey a rash, \nindiscreet and silly ruler. " If you will be the head, \nremember the head is not only the seat of govern- \nment, but of knowledge. If you will have the man- \nagement of the ship, see that a fool is not placed at the \nhelm. Shall the blind offer themselves as guides ?" \n\nThe grounds of submission are many and strong. \nWaiving all motives founded upon the comparative \nstrength of mind with which the two sexes may be \ngifted, I refer my female friends, to less questionable \nmatters. Look at the creation ; woman was made \nafter the man " for Adam was first formed, then Eve." \nShe was made out of man, " for the man is not of the \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 49 \n\nwoman, but the woman of the man." She was made \nfor man, " neither was the man created for the woman, \nbut the woman for the man." Look at the fall. Wo- \nman occasioned it. " Adam was not deceived, but the \nwoman being deceived, was in the transgression." \nShe was thus punished for it, " Thy desire shall be to \nthy husband, and he shall rule over thee." Look at \nher history. Have not the customs of all nations an- \ncient and modern, savage and civilized, acknowledged \nher subordination? Look at the light in which this \nsubject is placed in the New Testament. How strong \nis the language of the text, " the husband is the head \nof the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church. \nTherefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let \nthe wives be to their own husbands in every thing." \n\nLet me then, my respected female friends, as you \nwould submit to the authority of Christ, as you would \nadorn the station that providence has called you to \noccupy, as you would promote your own peace, the \ncomfort of your husband, and the welfare of your \nfamily, admonish you, meekly and gracefully to be \nsubject in all things, not only to the wise and good, \nbut to the foolish and ill-deserving. You may reason, \nas I have said before, you may expostulate, but you \nmust not rebel or refuse. Let it be your glory to feel \nhow much you can endure, rather than despise the in- \nstitutions of heaven, or violate those engagements into \nwhich you voluntarily, and so solemnly entered. Let \nyour submission be characterized by cheerfulness, and \nnot by reluctant sullenness : let it not be preceded by \na struggle, but yielded at once and for ever 5 let there \nbe no holding out to the last extremity, and then a mere \ncompulsory capitulation ; but a voluntary, cheerful, \nundisputed, and unrevokod concession. \n\n2. The next duty enjoined upon a wife is reve- \nrence. \n\n" Let the wife see that she reverence her husband." \nThis duty is nearly allied to the last, but is still some- \nwhat different. By reverence, the apostle means \nnothing of slavish, or obsequious homage, but that \nrespect and deference which are due to one whom \n5 \n\n\n\n50 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nwe are commanded to obey. Your reverence will be \nmanifest in your words : for instance, in your manner \nof speaking of him, you will avoid all that would tend \nto lessen him in the esteem cf others ; all exposure of \nhis faults or miner weaknesses ; all depreciation of \nhis understanding" or domestic rule. Such gossip is \ndetestable and mischievous ; for can any thing tend \nmore to irritate him, than to find that you have been \nsinking him in the esteem of the public ? Reverence \nwill be displayed in your manner of speaking to him. \n" Even as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him Lord:" \nall flippant pertness, every thing of contemptuous con- \nsciousness of superiority, of dictation and command, \nof unnecessary contradiction, of pertinacious and ob- \ntrusive disputation, of scolding accusation, of angry, \nreproachful complaint, of noisy and obstreporous ex- \npostulation, should be avoided. Almost all domestic \nquarrels begin in words ; and it is usually in a woman\'s \npower to prevent them by causing the law of kindness \nto dwell upon her lips, and calming the gusts of her \nhusband\'s passion, by those soft answers which turn \naway wrath. Especially should she be careful how she \nspeaks to him or even before him, in the company of \nher family or of strangers : she must not talk him into \nsilence ; nor talk at him ; nor say any thing that is cal- \nculated to wound or degrade him, for a sting inflicted \nin public is doubly charged with venom ; she must not \nendeavor to eclipse him, to engross the attention of the \ncompany to herself, to reduce hirn to a cypher which \nis valueless till she stands before him. This is not \nreverence : on the contrary, she should do all in her \npower to sustain his respectability and dignity in pub- \nlic esteem ; and her very mode of addressing him, \npartaking at once of the kindness of affection, and the \ndeference of respect, is eminently calculated to do \nthis. And should he at .any time express himself in \nthe language of reproof, even though that reproof be \ncauseless, or unjustly severe, let her be cautious not \nto forget her station, so as to be betrayed into a rail- \ning recrimination, a contemptuous silence, or a moody \nsullenness. Difficult, I am aware it is, to show reve- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 51 \n\n\n\nrcnce and respect, where there are no other grounds \nfor it to rest upon than mere station ; and as easy to pay- \nit where wisdom, dignity and piety support the claims \nof relationship : but in proportion to the dificulty of a \nvirtuous action, is its excellence ; and hers is indeed \nsuperior virtue, who yields to the relationship of her \nhusband that reverence which he forbids her to pay to \nhim on account of his conduct. \n\nHer reverence will extend itself to her conduct, and \nlead her to an incessant desire to please him in all \nthings. It is assumed by the apost]e as an indisputa- \nble and general fact, that "the married woman careth \nhow she may please her husband." All her conduct \nshould be framed upon this principle, to give him con- \ntentment, and to increase his delight in her. Let her \nappear contented with her lot, and that will do much \nto render him content with his : while, on the other \nhand, nothing is more likely to generate discontent \nin his heart, than the appearance of it in her. Let \nher, by cheerful good humor, diffuse an air of pleasant- \nness over his dwelling. Let her guard as much as \npossible against a gloomy and moody disposition, \nwhich causes her to move about with the silence and \ncloudiness of a spectre ; for who likes to dwell in a \nhaunted house ? She should always welcome him \nacross his threshhold with a smile, and ever put forth \nall her ingenuity in studying to please him, by con- \nsulting his wishes, by surprising him occasionally by \nthose unlooked for and ingenious devices of affection, \nwhich, though small in themselves, are the proofs of a \nmind intent upon the business of giving pleasure. \nThe greater acts of reverent and respectful love, are \noften regarded as matters of course, and as such pro- \nduce little impression; but the lesser acts of atten- \ntion, which come not into the usual routine of conjugal \nduties, and into the every day offices, which may be \ncalculated upon with almost as much certainty as the \ncoming of the hour which they are to occupy, these \nfree-will offerings of an inventive and active regard, \nthese extra tokens of respect, and expressions of re- \ngard, have a mighty power to attach a husband to his \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nwife ; they are the cords of love, the bands of a man. \nIn all her personal and domestic habits, her first care \nthen, next to that of pleasing God, must be to please \nhim, and thus hold to herself that heart, which cannot \nwander from her without carrying her happiness with \nit, and which, when once departed, cannot be restored \nby any power short of omnipotence itself. \n\n3. Meekness is especially mentioned by the apostle \nPeter, as a disposition which it is the duty of every \nwife to cultivate. \n\nHe has distinguished and honored this temper by \ncalling it the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit. If \nthere be some virtues, which seem pre-eminently to \nsuit the female character, meekness bears a high place \namongst such. No one stands in greater need of this \ndisposition, than the female head of a family : either \nthe petulance and waywardness of children, or the \nneglects and misconduct of servants, or the sharp \nwords of a husband, are almost sure, if she be easily \nprovoked, to keep her in a state of irritation all the day \nlong. How trying is a peevish woman, how odious a \nbrawling one. "It is better to dwell in the wilder- \nness than with a contentious and angry woman." The \ngraces were females, says Mr. Jay, so were the furies \ntoo. The influence which meekness has sometimes \nhad m a family is astonishing : it has quenched sparks, \nand even coals of anger and strife, which, but for this, \nwould have set the house on fire : it has mastered the \ntiger and the lion, and led them captive with the silk \nen thread of love. The strength of woman lies not \nin resisting, but yielding ; her power is in her gentle- \nness ; there is more of real defence, aye and more of \nthat aggressive operation too, which disarms a foe, in \none mild look, or one soft accent, than in hours of \nflashing glances, and of angry tones. When, amidst \ndomestic strife, she has been enabled to keep her tem- \nper, the storm has been often scattered as it rose ; or \nher meekness has served as a conductor to carry off \nits dreadful flashes, which otherwise would have de- \nstroyed the dwelling. \n\nPut on then, the ornament of a meek and quiet \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 53 \n\nspirit. Pay less attention to the decoration of the \nperson, more to that of the mind. " Your adorning" \nis not to be. that outward adorning, of plaiting the hair \nand of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel, \nbut the hidden man of the heart which is not corrup- \ntible." The language of another apostle on this sub- \nject is no less striking. " In like manner also, I will \nthat women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with \nshamefacedness and sobriety ; not with broidered hair, \nor gold, or pearls, or costly array ; but, which becom- \neth women professing godliness, with good works." \n1 Tim. ii. 9, 10. Two apostles, who both wrote as \nthey were moved by the Holy Ghost, in such language \nas this, have denounced as improper, and as unbecom- \ning a profession of godliness, a taste for immodest, \nexpensive, or decorative dress. Surely then, this sub- \nject is worthy the most serious attention of all chris- \ntian females. By what sophistry can the letter, much \nmore the spirit, of two passages of holy writ, so very \nplain and express in their terms as these, be set aside ? \nThat they are set aside, is evident by the appearance \nof almost every congregation into which we could en- \nter on the sabbath day, whether within or without the \nEstablishment. The race of folly, one should really \nsuppose, is at length almost run, for it does seem well \nnigh impossible, even by the aid of our neighbors, the \nFrench, for the women of our age to render themselves \nmore supremely ridiculous than many of them have \nlately appeared. What with the gaudiness of coloring \nand extravagance of form, our religious assemblies pre- \nsent every thing at once to disgust our taste, and to dis- \ntress our piety. It is high time for the christian teacher, \nto call back the women " professing godliness," from \ntheir wanderings in the regions of fashionable folly, \nto the holy scriptures : for the holy scriptures, it should \nbe remembered, have laid down a law for regulating \nthe dress of the body, as well as that of the mind. I \ndo hold then, that these passages of scripture are still \nparts of revelation, and as such still binding upon the \nconscience : if not, show me when they were cancel- \nled. I contend, that christian females ought to ab- \n5* \n\n\n\n54 THE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\nstain from expensive, showy, and extravagant fashions \nin dress, jewelry, and all kinds of personal decora- \ntion. I am not arguing for a sectarian costume, for a \nreligious uniform, for canonical shapes and colors ; \nnothing of the sort, but for simplicity, neatness, eco- \nnomy; for, what the apostle calls, modest apparel, \nshamefacedness, and sobriety ; for the spirit of the \npassages, if not the very letter; for a distinction be- \ntween those who profess godliness, in their compara- \ntive inattention to such things, and those, who make \nno such profession : for a proof that their minds are \nnot so much engaged on these matters, as the minds \nof the people of the world are. I am not for extin- \nguishing taste ; alas, in matters of dress, this is already \ndone, but for resisting the lawless dominion of folly, \nunder the name of fashion. I am not for calling back \nthe age of gothic barbarism, or vulgarity : no ; I will \nleave ample room for the cultivation of both taste and \ngenius, in every lawful department, but I am protest- \ning against the desolating reign of vanity ; I am re- \nsisting the entrance of frivolity into the church of \nGod; I am contending against the glaring inconsis- \ntency of rendering our religious assemblies, like the \naudience convened in a theatre. The evils of an im- \nproper attention to dress are great and numerous. 1. \nMuch precious time is wasted in the study, and ar- \nrangements, and decisions of this matter. 2. The \nattention is taken off from the improvement of the \nmind and the heart, to the decoration of the person. \n3. The mind is filled with pride and vanity, and a de- \nteriorating influence is carried on upon what consti- \ntutes the true dignity of the soul. 4. The love of dis- \nplay infects the character. 5. Money is wasted which \nis wanted for relieving the misery, and improving the \ncondition of mankind. 6. Examples are set to the \nlower classes, in whom the propensity is often mis- \nchievous in many ways. \n\nWe have run \nThrough ev\'ry change that fancy at the loom, \nExhausted, has had genius to supply ; \nAnd, studious of mutation still, discard \nA real elegance, a little us\'d, \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 55 \n\n\n\nFor monstrous novelty and strange disguise. \n\nWe sacrifice to dress, till household joys \n\nAnd comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, \n\nAnd keeps our larder lean ; puts out our fires j \n\nAnd introduces hunger, frost and wo, \n\nWhere peace and hospitality might reign. \n\nI am aware it might be, and is said, that there may \nbe the pride of singularity, as well as of fashion ; the \npride of being covered with sober autumnal tints, as \nwell as of exhibiting the brilliant hues of the rainbow ; \nthe pride of quality and of texture, as well as of color \nand of form. I know it, and I do not justify the one \nmore than I do the other ; I condemn all kinds ; but \nat any rate there is a little more dignity in one kind, \nthan in another. I will leave opportunity for the dis- \ntinctions of rank, for the inventions of true taste, and \nfor the modest and unobtrusive displays of natural \nelegance and simple beauty ; but I cannot allow the \npropriety of christian females yielding themselves to \nthe guidance of fashion, however expensive, extrava- \ngant, or gaudy. \n\nAs to the employment of our artisans by the vari- \nous changes of fashion ; I have nothing to do with \nthis, in face of an apostolic injunction. The silver- \nsmiths who made shrines for the worshippers of Diana, \nmight have pleaded the same objection against the \npreachers of the gospel, who certainly did, so far as \nthey were successful, ruin this trade. I am only \nspeaking to professors of religion, who form so small \na portion of society, that their abstinence from folly \nwould do but little in diminishing the employment of \nthe work-people ; and if it did, let them make it up in \nsome other way. What I contend for, then, is not \nmeanness, not ugliness, not unvarying sameness ; no ; \nbut neatness opposed to gaudiness ; simplicity and \nbecomingness opposed to extravagance ; modesty op- \nposed to indelicacy ; economy opposed to expensive- \nness. Whether what I contend for is characteristic \nof the age in which we live, let any spectator deter- \nmine. I am anxious to see professors of religion dis- \nplaying a seriousness and spirituality, a dignity and \nsobriety of mind, a simplicity of habits, and a sedate- \n\n\n\n56 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR OR \n\n\n\nness of manners, becoming their high and holy pro- \nfession; and all this, united with an economy in their \npersonal expenses, which will leave them a greater \nfund at their disposal, for relieving the miseries, and \npromoting the happiness of their fellow-creatures. \n\nBut, perhaps after all, many women may plead that \nthe gaiety and expensiveness of their dress, is more \nto please their husbands than themselves: but even \nthis must have its limits. And I really pity the folly \nof that man, who concerns himself in the arrangement \nof his wife\'s wardrobe and toilette ; and who would \nrather see her go forth in all the gorge ousness of \nsplendid apparel, to display herself in the drawing \nrooms of her friends, than in dignified meekness, to \nvisit the cottages of the poor, as the messenger of \nmercy: and who rejoices more to contemplate her \nmoving through the circles of fashion, the admiration \nof one sex, and the envy of the other, than to see her \nholding on her radiant course in the orbit of benevo- \nlence, clad in unexpensive simplicity, and, with the \nsavings of her personal expenditure, clothing the nak- \ned, feeding the hungry, healing the sick ; and thus \nbringing upon herself the blessings of him that was \nready to perish, and causing the widow\'s heart to sing \nfor joy. \n\nNot only the ornament, but the person which it \nadorns, is corruptible. Accidents may distort the \nfinest form, diseases fade the loveliest coloring, time , \ndisfigure the smoothest surface, and death, the spoiler \nof beauty, work a change so awful and appalling, as \nto turn away the most impassioned admirers in disgust. \nHow soon will every other dress be displaced by the \nshroud, and every other decoration be stripped off to \nmake way for the flowers that are strewed in the cof- \nfin upon the corpse, as if to hide the deformity of \ndeath. But the graces of the heart, and the beauties \nof the character, are imperishable ; such let a wife be \ncontinually seeking to put on ; " for she that has a \nwise husband, must entice him to an eternal dearness, \nby the vail of modesty, and the robes of chastity, the \nornaments of meekness, and the jewels of faith and \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n57 \n\n\n\ncharity; she must have no paint but blush ings ; her \nbrightness must be her purity, and she must shine \nround about with sweetnesses and friendship, and then \nshe shall be pleasant while she lives, and desired when \nshe dies." \n\n5. Economy and Order in the management of her \npersonal and domestic expenditure, is the obvious duty \nof a wife. \n\nYou are to preside in the direction of household af- \nfairs ; and much of the prosperity and comfort of the \nlittle community, will depend upon your skilful and \nprudent arrangements. There is a manifest disposi- \ntion in this age, in all classes of society, to come as \nclose as possible to the habits of those above them. \nThe poor are imitating the middling classes, and they \nare copying the upper ranks. A showy, luxurious, \nand expensive taste is almost universally cherished, \nand is displayed, in innumerable instances, where there \nare no means to support it. A large house, a country \nresidence, splendid furniture, a carriage, a retinue of \nservants, and large parties, are the aim of many, whose \ncreditors pay for all. Christian families are in most \nimminent peril of worldly conformity in the present \nday ; and the line of demarcation between the church \nand the world is fast wearing out. It is true they have \nno cards, they do not frequent the theatre, or the ball \nroom, and perhaps they have no midnight routs ; \xe2\x80\x94 but \nthis is all : for many are as anxious about the splendor \nof their furniture, the fashion of their habits, the ex- \npensiveness of their entertainments, as the veriest \nworldling can be. Now a wife has great influence in \nchecking or promoting all this. It has been thought \nthat this increasing disposition for domestic show and \ngaiety, is to be attributed chiefly to female vanity. It \nis woman that is generally regarded as the presiding \ngenius of such a scene : she receives the praise and \nthe compliment of the whole, and she therefore is un- \nder the strongest temptation to promote it. But let \nher consider, how little all this has to do with the hap- \npiness of the family, even in its most prosperous state ; \nand how a recollection of it aggravates the misery of \n\n\n\n58 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nadversity when a reverse takes place. Then to be \nfound in debt for finery of dress, or furniture ; then to \nhave it said that her extravagance helped to ruin her \nhusband ; then to want that, for bread, which was for- \nmerly wasted on luxury ; then to hear the whispered \nreproach of having injured others by her own thought- \nless expenditure ! \xe2\x80\x94 Avoid, my female friends, these \nmiseries : do not go on to prepare wormwood and gall \nto embitter still more the already bitter cup of adver- \nsity. Endeavor to acquire a skilfulness in domestic \nmanagement, a frugality, a prudence, a love of order \nand neatnass, a mid-way course between meanness \nand luxury, a suitableness to yonr station in life, to your \nchristian profession ; an economy which shall leave \nyou more to spare for the cause of God, and the mise- \nries of man. Rather check than stimulate the taste \nof your husband for expense ; tell him that it is not \nnecessary for your happiness, nor for the comfort of \nthe family ; draw him away from these adventitious \ncircumstances, to the mental improvement, the moral \nculture, the religious instruction of your children. Let \nknowledge, piety, good sense, well-formed habits, har- \nmony, mutual love, be the sources of your domestic \npleasures : what is splendor of furniture, or dress, or \nentertainments, to these ? \n\n6. A wife should be most attentive to all \n\nTHAT CONCERNS THE WELFARE AND COMFORT OF THE \n\nchildren, if there be any. \n\nFor this purpose, she must be a keeper at home, \xe2\x80\x94 - \n" That they may teach the young wives to be sober, \nto love their husbands, to love their children, to be \ndiscreet, chaste, keepers at home" And how can the \nduties that devolve upon the female head of a family, \nbe well discharged if she be not a keeper at home ? \xe2\x80\x94 \nOn this I have dwelt already in a former chapter, but \nits importance will justify my returning to the subject \nagain. How much has she to attend to, how many \ncares to sustain, how many activities to support, where \nthere is a young family ? Whoever has leisure for \ngossipping, she has none : whoever may be found wan- \ndering from house to house, "hearing or telling some \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n59 \n\n\n\nnew thing," she must not. A mother\'s place is in the \nmidst of her family ; a mother\'s duties are to take care \nof them. Nothing can excuse a neglect of these : and \nyet we often see such neglect. Some are literary \ncharacters, and the welfare of the household is neg- \nlected for books. Not that I would debar a female \nfrom the luxury of reading, nor sink her to a mere \ndomestic drudge, whose ceaseless toils must have no \nintermission, or solace from literature ; far from it : but \nher taste for literature must be kept within due bounds, \nand not be allowed to interfere with her household \nduties. No husband can be pleased to see a book in \nthe hands of a wife, while the house is in confusion, \nand the children\'s comfort unprovided for. Much less \nshould a taste for company be allowed to draw a wife \ntoo much out of the circle of her cares and duties. To \nbe wandering from house to house in the morning, or \nto be engaged till a late hour, evening after evening, \nat a party, while the family at home are left to them- \nselves, or to the care of servants, is certainly disgrace- \nful. Even attention to the public duties of religion \nmust be regulated by a due regard to domestic claims. \nI am aware that many are apt to make these claims an \nexcuse for neglecting the public means of grace al- \nmost entirely : the house of God is unfrequented ; \nsermons, sacramental seasons, and all other religious \nmeetings, are given up, for an absorbing attention to \nhousehold affairs. This is one extreme ; and the other \nis, such a devotedness to religious meetings, that the \nwants of a sick family, the cries of a hungry infant, \nor the circumstances of some extraordinary case of \nfamily care, are not allowed to have any force in de- \ntaining a mother from a week-day sermon, a prayer \nmeeting, or the anniversary of some public institu- \ntion. It is no honor to religion, for a wife, under such \ncircumstances, to be seen in the house of God : du- \nties cannot be in opposition to each other ; and at \nsuch a time, her\'s lie at home. It must be always \ndistressing, and in some cases disgusting, for a hus- \nband on his returning to a scene of domestic confu- \nsion, and seeing a neglected child in the cot, to be \n\n\n\n60 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\ntold upon inquiring after the mother, that she is at- \ntending a sermon, or a public meeting. There is \ngreat need for watchfulness in the present age, when \nfemale agency is in such requisition, lest attention to \npublic institutions should most injuriously interfere \nwith the duties of a wife and a mother. I know very \nwell, that an active woman, may, by habits of order, \npunctuality, and despatch, so. arrange her more direct \nand immediate duties at home, as to allow of sufficient \nleisure to assist the noble societies which solicit her \npatronage, without neglecting her husband and child- \nren: but where this cannot be done, no society \nwhether humane or religious, should be allowed to \ntake her away from what is, after all, her first and more \nappropriate sphere. She must he a keeper at home, \nif any thing there demands her presence. \n\nSuch appear to me to be the leading duties of a \nwife. Motives of a very high and sacred character \nmay be offered for a diligent performance of them. \nHer own comfort, and that of her husband, is, of course, \nmost vitally connected with a fulfilment of her obliga- \ntions : and the welfare of her children is also deeply \ninvolved. And then, her character shines forth with \npeculiar lustre. A good wife is a high attainment \nin female excellence ; it is woman in her brightest \nglory since the fall. But there is one consideration \nof supreme importance mentioned by the apostle, to \nwhich I shall direct your attention. \xe2\x80\x94 "Likewise, ye \nwives, be in subjection to your own husbands, that if \nany obey not the word, they also may without the \nword be won by the conversation of the wives, while \nthey behold your chaste conversation, coupled with \nfear." Powerful and yet tender consideration ! Mark, \nmy female friends, the implied eulogy passed by the \napostle on your sex, where he seems to take it for \ngranted, that if one party be destitute of religion, it is \nthe husband. And facts prove that this assumption \nwas correct. Religion flourishes most amongst the \nfemale part of our species : in our congregations, and \nin our churches, the greater number is of them. Can \nwe account for this by natural causes ? Partly. They \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 61 \n\n\n\nare more at home, and therefore more within reach of \nthe means of grace ; \xe2\x80\x94 they are more susceptible ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nthey are less exposed to those temptations that harden \nthe heart through the deceitfulness of sin ; they are \nsubject to more affliction, which softens the heart, and \nprepares it for the seed of the kingdom ; \xe2\x80\x94 but all this is \nnot enough, for without grace, all these advantages \nare unavailing : we must resolve it therefore into di- \nvine purpose, divine interposition, and the arrange- \nments of divine wisdom. Female influence in all \ncivilized states is great ; and God has generally made \nmuch use of this wherever the gospel has come, as \none of the means for spreading religion. He pours \nhis grace on them, that their influence may be employ- \ned with others, especially their husbands and their \nchildren. If then, in any case, a christian woman be \nunited to an unconverted man, she must cherish and \ndisplay a deep, and tender, and judicious solicitude \nfor his salvation : and "what knowest thou, O wife, \nwhether thou shalt save thy husband." I would not \nencourage unequal marriages : I would not have the \nsingle try the doubtful and dangerous experiment, \nof marrying an irreligious man, in the hope of convert- \ning him; in such cases the conversion is often the \nother way : but where the union is formed, there I \nsay, nourish the anxiety, and employ every discreet \nexertion for his eternal welfare. Many instances \nhave occurred, in which the unbelieving husband, has \nbeen sanctified by the wife. She has drawn him with \nthe cords of a tender and judicious love, to a conside- \nration of the subject of personal religion. Think of \nthe value of a soul, and of the ineffable glory of being \nthe instrument of its salvation. But O ! to be the \nmeans of saving the soul of a husband ! Think how \nit will strengthen the bond, and sanctify and sweeten \nit, which unites you on earth and in time ; and at the \nsame time add to it a tie, by which you shall " not lose \none another in the valley of the shadow of death," but \nbe reunited as kindred spirits, though not as man and \nwife, in heaven, and through eternity. " Think, O \nwife, of the happiness \xe2\x80\x94 the honor that awaits ycu. \n\n\n\n62 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nWhat is the triumph you have acquired over him by \nyour charms, compared with the victory you will ob- \ntain over him by your religion ? \xe2\x80\x94 What pleasure will \nattend you the remainder of your days \xe2\x80\x94 now you are \nof " one heart and one mind ;" now you " take sweet \ncounsel together." The privileged language of prayer \nnow is, \xe2\x80\x94 Our Father :" \xe2\x80\x94 of every motion made to \ngo and seek the Lord of hosts there is a ready ac- \nceptance \xe2\x80\x94 " I will go also." And what will be your \njoy and crown of rejoicing in that day, when, before \nassembled men and angels, he will say, O blessed be \nthe Providence which attached us in yonder world, \nand has still more perfectly united us in this. The \nwoman thou gavest to be with me, led me not to the \ntree of knowledge of good and evil, but to the tree of \nlife which is in the midst of the paradise of God.* \n\nBut how is this solicitude to be employed ? The \napostle tells us : " that they may be won by the con- \nversation of their wives, while they behold your \nchaste conversation, coupled with fear." Your reli- \ngion must be seen embodied in your whole character \nand conduct. It must commend itself to their judge- \nment, by what they perceive, as sincere. It must be \nconsistent ; for a want of uniformity, however earnest \nit may in many respects and at many times appear, \nwill produce disgust. You must " let your light shine \nbefore them, that they seeing your good works, may \nglorify God." You must ever appear invested with ail \nthe beauty of a lovely example, which, silent though \nyou be as it respects your tongue, is living eloquence. \nYour religion must diffuse its lustre over your whole \ncharacter, and impress itself most deeply on your \nrelation as a wife, and a mother : it must be a new \nmotive to all that respect, and reverence, and devoted- \nness, and meekness, which have been laid before you, \nand it must lead you to carry every conjugal and ma- \nternal virtue to the highest degree of perfection. It \nmust be attended with the most profound humility, for \nif there be any spiritual pride, any conscious and man- \nifest sense of superiority, any thing approaching to the \n\n\n\n* Mr. Jay. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n63 \n\n\n\npharisaic temper, which says, " stand by, T am holier \nthan thou," any thing like contempt of your husband, \nas an unconverted sinner, you will excite an invete- \nrate prejudice, not only against religion, but against \nyourself; religion will be hated by him for your \nsake, and you for religion\'s sake. When you venture \nto speak to him on the subject of piety, it should be \nas remotely as possible from all lecturing, all dictation, \nall reproach, all conscious superiority; and with all \npossible tenderness, meekness, humility, and persua- \nsive affection. Never talk to him of his state before \nothers, and never talk at him. Nor is it likely to ac- \ncomplish the object you have in view, to weary him by \ncontinual importunity. Many defeat their own end, \nby an incessant introduction of the subject, and some- \ntimes with an asperity which increases the revulsion, \nwhich its own nature is calculated, in such a mind, to \nproduce. An occasional hint, and that of the most \ntender, respectful, and delicate kind, is all that you \nshould attempt, and then leave your example to speak. \nOccasionally, you may put an instructive volume in \nhis way, and solicit his perusal of it. Do not bring \nyour religious friends too much about you, so as to \nannoy him ; especially, keep away as much as possible, \nany that may have a less portion of discretion than the \nrest; and confine yourself to the more judicious and \nbest informed. Never rudely interfere with his pur- \nsuits, his reading, or his company, although they may \nnot be what you can cordially approve. Till he is en- \nlightened from above, he will not see the evil of these \nthings, and to attempt to interrupt him, in any other \nway, than by the mildest and most respectful expostu- \nlation, will only do harm. Should he wish to draw you \nfrom the high pursuit of eternal life, you are not, of \ncourse, in this case, to yield to his persuasion, nor in any \nthing to concede, where your conscience is decidedly \nconcerned in the matter. You must be firm, but mild. \nOne concession granted by you, would only lead to \nanother. But still, even in this extremity, your resist- \nance of his attempts to interfere with your religion, \nmust be maintained in all the meekness of wisdom, \n\n\n\n64 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nand must be attended with fresh efforts to please, in \nall things which are lawful. If such aline of conduct \nshould subject you to reproach, anger, and persecu- \ntion, a most painful and by no means an uncommon \ncase, you must possess your soul in patience, and \ncommit your way to Him that judgeth righteously. \nMany a persecuting husband, has been subdued, if not \nto religion, yet to kinder conduct, by the meek and \nuncomplaining temper of his wife. \n\nTo conclude. Let us all seek after more of the \nspirit of true religion, \xe2\x80\x94 the spirit of faith, of hope, of \nprayer : a faith, that really believes the word of God, \nand looketh habitually to the cross of Christ by which \nwe obtain salvation, and to the eternal world where \nwe shall fully and for ever enjoy it : a hope that lives \nin the expectation and desire of glory, honor, immor- \ntality, and eternal life : and a spirit of prayer which \nleads us daily and hourly to the throne of divine grace, \nfor all that aid of the Holy Ghost, which we need, not \nonly for the duties that refer to our relations to another \nworld, but for those which devolve upon us, in conse- \nquence of our relation in this. " Godliness is profita- \nble for all things, having the promise of the life that \nnow is, as well as of that which is to come." The \nsame principle of divine grace which unites us to God, \nwill bind us closer to each other. Religion contains \nin it, not only the seeds of immortal virtues, but of \nsuch as are mortal: not only the germs of excellen- \ncies which are to flourish in the temple of heaven, \nbut which grow up in the house of our pilgrimage \nupon earth, to enliven with their beauty, and to refresh \nwith their fragrance, the domestic circle. A good \nchristian cannot be a bad husband, or father; and, \nother things being equal, he who has most piety, will \nshine most in all the relations of life. A Bible placed \nbetween man and wife as the basis of their union, the \nrule of their conduct, and the model of their spirit, will \nmake up many a difference, comfort them under many \na cross, guide them in many a strait, wherein flesh \nand blood will be confounded and at a loss, support \nthem in their last sad parting from each other, and \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n65 \n\n\n\nre-unite them m the world where they shall go no \nmore out. \n\n"Those married pairs that live, as remembering \nthat they must part again, and give an account how \nthey treat themselves and each other, shall at the day \nof their death, be admitted to glorious espousals ; and \nwhen they shall live again, be married to their Lord, \nand partake of his glories. All those things that now \nplease us, shall pass from us, or we from them; but \nthose things that concern the other life, are permanent \nas the numbers of eternity : and although at the re- \nsurrection, there shall be no relation of husband and \nwife, and no marriage shall be celebrated but the mar- \nriage of the Lamb, yet then shall be remembered how \nmen and women passed through this state, which is \na type of that; and from this sacramental union, all \nholy pairs shall pass to the spiritual and eternal, where \nlove shall be their portion, and joys shall crown their \nheads, and they shall lie in the bosom of Jesus, and in \nthe heart of God to eternal ages." Amen. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. \n\nSOME REMARKS ON THE FORMATION OF THE MARRIAGE \nUNION. \n\n" Methinks it is a misfortune that the marriage state, which, in its \nown nature, is adapted to give us the completest happiness, this life is \ncapable of, should be so uncomfortable a one to so many as it daily \nproves. But the mischief generally proceeds from the unwise choice \npeople make for themselves, and an expectation of happiness from \nthings incapable of giving it. Nothing but the good qualities of the \nperson beloved, can be a foundation for a love of judgement and dis- \ncretion ; and whoever expect happiness from any thing but virtue, \nwisdom, good humor, and a similitude of manners, will find them- \nselves widely mistaken." Spectator. \n\nThe preceding chapters make it evident, that mar- \nriage is a step of incalculable importance, and ought \nnever to be taken without the greatest consideration \nan 4 the utmost caution. If the duties of this state \n\n6* \n\n\n\n66 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nare so numerous and so weighty, and if the right dis- \ncharge of these obligations, as well as the happiness \nof our whole life, and even our safety for eternity, de- \npends, as they necessarily must do, in no small meas- \nure, upon the choice we make of a husband or wife, \nthen let reason determine, with what deliberation we \nshould advance to such a connexion. It is obvious, \nthat no decision of our whole earthly existence re- \nquires more of the exercise of a calm judgement than \nthis ; and yet observation proves how rarely the judge- \nment is allowed to give counsel, and how generally \nthe imagination and the passions settle the business. \nA very great portion of the misery and of the crime \nwith which society is depraved and afflicted, is the re- \nsult of ill-formed marriages. If mere passion without \nprudence, or covetousness without love, be allowed to \nguide the choice, no wonder that it is improperly done, \nor that it is highly disastrous in its consequences ; and \nhow often are passion and covetousness alone consult- \ned. To use the beautiful language quoted by me in \nanother work, where I have treated briefly the subject \nof this chapter, I would remark, " that they who enter \nthe marriage state, cast a die of the greatest contin- \ngency, and yet of the greatest interest in the world, \nnext to the last throw for eternity. Life or death, fe- \nlicity or a lasting sorrow, are in the power of marriage. \nA woman indeed ventures most, for she hath no sanc- \ntuary to retire to, from an evil husband ; she must \ndwell upon her sorrow, which her own folly hath pro- \nduced ; and she is more under it, because her torment- \nor hath warrant of prerogative, and the woman may \ncomplain to God, as subjects do of tyrant princes, but \notherwise she hath no appeal in the causes of unkind- \nness. And though the man can run from many hours \nof sadness, yet he must return to it again ; and when \nhe sits among his neighbors, he remembers the objec- \ntion that lies in his bosom, and he sighs deeply." If, \nhowever, it were merely the comfort of the married \npair themselves that was concerned, it would be a \nmatter of less consequence, a stake of less value ; but \nthe well being of a family, not only for this world, but \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 67 \n\nfor the next; and equally so the well being of their \ndescendants, even to a remote period, depends upon \nthis union. In the ardor of passion, few are disposed \nto listen to the counsels of prudence ; an4 perhaps \nthere is no advice, generally speaking, more thrown \naway, than that which is offered on the subject of \nmarriage. Most persons, especially if they are already \nattached to a selected object, even though they have \nnot committed themselves by a promise or even a de- \nclaration, will go on in the pursuit, blinded by love to \nthe indiscretion of their choice ; or desperately deter- \nmined, with the knowledge of that indiscretion, to \naccomplish, if possible, their purpose. Upon such in- \ndividuals, reasoning is wasted, and they must be left \nto gain wisdom in the only way by which some will \nacquire it, painful experience. To others who may \nbe yet disengaged, and disposed to hearken to the \nlanguage of advice, the following remarks are of- \nfered. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIn the affair of marriage, be guided by the ad- \nvice or parents, or guardians. Parents have no \nright to select for you, nor ought you to select for \nyourself, without consulting with them. How far they \nare vested with authority to prohibit you from mar- \nrying a person whom they disapprove, is a point of \ncasuistry, very difficult to determine. If you are of \nage, and able to provide for yourselves, or are likely \nto be well provided for by those to whom you are \nabout to be united, it is a question whether they can do \nany thing more than advise and persuade ; but till you \nare of age, they have positive authority to forbid: and \nit is an undutiful act in you to form connexions with- \nout their knowledge, and to carry them on against \ntheir prohibitions. Their objections ought always, I \nadmit, to be founded on reason, and not on caprice, \npride, or cupidity : for where this is the case, and \nchildren are of full age, and are guided in their choice \nby prudence, by piety, and by affection, they certainly \nmay and must be left to decide for themselves. \nWhere, however, parents rest their objections on suf- \nficient grounds, and shew plain and palpable reasons \n\n\n\n68 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nfor prohibting a connexion, there it is the manifest duty \nof sons, and especially of daughters, to give it up. A \nunion formed in opposition to the reasonable objection \nof a discreet father or mother is very rarely a happy \none ; and the bitter cup is rendered additionally bitter \nin such a case, by the wormwood and gall of self re- \nproach. What miseries of this kind have we all seen ! \nHow many beacons are set up, if young people would \nbut look at them, to warn them against the folly of \ngiving themselves to the impulse of an imprudent at- \ntachment, and following it to a close, against the ad- \nvice, remonstrances, and prohibitions of their parents. \nVery seldom does that connexion prove otherwise \nthan a source of wretchedness, on which the frown \nof an affectionate and wise father and mother fell from \nthe beginning ; for God seems to rise up in judgement, \nand to support the parent\'s authority, by confirming \ntheir displeasure with his own. \n\nMarriage should in every case be formed upon the \nbasis of mutual attachment. If their be no love \nbefore marriage, it cannot be expected there should be \nany after it. Lovers, as all are supposed to be who \nare looking forward to this union, without love, have \nno right to expect happiness ; the coldness of indiffe- \nrence is soon likely, in their case, to be changed into \naversion. There ought to be personal attachment. \nIf there be any thing, even in the exterior, that ex- \ncites disgust, the banns are forbidden by the voice of \nnature. I do not say, that beauty of countenance, or \nelegance of form, is necessary ; by no means ; a pure \nand strong attachment has often existed in the ab- \nsence of these ; and I will not take upon me to deter- \nmine, that it is absolutely impossible to love deformity ; \nbut we certainly ought not to unite ourselves with it, \nunless we can love it ; or, at least, are so enamored \nwith the fascination of mental qualities that may be \nunited with it, as to lose sight of the body in the \ncharms of the mind, the heart, and the manners. All \n1 contend for, is, that to proceed to marriage against \nabsolute dislike and revulsion, is irrational, base, and \nsinful \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n69 \n\n\n\nBut love should respect the mind, as well as the \nbody ; for to be attached to an individual simply on \nthe ground of beauty, is to fall in love with a doll, a \nstatue, or a picture ; such an attachment is lust or \nfancy, but certainly not a rational affection. If we \nlove the body, but do not love the mind, the heart, and \nthe manners, our regard is placed upon the inferior \npart of the person, and therefore, only upon that which \nby disease, may be next year a very different thing to \nwhat it is now. Nothing fades so soon as beauty ; it \nis but like the delicate bloom of an attractive fruit, \nand if there be nothing agreeable underneath, will be \nthrown away in disgust when that is brushed off ; and \nthrown away, too, by the very hand of him that plucks \nit. It is so commonly remarked, as to be proverbial, \nthat the charms of mind increase by acquaintance, \nwhile those of the exterior diminish : and that while \nthe former easily reconcile us to a plain countenance, \nthe latter excite, by the power of contrast, a distaste \nfor the insipidity, ignorance, and heartlessness with \nwhich they are united, like gaudy, scentless flowers \ngrowing in a desert. Instead of determining to stake \nour happiness upon the act of gathering these bloom- \ning weeds to place them in our bosom, let us ask, how \nthey will look a few years hence, or how they will \nadorn and bless our habitation ? Let us ask, will the \nunderstanding, united with that countenance, render \nits subject fit to be my companion, and the instructer \nof my children ? Will that temper patiently bear with \nmy weaknesses, kindly consult my tastes, affectionately \nstudy my comfort ? Will those manners please me in \nsolitude, as well as in society ? Will those habits ren- \nder my dwelling pleasant to myself and to my friends ? \nWe must try these matters, and hold our passions back, \nthat we may take counsel with our judgement, and \nsuffer reason to come down and talk with us in the \ncool of the evening. \n\nSuch then, is the love on which marriage should be \ncontracted : love to the whole person ; love to the \nmind, and heart, and manners, as well as to the coun- \ntenance and form ; love tempered with respect ; for \n\n\n\n70 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nthis only is the attachment that is likely to survive the \ncharms of novelty, the spoliations of disease, and the \ninfluence of time ; that is likely to support the tender \nsympathies and exquisite sensibilities of the conjugal \nstate ; and render man and wife to the verge of ex- \ntreme old age, what it was the intention of him, who \ninstituted the marriage union, they should be, \xe2\x80\x94 the \nhelp and the comfort of each other. \n\nBy what language then, sufficiently strong and indig- \nnant, can we reprobate those compacts, so disgraceful, \nand yet so common, by which marriage is converted \ninto a money speculation, a trading enterprise, a mere \nbusiness of pounds, shillings, and pence ? How cruel \na part do those parents act, who, for the sake of an \nadvantageous settlement, urge their daughters into a \nunion, from which their hearts revolt; or persuade \ntheir sons to marry women, towards whom they feel \nno affection, merely for the sake of a fortune ! Un- \nnatural fathers and mothers ! is it thus ye would lead \nyour children, decorated as sacrifices, to the shrine \nof Mammon, and act the part of priests and priestesses \nyourselves, in the immolation of these hapless victims ! ! \nWhat, will you assist in the rites of this legal prostitu- \ntion ? Can none others be found but you, the natural \nguardians of your children\'s interest, to persuade them \nto sell their persons, and barter all the happiness of \ntheir future lives for gold ? Will you make yourselves \nresponsible for all the future miseries of your child- \nren, and your children\'s children, by recommending \nsuch a sordid compact ? Forbear, I entreat you, for \nyour own sake, for your children\'s sake, and for the \nsake of society, to recommend a marriage, which is \nnot founded on pure, and strong, and mutual attach- \nment. \n\nYoung people themselves, should be extremely \ncareful on their own part, to let no persuasions of \nothers, no impulse of their own covetousness, no anx- \niety to be their own masters and mistresses, no ambi- \ntion for secular splendor, induce them to enter into a \nconnexion, to which they are not drawn by the solici- \ntations of a pure and virtuous love. What will a large \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 71 \n\nhouse, splendid furniture, a gay equipage, and fash- \nionable entertainments do for their possessor, in the \nabsence of connubial love ? " Is it for these baubles, \nthese toys," exclaims the wretched heart as it awak- \nens, alas ! too late, in some sad scene of domestic wo, \n"is it for this I have bartered away myself, my happi- \nness, my honor ? \n\n" How ill the scenes that offer rest, \nAnd heart that cannot rest agree." \n\nO there is a sweetness, a charm, a power to please, \nin pure and mutual affection, though it be cherished \nin the humblest abode, and maintained amidst the \nplainest circumstances, and has to contend with many \ndifficulties, compared with which, the elegancies and \nbrilliancies of worldly grandeur, are but as the splen- \ndor of an eastern palace, to one of the bowers of the \ngarden of Eden. Let the man nobly determine to \nearn his daily bread by the sweat of his brow, and find \nhis daily task sweetened by the thought that it is for \nthe woman he loves, rather than roll about in his \nchariot, and live a life of splendid indolence and \nmisery, with the woman he does not love : and let the \nother sex, as nobly and heroically determine to trust to \ntheir own energies, but especially to a gracious provi- \ndence, rather than marry without affection, for the \nsake of a settlement. \n\nThen there is another error committed by some: \nhaving been disappointed in a connexion which they \nhoped to form, they become reckless for the future, \nand in a temper of mind bordering upon revenge, \naccept the first individual who may present himself, \nwheiher they love him or not. This is the last degree \nof roily, and is such an act of suicidal violence upon \nher own peace, as can neither be described nor repro- \nbated in terms sufficiently strong. This is to act like \nthe enraged scorpion, and to turn their sting upon \nthemselves ; and in an act of spleen to sacrifice their \nhappiness to folly. And in fact, on whom does this \nmad spite fall ? Upon the individual who has done \nthem no harm, but that of attempting to heal the \n\n\n\n72 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nbreach that has been made in their happiness, and to \nwhom in return they carry a heart, which they have \nvirtually given to another. How much more .rational, \nhow much more conducive to their own comfort, and \nhow much more honorable is it in a case like this, to \nwait till time, and piety have healed the wound, and \nleft the heart at liberty for another attachment; and \neven to remain in perpetual celibacy, rather than mar- \nry without that which alone can constitute a virtuous \nmarriage, \xe2\x80\x94 sincere affection. \n\nMarriage should ever be contracted, with the \n\nSTRICTEST REGARD TO THE RULES OF PRUDENCE. \n\nDiscretion is a virtue, at which none but fools laugh. \nIn reference to no subject is it more frequently set \naside and despised, than in that, which, of all that can \nbe mentioned, most needs its sober counsels. For \nlove to be seen standing at the oracle of wisdom, is \nthought by some romantic and silly young people, to \nbe a thing altogether out of place. If they only were \nconcerned, they might be left to their folly, to be \npunished by its fruits ; but imprudent marriages, as we \nhave already considered, spread far and wide their \nbad consequences, and also send these consequences \ndown to posterity. The understanding is given to us \nto control the passions and the imagination ; and they, \nwho, in an affair of such consequence, as choosing a \ncompanion for life, set aside the testimony of the for- \nmer, and listen only to the advice of the latter, have, in \nthat instance, at least, forfeited the character of a ra- \ntional being, and sunk to the level of those creatures, \nwho are wholly governed by appetite, unchecked by \nreason. Prudence would prevent, if it were allowed \nto guide the conduct of mankind, a very large portion \nof human misery. In the business before us, it would \nallow none to marry till they had a prospect of sup- \nport. It is perfectly obvious to me, that the present \ngeneration of young people are not distinguished by \na discretion of this kind : they are too much in haste \nto enter the conjugal state, and place themselves at \nthe heads of families, before they have any rational \nhope of being able to support them. As soon almost \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n73 \n\n\n\nas they arrive at the age of manhood, whether they \nare in business or not, before they have ascertained \nwhether their business will succeed or not, they look \nround for a wife, and make a hasty, perhaps an injudi- \ncious selection. A family comes on before they have \nadequate means of maintaining it ; their affairs become \nembarrassed ; bankruptcy ensues ; their prospects are \nclouded for ever ; they become burdens upon their \nfriends ; and their misery, together with that of the \npartner of their folly, and of their hapless children, is \nsealed for the term of their existence upon earth. \nHow many instances of this kind have we known, and \nwhich may be considered as sad, and true, and im- \npressive comments on the imprudence of improvident \nmarriages. Let young people exercise their reason \nand their foresight ; or if they will not, but are deter- \nmined to rush into the expenses of housekeeping, be- \nfore they have opened sources to meet them, let them \nhear, in spite of the syren song of their imagination, \nthe voice of faithful warning, and prepare to eat the \nbitter herbs of useless regrets, for many a long and \nweary year after the nuptial feast has passed away. \n\nPrudence forbids all unequal marriages. There \nshould be an equality^ as near as may be in age ; \n" for," says Mr. Jay, fhow unnatural, how indecent, \nis it to see an old mail surrounded with infants and \nbabes, when he xan scarcely see or hear for the in- \nfirmities of age ij How unnatural, how odious is it, to \nsee a young man fastened to a piece of antiquity, so \nas to perplex strangers to determine, whether he is \nliving with a wife or a mother." No one will give the \nwoman in the one case, or the man in the other, the \ncredit of marrying for love ; and the world will be ill- \nnatured enough, and one can hardly help joining in \nthe censoriousness, to say that such matches are mere \npecuniary speculations ; for generally speaking, the \nold party in the union, is a rich one 5 and as generally, \nthey carry a scourge for the other in their purse. A \nfortune has often thus been a misfortune for both. \n\nEquality of rank is desirable, or as near to it as \npossible. Instances have occurred, in which respecta- \n\n\n\n74 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nble men have married servants, and yet maintained \ntheir respectability, and enjoyed a full cup of domestic \ncomfort : but these cases are rare, and generally con- \ntain some circumstances of peculiarity. And it is \nmuch less perilous for a rich man to descend into the \nvale of poverty for a wife, than it is for a rich woman \nto go down for a husband. He can much more easily \nraise his companion to his own level, than she can. \nSociety will much more readily accommodate them- \nselves to his error, than to hers. Much of the happi- \nness of the conjugal state, depends upon the relatives \nof the parties, and if the marriage has offended them, \nif it has degraded them, how much of bitterness is it in \ntheir power to throw into the cup of enjoyment. Many \na wife has carried to her grave, the sting inflicted \nupon her peace, by the insults of her husband\'s friends : \nand in all such cases, he must receive a part of the \nvenom. \n\n" It has been said, that no class of men err so much \nin this article, as ministers. But surely this cannot \nbe admitted. It cannot be supposed that those whose \noffice it is to inculcate prudence, should themselves \nbe proverbial for indiscretion. It cannot be supposed \nthat those whose incomes are limited, and whose cir- \ncumstances demand economy, would bring into the \nmanagement of them, those who have been trained up \nin delicacy and extravagance ; and are helpless and \nprofuse. It cannot be supposed, that men, whose office \nis respectable, and productive of social intercourse, \nwould select vulgarity and ignorance, unfit to be either \nseen or heard, merely because it is pious. A minister \nis to inculcate order and regularity ; and would he \nmarry a female that would render his house a scene \nof confusion and tumult ? A minister is to show how \nthe claims of life and religion harmonize, and to as- \nsign to the duties of each, their own place and sea- \nson; and would he marry a rattle-brain, who, instead \nof being a keeper at home, has been always rambling \nafter some new preacher ; who, instead of quietly glo- \nrifying God in her own sphere of action, has been en- \ndeavoring to excite public attention; who has been \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n75 \n\n\n\nzealous in matters of doubtful disputation, but lias \ntreated as beneath her regard, matters of common and \nrelative obligations ? Need he be told, that a becom- \ning behavior in a lower and private station, is the \nsurest pledge of, and the best preparation for, a proper \nbehavior in a higher and more public situation ! A \nminister is to recommend neatness, and all the decen- \ncies of life, and would he marry a slattern ? A min- \nister is to show, that the ornament of a meek and quiet \nspirit, is in the sight of God, of great price, and would \nhe marry a scold ? A minister is to stand in the same \nrelation to all his people, who demand his love and \nservice, and would he marry a female who would \nfondly attach herself to a few cronies, listen to all their \nsecrets, and divulge her own, and form cabals and \nschisms, which will render his residence unpleasant, \nor occasion his removal ? \n\nTo my brethren in the ministry I do recommend, \nand recommend with an earnestness which I have no \nlanguage sufficiently emphatic to express, the great- \nest caution in this most delicate and important affair. \nIn their case, the effects of an imprudent marriage \nare felt in the church of the living God. If the wives \nof the deacons, are to be " grave, no slanderers, sober, \nfaithful, in all things," what less can be required of \nthe wives of the pastors ? "A bishop must be blame- \nless, one that ruleth well his own house, having his \nchildren in subjection with all gravity. For if a man \nknow not how to rule his own house, how shall he \ntake care of the church of God." But how can he \nexhibit in his domestic constitution, the beautiful order \nand harmony which should prevail in every christian \nfamily, and especially in every minister\'s house, with- \nout the intelligent and industrious co-operation of his \nwife : and how can this be expected of one who has \nno intelligence, or industry ? Not only much of the \ncomfort, but of the character of a minister, depends \ntjfon his wife ; and what is of still greater conse- \nquence, much of his usefulness." How many have \nbeen driven away from scenes of successful labor, or \nrendered uncomfortable in the midst of them, by the \n\n\n\n76 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nmismanagement of wives, who have plunged their \nhusbands into debt, and thus blasted their respectabil- \nity ; or by that pride, petulance, vulgarity, meanness, \nand busy interference, by which they have involved \nthem in perpetual strife, with their neighbors, trades- \nmen, or their congregation! considering, therefore, \nhow much mischief may be done by their indiscretion, \nministers should raise imprudence in marriage to the \nrank of a great sin. And then their guilt in the com- \nmission of this sin is the greater as they have less ex- \ncuse for it than others ; for they have only to exercise \npatience, and to restrain themselves from hasty and \ninjudicious entanglements, and to avail themselves of \nthe extended opportunity which their situation gives \nthem, to obtain a companion, that shall be to them, \nboth as men and ministers, a helper of their joy. \nSome widowers in selecting a second wife have con- \nsulted their children\'s comfort more than their own \ntaste ; whether this be right or wrong in their case, \nwe shall presently consider ; but certainly, a minister \nwhile he is allowed the usual privilege of following \nhis own predilections, ought never to gratify his taste \nat the expense of his official respectability, or at the \nrisk of his usefulness, but in the choice of a wife, \nshould be guided by a view to the comfort of his \nchurch,_as well as by a reference to his own hap- \npiness. \n\nMarriage should always be formed, with a due \n\nREGARD TO THE DICTATES OF RELIGION./\' A pioUS per- \nson should not marry any one who is not also pious.J \nIt .id not desirable to be united to an individual even \noi a different denomination, and who, as a point of \nconscience, attends her own place of worship. It is \nnot pleasant on a sabbath morning to separate, and go \none to one place of worship, and the other to another. \nThe most delightful walk that a holy couple can take, \nis to the house of God in company, and when, in \nreference to the high themes of redemption and the \ninvisible realities of eternity, they take sweet counsel \ntogether. No one would willingly lose this. But oh \nto walk separately in a still more important and dread- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 77 \n\n\n\nfill sense ! To part at the point where the two roads \nto eternity branch off, the one to heaven, the other to \nhell ; and for the believer " to travel on to glory, with \nthe dreadful consciousness, that the other party is \njourneying\' to perdition!! This is indeed dreadful, \nand is of itself sufficient to occasion no small diminu- \ntion of conjugal felicity. If however, the comfort of \nthe parties only were concerned, it would be a mat- \nter of less consequence : but it is a matter of con- \nscience, and an affair in which we have no option. \n" She is at liberty to marry whom she will," says the \napostle, speaking to the case of a widow, " but only \nin the Lord." Now though this was said in refe- \nrence to a female, all the reasons of the law belong \nwith equal force to the other sex. This appears to \nme to be not only advice but law, and is as binding \nupon the conscience as any other law that we find in \nthe word of God ; and the incidental manner in which \nthis injunction occurs, is, as has been very properly \nremarked, to the intelligent reader of scripture, the \nstrongest confirmation of the rule in all cases, where \nmarriage is in prospect, and where there has been no \nengagement previous to conversion. As to the other \npassage, where the apostle commands us not to be un- \nequally yoked together with unbelievers, it does not \napply to marriage, except by inference, but to church \nfellowship, or rather to association and conduct in \ngeneral, in reference to which, professing christians \nare not to symbolize with unbelievers. But if this be \nimproper in regard to other matters, how much more \nso in that connexion, which has so powerful an influ- \nence over our character, as well as our happiness. \nFor a christian, then, to marry an individual who is \nnot decidedly and evidently a pious person, is a direct \nopposition to the word of God. \n\nAnd if Scripture were not against it, reason is ; \nfor "how can two walk together, except they be \nagreed." A difference of taste in minor matters is an \nimpediment in the way of domestic comfort; but to \nbe opposed to each other on the all important subject \nof religion, is a risk, even as it respects our comfort, \n\n\n\n78 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nwhich no considerate person should be induced, on \nany consideration to incur. How can the higher ends \nof the domestic constitution be answered, where one \nof the parents has not the spiritual qualifications ne- \ncessary for accomplishing them ? How can the work \nof religious education be conducted, and the children \nbe trained in the nurture and admonition of the Lord ? \nAnd as it respects individual and personal assistance \nin religious matters, do we not all want helps instead \nof hindrances ? A christian should make every thing \nbend to religion, but allow religion to bend to no- \nthing. This is the one thing needful, to which every \nthing should be subordinate ; and surely, to place out \nof consideration, the affairs of his eternal salvation, in \nso important an affair as marriage, shows either that \nthe religion of a person who acts thus, is but profes- \nsion, or likely soon to become so. \n\nThe neglect of this plain and reasonable rule is \nbecoming, I am afraid, more and more prevalent. I \ndo not wonder at all, that this subject should have ex- \ncited the attention of the ministers of religion, and \nthat the Congregational\' Association for Wiltshire \nshould, at their yearly meeting, in 1806, have come to \nthe following resolution: \xe2\x80\x94 Deploring the little regard \nof late years paid by too many professors of religion \nto the christian rule of marriage: and deeming it de- \nsirable^ that the attention of the public in general, and \nour own churches in particular, should be called to this \nsubject ; we do unanimously request the Rev. Mr. Jay \nto publish some strictures upon it." \n\nIn the excellent treatise which Mr. Jay published \nin compliance with this request, he makes the follow- \ning just and important remarks. "How deplorable is \nit that this christian rule of marriage is so frequently \ntrampled upon. The violation is, in the degree of it at \nleast, peculiar to our own age. Our pious ancestors, \nespecially among the non-conformists, would have \nbeen shocked at the practice, as appears from their \ninvaluable writings. And i am persuaded that it \n\nIS VERY MUCH OWING TO THE PREVALENCE OF THESE \nINDISCRIMINATE AND UNHALLOWED CONNEXIONS, \n\n\n\n/ \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n79 \n\n\n\nTHAT WE HAVE FALLEN SO FAR SHORT OF THOSE \nMEN OF GOD WHO ARE GONE BEFORE US, IN OUR SE- \nCLUSION FROM THE WORLD, IN THE SIMPLICITY OF \nOUR MANNERS, IN THE UNIFORMITY OF OUR PROFES- \nSION, IN THE DISCHARGE OF FAMILY WORSHIP, AND IN \nTHE TRAINING UP OF OUR HOUSEHOLDS IN THE NUR- \nTURE AND ADMONITION OF THE LORD." \n\nNo one should contemplate the prospect of such a \nconnexion as marriage, without the greatest and most \nserious deliberation; nor without the most earnest \nprayer to God for direction.. Prayer, however, to be \nacceptable to the Almighty, should be sincere, and \nshould be presented with a real desire to know and \ndo his will. Many, I believe, act toward the Deity, \nI as they do towards their friends ; they make up their \nminds, and then ask to be directed. They have some \ndoubts, and very often strong ones, of the propriety \nof the step they are about to take, which are gradually \ndissipated by their supplications, till they have prayed \nthemselves into a conviction that they are quite right \nin the decision, which they have in fact, already made. \nTo pray for direction in an affair which we know to \nbe in opposition to God\'s word, and on which we have \nalready resolved to act, is adding hypocrisy to rebel- \nlion. If there be reason to believe that the individual \nwho solicits a christian to unite herself with him in \nmarriage, is not truly pious, what need has she of \npraying to be directed ? This seems like asking the \nAlmighty, to be permitted to do that which he has for- \nbidden to be done. \n\nIn the case of widows and widowers, especially \nwhere there is a family, peculiar prudence is neces- \nsary. I have known instances in which such persons \nhave sacrificed all their own tastes and predilections, \nand have made their selection with exclusive reference \nto their children. Such a sacrifice is indeed gene- \nrous ; but it may become a question whether it is dis- \ncreet. It is placing their own comfort, and even \ncharacter, in some degree of peril, neither of which \ncan be lost, without most serious mischief to those \nvery children, whose interest they haye so heroically \n\n\n\n80 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nconsulted. This, however, is an error much more rare \nand venial, than that of the opposite extreme. How \nunseemly and inconsiderate is it for a sexagenarian, to \nbring home a young wife, and place her over daugh- \nters older than herself, and introduce into the family \ncircle, aunts and uncles, younger than some of the \nnephews and nieces. Rare is the case, in which such \ninexpedient connexions are formed, without the au- \nthors of them losing much of their own reputation, and \ndestroying much of the comfort of their families. Let \nnot such men wonder, if their daughters by the first \nmarriage, are driven from their home by the conse- \nquences of the second; and are led to form imprudent \nmatches, to which they were led by the force of pa- \nrental example, and urged by the consequences of \nparental folly. \n\nIn the selection of a second companion for life, \nwhere the first has been eminent for talents or virtues, \nmuch care should be taken that there be no great and \nstriking inferiority ; for in such a case, \n\n" busy, medling memory, \n\nIn barbarous succession, musters up \n\nThe past endearments of their softer hours \n\nwhich form a contrast ever present, and ever painful. \nThe man that never knew by experience the joy of a \nhappy marriage, can never know the ills of an impru- \ndent one, as aggravated by the power of comparison. \nLet him that has thus known them, beware how he \nexpose himself to such helpless, hopeless misery. \n\nDue care should also be exercised in reference to \nthe children. Has the woman about to be selected, \nthat principle, that prudence, that self control, that \ngood temper, which, if she become herself a mother, \nwill help her to conceal her partialities, for to suppress \nthem is impossible, and would be unnatural, and to \nseem no less kind to her adopted offspring, than to her \nown ? That man acts a most cruel, a most wicked \npart towards the memory of his first wife, who does \nnot provide for her children, a kind and judicious \nfriend in his second. What is it but a dread of this, \nthat has made some women, when upon their dying \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 81 \n\nbed, break through the rules of propriety, and recom- \nmend their successor in the arms, and heart, and house \nof their husbands ? They trembled for their children, \nand seemed at that sad moment, to have become will- \ning to be forgotten, provided their babes could find a \nsecond mother in her that was to fill their place. Let \nme then become the advocate of fatherless, or mother- \nless children, and entreat, for the sake, both of the \nliving and the dead, a due regard to the comfort of \nthese orphans. \n\nNor should less deliberation be exercised by the \nparty who is about to take, or invited to take the care \nof another person\'s children. Have they love enough \nfor the parent, to bear the burden of care for his sake ? \nHave they kindness enough, temper enough, discre- \ntion enough, for such a situation, and for such an of- \nfice ? There is no difficulty where the children are \nlovely in person, and amiable in temper; but when \nthey have no personal attractions, no charms of mind, \nno endearments of character, then is the time to real- \nize the truth of Mr. Jay\'s expression, " a wife may be \nsupplied, a mother cannot" The man or the woman \nthat can act a parent\'s part towards a froward and un- \nlovely child, must have more than nature, for this be- \nlongs only to a real parent, they must have principle \nand kindness, and need have grace. Let all who are \ninvited to take the superintendence of a family, ask \nthemselves, if they possess the requisites for the com- \nfortable and satisfactory discharge of its duties. Let \nthem inquire whether it is likely they can be happy in \nsuch a situation themselves ; for if not, they had far \nbetter never enter it, as their unhappiness must inevi- \ntably fill the whole family circle with misery. \n\nIt cannot be sufficiently deplored, that all suitable \npreparation for the marriage state, is usually put aside \nfor the busy activities of vanity, which in fact, are but \nas dust in the balance of the conjugal destiny. Every \nthought, and anticipation, and anxiety, is too often \nabsorbed in the selection of a house, and furniture ; \nand in matters still more insignificant and frivolous. \nHow common is it for a female to spend those hours, \n\n\n\n82 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nday after day, and week after week in communion \nwith her milliner, debating" and discussing the subject \nof the colour, and form, and material, in which she is \nto shine forth in nuptial splendor, which ought to be \nemployed in meditating the eventful step, which is to \nfix for life her destiny, and that of her intended hus- \nband ; as if the great object were to appear a gay and \nfashionable bride, rather than to he a good and happy \nwife. And most pitiable is it to see some mothers, \nministering to this folly, and flattering the vanity of \ntheir daughters, instead of preparing them by judicious \nand seasonable counsels, for discharging the duties of \nthat new and important connexion, into which they \nare about to enter. \n\n"Study," said an old author, "the duties of mar- \nriage, before you enter into it. There are crosses to \nbe borne, there are snares to be avoided, and manifold \nobligations to be discharged, as well as great felicity \nto be enjoyed. And should no provision be made ? \nFor want of this, result the frequent disappointments \nof that honorable estate. Hence that repentance \nwhich is at once too soon y and too late. The husband \nknows not how to rule ; and the wife knows not how \nto obey. Both are ignorant, both conceited, and both \nmiserable." \n\nIn all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He \nshall direct thy paths. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 83 \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nTHE DUTIES OF PARENTS. \n\n\n\n" Ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath ; but bring them \nup in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." Ephes. vi. 4. \n\n" Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he \nwill not depart from it." Proverbs xxii. 6. \n\n"And these words which I command thee this day, shall be in \nthine heart, and thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, \nand shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when \nthou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou \nrisest up." Deut. vi. 6, 7. \n\n" And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the \nheart of the children to the fathers, lest I come and smite the earth \nwith a curse." Mal. iv. 6. \n\n\n\nIt is an interesting and important era in the history \nof domestic life, when the husband and wife receive \nthe new names of father and mother, and become \nunited by the supplemental tie, which is furnished by \nthe little helpless stranger, so lately introduced into \nthe family. Who that has felt them, can ever forget \nthe emotions awakened by the first gaze upon the face \nof his child, by the first embrace of his babe. Little, \nhowever, do the bulk of mankind consider, what a \nweight of obligation, what a degree of responsibility, \nthat child has brought into the world with him for his \nparents. In the joyousness with which the mother \nlavishes her fond embraces upon her boy, and in the \npaternal pride with which the father looks on this new \nobject of their affection, how rarely does either of \nthem revolve, in deep seriousness, the future destiny \nof this new idol of their hearts ; or consider how nearly \nthat destiny is connected with their own conduct. Pa- \nrental obligations are neither felt nor known by multi- \ntudes. How then can they be discharged ? Rushing \ninto the connexion of marriage under the mere im- \npulse of passion, without forethought, without pru- \ndence, multitudes become parents, before they have \none right view, or one right feeling, in reference to \nthe duties of the parental relationship ; to which they \ncome with scarcely any other preparedness, than that \n\n\n\n84 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nmere animal fondness for their young, which they \npartake of in common with the irrational creation ; but \nnot with that same instinctive ability, " to train them \nup in the way they should go." Who can wonder at \nthe disordered state of society at large, or be surprised \nat the aboundings of evils and miseries in our world, \nthat looks at the manner in which domestic duties are \nneglected. When I consider what poor, ignorant, \nthoughtless, frivolous, wicked creatures are often seen \nat the head of households, I can only ascribe it to the \ninterference of an all wise and powerful providence, \nthat society is not far more chaotic, than it is. \n\nMy business in this chapter, is to endeavor to rec- \ntify, if possible, some of these evils, and to lay down a \nrule to guide the parent in discharging his truly im- \nportant, and awfully responsible obligation ; persuaded \nas I am, that many of the evils and miseries of society \nwould vanish before a right performance of parental \nduties. \n\n1. It is impossible for parents to discharge their \nduty, without a correct view of the nature and design \nof the domestic constitution. \n\nThis they should study, and arrive at the conclusion \nas speedily as possible, and keep it ever before the \nmind, that the great design of this compact is, to form \nwell the character of the children ; to train up the citi- \nzen for the world, and the christian for the church ; \nto assist the child, as a mortal, to go with honor and \ncomfort through this life, and as an immortal, to reach \nlife everlasting. The domestic circle is intended to \nbe the school of character, where, in the highest sense \nof the term, the most important business of education \nis to be conducted ; where the moral sense is to be \nimplanted and cultivated, and the conscience, and the \ntemper, and the heart, are all to be trained. \n\n2. Parents should be most deeply impressed and af- \nfected, with a sense of the importance of the station \nthey occupy in the domestic constitution. \n\nTheir state of mind should be the very opposite of \nthat light and frivolous indifference ; that absence of \nall anxiety, which many of them manifest. There are \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 85 \n\nsome who seem to regard their children as pretty little \nliving playthings, that must be well taken care of, and \nbe taught, by somebody or other, whatever will set \nthem off to the best advantage : but as to any idea of \nthe formation of.their character, especially their moral \nand religious character, and any of that deep, and \npainful, and almost overwhelming solicitude, which \narises from a clear perception, and powerful impression \nof the probable connexion between the child\'s destiny, \nand the parents\' conduct ; to all this they are utter \nstrangers. Many horticulturalists have far more in- \ntense solicitude about the developing of their plants, \nfar more wakeful and anxious care about the fragrance \nand colour of a flower, or the size and flavour of a fruit, \nthan many parents have about the developement of \nmind, and the formation of character in a child. They \nhave plants of immortality in their house, they have \nyoung trees which are to bear fruits to eternity, grow- \ning up around them, the training of which, is commit- \nted to their care, and yet have very little solicitude, \nand scarcely any thoughtfulness, whether they yield \nin this world or the next, poisonous or wholesome pro- \nduce. On parents, it depends in a great measure \nwhat their children are to be, \xe2\x80\x94 miserable or happy in \nthemselves ; a comfort or a curse to their connexions ; \nan ornament or a deformity to society ; a fiend or a \nseraph in eternity. It is indeed an awful thing to be \na parent, and is enough to awaken the anxious, trem- \nbling inquiry in every heart, " Lord, who is sufficient \nfor these things ?" \n\n3. Parents should seek after the possession of all \npossible qualifications for their office. \n\nWhat man in his senses would undertake the office \nof a pilot upon a dangerous coast, without a knowledge \nof navigation ? Or that of a general of an army, with- \nout a knowledge of military tactics ? Or that of a \nphysician, without a knowledge of medicine a*hd dis- \neases ? And who would go on another hour in the \noffice of a parent, without seeking to possess all suita- \nble qualifications ? And what are they ? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nGenuine personal religion : for how can they bring \n8 \n\n\n\n86 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nup children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, \nif they do not know the Lord for themselves ? In \norder to teach religion with any probable effect, we \nmust know it ourselves. That parent will have little \nability, and less inclination, to inculcate piety upon \nhis children, who has none himself. A graceless pa- \nrent is a most awful character ! Oh, to see the father \nand mother of a rising family, with a crowd of young \nimmortals growing up around them, and teaching irre- \nligion to their offspring, and leading them to perdition, \nby the power of their own example. A sheep leading \nher twin lambs into the covert of a hungry tiger, would \nbe a shocking sight, but to see parents by their own \nirreligion, or want of religion, conducting their family \nto the bottomless pit, is most horrible ! ! No one, then, \ncan rightly discharge the duties of a parent, in the \nhigher reference of the family compact, without that \npersonal religion, which consists in repentance to- \nwards God, faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, and a life \nof habitual holiness. In. the absence of this, the \nhighest end of the domestic constitution must be neg- \nlected, the sublimest part of education must be aban- \ndoned. \n\nParents should seek the entire government of their \ntemper : a habit of self-control ; a meekness not to be \ndisturbed by the greatest provocation ; a patience not \nto be wearied by long continued opposition. I say to \nany father or mother, are you irritable, petulant ? If \nso, begin this moment the work of subjugating your \ntemper. You are in imminent peril of ruining your \nfamily. A passionate mother or father, is Hke a fury \nwith a sceptre in one hand, and a fire-brand in the \nother: and when the king is a fury, the subjects are \nlikely to be furies too ; for nothing is more contagious \nthan bad temper. O how many parents have had to \nbewail with weeping eyes, and almost broken hearts, \nthe effects of their own irritability as apparent in the \nheadstrong passionate dispositions of their children. \nIt is against this evil that the admonition of the apos- \ntle is directed, "forbearing threatening." Passion \nblinds the judgement, leads to undue severity, fosters \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 87 \n\npartialities, in short, is the source of a thousand evils \nin the domestic government. An irritable person can \nnever manage discipline with propriety, but is ever \nprone to correct, when correction should never be \nadministered, \xe2\x80\x94 in a rage. Parents, I beseech you to \ncontrol your temper, and acquire a calm, imperturba- \nble disposition, for this only can fit you to rule your \nhousehold in wisdom, justice, and love. \n\nA habit of discrimination is a very important qualifi- \ncation in parents ; a penetrating insight into character ; \nan acuteness in judging of motives. Such a talent is \nof immense consequence in the domestic community ; \nand connected with this, a quickness of discerning \ndisposition, together with an inventive and ingenious \nfaculty of adapting treatment to the varieties of char- \nacter and propensity which are continually exhibiting \nthemselves. \n\nA kindness of manner ; an affectionate, persuasive \naddress, is of great importance. It is desirable for \nparents to render their company pleasant to their \nchildren, to engage their confidence, to exert over \nthem the influence of love, which certainly cannot be \ndone, by a cold, or churlish, or distant behavior. \n\nPrudence and good sense are qualities of such ines- \ntimable worth, and depend so much upon education, \nthat all who have the care of children, should perpet- \nually exhibit them for imitation. A rash, thoughtless \nfather, a wild romantic mother, do incalculable mis- \nchief in a family. \n\nFirmness is essentially requisite in parents ; that \ndisposition, which though at the remotest distance \nfrom all that is rigid, stern, and cruel, can master its \nown feelings, and amidst the strongest appeals to the \ntenderer emotions of the mind, can inflexibly maintain \nits purpose ; and in the way of denying improper re- \nquests, or administering correction, can inflict pain on \nthe object of its affection, whenever duty requires \nsuch an exercise of beneficial severity. For want of \nthis disposition, of this fine and noble quality, how \nmany have ruined their children for ever by indul- \ngence. \n\n\n\n88 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nVaried information and extensive knowledge are \nvery desirable. Parents should be able to direct the \nstudies, to answer the inquiries, to correct the mis- \ntakes, to assist the pursuits, and, in short, to superin- \ntend the general instruction of their families. \n\nUnvarying and inflexible consistency should be ex- \nhibited by all whom providence has placed at the head \nof a household. They should be not only excellent, \nbat consistently excellent. An unbroken uniformity \nshould reign over their whole character. Nothing \ncontradictory, inexplicable, irreconcilable, should ever \nbe seen. \n\nLet all who are likely to become parents, look at \nthis picture, and learn how they are to prepare for the \nperformance of their duty ; and let those who already \nsustain this relationship, correct their errors and sup- \nply their defects by this rule. \n\n4. Parents should settle with themselves what is \ntheir chief desire, and highest object of pursuit, in \nreference to their children. \n\nWithout fixing on some end, we shall never, in any \ncourse of action, proceed with much steadiness, com- \nfort, or success : and where many ends are, and may \nbe with propriety contemplated and sought, the chief \none must be definitely selected, and continually kept \nin view, or we shall ever be in danger of misapplying \nour energies. Let parents then, consider the ends \nwhich they should propose to themselves, in reference \nto their children, and decide among all those that are \nlawful, which is supreme, and which are subordinate. \nThere are many lawful ones, but only one of these \ncan be supreme. And what is that ? Religion, \nWhat christian can for a moment hesitate here ? \nWhat genuine believer can for a moment question, \nwhether his children\'s eternal salvation ought to be \nthe supreme solicitude of his heart ? If we look to \nthe great bulk of mankind, it is perfectly evident that \nreligion hardly enters into their view ; they are very \nwilling that their children should go to church or to \nmeeting, according as they themselves are church \npeople or dissenters ; but as to any anxiety about the \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 89 \n\n\n\nreligious character, the formation of pious habits, they \nare as destitute of every thing of this kind, as if reli- \ngion were a mere fable, or were nothing more than a \nmere sabbath day form. Their chief object is, either \nelegant and fashionable accomplishments, or learning \nand science, or perhaps prudence and good sense : \nand provided their sons and daughters excel in these, \nthey never make any inquiry, or feel any anxiety \nwhether they fear God ; and would be not only sur- \nprised, but would either laugh you to scorn, or scowl \nupon you with indignation, for proposing such fanati- \ncal or methodistical questions in reference to their \nchildren. Yes, this is the way of the greater part of \nparents, even in this religious country. To train \nthem up to shine and make a figure in society, is all \nthey seek. Amazing folly ! Dreadful and murderous \ncruelty! Degrading and groveling ambition! To \nlose sight of the soul, and neglect salvation, and for- \nget immortality ! To, train them in every kind of \nknowledge, but the knowledge of religion ; to instruct \nthem in an acquaintance with every kind of subject, \nbut to leave them in ignorance of God their Creator, \ntheir Preserver and Benefactor ! To fit them to act \ntheir part well on earth, and to leave them unprepar- \ned for heaven ! To qualify them to go with respecta- \nbility and advantage through the scenes of time, and \nthen to leave them unmeet for the glorious and endur- \ning scenes of eternity! O strange fondness of irreli- \ngious parents ! O miserable destiny of their hapless \noffspring ! \n\nIn direct opposition to this, the chief end of every \nchristian parent, must be the spiritual interests, the \nreligious character, the eternal salvation of his child- \nren. Believing that they are sinful and immortal \ncreatures, yet capable of being redeemed through the \nmediation of Christ, his highest ambition, his most \nearnest prayer, his most vigorous pursuit should be \nengaged for their eternal welfare. His eye, his heart \nand his hope should be fixed on the same objects for \nthem as they are for himself, and that is, upon eternal \nlife. This should be the nature and exercise of his \n8* \n\n\n\n90 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nanxiety. "I am desirous, if it please God, that my \nchildren should be blessed with the enjoyment of rea- \nson, of health, of such a moderate portion of worldly \nwealth and worldly respectability as is compatible \nwith their station in life : and, with a view to this, I \nwill give them all the advantages of a suitable educa- \ntion : but, above and beyond this, I far more intensely \ndesire and far more earnestly pray, and far more anx- \niously seek, that they may have the fear of God in \ntheir hearts, be made partakers of true religion, and \nbe everlastingly saved. And provided God grant me \nthe latter, by bestowing upon them his grace, I shall \nfeel that my chief object is accomplished, and be quite \nreconciled to any circumstances which may otherwise \nbefal them ; for rather would I see them in the humble \nvale of poverty, if at the same time they were true \nchristians, than on the very pinnacle of worldly gran- \ndeur, but destitute of true piety." Such should be \nthe views and feelings and desires of all christian pa- \nrents ; religion should be at the very centre of all their \nschemes and pursuits for their offspring. This should \nbe the guiding principle, the directing object, the \ngreat land-mark by which all their course should be \nsteered. \n\nHaving made these preliminary remarks, I go on to \nenumerate and illustrate the various branches of pa- \nrental duty. \n\nFirst. There are some which relate more directly \n\nTO THE PPvESENT LIFE, AND THE FORMATION OF THE \nCHARACTER GENERALLY. \n\n1. Maintenance is of course a claim which every \nchild justly prefers upon his parents, till he is of a suf- \nficient age to be able to provide for himself. \n\n2. Scholastic instruction is another duty we owe our \nchildren. The dark ages are happily past away, and \na flood of light is now poured, and is still pouring over \nall classes of the people. Instruction is become gen- \neral, and even they who are too poor to buy knowl- \nedge for their children, are not ashamed to beg it in \nour Sunday and charity schools. No man should suf- \nfer his family to be, in this respect, behind the age in \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS* 91 \n\nwhich they live. To grudge the money spent in this \nway, is a cruel and detestable niggardliness. A good \neducation is a portion, the only one which some are \nable to give to their children, and which in many \ncases, has led to every other kind of wealth. In this, \nhowever, we are to be guided by our rank in life, and \ncircumstances ; and for a laboring man or a small \ntradesman to impoverish himself in order to procure \nthe same kind and degrees of accomplishment for his \nchildren, as a rich man and a nobleman would for \ntheirs, is an ambition sanctioned neither by reason \nnor revelation. Where it can be accomplished, pa- \nrents should prefer domestic instruction, to sending \ntheir children away from home : no school can possess \nthe advantages which are to be enjoyed under the eye \nof a judicious father or mother. But how few are ju- \ndicious : how few are equal to the task of a general \nsuperintendence of the business of instruction ; and \nhow few can command the advantages of it at home. \nLet all such be careful in the selection of a school, \nfor it is a matter of infinite consequence. Let them \nbe guided in their choice, not by a mere regard to \naccomplishments ; not by a view to the best drawing, \ndancing, music, or latin master. This is an age of \ngaudy exterior decoration. But let them first regard \nreligion, then, the real cultivation of the mind, and \nthe formation of good habits. Wherever real piety \nis inculcated, a thirst for knowledge excited, and hab- \nits of application, reflection, sobriety of judgement, \nand good sense are formed, that is the school to be \nselected by a wise and christian parent. No word is \nmore abused than that of education, which, in the \nmind of many, signifies nothing more than the com- \nmunication of knowledge. But this is only a part, and \na small part of education, which, in fact, means the \nformation of character. A youth may have his head \nstuffed full of latin, greek, mathematics, and natural \nphilosophy ; a girl may draw, and dance, and play, and \nspeak French exquisitely, and yet be miserably edu- \ncated after all. Integrity, good sense, generosity, and \na capacity for reflection, are worth all the acquire- \n\n\n\n92 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nments which even a university can bestow. Not, \nhowever, that these are incompatible with each other ; \nby no means: and the perfection of education is the \nunion of both. \n\n3. A due regard to the health of children should be \nmaintained. \n\nPhysical education is of no small importance. \nKnowledge gained at the expense of health, is pur- \nchased at a dreadful expense. And there are other \nways of injuring the health of children, besides a too \nclose application of learning, which does indeed, but \nrarely occur. Fond and foolish mothers should be \nwarned against pampering their appetites with sweets, \ncorrupting their blood with grossness, or impairing \nthe tone of their stomachs with fermented liquors. \nInfanticide is practised, even in this christian land, by \nmany who never dream that they are child murderers : \nthey do not kill their babes by strangling or poisoning \nthem ; no, but by pampering or stuffing them to death. \nAnd where they go not to this extreme, they breed up \na circle of gluttons, or drunkards. Nothing can be \nmore disgusting, than to see children invited to eat \nall the delicacies of the dinner, and to drink after it \nthe health of the company, and with what their young \npalates ought to be strangers to. And lamentably in- \njudicious is it, to make the gratification of the appe- \ntite a reward for good conduct, and to have them \nushered into the parlor before they retire to rest, to \nreceive the luscious sweet, which is the bribe for their \ngoing quietly to bed. The mischief goes beyond the \ncorruption of their health, for it brings them up to be \ngoverned by appetite, rather than by reason, which is, \nin fact, the secret cause of all the intemperance and \nprofligacy of the world. Settle your plans on this \nsubject, and suffer neither a favorite servant, nor a \nkind aunt, nor a doating grandpapa, to come between \nyou and the welfare of your children. \n\n4. Bring up your children ivith low notions of the \nimportance of riches, and worldly show, and of the \npower which these things have either to give respecta- \nbility to the character, or to procure happiness. \n\n\n\nA IfELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 93 \n\n\n\nDo not let them hear you magnify the value of \nwealth by your words, nor see you do it by your ac- \ntions. Avoid an obsequious attention to the rich and \ngreat ; point not to them as the individuals most to be \nadmired and envied. Discover no undue solicitude \nabout grandeur of abode, or furniture. From the time \nthat they are capable of receiving an idea, or an im- \npression, teach them it is character that constitues \ntrue respectability : that a good man is reputable in \nany circumstances, a bad man in none. Remind them \nof the danger of riches, and that they are satan\'s baits \nto tempt men to love the world, and lose their souls. \nNot that you should produce a cynical disposition to- \nwards either riches or the rich ; much less repress in- \ndustry, and foster indolence : no ; but encourage them \nto consider and to seek wealth, rather as a means of \nusefulness, than a source of personal gratification. \n\n5. Inculcate industrious habits. \n\nCaution them against sauntering and slothfulness. \nFrom the dawn of reason, endeavor to convince them, \nnot merely by argument, but by a reference to their \nown experience, that employment is pleasure, and \nidleness misery. Impress them with the value of \ntime ; that it is the stuff of which life is made, and \nthat we lose as much of life, as we do of time. And \nconnected with this, enforce habits of order and punc- \ntuality. The parent that neglects to do this, is guilty \nof enormous unkindness towards his children; who, \nif they grow up without these, incommode themselves, \nand are a source of prodigious inconvenience to their \nfriends. \n\n6. Economy is no less necessary. Industry and \neconomy are virtues of civilized life. Savages never \npossess them, but spend their time in idleness, and \nsquander what comes in their way in wastefulness. \nIt is reason overcoming the vis inertise which is na- \ntural to man, that produces industry and economy ; \nand when we consider how important they are to the \nwell being, not only of individuals, but of society, our \nefforts should be employed to foster them in the minds \nof our children. But in inculcating economy, we \n\n\n\n94 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR *. OR \n\n\n\nmust be careful not to drive the mind into covetous- \nness ; hence it is of consequence, that with all our \nendeavors to cherish frugality, we should be no less \nassiduous to encourage generosity ; and to impress \nthem with the idea, that the end of saving is not to \nhoard, but to distribute to the wants of others. \n\n7. Provide for your children suitable employment. \nHappily the pride and indolence of feudal times are \ngone by, and it is our felicity to live in a country \nwhere trade and industry are accounted honorable, \nand where the aristocracy softens down into the de- \nmocracy, by almost insensible degrees; where a poor, \nproud gentleman, that scorns the vulgarity of trade, \nbegins to bethought a very despicable character; and \nthe diligent, honest, and successful tradesman, re- \ngarded as an honorable member of the community. \n" The good, sound common sense of mankind will \nnever annex character to a useless life. He who \nmerely hangs as a burden on the shoulders of his \nfellow men, who adds nothing to the common stock \nof comfort, and merely spends his time in devouring \nit, will be invariably, as well as justly, accounted a \npublic nuisance." Let parents, therefore, take care to \nbring up their children to some suitable business ; in \nthe selection of which, due regard should be had to \ntheir own circumstances, for it is great folly, and un- \nkindness also, to select for a child a business, so much \nabove his father\'s station and property as to leave no \nrational hope that he can ever enter upon it with a \nprospect of success. In the advance of society we \nsee innumerable instances of foolish pride of this kind ; \nand indeed it is a pretty general thing for parents to \nbe ambitious to obtain for their children a higher \ngrade in society than their own. Many, who have \nreally acquired wealth in a reputable, though perhaps \nnot the most genteel trade, (for trades have their \naristocratic distinctions,) seem anxious that their sons \nshould be a step higher than themselves, and instead \nof sending them to business, look out for a profession, \nand there is a wondrous rage for professions in the \npresent day ; or if they are retail tradesmen, must \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 95 \n\nmake their sons wholesale ones ; or if they are manu- \nfacturers, must start them as merchants ; and if they \nare merchants, must elevate them into gentlemen, \nWhat abject folly is it for a man to turn away the at- \ntention of his children from any good and honorable \nbusiness, which he has followed with success, merely \nbecause it is not genteel. I believe that great harm \nhas been done by an injudicious system of scholastic \ninstruction,which has become too exclusively classical. \nLiterature, when kept within due bounds, and properly \nunited with mercantile branches, does not in itself \nunfit a youth for business, but it is considered as the \nacquirements of those who are intended to be profes- \nsional men, or gentlemen ; and when almost exclu- \nsively pursued to a late period in boyhood, it turns off \nthe attention from business, and partially unfits for it. \nA very undue importance has been attached, in our \nschools, to polite literature ; to the neglect of science \nand commercial knowledge. Let every christian \ntradesman, who has a business worth following, keep \nas many of his sons as he can at home with him, and \neducate them himself for trade in his own ware- \nhouse. Due attention must of course always be paid \nin the selection of a business, to the physical strength, \nto the mental capacity, and to the pravailing taste of \na child. \n\n7. Generosity should be most assiduously incul- \ncated. \n\nAll children, and consequently all mankind, are \nmore or less selfish by nature. This should be early \nwatched and checked by a judicious parent, and an \nopposite disposition inculcated. Even infants may \nbe made to feel the pleasure of sharing their posses- \nsions with others. Let them be taught that enjoyment \narises not from individual gratification, but from a \ncommunion in pleasure. As children advance in \nyears and reason, they should hear much of the hap- \npiness arising from gratifying others ; of the luxury \nof benevolence, and of the meanness of greediness. \nWe should descant on the beauty of generous actions, \nand of beneficent examples. Anecdotes of remarka- \n\n\n\n96 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nble generosity should be read to them, and especially \nshould we dwell upon the wondrous love of God, and \nthe remarkable compassion of Jesus Christ. We \nshould send them on errands of mercy to the poor and \nneedy, that being spectators both of their misery, and \nof their tears of gratitude for relief, they might acquire \na disposition to do good. We should especially en- \ncourage them to make sacrifices, and to practise self- \ndenial to do good. To give them extra money, in \norder that they may relieve the poor, or support reli- \ngious institutions, is doing them very little good ; for \nthis is only being generous at other people\'s expense : \nbut they should be induced to save their own pocket \nmoney, and distribute their regular allowance, and \nthus forego the gratification of their own palate, for \nthe purpose of relieving the wants of others. But \nthey should never be compelled to give, never have \ntheir money stopped for this purpose ; never be fined \nfor misconduct, and have their fines appropriated to \ncharity ; for all this is calculated to disgust them with \nbenevolence. \n\nGreat care should be taken, at the same time, not to \ninduce a habit of indiscriminate distribution, which \nwould render them the dupes of hypocrisy, the sub- \njects of imposition, and the victims of extortion. We \nshould teach them the difference between real benev- \nolence, and that easy good nature, which allows itself \nto be wheedled out of every thing ; between the \ngenerosity of a correct judgement, and that of a weak \nand credulous mind; between principle and mere \nfeeling. \n\n8. Prudence is of vast consequence in the affairs of \nlife. This is, next to piety, the most valuable quality \nof character. Nothing can be a substitute for it ; and \nit does more for the comfort of its possessor, more for \nthe happiness of society, than any other attribute of \nmind that can be mentioned. Half the miseries of \nsome persons\' lives, who are good people too, arise \nfrom a rash, thoughtless, indiscreet mind. They \nnever think before they speak or act : they have no \npower, or exercise none, of forethought, deliberation. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n97 \n\n\n\nor calculation. Such persons are firebrands without \nintending it, and commit immense mischief, without, \nperhaps, a particle of malice. How important, then, \nthat children should be early taught the nature and \nvalue of discretion. Many parents most egregiously \nerr on this subject: some are anxious only to commu- \nnicate knowledge ; forgetting that ideas are worth \nnothing, but as they are discreetly employed to produce \nhappiness. Knowledge has only the materials of com- \nfort ; it is wisdom that must put them together into \nform and consistency. Others almost despise pru- \ndence ; it is not a classical, a scientific, a poetic qual- \nity. It cramps genius, extinguishes taste, prevents \nthe lofty, though somewhat erratic flights of an ardent \nmind; it is cold and calculating; it has nothing sub- \nlime or romantic about it; it never soars into the \nclouds, or plunges into the depths, but holds on its \ndull course, on the low level of ordinary concerns. \nAnd therefore, just on this very account, it is the very \nthing that is to be coveted. Foolish, foolish crea- \ntures ! And so you would have your children ge- \nniuses, that disdain the restraints of wisdom; and \nresemble mere fire works, that burn and blaze out \nonly to please others by their brilliancy and splen- \ndor, without doing good to any one ! O be not so \ncruel to yourselves, to your children, to society. \nTeach them to cultivate a deliberative, a reflecting, a \ncalculating judgement; to weigh their words, and \nmeasure their actions ; enforce upon them a habit of \nlooking onward to the tendency and results of con- \nduct ; the calm and regular government of the soul, \nwhich leads its possessor to observe true measures, \nand a suitable decorum in words, and thoughts, and \nactions. Give them all the learning you can procure \nfor them ; I quarrel not with this : but in your own es- \ntimation, and in all your conduct towards them, exalt \nwisdom far above learning, genius, taste, accomplish- \nments ; and in this sense of the word, teach them that \nthe price of wisdom is above rubies. \n\nNow I am anxious to impress upon the mind of all \nparents, that the inculcation of these dispositions, \n9 \n\n\n\n98 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nforms, in fact, the very essence of education. This \nterm, as I have already remarked, and I repeat the \nsentiment again and again, not by accident or over- \nsight, but with the design of more deeply impressing \nit, has been very generally misapplied, because, in \nfact, misunderstood. Education, in modern parlance, \nmeans nothing more than instruction, or the commu- \nnication of knowledge to the mind ; and a good edu- \ncation means, the opportunity of acquiring all kinds \nof learning, science, and what are called accomplish- \nments. But properly speaking, education in the true \nand higher import of the term, means, the implanting \nof right dispositions, the cultivation of the heart, the \nguidance of the temper, the formation of the charac- \nter. Or allowing, as we must, that education applies \nto the whole soul and character, and includes general \ninstruction in knowledge, I should say that its most \nimportant part is that which relates to the communi- \ncation of active principles, and the formation of moral \nhabits. It is training up a child in the way he \nshould go. Not merely the training up a child in \nthe way he should think, or speculate, or translate, or \ndance, or draw, or argue, but the way in which he \nshould go. Every thing may be taught which can \nsharpen the faculties, or store the mind with ideas, or \ncultivate the taste; but we must not stop here, out \nconsider that the highest end of education, is the for- \nmation, first of the religious character, and then of the \nuseful, amiable, intelligent, and generous member of \nthe social community. \n\nIf this be true, and who will venture to deny it, then \nis it perfectly manifest, that the great work of educa- \ntion cannot be, and ought not to be, transferred from \nparents to others. They may purchase that tuition, \nwhich their own circumstances may disqualify them \nfrom imparting ; but the education of the character \nbelongs to them, and cannot be transferred. Here \nI cannot resist the temptation of introducing a long \nextract from Mr. Anderson\'s incomparable work. \n\n" Placed by the all-wise providence of heaven in \nsuch a peculiar situation, it will be well for you to \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 99 \n\nkeep especially in view, what may be denominated, \nthe education of circumstances. Let purchased \ntuition be carried up to the very highest perfection, \nand let neither money nor wisdom be spared in reach- \ning this height; of such vital importance in the train- \ning of children is that department to which I now \nrefer, that it can, and if neglected will, undermine and \nundo the whole, as well as render many efforts in edu- \ncating the disposition altogether abortive. Suffer me \nto explain my meaning. \n\n"In the laudable anxiety of their hearts, two pa- \nrents, with a family of infants playing around their \nfeet, are heard to say, 4 Oh ! what will, what can best \neducate these dear children ?\' I reply, 6 Look to your- \nselves and your circumstances.\'\' Maxims and docu- \nments are good in themselves, and especially good \nfor the regulation of your conduct and your behavior \ntowards them: but with regard to your children, you \nhave yet often to remark, that many maxims are good, \nprecisely till they are tried, or applied, and no longer. \nIn the hands of many parents, they will teach the \nchildren to talk, and very often, little more. I do not \nmean to assert, that sentiments inculcated have no in- \nfluence ; far from it ; they have much ; though not the \nmost : but still, after all, it is the sentiments you let \ndrop occasionally, it is the conversation they overhear, \nwhen playing in the corner of the room, which has \nmore effect than many things which are addressed to \nthem directly in the tone of exhortation. Besides, as \nto maxims, ever remember, that between those which \nyou bring forward for their use, and those by which \nyou direct your own conduct, children have almost an \nintuitive discernment ; and it is by the latter they will \nbe mainly governed, both during childhood and their \nfuture existence. \n\n" The question however returns, 4 What will edu- \ncate these children ?\' And now I answer, \' Your \nexample will educate them \xe2\x80\x94 your conversation with \nyour friends \xe2\x80\x94 the business they see you transact \xe2\x80\x94 the \nlikings and dislikings you express \xe2\x80\x94 these will educate \nthem; the society you live in will educate them \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n100 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nyour domestics will educate them : and whatever be \nyour rank or situation in life, your house, your table,, \nand your daily behavior, these, these will educate \nthem. To withdraw them from the unceasing and \npotent influence of these things is impossible, except \nyou were to withdraw yourself from them also. Some \nparents talk of beginning the education of their child- \nren ; the moment they were capable of forming an \nidea, their education was already begun \xe2\x80\x94 the educa- \ntion of circumstances \xe2\x80\x94 insensible education, which, \nlike insensible perspiration, is of more constant and \npowerful effect, and of far more consequence to the \nhabit, than that which is direct and apparent. This \neducation goes on at every instant of time ; it goes on \nlike time \xe2\x80\x94 you can neither stop it nor turn its course. \nWhatever these, then, have a tendency to make your \nchildren, that, in a great degree, you at least should \nbe persuaded they will be.\' \n\n" The language, however, occasionally heard from \nsome fathers, may here not unseasonably be glanced \nat. They are diffuse in praise of maternal influence ; \nand pleased at the idea of its power and extent, they \nwill exclaim, 4 O yes, there can be no doubt of it, that \nevery thing depends upon the mother.\' This, how- \never, will be found to spring from a selfish principle, \nand from anxiety to be relieved from mighty obliga- \ntions, which, after all, cannot be transferred from the \nfather\'s shoulders, to those even of a mother : to say \nnothing of the unkindness involved in laying upon her \na burden, which nature never intended, and never \ndoes. Her influence, as an instrument, indeed, a hus- \nband cannot too highly prize ; but let no father ima- \ngine, that he can neutralize the influence of his own \npresence, and his own example at home. He cannot, \nif he would, nor can he escape from obligation. The \npatience and constancy of a mother, are no doubt, \nfirst mainly tried, but then those of the father. The \ndispositions in each parent are fitted by nature for this \norder in the trial of patience ; but from the destined \nand appropriate share allotted to each, neither of the \ntwo parties, when in health, can relieve the other. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 101 \n\n\n\n" Addressing myself, therefore, to both parents, I \nwould say, 6 Contract to its just and proper dimensions, \nthe amount of all that purchased education can do for \nyou, and expect no more from it than it is truly able \nto perform. It can give instruction. There will al- \nways be an essential difference between a human be- \ning cultivated and uncultivated. In the department \nof purchased tuition, you will portion out to the best \nadvantage, many of those precious hours of youth \nwhich never will return ; and such employment will \nlend you powerful aid in forming those personal hab- \nits, which lie within the province of parental educa- \ntion; but rest assured, and lay it down to yourselves \nas a cardinal principle, that the business of educa- \ntion, properly so called, is not transferable. You \nmay engage a master or masters, as numerous as you \nplease, to instruct your children in many things, use- \nful and praiseworthy in their own place, but you must \nby the order of nature, educate them yourselves. You \nnot only ought to do it, but you will perceive, if I am \ncorrect in what I have stated, and may still advance, \nyou must do it, whether you intend it or not. 1 4 The \nparent,\' says Cecil, \' is not to stand reasoning and cal- \nculating. God has said, that his character shall have \ninfluence : and so this appointment of Providence be- \ncomes often the punishment of a wicked or a careless \nman.\' As education, in the sense I have explained, \nis a thing necessary for all, \xe2\x80\x94 for the poor and for the \nrich, \xe2\x80\x94 for the illiterate as well as the learned, Provi- \ndence has not made it dependant on systems, uncer- \ntain, operose, and difficult of application. Every pa- \nrent, therefore, save when separated altogether from \nhis family, may be seen daily in the act of educating his \nchildren ; for from father and mother, and the circum- \nstances in which they move, the children are daily \nadvancing in the knowledge of what is good or evil. \nThe occupations of the poor man at his labor, and of \nthe man of business in his counting-house, cannot in- \nterrupt this education. In both instances, the mother \nis plying at her uninterrupted avocations, and her ex- \nample is powerfully operating every hour ; while at \n9* \n\n\n\n102 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR t OR \n\n\n\ncertain intervals daily, as well as every morning and \nevening, all things come under the potent sway of \nthe father or the master, whether that influence be \ngood or bad. Here, then, is one school from which \nthere are no truants, and in which there are no holi- \ndays. \n\n" True, indeed, you send your children to another \nschool, and this is the very best in the whole neigh- \nborhood, and the character of the master there, is not \nonly unexceptionable, but praiseworthy. When your \nchildren come home too, you put a book of your own \nselection into their hands, or even many such books, \nand they read them with pleasure and personal advan- \ntage. Still, after all this, never for one day forget, \nthat the first book they read, nay, that which they con- \ntinue to read, and by far the most influential, is that of \ntheir parents\' example and daily deportment. If this \nshould be disregarded by you, or even forgotten, then \nbe not at all surprised when you find, another day, to \nyour sorrow and vexation, and the interruption of your \nbusiness, if not the loss of all your domestic peace and \nharmony, that your children only * know the right path, \nbut still follow the wrong.\' " \n\nSecondly. \xe2\x80\x94 But I now go on to illustrate and en- \nforce those duties which parents owe to their children, \n\nIN REFERENCE TO THEIR RELIGIOUS CHARACTER, AND \nTHEIR ETERNAL WELFARE. \n\nNot that religion is to be taught separately from all \nother branches of education, as an abstract thing of \nitself, for it is not an abstract thing of itself, but an \nintegral part of the character, the substratum of all \nthe qualities that have been already stated. " Bring \nthem up in the fear and nurture and admonition of the \nLord:" this is all the apostle enjoined on the subject \nof education, and it is the substance of all we are to \nteach : whatever is opposed to this must not be taught, \nand all that is taught or enjoined must be inculcated \nwith a direct or indirect reference to this. In the se- \nlection of a school even for obtaining the elements of \ngeneral knowledge, in the branches of tuition that he \npermits his children to be taught, a christian parent \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 103 \n\nmust have his eye upon religion, and this must be the \npolar star by which he steers. \n\nStill however, for the sake of making the matter \nmore clear and obvious, as the subject of solemn obli- \ngation, I place religious education by itself : and it \nincludes \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n1. Instruction. \n\nAs soon as reason dawns, religious instruction \nshould commence. The subject matter of instruction \nincludes every thing which forms the fundamental \npoints of revealed truth. The character of God, the \nspirituality of his law, the fall of man, the evil of sin, \nthe person and work of Christ, the need of repentance, \nthe justification of the soul by faith, the nature and \nnecessity of regeneration, the operating power of love \nto Christ as the spring of obedience, the solemnities \nof judgement, the immortality of the soul, the punish- \nment of the wicked, and the happiness of the righteous. \nAll these should be familiarly taught according as the \ncapacity is able to receive them. Our instruction \nshould not be confined to mere generalities, but should \nproceed from the beginning, on evangelical principles. \nThe basis of our teaching should be the Bible itself. \nNot that I would totally discard all catechisms. I do \nnot see why definitions and explanations, \xe2\x80\x94 and what \nelse are the answers in catechisms, \xe2\x80\x94 may not be as \nuseful in religion, as in any other subject. Cate- \nchisms are injurious only when they push out the Bi- \nble, not when they lead to it. Still I admit, that the \nBible should be the text book. Every child should \nlearn a portion of scripture daily, and have it explain- \ned to him. A great prominency in all our instruction \nshould be given to the law of God, as binding the con- \nscience, and the consequent exceeding sinfulness of \nevery human being ; together with the wonderful \ngrace of the Lord Jesus Christ as the sinner\'s only \nSaviour. Much use should be made of the historical \nparts of scripture, as illustrating by its facts the cha- \nracter of God, the evil of sin, the consequences of \ndisobedience. Abstract principles alone will not do. \nChildren like facts, and must fie taught through the \n\n\n\n104 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR *. OR \n\n\n\nmedium of their imagination. Instruction must be \nconveyed in a pleasing form. In order to this, there \nmust be no wearying them by long lectures ; no dis- \ngusting them by long tasks. I reprobate the practice, \nas a most injurious one, of setting a long lesson of \ncatechism or scripture to a reluctant child, and then \npunishing him for not learning it. If we wish to dis- \ngust their minds with the ways of godliness, this is the \nway to do it. Many an injudicious parent, in the very \nact of teaching piety towards God, calls into existence \nand activity, the very tempers which it is the design \nof religion to suppress. An angry and scolding father, \nwith a catechism in one hand, and a rod in the other, \nrailing at a stubborn child for not learning his lesson, \nis not a scene very calculated to invest religion with \nan air of loveliness and a power of attraction for young \nminds : the only association which, in such a circum- \nstance, a child can be expected to form with learning \nto be pious, is that of a dark room or cane ; pain of \nbody and insufferable disgust of mind. I would say \nto many a parent, " do give over the business of teach- \ning religion till you can command your temper, and \nattract the child to the subject as that which is agree- \nable." JYever set religious tasks to your children, as \npenalties for bad conduct. To be made to learn cate- \nchism or scripture, in solitary confinement, and upon \nan empty stomach, and thus to connect imprisonment \nand fasting with the penance, is a sure way to finish \nthe aversion, which the rod has commenced. Instead \nof compelling a child to learn religion, because he is \nnaughty, which is reversing the order of things ; he \nought not to be permitted to touch so holy a thing in \nso evil a temper. \n\nInstruction, to be valuable, must always be deliver- \ned with great seriousness. The light and trifling way \nin which it is sometimes delivered, destroys all its ef- \nfect, and reduces it to the level of a mere science. It \nought not to be exclusively confined to the Sabbath, \nbut be the business of every day ; yet it should be \nespecially attended to on the day of rest, when the \nfamily should be interrogated, as to what they under- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS, \n\n\n\n105 \n\n\n\nstand and remember of the sermons they have heard \nin the house of Goo; Children cannot too early be \nmade to comprehend the purpose for which they go up \nto public worship, and that they have a personal inter- \nest in all the sacred services of our religious assem- \nblies. No parent who has a numerous family, and \nwho resides in a large town, where much time must \nnecessarily be occupied in going to, and returning \nfrom his place of worship, should attend the house of \nGod more than twice on the sabbath : the other part \nof the day should be occupied in the midst of his fa- \nmily. This is far too generally neglected in this day \nof over-much preaching. \n\nInstruction should be adapted to the capacity of the \nchildren, and keep pace, in depth and variety, with \nthe strengthening of their faculties. Provide for them \nsuitable books ; and, as they advance in age, enter \nwith them more into the depths of theological truth ; \nunfold to them the beauty, the grandeur and sublimity \nof revelation; instruct them in the evidences of the \nBible ; the proofs of its fundamental doctrines. I am \nnot very fond of boys and girls writing religious \nthemes, or conducting any researches of a religious \nnature, as a mere exercise of ingenuity, except their \nminds are already well disposed towards religion, as a \nmatter of personal experience, \n\n2. Persuasion, admonition, and warning, are a \nvery important part of religious education. \n\nThe apostles, " knowing the terrors of the Lord," \npersuaded men ; they besought them to be reconciled \nto God ; and warned them of the consequences of un- \nbelief. Parents must do the same with their children, \nand not satisfy themselves with merely communicat- \ning ideas. They should, in the most earnest, anxious, \naffectionate manner, represent to them their spiritual \ncondition, warn them of the consequences of neglect- \ning the great salvation, and entreat them to believe in \nthe Lord Jesus Christ, and fear God. They should \naddress them collectively and individually, on the \nsubject of their soul\'s concerns ; they should manifest \nsuch a deep solicitude for their spiritual welfare, as \n\n\n\n106 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nwould constrain their children ^ feel, that the most \nanxious desire of their parents\' near t, in reference to \nthem, was for their salvation. This should not how- \never be done merely when their children have offend- \ned them, nor should they, on every slight occasion of \nmisconduct, have a ready recourse to the terrors of \nthe Lord. Parental authority must not be supported \nexclusively by the thunders of heaven, or the torments \nof hell. \n\nThese subjects should never be referred to, but in \nseasons of solemn and affectionate admonition. It \nwould also be prudent not to be so frequent in the \nbusiness of admonition, warning, and persuasion, as \nto excite nausea and disgust. Many good, but injudi- \ncious people, completely overdo the matter, and defeat \ntheir own purpose ; they worry their children on the \nsubject of religion, and thus increase the aversion that \nis already felt. Nothing in the way of bitter reproach, \nor of railing accusation, for the want of piety, should \never be uttered ; nor should anger ever be manifest- \ned. In the case of elder branches of the family, a \nword or two occasionally spoken, and always in great \nmildness and tenderness, is all that is desirable. In- \ncessant remonstrance, is in such instances, likely to \nbe heard with indifference, if not with dislike. Such \nyoung people should be left pretty much to their own \njudgement and conscience, and to the force of pa- \nrental example. \n\n3. Discipline is unspeakably important. We have \nconsidered the father as the prophet of his family, we \nare now to view him as their king ; and his laws are \nas important as his instructions. By discipline then, \nI mean, the maintenance of parental authority, and \nthe exercise of it, in the way of restraining and pun- \nishing offences. Parents, you are invested by God \nhimself with an almost absolute authority; you are \nconstituted by him the supreme magistrate of your \nhousehold, and cannot have a right idea of your situa- \ntion, without considering yourself as appointed to rule. \nYou must be the sovereign of the house, allowing no \ninterference from without, no resistance from within. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 107 \n\n\n\nYou have no option in the matter, and are not permit- \nted to abdicate the throne, or cast away your sceptre. \nIt was mentioned as a high commendation of Abra- \nham, that he would command his children after him. \nBut although you are to be absolute monarch, uniting \nin yourself the legislative and executive department, \nyou are to be no tyrant. Your government must be \nfirm, but mild : the love of the parent must not relax \nthe reins of the governor, nor the authority of the \ngovernor diminish aught from the love of the parent. \nYou must have a sceptre, and always hold it, but it \nmust not be an iron one. You must never suffer the \nyoke to be thrown off from your children, but then it \nmust be a yoke which they shall have no inclination \nto throw off, because it is easy, and the burden light. \nOf you in your measure, it should be said, as it is of \nGod, \n\n" Sweet majesty, and awful love, \nSit smiling on his brow." \n\nYour authority must be presented to your children \nas soon as reason is awake. The first thing a child \nshould be made to understand, is that he is to do, not \nwhat he likes, but what he is commanded : that he is \nnot to govern, but to be governed. The sceptre \nshould be seen by him before the rod ; and an early, \njudicious, and steady exhibition of the former, would \nrender the latter almost unnecessary. He must be \nmade to submit, and that while young, and then sub- \nmission will become a habit : the reins must be felt \nby him early, and he will thus learn to obey them. \nAll commands should be reasonable : there should be \nno wanton, capricious use of authority ; we must not \nthwart and cross the wills of our children merely to \nteach submission. They should perceive clearly that \nlove is at the bottom of all we do, and that reason \nguides all our conduct. We should calculate before \nhand, whether there is a necessity for the injunction \nwe are about to deliver, and a probability of our being \nable to ensure compliance ; for a wise parent will not \nenjoin any thing, if he can help it, that has not these \ncircumstances connected with it. Commands should \n\n\n\n108 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nbe sacred things, not issued in sport, for the child to \nplay with. Nothing but what is wise should be en- \njoined, and every injunction that is issued should be \nobeyed. In many cases, it is beyond our power to \nensure obedience : and then nothing remains but pun- \nishment. \n\nCorrection is an essential part of dicipline ; for re- \nwards and punishments are as necessary in the gov- \nernment of a family, as in that of a state. What saith \nthe wisest of men ? " Foolishness is bound up in the \nheart of a child, but the rod of correction will drive it \nfar from him. Withhold not correction from the child ; \nfor if thou beatest him with a rod, he shall not die. \nThou shalt beat him with a rod, and shalt deliver his \nsoul from hell. The rod and the roproof give wis- \ndom : but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to \nshame." Do not many mothers know this by bitter \nexperience ? Even in lesser matters, have they not a \nthousand times blushed at the rudeness, ill manners, \nand impertinence of children "left to themselves:" \nand in greater matters, have they not lived to vent the \nheaviest reproaches upon their most abject folly, in \nspoiling their children by leaving them to their own \nobstinate tempers, self will, and rebellious conduct, \nwithout ever correcting them : "correct thy son, and \nhe shall give thee rest ; yea, he shall give thee the \ndelight of thy soul." Inimitably beautiful precept; \nand as true as it is beautiful. " He that spareth the \nrod, hateth his son." How many are there who thus \nhate their children ? a very strong expression, I admit: \nand yet these very persons would be thought the \nfondest of parents. Would you suffer your children\'s \nbodies to perish, rather than put them to pain in eradi- \ncating a disease, which, if suffered to remain, would be \nfatal ? Would not this be hating them ? And what \ndo you call that conduct, which, rather than put them \nto pain by correcting their faults, suffers all kinds of \nmoral diseases to increase, and fester, and corrupt the \nsoul ? Fond mother, you that will never correct a \nchild, hear the charge, and let it thrill through your \nheart, exciting emotions of horror\xe2\x80\x94 you are a hater of \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n109 \n\n\n\nyour child ; your foolish love is infanticide ; your cruel \nembraces are hugging your child to death. In not \ncorrecting him, you are committing sin of the heaviest \nkind, and your own wickedness in not correcting him, \nwill at last correct yourself. \n\nI would not, however, be thought to enjoin a cruel \nor even a stern and rigid severity. I do not think \nthis compatible with the admonition given by the \nApostle, not to irritate, nor " provoke our children to \nwrath, lest they be discouraged." We must not gov- \nem by punishment : the sceptre must not be converted \ninto a whip. The first object of every parent should \nbe to render punishment unnecessary. It is better to \nprevent crimes than punish them. This can be done, \ncertainly, to a very considerable extent, but it requires \na very early, very judicious, and very watchful system \nof training. Many have very little, of what may be \ncalled, the faculty of government ; and late coercion \nand punishment come in to supply the place of early \nguidance. The only time is suffered to go by without \nbeing improved, in which it is possible, in most cases, \nso to train the disposition, as to do in future without \nmuch punishment ; for if discipline, wise, steady, firm \ndiscipline, do not commence as soon as the passions \nbegin to develope, it is too late then to be accomplish- \ned without some degree of severity. \n\nMr. Anderson strikingly illustrates this part of the \nsubject, by a very familiar allusion : " I recollect hear- \ning of two coaches which used to drive into New- \nmarket from London, by a certain hour, at a time of \nstrong competition. The horses of the coach which \ngenerally came in first, had scarcely a wet hair. In \nthe other, though last, the horses were jaded and \nheated to excess, and had the appearance of having \nmade great efforts. The reader perhaps, understands \nthe cause of the difference. The first man did it all \n1 of course, by the reins: the second, unsteady in him- \n;\xe2\x96\xa0 self, or unskilful in the reins, had induced bad habits, \nand then employed the whip ; but he could never cope \nwith the other. So it will ever hold in all govern- \n: ment. If obedience to the reins is found to be most \n10 \n\n\n\n110 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\npleasant in itself, and even the road to enjoyment, then \nobedience will grow into a habit and become, in fact, \nthe choice of the party." \n\nThis, then, is the first thing to be attended to, ac- \nquire skill in the management of the reins ; govern \nby guiding, not by forcing. But still, there are many, \nvery many cases, in which the reins alone will not \nprove to be enough ; the whip is wanted, and where \nit is wanted, it ought to be supplied. Not that I mean \nto enforce a system of corporeal punishment ; no : this \nmay be necessary occasionally, as an experiment in \ndifficult cases, but as a system it is bad and unavailing, \nand is usually the resource of passionate, ignorant, or \nindolent parents and masters. We should from the \ndawn of reason, endeavor to make our children feel, \nthat our favor is their richest reward for good conduct, \nour displeasure the severest rebuke for misbehavior. \nHappy the parent, who has attained to such skill in \ngovernment, as to guide with a look, to reward with a \nsmile, and to punish with a frown. \n\nOccasions, I admit, sometimes do occur, and not \nunfrequently, in which the interposition of a severer \nchastisement becomes necessary; and these are the \nemergencies which require the full stretch of parental \nwisdom. Take the following rules for your guidance. \n\xe2\x80\x94 Never chastise in a state of wrath. Some parents \ncan never punish, except when it ought never to be \ndone, \xe2\x80\x94 when they are angry. This is passion, not \nprinciple ; and will always appear to the child as if it \nwere intended, more to appease and gratify the pa- \nrent\'s bad temper, than to promote his welfare. No \nparent, in such a state of mind, can be in a condition \nnicely to adjust the kind and degree of punishment to \nthe offence ; it is like administering medicine scald- \ning hot, which rather burns than cures. God waited \ntill the cool of the evening, before he came down \nto arraign, try, and punish our first parents after \ntheir fall. \n\nPatiently examine the offence before you punish it. \nIn every case, let there be the solemnity of judicial \ninvestigation ; for justice always should proceed with \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. Ill \n\na slow and measured step. Accurately discriminate \nbetween sins of presumption, and sins of ignorance or \ninadvertence. Accidents should be reproved, but not \npunished, unless they involve wilful disobedience. \nMost wisely and equitably apportion the sentence to \nthe degree of offence and the disposition of the of- \nfender. Ingenuous confession, and sincere penitence, \nshould in most cases arrest the process of judgement, \nand the child be made to punish himself by remorse. \nSatisfy not yourselves till you have produced repent- \nance, for till you have done this, scarcely any thing \nis done. Hatred of the sin on the part of the offender, \nis a much more effectual preservative from its repeti- \ntion, than fear of punishment. Do not keep instru- \nments of punishment, such as the rod or the cane, \nconstantly in sight, for this is to govern by fear, rather \nthan by love. Be very cautious not to threaten what \nyou either do not intend, or are not able to inflict ; \nyea, forbear threatening as much as possible. A pa- \nrent\'s denouncement should not be hastily uttered for \nchildren to laugh at. In the case of older children, \nthe greatest caution is necessary, in expressing a \nparent\'s displeasure : reasonable expostulation, mild \nrebuke, tender reproof, appeals to their understanding \nand feelings and conscience, are all that can be al- \nlowed in this instance. If beating ever do good, it is \nonly in infancy, before the understanding can be made \nsufficiently to argue upon the heinousness of the of- \nfence : afterwards it can only provoke and harden. \nThrough the whole course of discipline and govern- \nment, let parents ever remember, that their children \nare rational creatures, and are to be dealt with as \nsuch, by having the grounds of obligation kid open to \nthem, the criminality of disobedience explained, and \nthe evils of insubordination laid before them. To a \nparent storming or fretting over the inefficacy of \npunishment, I would say, "Have you treated that \nchild as a brute, or a rational creature ? Have you \ntaken pains with him from infancy, to make him un- \nderstand his obligations, and to comprehend the crimi- \nnality of disobedience ; or have you governed him by \n\n\n\n112 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nthreatening and beating ?" I again say, that where \nnecessary punishment is withheld, it is a hating of \nthe child ; but the great object should be to render \npunishment unnecessary. Put the reins of guidance \nupon the disposition while your children are infants, \nand acquire great skill in these : and if you manage \nthe reins well, you will have less need of the whip. \n\nIt is of vast consequence, that parents should be \nvery careful not to foster, by injudicious treatment, \nthose very propensities, which, when more fully de- \nveloped, they will find it necessary to repress by dis- \ncipline. Do not encourage lying and ill nature, by \nsmiling at a false or malignant expression, because it \nis cleverly said. Nor nourish pride by excessive flat- \ntery of commendation. Nor vanity, by loading them \nwith finery, and both admiring them, and teaching \nthem to admire themselves. Nor revenge, by direct- \ning them to vent their impotent anger upon the per- \nsons or things that have injured them. Nor cruelty, \nby permitting them to torture insects or animals. Nor \ninsolence and oppression, by allowing them to be \nrude to servants. Nor envy, by stimulating too pow- \nerfully the principle of emulation. Infinite mischief \nis done by thus thoughtlessly encouraging the growth \nof many of the germs of vice. \n\nDiscipline, to be effectual, should be steady and \nunvarying, not fitful and capricious: it must be a \nsystem which, like the atmosphere, shall press always \nand every where upon its subjects. Occasional fits \nof severity, however violent, but which are followed \nby long intermissions of relaxing indulgence, can do \nno good, and may do much harm. Each extreme is \nmischievous, and each prepares for the mischief of \nthe other. Both parents should join to support do- \nmestic authority ; for a more truly distressing and in- \njurious spectacle can scarcely be seen in the family \ncircle, than a fond and foolish mother, counteracting \nthe effects of paternal chastisement, by stealing to the \nlittle prisoner in his captivity, to comfort him in his \ndistress, to wipe away his tears, and to hush his sor- \nrows, by some gratification of his palate. In this way \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n113 \n\n\n\nchildren have been sometimes hardened in their \ncrimes, set against their father, and led to ultimate \nand irretrievable ruin. \n\nWonder not that I have placed discipline under the \nhead of religious education ; for, is it not the object of \ndomestic government to bend, as far as means can do \nit, the will of a child into submission to the authority \nof a wise and holy parent ? And what is sin against \nGod, but the resistance of a weaker will against that \nwhich is supreme and divine ? Now surely it may be \nconceived to be in the order of God\'s appointed means \nof bringing the child into subjection to himself, to \nbring him first into subjection to his parents. Can \nany one be in a state of mind more hardened against \nreligion, more opposed to all its just and salutary re- \nstraints, than he who rejects the mild yoke of parental \ngovernment, and sets at defiance the authority of a \nfather? Obedience to parents is one of the laws of \nheaven, and the first of all its laws, which the mind of \nan infant can be made to understand ; and if parents \nenforce it, as they should do, with a direct reference \nto the appointment of God, they are certainly taking \na preliminary step, so far as means can be employed, \nfor the formation of the religious character. \n\n4. Example is necessary to give power and influ- \nence to all other means. \n\nOne of the tritest of all proverbs, is the power of \nexample ; but its force is greatest upon the youthful \nmind : " during the minority of reason, imitation is the \nregent of the soul, and they who are least swayed by \nargument, are most governed by example." We all \nlearn of this preceptor, before we can reason, yea, be- \nfore we can speak. If then we would have our child- \nren live in the fear of God, we must ourselves be seen \nby them, steadily walking in the way of his command- \nments. In alluring them to religion, we must be \nenabled to say, " Follow me." Our religion should \nnot only be upon the whole sincere, but it should be \nvisible : our light should shine before our family, that \nthey, seeing our good works, might glorify God. But \nfor our religion to produce any effect, it must be emi- \n\n\n\n114 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nnent: there must be no doubt, no uncertainty about \nthe matter ; it must not be a thing of a questionable \nnature. It should be consistent. I remember once \nconversing with a man of great eminence for station, \ntalents, and piety, who said to me : " I owe every \nthing, under God, to the eminent and consistent piety \nof my father. When I was a young man, though I \nwas not vicious, I was worldly ; and in order the more \neffectually to get rid of all interference with my \npursuits, from religion, I wished to think it all mere \nprofession and hypocrisy. For this purpose, I most \nnarrowly watched the conduct of my father ; for such \nwas the height on which he stood as a professor of \nreligion, that I very naturally concluded, if I could \nconvict him of such inconsistency as amounted to a \nproof of hypocrisy, \xe2\x80\x94 and a little thing would at that \ntime have sufficed for such a purpose, \xe2\x80\x94 I should have \ngained my end, and have concluded that all piety was \nbut a name and a delusion. But so thoroughly con- \nsistent was he, that I could find nothing in the smallest \ndegree at variance with his character as a professor \nof religion. This kept its hold upon me. I said to \nmyself, there must be a reality here, and I must try to \nunderstand and feel it ; for I have seen such meekness \nin a temper naturally irritable, such comfort amidst \nthe greatest agonies, and all this supported by such \nuniform devotion, that I must try to catch his spirit." \nThis beautiful instance of the influence of parental \nexample, is, perhaps, not altogether unique, though in \nall its circumstances, perhaps rarely equalled. \n\nChildren have their eyes always upon their parents, \nand are quick to discern any violations of consistency. \nIf, notwithstanding our profession of religion, they see \nus as worldly minded, as grasping and anxious after \nriches, as solicitous to be surrounded by splendid fur- \nniture, luxurious gratifications, and fashionable habits, \nas the people of the world ; \xe2\x80\x94 if they see the righteous \nrarely at our table, except when they are great people, \nor popular characters, but observe there the gay, the \nfashionable, the ungodly ; \xe2\x80\x94 if they witness us artful, \nimplacable or malicious ; \xe2\x80\x94 if they know us to be cruel \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 115 \n\nor neglectful to our wives, unkind and oppressive to \nour servants, cold and tyrannical to them; \xe2\x80\x94 if they \nwitness us inconstant in our attendance upon private, \nfamily, or public worship \xe2\x80\x94 what can they conclude, \nbut that our religion is mere profession ? In such a \ncase, of how little service is our attempt to impress \nupon their minds those claims, which we ourselves \npractically deny ? It were far better for some parents \nto say nothing to their children about religion, for, till \nthey alter their own conduct, their admonitions can \nproduce no other effect, than to excite insufferable \ndisgust. It is enough to make every parent tremble, \nto think what a parent should be. \n\nAnd there should be consistency also, between our \nprofessions, and our conduct in reference to our fami- \nlies. We avow it to be our supreme and ultimate \ndesire, that they should be truly pious; and we tell \nthem so. Do we in all things act agreeably to this \nprinciple ? Do we select schools and situations ; \nbooks and companions ; pursuits and occupations, in \nreference to this desire ? Do we in our general con- \nversation with them, and before them, support this \ndeclaration ? Do not our children sometimes reason \nthus ? \xe2\x80\x94 " My parents tell me, that their chief anxiety \nis for my salvation, and the formation of my religious \ncharacter ; but how does this comport with their se- \nlecting for me a school where religion is the last thing \nattended to ? With their instructing me in some \nthings, which, as religious people, I hear them con- \ndemn ? How is it, that all the anxiety of their con- \nduct, whatever their words may say, appears to be, to \nmake me a fine lady, that can dance well, and exhibit \nan elegant form, and display polished manners ? I \nam told that religion is the first thing, but I am edu \ncated for the world." Ah, if we act thus, we are not \ntraining up our children in the way they should go. \nWithout example, every thing else that we do, is most \nlamentably deficient : as has been often said, it is only \npointing them the way to heaven, but leading them in \nthe way to hell. \n\n5. Diligent, constant, and careful inspection, \nis a most important parental duty. \n\n\n\n116 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nThere should be in every family, a system of do- \nmestic episcopacy. Parents should be watchful in all \nthings. This is the way to preserve the good seed of \ninstruction which is sown, and to prevent the enemy \nfrom sowing tares, which he is ever wakeful to do \nwhen the parent is asleep. This is a very difficult, \nbut a very necessary duty. We must never allow any \nengagements whatever, to take off, long together, our \neye from our children. As soon as their character \nbegins to unfold, we should most carefully watch its \ndevelopement, that we may know what regimen to \nplace it under. We should study their propensities, \ncapacities and tendencies. We should watch them in \nplay, in their intercourse with each other, with serv- \nants, with their companions, and when they are not \ndreaming that our attention is directed towards them : \nfor character is decided by incidents, which a superfi- \ncial mind would deem too minute to be noticed. We \nshould see how they behave after punishment and \nreward: in short, their whole character should be \nstudied and inspected by us with the most minute and \nanxious care ; just as the different plants in a nursery \nare investigated by a gardener, that he may know the \npeculiar nature which each possesses, and the appro- \npriate treatment which each requires. \n\nWe should also inspect our family, so as to know \nwhat good or evil is going on among them ; whether \nthe good seed is growing, and what tares are spring- \ning up. Like the farmer going out to inspect his \nfields, ,or the gardener his trees, to ascertain what \nprospect there is of a crop, and what weeds are to be \neradicated, what vermin to be destroyed, what gaps to \nbe stopped to keep out enemies, what excrescences \nto be removed, what assistance to be afforded ; so \nmust the parent be and act among his children. One \nis growing up with a propensity to pride, he must be \ntaught with great care, the beauty and excellence of \nhumility; a second is vain of personal decorations \nand acquirements, she must have such fully exposed, \nand be saved from its injurious influence upon her \ncharacter ; a third is artful, equivocating and deceit- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 117 \n\n\n\nful, he must have the enormity of lying unfolded to \nhim, and be encouraged to practice more frankness, \ningenuousness, and regard to truth ; one is remarka- \nbly curious, and needs to have this inquisitiveness \nchecked; another dull, and needs to have it stimu- \nlated ; one is skeptical, and is in danger of infidelity; \nanother credulous, and is in peril of imposition. Now \nthere must be a constant scrutiny carried on by the \nparent, to ascertain these peculiarities, and manage \nthem accordingly. \n\nInspection must extend to every thing. To the \nservants that are admitted into the house ; for how \nmuch injury might be done to the youthful mind, by \nan unprincipled and artful servant. The companions \nof our children should be most narrowly watched : one \nbad associate may ruin them for ever. The very first \nworkings of the social impulse, even in a boy or girl \nof five or six years of age, should be noticed; for \neven thus early may evil impressions be produced by \ncompanionship. At the risk of offending the nearest \nrelative, or most endeared friend he has upon earth, a \nchristian parent ought not to suffer his children to as- \nsociate with those, who are likely to do them harm. \nOn this account, domestic education is decidedly to \nbe preferred, where it can be obtained, to schools. A \nsystem of extensive and dreadful mutual corruption is \noftentimes going on among young people, before it is \nperceived. \n\nParents should most carefully inspect the reading \nof their children, and keep out of their way all corrupt- \ning books, and indecent pictures. And how deeply \nis it to be deplored, that our newspapers are often- \ntimes so polluted with filthy details of disgusting oc- \ncurrences and trials, as to be channels through which \nmoral contamination flows into many a family, other- \nwise well guarded. It becomes a serious question, \nwhether it is the duty of a christian, who has sons and \ndaughters growing up, to allow a newspaper to come \ninto his house. Newsrooms, on this account, are to \nbe decidedly preferred. \n\nThe recreations of children should be watched, and \n\n\n\n118 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nno games be allowed that are immodest, or likely to \nfoster a spirit of gambling. \n\nFor want of this diligent, careful, and universal in- \nspection, the best instructions, the most earnest warn- \nings, the most fervent prayer, and the most consistent \nexample, have been in some cases, unavailing; and \nthe children left to themselves, and to the corrupting \ninfluence of others, have grown up, their parents\' \nmisery, and their own disgrace. \n\n6. Prayer must crown all. \n\nThis duty commences with the birth of a child, nay, \nbefore that event ; for in the very prospect of its birth, \nthere should be earnest prayer offered to God by the \nparent, for divine grace to discharge all those obliga- \ntions, which the expected babe will bring upon the \nconscience of the father and mother. And from that \ntime forward till the death of either parent or child, \nearnest, secret, believing prayer, should never cease \nto be daily presented for our offspring. Our prayers \nshould principally respect the spiritual welfare of our \nchildren. Daily we should wrestle with God for their \neternal salvation. How little can ive do at most for \ntheir welfare, and how ineffectual without God\'s bles- \nsing, is all we do, or can do. That parent has neg- \nlected a very important branch of his duty, who has \nsuffered one single day to pass by, without bearing \nhis children upon his heart before God in private \nprayer. Who can subdue their tempers, or change \ntheir hearts, but God ? And though in a way of sove- \nreignty, he confers his grace upon some who neither \nseek it themselves, nor have it sought for them by \ntheir friends, yet we are not authorised to expect it \nwithout prayer. \n\nIt is necessary, also, not only to pray for our child- \nren, but with them. We should take them apart each \nby himself to commend them to God, and thus make \nthem the witnesses of our deep solicitude, and our in- \ntense agony for their eternal welfare. If they have \nbeen disobedient and wicked, it may be well, when \nthey are brought to a right mind, and when we our- \nselves have forgiven them, to conduct them to the \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n119 \n\n\n\nthrone of divine grace, to beg for them the divine \nforgiveness : but this must never be done as a punish- \nment, for this is the way to make them dread a pa- \nrent\'s prayers, as a visitation of his displeasure. \n\nBut besides this, there must be family prater. \n\nThe necessity and propriety of this, arise out of \nthe constitution of the family ; and were it not en- \njoined in the word of God, either by precept or ex- \nample, would still be binding upon the conscience of \nevery parent, by the relation in which he stands to his \nfamily, and the extent of their dependance upon God. \nDo we not want family mercies ; and who can give \nthem but God ? So obviously obligatory is this duty, \nand so naturally does its performance arise out of all \nour conjoint feelings as parents and as christians, that \nthose who neglect it, cannot even pretend to feel the \nright influence of godliness. \n\nNo duty, however, has been more abused than this. \nBy some it is only occasionally performed ; it is taken \nup perhaps in times of domestic distress or solicitude ; \nby others it is attended to on a sabbath evening ; and \nby many, very many others it is, though regularly \nobserved, nothing but a mere lifeless form, and thus \nfelt not only to be insipid but a mere burden. The \nfollowing directions may be of service to guide the \nheads of families in this most interesting branch of \ndomestic duty. \n\n1. It should be offered up morning and evening; \nthus beginning and closing every day. \n\n2. It should be observed with the greatest regu- \nlarity, and an uninterrupted constancy. What a dis- \ngrace to a parent is it, for a child or a servant to say, \n" are we to have prayer this evening ?" And yet, are \nthere not some families in which the practice is so \nirregular, as to leave the matter doubtful, till the bell \nrings ? \n\n3. All the members of the family should be present, \nexcept very young children, who cannot be made to \nsit still, and whose inquietude and restlessness are a \ndisturbance to all the rest, and utterly destroy the so- \nlemnity of the service. \n\n\n\n120 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\n4. It should be attended to so early in the morning\' \nas not to subject the service to the intrusion and in- \nterruption of visitors and secular business ; and so \nearly in the evening", as not to be rendered the mere \nform of a drowsy circle who ought at that time to be \nin bed. It is an offence to the Almighty, to conduct \na family into his awful presence, merely to sleep there. \n\n5. There should be a fixed hour, and the hour \nshould be most sacredly kept, and not be interfered \nwith, except at the dictate of necessity. In order to \nthis, the heads of families should not sup from home, \nnor yield to the modern practice of late visiting. The \nfashionable hours of ten or eleven o\'clock at night, are \ndriving out evening prayer, and the eagerness of com- \nmercial pursuits, putting a stop, in many families, to \nthe morning sacrifice. \n\n6. A portion of holy scripture should be read, from \nthe Old Testament, one part of the day, and from the \nNew Testament, the other. A book should be read \nthrough in regular course, and not a chapter picked \nout, or stumbled upon by accident. The scriptures \nshould be audibly read, and in a reverential manner, \nand with a devotional spirit, for very great evils result \nfrom reading the scriptures in a careless, slovenly, \nand irreverent manner. It would be well for the pa- \nrent to require the children and servants to bring \ntheir bibles with them, that the eye may help the ear, \nin fixing the attention of the mind. The domestic \nprophet should also accompany what he reads with \nshort explanatory and hortatory remarks of his own, \nor the expository comments of others. \n\n7. When there are persons in the family that can \nsing, family praise should ascend to heaven. The \nmorning or evening hymn of a pious family, is one of \nthe most touching sounds in our world. \n\n" Lord, how delightful \'tis to see, \nA pious household worship thee, \nAt once they sing, at once they pray, \nThey hear of heav\'n, and learn the way." \n\n8. Then follows the prayer, which should be not so \nlong as to weary, nor so short as to seem like a mere \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 121 \n\n\n\nform: it should be fervent, for a dull, cold, heartless \nrepetition of almost the same things in almost the \nsame words, is sure to destroy all the interest of this \ndelightful service, and to render it a mere form, which \nwearies and burdens, if it do not also disgust. How \ndifficult is it to keep up the life and vigor of this en- \ngagement! And why ? Because we do not keep up \nthe life and vigor of our own personal religion. It is \nworth while to remark, that the habit of reverential \nreading the scriptures tends to feed the flame of devo- \ntion, and to kindle the fire of the sacrifice of prayer. \nThe prayer of the head of a family, should be in a \nvery peculiar degree family prayer. It should respect \nthe children, the servants, the circumstances of the \nhousehold. All should feel that the service belongs \nto them, and not merely to the individual who prays, \nor to the church and the world. But fervor, and life, \nand earnestness, as opposed to what is dull and for- \nmal, is of immense consequence. A few petitions \nbreathed forth with a fervor that kindles the fire of \ndevotion in all around, are far better than half an \nhour\'s talking about religion to God. \n\nOh ! vith what dignity, and grace, and sanctity, and \nauthority, does a holy and fervent father rise from his \nknees, and take his seat in the midst of his family, \nwhile yet the rays of divine glory play upon his coun- \ntenance. " Children," says Dr. Dwight, " naturally \nregard a parent with reverence ; but they cannot fail \nto reverence him more or less, on account of his per- \nsonal character. Wherever they have been accus- \ntomed to behold their parent daily sustaining the office \nof minister or servant of God, they necessarily associ- \nate with every idea they form of his person and charac- \nter, this solemn and important apprehension. Every \nimage of this venerable relation presented to their \nminds, will include in it, thattof a divinely appointed \nguardian of their spiritual concerns ; a guide to their \nduty, given them from above ; a venerated and belov- \ned intercessor for their salvation." And the same \nwriter, in speaking of family worship, says, " In the \ndevotion \xc2\xabof this little assembly, parents pray for their \n\n\n\n122 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nchildren, and children for their parents ; the husband \nfor the wife, and the wife for the husband ; while broth- \ners and sisters send up their requests to the throne of \nInfinite Mercy, to call down blessings on each other. \nWho that wears the name of a man can be indifferent \nhere ? Must not the venerable character of the pa- \nrent, the peculiar tenderness of the conjugal union, the \naffectionate intimacy of the filial and fraternal rela- \ntions ; must not the nearness of relations long existing, \nthe interchange of kindness long continued, and the \noneness of interests long cemented, \xe2\x80\x94 all warm the \nheart, heighten the importance of every petition, and \nincrease the fervor of every devotional BfTort." \n\nIt may now be proper to inquire, how it comes to \npass that such a system as this is so often unsuccess- \nful ? For it may, with very great propriety, because \nwith truth, be affirmed, that the families of professors,, \nare not always, as might be expected, the nurseries of \nthe church. It is not enough to resolve the matter \ninto the sovereignty of divine grace, till we have in- \nquired, whether any thing can be found in the conduct \nof parents, which can be said with truth, to account \nfor the painful fact of irreligious children, being found \nin religious families. \n\nHave parents really adopted and pursued a judicious \nsystem of religious education ? Can it be said, that \nmeans, such as I have directed, or any thing at all like \nthem, have been regularly pursued ? Has there been \na deep, a constant solicitude for the eternal welfare \nof their children ? \n\nIn the introduction of my volume, entitled, " The \nChristian Father\'s Present to his Children," I have \nstated the obstacles which often prevent the success \nof a religious education, and have enumerated the \nfollowing : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n1. Religious education is oftentimes very ignorant- \nly, negligently, and capriciously maintained ; where \nit is not altogether omitted. It is not a first object, it \nis attended to with no earnestness, no anxiety, no \nsystem, no regularity. It does not run through every \nthing, and is opposed by many things at variance with \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n123 \n\n\n\nit. The parents\' eye and heart are more intently fixed \nupon the worldly prosperity and respectability of the \nchildren, than on their religious character. \n\n2. The relaxation of domestic discipline is a powerful \nimpediment in the way of success. There is, in some \nhouseholds, no family government, no order, no sub- \nordination. The children are kept under no restraint, \nbut are allowed to do what they like ; their faults are \nunnoticed and unpunished, and their tempers allowed \nto grow wild and headstrong, till in fact, the whole \nfamily become utterly lawless, rebellious against pa- \nrental authority, and unamiable to all around them. \nHow many have had to curse the over indulgence of \nfond and foolish parents. How many, as they have \nruminated amidst the desolations of poverty, or the \nwalls of a prison, have exclaimed, " O, my cruelly fond \nparents, had you exercised that authority with which \nGod entrusted you, over your children, and had you \nchecked my childish corruptions, and punished my \nboyish disobedience ; had you subjected me to the \nsalutary restraint of wholesome laws, I had not brought \nyou with a broken heart to your grave, nor myself with \na ruined- character to a jail." \n\nOver indulgence is awfully common, and continu- \nally making shocking ravages in human character. It \nis a system of great cruelty to the children, to the pa- \nrents themselves, and to society. This practice pro- \nceeds from various causes ; in some instances, from a \nperverted and systematic sentimentalism ; in others, \nfrom absolute indolence, and a regard to present ease, \nwhich leads the silly mother to adopt any means of \ncoaxing, and yielding, and bribing, to keep the young \nrebels quiet for the time ; in others, from a mistake as \nto the time when restraint should begin, or a spirit of \nprocrastination, which leads parents to say, " I shall \ntake them in hand by and by : there is no time lost ; \nwhen their reason is a little more matured, I shall lay \nupon them more restraint and in some it is " mere \nanimal affection," without the guidance of a particle \nof judgement, a mere instinct, like that which in the \nirrational tribes, leads to a blind and busy affection. \n\n\n\n124 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nIt is not uncommon for parents to treat the first acts \nof puerile rebellion, rather as freaks to be smiled at, \nthan as faults to be reformed. " O," says the mother, \n" it is only play, he will know better soon. He does \nnot mean any harm. I cannot chide him." No ; and \nif the father, wiser than herself, does, she cries, and \nperhaps, in the hearing of the child, reproves her hus- \nband for cruelty. From whatever cause it proceeds, \nit is in the highest degree injurious to the character \nof the children ; let those who are guilty of it read \nthe fearful comment on this sin, which is furnished \nfor their warning, in the history of Eli and his family. \n\n3. Undue severity, is perhaps, more injurious than \nover indulgence ; and it is, perhaps, a conviction of \nthis, and an observation of the mischievous conse- \nquences of extreme rigor, that has driven many into \nthe opposite extreme. I have seen the dreadful ef- \nfects of parental tyranny, and the reign of household \nterror, in the broken spirits, the reckless desperation, \nthe hardened contumacy, or the deep and sullen me- \nlancholy of those who have been the subjects of these \nhard measures. It is a truly revolting sight to see a \nfather employing the iron rod of the oppressor to beat, \nand bruise, and crush the minds of his own offspring \ninto the most abject submission. He may succeed, \nbut let him not wonder, if at the same time that he \nhas suppressed rebellion, he has extinguished affec- \ntion. I have known parents, who, too late have seen \ntheir error, and who would give the world, did they \npossess it, if it were possible to do away the ill effects \nwhich their severity had produced in the character of \ntheir children : but the mischief was irreparable. No \nsubsequent kindness could expand the heart, which \nthey had closed for ever against them, or win that \nconfidence which they had repulsed from them. A \nclose, sullen, melancholy disposition had been nurtur- \ned: a susceptibility to the emotions of wretchedness \nhad been planted in the bosom, which no future ten- \nderness on the part of the parent could remove. He \nsaw it, and repented it, but could not alter it. " Ye \nfathers, provoke not then, your children, to anger, lest \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 125 \n\n\n\nthey should be discouraged" This language is really \nvery striking, and well deserves the serious attention \nof every parent. \n\n4. The inconsistent conduct of parents who are pro- \nfessors of religion, is a great hindrance to the success \nof religious instruction. Many persons have no need to \nwonder that their children are not pious ; it would have \nbeen a wonder with every body else if they were, for \nthey have seen nothing at home, but what was calcu- \nlated to disgust them with religion. They would have \nbeen far more likely to have thought well of the ways of \ngodliness, if their parents had said nothing about them. \n\n5. The bad conduct of an elder branch of a family, \noften counteracts all the efforts made for the benefit \nof the rest. Let parents see the importance of begin- \nning upon a good system. Children are creatures of \nimitation, and the models they copy after, are their \nelder brother or sister. A mother should educate the \ncharacter of her first child, with the recollection, that \nhe will be a pattern which the rest will, in all proba- \nbility, more or less conform to. I do not think this \nhas been sufficiently considered. \n\n6. Partiality has a very corrupting and fatal influ- \nence. The history of the patriarch Jacob, first the vic- \ntim, and afterwards the subject of this sin, will remain \nfor ever, a warning to all parents, against the dangers \nof domestic favoritism. The balances of government \nmust be held in every family, by even handed justice, \nor misery is sure to ensue. Envy and jealousy are \nthe natural consequences of partiality. Father and \nmother are sometimes embroiled, the children are set \nagainst each other, and all conspire against the favorite. \n\nBehold these obstacles, and avoid them. \n\nAnd now, can motives be necessary to admonish \nchristian parents to the diligent performance of their \nduty ? If so, take the following : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n1. Are you zealous for the cause of religion in the \nworld, for the prosperity of Zion, for the interest of \nthe Redeemer, for the glory of God ? Be diligent and \nanxious to train up your children in the nurture and \nadmonition of the Lord. Would you have them the \n11* \n\n\n\n126 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nenemies, or the friends of God and his cause ? Dare \nyou pretend to be the disciples of Christ, if this is a \nmatter of indifference to you ? If you are neglectful \nin this matter, you may expect to see your offspring \nunited with the children of this world, if not with infi- \ndels, scoffers or the profane. But if you are anxious \nand conscientious to train them up for God, that \ndaughter over whom you watch with such parental \ncare and tenderness, may be joined with the female \nworthies, who by their chaste conversation, and the \nornament of a meek and quiet spirit, and their zeal for \nthe cause of Christ, have done so much to diffuse re- \nligion in the world. That son whom you now train \nwith such holy solicitude, for future usefulness, as a \ndisciple of the Saviour, may become eminent in the \nchurch, as a consistent and intelligent member, or an \nable and faithful minister. " Many a congregation," \nsays Baxter, "that is happily fed with the bread of \nlife, may thank God for the endeavors of some poor \nman or woman, that trained up a child in the ways of \nGod, to become their holy and faithful teacher." The \nchurch of God looks to the families of the righteous, \nand expects and asks from thence, those supplies \nwhich are to recruit its members, and to repair the \nravages of death. \n\n2. I urge this duty by a due regard to the temporal \nand eternal welfare of your children. You love your \nchildren, and would deem it a most cruel and insult- \ning insinuation to have your affection for a moment \nquestioned. But do what you will for them ; devote \nas you may the energies of body and mind ; the sleep \nof your nights and the activities of your days to your \nchildren\'s comfort : wear out your strength in ceaseless \nlabor and solicitude, and yet at the same time neglect \nthe religious education of your children, you are guilty \nof a species of most horrid cruelty towards them, the \nbitter consequences of which may begin in this world \nin profligacy and vice, and extend to the other in all \nthe bitter pains of eternal death. Unrestrained by \nsentiments of piety, uncontrolled by a conscience, \nwhich has never been enlightened, what is to prevent \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 127 \n\nthem from being plunged into infamy by their un- \nbridled passions ? Have not many young men at the \nhulks, in the land of exile, or at the gallows; and \nmany unhappy females when closing in misery, a \ncourse of infamy, cursed their parents for not giving \nthem a religious education? But even though they \nlive and die in worldly honor and respectability, what \nwill this do for them amidst the sorrows of life, the \nagonies of death, the solemnities of judgement, and \nthe torments of perdition. Hear them as they stand \nshuddering and affrighted on the brink of that gulf \ninto which they are about to plunge. " Of what avail \nare the riches and honors and pleasures of the world, \nwhich my parents were so anxious to obtain for me ? \nWhy did they not tell me that the salvation of my \nsoul was of more importance to me as an immortal \ncreature, than the possession of the universe ? Cruel, \ncruel parents ! Fool that I was to be blinded and \nrendered careless by you: but my self-reproaches are \nnow unavailing ; I deservedly perish, but my blood be \nupon the head of those that neglected me." Ah cruel \nparents indeed, who neglect the religious education \nof their children : more cruel in some respects than \nHerod; he slew the bodies of children, these murder \nsouls ; he murdered the children of others, these mur- \nder their own ; he employed the agency of his serv- \nants, these do the work of slaughter themselves. \n\n3. Do you regard your own comfort ? Do you love \nyourselves ? Are you anxious to avoid painful and \nincessant solicitude, bitter reflection, domestic dis- \nquietude, dreadful forboding ? Then bring up your \nchildren with the most unvarying regard to their reli- \ngious character. Should God crown your efforts with \nsuccess what a harvest of joys will you reap even in \nthis world. When you see your children enter the \npaths of wisdom, " Thank God," you exclaim, " my \nhighest ambition has at length reached its object. My \nchildren are decided christians. I am now no longer \ndistressingly anxious for their future prospects in this \nlife. In one way or other, God will provide for them. \nAnd as to eternity they are safe." Who can describe \n\n\n\n128 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nthe pure, elevated felicity with which such parents \nmark the course of their children, in going from \nstrength to strength in their progress to Zion. What \na season of delight is that, when they publicly as- \nsume the profession of a christian, and connect them- \nselves with the church ! What joy is felt in beholding \nthem at their side at the table of the Lord, and holding \ncommunion with them in the joys of faith and the an- \nticipations of eternity. And what satisfaction is ex- \nperienced in seeing them enrolling their names as the \nfriends of God and man, and giving their support to \nthose institutions which are formed to promote the \nhighest interests of the human race. As they grow \nin experience, in usefulness, in respectability in the \nchurch, the parents\' joy and gratitude are continually \nincreasing, and they feel the honor of having sent \nsuch members into the fellowship of the faithful. \nShould God in the mysteries of his providence re- \nmove them by an early death, you will be cheered \namidst the agonies of separation, by their dying con- \nsolation ; their piety will wipe away your tears, and be \na balm to the wounds of your mind ; and when they \nhave departed, you will solace yourselves with the \nhealing thought, that they are gone to that world of \nglory in which you will soon be reunited with them. \nOr should the order of nature be observed, and you \nprecede them to the tomb, will not their presence and \nattentions in your dying chamber, be more soothing \nby the consideration, that they are so many saints, as \nwell as children, ministering to your comfort ? Will \nnot their piety give a sanctity and a sweetness to all \nthe offices of their affection ? "I die," will be your \nexpression, as like departing Jacob, you address your- \nselves to them, " but God will be with you, and we \nshall meet again where there will be no more death." \n\nBut should you unhappily neglect their religious \neducation, and they, through your neglect, should \ngrow up without any due sense of the claims of God, \nis there not a danger of their becoming immoral, as \nwell as irreligious ? And how could you bear to wit- \nness, or to hear of their profligacy and vice, if at the \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 129 \n\nsame time, you were conscious that it was in a meas- \nure through your neglect? Perhaps they may be \nunkind and disobedient to you; for God may justly \nrender that child a scourge to his parent, whose pa- \nrent did not train him up in the ways of religion. O \nwhat scenes of domestic misery, what heart-rending \nspectacles of confusion and wretchedness, have prof- \nligate children occasioned in the families to which \nthey belong ! How many have thus had their hearts \nsuddenly broken, or their grey hairs brought down by \nthe slow process of withering sorrow, to the grave : \nand the sting of all this, in some cases, has been the \nconsciousness of parental neglect. No sin more \nheavily punishes itself, than this, nor mingles for its \nsubject a more bitter cup. But then, the eternal con- \nsequences, oh the eternal consequences of this neg- \nlect. See the heart-stricken parent, wringing his \nhands over the dying youth, who is departing without \nrepentance. No, not a syllable escapes his lips that \nsounds like penitence : the father weeps, and prays, \nand entreats, but the son hearkens not, and dies, and \nmakes no sign. Now in what a burst of agony does \nhe give vent to his feelings over the corpse, from \nwhich the spirit has departed, but departed not to the \nmansions of the blest. " Oh, my son Absalom, my \nson, my son Absalom, would God I had died for thee, \nO Absalom, my son, my son." \n\nOr, in the event of your own death, what thorns \nwill it plant in your pillow, with what deeper shades \nwill it invest the descent to that dark valley, to reflect \nthat you had neglected the religious character of your \nchildren, and the eternal salvation of their immortal \nsouls. Then, amidst these fearful scenes, to awake \nto a sense of your duty, when it is too late, except by \none parting admonition to perform it. Then to see \nthose around your bed, with whom you had been en- \ntrusted, but whom you had neglected. \n\nBut there are other scenes more dreadful still. The \nfaithless parent must meet his neglected children at \nthe day of judgement, before the bar of God. Fearful \nwill be the interview ; and to us, now, utterly incon- \n\n\n\n130 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nceivable. No imagination can portray the scene, and \nI attempt it not. And then, eternity, oh ! eternity ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nwho shall bring out from the secrets of that impene- \ntrable state, the condition of children, lost in some \nmeasure, through the neglect of their parents ; and \nthe condition of parents, hearing through everlasting \nages, the imprecation and reproaches of their own \noffspring, and all these imprecations and reproaches \nechoed back from their own conscience. But the \npicture is too appalling \xe2\x80\x94 and if the mere anticipation \nchills with horror, what must be its reality. \n\nLook for a few moments at a brighter scene, and an- \nticipate the meeting at the judgement day, of pious \nparents and children reclaimed, converted, saved, by \nthe blessing of God upon their affectionate solicitude, \nand judicious and persevering efforts for their eternal \nwelfare : but this is as much too bright for the ima- \ngination, as the other is too terrific. It is glory, honor, \nand felicity too great to be imagined. And beyond \nall this, everlasting ages remain, for the child to be \nblessed with salvation, and the parent to be blessed \nwith the consciousness of having been the happy in- \nstrument of eternal blessedness to his own offspring. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. \n\nTHE DUTIES OF CHILDREN TO THEIR PARENTS. \n\n" Children, obey your parents in the Lord ; for this is right. Honor \nthy father and mother ; which is the first commandment with pro- \nmise ; that it may be well with thee, and that thou mayest live long \non the earth." \' Ephes. vi. 1, 2, 3. \n\n" My son, keep thy father\'s commandment, and forsake not the \nlaw of thy mother ; bind them continually upon thine heart, and tie \nthem about thy neck. When thou goest it shall lead thee ; when thou \nsleepest it shall keep thee ; and when thou awakest it shall talk with \nthee." Proverbs vi. 20 \xe2\x80\x94 22. \n\n" The father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice ; and he that \nbegetteth a wise child shall have joy of him. Thy father and thy \nmother shall be glad, and she that bare thee shall rejoice." \n\nProverbs xxiii. 24, 25. \n\nPerhaps there is no duty, the obligations of which \nare more generally acknowledged, than filial piety; \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 131 \n\n\n\nnone which in the performance yields greater pleas- \nure, or which, if neglected, brings a more severe or \nrighteous retribution. All nations, however sunk in \nbarbarism or elevated by science, have admitted the \nstrength and justice of parental claims, and the un^ \nhappy youth who resists them, stands convicted, con- \ndemned, and reprobated before the tribunal of the \nworld. On the other hand, an eminently dutiful child \nis an object of delight, admiration, and esteem to all \nwho have an opportunity of witnessing his conduct ; \nhe goes through society surrounded by a glory purer \nthan that of fame, and far more conducive to his own \ncomfort: he is a blessing to^is parents, and is blessed \nhimself. Children, may all of you be such : and for \nthat purpose, I ask your most fixed attention to the \nstatement of your duties, as set before you in this \nchapter. The obligations of social life are reciprocal. \nIf your parents owe to you all that I have enjoined \nupon them, how much do you owe to your parents ? I \nhave been your advocate with them, I now become \ntheirs with you. \n\nConsider well the relation you sustain to your pa- \nrents. There is a natural connexion between you, \ninasmuch as they are the instruments of your very \nexistence ; a circumstance which of itself seems to \ninvest them, as I have already said, with an almost \nabsolute authority over you. The commonness, the \nuniversality of the tie, takes off the mind from con- \ntemplating its closeness, its tenderness, its sanctity. \nYou are literally parts of themselves, and cannot dwell \nfor a moment upon your descent, without being struck, \none should think, with the amazing and solemn weight \nof obligation that rests upon you towards a father and \na mother. But consider, there is not only a natural, \nbut in reference to duty, an instituted connexion be- \ntween you: Jehovah himself has interposed, and unit- \ning the language of revelation with the dictates of \nreason, the force of authority, to the impulse of nature, \nhas called you to filial piety, not only as a matter of \nfeeling, but of principle. Study then the relationship, \nlook narrowly and seriously at the connexion subsist- \n\n\n\n132 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR t OR \n\n\n\ning between you. Weigh well the import of the word \nparent : think how much is implied in it towards its \nappropriate object, how many offices it contains in \nitself, \xe2\x80\x94 guardian, ruler, teacher, guide, benefactor, \nprovider ; what then must be the obligations of \n\nA CHILD ? \n\nThe following is a brief summary of filial duties : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n1. You ought to love your parents. \n\nLove is the only state of mind from which all the \nother duties that you owe them can arise. By love, \nwe mean complacency : and surely this is due to a \nfather and mother. The very relation in which you \nstand to them demands this. If you are destitute of \nthis, if you are without any propensity of heart towards \nthem, you are in a strange and guilty state of mind. \nTill you are married, they ought, in most cases, to be \nthe supreme objects of your earthly affections. It is \nnot enough for you to be respectful and obedient, and \neven kind; but, where there exists no reasons for \nalienating your heart, you should be fond of them. It \nis of infinite importance that you should watch over \nthe internal state of your mind, and not surfer dislike, \nalienation, or indifference, to extinguish your regards. \nDo not take up a prejudice against them, nor allow an \nunfavorable impression to be made upon your mind. \nRespect and obedience, if they do not spring from \nlove, are valueless in their nature, and very precarious \nin their existence. \n\nIf you love them, you will delight to be in their com- \npany, and take pleasure in being at home with them. \nIt is painfii-, tc them to see that you are happier any \nwhere than at home, and fonder of any other society \nthan theirs. No companion should be so valued by \nyou as a kind father or mother. \n\nIf you love them, you will strive in all things to \nplease them. We are always anxious to please those \nwhom we regard, and to avoid whatever would give \nthem pain. If we are careless whether we please or \ndisplease any one, it is obviously impossible that we \ncan have any affection for them. The essence of \npiety towards God is a deep solicitude to please him ; \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n133 \n\n\n\nand the essence of filial piety, is a solicitude to please \nyour parents. Young people, dwell upon this single \nsimple thought, a child\'s pleasure should be to \nplease his parents. This is the essence of love, and \nthe sum of all your duty. If you would adopt this rule, \nif you would write this upon your heart, if you would \nmake this the standard of your conduct, I might lay \ndown my pen, for it includes every thing in itself. O \nthat you could be brought to reason and to resolve \nthus : \xe2\x80\x94 " I am bound by every tie of God and man, of \nreason and revelation, of honor and gratitude, to do all \nI can to make my parents happy, by doing whatever \nwill give them pleasure, and by avoiding whatever \nwill give them pain. By God\'s help, I will from this \nhour study and do whatever will promote their com- \nfort. I will make my will to consist in doing theirs, \nand my earthly happiness to arise from making them \nhappy. I will sacrifice my own predilections, and be \nsatisfied with their choice." Noble resolution, and \njust, and proper! Adopt it, act upon it, and you will \nnever repent of it. Do not have any earthly happi- \nness, that is indulged at the expense of theirs. \n\nIf you love them, you ivill desire their good opinion. \nWe naturally value the esteem of those to whom we \nare attached: we wish to be thought highly of by \nthem ; and if we are quite careless about their respect \nfor us, it is a sure sign we have no regard for them. \nChildren should be desirous, and even anxious to stand \nhigh in the opinion of their parents, and nothing can \nbe a more decisive proof of a bad disposition in a son \nor a daughter, than their being quite indifferent what \ntheir parents think of them. All love must be gone \nin such a case as this, and the youth is in the road to \nrebellion and destruction : commendation has lost its \nvalue, censure its efficacy, and punishment its power. \n\n2. Reverence is the next duty. \n\n" Honor" saith the commandment, " thy father and \nmother." This reverence has respect to your feel- \nings, your words, and your actions. It consists in \npart, of an inward consciousness of their superiority, \nand an endeavor to cherish a reverential frame of \n12 \n\n\n\n134 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nmind towards them, as placed by God over you. \nThere must be high thoughts of their superiority, \nboth natural and instituted, and a submission of the \nheart to their authority, in a way of sincere and pro- \nfound respect. Even your love must be that which \nis exercised and expressed towards a superior. If \nthere be no reverence of the heart, it cannot be ex- \npected in the conduct. In all virtue, whether it be \nthat higher kind which has respect to God, or that \nsecondary kind, which relates to our fellow creatures, \nwe must have a right state of heart ; for without this, \nvirtue does not exist. \n\nYour words should correspond with the reverential \nfeelings of the heart. When speaking to them, your \naddress, both in language and in tones, should be \nmodest, submissive, and respectful : not loud, boiste- \nrous, impertinent, or even familiar : for they are not \nyour equals, but your superiors. If at any time you \ndiffer from them in opinion, your views should be ex- \npressed, not with the flippancy and pertinaciousness \nof disputants, but with the meek inquisitiveness of \npupils. Should they reprove, and even more sharply \nthan you think is due, you must lay your hand upon \nyour mouth, and neither answer them again, nor show \nresentment. Your reverence for them should be so \ngreat, as to impose a considerable restraint upon your \nspeech in their company ; for much is due to the pre- \nsence of a parent. It is exceedingly offensive to hear \na pert, clamorous, talkative young person, unchecked \nby the countenance of a father or mother, and engag- \ning much of the conversation of a party to himself. \nYoung persons should always be modest and retiring \nin company, but more especially when their parents \nare there. You should also be careful about the man- \nner of speaking of them to others. You should never \ntalk of their faults, for this is like Ham, uncovering \nthe nakedness of his father. You must not speak of \nthem in a jocose or familiar manner, nor say any thing \nthat would lead others to think lightly, or to suppose \nthat you thought lightly of them. If they are. attack- \ned in their reputation, you are with promptitude and \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 135 \n\nfirmness, though with meekness, to defend them, so \nfar as truth will allow, and even if the charge be true, \nto make all the excuses that veracity will permit, and \nto protest against the cruelty of degrading your pa- \nrents in your presence. \n\nReverence should extend to all your behavior to- \nwards your parents. In all your conduct towards \nthem, give them the greatest honor, let it be observed \nby others that you pay them all possible respect, and \nlet it also be seen by themselves, when there is no \nspectator near. Your conduct should always be un- \nder restraint, when they are within sight ; not the re- \nstraint of dread, but of esteem. How would you act \nif the king were in the room ? Would you be as free, \nas familiar, as noisy, as when he had retired, or be- \nfore he had entered? I am of opinion, that parents \nlet down their dignity, and undermine their authority, \nby allowing the same rude and boisterous behavior \nin their presence, as in their absence. This should \nnot be. When reason is expanding in children, they \nshould be made to understand and feel the truth of \nwhat I have already affirmed, that there is-an outward \nrespect due to the very presence of a parent. All \nrude and noisy rushing in and out of a father or moth- \ner\'s company is unmeet. It is the etiquette of our \ncourt, that no one shall enter the royal presence, when \nthe king is upon his throne, without obeisance ; nor in \nretiring, turn his back upon the throne. I do not ask \nfor the same obsequiousness in families, but I ask for \nthe principle from which it arises, a respectful defe- \nrence for authority. \n\n3. The next duty is obedience. \n\n" Children, obey your parents," says the apostle in \nhis epistle to the Colossians. This is one of the most \nobvious dictates of nature ; even the irrational crea- \ntures are obedient by instinct, and follow the signs of \nthe parent beast, or bird, or reptile. Perhaps there is \nno duty more generally acknowledged than this. Your \nobedience should begin early ; the younger you are, \nthe more you need a guide and a ruler. It should be \nuniversal : " Children, obey your parents," said the \n\n\n\n136 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\napostle, " in all things." The only exception to this, \nis when their commands are, in the letter or spirit of \nthem, opposed to the commands of God. In this case, \nas well as in every other, we must obey God, rather \nthan man. But even here your refusal to comply with \nthe sinful injunction of a parent, must be uttered in a \nmeek and respectful manner, so that it shall be mani- \nfest you are actuated by pure, conscientious motives, \nand not by a mere rebellious resistance of parental \nauthority. Your obedience should have no other ex- \nception than that which is made by conscience : in \nyour situation, inclination and taste are out of the \nquestion ; both must be crossed, opposed, and set aside \nwhen opposed to parental authority. It should be \nprompt As soon as the command is uttered, it should \nbe complied with. It is a disgrace to any child that \nit should be necessary for a father or a mother to \nrepeat a command. You should even anticipate, if \npossible, their injunctions, and not wait till their will \nis announced in words. A tardy obedience loses all \nits glory. It should be cheerful. A reluctant virtue \nis no virtue at all. Constrained and unwilling obedi- \nence, is rebellion in principle ; it is vice clothed in \nthe garment of holiness. God loveth a cheerful giver, \nand so does man. A child retiring from a parent\'s \npresence, muttering, sullen and murmuring, is one of \nthe ugliest spectacles in creation: of what value is \nany thing he does in such a temper as this ? It should \nbe self-denying. You must give up your own wills, \nand sacrifice your own predilections, and perform the \nthings that are difficult, as well as those that are easy. \nWhen a soldier receives a command, although he may \nbe at home in comfort, and he is required to go at \nonce into the field of danger, he hesitates not, he con- \nsiders he has no option. A child has no more room \nfor the gratification of self will than the soldier has ; \nhe must obey. It should be uniform. Filial obedi- \nence is generally rendered without much difficulty \nwhen the parents are present, but not always with the \nsame unreserve dness, when they are absent. Young \npeople, you should despise the meanness, and abhor \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n137 \n\n\n\nthe wickedness of consulting the wishes, and obeying* \nthe injunctions of your parents, only when they are to \nwitness your conduct. Such hypocrisy is detestable. \nAct upon nobler principles. Let it be enough for you \nto know what is the will of a parent, to ensure obedi- \nence, even though continents laid, and oceans rolled \nbetween you and your father. Carry his injunction \nwith you every where ; let the voice of conscience be \nto you, instead of his voice, and the consciousness that \nGod sees you, be enough to insure your immediate \ncompliance. How sublimely simple and striking was \nthe reply of the child, who, upon being pressed in \ncompany to take something which his absent parents \nhad forbidden him to touch, and who, upon being \nreminded that they were not there to witness him, \nreplied, " very true, but God and my conscience are \nhere." Be it your determination, to imitate this beau- \ntiful example of filial piety, and obey in all things even \nyour absent parents. \n\n4. Submission to the family discipline and \nrule is no less your duty than obedience to com- \nmands. \n\nIn every well ordered family, there is a rule of gov- \nernment; there is subordination, system, discipline, \nreward and punishment ; and to these, all the children \nmust be in subjection. Submission requires, that if at \nany time you have behaved so as to render parental \nchastisement necessary, you should take it patiently, \nand not be infuriated by passion, or excited to resist- \nance. Remember that your parents are commanded \nby God to correct your faults, that they are actuated by \nlove in performing this self-denying duty, and that it \ncosts them more pain to inflict it, than it does you to \nendure it. Ingenuously confess your faults, and sub- \nmit to whatever punishment their authority and wisdom \nmight appoint. One of the loveliest sights in the do- \nmestic economy, next to that of a uniformly obedient \nchild, is a disobedient one brought to a right sense \nof his misconduct, and quietly submitting to the pen- \nalty he has incurred. It is a proof both of strength \nof mind and of good disposition of heart, to say, " I \n\n\n\n138 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nhave done wrong, and it is meet I should bear chas- \ntisement." \n\nIn the case of elder children, such, for instance as \nare fourteen and upwards, all other correction than \nthat of rebuke, and the expression by language of pa- \nrental displeasure, is of course out of the question ; \nbut where this is necessary, such young persons as \nhave merited it, should exercise profound submission. \nIt is exceedingly painful when a parent, in addition to \nthe extreme pain which it costs him to administer re- \nproof to such children, has to endure the anguish pro- \nduced by their utter indifference, smiling contempt, \nsullen murmuring, or insolent replies. This conduct \nis the more guilty, because the authors of it are arriv- \ned at an age when they may be supposed to have ad- \nvanced so far in the growth of their understanding, as \nto perceive how deeply laid are the foundations of the \nparental authority in nature, reason and revelation, and \nhow necessary it is that the reins of parental discipline \nshould not be relaxed. If then, you have committed \none error in deserving reproof, do not commit another \nin resenting it. Keep all still within ; let not your \npassions rebel against your judgement, but suppress \nin a moment the rising tumult of the soul. The con- \nduct of some children after reproof, is a deeper wound \non the heart of a parent, than that which preceded \nand deserved reproof. On the other hand, I know \nnot a greater mark of nobleness of mind, nor any thing \nwhich tends to raise a young person higher in the \nesteem of a parent, or to endear him more to a father\'s \nheart, than a humble submission to reproof; and an \ningenuous confession of his fault. A friend of mine \nhad a son, long since gone to join the immortals, who, \nhaving one day displeased his father before his young- \ner brothers and sisters, not only meekly submitted to \npaternal rebuke, but when the family were assembled \nat the dinner table, rose before- them all, and after \nhaving confessed his fault and craved his father\'s \nforgiveness, admonished the junior branches of the \nfamily, to take warning by his example, and be cau- \ntious never to distress their parents, whom they were \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 139 \n\nunder such obligations to love and respect. Nothing \ncould be more lovely or more impressive, than this \nnoble act. He rose, by his apology, to a higher place \nin the regard and esteem of his parents and the family, \nthan he occupied even before his fault. Sullenness, \nimpertinence, and obstinate resistance are meanness, \ncowardice, littleness, compared with such an action as \nthis, which combines an heroic magnanimity with the \nprofoundest humility. \n\nSubjection requires also, a due observance of the \nrules laid down for the maintenance of family order. \nIn every well ordered family, things are not left to \nchance, but regulated by fixed laws ; there is a time \nfor every thing and every thing in its time ; a place \nfor every thing and every thing in its place. Meals, \nprayer, going to bed, and rising in the morning, are \nall in their appointed season. To these rules it is the \nobvious duty of every branch of the family to submit. \nThe sons and daughters may be growing up or arrived \nat full age ; this matters not, they must submit to the \nlaw of the house, and their age is an additional reason \nfor their submission, as it supposes a maturity of \njudgement, which enables them to perceive more \nclearly the grounds of all moral obligation. They \nmay think the rules too strict ; but if the parent has \nenacted them, they should be in subjection, and that, \nas long as they continue members of the little com- \n, munity, though it be almost to old age. It is for the \nparents to decide also, what visitors shall be brought \nto the house ; and it is in the highest degree unbe- \ncoming for a child to introduce, or even wish or at- \ntempt to introduce, any companion contrary to the \nknown will of a parent. The same remark will apply \nto recreations ; parents must determine this point ; and \nno child that has the proper feelings of a child, would \ndesire to set up any amusements that the taste, and \nespecially that the conscience of a father or mother \nforbids. Instances have occurred of young people \ninviting such friends, and joining with them in such \ndiversions, in the absence of their parents, as they \nknow to be decidedly contrary to the law of the house. \n\n\n\n140 THE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nThis is such an act of base and wicked rebellion \nagainst parental authority, and such an unprincipled \ndisregard to parental comfort, as language is too \nweak to characterise. Even the books which are \nbrought into the house must be in accordance with \nthe domestic rule. If the parent forbid the introduc- \ntion of novels, romances, or any other books, a child \nin most cases should forego his own predilections, and \nyield to an authority which he cannot resist without \nopposing the institute of nature and religion. \n\n5. It is the duty of children to consult their pa- \nrents. \n\nThey are the guides of your youth ; your natural \ncounsellors ; the family oracle, which you are ever to \nconsult, and the responses of which are to be received \nwith pious reverence. Even if you have just reason \nto suspect the solidity and penetration of their judge- \nment, it is due to the relation in which you stand to \nthem, to undertake nothing without laying the matter \nbefore them, and obtaining their opinion. How much \nmore ready should you be to do this, where you have \nevery reason to confide in their wisdom. You are \nyoung and inexperienced ; the path of life is, in a \nconsiderable degree untrodden by you, and contin- \ngencies are perpetually arising, which you have yet \nacquired no experience to understand, and to turn to \naccount. They have travelled the road, and know its \nturnings, its dangers, and its difficulties. Go to your \nparents, then, with every affair ; consult them on the \nsubject of companions, books, recreations. Let a fa- \nther\'s and a mother\'s ear be the receptacle of all your \ncares. Have no secrets which you conceal from them. \nEspecially consult with them on the subjects of trade \nand marriage. On the former, you perhaps need their \npecuniary assistance, and how can you expect this if \nyou take not their advice, as to the best way of em- \nploying their property. As to marriage, I need not \nrepeat at any length what I have already said on this \nsubject. The scripture has furnished us with many \nfine instances of the deference paid, in patriarchal \ntimes, by children to their parents. Isaac and Jacob \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 141 \n\n\n\nboth appear to have left the selection of their wives \nto their parents. Ruth, though a daughter-in-law, \nwas willing to be guided entirely by Naomi. Ishmael \nasked his mother\'s advice ; and Sampson moved for \nhis parents\' consent. The simplicity of that age has \ndeparted, and in the advance of society, more of the \npower of selection now vests in the children ; but it \nshould not be exercised independently of parental ad- \nvice. An old divine said thus to his sons : \xe2\x80\x94 " When \nyou are youths, choose your callings, . when men, \nchoose your wives, only take me along with you; \nit may be, old men see farther than you." Another \nancient writer has this remark ; \xe2\x80\x94 " It may be consid- \nered, that parents, who brought forth and bred up \ntheir children, should by no means be bereft of them \nwithout their consent ; and since they are so much \ntheir goods and possessions, it were a kind of purloin- \ning to give themselves away without their parents\' \nleave. And on this subject, a heathen may teach \nmany who profess to be christians ; for Cyrus, on be- \ning invited to form a connexion with a particular indi- \nvidual, replied, " I like the lady, her dowry, and family, \nbut I must have these agree with my parents\' will, and \nthen I will marry her." \n\n6. Imitate the good example of your parents. \n\nI say their good example, for if they unhappily set \nyou a bad one, it is at the peril of your soul that you \nfollow it. It was a noble answer which Frederick IV., \nElector Palatine of the Rhine, returned to the prince, \nwho advised him to follow the example of his father \nLewis : \xe2\x80\x94 " In the business of religion we must follow \nthe example of parents and ancestors, only so far as \nthey are agreeable to the will of God." Marcus \nAurelius Antoninus, when he came to the throne of \nImperial Rome, publicly expressed his determination \nnot to follow the usual conduct of the Caesars, but to \nact as a disciple of the pious Antonine, and to act, and \nspeak, and think, as his foster father did. Survey the \nconduct of your parents ; let their failings be thrown \nback in shadow, their excellences brought out in full \nrelief. Where they are truly pious, be followers of \n\n\n\n142 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\ntheir religious character. You bear the likeness of \ntheir bodies, receive also the impress of their minds. \nSeek to catch the family feature of their piety. A \nwicked child of godly parents, is the most awful cha- \nracter upon earth. With what horror do I look upon \nsuch an one ! That he should swear, who was taught \nto pray ! That he should violate the Sabbath, who \nwas led up, from his infantine days, to the house of \nGod ! That he should despise religion, who has ever \nseen its beautiful form, in the example of a godly fa- \nther, and a pious mother ! That he should be a friend \nof profane and unclean persons, who from a child has \nbeen the companion of saints ! Shocking spectacle ! \nBut even where there maybe no actual irreligion, \nthere is oftentimes a want of true religion : and this \nalso, is distressing. What an aggravation is it to the \nsin of being without piety, to have lived all the earlier \npart of life, with an example of true godliness before \nour eyes ! This is a dreadful and actual resistance \nof the most alluring means which heaven ever em- \nploys for the conversion of a sinner. It is a resolute \ndetermination to neglect and forget religion, in spite \nof an interesting and powerful memorial of it con- \nstantly before our eyes. What a meeting will such \nchildren have with their parents at the last day ! \n\n7. The last duty I shall mention, is kindness. \n\nThis should extend through the whole of your de- \nportment, but there are several cases in which it will \nhave a more enlarged opportunity for displaying its \nbeauty, and exerting its energy. \n\nWhen parents are greatly inferior in talents and \nacquirements, it is a fine occasion for the exercise of \nfilial piety. We know instances in which the father \nand mother are lamentably deficient, not only in in- \nformation, but in judgement: their weakness is mani- \nfest to all, and cannot be concealed from their family ; \nby whom, indeed, the sad effects of their imbecility, \nare daily felt and deplored. Here then is an opportu- \nnity for a display of noble and exalted kindness, on \nthe part of children. Young people, if you are placed \nin such circumstances, endeavor constantly to remem- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 143 \n\n\n\nber, that notwithstanding all their weakness, they are \nyour parents still, and hold a parent\'s claim. Never, \nnever, taunt them with their defects, for this is cruelty \nin the extreme ; but on the contrary, strive to the ut- \ntermost to prevent them from suffering any painful \nconsciousness of their inferiority. Do not laugh at \ntheir mistakes, nor ever suffer yourselves so to expose \nor to correct them, as to wound their feelings. If \nthey are obstinate, yield to them ; if irritable, bear \nwith them : and when they shew their incapacity for \ngoverning with wisdom, instead of snatching the scep- \ntre from their hand, insensibly assist them to wield it \nwith greater propriety. It is a beautiful sight, to be- \nhold a fine, intelligent, strong minded son or daughter, \nstraining every nerve, and employing every faculty, to \nendure and conceal the faults of such a parent, and \nto throw an air of respectability over one, that has no \nrespectability of his own. \n\n" There is often, especially in the middle classes of \nlife, as great a difference of mental culture in the pa- \nrents and the child, as if they had lived at the distance \nof many centuries. The wealth that has been acquir- \ned by patient industry, or some fortunate adventure, \nmay be employed in diffusing all the refinements of \nscience and literature to the children of those to whom \nthe very words, science and literature, are words of \nwhich they would scarcely be able, even with the help \nof a dictionary, to understand the meaning. In a rank \nof life still lower, there are not wanting many merito- \nrious individuals, who, uninstructed themselves, labor \nindefatigably to obtain the means of liberal instruction \nfor one, whose wisdom in after years, where he is to \nastonish the village, may gratify at once their ambi- \ntion and love. It would indeed, be painful to think, \nthat any one, whose superiority of knowledge has \ncost his parents so much fatigue, and so many priva- \ntions of comforts, which, but for the expense of the \nmeans of his acquired superiority, they might have \nenjoyed, should turn against them, in his own mind, \nthe acquirements which were to them of so costly a \npurchase, despising them for the very ignorance which \n\n\n\n144 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\ngave greater merit to their sacrifice, and proud of a \nwisdom far less noble, when it can thus feel contempt, \nthan the humble ignorance which it despises." \n\nKindness will show itself in generous attention to \npoor parents. In the revolutions of this world, and \nby the vicissitudes of human affairs, many children \nhave left their parents behind them in the humble vale \nof poverty : and some have lost their filial piety in the \nascent. Few more shocking scenes can be presented \nto a feeling mind, than a rich son or daughter asham- \ned of, and unkind to, his poor father or mother. Such \nwretches deserve the fate of the proud monarch of \nBabylon, and would have no more than their desert if \nthey were driven from the company of men to herd \nwith beasts, to which they are more allied in disposi- \ntion than to human beings. How beautiful a scene, \nthe very opposite of that which I have just considered, \nwas exhibited in the palace of Pharaoh, when Joseph, \nthen the prime minister of the state, led in a poor old \nshepherd to the presence of the king, and before all \nthe lords of the Egyptian court, introduced the de- \ncrepid and care worn pilgrim as his father. Who, \nafter looking at this, will ever be ashamed of a parent \nbecause he is clad in the garb of poverty. What a \nhalo of glory did that one act draw round the honored \nbrow of Joseph : the lustre of the golden chain that \nhung from his neck was dim compared with the bright- \nness of this action, and the chariot in which he rode \nwith almost imperial pomp before the people, raised \nhim not to so high an eminence, as that which he \noccupied, when he stood before the monarch with \nthe patriarch of Canaan leaning on his arm. Never \nbe ashamed of your parents then, because of their \npoverty. \n\nLet your kindness operate in the way of affording \nthem all things necessary for their comfort The au- \nthor of the iEneid has denominated his hero the pious \niEneas, because of the heroic manner in which he \nbore his decrepid father from the flames of Troy. \nTwo inhabitants of Sicily obtained a celebrity in an- \ncient story for their kindness to their aged parents in \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 145 \n\n\n\ncarrying them upon their shoulders from an irruption \nof Mount Etna. \n\nWe have another instance of modern times. Mr. \nRobert Tillotson went up to London on a visit to his \nson, then Dean of Canterbury, and being in the dress \nof a plain countryman was insulted by one of the \nDean\'s servants for inquiring if John Tillotson was at \nhome. His person however, being described to the \nDean, he immediately exclaimed, "It is my worthy fa- \nther ;" and running down to the door to receive him, \nhe fell down upon his knees, in the presence of his \nservants, to ask his father\'s blessing. \n\nAnd how has the poet, the historian and the painter, \nloved to exhibit that beautiful picture of filial piety, \nfirst given by Pliny, of a daughter, who, when her \nmother was condemned to be starved to death, obtain- \ned leave from the keeper to visit the prison daily, and \nthere nourished her parent from her own breast. A \nsimilar occurrence took place afterwards, in which a \ndaughter nourished her father in the same manner ; \nthe action was considered so striking, that it obtained \nthe honorable appellation of The Roman charity. The \nsenate decreed that the father should be restored to \nhis child, and that on the spot where the prison stood, \na temple should be erected to Filial Piety. \n\nThere are however few instances of more touching \nkindness to parents, than that mentioned by Mr. Bruce \nin his Juvenile Anecdotes. \n\n" An officer, having remained some time at Kings- \nton, in Surrey, for the purpose of raising recruits, re- \nceived orders to join his regiment. On the evening \nbefore his departure, a Young Man of the most en- \ngaging aspect made his appearance, and desired to be \nenlisted into his company. His air at once indicated \na well cultivated mind, and commanded respect. \n\n" He betrayed, however, evident marks of perturba- \ntion, and was greatly embarrassed ; the officer asked \nthe cause of it: 4 1 tremble,\' said he, \'lest you should \ndeny my request.\' Whilst he was speaking, the tears \nrolled down his cheeks. 4 No,\' answered the officer, \n6 1 accept your offer most heartily ; but why should you \n\n\n\n146 THE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nimagine a refusal ?\' 4 Because the bounty which I \nexpect may perhaps be too high.\' 6 How much then \ndo you demand ?\' said the officer. 4 It is no unwor- \nthy motive, but an urgent claim that compels me to \nask ten guineas ; and I shall be the most miserable of \nmankind if you refuse me.\' 4 Ten guineas !\' said the \nofficer, \'that indeed is very high; but I am pleased \nwith you : I trust to your honor for the discharge of \nyour duty, and will strike the bargain at once. Here \nare ten guineas; to-morrow we depart.\' \n\n" The young man, overwhelmed with joy, begged \npermission to return home, to perform a sacred duty 2 \nand promised to be back within an hour. The officer, \nimpressed by the honesty of his countenance, yielded \nto his desire ; but observing something mysterious in \nhis manner, he was induced, by curiosity, to follow \nhim at some distance. He saw him hastening towards \nthe town prison, where he knocked and was admitted. \nThe officer quickened his pace : and when he came \nto the door of the prison, he overheard the young man \nsay to the gaoler : 4 Here is the money for which my \nfather is imprisoned ; I put it into your hands, and I \nrequest you will conduct me to him immediately that \nI may release him from his misery.\' The gaoler did \nas he requested. \n\n44 The officer delayed a few minutes, that the young \nman might have an opportunity of being alone with \nhis father ; he then followed him. What a scene ! \nhe saw the son in the arms of a venerable and aged \nfather, who, without uttering a word, pressed him to \nhis heart, and bedewed him with tears. A few min- \nutes passed before he observed the officer, who, deeply \naffected, approached them, and said to the old man,\xe2\x80\x94 \n4 Compose yourself ; I will not deprive you of so wor- \nthy a son. Permit me to restore him to you, that I \nmay not regret the money which he has employed in \nso virtuous a manner.\' \n\n44 The father and son fell upon their knees at his \nfeet. The young man refused, at first, to accept of \nhis proffered freedom ; but the worthy officer insisted \nthat he should remain with his father. He accom- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 147 \n\npanied them both from the prison, and took his leave \nwith the pleasing reflection of having contributed to \nthe happiness of a worthy son and an unfortunate \nfather." \n\nWhat mind is not enamored, what heart is not af- \nfected, by such touching instances of filial kindness ? \nAnd what child is not ready to exclaim, " O my father, \nmy mother, I will share with you my last crust, and \nfeel at once, both honored and happy, to return upon \nyou in your old age, the kindness you bestowed upon \nme in my youth, my childhood and infancy." \n\nKindness will manifest itself by affectionate atten- \ntion and tender sympathy, in their sickness. I do not \nknow where in all our world, to find a lovelier, holier, \nsweeter scene, than that of a pious and affectionate \ndaughter, devoting her time, and strength, and invent- \nive assiduities to the comfort of a mother or a father y \nconfined for years to the room and the bed of sickness. \nSuch children I have known, and ineffably admired ; \nwho at an age when there is usually a taste and capa- \ncity for the pleasures of society, have abstracted them- \nselves from all company, to be the constant, and almost \nsole companion of that dear sufferer, to alleviate whose \nsorrows, was their only happiness. Scarcely have they \npermitted themselves to walk abroad and enjoy the \nscenes of nature, even to recruit their wasting strength \nand prepare for fresh activities in the sick chamber, \nlest in their absence a pang should be felt which none \ncould so well mitigate as they, or a want endured \nwhich they could best supply. I knew one such, who, \nhad a sick father lived much longer, would have pre- \nceded him to the grave, and died a martyr to filial \npiety. Nothing could ever tempt her away from his \nside by day, and not often did a night pass without \nher stealing quietly to his chamber door, at which, \nunconscious of the frost which was assailing her deli- \ncate frame, she stood listening to ascertain if all was \nstill, not daring to enter, lest she should disturb that \nslumber which perhaps he was enjoying. I remember \nin another case, visiting a cottage, in which a sick \nman lay dying, who had been long ill ; his wife was \n\n\n\n148 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nministering to his comfort, and in one corner of the \nroom, there was a girl of twelve years of age busily- \nemployed at her needle. On my asking how they \nwere supported in their affliction, the mother replied, \n" principally, sir, by that child\'s work ; she is up every \nmorning at four o\'clock, and is diligently employed till \nlate at night ; she cheerfully bears all this labor, and \ngives its produce to sustain us." Young people, read \nand ponder these interesting details, and imitate these \nbeautiful examples. Put forth all your tenderness, \nshrink from no self-denial, endure, not only without \nmurmuring, but with cheerfulness, any sacrifices to \ncomfort a sick parent. Aspire to the character of \nbeing a ministering angel to a father or mother. Let \nthem see that you account it no hardship, but a felicity \nto wait upon them. It is in your power to alleviate or \naggravate to an inconceivable degree their sufferings, \naccording as you are kind or unkind. Covet the tes- \ntimony which many a one has received, when the suf- \nferer has said with tears in her eyes, " that dear child \nis my companion, my friend, my nurse, and all my \nearthly delight." O what is the concord of sweet \nsounds at the concert, what the gay and glittering at- \ntractions of the ball room, what the dazzling scenes of \nthe theatre, or to come to more lawful enjoyments, \nwhat the exhilaration of the public meeting, compared \nwith the consciousness of having smoothed the bed \nof sickness, and alleviated the sufferings of disease, \nfor an afflicted parent. If the conscience of any that \nshall read these pages shall reproach them for neg- \nlect ; if they know that they have heard their parents \nmildly reprove them for their want of sympathy, let \nthem consider what must be the anguish of those pa- \nrents\' hearts, who have to say in the bitterness of their \nsoul, to their own children, " Is it nothing to you, all \nye that pass by, come see if there was ever sorrow \nlike unto my sorrow," and who, disappointed in the \nhope of tenderness from their own offspring, turn for \nhelp to their neighbors ; and taking up the piteous \ncomplaint of Job, say, "Pity me, pity me, O my \nfriends, for the hand of God hath touched me." Un- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 149 \n\n\n\nfeeling youth, your neglect will one day find you out, \nand at some future time may be, perhaps, returned \nupon you, by the cruel conduct of your own children. \n\nKindness will often be put to a severe test, by the \nbad temper or the stern and tyrannical government of \nparents. It is difficult, I know, to be kind to those \nwho are unkind to us: but it is our duty in all cases, \nmuch more to a parent. Nothing must allow you to \nbe otherwise than the dutiful, affectionate child. No \nebullitions of passion, no manifestation of unreasonable \ndiscontent, no caprice, no unmerited reproach on their \npart, should throw you off your guard. It may be \nsometimes necessary to remonstrate, but never can be \nproper to return railing for railing. Kindness may do \nmore, in such circumstances, to soften and remove the \nevil, than angry resistance ; \xe2\x80\x94 " A soft answer turneth \naway wrath." \n\n"Lovely as virtue is," says Dr, Brown T "in all its \nforms, there is no form in which it is more lovely, than \nin this tender ministry of offices of kindness ; where \nthe kindness, perhaps, is scarcely felt, or considered \nless as kindness, than as the duty which might have \nbeen fairly demanded, and which there is no merit, \ntherefore, in having paid. Though we have often the \ngratification of seeing, in the progress of life, many \nbeautiful examples of age, that is not more venerable \nfor its past virtues, than amiable, with a lasting and \nstill increasing gentleness, which softens the venera- \ntion indeed, but augments it even while it softens it, it \nis not always that the last years of life present to us \nthis delightful aspect; and when the temper is, in \nthese last years, unfortunately clouded, \xe2\x80\x94 when there \nis no smile of kindness in the faded eye, that grows \nbright again for moments, only when there is fretful- \nness in the heart, \xe2\x80\x94 when the voice that is feeble, only \nin the utterance of grateful regard, is still sometimes \nloud with tones of a very different expression, \xe2\x80\x94 the \nkindness, which, in its unremitting attention, never \nshows by a word or look, the sadness that is felt on \nthese undeserved reproaches, and that regards them \nonly as proofs of a weakness that requires still more \n13* \n\n\n\n150 THE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nto be comforted, is a kindness, which virtue alone can \ninspire and animate, but which, in the bosom that is \ncapable of it, virtue must already have well rewarded. \nHow delightful is the spectacle, when amid all the \ntemptations of youth and beauty, we witness some \ngentle heart, that gives to the couch of the feeble, \nand perhaps, of the thankless and repining, those \nhours, which others find too short for the successive \ngaieties with which an evening can be filled, and that \nprefers to the smile of universal admiration, the single \nsmile of enjoyment, which, after many vain efforts, \nhas at last been kindled on one solitary cheek !" \n\nAnother circumstance remains to be mentioned, \nwhich will render it extremely difficult, sometimes, to \nbe at once obedient to God, and to your parent ; diffi- \ncult to manifest all the kindness which they may ex- \npect, and at the same time, to regard the dictates of \nconscience ; I mean, where the children are pious, \nand the parents are still in an unconverted state. This \nis no uncommon case, and always a trying one wher- \never it occurs. Those who are placed in such a situ- \nation, need much wisdom and much grace to conduct \nthemselves with propriety, so as to give no unneces- \nsary pain to their parents, and yet at the same time, \nto maintain their consistency as christians. To young \npersons in such circumstances, I say, let there be deep \nand unaffected humility, no spiritual pride, no apparent \nconsciousness of moral superiority, no saying, " stand \nby, lam holier than thou;" nothing approaching in \nthe most distant manner to contempt of your parents, \non account of their state. When it is necessary, as it \nsometimes may be, to oppose their wishes, and refuse \ntheir requests, because they interfere with your duty \nto God, let your dissent not assume the shape of dis- \nobedience to them, let it be expressed in a mild and \nrespectful manner, and be made obviously to appear \nto be the result of conscientious motives, and not of \ncaprice, or any want of right feeling towards them. \nIn all other things, in which religion is not concerned, \nlet there be additional effort and ingenuity to please \nthem, so that they may have nothing against you, but \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n151 \n\n\n\nas touching the law of your God. It may be sometimes \nnecessary for you to express the solicitude which you \nought always to feel for their spiritual welfare ; you \nmust then be careful to avoid the appearance of dic- \ntation, lecturing, and reproach, and address your- \nselves to them in a humble and prudent manner. You \nshould put suitable books in their way, and if they are \nnot in the habit of hearing the gospel preached, you \nmay invite them to hear the joyful sound. With all \nthis, you must take especial pains, that your own reli- \ngion may be consistent and practical ; visible in all \nyour conduct, and more particularly conspicuous, in \nthe kind, and tender, and dutiful manner, in which \nyou discharge your obligations to them. \n\nSuch is a compendium of filial duties. Let children \nread them, study them, sincerely desire to perform \nthem, and pray to x\\lmighty God for the grace that is \nin Christ Jesus, to assist them in discharging their \nobligations. \n\nMany and cogent motives may be brought forward \nto enforce the performance of these duties. \n\nObserve the manner in which they are enjoined in \nscripture. Perhaps there are few branches of moral \nobligation, more frequently alluded to, or more va- \nriously enjoined, than that of filial piety. The lives \nof the patriarchs from the beginning of the world, \nare so drawn up, as to exhibit and recommend this \nvirtue. It is commanded in one of the precepts of \nthe moral law. By the Mosaic law, stubborn disobe- \ndience to parental authority, was punished with death. \nThe book of Proverbs contains almost innumerable \napothegms on this subject. The prophets very fre- \nquently allude to it ; and Jeremiah, in the history of \nthe Rechabites, has preserved a very extraordinary \ninstance of hereditary filial obedience, perpetuated \nthrough a period, which in the time of that prophet, \nhad lasted three centuries, and which was reward- \ned by the following testimony and promise of the \nLord :\xe2\x80\x94 " Thus sath Jehovah of Hosts, the God of Is- \nrael ; because ye have obeyed the commandment of \nJonadab, your father, and kept all his precepts, and \n\n\n\n152 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\ndone according to all that he hath commanded you ; \ntherefore, thus saith Jehovah of Hosts, the God of \nIsrael; Jonadab, the son of Rechab, shall not want \na man to stand before me for ever." If we come \nforward to the New Testament, we find it again \nand again brought into view. We see it embodied \nand enforced in the example of Christ; of whom it \nis said, Jesus went down and was subject unto his \nparents. Yes, in the matchless constellation of per- \nfect moral excellencies that formed his character, and \nare presented for our admiration and imitation, one \nbright and beautious star is filial piety. Fix, young \npeople, your eye upon that star, so mildly beaming, \nand so radiantly shining, as an example for you. That \nwonderful personage, God manifest in the flesh, \nwas subject, we have reason to believe, to his parents, \ntill at the age of thirty, he entered upon his public \nministry ; and those parents, be it remembered, were a \npoor but pious couple, who earned their daily bread by \nthe sweat of their brow. With them he dwelt in their \nhumble abode, and labored, in all probability, for their \nsupport. And even amidst the agonies of the cross, \nneither his own personal sufferings, nor the sublime \nand glorious scenes connected with the redemption \nof a world, abstracted his thoughts and solicitude from \nthe mother of his human nature ; and even then did \nfilial piety shine forth, a bright speck still visible upon \nthe orb of glory, which was rising upon the world. \nThe apostles enforced it by various commendations. \n" Children, obey your parents," says Paul in one place, \n"for it is right;" a thing not obligatory merely be- \ncause it is commanded, but commanded because it is \nright ; not a mere positive institute, but wholly moral ; \na duty enjoined not only by revelation, but by reason; \none of the first lessons taught by nature to a rational \ncreature. So right and proper is it, that all nations, \nancient and modern, civilized and savage, admit its \nobligations. In another place, it is declared to be \n" well pleasing unto the Lord." It is that in which \nhe delights, because it is the very disposition towards \nhimself which he requires. And then, in his cata- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 153 \n\nlogues of dark deeds, and horrid dispositions, and \natrocious characters, the apostle places disobedience \nto parents. The loud, strong voice of revelation is \nlifted to proclaim over the surface of the globe, \n" Children obey your parents, and honor your father \nand mother; for this is well pleasing to the Lord;" \nwhile the voice of nature echoes back the command, \n" Children obey your parents, for this is right" \n\nA child of any degree of generosity will be influ- \nenced to obey his parents, by a consideration of their \ncomfort \n\nThe earthly happiness of a father and a mother, \ndepends far more upon the conduct of their children, \nthan upon any thing else. Their trade may prosper, \ntheir wealth accumulate ; they may dwell amidst every \nkind of luxury and splendor, in the most beautiful spot \nwhich creation can present, yet an undutiful child \nmay, by his disobedience and unkindness, throw a \ndark and chilling shadow over all, and envelope every \nthing in gloom. On the other hand, affectionate and \nobedient children supply the lack of riches, soften \nthe weight of care, sweeten the cup of affliction, and \nshed a pleasing light over what would be otherwise a \ndark and dreary scene of human wo. Children have \ntheir parents\' happiness in their keeping. They stand \nat the fountains of our earthly destiny, and send into \nour dwelling the waters of bitterness or of sweetness, \nas their conduct towards us shall be dutiful or unkind. \nThey cannot know, till experience shall teach them, \nthe trembling and exquisite sensitiveness of our hearts, \nand how slight a puncture draws the life\'s blood of our \npeace. So true is it, as was said by the wise man, that \n" a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother," aye, and \nof his father too ; he is a spot on their character ; a \nblast upon their hopes ; a nuisance to their family ; \nand a thorn in their hearts. \n\nNearly connected with this, as another motive, is \ngratitude. No child can know, till he becomes a pa- \nrent himself, what he owes to his parents ; and not \nthen till he has added all the cares, and toils, and \nanxieties which are excited by the child, the boy, the \n\n\n\n154 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nyouth, the man, in addition to those which are awak- \nened by the infant of days. Parental solicitude is \nof course produced by the first sight of the child ; but \nthe infancy of the babe, is but the infancy of our soli- \ncitude, which grows with his growth, and strengthens \nwith his strength. Children are ever contracting \nobligations from the first moment of their existence. \nWhat owes not the babe to his mother, for that \nwatchfulness, and labor, and anxiety, which scarcely \nrest by day or sleep by night. Other animals, though \nnourished by their parents, are taught many things by \ninstinct ; but man, the most helpless of all creatures, \nmust learn every thing from his parents, in the first \nstage of his existence. Let any one calculate, if he \ncan, the hours of labor, sleeplessness, and anxiety ; \nthe tears, the tremblings, the alarms which one weakly \ninfant costs a mother, before he leaves her arms, and \nstands erect upon his feet in his own strength. My \nyoung friend, had your mother remitted her care for \none single hour, or ceased but for a short season, her \nvigilant inspection, you might have been consumed in \nyour cradle, or have been now a cripple or an ideot. \nHow many months rolled by, before you could wash \naway a speck of defilement from your frame, help \nyourself to medicine, or to food, express in articulate \nlanguage a single want, put on a garment, or defend \nyourself against an enemy so feeble as a wasp. What \nthen are your obligations to the woman who did all \nthis for you, and delighted to do it ? I cannot follow \nyou through the successive stages of your existence, \nat each of which you were accumulating fresh obliga- \ntions to both father and mother for education, with all \nits advantages ; for instruction in trade, and that ca- \npacity you now possess for attaining to respectability \nin life ; but above all for that ceaseless, and manifest, \nand earnest solicitude for your eternal happiness, by \nwhich you have had the road to glory, honor, and im- \nmortality opened to your view, and have been ad- \nmonished to walk in it ! O, sum up, if you can, your \nobligations to your parents ; but you cannot. And \ncan you resist this motive to obedience ? What, has \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 155 \n\n\n\ngratitude perished in your soul, till its very root has \ndied in the soil of your depraved nature ? Yes ; it \nmust be so, if you are unkind to your parents : you \nstand proved before the universe, to have nothing of \na child, but the name and the mere fleshly relation, \nwhich you possess in common with the tiger, or the \nserpent, or the toad, but you nave not the feelings of \na child ; you are a kind of monstrous production, out \nof the course of nature, and like all such productions, \nfill the mind with loathing and horror. Few there \nare, I hope, that will read these pages, to whom such \nan expostulation is applicable ; on the contrary, many, \nI believe, will experience as they proceed, the gene- \nrous emotions of gratitude swelling higher and higher \nin their bosom, till, with a burst of virtuous feeling, \nthey exclaim, "Accept, my parents, of the surrender, \nwhich a sense of my obligation to you compels me to \nmake, of my whole future life, to the promotion of \nyour comfort." \n\nInterest pleads with children for their dutiful be- \nhavior to their parents. \n\nAn undutiful child cannot be a happy one. Peace \nmust leave the breast with filial piety, whenever it \ndeparts ; and uneasiness and misery, and occasional \nshame and remorse, enter to dwell in the wretched \nbosom ; while the affectionate and dutiful child has a \nperpetual feast within. And mark the language of \nthe apostle. " Honor thy father and mother ; which \nis the first commandment tvith promise ; that it may \nhe well with thee, and that thou mayest live long on the \nearth." This is an allusion, it is true, to the temporal \npromises of the Sinai Covenant, and perhaps to the law \nwhich doomed the disobedient son to be judicially cut \noff from the people. But still, as repeated by a New \nTestament writer, it must, to a certain extent, be in \nforce still. Dr. Dwight has the following remarks on \nthis passage which deserve consideration. " In con- \nversing with the plain people of this country, distin- \nguished for their good sense, and careful observation \nof facts, I have found them, to a great extent, firmly \npersuaded of the verification of this promise in our \n\n\n\n156 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nown times ; and ready to produce a variety of proofs \nfrom cases, in which they have seen the blessing re- \nalized. Their opinion is mine, and with their experi- \nence my own has coincided. \n\n" Indeed no small measure of prosperity seems or- \ndinarily interwoven with a course of filial piety. The \ncomfort which it ensures to parents, the harmony \nwhich it produces in the family, the peace which it \nyields in the conscience, are all essential ingredients \nof happiness. To these it adds the approbation of \nevery beholder, the possession of a fair and lasting \nreputation, the confidence and good will of every \nworthy man, and of consequence an opportunity of \neasily gaining those useful employments which good \nmen have to give. Beyond this it naturally associ- \nates itself with temperance, moderation, and sobriety, \nwhich furnish a solid foundation for health and long \nlife. In my own apprehension, however, these are \nnot all its blessings. I do not say that miracles are \nwrought for its reward. Neither will I say that purer \ngales breathe to preserve its health ; nor that softer \nsuns arise, or more timely rains descend to mature its \nharvests ; nor that more propitious winds blow, to \nwaft its ships home in safety. But I will say, that on \nthe tide of Providence, multiplied blessings are borne \ninto its possession, at seasons when they are unex- \npected, in ways unforeseen, and by means unprovided \nby its own forecast, which are often of high impor- \ntance ; which, altogether, constitute a rich proportion \nof prosperity ; and which, usually, are not found by \npersons of the contrary character. At the same time, \nthose who act well as children, almost of course, act \nwell as men and women ; and thus have taken, without \ndesign, the scion of happiness from the parental stock, \nand grafted it upon other stems, which bear fruit \nabundantly to themselves. Here, in the language of \nDr. Watts, \n\n\' It revives, and bears, \n\nA train of blessings for their heirs.\' " \n\nIf motives so forcible and tender as these, have no \neffect, nothing is left me to do, but to remind the \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n157 \n\n\n\nchildren of disobedience, of that day of judgement, \nwhich God hath appointed to judge the world in \nrighteousness, by Jesus Christ, and to give to every \none according to the things done in the body, whether \nthey are good or bad. " In that most awful season, \nwhen the wicked shall see the judge sit above them, \n\xe2\x96\xa0angry and severe, inexorable and terrible ; under them \nan intolerable hell ; within them their consciences \nclamorous and diseased ; without them, all the world on \nfire ; on the right hand, those men glorified, whom \nthey persecuted and despised ; on the left hand the \ndevils accusing then shall it be found that the \nseverest sentence of the Almighty, and the bitterest \ndregs of the vials of his wrath, will be poured out on \nthe disobedient and ungodly child of those parents \nwho trained him up in the nurture of the Lord. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. \n\n\n\nTHE DUTIES OF MASTERS. \n\n\n\n" Ye masters, do the same things unto them, forbearing threatening ; \nknowing that your master also is in heaven ; neither is there respect \nof persons with him." Ephes. vi. 9. \n\n" Masters give unto your servants, that which is just and equal." \n\nCol. iv. 1. \n\n" A party of friends setting out together upon a journey, soon find \nit to be best for all sides, that while they are upon the road, one of \nthe company should wait upon the rest, another ride forward to seek \nout lodging and entertainment; a third carry the portmanteau; a \nfourth take charge of the horses ; a fifth bear the purse, conduct and \ndirect the route ; not forgetting, however, that as they were equal \nand independent when they set out, so they are all to return to a level \nagain at their journey\'s end. The same regard and respect; the \nsame forbearance, lenity, and reserve, in using their service ; the \nsame mildness in delivering commands ; the same study to make \ntheir journey comfortable and pleasant, which he whose lot it was to \ndirect the rest, would in common decency think himself bound to \nobserve towards them, ought we to shew towards those, who, in the \ncasting of the parts of human society, happen to be placed within our \npower, or to depend upon us." Paley. \n\n" There are duties which we owe to the lowest of those who serve \nus, that are not fulfilled by the most bountiful allotment of wages, and \nlodging, and sustenance. Of these duties, which are not duties ot \n\n14 \n\n\n\n158 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR t OR \n\n\n\nsupererogation, but flow from the very nature of the bond which \nconnects the master and the servant by reciprocal benefits, the surest \nrule is to be found in that brief direction which Seneca, in the spirit \nof the noble christian precept of morals, has so happily given us in \none of his epistles, in which he treats of the cruelty and contumely of \nRoman masters. \xe2\x80\x94 \' So live with your inferior, as you would wish your \nsuperior to live with you.\' " Dr. Thomas Brown. \n\n" It has been justly remarked, that all authority over others, is in \nfact, a talent with which we are entrusted for their benefit, as well \nas our own ; and so the discbarge of our duty to them is only, in other \nwords, securing our own interest as well as theirs. This, however, \nis especially manifest in the case of servants, dwelling under our \nroof, as members of the same family. Thereby how much our care \nover the souls of our servants contributes to their knowledge of God \nand themselves, so far have we secured their conscientious regard to \nour interests, and furnished them with principles, which will not only \naugment the stock of domestic happiness, but certainly contribute \ntowards the divine favor resting on our dwelling, as well as on all \nwe possess. Thus, then, is the fear of God in the master and servant, \nfound to be at once the only foundation of relative duty, and the only \neffectual security for the discharge of it." Anderson. \n\n" The highest panegyric that private virtue can receive, is the \npraise of servants, for they see a man without any restraint or rule of \nconduct, but such as he voluntarily prescribes to himself. And how- \never vanity or insolence may look down with contempt on the \nsuffrage of men undignified by wealth, and unenlightened by educa- \ntion, it very seldom happens that they commend or blame without \njustice. \n\n" The danger of betraying our weakness to our servants, and the \nimpossibility of concealing it from them, may be justly considered as \none motive to a regular and irreproachable life. For no condition is \nmore hurtful and despicable, than his, who has put himself in the \npower of him, whom, perhaps, he has first corrupted, by making him \nsubservient to his vices, and whose fidelity he therefore cannot en- \nforce by any precepts of honesty or reason. From that fatal hour \nwhen he sacrificed his dignity to his passions, he is in perpetual dread \nof insolence or defamation j of a controller at home, or an accuser \nabroad." Johnson. \n\nOf all the domestic connexions, that between master \nand servant, is perhaps least understood, or at any rate, \nmost neglected. In the two preceding cases, nature, \nimperfect and corrupt as she is, has come in with her \naid : but this is a connexion, affecting very extensively \nthe vital interest of the family, but which is left by \nGod to conscience and scripture alone. Should these \ntwo be neglected, what wonder, if the duty on either \nside is not fulfilled. It is not a connexion founded in \nmutual love, like that of man and wife ; nor in consan- \nguinity, like that of parent and child, or brother and \nsister; but in mere convenience. It seems at first \nsight, a destruction of the natural equality of the hu- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 159 \n\nman race, and an invasion by one party, of the rights \nof the other. It did not exist originally, but soon \ngrew out of the natural course of things, such as the \nvaried degrees of men\'s acquired property ; the love \nof ease on the one hand, and the urgency of necessity \non the other. It was wealth or power that made the \nfirst master, and want or weakness that made the first \nservant; and the very same circumstances which \noriginated the relation, preserves it. No one is a \nservant by choice, but of necessity, and becomes a \nmaster as soon as he can. All this shews that there \nis great propriety and importance in stating with \nclearness, and enjoining with frequency, the duties of \nthis connexion; and that there needs great impar- \ntiality in adjusting the claims of both parties so as to \nprevent the master from becoming a tyrant, and the \nservant from becoming a rebel ; in other words to \nguard the master against the disobedience and dis- \nhonesty of the servant, and the servant against the \noppression and cruelty of the master. \n\nTo the right performance of the Duties of Masters \nand Mistresses, the following qualifications are ne- \ncessary. \n\n1. A correct view of the nature and design of the \nfamily compact as intended to train up all the mem- \nbers that compose it, to be good members of the civil \ncommunity, and of the church of Christ. They must \nkeep in constant recollection, that the domestic con- \nstitution has a reference to religion, to heaven, and to \neternity ; and that they who are appointed to be the \nhead of it, are accountable to God for the manner in \nwhich they give it this direction. Every household is \nintended to be a seminary for virtue and piety, of \nwhich the master and mistress are the teachers; the \nservants and children the pupils. \n\n2. They should be partakers of true religion. \nHence you see they are directed to consider, that \n\nthey have a master in heaven, and to perform their \nduties with a believing and constant reference to their \naccountability to Christ. Without personal religion, \nthey cannot of course seek on behalf of their servants \n\n\n\n160 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nthe highest end of the domestic constitution, i. e. their \nspiritual and eternal welfare. Nor can they, without \nreligion, be so well prepared to discharge even the \nordinary duties of their station. True religion will \nnot fail, wherever it exists in full vigor and operation, \nto teach a man, in reference to every thing, the best \nrules and ends, and measures of action: and espe- \ncially will the grace of God, in this case, prevent that \npride, passion, cruelty, and unkindness, which make a \nman a bad master; and at the same time it will im- \nplant those virtues which are the germs of a master\'s \ngreatest excellence. Religion is the strongest basis \nand the firmest support of authority ; it not only ren- \nders all the commandments which are delivered, holy, \nand just, and good ; not only infuses wisdom and equity \ninto all the laws which are enjoined, but invests the \nlawgiver himself with the beauty of goodness, and the \nawful power of sanctity. A peculiar awe and dread \nseem to have been upon the inferior creatures, for \nman in his innocence, as a kind of reverence for the \ndivine image which man bore ; and the more holiness \nthere is in a man\'s character now, the more power is \nthere in his authority, and the more nearly does he \ncome back to his original dominion, at least over the \nrational creation. If we would govern well, and \neasily, and pleasantly, we must inspire reverence \nrather than fear, and nothing does this like religion. \n" Them that honor me, saith God, I will honor :" this \nis never more remarkably exemplified, than in the \ncase of eminently holy masters and mistresses. \n\n3. They should entertain correct notions of the na- \nture and design of the relation they stand in to their \nservants, who are to be considered as their equals in \nnature, though their inferiors in rank; and not as \nbeings of another and inferior race. \n\nServants are not mere speaking brutes, but rational \nmen and women, who are bone of your bone, and flesh \nof your flesh, and who on the ground of natural equal- \nity, covenant with you to deliver to you so much ser- \nvice, for so much wages. They are your equals in \nthe eye of the laws of the land, and are as much pro- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 161 \n\n\n\ntected as you are ; equal in the eye of God, who is no \nrespecter of persons ; equal in personal formation, \nhaving the same corporeal senses, members and \nbeauty, and the same mental faculties ; equal in the \nchurch of God, being redeemed by the same blood \nof atonement, regenerated by the same Holy Spirit, \nand entitled to the same heaven; and on all these \ngrounds entitled to the respect that is due to a man \nand a christian ; as such they are to be addressed and \ntreated; and not spoken to and oppressed like beasts. \n\nI now lay down one or two preliminary remarks. \n\n1. Professing christians should be very careful in \nthe selection of their servants. \n\nIt is desirable, where it can be done, to engage such \nservants as are truly and consistently pious. I know \nthat this cannot always be accomplished, in reference \nto the household, much less in the manufactory and \nthe shop. In a business that depends upon the skill \nof the workmen, a master must have such as will suit \nhis purpose, whether they possess moral qualifications \nor not. But when he cannot get good men, he should \nendeavor to reform, to the extent of his ability, such \nas are bad. It must be admitted that there are many, \nboth men and women, who, as to their general quali- \nfications, are most excellent servants, who yet do not \npossess true piety : they are industrious, good temper- \ned, honest, and cleanly, and contribute far more to the \ncomfort of the families that employ them, than some \nconceited, cross, and indolent professors of religion. \nNotwithstanding this, it is every way desirable to ob- \ntain, if we can, those to serve us, who, we have every \nreason to believe, serve the Lord Christ. \n\nOther things being equal, pious servants are much \nto be preferred to those that are without the fear of \nGod. They may bring the blessing of God with them \ninto your house. You have the benefit of their exam- \nple and of their prayers : in the time of sickness, you \nhave the consolation of their remarks as well as their \nsympathy : and hence they have been, in many cases, \nsources of inconceivable comfort to the households, in \nwhich they have been placed. If you have a family 3 \n\n\n\n162 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nhow immensely important is this matter. Think of \nwhat incalculable mischief one unprincipled servant \nmay be the author, in a circle of young children. On \nthis account, if a person of decided piety cannot be \nfound, at least determine that none but such as are \nstrictly moral, shall be inmates in your habitation. \nDavid determined that no liar should dwell in his \nfamily. The utmost caution should be exercised, to \nkeep from the nursery all improper persons. Nor \nought any mother to trust her children too much to \nany servants, however excellent ; and on admitting \nthem, she should very minutely instruct them in all \nthose points of conduct towards their minds, as well \nas to their bodies, which they are to avoid, as well \nas those which they are to observe. I would sooner \ntake a toad into my bosom, said an old author, than \na wicked servant into my family. Well might he \nsay this, for the poor reptile is belied in being said \nto be armed with poison, but the wicked servant has \npoison for the mind both of her fellow servants and \nthe children. Christian parents are not perhaps suf- \nficiently cautious on this head. They are not suffi- \nciently impressed with the importance of the subject, \ntill they learn it by the various kinds of mischief that \nhave been done. The present age has peculiar ad- \nvantages on this point, inasmuch as by the extension \nof education, many young women, of considerable re- \nspectability, are trained for the important situation of \nnursery governesses. \n\n2. When you engage a servant, let there be a very \nexplicit statement, of what each party expects from \nthe other. \n\nThe master or mistress should most fully explain to \nthe servant, all that will be demanded in the way of \nservice, and all that will be given in the way of wages \nand of privilege, both temporal and spiritual. Nothing \nshould be concealed or omitted, to be brought forward \nat some future time : this is in the highest degree dis- \nhonorable, and subjects the encroaching party to the \njustest reproach. It would be well for you to inform \nyour servants, in a very minute and particular manner^ \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n163 \n\n\n\nall the religious habits of your family, and what com- \npliance with these you will expect from them. \n\nThe duties of Masters and Mistresses may be class- \ned under three heads. \n\nFirst You owe them a duty of justice. \n\nThis demands, that you should give them a fair re- \nmuneration for their labor. The amount should not \nonly be enough to support them in mere existence, but \nin comfort. It is an utter disgrace to any man, much \nmore to a professing christian, to abate and screw \ndown those whom he employs, till they cannot earn \nenough for their decent clothing, and the nourishment \nof their strength. Is not this to grind the faces of \nthe poor? But, as in trade, there are certain rates of \nwages, from which it may be difficult for a master, how- \never pious or humane, to vary, I shall merely remark, \nthat such men ought never to be forward in lowering \nthe price of labor, beyond what is actually necessary \nto keep possession of the market. As to household \nservants, to whom this chapter more especially ap- \nplies, it is very dishonorable to a mistress to higgle \nabout a few shillings, with a poor dependant creature, \nwhom she is scarcely willing should earn enough to \nprocure herself reputable apparel. I do not wish serv- \nants to be encouraged in dress, and in expensive hab- \nits : there is too great a propensity to this in many \nyoung women, which ought to be checked, and if it \ncan be done by no other means, by a reduction of \nwages. But enough ought to be afforded in all cases, \nfor suitable attire, and for a little surplus fund, which \nthey should be encouraged to make against a time of \ndestitution and helplessness. If we do not furnish \nthem by a sufficiency of wages, with the means of \nhonestly supplying their wants, are we not tempting \nthem to make up the deficiency by dishonesty ? And \nof course, their wages should be regularly paid. It is \ndisreputable to be long in debt to any one, but utterly \nscandalous, when such creditors are unpaid servants, \nwho ask, without success, for what has been due to \nthem for months. I wonder the pride, if not the prin- \nciple of some people, does not prevent them from \n\n\n\n164 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nputting on new finery, while the servants in the kitch- \nen are saying, " That bonnet and gown are mine, for \nI am owed the money which payed for them, if indeed \nthey he paid for." \n\nJustice demands that you should pay your servants \nfor all the work they do ; and that every thing, which \nin respect of time or labor, is above the stipulated or \nusual quantity of service rendered for a given sum, \nshould be most equitably paid for. There are some \npersons who are proverbially mean, for exacting, not \nonly what is actually due to them for the wages they \npay, bat for getting, if possible, a little extra service, \nwithout paying for it : this remark applies, of course, \nto the case of day work. If a woman be hired to work \nin the parlor, or the kitchen, or a man be engaged for \nthe garden, such persons will generally detain them \nif they can, an hour or two beyond the usual time, on \npretence, perhaps of finishing up the matter, or get- \nting ready something of importance. This would be \nall very fair, if they paid an extra sum for the extra \nwork ; but no ; they want the additional hour or two \nto be thrown in for nothing. But when the case is \nreversed, and the workman or woman is obliged to go \naway an hour or two earlier than the usual time, they \nare then forward enough to make a deduction from \nthe amount paid to them. This is not only detestably \nmean but actually dishonest, for it is taking the labor- \ning person\'s work without paying for it. Many per- \nsons, and some of them, professors of religion, have \nno conscience in this matter, and get a character for \nextortionate selfishness from all whom they employ. \nIn our money transactions with those who serve us, \nwe should always lean to the side of generosity, or at \nleast, should pay to the uttermost farthing, for all the \nwork which is done for us. \n\nJustice requires, that your domestic servants be well \nprovided for in all the necessaries and accommodations \nof life. Their food should be wholesome and suffi- \ncient; their lodging should be such as is convenient \nfor them in respect to warmth and protection, and not \nsuch as a person of even tolerable humanity would \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 165 \n\nscarcely allot to the dogs of his flock. If people can- \nnot really afford to give such wages as will procure \ndecent attire, nor such food, both as to quantity and \nquality, as is necessary to keep up the strength of a \nservant, they ought not to have one, and should do \nthe work themselves. I pity from the very bottom of \nmy heart some poor orphans, hired perhaps, if not from \nthe workhouse, yet from friends that are glad to get \nthem off their hands at any price, who although bur- \ndened with excessive labor, are not allowed meat and \ndrink sufficient to support their strength, and nourish \ntheir stunted frame, and are in a condition, which, \nwith the single exception of liberty, is more pitiable \nthan that of many African slaves. Medicine and \nsurgical assistance, also should be procured for our \ndomestic servants at our cost, as long as they are in \nour employ. I do not like the practice of hurrying \nthem off, except in the case of contagious diseases, to \nhospitals and dispensaries, and thus calling upon the \npublic to provide for the relief of those, whose cases \nbelong to us. Much less is it equitable to make them \npay the expenses of their own affliction. I have \nknown servants, who were half beggared by doctors\' \nbills, which ought to have been discharged by those, \nin whose service they contracted the ailments which \nreduced them to suffering and poverty. \n\nJustice also equally demands, in the case of appren- \ntices, that they should he well taught the business which \nthey come to you to learn ; especially, where as in many \ncases, a high premium is paid for this very purpose. \nNo man can honestly retain such property, or indeed \nsuch apprentice with whom it is given, if he do not \neven take pains to instruct him. If there be any se- \ncret in the trade, it must be thrown open to him, for \nhe comes to you for that very purpose. Nor is it \nenough not to hinder him from acquiring the business, \nbut you must take pains to help him. I do think that \nthis circumstance is very much forgotten by masters, \nnot excepting those that make a profession of religion. \nApprentices, I know, are taken with the primary view \nto the master\'s interest; but in return for the help \n\n\n\n166 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR*. OR \n\n\n\nwhich a servant affords towards the accomplishment \nof this object, a master covenants to instruct him in \nthe trade, and the man who employs an apprentice in \nany thing else than that which he came to learn, and \nsuffers him through his neglect, to remain ignorant \nof the trade, is guilty of a double act of robbery ; he \nrobs the parent of the youth, of his property, and at \nthe same time, robs the youth himself of all his future \nmeans and opportunities of success. \n\nJustice demands, that when they leave your service, \nyou should dismiss them, as far as you are able, con- \nsistently with truth, with a good character. Their \ncharacter is their wealth, and if this be gone, their \nmeans of subsistence have all vanished. Do not dis- \nallow them the right of leaving you when they please, \nnor avenge yourselves upon them by insinuating any \nthing to their disadvantage. On the contrary, do all \nyou can to raise their reputation, and say all the good \nyou can in their favor. \n\n" There is a carelessness and facility in 1 giving \ncharacters,\' as it is called," says Paley, "especially \nwhen given in writing, or according to some estab- \nlished form, which, to speak plainly of it, is a cheat \nupon those who accept them. They are given with \nso little reserve and veracity, " that I should as soon \ndepend, (says the author of the Rambler,) upon an ac- \nquital at the Old Bailey by way of recommendation of \na servant\'s honesty, as upon one of these \' characters.\' \nIt is sometimes carelessness ; and sometimes to get \nrid of a bad servant, without the uneasiness of a dis- \npute ; for which nothing can be pleaded, but the most \nungenerous of all excuses, that the person whom we \ndeceive is a stranger. \n\n" There is a conduct the reverse of this, but more \ninjurious, because the injury falls where there is no \nremedy; I mean the obstructing of a servant\'s ad- \nvancement, because you are unwilling to spare his \nservice. To stand in the way of your servant\'s inte- \nrest, is a poor return for his fidelity, and affords slender \nencouragement for good behaviour, in this numerous, \nand therefore, important part of the community. It is \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 167 \n\na piece of injustice, which, if practised towards an \nequal, the law of honor would lay hold of ; as it is, it \nis neither uncommon, nor disreputable. \n\nIt is but common justice, also, to do something for \nthe provision of servants who have worn themselves out \nin your service. To leave such to penury and want \nin the wintry season of their old age, is an instance \nof great and disgraceful cruelty. How much have \nthey contributed either to your wealth or to your com- \nfort, and perhaps to both. By the Levitical law it was \nprovided that the servant who had been six years in \nthe employ of a master should be treated with great \ngenerosity. " He shall not," said the Lord, " be sent \nempty away ; but thou shalt furnish him liberally out \nof thy flock, out of thy floor, and out of thy wine press ; \nand that wherewith the Lord thy God hath blessed \nthee, thou shalt give unto him." (Deut. xv. 13, 14.) \nNow if six years\' service, under the law, were consid- \nered to entitle a servant to such an acknowledgement, \nsurely a whole life\'s labor under the gospel dispensa- \ntion, entitles them in their old age to no less. I ask \nthis, not on the ground of kindness, but of justice ; \nfor it partakes of oppression and extortion, to give \nthem no more for their time and strength than they \nneed for the passing moment, and then to cast them \nupon the parish, when we can no longer render them \nsubservient to our interests. \n\nSecondly. Kindness comprehends another exten- \nsive class of duties owed by masters and mistresses \nto their servants. \n\nYou must be careful not to overwork them. \n\nA merciful man will not overload his beast. We \nhave been often shocked to see in our streets, or on \nthe public road, how cruelly some weak, half starved \nanimals have been used, in being compelled to drag \nalong burthens much beyond their strength : but are \nthere not scenes of equal cruelty, to be witnessed in \nsome houses, where is to be found a poor, young, \nfriendless girl, whose pallid looks and delicate frame \nindicate to every one, but her hard hearted mistress, \nthat she is incompetent to the tasks, which, without \n\n\n\n168 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\ncessation, she is mercilessly compelled to sustain ? Her \ntoil commences, perhaps, at five or six o\'clock in the \nmorning, and continues without intermission till eleven \nat night. Of work, she has too much for the robust \nand well nourished frame, especially for her weak and \nill fed constitution. Some unfeeling creatures seem \nto think, that the payment of five or six pounds a year, \ngives them a right to exhaust all the energies of the \npoor helpless creatures who are unfortunate enough \nto be employed by them. And even where unkind- \nness is not carried to this extent, I am persuaded, that \nservants are in very many cases, quite overworked ; \nthey are so urged by incessant demands for their labor, \nthat from the beginning to the end of the week, they \nhave scarcely a moment to keep their own clothing in \nproper repair, much less to attend to the concerns of \ntheir souls ; their employers seem to think, that every \nmoment they sit down, is so much time stolen from \nthem. Are there any \'professing christians, who act \nthus ! Yes ; and in so far they are a disgrace to the \nchristian name. \n\nYour method of addressing them, while it accords \nwith your station, and partakes of the dignity of supe- \nriority, should be as remote from bitterness and con- \ntemptuous pride, as it is from familiarity. Do not \nspeak to them as if they were a race of inferior crea- \ntures, whom it almost demeaned you to notice. There \nare some masters and mistresses, who, though they do \nnot swear, or storm, or call reproachful names, yet \nhave a method of addressing their servants, which \nthey would scarcely use to a brute animal. I have \nmyself heard tones, and seen looks, which the authors \nof them would not, and did not give to their dogs. \nServants are not stocks and stones, but men and wo- \nmen; and how galling to their feelings, how insulting \nto their rank as rational creatures, must it be to be \naddressed as a reptile race, who were scarcely entitled \nto the most common civilities. And as pride is im- \nproper, so is passion. Masters are commanded to \n"forbear threatening." This is particularly specified, \nbecause there is a great proneness to this in many, if \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 169 \n\nnot in most persons. When an inferior displeases us, \nthe temptation to undue sallies of wrath, gusts of pas- \nsion, and threatening words is peculiarly strong. The \nindividual is so much below us, and in our power, that \nlet us say what we will, we have nothing to fear in \nreturn. But how mean, and cowardly, and execrable \nis it, to say nothing of the wickedness of such conduct, \nfor any one to hector, and bully, and threaten a poor, \ndefenceless creature, because we have no need to \napprehend any thing in the way of revenge. We \nmust, as christians, not only be meek, and gentle, and \npatient, but be gentle towards all, to those who are \nbelow us, as well as\' to those who are above us. Oc- \ncasions, will of course, often present themselves, when \nit will be necessary to find fault, and to express dis- \npleasure ; but this should never be done in a passion. \nA Fury never can be respectable : we never go into \na rage without disgracing ourselves in the eyes of \nour servants : at such times we may be terrible, but \nwe cannot be reputable. Abusive epithets and ill \nnames lower our dignity, and undermine our authority. \nMild firmness, rational expostulation, and meek re- \nproof, will do far more both in the way of punishing \nfaults, and of reforming them, than petulance and pas- \nsion. Speak kindly to them, then, at all times. Let \nyour words, and even your tones, partake of a digni- \nfied courtesy, blending and softening authority with \ngood will. At the same time, avoid all familiarity, \nand do not encourage an obtrusive and encroaching \nboldness. You must keep them in their place, and in \norder to this, you must keep yours. Do nothing to \nremove the line of demarcation between you, nor en- \ncourage them to step over it. You must not joke with \nthem, nor make yourselves merry with them ; you \nmust not enter into gossip with them about the float- \ning occurrences of the neighborhood, nor encourage \nthem to bring you tales, nor employ them as your \npurveyors of scandal. Some persons, who would not \nrun the risk of being thought busy bodies themselves, \nscruple not to encourage their servants to bring them \nall the news of the town. All this is mischievous in \n15 \n\n\n\n170 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nthe highest degree, and tends to degrade those who \nare foolish enough to indulge in it, in the eyes of those \nwho should be taught to respect them. \n\nYou should manifest an unvarying regard for their \ncomfort. Take a deep interest in their welfare, and \nmake it clear to them that you wish to see them hap- \npy. Watch over their health, tenderly inquire into \nthe cause of their ailments, and by mitigating their \nlabor, and procuring them medical assistance, do all \nyou can for their recovery. Advise them for their \ngood, and refuse not your counsel whenever it can be \nof service to them. Convince them by the whole of \nyour conduct, that you are their real friends, and truly \nanxious to make them happy and respectable. \n\nBear with patience those lesser infirmities which may \ncomport with substantial excellencies. Do not be strict \nto mark, at least with severity, their more trivial \nfaults. Some mistresses render their servants mis- \nerable by incessant complaint : they are such slaves \nto excessive neatness, that they are always in bondage \nthemselves, and make every body miserable around \nthem. No one can please them ; a speck of dust, or \na drop of rain blown in through the window upon the \nfurniture, is sure to bring a cross look or word upon \nthe poor, wretched house-maid, who was no more to \nblame than her mistress. \n\nKindness to servants, would lead us to administer \ncommendation as often as possible, and censure with \nas much lenity, as a due regard to justice will allow. \n\n" There is a certain moral pleasure which we par- \nticularly owe them. They may do well, and in doing \nwell, they have the same title to our praise, which our \nbest actions have to the glory with which we expect \nthe world to be ready to reward us. If we withhold \nthe approbation which is due, we take from them one \npowerful incentive to continuance of that species of \nconduct which rendered them worthy of approbation ; \nand at the same time, we take from them one of the \nmost delightful feelings of which he who has sold his \nfreedom is still capable \xe2\x80\x94 the feeling that he has done \nsomething, which was not actually sold with the very \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n171 \n\n\n\nlabor of his hands \xe2\x80\x94 that in the additional duties per- \nformed by him, he has been free still, and that our \npraise is something, which, as it was not an actual \ncondition, like the livery and the daily bread, is an \noffering to his own gratuitous virtue. The duty of \napprobation, then, when approbation is due, is another \nof the duties which the master owes to the servant; \nand a duty which, though he may legally withhold it, \nhe is not entitled morally to withhold. \n\n" But servants share not our love of praise only, but \npassions of a less commendable kind. They are as- \nsailed by temptations, like those which assail us ; and \nthey sometimes fall, as we too fall. They neglect to \ndo what we have desired ; and they often do what is \npositively injurious to us. In such cases, they might \ndeserve all our severity of punishment, if we were not \nmen, and they were not men. Our reproof they un- \nquestionably deserve, not merely because they have \nfailed in their part of our mutual contract, but also, \nbecause our reproof may, even to them be attended \nwith moral advantage. Yet though our reproof of \nany gross inattention is not excusable only, but, if we \nconsider all its consequences, an act of humanity, it \nis not to be the reproof of one who seems almost \npleased with the offence itself, in the eagerness \nwhich is shown to reprehend it. In censuring, we \nare silently to have in mind the human weaknesses \nof our own moral nature ; and to remember, that if \neven we, with better light, and nobler recreations, \nerr, the ignorant, who by their very ignorance, are \nincapable of seeing many of the consequences of \nactions, and who have few recreations, but those \nwhich seduce them from what is good, may still more \nnaturally be imagined to err. In condemning them, \ntherefore, we condemn ourselves ; or we declare that \nwe are frail creatures, of whom less knowledge and \nless virtue are to be expected than from them. There \nare beings with gentle voices, and still gentler eyes, \nand with smiles that seem never to be willed, and \nscarcely even to fade and brighten again, but to be \nalmost the native character of the countenance, like \n\n\n\n172 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nthe very lustre that is ever blooming on the lip and \non the cheek ; \xe2\x80\x94 there are beings who seem to exist \nthus only in a perpetual moral atmosphere of radiance \nand serenity, that on the sight of a single particle of \ndust on a book, or a table, or a chair, as if in that par- \nticle, a whole mountain of misery were before them, \ncan assume in an instant, all the frowns and thunders \nof all the furies ; whose delicate frame is too weak to \nbear the violent opening of a door, but not too weak, \nafter the door is opened, to shake the very floor with \nthe violence of their own wrath on the unfortunate \nopener of it."* \n\nKindness should lead us to allow our servants all \npossible indulgencies and recreations that are not in- \ncompatible with religion. \n\nThey are capable of gratification like ourselves, and \nhave the same desire of it ; while at the same time, \nare denied by their very circumstances, access to \nmany of those sources of delight which are continu- \nally open to us. Those who seem to grudge domestic \nservants an occasional remission of their labor, that \nthey may have communion with others at the feast of \ninnocent enjoyment, convert their service into slavery, \nand render the oppression additionally bitter by the \ncircumstance, that it is exercised in the land of free- \nmen. I have often been delighted to see the cheerful \nfaces of female servants at those meetings which are \nconvened for promoting the various objects connected \nwith the cause of religion and humanity, and who \nseemed to drink in the streams of eloquence and \npiety, with as eager a thirst, and as exquisite an en- \njoyment, as their more enlightened and better educat- \ned masters and mistresses. And I have known those, \nwho, when going to some neighboring town or village, \nto attend, perhaps, a religious service of a public na- \nture, have placed a female servant on the box seat of \nthe carriage that conveyed them, that she might share \nthe pleasures of the day. It is our duty, of course, to \nkeep them from all polluting and vitiating amusements, \nbut it is not less a duty of benevolence, to give them \n\n\n\n* Dr. Brown\'s Lectures. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 173 \n\n\n\nas often as is convenient to us, and consistent with \ntheir interests, an opportunity of enjoying the liberty \nand sunshine of innocent and holy pleasure. \n\nIt is no credit, hut very much otherwise, to any family^ \nto be always changing their servants. Some persons \nhave as many as there are months in the year. Their \nplace has acquired so bad a reputation, that no good \nservant will offer herself for it. It is astonishing how \nextensively the character of every household is known \namongst persons of this description. Those who keep \nregister offices, can tell, perhaps, the repute in which \nmost of the families in a town are held, for oftentimes \nupon mentioning a house to one who has applied for a \nplace of service, they receive some such reply as this : \n\xe2\x80\x94 " I will not offer myself there, for I shall not be kept \nabove a month or two if I go." This is not to the \nhonor of any one, much less to the professor of reli- \ngion: for, as those who leave the place, are naturally \nenough anxious to justify themselves to their friends, \nthey scruple not to tell all the faults of the mistress, \nand oftentimes, of course, with great exaggeration, \nand thus the credit of religion suffers. Besides, what \na risk is it, where there are children, to be always re- \nceiving fresh servants into the family ; and what an \ninterruption also to domestic comfort. Avoid then, \nunnecessary changes, and every thing that leads to \nthem, whether it be bad temper, inflicting excessive \nlabor, or striving after unattainable perfection. \n\nA kind master or mistress will prevent their servants \nfrom being insulted or oppressed by the child- \nren. It is really affecting to see what cruel scorn \nand impertinence are, in some families, allowed to be \npractised towards respectable men and women, by \nthose little tyrant masters and misses, whose weak \nparents never allow them to be opposed in any thing. \nThey may utter the grossest falsehoods, indulge in \nthe most wanton and distressing vexation, vent the \nmost scurrilous abuse, and utter the foulest epithets \nagainst the servants, and their pitiless and unjust \nmother or father, with the full knowledge of the fact, \nallow this cruel insolence to continue. Children \n15* \n\n\n\n174 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR \'. OR \n\n\n\nought not to be permitted in any kind or degree, to be \nguilty of such impropriety as this. They should be \nkept from being familiar but equally so from being \nimpertinent I would never allow a servant to strike \nchildren, nor to be struck or in any way oppressed by \nthem. \n\nPeculiar attention, partaking at once of respect and \nkindness should be shown to those who have served us \nlong and faithfully. " Reckon," says Mr. Jane- \nway, " that one has been a faithful servant to you \nseven years, deserves to be esteemed next to a child \never after." Tried fidelity should be marked with pe- \nculiar approbation. At the end of each seven years \nof faithful service you should present them with some \nsubstantial present, as a token of your respect and \ngratitude, and the present should increase in value at \nthe close of each septennial period. Where there is \nwealth to be disposed of by will, I think that aged and \nvaluable servants should be remembered. Think how \nmuch you owe to their faithfulness, how long your \nproperty has been in their power, which they have \nneither embezzled nor wasted, how constantly you \nhave been served by them, how much they have con- \ntributed to your domestic comfort, perhaps, to your \nsuccess. You owe them not only wages but esteem. \n\nThirdly. But there are duties of a still higher and \nmore sacred character, owed by you to your servants, \nI mean those of religion. \n\nThey have souls, as well as you ; like you, are im- \nmortal creatures ; like you, are sinners ; and like you, \nthe objects of redeeming mercy. The very circum- \nstance of their being brought within the comprehen- \nsion of your domestic circle, has made them a part of \nthat little community, the spiritual welfare of which, \nyou are to promote and to watch, with all possible so- \nlicitude. They are members of the domestic consti- \ntution, as well as hired servants. We surely cannot \nsuppose, that the fine and extensive power, which is \nlodged by the family compact in the master\'s hand, \nwas vested there for so trivial a purpose as the mere \npayment of those wages and the affording of that \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 175 \n\nsustenance, which are necessary for supplying the \nservant\'s bodily wants. It is also to be recollected, \nthat moral ditties are required from servants, and ought \ntherefore to he taught. With what propriety can we \nlook for truth, honesty, temperance, chastity, if we \nhave never inculcated these virtues ? How can we \nexpect they will be faithful in serving us, if we have \nnever taught them to serve God in sincerity and truth ? \n\nL Our first care must be not to oppose their reli- \ngion or to hinder their salvation. We may do this by \nthe influence of a bad example. In what a heathenish \nstate do some families live ! Heathenish ! No : for \npagans have their household deities, and make some \nshow of religion, though it be a false one, in their \nhouses : but great multitudes in this christian land, \nlive as if there were no God, and are, to all intents and \npurposes, practical atheists. There is no family prayer, \nno reading of the Scriptures, no observance of the \nSabbath, no regular attendance upon public worship. \nThe holy day of rest is to them, as other days ; they \nkeep the same company, and seek the same recrea- \ntions then as at any time besides. Religion is rarely \nintroduced, but to be an object of contempt, and a \nsource of ridicule. The servants in such families hear \nswearing, perhaps, but no prayer ; see drunkenness, \nbut no worship ; witness card playing, dancing, and \nconviviality, but no acknowledgement of God. How \ncan such masters expect good servants. If they ha- \nbitually break God*s commands, how can they expect \ntheir servants to keep theirs ? Unreasonable men, \ncan you look for sobriety in them, if you set them the \nexample of intoxication ? For chastity, if you teach \nthem lewdness ? For truth, if you teach them false- \nhood ? For religion, if you teach them irreligion ? O \nthat you would consider that your wickedness ensures \nnot only your own damnation, but hazards that of all \nthe persons under your charge. Is it liat enough to \nhave your own sins laid to your charge, but that you \nmust be answerable for your servant\'s sins also ? Is \none curse too light, but you must seek to multiply it ? \nAre the flames of hell so cool and tolerable, that you \n\n\n\n176 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR t OR \n\n\n\nare busy in adding fuel to that terrible fire, to make it \nburn seven times hotter ? Yours will not be the privi- \nlege of perishing alone, but will be the fate of the \npilot who sinks others with himself. \n\nSome carry the matter so far, as to hinder the salva- \ntion, of others, not only by example, but by direct \ntemptation. How many masters have by their atro- \ncious and murderous arts, corrupted the virtue, blasted \nthe reputation, and ruined the souls of those females, \nwhom, having received into their house, they were \nbound, by every principle of honor, as well as of reli- \ngion, to protect. Such wretches deserve the gallows \nfar more than many who suffer there. How many \npoor unhappy women have been sent by such vile \ntransgressors, into the career of prostitution, to an \nearly grave, and to that place of punishment, where \nthey will meet their seducer to be his tormentor, \nthrough eternity. Neither a word, nor a look, should \never be given to a servant, which has the remotest \ntendency to injure her modesty. \n\nNor ought you to tempt them to sin, by employing \nthem to practice dishonesty and falsehood in the way \nof trade. Do not engage them in acts of fraud upon \nthe revenue ; nor make them the spectators of your \nown evasion of the laws which regulate the taxes ; for \nall such conduct as this, is laying a snare in their way, \nand tempting them to sin. And by what sophistry \ncan any one attempt to justify that wicked practice of \ncommanding their servants to say to visitors, that they \nare not at home, while they are in the house at the \nvery time ? This is teaching falsehood by system, \nand ought we to wonder if our servants should lie to \nus, when we have thus taught them to lie for us ? \nPeople that make any profession of religion, cannot, \nof course, adopt this iniquitous custom, for it disgraces \nthe most general acknowledgement of piety ; but it is \nto be feared that some, who pass for real christians, \nand wish to be thought such, are guilty of many things \nwhich are quite unworthy of their character, in refe- \nrence to their servants, either by making them the wit- \nnesses or instruments of many evasions, artifices, and \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 177 \n\ndishonorable acts ; and by which they really tempt \nthem to go much farther astray on their own account. \nWe can easily conceive, with what insufferable loath- \ning and disgust some such servants must come to the \ndomestic altar, at the time of the morning or evening \nsacrifice. It is a most shocking instance of hypocrisy \nwhen a master says to his servants, " After you have \ndone so and so" \xe2\x80\x94 alluding to some act of imposition \nupon others \xe2\x80\x94 " come to prayer." " Come to prayer," \none might imagine they reply, " thou hypocrite, what \nto sanctify the dishonesty thou hast just commanded \nus to perform ?" Many who have witnessed these \nthings, or any thing like them, have taken an invete- \nrate prejudice against religion, by concluding that all \nits professors are alike, and that all are hypocrites \ntogether. \n\nWe hinder their salvation, when we keep them away \nfrom the means of grace. Their work should not be \nso oppressive, even on week days, as to allow them no \ntime for reading the Scriptures and prayer; but to \ncompel them to spend even their Sabbaths in such a \nmanner as to deprive them of an opportunity to hear \nthe word of God explained and enforced by the faith- \nful preaching of the gospel, is to place a most power- \nful hindrance in the way of their salvation. How \nexceedingly cruel and disgraceful is it to keep them \nfrom public worship to dress a warm dinner. Without \naffirming that the christian Sabbath is to be observed \nwith the same ceremonial strictness as the Jewish \nSabbath was, we do contend that no unnecessary \nwork should be done on that day in our dwellings. \nI suppose no one will contend that a warm dinner is \nnecessary. Is it not a crime, then, against the spirit- \nual welfare of our servants, as well as against God, \nto occupy their Sabbath in preparing for our luxurious \ngratification ? Even as it respects their bodies, it is \nan act of great oppression, for they must need rest \nfrom their labor, far more than we do : and as it re- \nspects their souls, it takes away both the opportunity \nand the inclination to attend to these : it occupies \ntheir time in the morning, and unfits them for atten- \n\n\n\n178 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\ntion in the afternoon. All who thus employ their \ndomestics on the Sabbath, may be truly said to feast \nupon their servants\' birth right, and to gratify their \npalate at the expense of their fellow creatures\' spirit- \nual and eternal welfare. How long and how loudly \nshall the voice of indignant and faithful reprobation \nbe raised in vain against this sinful practice ? I put \nit to any professing christian\'s conscience, how he can \nany longer determine thus to hinder the salvation of \nthose who are under his care ? Will he not make \neven this small sacrifice for the spiritual welfare of \nthe members of his domestic constitution ? Is this \nhis professed zeal for God, and compassion for souls ? \nBut, perhaps, he will reply, somebody must be at home \nto guard the house. Be it so. But need they be slav- \nishly occupied in the drudgery of cookery ? If they \nmust be deprived of the public means of grace, is it \nnecessary that they should be deprived of those that \nare private also? But they will not improve their \ntime at home. How do you know? Have you tried \nthem? Have you, before you left home, furnished \nthem with a suitable portion of reading ? \n\nIn some families, the servants are kept away from \nthe house of God far more than they need to be, for \nother purposes besides cooking. If there are two \nchildren, one must be detained from public worship \nfor each, and perhaps a third to guard the house. But \nis this necessary ? I would have all proper care tak- \nen, both of the children, and of the property ; but then \nI would not have more servants than are absolutely \' \nrequisite, kept away from the house of God. The \nSabbath is of more importance to them than it is even \nto us. Their incessant occupation through the week, \nrenders it more necessary for them to have a day of \nrest and of leisure to attend to their soul\'s concerns, \nthan it is for us. Nor do I think it enough to grant \nthem merely the afternoon of the Lord\'s day : for that \nis the very part of the Sabbath, which we find to be \nthe least edifying to ourselves, and if this be the case \nwith us, how much more so must it be with them ? If, \nthen, we keep away our servants from suitable public \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 179 \n\nmeans of grace, we are placing a hindrance in the \nway of their salvation ; for we know that " faith Com- \neth by hearing, and hearing by the word of God \nand that God hath ordained the preaching of the gos- \npel for the salvation of men\'s souls. \n\nIt appears to me, that we tempt our servants to sin \nalso, by improper negligence and carelessness about \nmany of the more covetable parts of our property. \nSome persons are too much away from home, and \nleave their servants too much to themselves: and \nwhen they are idle abroad, is it any wonder that their \ndomestics should be dishonest at home ? If they will \ngossip away their time by hours, and days, and weeks \ntogether, can it be wondered at, that their property \nshould be wasted by those who are only hired to watch \nit? If you are so much from home, is it not a temp- \ntation to them to invite company ? Is this habit of \nneglecting them the way to make them faithful ? \nWill they not learn idleness from you, and do you not \nknow that idleness is a parent of sin ? Or if you tempt \nthem not to sin by being too much from home, do you \nnot do it by giving them too little employment !> If you \noverwork them, you oppress their bodies ; if you un- \nderwork them, you endanger their souls. It is said \nof the wise and virtuous woman, that she would suffer \nnone of her household to eat the bread of idleness. \nYou must account, not only for your own time, but for \ntheirs also. When your servants are idle, said an old \nauthor, the devil is at work ; and our idle days are his \nbusy ones ; if you find them nothing to do, he will. \nMany have been ruined for both worlds, by having \nnothing to do \xe2\x80\x94 but mischief. Do not tempt them to \nsin, by never calling them to account for what is en- \ntrusted to their care ; especially in pecuniary matters. \nThey may be honest; then keep them so, and put no \ntemptation in their way to be otherwise, by not exam- \nining their accounts. Never let them feel that they \nare irresponsible. If you keep not your eye upon \nthem you may find a thief, where you expected to \nfind an honest man. It is your prayer for yourself) \n" lead me not into temptation act upon this same \n\n\n\n180 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nprinciple towards them. Honesty itself should always \nbe required to account for the uttermost farthing, and \nwill wish to do it. Do not leave your property too \nmuch exposed. Some go to one extreme, and lock up \nevery thing, others go to the opposite extreme, and \nlock up nothing ; and here, as in many other cases, \nextremes meet ; for one tempts to dishonesty by trust- \ning too little, the other by trusting too much. Money, \ndrinkables, and the lighter articles of female dress and \ndecoration, should not be left too carelessly about. \nNor should one party in married life, ever make a \nconfederacy with servants to deceive the other. \nWives should never engage their maids in a scheme \nof falsehood, imposition, or concealment of any kind \nagainst their husbands, though it be but in trifling- \nmatters, for this is teaching them intrigue and dupli- \ncity, which may not only be injurious to their own \ncharacter, but seriously detrimental in the end to the \ninterests of the family. If a servant be employed by \nthe wife, to assist her to conceal any part of the hus- \nband\'s property, or appropriate it in any way unknown \nto him, she is in that act tempted by her mistress, so \nfar as the influence of example goes, to take the same \nliberty on her own account; for she who is employed \nto purloin for another, will soon feel no scruples to \nsteal for herself. \n\n2. It is our duty, not only not to hinder the salvation \nof our servants, but to do every thing in our power to \npromote it. \n\nSeriously consider your obligation in this particular, \nand that as God sent them under your roof, that you \nmight care for their souls, so he will require \ntheir souls at your hands. Yes, at the day of \njudgement he will say to you, " Give an account of \nthose immortal beings which were placed under your \ninstruction, inspection, and anxiety." Cherish, then, \nI entreat you, a deep solicitude for their spiritual wel- \nfare, and feel desirous to become the instruments of \ntheir salvation. In order to this, take care to set \nthem a good example, and let them see in you, not \nonly nothing that is contrary to religion, but every \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n181 \n\n\n\nthing that can recommend it, that so an attractive \ninfluence may ever be exerted by your character on \ntheirs. Many have learnt more of religion by what \nthey have seen in their masters and mistresses, than \nby all they have heard from their ministers. They \nwill never forget their example. Call them regularly \nto family prayer, and make them the peculiar subjects \nof your earnest supplications, that they may hear your \nentreaties with God on their account, and be the wit- \nnesses of your solicitude for their welfare. See to it \nthat they have bibles, and take care that they are \nable to read, for if this be not the case, it is your \nbounden duty to teach them. Furnish them with a \nfew well selected books, and thus provide for them a \nkitchen library. Give them opportunities to attend \npublic worship, and to keep holy the Sabbath day. \nKeep them not too late at work on Saturday evening, \nlest their worldly business trench upon the Sabbath, \nor unfit them, by excessive fatigue, for its hollowed \noccupations. Instruct them in the principles of true \nreligion, that they may have their judgements rightly \ninformed, and that they may not perish for lack of \nknowledge. It is a great disgrace to a christian master \nor mistress, if any servants leave their house, without \nknowing, at least in theory, the way of salvation. In \naddition to this, you should talk to them in the most \naffectionate manner on their soul\'s concerns, warning \nthem to flee from the wrath to come, and directing \nthem to the Lamb of God who taketh away the sin of \nthe world. Give them no rest till you have prevailed \nupon them to seek in good earnest, the one thing \nneedful. Observe what company they keep, and \ncaution them against such as would lead them astray. \nAcquaint yourselves with the books they read, and \nexamine what they understand and remember of the \nsermons they hear. Do all you can to convince them \nof the reasonableness, profit, and sweetness of true \nreligion, and of the folly, and danger, and misery of \nliving without it. If you see no fruit of your exer- \ntions at first, do not be weary of well doing, but per- \nsevere in your anxious and judicious efforts, Should \n16 \n\n\n\n182 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nyou notice any solicitude about their souls, nourish to \nthe uttermost their impressions, by giving suitable \nadvice and proper books. Encourage them, when \nyou are convinced of their true conversion, to connect \nthemselves with the church of Christ, and thus to \nmake a public profession of religion. O, if you should \nbe the instrument of saving the souls of your servants, \nwhat an honor and a happiness will be conferred upon \nyou ! How many have been so honored ; and in what \nbonds have their servants been held to them for ever \nafter in this life. \n\nTo influence you to the performance of these du- \nties, I may call upon you, to remember that your Mas- \nter also is in heaven, and to consider what a master he \nis to you. Meditate upon his attributes, and upon the \nmanner in which they are manifested in all his con- \nduct towards you. How righteous, how faithful, how \nholy, how true, how merciful is he in his dealings to- \nwards his servants. And it is your duty to be like \nhim. When in danger of acting improperly, either \nby want of equity or kindness, O think of God ; medi- \ntate on his matchless grace, and surely such a reflec- \ntion will be an immediate check to every kind, and \nevery degree of impropriety. To him also you are \naccountable, and accountable, as for your conduct in \ngeneral, so also for your behavior to your servants. \nPrepare to meet Him in that awful day, and to meet \nthem also at his bar ! ! \n\nConsider how much your servants need this kind in- \nterposition for their welfare. They are often young, \ninexperienced, and ignorant; rash, and imprudent; \nand they are also an unprotected and dependant race. \nI know not a class of persons whose situation is more \ncalculated to awaken our tenderest sympathies, than \ndomestic female servants. Many of them are orphans, \nand have no friend in the world beyond their employ- \ners ; and no home but what they find in their master\'s \nhouse. When they leave one place of service, they \noften know not where to find their next home, and are \nthus repeatedly beginning the world, and setting out \non the journey of life afresh. How many dangers are \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n183 \n\n\n\nthey exposed to ! How many snares are laid for their \nfeet! Masters and mistresses, be kind to them, they \nhave found a refuge in your house, and let them find \nfriends in you. Pity their condition, and labor to the \nuttermost for their welfare. You may be the means \nof blessing them for both worlds, and become their \nspiritual fathers and mothers, as well as their temporal \nmasters and mistresses. Their souls may be given to \nyour kind solicitude, to be your crown of rejoicing in \nthe day of eternity. \n\nThe honor of religion is most deeply involved in \nthe way in which you discharge your duties. Bad \nmasters and mistresses bring great dishonor upon \nChristianity ; while on the other hand, they who in \nthis situation, exhibit whatsoever things are pure, and \ntrue, and honest, and just, and lovely, and of good re- \nport; who abound in that love which is not easily \nprovoked, and thinketh no evil, and is kind ; who have \nthe meekness and gentleness of Christ ; and who put \non bowels of mercy, are bright ornaments of their pro- \nfession, and adorn the doctrine of God their Saviour \nin all things. A good master or mistress is indeed \na most honorable character; good men esteem it, \nbad men admire it, the world values it, the church \napplauds it, angels delight in it, and God commends \nand rewards it. Eyes too dim to see the beauties of \nholiness in the abstract, discern the excellence of this, \nand tongues that never speak of religion generally, \nbut to scoff at it, are eloquent in the praise of this. I \nconjure you, then, by all the regard you bear to the \nhonor of religion, strive to excel in this your appro- \npriate duty. \n\nInterest pleads with you for this. Consider how \nmuch your own happiness will be promoted, by seeing \nothers happy around you. The heart of that man can- \nnot be in the state in which it ought to be, who is not \npleased to see around him in his dwelling, a circle of \nhappy minds and smiling countenances. A good mas- \nter, or a kind mistress, is a kind of central luminary in \nthe domestic system, and every child and every servant \nan attendant satellite, revolving in the force of his \n\n\n\n184 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR \'. OR \n\n\n\nattraction, and reflecting the brightness of his glory. \nOr to change the metaphor, he is a fountain of glad- \nness, continually sending forth in kindness and kind \nactions, streams of pleasure to all that are in the house. \nAnd then good masters and mistresses, make good \nservants, or find them. When I hear persons com- \nplain, that they cannot find good servants, I suspect \nthe fault is their own, and that they have a bad char- \nacter, for their conduct towards their domestics. If \nthey are tormented, have they not been tormentors ? \nIf they can get no one to serve them willingly, and \nhonestly, have they been generous and kind ? If \nthey find none but such as are wicked, have they \ntried to make them holy ? If they complain of their \nlying, their lewdness, their theft, have they not been \nso selfish as to seek to produce right dispositions to- \nwards themselves, without endeavoring to found these \ndispositions on a right state of mind towards God ? \nTry, then, to conduct yourselves rightly to those, \nwhom you have so much interest in making what \nthey should be. Body, soul, estate, wife, children, \ncharacter, comfort, all are more or less concerned in \nthis matter. Your servants may rob or enrich you ; \nmay defend your reputation or blast it ; may corrupt \nyour children, or improve them ; may tempt you to \nsin, or warn you against it; may injure your health, \nor protect it ; may bless you by their prayers, or curse \nyou by their vices ; may render your dwelling contin- \nually pleasant, or perpetually miserable : your own \ninterest, therefore, unites with God\'s commands, to \nmake it your wisdom and your duty, to train your \nservants as well as your children in the fear of the \nLord. \n\n" What have you to say against what I have been \npersuading you to ? Will you not now, without delay, \nbewail your former neglect, and in good earnest set \nto your work, like persons that in some measure, \nknow the power of divine precepts, the worth of \nsouls, and the greatness of the charge that lieth upon \nyou? O that there were in you such a heart. O \nthat all masters of families were resolved for that \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n185 \n\n\n\nwhich humanity, reason, interest, reputation, and their \ncomfort call for, as well as the law of God, and men \noblige them to. What blessed families then should \nwe have ! What noble corporations ! What glorious \ncities! Might not holiness to the Lord, be writ- \nten upon every door ? O, when shall it once be." \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. \n\n\n\nTHE DUTIES OF SERVANTS. \n\n*\' Servants, be obedient unto them that are your masters, according \nto the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as \nunto Christ : not with eye service, as men pleasers ; but as the serv- \nants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart ; with good will, \ndoing service, as to the Lord, and not to men : knowing, that what- \nsoever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the \nLord, whether he be bond or free." Ephes. vi. 5 \xe2\x80\x94 8. \n\n" Honor and shame from no condition rise, \nAct well your part \xe2\x80\x94 there all the honor lies." \n\nGod is the creator of all things, and the disposer of \nall events : he is, therefore, the author of all those \nvarieties which are to be found in nature, and of all \nthose differences which exist in society. He that \nformed the sun to illuminate, and to rule, formed also \nthe planets to be enlightened and to be governed ; \nand he that raiseth the king to the throne, ordaineth \nthe lot of the servant in the house, and of the laborer \nin the field. There is no such thing as chance ; no, \nnot in the material universe, where each bird that \nflies, each insect that crawls, each flower that blooms, \namidst the desert, which man\'s eye never explores, is \nthe separate production of divine power and skill, no \nless than the Alpine height which lifts its snow crown- \ned summit to the skies, and receives the admiring con- \ntemplation of millions. Nor is there any such thing \nas chance in society ; the rank and station of the poor \nlittle servant girl in the humblest dwelling of the most \n\n\n\n186 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nobscure village, are as certainly determined by God, \nas the elevation of the conqueror and ruler of nations. \n" The lot is cast into the lap, but the disposal thereof \nis from the Lord." " The rich and the poor meet to- \ngether, but the Lord is the disposer of them all i. e* \nnot simply their creator, as men, but the disposer of \ntheir circumstances as rich and poor. This is com- \nforting, this is reconciling. It prevents the poor from \nbeing degraded in their own eyes, or in the eyes of \nothers. They are not like the dust, or the chips, or the \ndried and withered leaves in autumn, which, amidst the \nmore stately objects of nature or art, are blown about \nby the gusts which sweep along the surface ; but they \nare in the place which God intended for them ; and \nGod hath made every thing beautiful in its place and \nseason. Who could have mended what he hath done ? \nWhat cause have we to sit down contented and thank- \nful in the place which he hath ordained for us ! What \nobligation was he under to give us existence ? And \nwhat did he owe to us that he should have made us \nrational creatures, and not formed us a beast, or a \nreptile ? " Shall the thing formed, say to him that \nformed it, Why hast thou made me thus?" \n\nAs God disposeth every thing, so it is the highest \nexcellence of a creature, to discharge the duties of \nhis station, and to shine in the orbit, and move with \nregularity through the course allotted to him. A \ngood servant is more honorable than a bad master ; \nand a valuable subject than a worthless prince. He \nthat is not relatively good, is not really so ; while he \nthat acts his part well, is more truly dignified, though \nhis rank be low, than he that stands on a pinnacle, but \nfails in the duty of his elevated station. What is true \nhonor ? Not riches, not rank, not beauty, not learn- \ning, not courage. No. But virtue ; whether it be \nclad in the garb of poverty, or the robe of affluence ; \nwhether it hold the plough, or grasp the sceptre ; \nwhether it be seated at the table, or stand behind the \nchair. Virtue is honor; let all servants write this \nsentiment on the heart, and ever act under its influ- \nence, as the living principle of all their conduct \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 187 \n\n\n\nIn stating, after these preliminary remarks, the du- \nties of servants, I would remind them, \n\nFirst. That there are some which they oive to them- \nselves, the performance of which will constitute the \nbest and surest foundation of those which they owe to \nothers. \n\n1. Religion takes the lead of all. \n\nReligion is as much your business, as it is ours. \nYou are immortal creatures, you are sinners, you are \nthe objects of God\'s mercy in Christ Jesus, and invited \nto seek pardon, peace, and eternal life, as well as we \nyour employers. You have souls that must surfer \neternal torments in hell, or enjoy everlasting happi- \nness in heaven. You must be convinced of sin, re- \npent, confess to God, cry for mercy, commit your \nsouls into the hands of Christ by faith, be born again \nof the Holy Ghost, lead a sober, righteous, and godly \nlife, or you must depart accursed into everlasting fire, \nprepared for the devil and his angels. God is as wil- \nling to have mercy upon you ; Jesus Christ is as ready \nto receive you, as he is us. Your soul is as precious \nin the eye of heaven as ours. God is no respecter of \npersons, and is not to be considered as less friendly \nto your best interests, because he has placed you in \nservice. Your situation is no excuse, therefore, for \nyour neglecting the claims of religion. You are not \nto imagine that attention to your souls\' concerns is \nnot required from you ; for it is required : and I repeat \nit, unless you repent, and are born again, and believe \nin Christ, you will perish eternally. Your soul is \nyour first concern, and must not be neglected for any \nthing. Think not that it is impossible for a person in \nyour situation to attend to religion ; for it is possible. \nGreat multitudes of servants, both male and female, \nare truly pious. I have twenty or thirty in the church \nunder my care, who are among its most consistent \nmembers. I charge you all to live in the fear of God. \nRemember your Creator. Set the Lord always before \nyou. Consider, that he is ever about your path, and \nthat you act, speak, and think in his presence. He is \nnow the holy and ever present witness, and will here- \nafter be the inflexible judge of your actions. \n\n\n\n188 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR t OR \n\n\n\nIn order to cultivate religion, go not into wicked \nfamilies, where the Sabbath is profaned, the claims of \npiety are despised and rejected, and you can have no \nopportunity of going to public worship. Do not dwell \nin a place where your Sabbath is taken away from \nyou ; let no amount of wages tempt you to go or to \nremain in such a situation. Always stipulate for the \nprivilege of going at least one part of the Lord\'s day, \nto the house of God. Insist upon it as your right, \nand suffer nothing to deprive you of it. Endeavor \nto find a little time for reading the Bible, and for \nprayer. Never go out of your room in the morning, \nnor lie down on your pillow at night, without reading \na portion, even though it be a short one, of God\'s \nholy word, and earnestly praying for his mercy. Let \nreligion be the basis of all your conduct, the very \nframe-work of your character, leading you to practise \n" whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are \nhonest, whatsoever things are just, and pure, and \nlovely, and of good report." Do not, then, as you \nwould escape the torments of hell, do not, as you \nwould be brought at last to the felicities of heaven, \ndo not neglect your souls. " Godliness is profit- \nable for all things, having the promise of the life that \nnow is, as well as of that which is to come." Your \nsituation is a very dangerous one ; you are in a very \nunprotected state ; and you need the fear of God to \nenable you to depart from evil. Men, and women too, \nof bad principles, are lying in wait for you, spreading \nsnares for your feet, and seeking your ruin. Religion \nwill guard you, and guide you, and comfort you : it \nwill keep you in safety, and raise you to respectability. \n" Exalt her, and she shall promote thee, she shall lead \nthee to honor when thou dost embrace her." \n\n2 A regard to truth, is another very important \nduty, and which you will be sure to perform if you fear \nGod. This duty you owe to your employers also ; but \nwhile the inconvenience of the neglect of it will be \nfelt by them, the more dreadful consequence of that \nneglect will be yours. \n\nLying is a most hateful and wicked practice. And \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 189 \n\nit is said, that " all liars shall have their portion in the \nlake that burnetii with fire." Strive to avoid every \nthing in your conduct, that needs a sin to cover it: \nbut If you have at any time done any thing wrong, do \nnot make one sin two, by telling a falsehood to con- \nceal the matter. Let no temptation induce you to \nviolate a truth ; rather endure the passion, or the bit- \nterest wrath of the severest master or mistress, than \nstrive to avert it by a falsehood. Lying is bad policy, \nas well as great wickedness ; for, when once detected \nin this vice, you will ever afterwards be suspected, \neven when you tell the truth. A servant, whose \nword can be implicitly relied upon, will always be \nesteemed. Such a virtue will be made to extend a \nfriendly covering over many little faults. Never \nallow yourselves to be tempted by your master or \nmistress to commit a breach of truth. Inform them \nat once, that they must tell their own falsehoods, for \nthat you cannot do it for them. A clerk once waited \nupon me, to ask me what he was to do in a situation, \nwhere he was obliged weekly to make a false written \nreturn in his own name, to defraud a public company, \nfor the benefit of his employer. " Do," said I, with \nsurprise that the question should have been asked me, \n" instantly refuse ; and rather cast yourself and your \nfamily the next hour upon Providence, than ever re- \npeat the falsehood." You must not, dare not, lie for \nothers any more than for yourselves. If required to \nadopt the modern practice, of saying, your mistress is \nnot at home, when she is at the same time in the \nhouse ; you dare not comply, for it is a falsehood, \nand as such, is a sin against God. When you are \nput by your employers upon committing any sin, \nwhether it be cheating, calumny, lying, or any thing \nelse forbidden by the Scriptures, let your reply be, \n" How can I do tnis great wickedness, and sin against \nGod?" \n\n3. Sobriety is a virtue you owe to yourselves, and \nalso to your masters ; but, as in the case of lying, the \ninjury done by intoxication to yourselves, is far greater \nthan that which you inflict upon them. \n\n\n\n190 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nBeware of the besotting, impoverishing", damning\' \nsin of drunkenness, and of every thing that leads to \nit. Household servants have many opportunities, and \nmany temptations to practise this vice, if there be any \npropensity to indulge in it. It is impossible even for \nthe most rigid watchfulness always to keep out of \ntheir reach, the mault liquor, the spirits, and the wine ; \nthere are means of gaining access by stealth, to these \nthings, on the part of a vicious and ingenious servant, \nwhich no vigilant mistress can altogether prevent. If \nwe cannot trust these things to the guardianship of your \nprinciples, our locks and keys will often be found an \ninsufficient security. Do, do consider, that if the habit \nof drunkenness be once contracted, it is all over ; and \nmost probably you are ruined for both worlds. Let \nthere be a distinct understanding between you and \nyour master or mistress, what beverage you are to be \nallowed, both as to quality and quantity, and most \nsacredly abstain from touching a drop more, or a drop \nof any thing else. Never put the decanters to your \nlips, when the stoppers are all out before you. Stolen \ndrams of this kind are double poison, they are venom \nfor the body, and damnation for the soul : they lead to \ntwo crimes at once, drunkenness and dishonesty. Be- \nware of the temptation which is presented at those \ntimes, when company is in the house, and when, \nthrough the supposition, that extra exertion requires \nan additional glass, you may be led to take it, to love \nit, and to acquire the habit of it. I have known excel- \nlent servants, both male and female, ruined forever by \nintoxication. \n\nAs to workmen, the daily servants that occupy the \nmanufactories, this vice is the damning sin that is \nspeading immorality, desolation, and misery through \nalmost the whole laboring population of the commu- \nnity. It is distressing beyond the power of language \nto describe, to think of the effects of this most pre- \nvalent, most dreadful infatuation. How many fine \nathletic forms are enervated ; how many wives are \nbroken-hearted; how many families are reduced to \nbeggary ; how many souls are damned continually, by \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n191 \n\n\n\nthis crime. Drunken servants are the torment of \nalmost all our master manufacturers, the curse upon our \ncommerce, and the blight upon our national prosperity. \n\n4. Chastity is a duty of infinite importance to the \nwell being of servants. \n\nI am now on delicate ground, and I will endeavor \nto step with caution; but no false refinement shall \nhinder me from discharging a duty, which, as a guar- \ndian of the public morals, I owe to a very large, and \na very much exposed class of my fellow creatures. I \nwill not allow a prudish and affected sentimentalism \nto turn away my holy and benevolent concern from \nthe interests of female servants, nor prevent me from \naddressing to them the language of warning and ex- \npostulation. When the miseries of prostitution are \nconsidered, and when the prevalence of this desolat- \ning crime, and all its attendant evils is at once admit- \nted and deplored ; when it is well known, that of the \nmiserable and loathsome victims of seduction that \ncrowd the paths of vice, a very large proportion were \nfemale servants, betrayed from the ways of virtue, in \nthe first instance, by their masters, or their masters\' \nsons, or their fellow servants of the opposite sex, \nsurely it is the duty of every one who is specially ad- \ndressing young women in service, most solemnly and \nmost pointedly to warn them against the wily arts of \nthe basilisk seducer, who is fascinating them to their \nruin. Young women consider the value, even in this \nworld, of your character. With an unblemished re- \nputation, you are respectable in servitude : your vir- \ntue is your parents\' honest pride, your families\' only \nrenown, and your own wealth and honor : this will be \nyour passport through the world, your letter of recom- \nmendation to good society, and that which will find \nyou friends, and make them, and keep them, wherever \nProvidence may cast your lot. But if this be lost, \noh, what a poor, forlorn, withered, wretched creature \nyou become ; abandoned by your seducer, ejected \nfrom your place, disowned by your friends, you have \nthe pains, and the cares, and the labors of a mother, \nbut united with the infamy of a prostitute ; you have \n\n\n\n192 THE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\nto bear the scorn of the world, the look and language \nof shame-stricken, heart-broken parents from without, \nand the ceaseless reproach and remorse of a guilty \nconscience from within ; and all this, perhaps, but as \npreliminary to the misery which the prostitute endures, \nthrough her loathsome course on earth, and its awful \ntermination in hell. Take warning, then, and reject \nwith disdain and virtuous indignation, the very first \nencroachments that may be made, by any one, upon \nthe most delicate modesty and reserve. Have you \nbeen unfortunate enough to draw upon yourself the \nattention of a master, or a master\'s son, consider, it is \nwith the eye of lust, not of love, - that he looks upon \nyou ; he may flatter your vanity by his admiration of \nyour person, but it is the flattery of a murderer ; he \ncannot mean any thing that is honorable ; his passion, \nthat he talks of, is a base, ruffian-like, deliberate pur- \npose to ruin you. Turn from him, flee from him with \nmore haste than you would from a serpent or a tiger, \nfor more than a serpent or a tiger he is to be shunned \nby you. Make him feel that you are his superior in \nvirtue, though his inferior in rank. If, on the other \nhand, you allow him to accomplish his purpose, and \ndecoy you to perdition, he will in cold-blooded, re- \nmorseless cruelty, abandon you and your child to a \nwork-house, to a broken heart, and the bottomless pit. \n\nAct in the same determined manner towards every \none else. Preserve not only your virtue itself, but \nyour modesty, which is its outwork. Allow neither \nact, nor word, nor look in your presence, which is at \nvariance with the most scrupulous purity. Let no \nprospect nor promise of marriage, throw you off your \nguard. The man who acts thus, is to be regarded as \na traitor deceiving you into iniquity. He that would \ndestroy your reputation, will not scruple to falsify his \nown word ; the vows of such a wretch are not to be \ntrusted. Be careful to whom you give your company. \nLet not an anxiety to leave service, and be your own \nmistress, drive you to accept the offer of the first indi- \nvidual, suitable or unsuitable, who may present him- \nself to your notice. \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n193 \n\n\n\n5. Frugality is an incumbent duty upon persons \nin your situation. \n\nYou are in very dependant circumstances. Your \nsupport depends upon your own labor, and that upon \nyour health. You have no arm but your own to rely \nupon, and should therefore feel the obligation of lay- \ning up something in the day of prosperity, against the \nnight of adversity. We are all enjoined to trust Pro- \nvidence, but not to tempt it. To spend all we get in \nvanity and useless trifles, under the idea that we \nshall be taken care of, in one way or other, is a pre- \nsumption that generally brings its own punishment \nThere is in the present day, a most censurable pro- \npensity in female servants, and workwomen in general, \nto dress quite beyond their station. It is not easy, in \nsome cases, to distinguish between the maid and her \nmistress. What abject folly is it, for a young woman \nto spend all her wages in gay apparel. When she is \nin ill health and out of place, will it be any consola- \ntion to look upon finery which she is obliged to pawn, \none article after another for her support ? The love \nof dress has led in some instances to stealing; in \nothers, to prostitution ; in more, to poverty. Character \nis respectability, not dress. Harlots are generally fine \nand gaudy in their attire. Economize your little \nproperty, then ; lay up in store for the time to come. \nI know several servants who have, one forty, another \nfifty, another one hundred pounds in the bank. Be- \nsides, it is desirable to save from unnecessary expense \nin dress, that you may have a little to give to the cause \nof humanity and religion. The mite of the servant \nmay mingle, in this age, with the pound of the master, \nto help in spreading the blessings of Christianity over the \nface of the earth. And it is to be poor indeed, to have \nnothing to give to the cause of humanity or religion. \n\nSecondly. I now lay before you, the duties you owe \n\ntO YOUR EMPLOYERS. \n\n1. Honor them : for they are your superiors in sta- \ntion. Pay them the respect which is due to them, and \nin order to this, cherish for them a proper reverence \nin your heart. " Let as many servants as are under \n\n\n\n194 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR \\ OR \n\n\n\nthe yoke," said the apostle, " count their own masters \nworthy of all honor." Behave towards them with all \nproper humility and submission : not that you are to \ncrouch and tremble before them, like slaves at the \nfoot of a tyrant. Your address to them must be rev- \nerential, not rude, boisterous, and impertinent. In \ntalking of them to others, in their absence, there \nshould be no calling them names, no exposure of \ntheir faults, no ridiculing their infirmities ; on the \ncontrary, you should, to the utmost of your power, as \nfar as truth will allow, defend them against the at- \ntacks of slander, and the arts of detraction. If, at any \ntime, they speak to you with tones of anger, and in \nthe language of rebuke, you must remember the \napostle\'s injunction, and " not answer again? You \nmay mildly and meekly explain, and sometimes ex- \npostulate, but you must not reply in an angr/ and \nimpertinent manner. Should they so far forget their \nduty, as to let down their dignity, and be too familiar, \ndo not forget your place, but respectfully keep your \nproper distance. Every thing rude in conduct, and \nobtrusive, insolent or familiar in language, must, there- \nfore, be most sedulously avoided, as an essential part \nof servants\' conduct towards their employers. \n\n2. Obedience is founded upon reverence, and is a \nnecessary part of it. Observe the directions of the \napostle Paul. " Servants, obey in all things your \nmasters according to the flesh." We are of course \nto except those things which are contrary to the word \nof God ; for if they enjoin any thing that is manifestly \nsinful, you must mildly, but firmly, refuse to comply, \nand be prepared to take all the consequences of your \ndisobedience. In all other matters, however self-de- \nnying or difficult, however contrary to your own views \nand wishes, you must submit ; you are not to choose \nyour commands, but in all things to obey. You are \nto obey " with fear and trembling" i. e. with reveren- \ntial regard for their authority, a dread of their dis- \npleasure, and also, which is probably the apostle\'s \nmeaning, with a dread of the anger of God, who, hav- \ning enjoined obedience, will punish the disobedient, \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 195 \n\n\n\nYou are to obey " in singleness of heart" i. e. with a \nwilling and cheerful mind ; and not with a mere com- \npulsory outside show of submission, and are to be free \nfrom all selfish personal ends, and obey from the sin- \ngle consideration, that it is right. You are to do this, \n" as unto Christ, as the servants of Christ, doing the \nwill of God from the heart, ivith good will, doing ser- \nvice as to the Lord, and not to men" You must con- \nsider, that God commands it, and therefore you are to \nobey them, as obeying God ; they are in God\'s stead, \nin this particular, to you ; and from a regard to con- \nscience, and a respect to the divine authority, you are \nto do what they enjoin. " I do this," you are to say, \nin reference to obedience, " not merely to please my \nmaster and my mistress, but to please God." This is \nturning all you do into religion. It signifies nothing, \nwhat is the nature of the thing, whether it be an act \nof the most menial kind, in the kitchen, the parlor, or \nthe garden, if it be done with a view to the divine \ncommand, that very aim elevates the humble service \ninto an expression of piety towards God, and a service \nthat will be remembered in the day of judgement. \nYou are not to obey, " with eye service, as men pleas- \ners" How many are there, who need a master\'s eye \nalways upon them, to keep them industrious. No \nsooner is his back turned, than they are indolent and \nneglectful. This conduct is as mean as it is wicked : \nit is detestable hypocrisy, flagrant injustice, and man- \nifest wickedness : for is it nothing that the eye of God is \nupon you ? Is he not there ? Does he not disapprove \nthis conduct ? And is it a small matter to make light \nof his presence ? Such servants will shortly find to \ntheir fearful cost, that the eye of God is far more to \nbe dreaded, than the eye of the severest master. \n\nLet it be your delight to do the will of your employers. \nStrive to please them in all things, and feel anxious to \ndraw from them this testimony, \xe2\x80\x94 " There is a servant, \nto whom no command, which it is in her power to obey, \ncomes unwelcome ; who never need be told a second \ntime to do a thing ; who anticipates my orders ; and \nwhose very pleasure seems to arise from pleasing me." \n\n\n\n196 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\n3. Good temper is of great consequence. \n\nThere are some servants who, let what work will \ncome in unexpectedly, and even oppressively, receive \nall with a cheerful acquiescence, and are never put \nout of their way. Their mistresses are never afraid \nof telling them of unlooked for company having arriv- \ned, and extra exertion being necessary. While there \nare others, who, with many valuable qualities, are \nwithal, so peevish, so soon put out of temper, so cross \nat any little unexpected addition being made to their \nwork, that their mistresses are in constant bondage. \nI like not to hear it said, " She is a very good servant, \nand has many excellent properties, but her temper is \nso bad, that I am quite afraid to point out to her, in \never so gentle a manner, the least imperfection, or to \nput her in the smallest degree out of her way." This \nis a serious blemish upon any excellence, and often \nproves a very great interruption to the comfort of the \nfamily, but a still greater interruption to the comfort \nof the poor waspish creature herself. Temper is not \nevery thing, but it is very important. Study, there- \nfore, to be obliging, and to avoid crossness, sullenness, \nand passion. \n\n4. Fidelity is a duty of the highest rank. \nWhat a delightful testimony is that which our Lord \n\nJesus Christ is represented as bearing to his people \nat the last day, \xe2\x80\x94 " Well done, good and faithful \nservant." Such also is the testimony, which it should \nbe in our power to bear to our servants. Fidelity has \nreference \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo the property of your masters. \n\nFaithful servants will not actually steal the prop- \nerty of their masters. There are opportunities of this \nevery where if you choose to avail yourselves of them. \nConsider the horrible disgrace of being called a thief ; \nand add to this, the danger in the present world, and \nthe punishment of such a crime in the next. Write \nthe eighth commandment upon your heart, and when \ntempted by a favorable opportunity to embezzle the \nproperty of your employer, let a voice more awful \nthan thunder, repeat in your ears the prohibition, \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n197 \n\n\n\n" Thou shalt not steal." At that perilous moment in \nyour history, let your imagination look up, and behold \nthe flaming eye of God, intently gazing upon you. In \nwhatever profusion, money, plate, jewelry, lace, may \nbe spread out before you, touch not, covet not. De- \ntermine, by God\'s grace, that though you be ever so \npoor, you will at least be honest. Honesty is indeed \nthe best policy, to go no higher for a motive of com- \nmendation. A single act of stealing may blast your \nreputation for ever ; even to be suspected, is dreadful : \nbut what inestimable value is attached to a servant of \ntried honesty. Be honest even to scrupulosity. Touch \nnothing in the house in the way of eatables or drink- \nables, which you do not consider as belonging to you. \nIf you want to taste the luxuries of the larder, ask for \nthem ; but do not appropriate to yourself what you \nthink would be denied. I have read of a servant who \nwent into the pantry, only to make free with sweet- \nmeats, but seeing some articles of plate lying about, \nhe took these, and went on from one degree of theft \nto another, till he died at the gallows. He was under \nthe influence of a thievish disposition when he saw \nthe plate, for he was going to take what he had no \nright to, and he was in a favorable state of mind to be \ntempted by satan to a greater crime. Servants should \nnot allow themselves to appropriate any refuse articles \nof dress, nor give away the broken victuals, or other \narticles of the kitchen, without permission. Habits \nbegin in acts ; little sins lead on to greater ones. She \nthat commences by taking a sweetmeat, knowing that \nshe is not allowed it, has violated so far, her integrity, \nhas done something to benumb her conscience, and \nhas taken the first step towards confirmed dishonesty. \nSin is deceitful ; and the way of a sinner is like the \ncourse of a ball, down hill. Servants beware of the \nfirst act of sin. But fidelity, in reference to property, \nrequires not only that you should not embezzle your \nmaster\'s property, but that you should not waste \nit. They that carelessly waste, are almost as guilty \nas they that wilfully steal. You cannot be an honest \nservant, unless you are as careful of your employer\'s \n\n\n\n198 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nproperty, as if it were your own. Furniture, goods, \nprovisions, must all be thus preserved. You are not \nto say, " My master is rich, he can spare it, and we \nneed not be so niggardly." His wealth is nothing to \nyou : if he chooses to waste it, he has a legal right \nto do so, but you have none. \n\nNor is this all, for fidelity requires, that servants \nshould do all they can to make their employer\'s affairs \nprosper. They should grieve over their master\'s losses, \nrejoice in his success, and so identify their feelings \nwith his interests, as to seem as if their fortune were \nbound up with his. We have a fine instance of this, \nin the case of Joseph while he was in the house of \nPotiphar. \n\nFidelity would also lead them to give their employ- \ners information and warning when their affairs are \ngoing wrong, either through their own neglect or \nignorance, or through the injurious conduct of others. \nThey cannot be honest, if they witness in silence any \nfraud practised upon them, either by their fellow \nservants, or by friends or strangers. Such conniv- \nance is a participation of the crime, although it should \nnot be rewarded by any participation of the profits. \nA proper feeling of concern for your master\'s welfare, \nwould certainly lead you, if he were flagrantly neg- \nlectful of his affars, to suggest to him in a respect- \nful manner, your apprehension of the consequences. \nWhat man, except a fool or a madman, would be \noffended by such an appeal as the following, made to \nhim by a servant : \xe2\x80\x94 " Pardon me, Sir, if I take the \nliberty of expressing my fears on the subject of your \nbusiness, which I am induced to do, by a sense of my \nown duty, and a true regard to your welfare. Your \nbusiness is certainly declining, and I fear, through \nyour being so frequently absent from it. Customers \nare offended by not meeting with the principal in the \nshop, and by finding the stock so low and ill assorted. \nI am so concerned for your family, and so distressed \nat the idea of your doing otherwise than well, that at \nthe risk of incurring your displeasure, which I en- \ntreat you not to indulge against me, for this self-de- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 199 \n\nnying act of faithful service, I have determined to lay \nthe matter before you, and to beg of you to give up \nyour company, to look into your accounts, and to at- \ntend more closely to your business." A servant that \nwould do this, and in this manner, is fidelity embodied, \nand is a treasure beyond all price. \n\nBut faithfulness has a reference also to a master\'s \ntime, for in many instances, time is property, and \nservants may as effectually rob their masters by idle- \nness, as by stealing. This is always the case where \nthey are hired by the day ; and indeed, where, as in \nmany branches of manufacture, they are paid by the \npiece, if by their idleness, they prevent their employ- \ners from executing orders, and realizing profits, they \ncan scarcely be called faithful. When you hire your- \nselves, there should be an explicit understanding, as \nI have already said, how much time you are to render \nfor the stipulated wages, and when this is known, all \nthat by indolence you keep back, is just so much of \nyour employer\'s property stolen from him. \n\nFaithfulness has regard to the reputation of your \nmaster or mistress. You have their character in your \nhands, and by calumny and falsehood, may, if such a \nmalicious disposition were in your heart, do them con- \nsiderable harm, either by stating what is absolutely \nfalse, misrepresenting what is true, magnifying what \nis little, or exaggerating what is insignificant. Re- \nmember, it is the utmost excess of base conduct, and \nthe wickedest kind of dishonesty, to attempt to rob \nthem of their good name. \n\nThen there are also secrets which it would be a very \nunfaithful act in you to disclose. Workmen, clerks, \nand apprentices, are guilty of great impropriety, if \nthey communicate the private arts of their master\'s \nbusiness, or lay open his connexions to any one. Such \nan act, is by common opinion, an instance of criminal \ntreachery. Female servants ought not to tell to oth- \ners, what they see and hear in the families where \nthey are placed. It is to be apprehended, that much \nof the gossip, and many of the reports, which circulate \nso much slander and detraction through society, are to \n\n\n\n200 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR \\ OR \n\n\n\nbe traced up to this source. You are not forbidden to \nform friendships with your fellow servants in other fa- \nmilies, but to meet merely for the purpose of exchang- \ning intelligence from the respective households in \nwhich you live, is highly censurable. You should \nmaintain the strictest silence on these affairs, and not \nallow the most busy and inquisitive curiosity of others, \nto draw any thing from you. Nor are you to tell these \nmatters, as is often done, to one particular friend ; \nfor she may tell them to one more, till at length the \naffairs of the family are matter of public notoriety. \nYour admission into a family is attended with an im- \nplied condition, that you are to keep all its secrets. \n\n5. Diligence is another duty, but is so necessarily \nconnected with honesty, and indeed, so essentially a \npart of it, that much need not be said, in addition, to \nillustrate and enforce it. The slothful servant is a \nwicked one, for in some instances, more mischief may \nbe done by a day\'s idleness, than others may be able \nto undo by a year\'s exertion. The habits of a slug- \ngard are very unfriendly to your own reputation, and \nto the comfort of the family by whom you are employ- \ned. Early rising is absolutely indispensable, if in \naddition to the duties of your station, you would at- \ntend to the salvation of your soul. And will you not \nsacrifice half an hour\'s sleep, for the purpose of seek- \ning glory, honor, immortality, and eternal life ? Dili- \ngence is opposed to sauntering, inactive, and gossiping \nhabits ; to a slow, reluctant, grudging way of doing \nyour work. A disposition to stint your labor, to do as \nlittle as you possibly can, and to do that little, in a \ncareless, unneat, half-finished manner, is a great blem- \nish in your character, and will be sure to militate \nagainst your interest. \n\n6. Gratitude for kindnesses shown you, is very in- \ncumbent. \n\nYou ought to be thankful for having your faults \npointed out, and not resentful, as too many are, to- \nwards those who are kind enough to shew them what \nis wrong. If you have received kind attentions in \nsickness, and have discovered a constant solicitude \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 201 \n\n\n\non the part of your employers to soften as much as \npossible your labor, and to render you comfortable \nin your situation, you should convince them that \ntheir attentions are not thrown away upon one, who \nis insensible to their kindness. Especially if they \nhave taken pains to promote your interest, by warn- \ning you against bad company, or by endeavoring to \ncorrect your bad practices, you should be grateful for \ntheir pains, and endeavor to comply with their advice. \n\n7. In all such cases as those mentioned, where your \nmasters and mistresses are your friends, and confer \nobligations by their kindness, you should be truly and \ncordially attached to them. \n\nWhere there is really nothing to produce attach- \nment, you cannot be expected to feel any. You can- \nnot be required to feel gratitude, where you have \nreceived no favors ; nor to cherish affection, where \nyou have met with no indulgence. But all masters \nand mistresses are not tyrants, as some of you know \nby experience ; for you have found in them, some- \nthing, at least, of the kindness of a second father or \nmother. Here there are certainly strong claims upon \nyour affection, as they have cared for you with the \nkindness of parents, you should serve them with the \ndeep interest and devoted attachment of children. \nWe have a right to expect, in such instances, that as \nwe have studied your comfort, you would study oars ; \nthat when sickness invades our frame or our family, \nyou will minister at the sick bed by night or by day, \nnot grudging your ease or your sleep, so that you \nmight do us good; that when losses diminish our \nproperty and our comforts, you will most tenderly \nsympathize with us, mingling your tears with ours, \nand be willing to share with us the reduction of our \nusual plenty and gratification ; that, in short, in all our \nafflictions, you will be afflicted with us, and be the \nsharers of all our joys. We did not, and we could not \nbargain with you for such a duty as this ; affection can- \nnot be made an article of a money contract ; it must \nbe given, or it is worth nothing, and indeed, bought \nand sold it cannot be. Instances of a generous af- \n\n\n\n202 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nfection of this kind, we have perhaps all known ; in- \nstances of servants so attached to their masters and \nmistresses, as to follow them, and remain in their \nservice through all the vicissitudes of fortune ; as to \ndescend with them from the lofty eminence, and lux- \nurious gratifications of prosperity, down into the lowly, \nand desolate, and barren vale of poverty, there to suf- \nfer want with them ; as to leave their native land, and \ncross the seas, and dwell in a foreign country with \nthem ; as even to find in their love to their master \nand mistress, a principle and a feeling, that reconciled \nthem to all the sufferings they endured on their ac- \ncount. I know a servant, who, when her master failed \nin business, brought down her little hoard of savings, \namounting to nearly thirty pounds, and entreated him, \nwith tears, to accept and apply it for the comfort and \nrelief of his family. " Sir," said a lady to a minister \nwho called upon her in sickness, " that girl," alluding \nto her servant, " who has just ]eft the room, is a great- \ner comfort to me, than I can express. She watches \nme with the affection of a daughter and the care of a \nnurse. When my complaints make me peevish, she \ncontrives something to soothe me. I often observe \nher taking pains to discover what would add to my \ncomfort, and often am presented with the thing I wish \nfor, before I express it in words. I live without sus- \npicion, for I perceive her to be conscientious, even to \nscrupulosity ; my chief complaint is, that she takes too \nmuch care of me, that I cannot make her take suffi- \ncient care of herself." \n\nServants, look at this character, admire it, imitate it. \n\nThirdly. There are duties ivhich servants in the \nsame family owe to each other. \n\nThere ought to be no tyranny nor oppression exer- \ncised by one over the other. This is often the case in \nthose families which employ a numerous retinue of \ndomestics, and which admit the distinction of superior \nand inferior servants. There is sometimes in such \nhouseholds, a system of great cruelty carried on, alto- \ngether unknown to the master. Some poor creatures \nare degraded into the condition of a slave to the other \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n203 \n\n\n\nservants, and drag on a miserable existence, under the \nheavy yoke which has been imposed upon them, by \nan unfeeling minion, who stands before the master\'s \neye, and has always his ear at command. \n\nStrive to agree with each other, for families are of- \nten disturbed by the quarrels of the servants, and the \nuproar in the kitchen, is distinctly heard by the guests \nin the parlor. You should bear with one another\'s \ninfirmities, and never take delight in thwarting each \nother. Instead of finding pleasure in converting the \ninfirmities, of any one into a means of annoying, and \na source of vexation to her, carefully avoid whatever, \nby appealing to these imperfections, or bringing them \ninto notice, would render the subject of them, irrita- \nble or sullen. Never tease one another, which is too \noften done, especially where an individual is known \nto be petulant. The worst consequences have some- \ntimes arisen from this practice. A few days ago, I \nsaw an individual put to the bar of his country, upon \nan indictment for manslaughter, under the following \ncircumstances. \xe2\x80\x94 His fellow servants, aware of his pet- \nulant disposition, provoked him by some petty vexa- \ntions, till, in his rage, he hurled a hammer at them, \nwhich struck one of them in the head, and inflicted a \nwound of which he died. \n\nNever bear tales to your employers, for the purpose \nof exciting a prejudice against each other, and in- \ngratiating yourselves into their favor. A supplanter \nis a most hateful character, at once despicable and \ndespised. \n\nAt the same time, you are not to connive at sin ; if \nyour fellow servants do any thing wrong, either in the \nway of drunkenness, lewdness, or dishonesty, you owe \nit to your master, to make him acquainted with the \nfact. You are dishonest if you conceal the dishonesty \nof others, and you are a partaker of those vices, which \nyou allow to be perpetrated under your notice, with- \nout making it known. \n\nServants that make a profession of religion, have \ngreat need to conduct themselves with singular pro- \npriety. Towards their masters and mistresses there \n\n\n\n204 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR ! OR \n\n\n\nshould be the deepest humility, and the very reverse \nof every thing that bears even a distant resemblance \nof spiritual pride. There must be no consciousness \nof superiority, no air of importance, no affected sanc- \ntity : but a meek, modest, unobtrusive exhibition of \nthe influence of religion, in making them strictly con- \nscientious and exemplary, in the discharge of all the \nduties of their station. Their piety should be seen, \nnot only in a constant anxiety to attend to the public \nmeans of grace, and in a regular performance of the \nprivate duties of religion, but also in making them \nmore respectful and obedient ; more meek and sub- \nmissive ; more honest and diligent, than all the rest. \nThat servant does not adorn the doctrine of God her \nSaviour in all things, who does not shine in her sphere \nas a servant. There are occasions when you may \nseek to do good to those who employ you, if they are \nyet living without the possession of piety. Instances \nhave occurred, in which such as you have been the \ninstruments of converting their employers: and a \nvisible, but unostentatious exhibition of eminent and \nconsistent piety, supported by as eminent a discharge \nof the duties of your station, followed by a modest \nand judicious introduction of the subject when a \nsuitable occasion presents itself, may, by the grace \nof God, be blessed for the salvation of your master \nand mistress. \n\nIf, on the other hand, your profession of religion be \nnot supported by consistency ; if it render you proud, \nconceited, and consequential ; if it be accompanied \nby an unsubdued temper, or by habits of inattention \nto the duties of your place ; if it makes you trouble- \nsome about your religious privileges, so that in a time \nof emergency or sickness, you will not give up a sin- \ngle sermon without murmuring and sullenness, you \ndo not glorify God, but dishonor him ; you excite a \nprejudice against religion, rather than produce a pre- \npossession in its favor. \n\nTowards your fellow servants you should be meek, \nobliging, and generous ; assuming nothing on the \nground of your piety, never disgusting them by any \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 205 \n\n\n\napparent consciousness of superior sanctity, but at the \nsame time, never scrupling to let them know and see \nthat you fear God. Timidly to conceal your regards \nto the claims of religion, or vauntingly to acknowl- \nedge them, would equally excite a prejudice ; but to \nyield to them with a firmness, that ridicule and oppo- \nsition cannot bend, a consistency that scrutiny cannot \nimpeach, and a humility that the reproached con- \nscience of those who are offended, cannot misrep- \nresent, will be sure to raise admiration, and, by the \nblessing of God, may produce imitation. \n\nAre any of your fellow servants living in the neg- \xe2\x80\xa2 \nlect of religion, it is your duty, in a solemn and affec- \ntionate manner to warn them. " I knew a religious \nservant," says Mr. Jane way, " that after other endeav- \nors for the conversion of one of his fellows, had proved \nineffectual, spent some time at midnight to pray for \nhim, and being very importunate, his voice was heard in \nthe next chamber, where the object of his pious soli- \ncitude lay, who, on hearing the voice of entreaty, rose \nfrom bed to listen, and was so struck with the affec- \ntionate concern that was breathed out for him, that he \nwas converted by the prayer." \n\nLet me now, in conclusion, exhort you to attend to \nthe duties which have been set before you. It may \nbe felt as a motive to this, to consider that though you \nare servants, you are not slaves, as was the case with \nthose who are addressed by the apostles, in their in- \nspired writings. Yes, they were slaves, and yet are \nthey admonished to give honor and service to those, \nwho held them by a tie which they could not break. \nYou are free, and your labor is voluntary ; you sell \nit for a stipulated price, and are not degraded by your \nsituation : nothing can degrade you, but bad conduct. \nYour interest lies in the faithful discharge of your \nduties. This will secure to you peace and serenity \nof mind, the respect and attachment of your employ- \ners, the esteem of the public, the testimony of con- \nscience, and the approbation of God. You will thus \nhelp to diffuse happiness through the families in which \nyou reside ; for a good servant is one of those springs \n\n\n\n206 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR. \n\n\n\nof domestic comfort, and daily refreshes, by its pure \nand pleasant stream, the members of the little com- \nmunity in the house, who, in return, will do what they \ncan to promote your present comfort, and provide for \nyour future support, when the days of sickness, and the \nyears of old age shall come upon you. And remem- \nber that God is every where, and his eye is always \nupon you. " He compasseth your path, and knoweth \nyour down sitting and up rising, and there is not a \nword upon your tongue, but he knoweth it altogether." \nYou may have an absent master, but you cannot have \nan absent God. And he cites your conscience to his \nside, to take a correct copy, and lodge it in your bo- \nsom, of the record of your actions, words, and feelings, \nwhich he writes down in the book of his remembrance. \nTime is short, life is uncertain, death is at hand, and \nthe judgement approaching, when it will be of no \nconsequence who was master, and who was servant, \nbut only who was holy and faithful. God is now your \nwitness, and will be hereafter your judge. Have the \npromises and the threatenings of the great master, \nlittle efficacy ? Are heaven, glory, and eternal hap- \npiness worth nothing ? If so, what think you of con- \ndemnation, wrath, and everlasting misery ? If the \nformer signify little, do the latter signify no more ? \nThen I must confess, I know not what further to sav, \nfor I have exhausted the differences of time, and the \nvarieties of eternity ; I have spread out the miseries \nwhich sin brings, and the pleasure which holiness pro- \nduces upon earth ; and have added to this the consid- \neration of the eternal torment which iniquity draws \nupon itself in hell, and the everlasting felicity which \nreligion conducts the soul to enjoy in heaven: \xe2\x80\x94 what \nmore can I add \xe2\x80\x94 but simply to say, choose ye, wheth- \ner to you it shall be said in the last day by the Lord \nJesus Christ, " Thou wicked and slothful serv- \nant, DEPART ACCURSED FROM ME INTO EVERLASTING \nFIRE, PREPARED FOR THE DEVIL AND HIS ANGELS ;" \n\nor "Well done, thou good and faithful servant, \n\nENTER THOU INTO THE JOY OF THY LORD." \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 207 \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. \n\nON THE FRATERNAL DUTIES. \n\n" Next in order to the relationship of the parent and the child may \nbe considered the relation which the child bears to those who are \nunited with him by the same tie to the same parental bosom. If \nfriendship be delightful, if it be above all delightful to enjoy the con- \ntinued friendship of those who are endeared to us by the intimacy \nof many years, who can discourse with us of the frolics of the school, \nof the adventures and studies of the college, of the years when we \nfirst ranked ourselves with men in the free society of the world, how \ndelightful must be the friendship of those who, accompanying us \nthrough all this long period, with a closer union than any casual \nfriend, can go still farther back, from the school to the very nursery, \nwhich witnessed our common pastimes ; who have had an interest \nin every event that has related to us, and every person that excited \nour love or our hatred ; who have honored with us those to whom \nwe have paid every filial honor in life, and wept with us over those \nwhose death has been to us the most lasting sorrow of our heart ! \nSuch, in its wide, unbroken sympathy, is the friendship of brothers, \nconsidered even as friendship only ; and how many circumstances \nof additional interest does this union receive, from the common \nrelationship to those who have original claims to our still higher \nregard, and to whom we offer an acceptable service, in extending \nour affection to those whom they love ! In treating of the circum- \nstances that tend peculiarly to strengthen this tie, Cicero extends \nhis view even to the common sepulchre that is at last to enclose us. \nIt is, indeed, a powerful image, a symbol, and almost a lesson of \nunanimity. Every dissention of man with man excites in us a feel- \ning of painful incongruity. But we feel a peculiar incongruity in the \ndiscord of those whom one roof has continued to shelter through life, \nand whose dust is afterwards to mingle under a single stone." \xe2\x80\x94 Dr. \nThomas Brown. \n\nTo secure the comfort and well being of a state, it \nis not only necessary for the sovereign to be wise and \npatriotic, and the laws justly and impartially adminis- \ntered, but the people must be well affected both to- \nwards the government, and towards each other ; there \nmust be a tie which binds them to each other, as well \nas to the state ; there must be the fellowship of good \nneighborhood. So, also, the happiness and welfare \nof a family depend not exclusively on the conduct of \nthe parents to the children, nor on the conduct of the \nchildren to the parents, but also on the conduct of the \nchildren to each other. No family can be happy \nwhere a right feeling is wanting on the part of broth- \n\n\n\n208 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\ners and sisters. Nothing can be a substitute for this \ndefect ; and it is of great importance that all young \npeople should have this set in a proper light before \nthem. Many households are a constant scene of con- \nfusion, a perpetual field of strife, and an affecting \nspectacle of misery, through the quarrels and ill will \nof those, who, as flesh of each other\'s flesh, and blood \nof each other\'s blood, ought to have towards each \nother no feeling but that of love, and to use no words \nbut those of kindness. \n\nI will divide the fraternal duties into three kinds. \n\nThose that are appropriate to the season of child- \nhood \xe2\x80\x94 of youth \xe2\x80\x94 of manhood. \n\nThe general principles which are to regulate the \ndischarge of these duties, and on which, indeed, they \nrest, are the same in reference to all seasons of life. \nLove, for instance, is equally necessary, whether broth- \ners and sisters are sporting together in the nursery, \ndwelling together as young men and women beneath \nthe parental roof, or descending the hill of life at the \nhead of separate establishments and families of their \nown. Over and above the feelings of friendship, or \nof moral esteem, there must be those of complacency \nin them, as related to us by the ties of consanguinity; \na consciousness, that, by the dispensations of provi- \ndence in uniting them to us by a bond of nature, and \nwhich nothing but death can dissolve, they have ac- \nquired a claim upon our efforts to make them happy, \nwhich is stronger than that of any strangers, except \nit be in those cases, where our brothers and sisters \nhave, by their unkind and cruel conduct, thrown off \nevery thing but their name, and the stranger has as- \nsumed towards us the heart of a brother. And even \nin this case, we must still consider that they are our \nbrothers, mourn their alienation with grief, view their \naberrations with pity, watch them in ther wanderings \nwith an anxious interest, and keep the way open for \ntheir return to our fellowship. Children of the same \nparent, who are wanting in love, are wanting in the \nfirst virtue of a brother and a sister as such. It is \ntrue, they may find companions more to their taste, \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 209 \n\n\n\nconsidered as mere subjects of intellectual or general \ncompanionship, persons of more agreeable manners, of \nmore pleasing tempers, of more cultivated minds ; but \nthese are not brothers, nor must the perception, which \nin some cases it is impossible to avoid, of their great \nsuperiority in many respects, destroy that natural im- \npulse, which the heart ought ever to feel and to obey, \ntowards a brother or a sister. This love must of \ncourse be increased or diminished in its exercise by \ncircumstances, such as good or bad conduct, kindness \nor unkindness ; but nothing must destroy the principle. \nThe scripture, which is so replete with admonitions \non almost every other subject, has said little on this ; \nit has left nature spontaneously to send forth its fra- \nternal energies ; and, though containing many exhor- \ntations to the children of God to abound in brotherly \nlove, has said little on this topic to the children of \nmen ; a reserve which seems rather to imply that the \nduty is so obvious and so easy as not to need an in- \njunction, than that the discharge of it is not obligatory \nor not important. A child, a youth, or a man, who \nfeels no goings forth of his heart, no peculiar interest, \nno appropriate and restrictive emotions towards a \nbrother or a sister, is wanting in one of those social \nvirtues, which it was certainly the intention of Provi- \ndence should arise out of the relative ties. \n\nBut I will now go on to state how the various fra- \nternal duties should be discharged in childhood. \n\nBrothers and sisters should make it a study to pro- \nmote each other\'s happiness. They should take pleas- \nure in pleasing each other, instead of each being \nselfishly taken up in promoting his own separate en- \njoyment. They should never envy each other\'s grati- \nfication ; if one has a more valuable plaything than \nthe other, the rest should rather rejoice than be sorry. \nEnvy in children is likely to grow into a most baleful \nand malignant disposition. They should never take \neach other\'s possessions away, and be always willing \nto lend what cannot be divided, and to share what \ndoes admit of being divided. Each must do all he can \nto promote the happiness of the whole. They should \n\n\n\n210 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR. OR \n\n\n\never be indifferent to each other\'s sorrows, much less \nlaugh at, and sport with each other\'s tears and griefs. \nIt is a lovely sight to see one child weeping because \nanother is in distress. A boy that sees his brother or \nsister weep, and can be unconcerned or merry at the \nsight, would, when he becomes a man, in all proba- \nbility, see them starve without helping them. Child- \nren should never accuse each other to their parents, \nnor like to see each other punished. An informer \nis a hateful and detestable character ; but an infor- \nmer against his brother or sister is the most detesta- \nble of all spies. If, however, one should see another \ndoing that which is wrong, and which is known to \nbe contrary to the will of their parents, he should \nfirst in a kind and gentle manner point out the wrong, \nand give an intimation that if it be not discontinued, \nhe shall be obliged to mention it ; and if the warning \nbe not taken, it is then manifestly his duty to ac- \nquaint their parents with the fact. They must not \ntease or torment one another. How much domestic \nuneasiness sometimes arises from this source ! One \nof the children, perhaps, has an infirmity or weakness \nof temper, or awkwarkness of manner, or personal de- \nformity, and the rest, instead of pitying it, tease and \ntorment the unhappy individual, till all get quarrelling \nand crying together. Is this promoting their mutual \ncomfort ? If there be any one of the family that is in \nbad health, or weakly, all the rest, instead of neglect- \ning that one, ought to strive to the uttermost to amuse \nhim. How pleasing a sight it is, to see a child giving \nup his play time to read to, or converse with, a sick \nbrother or sister ! while nothing is more disgusting \nthan that selfishness which will not spare a single hour \nfor the amusement of the poor sufferer upon the bed, \nor the little prisoner in the nursery. As to fighting, \nquarrelling, or calling ill names, this is so utterly dis- \ngraceful, that it is a deep shame upon those children \nwho live in such practises. Dr. Watts has very beau- \ntifully said :\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Whatever brawls disturb the street, \nThere should be peace at home ; \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS- 211 \n\n\n\nWhere sisters dwell and brothers meet, \nQuarrels should never come. \n\n" Birds in their little nests agree j \n\nAnd \'tis a shameful sight, \nWhen children of one family \n\nFall out, and chide, and right. \n\n" Hard names, at first, and threat\'ning words, \n\nThat are but noisy breath, \nMay grow to clubs and naked swords, \n\nTo murder and to death." \n\nChildren that are removed from home to school \nshould be both watchful over and kind to each other. \nThey should manifest a peculiar and kind interest in \neach other\'s comfort, and not neglect one another. It \nis pleasant to see two brothers or two sisters, always \nanxious to have each other as playmates, or as mem- \nbers of the little circles with which they associate, \ndefending one another from oppression or unkindness, \nand striving to make their absence from home as com- \nfortable as they can by their mutual kindness. \n\nI go on now to show in what way brothers and sis- \nters should behave towards each other during the \n\nSEASON OF YOUTH. \n\nI now suppose them to have arrived at the age of \nfourteen, and state their obligations between that pe- \nriod and the time when they settle in life. There \nshould of course be a tender attachment, which becomes \nstronger, and more visible, as they acquire a greater \npower of reason to understand their relationship, and \nthe design of Providence in forming this relation. \nInstead of this, however, we sometimes see brothers \nand sisters become more and more indifferent to each \nother, as they recede farther from the period of in- \nfancy. They should now reason upon the closeness of \ntheir relationship, and let the understanding give an \nadditional impulse to their hearts. They should be \nfond of each other\'s society, and put forth all their \ningenuity to please one another. It would have a de- \nlightful influence upon their mutual attachment, if their \nlittle separate proportion of pocket money were some- \ntimes employed in making each other presents. How \nhappy a state of feeling would be produced, if a sis- \n\n\n\n212 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR t OR \n\n\n\nter, after having incidentally expressed a wish for \nsome little article, were to be surprised soon after by \nrinding that a brother had, unknown to her, purchased \nthe elegant or useful trifle, and placed it upon her \ntoilet or work table ! Sisters should put forth all their \nassiduity to provide for brothers whatever the needle \ncan do for their personal accommodation, and feel a \nhallowed delight in giving their labor to increase the \ncomforts and conveniences of those whom it should \nbe their study to please. A family of grown up child- \nren should be the constant scene of uninterrupted \nharmony, where love, guided by ingenuity, puts forth \nall its power to please, by those mutual good offices, \nand minor acts of beneficence, of which every day \nfurnishes the opportunity, and which, while they cost \nlittle in the way either of money or labor, contribute \nso much to the happiness of the household. One of \nthe most delightful sights in our world, where there is \nso much moral deformity to disgust, and so much un- \nkindness to distress, is a domestic circle, where the \nparents are surrounded by their children, of which, \nthe daughters are being employed in elegant or useful \nwork, and the elder brother reading some instructive \nand improving volume, for the benefit or entertainment \nof the whole. This is the scene which more than jus- \ntifies the beautiful apostrophe of the sweetest and \nmost tender of all poets : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\ntc Domestic happiness, thou only bliss \nOf Paradise that hast survived the fall ! \nThough few now taste thee unimpaired and pure, \nOr, tasting, long enjoy thee ; too infirm \nOr too incautious to preserve thy sweets \nUnmixt with drops of bitter, which neglect \nOr temper sheds into thy crystal cup. \nThou art the nurse of virtue \xe2\x80\x94 in thine arms \nShe dwells, appearing, as in truth she is, \nHeaven-born, and destined to the skies again. \nThou art not known where pleasure is adored, \nThat reeling goddess with the zoneless waist, \nAnd wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm \nOf novelty, her fickle, frail support ; \nFor thou art meek and constant, hating change, \nAnd finding, in the calm of truth-tried love, \nJoys that her stormy raptures never yield. \nForsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made \nOf honor, dignity, and fair renown I" \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 213 \n\nScenes are to be found, (but, alas, how rarely!) which \ngive meaning and force to these lovely strains. \nYoung people, seek your happiness in each other\'s \nsociety. What can the brother find in the circle of \ndissipation, or amongst the votaries of intemperance, \nto compare with this? What can the sister find \namidst the concert of sweet sounds, that has music for \nthe soul, compared with this domestic harmony ? or \nin the glitter and fashionable confusion, and mazy \ndance of the ball-room, compared with these pure, \ncalm, sequestered joys, which are to be found at the \nfire-side of a happy family ? What can the theatre \nyield that is comparable with this ? \n\n" Oh evenings worthy of the gods ! exclaimed \nThe Sabine band ; Oh evenings, I reply, \nMore to be prized and coveted than yours, \nAs more illumined, and with nobler truths, \nThat I, and mine, and those we love enjoy. \nCards were surperfluous here, with all the tricks \nThat idleness has ever yet contrived \nTo fill the void of an unfurnished brain, \nTo palliate dullness, and give time a shove." \n\nI would advise all young people to read " The \nTask," and especially the fourth book ; and to read it \ntill they grow in love with those pure and hallowed \nhome-born pleasures, which are at once the most at- \ntainable and the most satisfying of any to be found in \nour curse-stricken world. \n\nIt is of great importance to the pleasant intercourse \nof brothers and sisters, that each should pay particular \nattention to the cultivation of the temper. I have \nknown all the comfort of a family destroyed by the \ninfluence of one passionate or sullen disposition. \nWhere such a disposition unhappily exists, the sub- \nject of it should take pains to improve it, and the \nother branches of the family, instead of teasing, or \nirritating, or provoking it, should exercise all possible \nforbearance, and, with ingenious kindness, help their \nunfortunate relative in the difficult business of self- \ncontrol. \n\nAs woman seems formed by nature to execute the \noffices of a nurse, sisters should be peculiarly kind and \ntender to sick brothers ; for there are few things which \n\n\n\n214 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\ntend more to conciliate affection, than sympathy with \nus in our sufferings, and all those gentle and willing \nefforts, which, if they cannot mitigate our pains, have \nsuch a power to soothe our minds and divert our at- \ntention from the sense of suffering. \n\nMutual respect should be shown by brothers and \nsisters ; all course, vulgar, degrading terms and modes \nof address should be avoided, and nothing but what \nis courteous either done or said. The intercourse of \nsuch relatives should be marked, not, indeed, by the \nstiffness of ceremony, nor the coldness of formality, \nnor the cautious timidity of suspicion, but by the po- \nliteness of good manners, blended with all the tender- \nness of love. It is peculiarly requisite also, that while \nthis is maintained at home, there should not be dis- \nrespectful neglect in company. It is painful for a \nsister to find herself more neglected than the veriest \nstranger, and thus exposed to others as one in whom \nher brother feels no interest. \n\nBrothers ought not, even in lesser matters, to be \ntyrants over their sisters, and expect from them the ob- \nsequiousness of slaves. The poor girls are sometimes \nsadly treated, and rendered miserable by the caprice \nand freaks, and iron yoke of some insolent and lordly \nboy. Where the parents are living, they ought not \nto suffer such oppression. Of such a despot let all \nyoung women beware, for he that is a tyrant to his \nsister is sure to be a tyrant also to a wife. \n\nIt is of great consequence, that brothers and sisters \nshould maintain epistolary correspondence when ab- \nsent from each other. It must be a very strong regard \nwhich separation, especially when it is for a long time, \ndoes not diminish. Flames burn brightest in the vi- \ncinity of each other. An affectionate letter, received \nfrom an absent friend, tends to fan the dying spark \nof affection. They who can be long separated with- \nout such a bond as this, are already in a state of in- \ndifference to each other, and are in rapid progress to \nstill wider alienation. \n\nBrothers and sisters should be very careful not to \nbecome estranged from each other after the death of \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n215 \n\n\n\ntheir parents ; of which there is always some danger. \nWhile one parent remains, though the other be gone \nto the sepulchre, there is a common centre of family \naffection still left, by drawing near to which, the \nmembers are kept near to each other; but when this \nsurvivor has also departed, the point of union is gone, \nand the household is likely, without great watchful- \nness, to be divided and distracted. How often does \nthis happen by the division of the family property.* \nThe grave has scarcely closed over the parental re- \nmains, before strife, confusion, and every evil work \nbegin in reference to the patrimonial possessions. To \nguard against this, the father should ever have his \nwill made, a will made upon the obvious principles of \nwisdom and equity. Any attempt, on the part of one \nchild, to turn a parent\'s mind from the line of strict \nimpartiality and equity towards the others ; any ad- \nvantage taken of opportunities of more frequent access \nto the parental ear and prejudices, to gain more than \na just share of his property, is an act so base, so foul, \nand wicked, as to deserve the most severe, and impas- \nsioned, and indignant reprehension. Even in this \ncase, however, the injured branches of the family \nshould not so far resent the matter, as to withdraw \nfrom all intercourse with the supplanter : remonstrate \nthey may, and abate something of their esteem and \nregard they must, but still they are required by scrip- \nture to forgive him, and not to cherish hatred, or to \nmanifest revenge. Unless in cases of unusual and \nextraordinary rapacity, the fraternal intercourse ought \nnot to be stopped by unfair advantages of this kind. \n\nThere are instances, however, in which an unequal \ndivision of property is not an unjust one, and ought \nnot to be felt as such, by the party which receives the \nlesser share. If one child has become possessed of \nwealth from another source, I do not think that he \nought to consider himself unfairly dealt with, if he do \nnot receive so large a portion of the family property, \nas his brothers and sisters do. Or if there be one \nbranch of the family prevented, by the visitations of \n* This, perhaps, rather belongs to the third division of the subject, \n\n\n\n216 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nProvidence, from all active labor, the rest ought not \nto think it unfair, if a parent make a larger provision \nfor this deformed or helpless child, than for the other \nbranches. The alienation of brothers and sisters on \naccount of pecuniary matters, is usually a matter of \ndeep disgrace to them all ; not only to the spoiler, \nbut also to the rest. \n\nBut in what terms shall I depict the atrocious \nwickedness of a villanous brother, who, after the \ndeath of their parents, would employ his influence to \nwheedle and swindle an unmarried sister out of her \nproperty, and reduce her to poverty and dependance, \nto indulge his own rapacity, or to avert calamity from \nhimself? Such wretches have existed, and do exist, \nwho, taking advantage of a sister\'s strong affection, \ncombined with her ignorance of money matters, never \ncease, till, by all the arts of subtlety, they have got out \nof her possession the last shilling she has in the world ; \nand then, perhaps, when she has nothing more for \nthem to pilfer, abandon the victim of their cruelty, \nwith the remors^lessness of a highwayman, to want \nand misery. Let such monsters remember, that there \nis one in heaven whose eye has been upon all their \nwicked arts and cruel robbery, and who, for all these \nthings will bring them into judgement. It is an act of \ncruelty in any brother, who, without any dishonest in- \ntention, perhaps, would wish to jeopardize the property \nof a sister, in order, either to increase his own gains, \nor to avert his own dreaded misfortunes. She may be \nvery unfitted to struggle with poverty, and altogether \ndisqualified for earning support by her own industry, \nand therefore ought not to be exposod to the danger \nof losing her property. Cases do occur sometimes in \nwhich it may be proper, and even necessary, for the \nproperty of unmarried sisters to be employed in the \ntrade of their brothers ; but as a general rule it is un- \nadvisable : and where it does happen, the latter should \nlet all their conduct be conducted on the principles of \nthe greatest caution, the most rigid integrity, and the \nnoblest generosity. \n\nBrothers ought ever, after the death of their pa- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n217 \n\n\n\nrents, to consider themselves as the natural guardians \nof unmarried sisters ; their advisers in difficulty, their \ncomforters in distress, their protectors in danger, their \nsincere, tender, liberal, and unchanging friends, amidst \nall the scenes and vicissitudes of life. It is rarely \nadvisable that a sister should permanently dwell with \na married brother ; but then, even the much stronger \nclaims of the wife ought not to cancel or throw into \noblivion those of the sister. \n\nI will now suppose the case of one or more branches \nof the family, who are brought by divine grace to be \npartakers of true religion, and point out what is their \nduty to the rest, and what the duty of the rest to them. \nIn reference to the former, it is manifestly their solemn \nand irrevocable obligation, to seek, by every affection- \nate, scriptural, and judicious effort, the real conversion \nof those of the family who are yet living without \nheartfelt religion. O, how often has the leaven of \npiety, when, by divine mercy and power, it has been \nlaid in the heart of one of the family, spread through \nnearly the whole household ! How often has fraternal \nlove, when it has soared to its sublimest height, and, \nwith a heaven-kindled ambition, aimed at the loftiest \nobject which benevolence can possibly pursue, by \nseeking the salvation of a brother\'s soul, secured its \nprize, and received its rich reward ! Young people, \nwhose hearts are under the influence of piety, but \nwhose hearts also bleed for those, who, though they \nare the children of the same earthly parent, are not \nyet the children of your Father in heaven, I call upon \nyou by all the love you bear your brothers and sisters ; \nby all the affection you bear for your parents ; by all \nthe higher love you bear to God and Christ, to seek \nby every proper means the conversion of those, who, \nthough bound to you by the ties of nature, are not \nyet united by the bond of grace. Make it an object \nwith you to win their souls. Pray for it constantly. \nPut forth in your own example all the beauties of ho- \nliness. Seek for the most undeviating consistency, \nsince a single want of this, would only strengthen the \nprejudice you are anxious to subdue. Let them see \n19 \n\n\n\n218 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR I OR \n\n\n\nyour religion in your conscientiousness, your joy, your \nhumility, your meekness, your love. In all the gene- \nral duties of life, be more than ordinarily exact. Win \ntheir affections by the kindest and most conciliating \nconduct. Avoid all consciousness of superiority. At- \ntempt not to scold them out of their sins. Avoid the \nlanguage of reproach. Draw them with the cords of \nlove, for they are the bands of a man. Now and then \nrecommend to their perusal a valuable book. When \nthey are absent, write to them on the subject of reli- \ngion. But, at the same time, do not disgust them by \nboring them with religion. Seize favorable oppor- \ntunities, and wisely improve them. Point them to \neminently happy, consistent, and useful Christians. \nComply with all their wishes that are lawful, but give \nnot up one atom of your consistency. Pliancy on your \npart to meet their tastes and pursuits, if they are con- \ntrary to God\'s word, will only disgust them : mild \nfirmness will secure their respect. And crown all \nwith earnest prayer for that grace, without which no \nmeans can be successful. How knowest thou but thou \nshalt gain thy brother ? And, O, what a conquest ! \n\nAnd what shall be said to the unconverted party ? \nShall such means be unsuccessful ? Will you resist \nthis holy, benevolent influence ? Will you oppose \nthese efforts to draw you to heaven ? Will you leave \nyour sister to travel alone to the skies, and determine \nto separate from her for ever, and pursue your course \nto perdition ? Will you seek the dreadful, the fatal \ndistinction, of being alone in your family as the ene- \nmy of God, the captive of Satan ? Shall a sister\'s \nsolicitude for your salvation, and all the active efforts \nwhich it puts forth, be only a savor of death unto \ndeath to you ? Pause and ponder, young man ! Alter \nyour purpose ; take her by the hand, and say to her, \n" Your affection has conquered ; I will go with you, for \nI know that God is with you." But, perhaps, instead \nof this, you are a persecutor. What, a persecutor of \nreligion, and of a sister, at the same time ! Yes, you \nreject with scorn these efforts for your salvation, and \ntreat her with ridicule and unkindness by whom they \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n219 \n\n\n\nare made. Is it so ? What, wicked enough for this ! \nWhat, carry your enmity to piety so far as to embitter \nthe life of a sister, for no other reason than because \nshe bows her heart to its influence ! Recollect, the \ncontest is not between you and her, but between you \nand God. It is not as a sister, but as a Christian, that \nshe is the object of your displeasure, and, therefore, \nyour ill will is against religion, and if against religion, \nthen against God, for religion is the image of God in \nthe soul of his rational creatures. Did you ever read \nor her athat fearful denunciation ? If not, read it now, \n\xe2\x80\x94 "Wo to him that contendeth with his Maker." \nThis wo is uttered against every persecutor of reli- \ngion, and therefore is against you. \n\nThe responsibility of elder brothers and sisters, \nespecially that of the first born, is great indeed. \nThey are looked up to by the younger branches of the \nfamily as examples, and their example has great influ- \nence, in some cases greater than that of the parent : \nit is the example of one more upon a level with them- \nselves, more near to them, more constantly before \nthem than that of the parent, and is, on these accounts, \nmore influential. It is of immense consequence, \ntherefore, to their juniors, how these conduct them- \nselves. If they are bad, they are likely to lead all the \nrest astray ; if good, they may have great power in \nleading them aright. They bring companions, books, \nrecreations, before the rest, which are proper or im- \nproper according as their own taste is. It is a most \ndistressing spectacle to see an elder brother or sister \ntraining up younger ones, by his own conduct and \nprecept, in the ways of wickedness. Such a youth is \nan awful character: like Satan, he goeth about seeking \nwhom, by his temptations, he may destroy ; but worse, \nin some respects more wicked and more cruel than \nhis prototype, he marks out his own brother as the \nvictim of his cruelty, and the dupe of his wiles. Whole \nfamilies have, in some cases, been schooled in iniquity \nby one unprincipled elder son. What will such a \nbrother have to answer for in the day of judgement, \nand what will be his torment in hell, when the souls of \n\n\n\n220 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR. OR \n\n\n\nthose whom he has ruined shall be near him, and by \ntheir ceaseless reproaches become his eternal torment- \nors ! In other cases, what a blessing to a family has \nbeen a steady, virtuous, and pious elder brother or sis- \nter ! Many a weak and sickly mother has given daily \nthanks to God for a daughter, who by her attentions \nwas a kind of second mother to the younger members \nof the family, whom she did her uttermost to train up \nin her own useful and holy habits* Many a father \nhas felt with equal gratitude the blessing of having in \nhis first-born son, not only a help to himself in the \ncares of business, but in the work of education; a son \nwho lent all the power of an amiable and religious \nexample, to form the character of his younger brothers. \nLet such young persons consider their responsibility, \nand at the same time let those who are their juniors \nin the family consider their duty. If they have a good \nexample in their elder brothers and sisters, they should \nmake it not only the object of attention and admira- \ntion, but also of imitation : but, on the other hand-, if, \nunhappily, the conduct of their seniors be bad, let them \nnot follow them in their evil course ; let no threats, \nno bribes, no persuasions, induce them to comply with \nthe temptation to do what is wrong. \n\nI have now to allude to the discharge of fraternal \nduties during the whole period of our lives, after the \nseason of youth has passed away. This has been an- \nticipated in part already. Families are soon broken \nup ; the parents die, the children marry and form sepa- \nrate establishments, and bring around them separate \nfamilies of their own. This division of the original \nstock does not, however, destroy, although it necessa- \nrily must weaken, the fraternal tie. Pope beautifully \nremarks, \n\n" Thus beast and bird their common charge attend, \nThe mothers nurse it, and the sires defend ; \nThe young dismissed to wander earth or air, \nThere stops the instinct, and there ends the care : \nThe link dissolves, each seeks a fresh embrace ; \nAnother love succeeds, another race. \nA longer care man\'s helpless kind demands ; \nThat longer care contracts more lasting bands. \nStill as one brood, and as another rose, \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. \n\n\n\n221 \n\n\n\nThese natural, love maintained, habitual, those \nReflection, reason, still the ties improve, \nAt once extend the interest and the love ; \nAnd still new needs, new helps, new habits rise, \nThat graft benevolence on charities." \n\nGreat care is necessary, however, that when the \ncentre of fraternal charities is gone, and each child \nbecomes himself a centre of similar emotions and \nimpulses, the interest of brothers and sisters in each \nother do not altogether cease. Brothers and sisters \nare brothers and sisters still, though they dwell in \ndifferent quarters of the globe, are each at the head of \nfamilies of their own, are distinguished in their cir- \ncumstances by the varieties of affluence and poverty, \nand have attained to the age of threescore years and \nten : and the tie that unites them ought to be felt \ncoiling round their hearts, and its influence ought to \nbe seen in producing all those tender offices, which a \ncommon relationship to the same parent certainly \ndemands. The next generation may, from various \ncauses, lose their interest in each other. Regard for \nremote relations becomes, in every country, less and \nless, according as law extends its protection, com- \nmerce diffuses its wealth, and civilization multiplies \nits comforts. Where clanship is necessary for mutual \nprotection, "the families that spring from one com- \nmon stock continue to cling to each other for aid, \nalmost as if they lived together under the same roof ; \nit is truly one wide family, rather than a number of \nfamilies ; the history of the tribe in its remote years \nof warfare and victory, is the history of each individual \nof the tribe ; and the mere remembrance of the ex- \nploits cf those who fought with one common object, \naround the representative of their common ancestor, \nis like the feeling of the fraternal or filial relation, pro- \nlonged from age to age." This is not the case, how- \never, in that state of society in which we are placed, \nwhere the feeling of affectionate interest, of fraternal \nlove, rarely survives the next generation from the fa- \nther, and often dies long before that has completed its \ncourse. Brothers and sisters ought, however, to keep \nup, as long as they live, their mutual love. They \n19* \n\n\n\n222 . THE FAMILY MONITOR *. OR \n\nshould not suffer new, and, it is confessed, still nearer \nrelations, to produce a total oblivion of, or alienation \nfrom, each other. If dwelling in distant parts of the \nkingdom, epistolary correspondence should be main- \ntained, sympathy in their mutual- joys and sorrows \nshould be cherished, occasional visits, as opportunity \nmight allow, should be paid, and, every thing done, by \nmutual kind offices, to comfort each other, on the \nrough and stormy journey of life. If dwelling to- \ngether in the same town, their intercourse should be \nsuch as to constrain spectators to exclaim, " Behold \nhow good and pleasant it is for brethren to dwell to- \ngether in unity !" There should be that tenderness, \nwhich would lead to all the delicate attentions that \naffection delights to pay, and at the same time that \nconfidence, which would prevent offence from being- \ntaken, when these were hindered by accident from be- \ning paid. How utterly disgraceful is it to see brothers \nand sisters dwelling together in the same town yet \nliving in a, state of continual strife, and sometimes in \nan utter suspension of all intercourse ! In such cases, \nthere must be faults on both sides, though not, perhaps, \nin equal proportions. Those who marry into a family \nshould be very cautious not to carry discord into it. \nNot unfrequently has it happened, that brothers have \nbeen embroiled by their wives, and sisters by their \nhusbands ; and they who, till they were married, \nscarcely ever had an angry word from each other,, \nscarcely ever lived in peace afterwards. Happy and \nhonorable is that family, which though it consist of \nnumerous branches, and those, perhaps, nearly all \nmarried, and dwelling in the same vicinity, maintains, \nnot, indeed, a state of coldness and formal intercourse, \nof which the highest praise is that it is free from strife,, \nbut a fellowship of sympathy, helpfulness and love ! \n\nIf, by the vicissitudes of life, and the various allot- \nments of divine Providence, one branch of the family \nhas been more successful than the rest, peculiar care \nmust be exercised, that the latter should not expect too \nmuch from him in the way of attention and relief, nor \nthe former yield too little. For any man to be asham- \n\n\n\nA HELP TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 223 \n\ned of his poor brothers and sisters, to treat them with \ncold neglect or insulting pride, discovers a littleness \nof mind which deserves contempt, and a depravity of \nheart which merits our severest indignation : it is at \nonce ingratitude to God and cruelty to man. It must \nbe admitted, however, that it is extremely difficult to \nmeet the demands and satisfy the expectations of poor \nrelations, especially in those cases where their poverty \nis the fruit of their own indolence or extravagance. \nThey have claims, it is acknowledged, and a good \nbrother or sister will readily allow and cheerfully meet \nthem ; but it must be for prudence, under the guidance \nof affection, to adjust their amount. It is unquestion- \nable, however, that though there are some few who \nhave most indiscreetly impoverished themselves to \nhelp a needy, perhaps an undeserving, brother or sis- \nter, the multitude have erred on the other side. Men \nor women of wealth, who choose to live in celibacy, \nand who have needy brothers and sisters, are cruel and \nhard-hearted creatures, if they suffer such relatives \nto want any thing for their real comfort. " Whoso \nhath this world\'s good, and seeth his brother have \nneed, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from \nhim, how dwelleth the love of God in him ?" And \nwhat shall be said of those, who, in bequeathing their \nproperty, forget their poor relations ? The man who \npasses over a poor brother or sister and their families \nto endow a hospital, or enrich the funds of a religious \nsociety, to which, perhaps, he gave next to nothing \nwhile he lived, offers robbery for a burnt offering. \n\nI have now said all that appears to me to be impor- \ntant on the subject of fraternal duties. Is it necessary \nto call in the aid of motives to enforce the discharge of \nsuch obligations ? If so, \n\nLet your parents\' comfort be a plea with you. How \noften have the hearts of such been half broken by the \nfeuds of their children ! And even where the calami- \nty has not gone to this extent, their cup has been im- \nbittered by the wrangles, quarrels, and perpetual \nstrifes-of those who ought to have lived in undisturbed \naffection. \n\n\n\n224 \n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY MONITOR : OR \n\n\n\nYour own comfort and honor are involved in an at- \ntention to these duties. You cannot neglect the \nclaims of a brother or a sister, without suffering a \ndiminution in your happiness or your reputation, or \nboth. \n\nThe interests of society demand of you an attention \nto fraternal claims. As a son, you learn to be a good \nsubject ; as a brother, you learn to be a good citizen. \nRebellious children are traitors in the bud ; and he \nwho has none of the right feelings of a brother, is \ntraining up for a parricide. \n\nAnd as to religion, fraternal duties necessarily arise \nout of its general principles, are enforced by its pre- \nvailing spirit more than by particular precepts, and \nare recommended by some of its most striking exam- \nples ; for the first murder which stained the earth with \nhuman gore sprung from a want of brotherly affection ; \nand the family in which the Son of God found his lov- \ned retreat on earth was that where, in the persons of \nMary, and Martha, and Lazarus, fraternal love was \nimbodied and adorned. \n\n\n\nTHE END. \n\n\n\nDeacidified using the Bookkeeper process. \nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide \nTreatment Date: Nov. 2005 \n\nPreservationTechnologies \n\nA WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION \n\n111 Thomson Park Drive \nCranberry Township, PA 16066 \n(724)779-2111 \n\n\n\nLIBRARY OIF CONGRESS \n\n\n\nill \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n) 006 020 974 1 \n\n\n\n'