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THE 
 
 Voyage of Life 
 
 A JOURNEY 
 
 J't[om M §jndk to i\t mxmt 
 
 J J J 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 
 S. L." LOUIS, D. D., 
 
 Author of "Decorum,*' "Morality of Manners,*' Etc., Etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 SOLD B Y SUB SCRIP TION jONL KL n 
 "*JGHr"*$. 
 
 
 
 1380. .^ 
 , * V -*^5S 
 UNION PUBLISHING HOUSE 
 
 NEW YORK AND CINCINNATI. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S79, by 
 
 J. A. RUTH & CO., 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The Voyage of Life is before us ; and on 
 this sublime voyage to the land of immortals, 
 to the Palace Beautiful in the skies, let us 
 start from the dear old home of childhood, 
 that home which, though it may be desolate, 
 is still imperishable in memory. 
 
 Let our destined port be the home of the 
 blessed, the city which hath foundations, whose 
 builder and maker is God. 
 
 This voyage is a solemn fact ; we have 
 started upon it ; let us try to understand it ; 
 let us grapple with its mysteries ; let us think 
 much of its responsibilities ; let us ponder the 
 thoughts of the inquiring minds of past ages ; 
 let us prize all the light we have from man — 
 from God, so that we may be guided aright 
 amid its perils and changing experiences. 
 
 Above all things let us remember what 
 life is. It is not breathing, moving, playing, 
 
 3 
 
4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sleeping, simply. Life is a battle. All thought- 
 ful people see it so. A battle between evil 
 and good from childhood. Good influences, 
 drawing us up toward the Divine ; bad influ- 
 ences, drawing us down towards the brute. 
 Midway we stand between the Divine and the 
 brute. How to cultivate the good side of the 
 nature is the greatest lesson of life to teach. 
 Far above physical courage — which will lead 
 us to face the cannon's mouth — above wealth, 
 — which would give us farms, and houses, and 
 bank stocks, and gold — is moral courage. That 
 courage by which we will stand fearlessly, 
 frankly, firmly, for the right. Every man or 
 woman who dares to stand for the right when 
 evil has its legions, is the true moral victor in 
 this life, and in the land beyond the stars. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 i. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE n 
 
 II. 
 INFANCY 22 
 
 III. 
 CHILDHOOD 30 
 
 IV. 
 NOT ONE CHILD TO SPARE 43 
 
 V. 
 THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN 46 
 
 VI. 
 BOYS 55 
 
 VII. 
 GIRLS 67 
 
 5 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 YOUNG MEN 71 
 
 IX. 
 YOUNG WOMEN 86 
 
 X. 
 BROTHERS AND SISTERS 101 
 
 XI. 
 MAN no 
 
 XII. 
 WOMAN 117 
 
 XIII. 
 HOME 128 
 
 XIV. 
 MOTHERS 143 
 
 XV. 
 TIRED MOTHERS 155 
 
 XVI. 
 RESPONSIBILITY OF PARENTS 157 
 
 XVII. 
 AMUSEMENTS 163 
 
CONTENTS. 7 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ASSOCIATIONS 168 
 
 XIX. 
 FRIENDSHIP 179 
 
 XX. 
 INFLUENCE 188 
 
 XXI. 
 INTEMPERANCE. 194 
 
 XXII. 
 INDOLENCE 198 
 
 XXIII. 
 INTEGRITY 203 
 
 XXIV. 
 GENIUS 207 
 
 XXV. 
 TACT 211 
 
 XXVI. 
 ECONOMY 215 
 
 XXVII. 
 INDUSTRY 223 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SELF-CULTURE 230 
 
 XXIX. 
 CHARACTER . . 235 
 
 XXX. 
 VICE 244 
 
 XXXI. 
 POVERTY 250 
 
 XXXII. 
 ABILITY AND OPPORTUNITY 256 
 
 XXXIII. 
 BEAUTY 260 
 
 XXXIV. 
 LOVE 267 
 
 XXXV. 
 COURTSHIP 274 
 
 XXXVI. 
 MARRIAGE 283 
 
 XXXVII. 
 AFTER MARRIAGE 294 
 
CONTENTS. 9 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK 310 
 
 XXXIX. 
 TELL YOUR WIFE 318 
 
 XL. 
 COURTESY AT HOME 321 
 
 XLI. 
 HOME GOVERNMENT 325 
 
 XLII. 
 BROKEN TIES 336 
 
 XLIII. 
 BREVITY OF LIFE 339 
 
 XLIV. 
 THE SILENT SHORE 344 
 
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 §« \m wM m mxxj k \ ®ft* tUxmX «p 
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 y §W\xu\ ixmx Mxt torn af #<j^, wftile i\xt %xm% 
 ©f mirtvw ftaw ftut life* gonw p^iwg raw. 
 
 — Byron. 
 
 
The Voyage of Life. 
 
 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 IFE is the spring-time of eternity— a 
 voyage to the grave. The sea we 
 have to navigate, viewed in prospect, 
 looks smooth and inviting ; but beneath, it 
 conceals shoals, quick sands, and rocks ; and 
 great multitudes in attempting to reach the 
 distant shores are shipwrecked and lost. No 
 man knows his destiny. We pass our lives 
 in regretting the past, complaining of the 
 present, and indulging false hopes of the 
 future. Every anniversary of a birth-day is 
 the dispelling of a dream. We aspire and 
 aspire and then give in. Life in this par- 
 ticular is like a coffin, which widens up to a 
 certain point, and then tapers off again. 
 Happy the man who sees a God employed in 
 all the good and ill that chequer life. 
 
12 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 Life bears us on like the stream of a mighty 
 river. Our boat at first glides down the nar- 
 row channel, through the playful murmurings 
 of the little brook and the windings of its grassy 
 borders. The trees shed their blossoms over 
 our young heads ; the flowers seem to offer 
 themselves to our young hands ; we are happy 
 in hope, and grasp eagerly at the beauties 
 around us, but the stream hurries us on, and 
 still our hands are empty. Our course in youth 
 and manhood is along a deeper and wider chan- 
 nel, among objects more striking and mag- 
 nificent. We are animated at the moving pic- 
 tures and enjoyment and industry all around 
 us ; we are excited at some short-lived dis- 
 appointment. The stream bears us on, and 
 our joys and griefs are alike behind us. We 
 may be shipwrecked, but we cannot be de- 
 layed. Whether rough or smooth, the river 
 hastens on until the roar of the ocean is in our 
 ears and the tossine of the waves is beneath 
 our feet, and the floods are lifted up around 
 us, and we take leave of earth and its inhabi- 
 tants, until of our future voyage there is no 
 witness save the Infinite and Eternal. 
 
 The great art and philosophy of life is to make 
 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 13 
 
 the best of the present, whether it be good or 
 bad ; and to bear the one with resignation and 
 patience, and to enjoy the other with thank- 
 fulness and moderation. Are we brought into 
 the world, and allowed to occupy a place in 
 it, only that we may pursue trifles ! that we 
 may brutishly gratify our appetites and pas- 
 sions! that we may leave the world at last, 
 perhaps at the expiration of three score years 
 and ten, without having derived any advan- 
 tage from being in it, or conferring a single 
 benefit upon it ! Memory goes like a resur- 
 rectionist to the graves of our past errors and 
 crimes, and shows us their skeletons. The 
 conventional robes in which we dressed them 
 to make them seemly are gone — the tinsel of 
 subterfuge and sophistry with which we be- 
 decked their loathsomeness has fallen away — 
 self-deception is no longer possible, and we 
 shrink from the foul offspring of our misguided 
 souls, but cannot, dare not repudiate them. If 
 the young doubt the vraisemblance of this 
 picture, let them ask the old, and they will 
 learn that its drawing is correct and its tints 
 true. Ah, if the man of the world were only 
 as careful to consult his conscience on points 
 
14 THE VOYAGE OE LIEE. 
 
 of moral right, as to consult his lawyer on 
 points of law, how much misery would he not 
 escape both in his life of action and his life of 
 afterthought. 
 
 We have often been impressed by the deep 
 significance of the phrase which Dickens has 
 given as a title to one of his Christmas stories, 
 " The Battle of Life." It is full of solemn mean- 
 ings. All our hours, from the cradle to the grave, 
 are but a series of antagonisms. Hunger, fa- 
 tigue, sickness, temptation, sin, remorse, sor- 
 row — these are the strong powers with which 
 we must wage continual war. Foes beset us 
 from without and from within, and make life' 
 one lono- and earnest battle. But there are 
 victories to be won on the field, more glorious 
 than those which crimsoned Marathon and 
 Waterloo. Evil habits may be subdued — 
 fiery passions brought under the control of 
 principle — temptations resisted — self-denial 
 cheerfully sustained, and life itself consecrated 
 to high and holy purposes. To triumph over 
 the infirmities of a perverted nature, and ren- 
 der life, once deformed by passion and stained 
 by sin, beautiful with love made manifest in 
 deeds of beneficence, is worthier our ambition 
 
THE VOYAGE OE LIEE. i5 
 
 than all the blood-wrought heroism that ever 
 linked a name to a world's remembrance. 
 Every day witnesseth triumphs such as these 
 — yet fame proclaims them not. What matters 
 it ? In the serene depths of these all conquer- 
 ing spirits, God's peace abides, and harmonies 
 are heard, such as the angels make, when they 
 welcome the victorious soul from the conflicts 
 of this, to the raptures of the heavenly world. 
 
 We have been watching with intense in- 
 terest, a man's journey up the roof of yonder 
 building. It may be some sixty feet to the top, 
 and his only foothold and dependence is a frail 
 ladder, that shakes with his every step. It is 
 a fearful thing to hang thus suspended — one 
 round loosened, his hold is lost, and death is 
 certain. We are all going up the. steep ladder 
 of life, and we are not so sure as he that the 
 round before us is not loose. Let us take heed 
 — like him, be slow and sure ; like him feel 
 that we hang midway between earth and the 
 grave ; like him hold closely on to the sides, 
 God's providences, and as he at lasts mounts to 
 the top, there to rest from his labors, so shall 
 we attain to Heaven, not like him for a transient 
 hour, but a whole and delightful eternity. 
 
1 6 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 That state is capable of the greatest enjoy- 
 ment where necessity urges, but not painful- 
 ly ; where effort is required, but as much as 
 possible without anxiety ; where the spring 
 and summer of life are preparatory to the 
 harvest of autumn and the repose of winter. 
 Then is every season sweet, and in a well spent 
 life, the last the best — the season of calm en- 
 joyment the richest in recollections, the bright- 
 est in hope. Good training and a fair start 
 constitute a more desirable patrimony than 
 wealth ; and those parents who study their 
 children's welfare rather than the gratification 
 of their own avarice or vanity, would do well 
 to think of this. Is it better to run a success- 
 ful race, or to begin and end at the goal ? Life 
 has an ultimate purpose. We are not ap- 
 pointed to pass through this life, barely that 
 we may live. We are not impelled, both by 
 disposition and necessity, to buy and sell, bare- 
 ly that we may get it. There is an end in 
 business beyond supply. There is an object 
 in the acquisition of wealth beyond success. 
 There is a final cause of human traffic ; and 
 that is Virtue ! 
 
 The laugh of mirth which vibrates through 
 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 17 
 
 the heart ; the tears which freshen the dry 
 wastes within ; the music which brings child- 
 hood back ; the prayer that calls the future 
 near ; the doubt which makes us meditate ; 
 the death which startles us with mystery ; the 
 hardships that force us to struggle ; the anxiety 
 that ends in trust — these are the true nourish- 
 ments of our natural bein^. 
 
 Life is no speculative adventure with those 
 who feel its value and duties. It has a deeper 
 purpose, and its path becomes distinct and 
 easy in proportion as it is earnestly and faith- 
 fully pursued. The rudest or the most refined 
 pursuit, if adapted to the wants and capacities 
 of the pursuer, has a truth, a beauty, and a 
 satisfaction. All ships on the ocean are not 
 steamers or packets, but all freight bearers, 
 fitted to their tasks ; and the smallest shallop 
 nobly fulfills its mission, while it pushes on to- 
 ward its destined port, nor shifts its course 
 because ships career to other points of the 
 compass. Let man ride himself on the ocean 
 of Time. Let him learn by nature whether 
 he is a shallop or a ship, a coaster or an ocean 
 steamer ; and then freighting himself accord- 
 ing to his capacity and the market he should 
 
1 8 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 seek, fling his sail to the breeze, riding with 
 wind and tide, if they go his course, but beat- 
 ing resolutely against them if they cross his 
 path. 
 
 Almost every man wastes part of his life in 
 attempts to display qualities which he does 
 not possess, and to gain applause which he 
 cannot keep. We often speak of being "set- 
 tled in life." We might as well speak of an- 
 choring in the midst of the Atlantic Ocean. 
 Like the leaf, life has its fading. We speak 
 and think of it with sadness, just as we think of 
 the Autumn season. But there should be no 
 sadness at the fading of a life that has done 
 well its work. ' If we rejoice at the advent of 
 a new life, if we welcome the coming of a new 
 pilgrim to the uncertainties of this world's 
 way, why should there be so much gloom 
 when all these uncertainties are passed, and 
 life at its waning wears the. glory of a compe- 
 tent task ? Beautiful as is childhood in its 
 freshness and innocence, its beauty is that of 
 untried life. It is the beauty of promise, of 
 Spring, of the bud. A holier and rarer beauty 
 is the beauty which the waning life of faith 
 and duty wears. It is the beauty of a thing 
 
THE VOYAGE OE LIEE. 
 
 *9 
 
 completed ; and as men come together to con- 
 gratulate each other when some great work 
 has been achieved, and see in its concluding 
 nothing but gladness, so ought we to feel when 
 the setting sun flings back its beams upon a 
 life that has answered well life's purpose. 
 When the bud drops blighted, and the mildew 
 blasts the early grain, and there goes all hope 
 of the harvest, one may well be sad ; but 
 when the ripened year sinks amid its garni- 
 ture of Autumn flowers and leaves, why should 
 we regret or murmur ? And so a life that is 
 ready and waiting for the " well done " of God, 
 whose latest virtues and charities are the no- 
 blest, should be given back to God in uncom- 
 plaining reverence, we rejoicing that the earth 
 is capable of so much goodness, and is permit- 
 ted such virtue. Like flakes of snow that fall 
 unperceived upon the earth, the seemingly un- 
 important events of life succeed one another. 
 Thus imperceptibly and swiftly life passes 
 away. Life's moments are ever fleeting ; the 
 generations of men come and pass away like 
 the leaves of the forest : as the year blooms 
 and fades, so does human life. 
 
 Men seldom think of the great event of 
 
20 THE VOYAGE OE LIFE. 
 
 death until the shadows fall across their own 
 path, hiding forever from their eyes the traces 
 of loved ones whose living smiles were the 
 sunlight of their existence. Death is the great 
 antagonist of life, and the cold thought of the 
 tomb is the skeleton of all feasts. We do not 
 want to go through the dark valley, although 
 its passage may lead to paradise ; and with 
 Charles Lamb, we do not want to lie down in 
 the muddy grave, even with kings and princes 
 for our bed-fellows. But the fiat of nature is 
 inexorable, there is no appeal from the great 
 law which dooms us to dust. We flourish and 
 we fade as the leaves of the forest ; and the 
 flowers that bloom and wither in a day have 
 not a frailer hope upon life than the mightiest 
 monarch that ever shook the earth with his 
 footsteps. Generations of men appear and 
 vanish as the grass, and the countless multi- 
 tude which fills the world to-day, will to-mor- 
 row disappear as the footsteps on the shore. 
 This is life. If we die to-day, the sun will 
 shine as brightly and the birds sing as sweetly 
 to-morrow. Business will not be suspended a 
 moment, and the great mass will not bestow a 
 thought upon our memories. Is he dead ? will 
 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 2 I 
 
 be the solemn inquiry of a few as they pass to 
 their work. But no one will miss us except 
 our immediate connections, and in a short time 
 they will forget us, and laugh as merrily as 
 when we sat beside them. Thus shall we all, 
 now active in life, pass away. Our children 
 crowd close behind us, and they will soon be 
 gone. In a few years not a living being can 
 say, " I remember him ! We lived in another 
 age, and have no business with those who 
 slumber in the tomb." This is life ; how 
 rapidly it passes ! 
 
 " So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan, which moves 
 To that mysterious realm where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Thou go, not like the quarry-slave at night 
 Scourged to his dungeon ; but sustained and 
 
 soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 
 
II. 
 
 INFANCY. 
 
 BABE in a house is a well-spring of 
 pleasure, a messenger of peace and 
 love, a resting-place for innocence 
 on earth ; a link between angels and men. 
 
 A babe is a mother's anchor, she cannot 
 go far from her moorings. And yet a true 
 mother never lives so little in the present as 
 when by the side of the cradle. Her thoughts 
 follow the imagined future of her child. That 
 babe is the boldest of pilots, and guides her fear- 
 less thoughts down through scenes of coming 
 years. The old ark never made such a voyage 
 as the cradle daily makes. Maternity is the per- 
 fecting, not only of womanhood, but humanity. 
 And to the first baby, has God given the 
 sacred power to complete the circle of human 
 sympathies, to waken the conscious solidi- 
 tary of human interests. Every mother that 
 
 22 
 
INFANCY. . 23 
 
 is a mother, pictures the whole troop of 
 loves, joys, and sorrows hovering around 
 " the first baby." She lays every mother's 
 baby in the cradle which held her own first 
 baby, and listens to the songs that gush forth, 
 or as they are softly murmured in the mother- 
 heart. To a mother's heart, every mother's 
 baby is the representative of inestimable 
 treasure ; it is an estate held in " fee simple ; " 
 a little sub-soiler that leaves no affections 
 fallow, no sympathies isolated from the claims 
 of a common humanity. 
 
 Welcome to the parents the puny struggler, 
 strong" in his weakness, his little arms more 
 irresistible than the soldier's, his lips touched 
 with persuasion which Chatham and Pericles 
 in manhood had not. His unaffected lamenta- 
 tions when he lifts up his voice on high ; or, 
 more beautiful, the sobbing child — the face all 
 liquid grief, as he tries to swallow his vexation 
 — soften all hearts to pity, and to mirthful and 
 clamorous compassion. The small despot asks 
 so little that all reason and all nature are on 
 his side. His ignorance is more charming than 
 all knowledge, and his little sins more be- 
 witching than any virtue. His flesh is angel's 
 
24 
 
 INFANCY. 
 
 flesh, all alive. " Infancy," said Coleridge, 
 " presents body and spirit in unity ; the body 
 is all animated." All day, between his three 
 or four sleeps, he coos like a pigeon house, 
 sputters and spurs, and puts on his faces of 
 importance, and when he fasts, the little 
 Pharisee fails not to sound his trumpet before 
 him. By lamplight, he delights in shadows on 
 the Avail ; by daylight, in yellow and scarlet. 
 Carry him out of doors — he is overpowered 
 by the light and by the extent of natural ob- 
 jects, and is silent. 
 
 The first baby ! — why, it brings treasures 
 with it ! True, its little hand is empty ; but 
 then it brings to light and activity unrevealed 
 capacities, looses the sealed fountains, and 
 assays the unwrought treasure of the human 
 soul. It is not all ^oy — that baby gift ; — if it 
 were it could not be a joy forever. It is not 
 all sorrow ; if it were, the fountains of the 
 heart it stirs, could not grow pure to reflect 
 the heaven above ; would not flow down the 
 stream of time, bearing rich freight for un- 
 known and unborn posterity. But see, it lays 
 its tiny hand on the heart, and it forgets to 
 beat for self. It pillows its soft cheek on the 
 
INFANCY. 
 
 25 
 
 bosom that, hitherto, had looked out upon 
 the struggling world — all unlinked to its wants, 
 all unmoved by its destiny — and henceforth 
 that bosom is the asylum of the orphan, the 
 refuge of the oppressed, the sanctuary which 
 invites a world lying in wretchedness to the 
 banquet of love, to the smiles of a common 
 Father. And why ? — Ah, that baby is the 
 medium through which the helplessness, the 
 wants and the promise of humanity have ap- 
 pealed to the woman. In behalf of the race, 
 it has whispered mother ! and looking into its 
 trusting, worshipping eyes, she accepts the 
 consecration, answers the appeal with a deep, 
 an eternity echoed — my child. 
 
 No one feels the death of a child as a 
 mother feels it. The father cannot feel it thus. 
 True, there is a vacancy' in his home and a 
 heaviness in his heart. There is a chain of 
 association that at set times comes round with 
 a broken link — there are memories of endear- 
 ment, a keen sense of loss, a weeping over 
 crushed hopes, and a pain of wounded affec- 
 tion. But the mother feels that one has been 
 taken away who was still closer to her heart. 
 Hers has been the office of constant ministra- 
 
26 INFANCY. 
 
 tion. Every graduation of feature developed 
 before her eyes ; she detected every new 
 gleam of infant intelligence ; she heard the first 
 utterance of every stammering word ; she was 
 the refuge of its fears, the supply of its wants ; 
 and every task of affection wove a new link, 
 and made dear to her its object. And when 
 her child dies, a portion of her own life as it 
 were dies with it. How can she give her dar- 
 ling up, with all these living memories, these 
 fond associations ? The timid hands that have 
 so often taken in trust and love, how can she 
 fold them on its sinless breast, and surrender 
 them to Death ? The feet whose wanderings 
 she watched so narrowly, how can she see 
 them straightened to go down into the dark 
 valley ? The head that she had pressed to her 
 lips and bosom, that she has watched in peace- 
 ful slumber and in burning sickness, a hair of 
 which she could not see harmed, oh, how can 
 she consign it to the dark chamber of the 
 grave? It was a gleam of sunshine and a 
 voice of perpetual gladness in her home ; she 
 had learned from it blessed lessons of sim- 
 plicity, sincerity, purity, faith ; it had unsealed 
 within her a gushing, never-ebbing tide of affec- 
 
INFANCY. 27 
 
 tion ; when suddenly it was taken away, and 
 that home is left dark and silent ; and to the 
 vain and heart-rending aspiration, " Shall that 
 dear child never return again ? " there breaks 
 in response, through the cold gray silence, 
 " Nevermore — oh, nevermore ! " The heart 
 is like a forsaken mansion, and that word goes 
 echoing through its desolate chambers. And 
 yet, fond mother ! (" Time brings such wonder- 
 ous easing,") thou wilt in after years look back, 
 with a not unpleasing sadness, even upon this 
 scene of grief : 
 
 EMPTY CRADLES. 
 
 Mrs. Georgie A. H. McLeod. 
 
 Oh, the empty, empty cradles, 
 
 That must now be put away, 
 For the little ones will need them 
 
 Never more by night or day, 
 For the pure and dreamless sleepers, 
 
 Never more they'll rock to rest, 
 Their bright heads upon the pillows, 
 
 Shall no more be softly prest ! 
 
 In the still and solemn nightfall, 
 Death's pale angel noiseless sped, 
 
 " I have gathered only Lilies, 
 For my Lord, to-day," he said ; 
 
28 INFANCY. 
 
 Oh, the Lilies, the White Lilies, 
 
 That made earthly homes so bright, 
 
 How many, many buds are missing, 
 Since the happy morning light ! 
 
 Waxen hands, with blossoms in them, 
 
 Faces very white and fair, 
 Curtained eyes, like hidden star-light, 
 
 Silken rings of sunny hair. 
 Hushed and still, we gaze upon them 
 
 And we scarcely know our loss ; 
 But to-morrow we shall feel it, 
 
 Almost crushed beneath the cross. 
 
 Little robes, so richly broidered, 
 
 Wrought with so much love and pride 
 Dainty laces, pale, pure ribbons, 
 
 They must all be laid aside ; 
 For in glorious robes of brightness 
 
 Are the little ones arrayed, 
 All unstained by earth the whiteness, 
 
 Such a little while they stayed. 
 
 Ah, the busy, busy mornings, 
 
 And the nights of anxious care ; 
 Now, there is no need of watching, 
 
 There'll be time enough to spare. 
 There's no baby's voice, we'll listen, 
 
 Thinking that we hear it oft ; 
 On our face no baby fingers, 
 
 Touches like the rose leaves soft. 
 
INFANCY. 29 
 
 Never mind the noisy household, 
 
 Nor loud foot-falls on the stair, 
 'Twill not wake the peaceful sleeper, 
 
 There's no baby anywhere. 
 In a casket, white as snow-flakes, 
 
 Nestling all among the flowers, 
 Are the pure and stainless Lilies, 
 
 That a little while were ours. 
 
 In our dreams 'midst dazzling brightness, 
 
 And a rapturous burst of song, 
 Through our tears, we saw above us, 
 
 Oh ! the radiant spirit throng ! 
 In their arms so softly cradled 
 
 Our own little ones we know, 
 And we hear them whisper gently, 
 
 " The White Lilies from below." 
 
 Wide the shining gates are opened, 
 
 For the children are at home, 
 Back to us, come the sweet echoes, 
 
 " Oh, suffer them to come ! " 
 Put away the empty cradles, 
 
 Keep we only in our sight 
 That bright glimpse of the fair dwelling 
 
 Which the children have to-night. 
 
III. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 And say to parents what a holy charge 
 Is theirs ; with what a kingly power their love 
 Might rule the fountains of the new-born mind. 
 Warn them to wake at early dawn and sow 
 Good seed, before the world has sown its tares. 
 
 ||^ HE child is father of the man. Men 
 3^B| are but children of a larger growth. 
 
 m f* How often do we meet with this 
 array of words! Yet how insensible Ave are 
 to the profound philosophy they enwrap. See 
 yonder group of children now playing together 
 — like birds among the blossoms of earth, 
 haunting all the green shadowy places, and 
 rejoicing in the bright air ; happy and beauti- 
 ful faces, and as changeable as happy, with 
 eyes brimful of joy, and with hearts playing 
 upon their little faces like sunshine upon clear 
 waters ; among- those who are now 
 
 idling to- 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 31 
 
 gether on that slope, or hunting butterflies to- 
 gether on the edge of that wood, — you see our 
 future men and women, not only the gifted 
 and the powerful, the wise and the eloquent, 
 the ambitious and the renowned, but the wick- 
 ed and the treacherous, the abandoned profli- 
 gate and the faithless husband, the gambler, 
 the drunkard and the robber. 
 
 Among them, and that other little troop just 
 appearing, children with yet happier faces and 
 pleasanter eyes, the blossoms of the future — 
 the mothers of nations, the unfaithful wife and 
 the broken-hearted husband, the proud be- 
 trayer and his pale victim, the living and breath- 
 ing portents and prodigies, the embodied vir- 
 tues and vices, of another age and of another 
 world. If this picture be true, parents, what a 
 responsible charge you have. To you are 
 entrusted these beautiful gems of God, and 
 He will hold you responsible for their proper 
 culture. Upon your training will rest their 
 future destiny and a nation's hope. How im- 
 portant then that parents should remember the 
 words of Archbishop Leighton, who says, " Fill 
 the bushel with good wheat, and there will be 
 no room for chaff and rubbish/' This is a eood 
 
3 2 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 thought for every mother while tending her 
 children., and watching the growth of their 
 power in body and mind. 
 
 " As soon as they be born," the Bible says, 
 " children go astray speaking lies." So soon, 
 therefore, will a Christian mother begin to 
 " train her child in the way he should go," 
 that good habits may be formed, ready to carry 
 out good principles as the child grows old 
 enough to understand the reason for his con- 
 duct. 
 
 Not without design has God implanted in 
 the maternal breast that strong love of her 
 children which is felt everywhere. This lays 
 deep and broad the foundation for the child's 
 future education from parental hands. Nor 
 without designs has Christ commanded, ''Feed 
 my lambs," — meaning to inculcate upon his 
 Church the duty of caring for the children of 
 the Church and the world at the earliest pos- 
 sible period. Nor can parents and all well- 
 wishers to humanity be too earnest and careful 
 to fulfill the promptings of their very nature 
 and the command of Christ in this matter. In- 
 fluence is as quiet and imperceptible on the 
 child's mind as the falling of snow flakes on the 
 
Mm 
 
CHILDHOOD. 33 
 
 meadow. One cannot tell the hour when the 
 human mind is not in condition of receiving 
 impressions from exterior moral forces. In 
 innumerable instances, the most secret and 
 unnoticed influences have been in operation 
 for months and even years to break down the 
 strongest barriers of the human heart, and work 
 out its moral ruin, while yet the fondest parents 
 and friends have been unaware of the working 
 of such unseen agents of evil. Not all at once 
 does any heart become utterly bad. The error 
 is in this : that parents are not conscious how 
 early the seeds of vice are sown and take root. 
 It is as the Gospel declares, " While men slept, 
 the enemy came and sowed tares, and went his 
 way." 
 
 Grown persons are apt to put a lower esti- 
 mate than is just, on the understanding of chil- 
 dren. They rate them by what they know ; 
 and children know very little ; but their com- 
 prehension is great. Hence the continual won- 
 der of those who are unaccustomed to them, 
 at the old fashioned ways of some lone little 
 one, who has no play- fellows — and at the odd 
 mixture of the folly and wisdom in its say- 
 ings. A continual battle goes on in the child's 
 3 
 
34 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 mind, between what it knows and what it com- 
 prehends. Its answers are foolish from partial 
 ignorance ; and wise from extreme quickness 
 of apprehension. The great art of education 
 is so to train this last faculty as neither to de- 
 press nor over-exert it. The matured medi- 
 ocrity of many an infant prodigy proves both 
 the degree of expansion in which it is possible 
 to force a child's intellect, and the boundary 
 which nature has set to the success of such 
 false culture. 
 
 A majority of character, throughout civil- 
 ized society, gets its mood and bent from home 
 influences. Education, it has been well said, 
 forms the common mind, and home influences 
 are the most impressive common educators. 
 Good or bad, their potency is the same. 
 
 Do not command children, under six years 
 of age to keep anything secret, not even the 
 pleasure you may be preparing as a surprise 
 for a dear friend. The cloudless heaven of 
 youthful openheartedness should not be over- 
 cast, not even by the rosy dawn of shyness ; 
 otherwise, children will soon learn to conceal 
 their own secrets as well as yours. 
 
 We desire to enter a protest against the 
 
CHILDHOOD. 3 5 
 
 fashion among many mothers, of referring their 
 children to " father," in matters that require 
 the exercise of judgment and discretion. 
 Of course it is wrong for parents to discuss 
 such matters before their children. What we 
 mean to say is, that the equal sovereignty of 
 parents should be an unquestioned thing in the 
 minds of children. There should be no such 
 thing as an appeal from the decisions of the 
 one to the other with hope of a reversal of 
 judgment. Mothers who evade such duty, not 
 only depreciate their own value in the eyes of 
 their children, but serve to weaken and render 
 valueless the judgment and wisdom of women 
 in general, in the estimation of both their sons 
 and daughters. Women often feel suspicious 
 of the excellence of their own judgment, and 
 are prone to appeal to men for ultimate deci- 
 sions. In the " long run" of affairs, the judg- 
 ment of women is really superior to that of 
 men. The difference lies in the conscience and 
 the decisive qualities. In the management 
 and training of children, a faulty decision now 
 and then, is not so fatal in result, as a contin- 
 ually wavering and negative manner. Do not 
 infer from this, that all matters pertaining to 
 
36 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 children should be decided at once, and never 
 deviated from. There are many times when 
 a child should be allowed to plead his own 
 cause, and parents can never be too sympa- 
 thetic with their children. A lack of it con- 
 stitutes the direct griefs of childhood. 
 
 A sagacious observer says : — " When I see 
 children going to their father for comfort, I 
 am sure there is something wrong with their 
 mother." 
 
 Do not make too much of their mistakes and 
 faults. How can one be a child and not be 
 full of faults ? Explain their mistakes gently. 
 Be patient ! Wait for them ! Children must 
 have time to grow. Somebody had to wait 
 for you. Never let fear make a gulf between 
 the child and you. Within due bounds liberty 
 is the best thing for a child, as it is for a man. 
 It will lead to irregularities, but out of these 
 will come experience, and, gradually, self-con- 
 trol. The object of all family government is 
 to teach children to get along without being 
 governed. They must therefore be trusted ; 
 even if they abuse it, they must be trusted. 
 Keep them busy with pleasant work, if possi- 
 ble. Awaken in them curiosity about the 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 37 
 
 things which lie around them. A very little 
 instruction will make children curious of plants, 
 minerals, natural history, of literary curiosities, 
 autographs, postage-stamp collections, and a 
 thousand things which will inspire pleasure in 
 their reason rather than in their appetites. 
 
 Do unto children, always, even as ye, when 
 ye were children, would have been done by. 
 Thus, reader, shall you enlarge and soften 
 many an intellect and heart ; thus prevent 
 many a home being made sad and desolate 
 by domestic bitterness. 
 
 Everybody's rights seem to be recognized 
 and talked about but the children's ; and yet 
 we venture to say that those of none are in- 
 fringed upon more than theirs. We who 
 are not so far removed from childhood, either 
 in accumulation of years or lack of sympathy, 
 can remember how many childish grievances 
 we had — how dreadful they seemed to us then, 
 and of how little importance the rules some- 
 times have seemed since we looked back with 
 older eyes. It is well to look at these things 
 in our dealings with our children, who are 
 governed and scolded and found fault with far 
 too much. Dr. Hall, in his excellent work of 
 
38 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 " Health by Good Living," gives parents a 
 good piece of advice in telling them to let the 
 children alone when they gather around the 
 family table. It is a cruelty to hamper them 
 with manifold rules and regulations about this, 
 and that, and the other. As long as their con- 
 duct is harmless as to others, encourage them 
 in their cheeriness. Suppose a child does not 
 sit as straight as a ramrod at the table ; sup- 
 pose a cup or tumbler slips through his little 
 fingers and deluges the plate of food below, 
 and the goblet is smashed, and the table-cloth 
 is ruined ; do not look a thousand scowls and 
 thunders, and scare the poor thing to the bal- 
 ance of its death, for it was scared half to 
 death before ; it "did not go to do it." Did 
 you never let a glass slip through your fingers 
 since you were grown ? Instead of sending 
 the child away from the table in anger, if not 
 even with a threat for this or any other little 
 nothing, be as generous as you would to an 
 equal or superior guest to whom you would, with 
 amore orless obsequious smile, "it is of no pos- 
 sible consequence." That would be the form 
 of expression even to a stranger guest, and 
 yet to your own child you remorselessly, and 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 39 
 
 revengefully, and angrily mete out a swift pun- 
 ishment, which for the time almost breaks its 
 heart, and belittles you amazingly. The pro- 
 per and more enlightened mode of dealing out 
 reproof to the child, when it seems necessary, 
 is to take no notice of mishaps or bad behavior 
 at the time, or to go further, and divert atten- 
 tion from them at the very instant, if possible, 
 or to make a kind apology for them ; but af- 
 terwards, in an hour or two, or better still, 
 next day, draw the child's attention to the 
 fault, if fault it is, in a friendly and loving 
 manner ; point out the impropriety in some 
 kindly way ; show where it was wrong or rude, 
 and appeal to the child's self-respect or manli- 
 ness. This is the best way to correct all family 
 errors. Sometimes it may not succeed ; some- 
 times harsh measures may be required ; but 
 try the deprecating or the kindly method with 
 equanimity of mind, and failure will be of rare 
 occurrence. Never mar home life by cross 
 words or peevishness. 
 
 This world is full of rough places, and its 
 jagged features are as frequently seen in the 
 faces around us, as in its rocks and caverns. 
 The father, stern and unyielding, drives sun- 
 
4Q 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 shine from the house, or the mother, full of 
 responsibility, cuffs the children into corners, 
 and has order and neatness at the expense of 
 their liberty and happiness. Perhaps a youth 
 of seventeen presumes to govern, and ma and 
 children must keep still. The novel-reading 
 young lady becomes horribly nervous if the 
 little ones touch the sofa on which she reclines. 
 The girl in the kitchen frowns them out of her 
 presence, or scolds them, without shame. 
 Poor little things ! how much they seem to be 
 in the way. One moment petted and carried 
 in our bosoms, the next cuffed and abused as 
 if the cause of all our trials. A disagreement 
 between parents is frequently revenged upon 
 the children, and every careless act is laid to 
 their charge. A lost spoon, a broken china, a 
 misplaced book, is referred to them, and before 
 they can command language to defend them- 
 selves, they take it for granted that pa, ma, big 
 brother and sister must be right and they 
 wrong. Where is the wisdom in saying to a 
 child, be a man ? If the mind be curbed and 
 humbled too much in children — if their spirits 
 be abased and broken by too strict a hand over 
 them — they lose all their vigor and industry. 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 41 
 
 Make room for children. Room and free- 
 dom for them at home, that they may expand 
 and strengthen those faculties and functions 
 which are soon to constitute the man-and- 
 womanhood of a generation. Room for them 
 in the nursery and on the play-ground, with 
 opportunity and freedom to exercise, if you 
 would have them hearty, cheerful, and home- 
 loving. Too much, in the main, are children 
 burrowed and quashed at home, where they 
 should be encouraged to gambol and rejoice — 
 at home, where their voices should ring out 
 merry as the voices of summer birds. Room 
 for the children at school. At school, where 
 they are too often imprisoned, stifled, and 
 dwarfed in body and mind. Room and free- 
 dom for the children at school, that they may 
 breathe fresh air and commune with their 
 teachers, not as masters — stern, unbending 
 andunsympathising — but as intellectual guides 
 and social friends. Room for the children at 
 church, too, and see that they are attracted — 
 as they can be — thither, and not driven with 
 the " rod of correction," or the chilling rebuke. 
 More room, greater care for, and a higher 
 common estimate of children, if you would 
 
42 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 stimulate their ambition to win your regard. 
 Children are generally older, more observing, 
 and more capable than they seem. The less 
 you ignore them, the less will they ignore you. 
 The more you cultivate them, the more will 
 they cultivate you. Give them no room, teach 
 them to think you believe them nobodies, and 
 ten to one they will strive to justify such a 
 belief. Room for the children, God's holiest 
 and tenderest blessing — the light of our homes 
 and the delight of our hearts. Room for them 
 everywhere, and not least in the public place, 
 the public conveyance, at the public table. 
 Tuck them not in a corner, crowd them not 
 to the wall, leave them not forever to the 
 second course and the fragments of the feast, 
 unless you would have them grow up thought- 
 less of justice and selfish as yourselves, to 
 practice, in turn upon their children as you 
 practice upon them. 
 
IV. 
 
 NOT ONE CHILD TO SPARE* 
 
 HICH shall it be ? Which shall it be ? " 
 I looked at John — John looked at me, 
 (Dear, patient John, who loves me yet, 
 As well as though my locks were jet), 
 And when I found that I must speak, 
 My voice seemed strangely low and weak ; 
 " Tell me again what Robert said ! " 
 And then I, listening, bent my head. 
 " This is his letter : — ' I will give 
 A house and land while you shall live, 
 If, in return, from out your seven, 
 One child to me for aye is given.' " 
 I looked at John's old garments worn, 
 I thought of all that John had borne 
 Of poverty, and work, and care, 
 Which I, though willing, could not share ; 
 I thought of seven mouths to feed, 
 Of seven little children's need, 
 
 *A father and mother in straitened circumstances, with seven 
 children, were offered by a wealthy but childless neighbor a com- 
 fortable provision, on condition that they would give him one of 
 their children. This beautiful poem tells the result. 
 
 43 
 
44 
 
 NOT ONE CHILD TO SPARE. 
 
 And then of this : — " Come, John," said I, 
 
 " We'll choose among them as they lie 
 
 Asleep ; " so, walking hand in hand, 
 
 Dear John and I surveyed our band — 
 
 First to the cradle lightly stepped, 
 
 Where Lilian, the baby, slept. 
 
 A glory 'gainst the pillow white ; 
 
 Softly the father stooped to lay 
 
 His rough hand down in loving way, 
 
 When dream or whisper made her stir, 
 
 And huskily he said, " Not her, not her." 
 
 We stooped beside the trundle-bed, 
 
 And one long ray of lamplight shed 
 
 Athwart the boyish faces there, 
 
 In sleep so pitiful and fair ; 
 
 I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek 
 
 A tear undried. Ere John could speak, 
 
 " He's but a baby, too," said I, 
 
 And kissed him as we hurried by. 
 
 Pale, patient Robbie's angel face 
 
 Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace. 
 
 " No, for a thousand crowns, not him," 
 
 He whispered, while our eyes were dim. 
 
 Poor Dick ! bad Dick ! our wayward son, 
 
 Turbulent, reckless, idle one — 
 
 Could he be spared ? " Nay, He who gave 
 
 Bid us befriend him to his grave ; 
 
 Only a mother's heart can be 
 
 Patient enough for such as he ; 
 
 And so," said John, " I would not dare 
 
 To send him from her bedside prayer." 
 
NOT ONE CHILD TO SPARE. 4 5 
 
 Then stole we softly up above 
 
 And knelt by Mary, child of love. 
 
 " Perhaps for her 'twould better be," 
 
 I said to John. Quite silently 
 
 He lifted up a curl that lay 
 
 Across her cheek in willful way, 
 
 And shook his head, " Nay, love, not thee," 
 
 The while my heart beat audibly. 
 
 Only one more, our eldest lad, 
 
 Trusty and truthful, good and glad — 
 
 So like his father. " No, John, no — 
 
 I cannot, will not, let him go." 
 
 And so we wrote, in courteous way, 
 
 We could not drive one child away ; 
 
 And afterward toil lighter seemed, 
 
 Thinking of that of which we dreamed, 
 
 Happy in truth that not one face 
 
 Was missed from its accustomed place ; 
 
 Thankful to work for all the seven, 
 
 Trusting the rest to One in heaven. 
 
V. 
 
 THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. 
 
 BABY has a right, too frequently de- 
 nied it, to be let alone. It ought to 
 be a rule in the nursery never to dis- 
 turb the infant when it is happy and quiet. 
 Older children, too, two, three, and four years 
 of age, who are amusing themselves in a peace- 
 ful, contented way, ought not to be wantonly 
 interfered with. I have often seen a little 
 creature lying in its crib cooing, laughing, 
 crooning to itself in the sweetest baby fashion, 
 without a care in the world to vex its com- 
 posure, when in would come mamma or nurse, 
 seize it, cover it with endearments, and ef- 
 fectually break up its tranquility. Then, the 
 next time, when these thoughtless people 
 wanted it to be quiet, they were surprised 
 that it refused to be so. It is habit and train- 
 ing which makes little children restless and 
 
 46 
 
THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. 47 
 
 fretful, rather than natural disposition, in a 
 multitude of cases. A healthy babe, coolly 
 and loosely dressed, judiciously fed, and fre- 
 quently bathed, will be good and comfortable 
 if it have not too much attention. But when 
 it is liable a dozen times a day to be caught 
 wildly up, bounced and jumped about, smo- 
 thered with kisses, poked by facetious fingers, 
 and petted till it is thoroughly out of sorts, 
 what can be expected of it ? How would 
 fathers and mothers endure the martyrdom to 
 which they allow the babies to be subjected ? 
 Another right which every baby has is to 
 its own mother's care and supervision. The 
 mother may not be strong enough to hold her 
 child and carry it about, to go with it on its 
 outings, and to personally attend to all its 
 wants. Very often it is really better for both 
 mother and child that the strong arms of an 
 able-bodied woman should bear it through its 
 months of helplessness. Still, no matter how 
 apparently worthy of trust a nurse or servant 
 may be, unless she have been tried and proved 
 by long and faithful service and friendship, a 
 babe is too precious to be given unreservedly 
 to her care. The mother herself, or an elder 
 
48 THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. 
 
 sister or auntie, should hover protectingly near 
 the tiny creature, whose life-long happiness 
 may depend on the way its babyhood is 
 passed. Who has not seen in the city parks 
 the beautifully-dressed infants, darlings evi- 
 dently of homes of wealth and refinement, left 
 to bear the beams of the sun and stings of 
 gnats and flies, while the nurses gossipped to- 
 gether, oblivious of the flight of time ? Mo- 
 thers are often quick to resent stories of the 
 neglect or cruelty of their employees, and can- 
 not be made to believe that their own children 
 are sufferers. And the children are too young 
 to speak. 
 
 The lover of little ones can almost always 
 see the subtle difference which exists between 
 the babies whom mothers care for, and the 
 babies who are left to hirelings. The former 
 have a sweeter, shyer, gladder look than the 
 latter. Perhaps the babies who are born, so 
 to speak, with silver spoons in their mouths, 
 are better off than those who came to the 
 heritage of a gold spoon. The gold-spoon- 
 ers have lovely cradles and vassinets. They 
 wear Valenciennes lace and embroidery, and 
 fashion dictates the cut of their bibs, and the 
 
THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. 49 
 
 length of their flowing robes. They are 
 waited upon by bonnes in picturesque aprons 
 and caps, and the doctor is sent for whenever 
 they have the colic. The little silver-spoon- 
 ers, on the other hand, are arrayed in simple 
 slips, which the mother made herself in dear, 
 delicious hours, the sweetest in their mystic 
 joy which happy womanhood knows. They 
 lie on the sofa, or on two chairs with a pillow 
 placed carefully to hold them, while she sings 
 at her work, spreads the snowy linen on the 
 grass, moulds the bread, and shells the peas. 
 The mothers hands wash and dress them, the 
 father rocks them to sleep, the proud brothers 
 and sisters carry them to walk, or wheel their 
 little wagons along the pavement Fortunate 
 babies of the silver spoon ! 
 
 Alas and alack ! for the babies who have 
 never a spoon at all, not even a horn or a 
 leaden one. Their poor parents love them, 
 amid the squalid circumstances which hem 
 them in, but they can do little for their well- 
 being, and they die by hundreds in garrets 
 and cellars and close tenement rooms. When 
 the rich and charitable shall devise some way 
 to care for the babies of the poor, we shall 
 4 
 
5o THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. 
 
 have taken a long step forward in the direction 
 of social and moral elevation. 
 
 Children also have a right to ask questions 
 and to be fairly answered ; not to be snubbed 
 as if they were guilty of an impertinence, nor 
 ignored as though their desire for information 
 were of no consequence, nor misled as if it 
 did not signify whether true or false impres- 
 sions were made upon their minds. 
 
 The child has a right to his individuality, to 
 be himself and no other ; to maintain against 
 the world the divine fact for which he stands. 
 And before this fact father, mother, instructor 
 should stand reverently ; seeking rather to 
 understand and interpret its significance than 
 to wrest it from its original purpose. It is 
 not necessarily to be inscribed with the family 
 name, nor written over with family traditions. 
 Nature delights in surprise and will not guar- 
 antee that the children of her poets shall sing, 
 nor that every Quaker baby shall take kindly 
 to drab color, or have an inherent longing for 
 a scoop-bonnet or a broad-brimmed hat 
 
 In the very naming of a child his individu- 
 ality should be recognized. He should not be 
 invested with the cast-off cognomen of some 
 
THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. 5 1 
 
 dead ancestor or historical celebrity, a name 
 musty as the grave-clothes of the original 
 wearer — dolefully redolent of old associations 
 — a ghostly index-finger forever pointing to 
 the past. Let it be something fresh ; a new 
 name standing for a new fact, the suggestion 
 of a history yet to be written, a prophecy to 
 be fulfilled. The ass was well enough clothed 
 in his own russet ; but when he would put on 
 the skin of the lion, every attribute became 
 contemptible. Commonplace people slip easily 
 through the world ; but when we would find 
 them heralded by great names, we resent the 
 incongruity, and insist upon making them less 
 than they are. George Washington selling 
 peanuts, Julius Caesar as a bootblack, and 
 Virgil a vender of old clothes, make but a 
 sorry figure. 
 
 We are indebted to our children for con- 
 stant incentives to noble living ; for the per- 
 petual reminder that we do not live to our- 
 selves alone ; for their sakes we are admonish- 
 ed to put from us the debasing appetite, the 
 unworthy impulse ; to gather into our lives 
 every noble and heroic quality, every tender 
 and attractive grace. 
 
52 THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. 
 
 We owe them gratitude for the dark hours 
 which their presence has brightened, for the 
 helplessness and dependence which have won 
 us from ourselves ; for the faith and trust 
 which it is evermore their mission to renew ; 
 for their kisses on cheeks wet with tears, and 
 on brows that but for that caressing had fur- 
 rowed into frowns. 
 
 Can torture chamber be more dreadful than 
 the juvenile party, the necessary parade of 
 the Christmas-dinner, to a shy boy ? I have 
 sometimes taken the hand of such a one, and 
 have found it cold and clammy ; desperate 
 was the struggle of that young soul, afraid of 
 he knew not what, caught by the machinery 
 of society, which mangled him at every point, 
 crushed every nerve, and filled him with faint- 
 ness and fear. How happy he might have 
 been with that brood of young puppies in the 
 barn, or the soft rabbits in their nest of hay! 
 How grand he was, paddling his poor leaky 
 boat down the rapids, jumping into the river, 
 and dragging it with his splendid strength 
 over the rocks ! Nature and he were friends ; 
 he was not afraid of her ; she recognized her 
 child and greeted him with smiles. The 
 young animals loved him, and his dog looked 
 
THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. 53 
 
 up into his fair blue eyes, and recognized his 
 king. But this creature must be tamed ; he 
 must be brought into prim parlors, and dine 
 with propriety ; he must dress himself in gar- 
 ments which scratch, and pull, and hurt him ; 
 boots must be put on his feet which pinch ; 
 he must be clean, — terrible injustice to a faun 
 who loves to roll down-hill, to grub for roots, 
 to follow young squirrels to their lair, and to 
 polish old guns rather than his manner. 
 
 And then the sensitive boy, who has a finer 
 grain than the majority of his fellows, sudden- 
 ly thrown into the pandemonium of a public 
 school ! Nails driven into the flesh could not 
 inflict such pain as such a one suffers ; and 
 the scars remain. One gentleman told me, in 
 mature life, that the loss of a toy stolen from 
 him in childhood still rankled. How much of 
 the infirmity of human character may be 
 traced to the anger, the sense of wounded 
 feeling, engendered by a wrong done in child- 
 hood when one is helpless to avenge ! 
 
 All this may be called the necessary hard- 
 ening process, but I do not believe in it. We 
 have learned how to temper iron and steel, 
 but we have not learned how to treat chil- 
 dren. Could it be made a money-making pro- 
 
54 THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. 
 
 cess, like the Bessemer, I believe one could 
 learn how to temper the human character. 
 Our instincts of intense love for our children 
 are not enough ; we should study it as a 
 science. The human race is very busy ; it 
 has to take care of itself, and to feed its 
 young; it must conquer the earth — perhaps 
 it has not time to study Jim and Jack and 
 Charley, and Mary and Emily and Jane, as 
 problems. But, if it had, would it not per- 
 haps pay ? There would be fewer criminals. 
 
 Many observers recommend a wise neglect 
 — not too much inquiry, but a judicious sur- 
 rounding of the best influences, and then let 
 your young plant grow up. Yes ; but it 
 should be a very wise neglect — it should be a 
 neglect which is always on the watch lest 
 some insidious parasite, some unnoticed but 
 strong bias of character, take possession of the 
 child and mould or ruin him. Of the ten boys 
 running up yonder hill, five will be failures, 
 two will be moderate successes, two will do 
 better, one will be great, good, and distin- 
 guished. If such are the terrible statistics — 
 and I am told that they are so — who is to 
 blame ? Certainly the parent or guardian, or 
 circumstances — and what is circumstance? 
 
VI. 
 
 BOYS. 
 
 'HE boy is an offense in himself. He 
 must have something to do, and as his 
 hands are idle the proverbial provider 
 of occupation for idle hands is always ready 
 with instructions for him. A boy makes noise 
 in utter defiance of the laws of acoustics. Shoe 
 him in velvet, and carpet your house as you 
 will, your boy shall make such a hubbub with 
 his heels as no watchman's rattle ever gave 
 forth. Doors in his hands always shut with a 
 violence which jars the whole house, and he 
 is certain to acquire each day the art of scream- 
 ing or whistling in some wholly new and excru- 
 ciating way. Loving his mother so violently 
 that his caresses derange her attire and 
 seriously endanger her bones, ready to die in 
 her defense if need be, he nevertheless tor- 
 ments her from morning to night, and allows 
 
 55 
 
56 BOYS. 
 
 her no possible peace until slumber closes his 
 throat and eyelids, and deprives his hands 
 and feet of their demoniac cunning. 
 
 In public your boy is equally a nuisance. 
 Collectively or individually he offends the 
 public in the streets. Whatever he does is 
 sure to be wrong. He monopolizes space and 
 takes to himself all the air there is for acous- 
 tical purposes. Your personal peculiarities 
 interest him, and with all the frankness of his 
 soul he comments upon your appearance, 
 addressing his remarks to his fellow on the 
 next block. 
 
 Nevertheless the boy has his uses. He is 
 the material out of which men are to be made 
 for the next generation. He is not a bad fel- 
 low, — that is to say, he is not intentionally or 
 consciously bad. There are springs in his 
 limbs which keep him in perpetual motion, 
 and the devil of uproar of which he is pos- 
 sessed utters the ear-piercing sounds which 
 annoy his elders, but the utterances of which 
 he can no more restrain than he can keep his 
 boots or trousers from wearing out. In a ten- 
 acre lot, well away from the house, the boy is 
 a picturesque and agreeable person ; it is only 
 
BOYS. 57 
 
 when one must come into closer contact with 
 him that his presence causes suffering and 
 suggests a statue to King Herod. It is in 
 cities that the boy makes himself felt most dis- 
 agreeably, and we fancy the fault is not alto- 
 gether his. .As the steam which bursts boilers 
 would be a perfectly harmless vapor but for 
 the sharp restraint that is put upon it, so the 
 effervescent boy becomes dangerous to social 
 order only when he is confined, when an 
 effort is made to compress him into smaller 
 space than the law of his expansive being 
 absolutely requires. We send him upon the 
 war-path by encroaching upon his hunting- 
 grounds ; we drive him into hostility by treat- 
 ing him as a public enemy. In most of our 
 dealings with him in cities, our effort is to sup- 
 press him, and it is an unwise system. If his 
 ball-playing in the streets becomes an annoy- 
 ance, we simply forbid ball-playing in the 
 streets, and it is an inevitable consequence 
 that, deprived of his ball, he will throw stones 
 at street lamps or at policemen, what else is 
 he to do ? 
 
 The beau ideal of boyhood is somewhere 
 between eight and twelve— though it exists 
 
58 BOYS. 
 
 before and after that age — but when within 
 those years, it is invested with its greatest 
 charm. Then is the first spring of intelligence, 
 when all that meets the eye and the ear 
 creates its due wonder. Then the feelings 
 are tender, and there is yet just so much 
 sweet natural helplessness as serves to keep 
 ever warm and active our affection, by demand 
 upon our care, and to engender a reliance 
 upon us, the source of mutual delight. 
 
 Boys are gregarious creatures, and when in 
 troops, having confidence in themselves and 
 in each other, they are all noise and sport. 
 
 " Turning to mirth all things of earth, 
 As only boyhood can." 
 
 But when quite alone, even in their most 
 delightful idleness, sauntering and loitering, 
 by green lanes, or village highways, they 
 show no signs of mirth. Watch them unseen, 
 and you will find the lips apart, the eye in- 
 quiring ; there is then a look that might be 
 mistaken for pensive, but it is not that, nor is 
 it easy to define ; it is, however, singularly ex- 
 pressive of happiness, the result of sensibility 
 and intuitive perception. 
 
 What shall we do with boys ? What shall 
 
BOYS. 59 
 
 parents do who live in towns and cities ? 
 What shall professional men do whose children 
 cannot participate in their parent's work ? 
 Instead of keeping them anxiously within 
 doors, thrust them out as much as possible. 
 Do not let watching become spying. Let them 
 have sports and companions, and unwatched 
 liberty. Put them upon their honor. Boys 
 will early respond to this. 
 
 The resources of childhood are nearly inex- 
 haustible. Nobody else on this planet is so 
 ingenious in inventing fun as a rollicking boy. 
 His resources in this respect are as original as 
 inexhaustible. In coming down street the 
 other day we had an illustration. A boy of 
 ten years was walking before us with legs 
 that would comport with the body of Daniel 
 Lambert. We looked at him in amazement. 
 " Son, what is the matter with your legs ? " 
 " Nothing. My legs are bunkum. Just see 
 'em walk." And he waddled off like a duck. 
 " What distends your breeches so ? " " Sand, 
 sir," said he, with a hearty laugh. True 
 enough, the boy had tied his pants with strings 
 at the bottom, as is done in deep snow, and 
 filled them to the waist with sand. We walked 
 
60 BOYS. 
 
 away ruminating upon the vast resources of 
 boyhood to inaugurate a little fun. Happy 
 boyhood ! It's a pity that adult life cannot 
 command as much philosophy. 
 
 A boy not fond of fun and frolic may possi- 
 bly make a tolerable man, but he is an intol- 
 erable boy. 
 
 A boy may be spoiled about as easily as a 
 girl, by injudicious training ; no, we will take 
 that back — much easier. In the first place, 
 then, by leading him to depend upon his 
 sisters. Who has not seen the spoiled boy in 
 the man who could not tie his dickey without 
 calling his wife from the breakfast table to 
 help him ; or put on his coat without she held 
 the sleeves ; or get a drop of hot water when 
 the kettle was right before him ? Another 
 way to spoil a boy is to pick up after him. 
 Now that's a thing we wouldn't do (begging 
 pardon of the gentleman) for the President. 
 We hold that there is as much need of neat 
 habits in a boy, as in the gentler sex ; and 
 this idea of gathering the coat from the sofa, 
 the vest from the rocking-chair, the boots 
 from the hearth-rug, the collar from under the 
 table, and the neck-cloth from nobody knows 
 
BOYS. 6l 
 
 wher.e — is perfectly and superlatively ridicu- 
 lous. Again, why is the boy allowed to use 
 coarse, indelicate expressions, that, from the 
 lips of a girl would call forth well-merited 
 rebuke? Should the mind of the man be 
 made of coarse material because he is expected 
 to jostle his way through the rude elements of 
 human nature? That is not the law of the 
 machinist who controls dumb matter. Though 
 one engine may be ponderous and massive, 
 destined for the roughest work, and another 
 delicate and complicated, there is the same 
 smoothness of material in both — the same 
 polish, the same nice finish. A boy will most 
 surely be spoiled if led to think he can commit 
 offences against morals, which by the parents 
 are considered only masculine — not criminal. 
 Another wrong thing is to bring a boy up for 
 a profession, will he, nill he. Some parents 
 have a respectable horror for dirt, and cannot 
 think of soiled hands and a trade with any 
 degree of complacency. Therefore the world 
 is burdened with burdens to themselves, in the 
 shape of lawyers, doctors, etc., who are too 
 poor to live, and too poor to die — in comfort. 
 Finally, the surest way to spoil a boy is not 
 
62 BOYS. 
 
 to instil into his very soul, from the time he 
 is an infant, a true reverence for woman; a 
 regard for her virtue as sacred as the love he 
 bears his mother. Never let her name be 
 trifled with in his presence, or her actions in- 
 terpreted loosely, else you may hereafter share 
 the disgrace of having given to the world a 
 curse more corrupting than that of all others 
 — a heartless libertine. 
 
 My son, are you a sweetener of life ? You 
 may disappoint the ambition of your parents, 
 may be unable to distinguish yourself as they 
 fondly hoped, may find your intellectual 
 strength inadequate to your own desires, but 
 let none of these things move you from a de- 
 termination to be a son of whose moral char- 
 acter they need never be ashamed. Begin 
 early to cultivate a habit of thoughtfulness 
 and consideration for others, especially for 
 those whom you are commanded to honor. 
 Can you begrudge a few extra steps for the 
 mother who never stopped to number those 
 you demanded during your helpless infancy ? 
 Have you the heart to slight her requests, or 
 treat her remarks with indifference, when you 
 cannot begin to measure the patient devotion 
 
BOYS. 63 
 
 with which she bore with your peculiarities ? 
 Anticipate her wants, invite her confidence, 
 be prompt to offer assistance, express your 
 affections as heartily as you did when a child, 
 that the mother may never grieve in secret 
 for the son she has lost. 
 
 You are made to be kind, boys, generous, 
 magnanimous. If there is a boy in school who 
 has a club foot, don't let him know you ever 
 saw it. If there is a poor boy with ragged 
 clothes, don't talk about rags in his hearing. 
 If there is a lame boy, assign him some part 
 of the game which does not require running. 
 If there is a hungry one, give him part of your 
 dinner. If there is a dull one, help him to 
 get his lesson. If there is a bright one, be 
 not envious of him ; for if one boy is proud 
 of his talents, and another is envious of them, 
 there are two great wrongs, and no more tal- 
 ent than before. If a larger or stronger boy 
 has injured you, and is sorry for it, forgive 
 him. All the school will show by their coun- 
 tenances how much better it is than to have a 
 great fist. 
 
 We love to see boys happy. We well re- 
 member our school days — how the joyful 
 
64 BOYS. 
 
 scenes of those golden hours rise before us as 
 we write ! After a long, a labored session of 
 school, what is finer for boys than a good frolic 
 on the green grass ? See them ! — they hop 
 and run, and toss their hats and balls ; every 
 bone and cord and muscle of their young and 
 active frames is brought into full and vigorous 
 play. Their minds are unpent as well as their 
 bodies. Let boys have exercise. They must 
 have it, and a good deal too ; and they must 
 have the right kind, or they will become sickly 
 and dwarfish, their minds feeble, and their 
 feelings peevish and fretful. The open air, 
 and the more free and pure the better, is im- 
 portant to good exercise to any one, but espe- 
 cially the boys. Otherwise they will be pale 
 and weak, as a plant doomed to the shade. 
 They must have exercise which makes them 
 forget themselves, and all their troubles and 
 tasks, and throws the mind and heart into a 
 glow of life and joy. 
 
 Boyhood needs its discipline of care as well 
 as manhood. Young shoulders, however, 
 should not carry the load of old, and grow 
 prematurely bowed. Give the boys something 
 that suits their time of life, though it seem 
 
BOYS. 65 
 
 boy's play by their elders. They are just re- 
 leased from the confinement of the winter 
 school and need a pleasant change. The ex- 
 citement of sugar-making comes just in time, 
 and let the boys have a chance. What gala 
 days these are for them among the maples ! 
 How the young blood leaps in their veins and 
 flushes their cheeks while the sap is mounting 
 and running and exhaling its maple odors ! 
 Now, too, the calves and lambs and pigs are 
 coming into the world, and how naturally the 
 boys take to them. The barn just now is a 
 good school for first lessons in stock-raising 
 and kindness to animals, and the boys here 
 are their own best teachers. Then they can 
 be fitting up the dove cotes and martin boxes 
 and chicken coops, making nests satisfactory 
 for the setting hens, and getting things ready 
 generally for the new-comers. Boys need 
 only to have the yoke fitted to their years, and 
 they will hardly feel easy without it. 
 
 Most boys go through a period when they 
 have great need of patient love at home. 
 They are awkward and clumsy, sometimes 
 strangely willful and perverse, and they are 
 desperately conscious of themselves, and very 
 5 
 
66 BOYS. 
 
 sensitive to the least word of censure or effort 
 at restraint. Authority frets them. They are 
 leaving childhood, but they have not yet 
 reached the sober good sense of manhood. 
 They are an easy prey to the tempter and the 
 sophist. Perhaps they adopt skeptical views, 
 from sheer desire to prove that they are inde- 
 pendent, and can do their own thinking. Now 
 is the mother's hour. Her boy needs her now 
 more than when he lay in his cradle. Her 
 finer insight and serener faith may hold him 
 fast, and prevent his drifting into dangerous 
 courses. At all events, there is very much 
 that only a mother can do for her son. and 
 that a son can receive only from his mother, 
 in the critical period of which we are thinking. 
 It is well for him, if she have kept the fresh- 
 ness and brightness of her youth, so that she 
 can now be his companion and friend as well 
 as instructor. 
 
VII. 
 GIRLS. 
 
 IRLS, and especially those who are 
 members of large families, have much 
 influence at home, where brothers 
 delight in their sisters, and where parents 
 look fondly down on their dear daughters, 
 and pray that their example may influence 
 the boys for good. Girls have much in their 
 power with regard to those boys ; they have 
 it in their power to make them gentler, purer, 
 truer, to give them higher opinions of women ; 
 to soften their manners and ways ; to tone 
 down rough places, and shape sharp, angular 
 corners. 
 
 All this, to be done well, must be done by 
 imperceptibly influencing them, and giving 
 them an example of the gentleness, the purity, 
 the politeness and tenderness we wish them to 
 emulate. When we see boys careless to their 
 
 6 7 
 
6S GIRLS. 
 
 elders, rude in manner and coarse in speech, 
 and we know that they have sisters, we often, 
 and I think with reason, conclude that there 
 must be .something wrong, and that the sisters 
 are not trying to make them better boys, but 
 leaving things alone, letting them go their 
 own course. Perhaps their excuse would be 
 that they were too much occupied themselves, 
 and that their own studies and pursuits pre- 
 vent them from being able to pay much atten- 
 tion to their brothers ; and " boys will be 
 boys," you know. By all means let boys be 
 boys. I, for one, regard boys far too highly 
 to wish them to be otherwise ; but the rough- 
 ness, and coarseness, and rudeness, of which I 
 speak, are not necessary ingredients of boy- 
 hood ; and it is you, their sisters, who must 
 prove that they are not. Interest yourselves 
 in their pursuits, show them, by every means 
 in your power, that you do not consider them 
 and their doings beneath your notice ; spare 
 an hour from your practicing, from your draw- 
 ing, from your languages, for their boating or 
 sports, and don't turn contemptuously away 
 from the books and amusements in which they 
 delight, as if, though good enough for them, 
 

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GIRLS. 69 
 
 they are immeasurably below you. Try this 
 behavior, girls, for a short time ; it will not 
 harm you, and will benefit them greatly. You 
 will soon find how a gentle word will turn off 
 a sharp answer ; how a grieved look will effect- 
 ually reprove an unfitting expression ; how 
 gratefully a small kindness will be received ; 
 and how unbounded will be the power for 
 good you will obtain by a continuance of this 
 conduct. 
 
 Equally great will a girl's influence be on 
 her younger sisters, in whose eyes she is the 
 perfection of grace and goodness, in whose 
 thoughts she is ever present. Beautiful, ex- 
 ceedingly beautiful, is the close friendship 
 between an elder and a younger sister; but 
 let the elder beware of the influence she ex- 
 erts. If she herself be careless, frivolous, 
 undutiful, and irreligious, the child will inev- 
 itably be so, unless the fatal influence be coun- 
 teracted by some other holier one. If she 
 gives sharp answers, or shows but little regard 
 for truth, let her not be astonished if the little 
 one be ill-tempered and untruthful ; and sor- 
 rowful will be the conviction that she has had 
 not a little to do with making her so. 
 
70 GIRLS. 
 
 In school, too, a girl of determined, resolute 
 character will soon take the lead and acquire 
 a certain influence. School-girls are gre- 
 garious, and follow naturally any one who is 
 stronger-minded and more decided. When 
 the influence is exercised to elevate the young 
 minds, and give them higher and noble aspi- 
 rations, it is a salutary and beneficial effect of 
 school life ; but when it is otherwise, it is a 
 very sad one. Two or three older girls in a 
 school, having a noble object in view, steadily 
 endeavoring to do right, acting quietly and 
 without ostentation, but seeking humbly to 
 follow in the footsteps Christ has marked out 
 for us, may do an immense amount of good. 
 " A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump." 
 
 We know not half the power, for good or ill, 
 Our daily lives possess o'er one another ; 
 
 A careless word may help a soul to kill, 
 
 Or by one look we may redeem our brother. 
 
 'Tis not the great things that we do or say, 
 But idle words forgot as soon as spoken ; 
 
 And little, thoughtless deeds of every day 
 
 Are stumbling blocks on which the weak are broken. 
 
VIII. 
 
 YOUNG MEN. 
 
 i-tilT is, without doubt, a very joyous 
 
 ^ thought to you, that you have become 
 
 a young man. Manhood has long been 
 
 the fairy land of your boyhood's reveries. 
 
 Your full heart swells as you exclaim : 
 
 " Time on my brow hath set his seal ; 
 I start to find myself a man." 
 
 Your spirits flow in rich currents of feeling, 
 and your lively imagination paints the most 
 inviting pictures of the future. To you, life is 
 as the lovely vale of Arno, with its enchanting 
 scenery of groves and gardens, grottoes, palaces 
 and towers ; its transparent lakes, delicious air, 
 and sunny skies. 
 
 That you have reached the period of youth 
 is, therefore, for you, a very serious fact, 
 " Great destinies lie shrouded " in your swiftly 
 passing hours. Great responsibilities stand in 
 
 7i 
 
72 YOUNG MEN. 
 
 the passages of every-day life. Great dangers 
 lie hidden in the by-paths of life's great high- 
 way ; and syrens, whose song is as charming 
 as the voice of Calypso, are there to allure you 
 to destruction. Great uncertainty hangs over 
 your future history. God has given you ex- 
 istence, with full power and opportunity to 
 improve it, and be happy. He has given 
 you equal power to despise the gift, and be 
 wretched. Which will you do, is the grand 
 problem to be solved by your choice and con- 
 duct. 
 
 As a boy, at home, you have sailed upon 
 the calm waters of a quiet river, in a bark, 
 carefully furnished by a mother's love, and 
 safely guided by a father's skill. Now you 
 are sailing through the winding channels, the 
 rocky straits, the rapid, rushing currents, at 
 the river's mouth, into the great sea of active 
 life. And here, for the first time, you are in 
 command of the vessel. On your skill and 
 caution depends the safety of the passage. 
 Neglect the rules laid down on the chart of 
 experience by previous navigators, take pas- 
 sion for a pilot, place folly at the helm, and 
 your bark will shortly lie a pitiful wreck on 
 
YOUNG MEN. y^ 
 
 the rocks, or be so damaged as to peril your 
 safety on the coming voyage. But study well 
 the intricacies and dangers of your course,, 
 take counsel of experience, let caution be your 
 pilot, and, without doubt, you will escape 
 rock, current, eddy, and whirlpool, and, with 
 streamered masts and big white sail, float 
 gayly forth to dare and conquer the perils of 
 the sea beyond. 
 
 The young man, as he passes through life, 
 advances through a long line of tempters 
 ranged on either side of him ; and the inevi- 
 table effect of yielding is degradation in a 
 greater or less degree. Contact with them 
 tends insensibly to draw away from him some 
 portion of the divine electric element with 
 which his nature is charged ; and his only 
 mode of resisting them is to utter and to act 
 out his "No" manfully and resolutely. He 
 must decide at once, not waiting to deliberate 
 and balance reasons ; for the youth, like " the 
 woman who deliberates, is lost." Many de- 
 liberate, without deciding; but " not to re- 
 solve, is to resolve." A perfect knowledge of 
 man is in the prayer, " Lead us not into 
 temptation." But temptation will come to 
 
74 YOUNG MEN. 
 
 try the young man's strength ; and once 
 yielded to, the power to resist grows weaker 
 and weaker. Yield once, and a portion of 
 virtue has gone. Resist manfully, and the 
 first decision will give strength for life ; re- 
 peated, it will become a habit. 
 
 Up, then, with a heroic spirit, and gird 
 yourself for mortal conflict with the great 
 Apollyon who bestrides your pathway ! If 
 he has subdued thousands, thousands have 
 also subdued him. And you, too, may be his 
 conqueror ! Look courageously at the chart 
 of your intended voyage ! If, by every sunken 
 rock, and beneath every dashing wave, there 
 lies the wreck of youth who perished untimely, 
 there is also a haven, beyond the sea, into 
 which " a thousand times ten thousand and 
 thoitsands of thousands " have triumphantly 
 entered, in defiance of stormy winds and roar- 
 ing waves. You may do the same, if you 
 will take timely heed to your ways. Success 
 is before you, if you resolutely and wisely 
 seek it. As says a modern writer, " The seas 
 of human life are wide. Wisdom may sug- 
 gest the voyage, but it must first look to the 
 condition of the ship, and the nature of the 
 
YOUNG MEN. 
 
 75 
 
 merchandise to exchange. Not every vessel 
 that sails from Tarshish will bring back the 
 gold of Ophir. But shall it therefore rot in 
 the harbor ? No ! Give its sails to the wind ! " 
 
 But to wrestle vigorously and successfully 
 with any vicious habit, we must not merely 
 be satisfied with contending on the low ground 
 of wordly prudence, though that is of use, 
 but take stand upon a higher moral elevation. 
 Mechanical aids, such as pledges, may be of 
 service to some, but the great thing is to set 
 up a high standard of thinking and acting, and 
 endeavor to strengthen and purify the princi- 
 ples, as well as to reform the habits. For 
 this purpose a youth must study himself, 
 watch his steps, and compare his thoughts 
 and acts with his rule. The more knowledge 
 of himself he gains, the humbler will he be, 
 and perhaps the less confident in his own 
 strength. But the discipline will be found 
 most valuable which is acquired by resisting 
 small present gratifications to secure a pro- 
 spective greater and higher one. It is the 
 noblest work in self-education. 
 
 To be successful in life, to rise above the 
 common herd of mankind, a young man re- 
 
7 6 YOUNG MEN. 
 
 quires certain elements of character. He 
 must possess Integrity, that he may win pub- 
 lic confidence ; Intelligence, that he may com- 
 mand respect ; Industry, that he may collect 
 honey from the flowers of trade ; Economy 
 and frugality, to preserve his gains ; Energy, 
 by which to surmount obstacles ; and Tact, 
 to enable him to adapt himself to the openings 
 of Providence, and to make him the man for 
 the hour of opportunity. These qualifica- 
 tions are, to success in life, as foundations of 
 jasper to a royal palace. Whoever possesses 
 them cannot be an inferior man. To that 
 man who retains them, life cannot be a failure. 
 Nay, he must rise to social superiority ; he 
 must win a commanding influence. 
 
 Every period of life has its peculiar tempta- 
 tions and dangers. But were we to specify 
 the period which, of all others, is attended 
 with the greatest peril, and most needs to be 
 watched and guarded, we would fix upon that 
 which elapses from fourteen to twenty-one 
 years of age. This, preeminently, is the form- 
 ing, fixing period ; the spring season of dispo- 
 sition and habit ; and it is during this sea- 
 son, more than any other, that the character 
 
YOUNG MEN. jj 
 
 assumes its permanent shape and color, and 
 the young man is wont to take his course for 
 life and for eternity. 
 
 But not to confine our remarks to this par- 
 ticular age, it will not be doubted, that the 
 time, during which we usually denominate 
 one a young man, is the most important and 
 perilous period of his whole existence. Then 
 the passions, budding and hastening to ripe- 
 ness, acquire new vigor, become impatient of 
 restraint, and eager for gratification. Then 
 the imagination, unchecked by experience, 
 and unrestrained by judgment, paints the 
 world in false and fascinating colors, and 
 teaches the young bosom to sigh after its vain 
 and forbidden pleasures. Then springs up in 
 the mind, the restless desire of independence 
 and self-control ; — a disposition to throw off 
 the restraints of paternal counsel and authori- 
 ty, and to think and act for itself. "Then 
 the social impulse is felt, and the young man 
 looks around for companions and friends ; " 
 then the calling for life is chosen, the princi- 
 ples of action adopted, habits acquired, and 
 those connections in business and society 
 formed, which usually decide the character, 
 
yS YOUNG MEN. 
 
 and fix the condition, both for this and the 
 future world. 
 
 " It is a great point for young men to begin 
 well ; for it is in the beginning of life that 
 that system of conduct is adopted which soon 
 assumes the force of habit. Begin well, and 
 the habit of doing well will become quite as 
 easy as the habit of doing badly. Well begun 
 is half ended, says the proverb ; and a good 
 beginning is half the battle. Many promising 
 young men have irretrievably injured them- 
 selves by a first false step at the commence- 
 ment of life ; while others of much less prom- 
 ising talents, have succeeded simply by begin- 
 ning well, and going onward. The good 
 practical beginning is, to a certain extent, a 
 pledge, a promise, and an assurance, of the 
 ultimate prosperous issue. There is many a 
 poor creature, now crawling through life, 
 miserable himself and the cause of sorrow to 
 others, who might have lifted up his head and 
 prospered, if, instead of merely satisfying him- 
 self with resolutions of well-doing, he had 
 actually gone to work and made a good prac- 
 tical beginning. 
 
 Too many are, however, impatient of re- 
 
YOUNG MEN. jg 
 
 suits. They are not satisfied to begin where 
 their fathers did, but where they left off. 
 They think to enjoy the fruitts of industry 
 without working for them. They cannot wait 
 for the results of labor and application, but 
 forestall them by too early indulgence. A 
 worthy Scotch couple, when asked how their 
 son had broken down so early in life, gave 
 the following explanation : " When we began 
 life together, we worked hard, and lived upon 
 porridge and such like, gradually adding to 
 our comforts as our means improved, until we 
 were able at length to dine off a bit of roast 
 meat, and sometimes a boilt chuckie (or fowl) ; 
 but as for Jock, our son, he began where we 
 had left off — he began wi the chuckie first." 
 The same illustration will apply to higher con- 
 ditions of life than that of this humble pair. 
 
 Middle class people are too apt to live up 
 to their incomes, if not beyond them ; affect- 
 ing a degree of " style " which is most unhealthy 
 in its effect upon society at large. There is 
 an ambition to bring up boys as gentlemen, 
 or rather " genteel " men ; though the result 
 frequently is, only to make them gents. They 
 acquire a taste for dress, style, luxuries, and 
 
80 YOUNG MEN. 
 
 amusements, which can never form any solid 
 foundation for manly or gentlemanly charac- 
 ter ; and the result is, that we have a vast 
 number of gingerbread young gentry thrown 
 upon the world, who remind one of the 
 abandoned hulls sometimes picked up at sea, 
 with only a monkey on board. 
 
 There is a dreadful ambition abroad for 
 being "genteel." We keep up appearances, 
 too often at the expense of honesty ; and, 
 though we may not be rich, yet we must seem 
 to be so. We must be " respectable," though 
 only in the meanest sense — in mere vulgar 
 outward show. We have not the courage to 
 go patiently onward in the condition of life in 
 which it has pleased God to call us ; but must 
 needs live in some fashionable state to which 
 we ridiculously please to call ourselves, and 
 all to gratify the vanity of that unsubstantial 
 genteel world of which we form a part. There 
 is a constant struggle and pressure for front 
 seats in the social amphitheatre ; in the midst 
 of which all noble self-denying resolve is 
 trodden down, and many fine natures are in- 
 evitably crushed to death. What waste, what 
 misery, what bankruptcy, come from all this 
 
YOUNG MEN. 8 1 
 
 ambition to dazzle others with the glare of 
 apparent worldly success, we need not de- 
 scribe. The mischievous results show them- 
 selves in a thousand ways — in the rank frauds 
 committed by men who dare to be dishonest, 
 but do not dare to seem poor ; and in the 
 desperate dashes at fortune, in which the 
 pity is not so much for those who fail, as for 
 the hundreds of innocent families who are so 
 often involved in their ruin. 
 
 To be above the necessity of labor, — to 
 spend life in doing nothing, — is the fancied 
 paradise of many youthful minds. Yielding 
 to these illusive dreams, they cultivate a 
 hatred for labor ; they view the necessity 
 which binds them to the countine-room or the 
 workshop as the galley-slave regards his 
 chain. They envy every gay son of pleasure 
 whose empty laugh is heard ringing through 
 the street. Hence their labor is irksome — 
 their temper sour and repulsive. Their man- 
 ners become insulting and vexatious to their 
 employers ; their incessant complainings an- 
 noy their parents, and misery spreads through- 
 out the entire circle of their influence. Thou- 
 sands of parental hearts are aching at this 
 6 
 
82 YOUNG MEN 
 
 moment, and thousands of employers are un- 
 happy with their apprentices, solely from this 
 foolish, guilty aspiration after nothing to do 
 which haunts the imaginations of so many 
 young men. 
 
 Great men have ever been men of thought, 
 as well as men of action. As the magnificent 
 river, rolling in the pride of its mighty waters, 
 owes its greatness to the hidden springs of 
 the mountain nook, so does the wide-sweeping 
 influence of distinguished men date its origin 
 from hours of privacy, resolutely employed in 
 efforts after self- development. The invisible 
 spring of self-culture is the source of every 
 great achievement. 
 
 Away, then, young man, with all dreams 
 of superiority unless you are determined to 
 dig after knowledge, as men search for con- 
 cealed gold ! If you lack the resolution, the 
 manly strength of purpose, needed to bind 
 you to reading, reflection, and study, you may 
 bid adieu to all hope of marked success. 
 Your destiny is settled. You will dwell in 
 ignoble nothingness, far down the vale of ob- 
 scurity. 
 
 " An old man stood, on the night of a new 
 
YOUNG MEN. 83 
 
 year, at his window, and gazed with the look 
 of despair to the immovable, ever glowing 
 heavens, and down to the calm, white earth, 
 upon which there was no one so friendless and 
 sleepless as he. For his grave lay near him ; 
 — it was covered only with the snow of old 
 age, not with the green of youth, and he 
 brought with him out of the rich abundance 
 of his whole life nothing but errors, sins, and 
 infirmities, a wasted body, a desolate soul, and 
 an old age full of sorrow. To-day his beauti- 
 ful youth days wandered about him like 
 ghosts, and drew him back to that pleasant 
 morning when his father first placed him on 
 the cross-way of life which leads, on the right, 
 by the sunny path of virtue in a broad peace- 
 ful land, full of light and harvests, and on the 
 left, drags down in the mole track of vice into 
 a black cavern full of dripping poison, hissing 
 serpents, and dark, sultry vapors. As the 
 serpents hung about his breast, and drops of 
 poison upon his tongue, in unutterable grief 
 and despair, he cried out to the heavens, — 
 Give youth again ! O Father, place me on that 
 cross- way again, that I may choose another 
 path. But his father and his youth were 
 
84 YOUNG MEN. 
 
 gone long ago. He saw wandering lights 
 dancing among the marshes, and disappearing 
 in the graveyard, and he said, These are my 
 foolish and wasted days. He saw a star fall 
 from heaven, and glimmer in its fall and van- 
 ish on the earth ; I am that star, said the 
 bleeding heart, and the serpent fangs of re- 
 morse struck deeper in his soul. His burning 
 imagination pictured before him flying night- 
 phantoms ; and a skull, still lying in the 
 tomb, by degrees assumed his look. In the 
 midst of this struggle within him, the music 
 for the new year flowed suddenly down from 
 the church tower, like a far-off chant. His 
 heart softened. He cast his eyes around the 
 horizon and over the broad earth, and he 
 thought of the friends of his youth, who now, 
 happier than he, were bright examples of 
 virtue and worth, fathers of happy children, 
 and loved and honored by all around them, 
 and he said, Oh, I might also like you have 
 slept through this night with unwept eyes, if 
 I had been willing. Ah, I might be happy, 
 my dear parents, if I had followed your pre- 
 cepts. In this feverish remembrance of his 
 youthful time, it seemed to him as if the skull, 
 
YOUNG MEN. 85 
 
 with the features of the tomb, raised itself up 
 and became a living youth. He covered his 
 eyes. A thousand scalding tears streamed 
 down and disappeared in the snow. Hopeless 
 in despair he yet only sighed in a low voice, 
 — Come back again, O youth, come back. 
 And it came back; for he had only dreamed 
 so fearfully. He was still a young man. 
 His grief alone had been no dream. But he 
 thanked God that, still young, he could turn 
 in the midst of the dark currents of life and 
 reach the land of harvests. Turn back with 
 him, young man, if you stand in his wander- 
 ing way. This frightful dream will become 
 in future your judge. But if ever full of sor- 
 row and despair, you should cry out, Come 
 again, bright and vigorous youth ; O come ! 
 Then it will not come again. It will be gone 
 never to return." 
 
IX. 
 
 YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 HE most important era in the life of a 
 young woman is when she finally 
 leaves school. At this time she be- 
 gins to think for herself, and is left in more 
 than ordinary freedom to act for herself. Up 
 to this period, she has lived in obedience to 
 parents, guardians, or teachers. She has gone 
 to school, and pursued her studies under the 
 entire direction of others, submitting her will 
 and her judgment to the will and judgment 
 of others, as older and wiser than herself. 
 Her mind has been fully occupied with the 
 various branches of knowledge which it has 
 been deemed by others right that she should 
 acquire. But now, books of instruction . are 
 laid aside ; the strict rules of the seminary are 
 no longer observed ; the mind that has been 
 for a long time active in the pursuits of knowl- 
 edge sinks into repose. 
 
 86 
 
YOUNG WOMEN. 87 
 
 Her whole future life will be affected by 
 whatever is right or wrong in her conduct, 
 and mode of thinking and living, at this period. 
 The habits of order and study which existed 
 while at school were not properly her own, 
 for they were merely the result of obedience 
 to laws prescribed by others ; but now, acting 
 in freedom, whatever she does is from herself, 
 and stamps itself permanently upon the im- 
 pressible substance of her forming character. 
 If, from natural indolence, she sinks into idle- 
 ness and self-indulgence, she will be in danger 
 of forming a habit that will go with her through 
 life ; but if, from a sense of duty to herself 
 and others, she still occupies all her time, and 
 all the powers of her mind, in doing or ac- 
 quiring something, she will gradually gain 
 strength and force of character, as her mind 
 expands, and take, as a woman, in a few years* 
 a woman's true position of active use in her 
 appropriate sphere. 
 
 Life is a voyage, and to most of us a rough 
 and stormy one. In commencing this voy- 
 age, let each one emulate the wisdom, pru- 
 dence, and forethought of the sailor. The 
 weaker we are, and the less able to endure 
 
88 YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 the shock of a tempest, the more careful should 
 we be that everything is right before we push 
 off from the shore. 
 
 It is clear, then, that, in the beginning of 
 life a woman who has less ability to contend in 
 the world, and is more exposed to evils and 
 hardships, should reverses come, ought to 
 furnish herself thoroughly with the means of 
 self-sustenance and self-protection. This she 
 can only do by acquiring some knowledge or 
 skill, the exercise of which will enable her to 
 supply not only her own wants, but the wants 
 of all who may be dependent upon her. 
 There is no time in which this can be done so 
 well as in the few years which succeed the 
 period of a young lady's final withdrawal from 
 school. These years ought to be employed 
 by all, no matter how high their station, in 
 thoroughly mastering some branch of knowl- 
 edge, or in acquiring some skill, from the ex- 
 ercise of which, as a regular employment, 
 should necessity ever require it to be done, a 
 livelihood may be obtained. 
 
 Viewing yourself in your relations to hu- 
 man society, you cannot fail to perceive much 
 of evil, of danger, and of suffering, before 
 
YOUNG WOMEN. 89 
 
 you. You everywhere behold women whose 
 early career was as gay, as secure, as promis- 
 ing, as your own, the victims of heart desola- 
 tion, of acute suffering, of neglect, of poverty, 
 — to whom life is as a desert waste, where 
 suffocating winds sweep rudely past them, 
 and stifling sands threaten to bury them in 
 death. In one direction, you see a daughter 
 thrown upon her own resources by the prema- 
 ture death of her parents ; in another, a wife, 
 but yesterday a happy bride, left to inde- 
 scribable sorrow by the neglect of an unfaith- 
 ful husband, or plunged into a mournful wid- 
 owhood by the visitation of death. 
 
 Seek, therefore, young lady, for skill in 
 household labors ; acquire some means of 
 living by your own labor ; cultivate a courage- 
 ous spirit ; learn to be decided in your adhesion 
 to the voices of duty, — and you will be fitted 
 to confront, with a consciousness of strength 
 to overcome them, the most trying ordeals of 
 life. Resting on these qualities, you will feel 
 strong, your heart will be bold, you will not 
 sink, with a crushed and broken spirit, under 
 the pressure of difficulty, — but, erect and 
 mighty, you will be mistress of your circum- 
 stances, and victor over your trials. 
 
9o 
 
 YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 While, if you despise the wisdom which 
 distils from this advice, — if you live in sloth- 
 ful, idle self-neglect during the sunny hours 
 of youth, and trouble suddenly bursts on your 
 defenceless head, — 
 
 " Your mind shall sink, a blighted flower, 
 Dead to the sunbeam and the shower ; 
 A broken gem, whose inborne light 
 Is scattered, ne'er to reunite." 
 
 Loveliness of spirit is woman's sceptre and 
 sword, for it is both the emblem and the in- 
 strument of her conquests. Her influence 
 flows from her sensibilities, her gentleness, her 
 tenderness. It is this which disarms preju- 
 dice, and awakens confidence and affection in 
 all who come within her sphere ; which makes 
 her more powerful to accomplish what her 
 will resolves than if nature had endowed her 
 with the strength of a giant. 
 
 I would not, however, have you to imagine, 
 that loveliness of spirit alone is a source of 
 high and abiding influence, nor that other 
 great qualities may be dispensed with, if this 
 one is obtained. So far is this from the 
 truth, that this quality is dependent upon the 
 existence of the most exalted moral excellen- 
 
YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 91 
 
 cies. Nature may have endowed you with 
 exquisite sensibility, with a highly refined and 
 delicate physical organization, which may give 
 you the appearance of being lovely, and en- 
 able you to make a favorable impression and 
 to exert an irresistible power over the mind 
 you aim to fascinate. But if your heart is 
 lacking in high-minded self-devotion, in self- 
 control, in sincerity, in genuine meekness, 
 your loveliness, like a coating of gold upon a 
 counterfeit coin, will disappear before all who 
 behold you in contact with the realities of 
 life. Genuine loveliness is the effulgence of 
 sublime virtue ; it is a soft and mellow light, 
 diffusing a delicious radiance over the entire 
 character, and investing its possessor with a 
 halo of indefinable beauty. It is the " fresh 
 ripple from deep fountains " of inborne love. 
 It is the gentle dew descending from the clear 
 heaven of a pure and lofty mind — the mystic 
 charm that " pleases all around, from the wish 
 to please." 
 
 Let every one see that you care for them 
 by showing them what Sterne so happily calls 
 " the small sweet courtesies of life," in which 
 there is no parade ; whose voice is too still to 
 
92 YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 tease, and which manifest themselves by ten- 
 der and affectionate looks and little acts of 
 attention — giving others the preference in 
 every little enjoyment at the table, in the 
 field, walking, sitting or standing. This is the 
 spirit that gives your sex its sweetest charm. 
 It constitutes the sum total of the witchcraft 
 of woman. Let the world see that your first 
 care is for yourself, and you will spread the 
 solitude of the upas-tree around you, in the 
 same way, by the emanation of a poison which 
 kills all the juices of affection in its neighbor- 
 hood. Such a girl may be admired for her 
 understanding and accomplishments, but she 
 will never be beloved. 
 
 Self-culture implies suitable efforts to 
 strengthen and expand the intellect, by read- 
 ing, by reflection, and by writing down your 
 thoughts. Reading suitable books stores the 
 mind with facts and principles ; reflection con- 
 verts those facts and principles into a real 
 mental aliment, and thus quickens the soul 
 into growth ; while writing tends to precision 
 of thought and beauty of expression. Every 
 young lady should, therefore, read much, re- 
 flect more, and write as frequently and care- 
 fully as she has opportunity. 
 
YOUNG WOMEN. 93 
 
 The principal object of reading, with many 
 young women, is pleasure. They seek for 
 excited sensibilities and a charmed imagina- 
 tion. Hence, novels and poetry form the sta- 
 ple of their reading. Grave history, graver 
 science, and dull philosophy they eschew, 
 while they actually abhor the sober pages of 
 theology. The novel is well thumbed ; the 
 poem, if it is not too Miltonic, is well turned 
 down at the corners ; but poor Gibbon, Mos- 
 heim, Newton, lie quietly in some snug corner, 
 robed in cobwebs, beside the dust-covered and 
 despised Bible. What is the consequence ? 
 Obscured, feeble intellect, a weakened mem- 
 ory, an extravagant and fanciful imagination, 
 benumbed sensibilities, a demoralized con- 
 science and a corrupted heart ! A troop of 
 evils more to be dreaded by a young lady 
 than the advance of an invading army — for 
 soldiers only kill the body, but these strangle 
 the immortal mind. 
 
 Learn to become the good, guardian genius 
 of the opposite sex. Breathe hope, vigor, 
 encouragement into all hearts that live around 
 you. But, to do this, you must be brave 
 yourself. You require a strong, trustful, 
 
94 YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 courageous spirit in your own breast. You 
 need to carefully cultivate it, by subduing fear 
 and laboring to rise equal to your present 
 emergencies. It is not fear alone, but fear 
 unrestrained, that makes a coward ; nor is 
 bravery the absence of fear. 
 
 A young lady would shrink appalled at the 
 idea of daily puncturing her brother's eye 
 with a needle, to the destruction of his sight, 
 yet will breathe a spirit of discontent, pride, 
 and folly into his mind ; and thus, by disturb- 
 ing his happiness at home, drive him to seek 
 congenial society abroad, where his morals 
 grow depraved, his character is lost, and his 
 soul ruined. This fearful result she brings 
 about, without a sigh of regret or a pang of 
 sorrow. When the evil work is done she 
 weeps over the wreck, and would give the 
 gold of the world to restore the fallen one. 
 Yet for her share in causing this destruction 
 she sheds not a tear ; indeed, she is uncon- 
 scious that any portion of the blame lies at 
 her door. Her influence was silent and in- 
 visible when in exercise, and yet it drove her 
 brother to ruin. 
 
 Your image will stand before a brother, a 
 
YOUNG WOMEN. 9 5 
 
 husband or a father, as a good genius in the 
 hour of temptation, and forbid the triumph of 
 the tempter. For, calling up your character, 
 his full heart will exclaim of you : — 
 
 " She looks as whole as some serene 
 Creation minted in the golden moods 
 Of sovereign artists ; not a thought, a touch, 
 But pure as lines of green that streak the white 
 Of the first snow-drop's inner leaves." 
 
 In order that a young lady may be qualified 
 to act well her part in life, she should acquire 
 a thorough knowledge of all domestic and 
 culinary affairs, so that, even if she should 
 never be required by circumstances to go into 
 the kitchen to cook a dinner, she will yet be 
 able to give directions how to do it, and know 
 when it is properly done. No one knows 
 what a day may bring forth. Life is a scene 
 of perpetual changes. We have known ladies 
 who have been raised in entire freedom from 
 labor, suddenly reduced to poverty, and com- 
 pelled, for a time, to do what might well be 
 called household drudgery, or see their hus- 
 bands and children subjected to the severest 
 privations. And even where no such reverse, 
 but only a change from one section of the 
 
96 YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 country to another, has taken place, the ne- 
 cessity for a practical knowledge of everything 
 pertaining to housekeeping is frequently found 
 to exist. 
 
 No hand but the hand of a wife should pre- 
 pare the food of her husband when he is sick ; 
 and no hand but the hand of a mother, the 
 food of her child. A remembrance of the 
 badly-prepared, tasteless food, which almost 
 every woman has had served to her in sick- 
 ness, from her own cook, will be felt as a suf- 
 ficient reason for this declaration. To cook 
 for the sick requires an experienced hand. A 
 woman who knows nothing at all about cook- 
 ing will fail entirely in the attempt, and if her 
 husband be sick, he will be fortunate, indeed, 
 if he can take more than a few spoonfuls of 
 the tea, or a few morsels of the toast, that is 
 brought to his bedside as he begins to con- 
 valesce. 
 
 If for no other purpose, a young lady should 
 learn the art of cooking in order that she may 
 be able to prepare the food of her parent, her 
 brother, her sister, or, at some future time, 
 the food of her husband, when sick. This 
 may seem a little matter. But no one who 
 
YOUNG WOMEN. g? 
 
 has been sick will think it so. It must not be 
 inferred that we would shut every woman up, 
 a prisoner in her house, and cause her to de- 
 vote every hour of her time to domestic du- 
 ties. All we contend for is, that a woman 
 should govern in her household, as fully as a 
 man governs in his store, office, counting- 
 room, manufactory, or workshop, and that in 
 order to do this, she should qualify herself be- 
 forehand for her particular duties, as he has to 
 qualify himself for his. 
 
 A young man, remarkable for his strong 
 good sense, married a very accomplished and 
 fashionable young lady, attracted more by her 
 beauty and accomplishments than by anything 
 else. In this, it must be owned that his strong 
 good sense did not seem very apparent. His 
 wife, however, proved to be a very excellent 
 companion, and was deeply attached to him, 
 though she still loved company, and spent 
 more time abroad than he exactly approved. 
 But, as his income was good, and his house 
 furnished with a full supply of domestics, he 
 was not aware of any abridgments of comfort 
 on this account, and he therefore made no ob- 
 jection to it. 
 7 
 
98 YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 One day, some few months after his mar- 
 riage, our friend, on coming home to dinner, 
 saw no appearance of his usual meal, but found 
 his wife in great trouble instead. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " he asked. 
 
 " Maggie went off at ten o'clock this morn- 
 ing/' replied his wife, "and the chambermaid 
 knows no more about cooking a dinner than 
 the man in the moon." 
 
 " Couldn't she have done" it under your di- 
 rection ? " inquired the husband, very coolly. 
 
 " Under my direction ? Goodness ! I 
 should like to see a dinner cooked under my 
 direction." 
 
 " Why so ? " asked the husband in surprise. 
 " You certainly do not mean that you cannot 
 cook a dinner." 
 
 " I certainly do, then," replied his wife. 
 " How should I know anything about cook- 
 ing? 
 
 The husband was silent, but his look of as- 
 tonishment perplexed and worried his wife. 
 
 " You look very much surprised," she said 
 after a moment or two had elapsed. 
 
 " And so I am," he answered, "as much sur- 
 prised as I should be at finding the captain on 
 
YOUNG WOMEN. 99 
 
 one of my ships unacquainted with navigation. 
 Don't know how to cook, and the mistress of 
 a family ! Belle, if there is a cooking school 
 any where in the city, go to it, and complete 
 your education, for it is deficient in a very im- 
 portant particular." 
 
 The wife was hurt and offended at the 
 words and manner of her husband ; but she 
 soon got over this. The next time the cook 
 went away there was no trouble about the 
 dinner. 
 
 Order, is the essential prerequisite of every 
 truly efficient action. Without it, nothing can 
 be done well ; with it, there is no duty in life 
 that may not be rightly performed. Without 
 it, the lightest task is burdensome ; with it, 
 that which to look at seems almost herculean 
 becomes a matter of easy accomplishment. 
 
 Neatness almost invariably accompanies 
 order ; indeed, the one is nearly inseparable 
 from the other. When we see a neat person, 
 we expect to find one who is orderly in all her 
 habits, and we are rarely mistaken. Neatness 
 in dress should be regarded as much as neat- 
 ness in every thing that is done. A want of 
 neatness, as well as a want of order, shows a 
 
IOO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 defect in the mind, the correction of which is 
 essential to happiness. The only way to correct 
 any such defect is to act in opposition to it. 
 
 But let it not be forgotten that the habit of 
 order must be formed in early years. When 
 life's most serious duties press upon the mind, 
 and demand the exercise of all its energies, 
 there is no time to think about systems of or- 
 der, and little inclination to attempt doing so. 
 
X. 
 
 BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 
 
 OUNG man, if you have sisters, who 
 are just entering society, all your in- 
 terest should be awakened for them. 
 You cannot but have made the discovery, 
 that too few of the young men who move 
 about in the various social circles are fit asso- 
 ciates for a pure-minded woman. Their ex- 
 terior, it is true, is very fair ; their persons 
 are elegant, and their manners attractive ; but 
 you have met them when they felt none of 
 the restraints of female society, and seen them 
 unmask their real characters. You have 
 heard them speak of this sweet girl, and that 
 pure-minded woman, in terms that would have 
 roused your deepest indignation, had your own 
 sister been the subject of allusion. 
 
 You may know all these things, but your 
 
 IOI 
 
102 BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 
 
 innocent sisters at home cannot know them, 
 nor see reason for shunning the society of 
 those whose real characters, if revealed, would 
 cause them to turn away in disgust and hor- 
 ror. From the dangers of an acquaintance- 
 ship with such young men, it is your duty to 
 guard your sisters ; and you must do this more 
 by warding off the evil than by warnings 
 against it. In order to do this, you should 
 make it a point of duty always to go with 
 your sisters into company, and to be their 
 companion, if possible, on all public occasions. 
 By so doing, you can prevent the introduc- 
 tion of men whose principles are bad ; or, if 
 such introductions are forced upon them in 
 spite of you, can throw in a timely word of 
 caution. This latter it may be too late to do 
 after an acquaintanceship is formed with a 
 man whose character is detestable in your 
 eyes. Your sister will hardly believe that one 
 who is attractive in all respects, and who can 
 converse of virtue and honor so eloquently, 
 can possibly have an impure or vicious mind. 
 The great thing is to guard, by every means 
 in your power, these innocent ones from the 
 polluting presence of a bad man. You can- 
 
BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 
 
 103 
 
 not tell how soon he may win the affections 
 of the most innocent, confiding, and loving of 
 them all, and draw her off from virtue. And 
 even if his designs be honorable, if he win her 
 but to wed her, her lot will be by no means 
 an enviable one ; for no pure-minded woman 
 ever has been, or ever can be made happy by a 
 corrupt, evil-minded, and selfish man. On your 
 faithfulness to your duty may depend a life- 
 time of happiness or misery for those who are, 
 or ought to be, very dear to you. Your af- 
 fection for them should lead you to enter into 
 their pleasures as far as in your power to do 
 so ; to give interest and variety to the home 
 circle ; to afford them, at all times, the assist- 
 ance of your judgment in matters of trivial as 
 well as grave importance. By this, you will 
 gain their confidence and acquire an influence 
 over them that may, at some later period, en- 
 able you to serve them in a moment of im- 
 pending danger. 
 
 We very often see young men with sisters, 
 who appear to be entirely indifferent in regard 
 to them. They rarely visit together; their 
 associates are strangers to each other ; they 
 appear to have no common interests. This 
 
104 BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 
 
 state of things is the fault, nine times in ten, 
 of the young men. It is the result of their 
 neglect and indifference. There are very few 
 sisters who do not with a most tender and un- 
 selfish regard love their brothers, especially 
 their elder brothers, and who would not feel 
 happier in being their companions than in the 
 companionship of almost any one else. Not- 
 withstanding all this neglect and indifference, 
 how willingly is every little office performed 
 that adds to the brother's comfort ! How 
 much care is there for him, who gives back so 
 little in return ! 
 
 A regard for himself, as well as for his sis- 
 ters, should lead a young man to be much 
 with them. Their influence in softening, pol- 
 ishing, and refining his character will be very 
 great. They have perceptions of the propri- 
 ety and fitness of things far quicker than he 
 has ; and this he will soon see if he observe 
 their remarks upon the persons with whom 
 they come in contact, and the circumstances 
 that transpire around them. While he is 
 reasoning on the subject, and balancing many 
 things in his mind before coming to a satis- 
 factory conclusion, they, by a kind of intuition, 
 
BROTHERS AND SISTERS. io5 
 
 have settled the whole matter, and settled it, 
 he will find, truly. 
 
 The temptations to which young men are ex- 
 posed, when first they come in contact with 
 the world, are many, and full of the strongest 
 allurements. Their virtuous principles are as- 
 sailed in a thousand ways ; sometimes boldly, 
 and sometimes by the most insidious arts of 
 the vicious and evil-minded. All, therefore, 
 that can make virtue lovely in their eyes, and 
 vice hideous, they need to strengthen the 
 good principles stored up, from childhood, in 
 their minds. For their sakes, home should be 
 made as attractive as possible, in order to in- 
 duce them frequently to spend their evenings 
 in the place where, of all others, they will be 
 safest. To do this, a young lady must consult 
 the tastes of her brothers, and endeavor to 
 take sufficient interest in the pursuits that in- 
 terest them, so as to make herself companion- 
 able. 
 
 There is no surer way for a sister to gain 
 an influence with her brother, than to cultivate 
 all exterior graces and accomplishments, and 
 improve her mind by reading, thinking, and 
 observation. By these means she not only 
 
106 BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 
 
 becomes his intelligent companion, but in- 
 spires him with a feeling of generous pride 
 towards her, that, more than anything else, 
 impresses her image upon his mind, brings her 
 at all times nearer to him, and gives her a 
 double power over him for good. 
 
 The indifference felt by brothers towards 
 their sisters, when it does exist, often arises 
 from the fact that their sisters are inferior, in 
 almost everything, to the women they are in 
 the habit of meeting abroad. Where this is 
 the case, such indifference is not so much to 
 be wondered at. 
 
 Sisters should always endeavor to gain, as 
 much as possible, the confidence of their broth- 
 ers, and to give them their confidence in re- 
 turn. Mutual good offices will result from this* 
 and attachments that could only produce un- 
 happiness may be prevented. A man sees 
 more of men than a woman does, and the 
 same is true in regard to the other sex. This 
 being so, a brother has it in his power at once 
 to guard his sister against the advances of an 
 unprincipled man, or a man whose habits he 
 knows to be bad, and a sister has it in her 
 power to reveal to her brother traits of char- 
 
BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 107 
 
 acter in a woman, for whom he is about form- 
 ing an attachment, that would repel rather 
 than attract him. 
 
 If your brothers are younger than you, 
 encourage them to be perfectly confidential 
 with you ; win their friendship by your 
 sympathy in all their concerns, and let them 
 see that their interests and their pleasures are 
 liberally provided for in the family arrange- 
 ments. Never disclose their little secrets, 
 however unimportant they may seem to you ; 
 never pain them by an ill-timed joke ; never 
 repress their feelings by ridicule, but be their 
 tenderest friend, and then you may become 
 their ablest adviser. If separated from them 
 by the course of school and college education, 
 make a point of keeping up your intimacy by 
 full, free, and affectionate correspondence ; and 
 when they return to the paternal roof, at that 
 awkward age between youth and manhood, 
 when reserve creeps over the mind like an 
 impenetrable veil, suffer it not to interpose 
 between you and your brothers. Cultivate 
 their friendship and intimacy with all the 
 address and tenderness you possess ; for it is 
 of unspeakable importance to them that their 
 
108 BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 
 
 sisters should be their confidential friends. 
 Consider the loss of a ball or party, for the 
 sake of making the evening pass pleasantly to 
 your brothers at home, as a small sacrifice — 
 one you should unhesitatingly make. If they 
 go into company with you, see that they are 
 introduced to the most desirable acquaint- 
 ances, and show them that you are interested 
 in their acquitting themselves well. 
 
 So many temptations beset young men, of 
 which young women know nothing, that it is 
 of the utmost importance that your brothers' 
 evenings should be happily passed at home ; 
 that their friends should be your friends ; that 
 their engagements should be the same as 
 yours ; and that various innocent amusements 
 should be provided for them in the family 
 circle. I know no more agreeable and inter- 
 esting spectacle than that of brothers and 
 sisters playing and singing together those ele- 
 vated compositions in music and poetry which 
 gratify the taste and purify the heart, while 
 their parents sit delighted by. I have seen 
 and heard an elder sister thus leading the 
 family choir, who was the soul of harmony to 
 the whole household, and whose life was a 
 
BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 109 
 
 perfect example of those virtues which I am 
 here endeavoring to inculcate. Let no one 
 say, in reading this chapter, that too much is 
 here required of sisters ; that no one can be 
 expected to lead such a self-sacrificing life. 
 
 I have been told by men, who had passed 
 unharmed through the temptations of youth, 
 that they owed their escape from many dan- 
 gers to the intimate companionship of affec- 
 tionate and pure-minded sisters. They have 
 been saved from a hazardous meeting with 
 idle company by some home engagement, of 
 which their sisters were the charm ; they have 
 refrained from mixing with the impure, be- 
 cause they would not bring home thoughts 
 and feelings which they could not share with 
 those trusting, and loving friends ; they have 
 put aside the wine-cup, and abstained from 
 stronger potations, because they would not 
 profane with their fumes the holy kiss, with 
 which they were accustomed to bid their sis- 
 ters good-night. 
 
XI. 
 
 MAN. 
 
 O be great is to be good, to be good is 
 to be wise, and to be wise is to know 
 thyself. " Know thyself " is a pre- 
 cept which, we are informed, descended from 
 Heaven. It is a noble science to know one's 
 self; and a noble courage to know how to 
 yield. 
 
 The Arabs have a proverb, " The moment 
 a man is satisfied with himself, everybody else 
 is dissatisfied with him." We have weak 
 points both by birth and education, and it 
 may be questioned which of the two give us 
 the most trouble. If we were as careful to 
 polish our manners as our teeth, to make our 
 temper sweet as our breath, to cut off our 
 faults as to pare our nails, to be upright in 
 character as in person, to shave our souls as 
 to shave our chin, what an immaculate race 
 
 no 
 
MAN. 1 1 1 
 
 we should become ! Many a man thinks it is 
 a virtue that keeps him from turning rascal, 
 when it is only a full stomach. One should 
 be careful and not mistake potatoes for prin- 
 ciples. If it is difficult to see any fault in a 
 child, or a book, or a pudding, or any one we 
 love, how much more so that we should see 
 any in ourselves ! 
 
 There is nothing that helps a man in his 
 conduct through life more than a knowledge 
 of his own characteristic weakness, which, 
 guarded against, becomes his strength, as there 
 is nothing that tends more to the success of a 
 man's talents than his knowing the limits of 
 his faculties, which are thus concentrated on 
 some practical object. One man can do but 
 one thing well. Universal pretensions end 
 in nothing. It is a deplorable condition, to 
 be always doing what we are always con- 
 demning. The reproaches of others are pain- 
 ful enough. But when the lash is laid on by 
 our own hand, the anguish is intolerable. 
 How cheering, on the contrary, even in the 
 deepest night of calamity, when conscience 
 calls out from her watch-tower in the soul — 
 All's Well! 
 
1 1 2 MAN. 
 
 Just and discriminating ideas generally lead 
 to proper action, and a willing judgment en- 
 forces a strict adherence to the rules of pro- 
 priety. Stupid, yes presumptuous must that 
 man be who would peril every consideration 
 for a good character upon a base act, simply 
 because he cannot see at once the true tend- 
 ency of a consistent course of life. But it 
 can be seen, and like the works of a good 
 man, will shine before the world, leaving a 
 light behind, and sending its arrowy beams 
 into the future, to guide life's wandering steps 
 aright. 
 
 Deportment, honesty, caution, and a desire 
 to do right carried out in practice, are to hu- 
 man character what truth, reverence, and love 
 are to religion. They are the unvaried ele- 
 ments of a good reputation. Such virtues 
 can never be reproached, although the vulgar 
 and despicable may scoff at them ; but it is 
 not so much in their affected revulsion at 
 them, as it is in the wish to reduce them to 
 the standard of their own degraded natures, 
 and vitiated passions. Let such scoff and 
 sneer, — let them laugh and ridicule as much 
 as they may, — a strict, upright, onward course 
 
man: i 1 3 
 
 will evince to the world and to them, that 
 there is more manly independence in one for- 
 giving smile, than in all the pretended excep- 
 tions to worthiness in the society of the mean 
 and vulgar. Virtue must have its admirers, 
 and firmness of principle, both moral and re- 
 ligious, will ever command the proudest en- 
 comium of the intelligent world, to the exclu- 
 sion of every other thing connected with 
 human existence. 
 
 There is no surer destroyer of youth, privi- 
 leges, powers and delights, — than yielding 
 the spirit to the empire of ill-temper and self- 
 ishness. We should all be cautious, as we 
 advance in life, of allowing occasional sorrow- 
 ful experience to overshadow our preception 
 of the preponderance of good. Faith in good 
 is at once its own rectitude and reward. To 
 believe good, and to do good, truly and trust- 
 fully, is the healthiest of humanity's condi- 
 tions. To take events cheerfully, and promote 
 the happiness of others is the way to ensure 
 the enduring spring of existence. Content 
 and kindliness are the soft vernal showers and 
 fostering sunny warmth that keep a man's 
 nature and being fresh and green. 
 
114 MAN. 
 
 Sociality is to man what modesty is to 
 woman ; it is a principle that should be ever 
 active, but governed by occasion and consist- 
 ency. A lack of this betrays at once a defici- 
 ency in true manliness. Not so much depends 
 upon a power or faculty as upon its proper 
 exercise, and when this is abused, there is a 
 great depreciation of its beauties. To the 
 young man just entering the most important 
 portion of his existence — the formation of a 
 worthy name and character — it is well that he 
 should first learn that society corrupts as it is 
 corrupt — that it forms or moulds principles by 
 a gradual or accelerated progress according to 
 the degree of its influence. 
 
 Man is to be rated, not by his hoards of 
 gold, not by the simple or temporary influence 
 he may for a time exert ; but by his unexcep- 
 tionable principles relative both to character 
 and religion. Strike out these, and what is 
 he ? A brute without a virtue — a savage with- 
 out a sympathy ! Take them away and his 
 manship is gone ; he no longer lives in the 
 image of his Maker ! A cloud of sin hangs 
 darkly on his brow ; there is ever a tempest 
 on his countenance, the lightning in his glance, 
 
MAN. tl 5 
 
 the thunder in words, and the rain and whirl- 
 wind in the breathing of his angry soul. No 
 smile gladdens his lip to tell that love is play- 
 ing there ; no sympathizing glow illuminates 
 his cheek. Every word burns with malice, 
 and that voice— the mystic gift of Heaven — 
 grates as harshly on the timid ear, as rushing 
 thunders beating amid falling cliffs and tum- 
 bling cataracts. 
 
 But this is too dark a picture for a long 
 continued view. Turn we from it now, as 
 from a frightful scene, to the only divine im- 
 age that Virtue elevates before the world for 
 example and imitation. Let man go abroad 
 with just principles, and what is he ? An ex- 
 haustless fountain in a vast desert ! A glori- 
 ous sun shining ever — dispelling every vestige 
 of darkness ! There is love animating his 
 heart, sympathy breathing in every tone. 
 Tears of pity — dew drops of the soul — gather 
 in his eye, and gush impetuously down his 
 cheek. Quivering on his lips are words that 
 wait for utterance, and thoughts, winged as 
 with lightning, play amid his tell-tale glances. 
 A good man is abroad and the world knows 
 and feels it. Beneath his smile lurks no de- 
 
Il6 MAN. 
 
 grading passion ; within his heart there 
 slumbers no guile. He is not exalted in mor- 
 tal pride — not elevated in his own views, but 
 honest, moral and virtuous before the world. 
 He stands throned on truth, his fortress is 
 wisdom and his dominion is the vast and limit- 
 less universe. Always upright, kind and 
 sympathizing, always attached to just princi- 
 ples and actuated by the same, governed by 
 the highest motives in doing good — these are 
 his only true manliness. 
 
XII. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 OMAN is a very nice and a very com- 
 plicated machine. Her springs are 
 infinitely delicate, and differ from 
 those of a man as the work of a repeating 
 watch does from that of a town clock. Look at 
 her body — how delicately formed ! Observe 
 her understanding, how subtle and acute ! 
 But look into her heart — there is the watch- 
 work, composed of parts so minute in them- 
 selves, and so wonderfully combined, that 
 they must be seen by a microscopic eye to be 
 clearly comprehended. The perception of 
 woman is as quick as lightning. Her pene- 
 tration is intuition — I had almost said instinct. 
 A woman's whole life is a history of the affec- 
 tions. The heart is her world ; it is there her 
 ambition strives for empire ; it is there her 
 
 117 
 
1 1 8 WOMAN. 
 
 avarice seeks for hidden treasures. She sends 
 forth her sympathies on adventure ; she em- 
 barks her whole soul in the traffic of affection ; 
 and if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless — for 
 it is bankruptcy of the heart. 
 
 To feel, to love, to suffer, to devote herself, 
 will always be the text of the life of woman. 
 
 Woman's influence is the sheet anchor of 
 society ; and this influence is due, not exclu- 
 sively to the fascination of her charms, but 
 chiefly to the strength, uniformity and con- 
 sistency of her virtues, maintained under so 
 many sacrifices, and with so much fortitude 
 and heroism. Without these endowments and 
 qualifications, external attractions are noth- 
 ing ; but with them, their power is irresistible. 
 Beauty and virtue are the crowning attributes 
 bestowed by nature upon woman, and the 
 bounty of heaven more than compensates for 
 the injustice of man. The possession of these 
 advantages secures to her universally that 
 degree of homage and consideration which 
 renders her independent of the effects of un- 
 equal and arbitrary laws. But it is not the 
 incense of idle worship which is most accept- 
 able to the heart of woman ; it is, on the con- 
 
WOMAN. 119 
 
 trary, the just appreciation of her proper 
 position, merits, and character. What man 
 expects to acquire by force of energy and the 
 exercise of his talents, woman hopes to obtain 
 by the power of pleasing, and her ascendency 
 over the heart. The means are different, the 
 ends in view the same ; namely, prosperity in 
 life, and a desirable position in the world. 
 There is no period in the life of man, as long 
 as his mental and bodily powers remain unim- 
 paired, in which he is socially disqualified for 
 the race he has to run, and that contest in 
 which he is called upon to engage. He may 
 remain a long time a silent, but watchful 
 spectator of the scene ; or he may be disabled, 
 and thrown off his balance ; but he can appear 
 again, and by summoning his dormant facul- 
 ties to his aid, he may succeed in dividing the 
 booty with his compeers, or in securing his 
 share of the world's honor and spoils. To 
 place a woman in early life in a career like 
 this, is to alter her destiny, to endanger her 
 respectability, to destroy her sympathies, and 
 to subvert the intentions of Nature. If, by 
 the influence of her charms, or the opportuni- 
 ties of her position, she has failed to procure 
 
1 20 woman: 
 
 a desirable elevation in society — or if, by a 
 cruel destiny, she has been deprived of friends 
 and fortune, and is urged to assert her rights, 
 and to make her own way through the world 
 — if her resolution can save her from despair, 
 and her principles of virtue from reproach — 
 yet she labors under great disadvantages in 
 placing herself upon the same footing with 
 men, who are hardened to the world, and 
 more accustomed to personal privations and 
 toil. But nevertheless, there have been wo- 
 men who, impelled by high motives and a 
 determined sense of duty, have surmounted 
 all these obstacles, and have acquired by their 
 own efforts both fortune and influence. Some 
 moralist has said that no woman had a right 
 to be plain ; which is true. Her nature en- 
 titles her to be beautiful only, and when it is 
 really operative always renders her so. Never 
 yet saw any one beauty in woman which was 
 not purely womanly, and therefore, impersonal. 
 The person who reveals it, joyously feels her- 
 self to be merely the priestess or minister of 
 this sacred flame, and shrinks from all per- 
 sonal property in it, as from sacrilege. 
 
 The men who flatter women do not know 
 
WOMAN. 1 2 1 
 
 them sufficiently ; and the men who only 
 abuse them do not know them at all. Amer- 
 ica is the Paradise of women. They are more 
 respected, honored and loved, and more ten- 
 derly treated, in this country than in any other 
 on earth. In other lands, women, in many 
 instances, and in some constantly, toil in the 
 fields like beasts of burden, while their fathers, 
 and husbands, and brothers, and sons sit smok- 
 ing and drinking at home, or in the public 
 bar-room, thus squandering in dissipation the 
 pittance so hardly earned by the females of the 
 family. What makes those men who associate 
 habitually with women, superior to others ? 
 What makes that woman who is accustomed 
 and at ease in the society of men, superior to 
 her sex in general ? Solely because they are 
 in the habit of free, graceful, continued con- 
 versation with the other sex. Women in this 
 way lose their frivolity ; their faculties awaken; 
 their delicacies and peculiarities unfold all their 
 beauty and captivation in the spirit of intel- 
 lectual rivalry. 
 
 The mind of woman is peculiarly constituted, 
 and exquisitely adapted for playing upon and 
 influencing the finer parts of man's nature ; 
 
122 WOMAN. 
 
 and whenever the heart of man is dead to in- 
 fluence, it is dead to almost every higher and 
 purer feeling which alone distinguishes him 
 from the beasts of the forest. As women are 
 respected by the men of the age, so may, from 
 time to time, be traced by an unerring meas- 
 ure, the degree of civilization to which that 
 generation has attained. 
 
 Emerson says, " We consider man the rep- 
 resentative of intellect, and the woman as the 
 representative of affection ; but each shares 
 the characteristic of the other, only in the 
 man one predominates, and in the woman the 
 other. We know woman as affectionate, as 
 religious, as oracular, as delighting in grace 
 and order, possessed of taste. In all ages, 
 woman has been the representative of religion. 
 In all countries it is the women who fill the 
 temples. In every religious movement the 
 woman has had an active and powerful part, 
 not only in the most civilized, but in the most 
 uncivilized countries ; not less in the Moham- 
 medan than the Greek and Roman religions. 
 She holds man to religion. There is no man 
 so reprobate, so careless of religious duty, 
 but that he delights to have his wife a saint. 
 
WOMAN. 123 
 
 All men feel the advantages that abound of 
 that quality in a woman. My own feeling is 
 that in all ages woman has held substantially 
 the same influence. I think that superior wo- 
 men are rare. I think that women feel when 
 they are in the press, as men of genius are 
 said to do among energetic workers — that 
 they see through all these efforts with finer 
 eyes than their noisy masters. I think that 
 all men in the presence of the best women 
 feel overlooked and judged, and sometimes 
 sentenced. They are the educators in all our 
 society. Through their sympathy and quick- 
 ness they are the proper mediators between 
 those who have knowledge and those who 
 want it." 
 
 Whatever may be the customs and laws of 
 a country, the women of it decide the morals. 
 They reign because they hold possession of 
 our affections. But their influence is more or 
 less salutary, according to the degree of esteem 
 which is granted them. Whether they are 
 our idols or companions, the reaction is com- 
 plete, and they make us such as they are 
 themselves. It seems as if nature connected 
 our intelligence with their dignity, as we con- 
 
124 WOMAN. 
 
 nect our morality with their virtue. This, 
 therefore, is a law of eternal justice : Man 
 cannot degrade a woman without himself falling 
 into degradation ; he cannot raise them with- 
 out himself becoming better. Let us cast our 
 eyes over the globe, and observe those two 
 great divisions of the human race, the east 
 and the west. One-half of the ancient world 
 remain without progress or thought, and un- 
 der the load of a barbarous cultivation ; women 
 there are serfs. The other half advance to- 
 wards freedom and light ; the women are 
 loved and honored. 
 
 The influence which woman exerts is silent 
 and still, felt rather than seen, not chaining the 
 hands, but restraining our actions by gliding 
 into the heart. 
 
 He cannot be an unhappy man who has the 
 love and smile of woman to accompany him 
 in every department of life. The world may 
 look dark and cheerless without — enemies 
 may gather in his path — but when he returns 
 to his fireside, and feels the tender love of wo- 
 man, he forgets his cares and troubles, and 
 is a comparatively happy man. He is but 
 half prepared for the journey of life, who 
 
WOMAN. 125 
 
 takes not with him that friend who will for- 
 sake him in no emergency — who will divide 
 his sorrows — increase his joys — lift the veil 
 from his heart — and throw sunshine amid the 
 darkest scenes. No man can be miserable 
 who has such a companion, be he ever so 
 poor, despised, and trodden upon by the 
 world. 
 
 Mysterious woman ! Place her among 
 flowers, foster her as a tender plant, and she 
 is a thing of fancy, waywardness, and some- 
 times folly — annoyed by a dew drop, fretted 
 by the touch of a butterfly's wing, and ready 
 to faint at the rustle of a beetle ; the zephyrs 
 are too rough, the showers too heavy, and she 
 is overpowered by the perfume of a rose-bud. 
 But let real calamity come — rouse her affec- 
 tion — enkindle the fires of her heart, and 
 mark her then ; how her heart strengthens 
 itself — how strong is her purpose. Place her 
 in the heat of battle — give her a child, a bird 
 — anything she loves or pities, to protect — and 
 see her, as in a relative instance, raising her 
 white arms as a shield, as her own blood 
 crimsons her upturned forehead, praying for 
 life to protect the helpless. Transplant her in 
 
126 WOMAN. 
 
 the dark places of earth — awaken her ener- 
 gies to action, and her breath becomes a heal- 
 ing — her presence a blessing. She disputes, 
 inch by inch, the strides of the stalking pesti- 
 lence, when man, the strong and brave, 
 shrinks away, pale and affrightened. Misfor- 
 tune daunts her not ; she wears away a life of 
 silent endurance, and goes forward with less 
 timidity than to her bridal. In prosperity 
 she is a bud full of odors, waiting but for the 
 winds of adversity to scatter them abroad — 
 pure gold, valuable, but united in the furnace. 
 In short — woman is a miracle — a mystery, the 
 center from which radiates the great charm of 
 existence. Under the most depressing cir- 
 cumstances woman's weakness becomes fear- 
 less courage, all her .shrinking and sinking 
 passes away, and her spirit acquires the firm- 
 ness of marble — adamantine firmness, when 
 circumstances drive her to put forth all her 
 energies under the inspiration of her affec- 
 tions. 
 
 Nothing can be more touching than to be- 
 hold a woman who had been all tenderness 
 and dependence, and alive to every trivial 
 roughness while treading the prosperous paths 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 127 
 
 of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be 
 the comforter and supporter of her husband 
 under misfortune, and abiding with unshrink-' 
 ing firmness the bitterest winds of adversity. 
 As the vine which has long twined its grace- 
 ful foliage about the oak, and been lifted by 
 it in sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is 
 rived by the thunderbolt, cling round it with 
 its caressing tendrils, and bind up its scattered 
 boughs ; so it is beautifully ordained that 
 woman, who is the mere dependent and orna- 
 ment of man in happiest hours, should be his 
 stay and solace when smitten by sudden ca- 
 lamity. 
 
XIII. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 SINGLE bitter word may disquiet an 
 entire family for a whole day. One 
 surly glance casts a gloom over the 
 household, while a smile, like a gleam of sun- 
 shine, may light up the darkest and weariest 
 hours. Like unexpected flowers, which spring 
 up along our path, full of freshness, fragrance 
 and beauty, do kind words and gentle acts 
 and sweet dispositions, make glad the home 
 where peace and blessing dwell. No matter 
 how humble the abode, if it be thus garnished 
 with grace and sweetened with kindness and 
 smiles, the heart will turn lovingly toward it 
 from all the tumult of the world, will be the 
 dearest spot beneath the circuit of the sun. 
 
 And the influences of home perpetuate 
 themselves. The gentle grace of the mother 
 lives in the daughter long after her head is 
 
 128 
 
£W' " 
 
HOME. 129 
 
 pillowed in the dust of death ; and the fatherly 
 kindness feels its echo in the nobility and 
 courtesy of sons, who come to wear his mantle 
 and to fill his place ; while on the other hand, 
 from an unhappy, misgoverned and disordered 
 home, go forth persons who shall make other 
 homes miserable, and perpetuate the sourness 
 and sadness, the contentions and strifes and 
 railings which have made their own early 
 lives so wretched and distorted. 
 
 Toward the cheerful home, the children 
 gather " as clouds and as doves to their win- 
 dows," while from the home which is the 
 abode of discontent and strife and trouble, 
 they fly forth as vultures to rend their prey. 
 
 The class of men who disturb and distress 
 the 'world, are not those born and nurtured 
 amid the hallowed influences of Christian 
 homes ; but rather those whose early life has 
 been a scene of trouble and vexation, — who 
 have started wrong in the pilgrimage, and 
 whose course is one of disaster to themselves, 
 and trouble to those around them. 
 
 Webster defines home as a " dwelling- 
 place," but it admits of a broader meaning. 
 There are brilliant and elegant homes. Some 
 9 
 
130 HOME. 
 
 are wise, thrifty and careful, and others are 
 warm and genial, by whose glowing hearths 
 any one, at any time, may find enough and to 
 spare. There are bright homes and gloomy 
 homes. There are homes that hurry and 
 bustle through years of incessant labor, until 
 one and another of the inmates fall, like the fall- 
 ing leaves, and the homes turn to dust. We 
 do not say the dairymaid's home compares 
 with this last view. Science has done much 
 to remove the drudgery in our homes, intro- 
 ducing ease and comfort. An ideal home 
 must first have a government, but love must 
 be the dictator. All the members should 
 unite to make home happy, We should have 
 light in our homes, heaven's own pure, trans- 
 parent light. It matters not whether home 
 is clothed in blue and purple, if it is only 
 brimful of love, smiles, and gladness. 
 
 Our boards should be spread with everything 
 good and enjoyable. We should have birds, 
 flowers, pets, everything suggestive of soci- 
 ability. Flowers are as indispensable to the 
 perfections of a home as to the perfections of 
 a plant. Do not give them all the sunniest 
 windows and pleasantest corners, crowding 
 out the children. 
 
HOME. ■ 131 
 
 Of the ornamentation about a house, 
 although a broad lake lends a charm to the 
 scenery, it cannot compare with the babbling 
 brook. As the little streamlet goes tumbling 
 over the rocks and along the shallow, pebbly- 
 bed, it may be a marvelous teacher to the 
 children, giving them lessons of enterprise and 
 perseverance. 
 
 In our homes we must have industry and 
 sympathy. In choosing amusements for the 
 children, the latter element must be brought 
 in. To fully understand the little ones, you 
 must sympathize with them. When a child 
 asks questions, don't meet it with, " Oh, don't 
 bother me." Tell it all it wants to know. 
 Never let your angry passion rise, no matter 
 how much you may be tired. For full and 
 intelligent happiness in the home circle, a 
 library of the best works is necessary. Do not 
 introduce the milk and water fiction of the pres- 
 ent day, but books of character. Our homes 
 should have their Sabbaths and their family 
 altars. Around these observances cling many 
 of the softest and most sacred memories of our 
 lives. 
 
 A close observer of American life said to 
 
132 
 
 HOME. 
 
 us the other day that a great change had 
 come in the last ten years to the home life of 
 the country. And in answer to our interro- 
 gation, he proceeded to point out the character 
 of this change. One point which he made was 
 that a great many games of skill and chance 
 were being played in New England homes, to- 
 day, which were not known, or if known, 
 were forbidden by parents ten years ago. 
 Our own observation coincides with his on 
 this point. We know that chess within the 
 last ten years has captured for itself a high 
 place in popular regard. It speaks well for 
 a people when such an intellectual game can 
 become popular. For it takes brains to play 
 chess even moderately well, and none but 
 clever and thoughtful people would ever like 
 it. Checkers are not perhaps more universal, 
 but they are more fashionable. They have 
 fought their way into high life ; and whereas 
 they once found their friends in the village 
 tavern and in the farmer's kitchen, they are 
 now admitted into the parlors of the wealthy 
 and refined. The games played with histor- 
 ical cards are also numerous and many of 
 them pleasantly exciting. And you find them 
 
HOME. 133 
 
 in almost every household. Now all this is 
 very pleasant and hopeful. It reveals to the 
 thinker the fact that home life is more viva- 
 cious and happy than it used to be ; that the 
 long dull evenings are being enlivened with 
 sprightly and stimulating amusements, and 
 that the home circle is charged with attrac- 
 tions which it once sadly lacked. These 
 games are helping to make the homes of the 
 country happier, helping to make the children 
 more contented with their homes, and in doing 
 this they are helping to make the country 
 more intelligent and more virtuous. By wise 
 parents these games are looked upon as God- 
 sends. They help solve the problem of home 
 amusements and recreation ; and this, as all 
 parents know, is one of the greatest problems 
 they have to solve. Parents, make your 
 homes as happy as you possibly can for your 
 children and their mates. Fill them with fun 
 and frolic and the cheerfulness of spirited 
 social life. Play these games with your 
 children yourselves, and thus share their joys 
 with them ; and feed your happiness on the 
 spectacle of theirs. A great many homes are 
 like the frame of a harp that stands without 
 
134 HOME. 
 
 strings. In form and outline they' suggest 
 music ; but no melody rises from the empty 
 spaces ; and thus it happens that home is un- 
 attractive, dreary and dull. Let us hope that 
 this introduction of pleasant games — which 
 will try both the wit and patience of the 
 children, and of the older ones for that mat- 
 ter, — may become the fashion of the times, 
 until every home in the land shall be perfectly 
 furnished with these accessories of profit and 
 pleasure. For the children's sake, let the 
 reformation go on until every child shall have, 
 in his father's house, be it humble or costly, 
 such appliances and helps for his entertain- 
 ment that he shall find his joy under his 
 father's roof and in his father's presence. 
 
 " Home, home, sweet, sweet home, 
 Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home." 
 
 Among home amusements the best is the 
 good old habit of conversation, the talking 
 over the events of the day, in bright and 
 quick play of wit and fancy, the story which 
 brings the laugh, and the speaking the good 
 and kind and true things, which all have in 
 their hearts. It is not so much by dwelling 
 upon what members of the family have in 
 
HOME. 
 
 135 
 
 common, as bringing each to the ot er some- 
 thing interesting and amusing, that home life is 
 to be made cheerful and joyous. Each one must 
 do his part to make conversation genial and 
 happy. We are too ready to converse with 
 newspapers and books, to seek some com- 
 panion at the store, hotel, or club-room, and to 
 forget that home is anything more than a 
 place to sleep and eat in. The revival of con- 
 versation, the entertainment of one another, as 
 a roomful of people will entertain themselves, 
 is one secret of a happy home. Wherever it 
 is wanting, disease has struck into the root of 
 the tree; there is a want which is felt with 
 increasing force as time goes on. Conversa- 
 tion, in many cases, is just what prevents 
 many people from relapsing into utter selfish- 
 ness at their firesides. This conversation 
 should not simply occupy husband and wife, 
 and other older members of the family, but 
 extend itself to the children. Parents should 
 be careful to talk with them, to enter into their 
 life, to share their trifles, to assist in their 
 studies, to meet them in the thoughts and 
 feelings of their childhood. It is a great step 
 in education, when around the evening lamp 
 
136 HOME. 
 
 are gathered the different members of a fam- 
 ily, sharing their occupation with one another 
 — the older assisting the younger, each one 
 contributing to the entertainment of the 
 other, and all feeling that the evening has 
 passed only too rapidly away. This is the 
 truest and best amusement. It is the healthy 
 education of great and noble characters. 
 There is the freedom, the breadth, the joy- 
 ousness of natural life. The time spent thus 
 by parents, in the higher entertainment of 
 their children, bears a harvest of eternal bless- 
 ings, and these long evenings furnish just the 
 time. 
 
 It has been said, that a " man's manners 
 form his fortune." Whether this be really so 
 or not, it is certain that his manners form his 
 reputation — stamp upon him, as it were, his 
 current worth in the circles where he moves. 
 If his manners are the products of a kind 
 heart, they will please, though they be desti- 
 tute of graceful polish. There is scarcely 
 anything of more importance to a child of 
 either sex, than good breeding. If parents 
 and teachers perform their duties to the young 
 faithfully, there will be comparatively few 
 destitute of good manners. 
 
HOME. 
 
 137 
 
 Visit a family where the parents are civil 
 and courteous toward all within their house- 
 hold, whether as dwellers or as guests, and 
 their children will have good manners, just as 
 they learn to talk, from imitation. But re- 
 verse the order of things concerning parents, 
 and the children learn ill manners, just as in 
 the former case they learn good manners, by 
 imitation. 
 
 Train children to behave at home as you 
 would have them act abroad. It is almost 
 certain, that they, while children, conduct 
 themselves abroad as they would have been in 
 the habit of doing under like circumstances 
 when at home. " Be courteous," is an apos- 
 tolical injunction, which all should ever re- 
 member and obey. 
 
 There is sure to be contentment in a home, 
 in the windows of which can be seen birds or 
 flowers, and it may also be added that there 
 will be the same conditions wherever there 
 are pictures on the walls. It is, of 
 course, not every one who is a judge of art, 
 but even a contemplation of art will educate, 
 and it is safe to say that a man cannot have a 
 painting in his room and see it day after day 
 
138 HOME. 
 
 without sooner or later beginning to be able 
 to tell its merits or defects, and thus being 
 better fitted to judge of others in the future. 
 The engravings and chromos seen in the 
 homes of the poor may, if measured by the 
 critical rules of art, be wretched daubs, but 
 they at least show a longing and an aspiration 
 after beauty, while their presence helps to 
 produce a repose of mind, and brings nothing 
 with it but good. The loving manner in 
 which children linger over pictures tells how 
 deeply this feeling is implanted in the heart, 
 and long before they can read, their dawning 
 powers are gradually being strengthened by 
 these silent educators. 
 
 Nor is the influence which flowers have, any 
 less than that of paintings. At all seasons of 
 the yeaf they are gladly welcomed. They are 
 emblematic of both the joys and sorrows of 
 life, and religion has associated them with 
 the highest spiritual verities. Faded although 
 they sometimes may be, they have the power 
 to wake the chords of memory and make us 
 children again. At the sick bed and the 
 marriage feast, on the altar and the cathedral 
 walls, they have a meaning, and the humblest 
 
HOME, 
 
 139 
 
 home looks brighter where they bloom. A 
 few years ago, at horticultural societies in 
 England, prizes were offered to villagers for 
 the best efforts in cottage gardening, and the 
 result was that a great change came over the 
 home-life of the people. Instead of gardens 
 filled with rank grass and weeds, there could 
 be seen flaming hollyhocks, blood-red roses 
 and purple geraniums, and a spirit of friendly 
 rivalry and emulation was created, leading to 
 improvements in households, and aiding habits 
 of cleanliness and industry. Let any one 
 walk through our markets on these bright 
 spring mornings and watch how tenderly some 
 poor seamstress will linger over a tiny flower 
 and bear it away proudly to cheer the loneli- 
 ness of her scantily furnished room, and he 
 will admit that if such a little thing can bring 
 pleasure or satisfaction, every effort made to 
 improve the taste of the masses and lead them 
 to make home pleasant is to be commended, 
 as weakening the influence of evil and diffus- 
 ing a power which will prove a potent factor 
 for good. 
 
 Cherish the spirit .of kindly affection. Let 
 the love of childhood find a return, never re- 
 
140 
 
 HOME. 
 
 pulsing the confiding tenderness every child dis- 
 plays when surrounded by kindly influences. 
 Remember how much of the joy of life flows 
 from the sympathetic mingling of congenial 
 spirits, and seek to bind such to you closer and 
 closer with the golden links of affection's easy 
 bondage, 
 
 Cultivate singing in your family. Begin 
 when the child is not yet three years old. 
 The songs and hymns your childhood sang, 
 bring them all back to your memory, and 
 teach them to your little ones ; mix them all 
 together to meet the varying moods as in after 
 life they come over us so mysteriously at 
 times. Many a time, in the very whirl of 
 business, in the sunshine and gayety of the 
 avenue, amid the splendor of the drive in the 
 park, some little thing wakes up the memories 
 of early youth — the old mill, the cool spring, 
 the shady tree by the little school-house — and 
 the next instant we almost see again the 
 ruddy cheeks, the smiling faces, and the 
 merry eyes of schoolmates, some of whom are 
 gray-headed now, while most have passed from 
 amid earth's weary noises. And, anon, " the 
 song my mother sang" springs unbidden to 
 
HOME. 
 
 141 
 
 the lips, and soothes and sweetens all these 
 memories. At other times, amid the crush- 
 ing mishaps of business, a merry ditty of the 
 olden time breaks in upon the ugly train of 
 thought, and throws the mind in another 
 channel ; light breaks from behind the cloud 
 in the sky, and new courage is given us. The 
 honest man goes gladly to his work ; and 
 when, the day's labor done, his tools are laid 
 aside and he is on his way home, where wife 
 and child and the tidy table and cheery fire- 
 side await him, how can he but have music in 
 his heart to break forth so often into the 
 merry whistle or the jocund song ? Moody 
 silence, not the merry song, weighs down the 
 dishonest tradesman, the perfidious clerk, the 
 unfaithful servant, the perjured partner. 
 
 " We accord," says a gentleman who has 
 written much, u our unqualified indorsement 
 of the above ; and even now, although we 
 have passed our three-score years, the songs 
 of our youth are often resurrected, and we 
 love to hum them over again, and often do so, 
 in the lone hours of the night when there are 
 none to hear save ourself and the drowsy 
 1 gray spiders on the wall ; ' and while doing 
 
142 HOME. 
 
 so, we feel less inclined toward ' treason, strata- 
 gem, and spoils,' than at any other hour within 
 the twenty-four. We fondly look back to the 
 days when we were as musical as a hand 
 organ — and perhaps as ' cracked ' as many of 
 them, too — those days when we so lightly 
 touched the keys to the measure of the songs 
 we sang. We often regret time, circumstance, 
 and advancing years have so effectually quieted 
 our vocal muse ; still we revert to the ballads 
 of yore, and mentally exclaim, 
 
 " ' Sing me the songs that to me were so dear, 
 Long, long ago ; long, long ago.' " 
 
XIV. 
 
 MOTHERS. 
 
 HE queen that sits upon the throne of 
 home, crowned and sceptered as none 
 Vf P other ever can be, is — mother. Her 
 enthronement is complete, her reign unrivalled, 
 and the moral issues of her empire are eternal. 
 " Her children arise up, and call her blessed." 
 
 Rebellious, at times, as the subjects of her 
 government may be, she rules them with 
 marvellous patience, winning tenderness, and 
 undying love. She so presents and exempli- 
 fies divine truth, that it reproduces itself in 
 the happiest development of childhood — 
 character and life. 
 
 Her memory is sacred while she lives, and 
 becomes a perpetual inspiration, even when 
 the bright flowers bloom above her sleeping 
 dust. She is an incarnation of goodness to 
 the child, and hence her immense power. 
 
 143 
 
144 MOTHERS. 
 
 Scotland, with her well-known reverence for 
 motherhood, insists that " An ounce of mother 
 is worth more than a pound of clergy." 
 
 Napoleon cherished a high conception of a 
 mother's power, and believed that the mothers 
 of the land could shape the destinies of his 
 beloved France. Hence he said in his sen- 
 tentious, laconic style : " The great need of 
 France is mothers." 
 
 The ancient orator bestowed a flattering 
 compliment upon the homes of Roman mothers 
 when he said, " The empire is at the fireside." 
 Who can think of the influence that a mother 
 wields in the home, and not be impressed 
 with its far-reaching results ! What revolu- 
 tions would take place in our families and com- 
 munities if that strange, magnetic power were 
 fully consecrated to the welfare of the child 
 and the glory of God ! 
 
 Mohammed expressed a great truth when he 
 said that " Paradise is at the feet of mothers." 
 
 There is one vision that never fades from 
 the soul, and that is the vision of mother and 
 home. No man in all his weary wanderings 
 ever goes out beyond the overshadowing arch 
 of home. 
 
MOTHERS. I 4 5 
 
 Let him stand on the surf-beaten coast of 
 the Atlantic, or roam over western wilds, and 
 every dash of the wave and murmur of the 
 breeze will whisper home, sweet home. 
 
 Set him down amid the glaciers of the 
 North, and even there thoughts of home, too 
 warm to be chilled, by the eternal frosts, will 
 float in upon him. 
 
 Let him rove through the green, waving 
 groves, and over the sunny slopes of the South, 
 and in the smile of the soft skies, and in the 
 kiss of the balmy breeze, home will live again. 
 
 John Randolph was once heard to say that 
 only one thing saved him from atheism, and 
 that was the tender remembrance of the hour 
 when a devout mother, kneeling by his side, 
 took his little hand in hers, and taught him to 
 say, " Our Father, who art in Heaven." 
 
 God hasten the time when our families, 
 everywhere, shall catch the cry of childhood 
 as it swells up over all the land, like the voice 
 of God's own sweet evangel, calling the home 
 — the home to enter the children's temple, 
 and crowd its altars with the best offerings of 
 sympathy and service. 
 
 The mother is the luminary that shines and 
 10 ' 
 
1 46 MOTHERS, 
 
 reigns alone in the early child-life ; as years 
 advance, the scepter is divided and the teacher 
 shares the sway. 
 
 We often think, as we meet the earnest gaze 
 of the interested pupil, and watch the mind 
 working and the young thought shaping to 
 the will, " Why is it that mothers so willing- 
 ly yield to others this broad sphere of their 
 domain, and are content to foster the physical 
 and external life of their children, leaving the 
 intellectual and spiritual to grow without 
 their aid ? " 
 
 One would suppose that capable mothers 
 would jealously keep to themselves the high 
 privilege of training the mind, and so bind 
 their children to themselves by ties which are 
 stronger than the mere physical tie can be. 
 
 We who have grown to realize to whom we 
 are debtors, are thrilled with delight as we 
 think of those who have been the parents of 
 our intellectual life — who seem nearer to us 
 than our familiar friends — Bryant, Longfellow, 
 Ruskin, Emerson and Carlyle, and many 
 another. How they have covered our lives 
 with a rich broidery of beautiful and inspiring 
 thought, so that to live in the same world, 
 and at the same time, seems a blessing. 
 
MOTHERS. 147 
 
 So may the mother weave into the life 
 of her children thoughts and feelings, rich, 
 beautiful, grand and noble, which will make 
 all after-life brighter and better. 
 
 Many a good mother may think she has no 
 time for this mind and soul culture, but we 
 find no lack of robes and ruffles, and except 
 in cases where the daily bread of the family 
 must be earned by daily work, away from 
 home, as is done by many a weary mother, 
 we must feel that there is not one who cannot 
 command one half hour each morning, when 
 the mind is fresh and vigorous, to collect her 
 children around her, and minister for a little 
 to their higher' wants. 
 
 Says that admirably pure writer, T. S. 
 Arthur : " For myself, I am sure that a differ- 
 ent mother would have made me a different 
 man. When a boy I was too much like the 
 self-willed, excitable C — ; but the tenderness 
 with which my mother always treated me, and 
 the unimpassioned but earnest manner in 
 which she reproved and corrected my faults, 
 subdued my unruly temper. When I became 
 restless or impatient, she always had a book 
 to read to me, or a story to tell, or had some 
 
1 48 MOTHERS. 
 
 device to save me from myself. My father 
 was neither harsh nor indulgent towards me ; 
 I cherish his memory with respect and love. 
 But I have different feelings when I think of 
 my mother. I often feel, even now, as if she 
 were near me — as if her cheek were laid to 
 mine. My father would place his hand upon 
 my head, caressingly, but my mother would 
 lay her cheek against mine. I did not expect 
 my father to do more ; for him it was a 
 natural expression of affection. Her kiss upon 
 my cheek, her warm embrace, are all felt now, 
 and the older I grow, the more holy seem the 
 influences that surrounded me in childhood." 
 
 All honor to mother! Without her smiles 
 the world would lose its brightness — society's 
 charm would exist no longer. Christianity 
 would languish without her aid. " In whose 
 principles,'* said the dying daughter of Ethan 
 Allen to her sceptical father — " in whose prin- 
 ciples shall I die — yours or my Christian 
 mother's ? " The stern old hero of Ticonderoga 
 brushed away a tear from his eye as he turned 
 away, and with the same rough voice which 
 summoned the British to surrender, now tre- 
 mulous with deep emotion, said— " in your 
 
MOTHERS. 149 
 
 Christian mother's, child, in your mother's." 
 Sacred to the heart is the memory of a mother's 
 love. 
 
 Benjamin Franklin was accustomed to refer 
 to his mother in the tenderest tone of filial 
 affection. His respect and affection for her 
 were manifested, among other ways, in fre- 
 quent presents, that contributed to her com- 
 fort and solace in her advancing years. In 
 one of his letters to her, for example, he sends 
 her a moidore, a gold piece of the value of six 
 dollars, " toward chaise hire," said he, " that 
 you may ride warm to meetings during the 
 winter." In another he gives her an account 
 of the growth and improvement of his son and 
 daughter — topics which, as he well understood, 
 are ever as dear to the grandmother as to the 
 mother. 
 
 Henry Clay, the pride and honor of his 
 country, always expressed feelings of profound 
 affection and veneration for his mother. A 
 habitual correspondence and enduring affec- 
 tion subsisted between them to the last hour 
 of life. Mr. Clay ever spoke of her as a 
 model of maternal character and female ex- 
 cellence, and it is said that he never met his 
 
l5o MOTHERS. 
 
 constituents in Woodford county, after her 
 death, without some allusion to her, which 
 deeply affected both him and his audience. 
 And nearly the last words uttered by this 
 great statesman, when he came to die, were, 
 " Mother, mother, mother." It is natural for 
 us to feel that she must have been a good 
 mother, that was loved and so dutifully served 
 by such a boy, and that neither could have 
 been wanting in rare virtues. 
 
 If each mother, according to her several 
 ability, seeks to develop the higher and better 
 faculties of her children, the reward will be as 
 great as the aim is noble. 
 
 Who has the mind or character in hand 
 while it is yet so flexible and ductile that it 
 can be turned in any direction, or formed in 
 any shape ? It is the mother. From her own 
 nature, and the nature of her child, it results 
 that its first impressions must be taken from 
 her. And she has every advantage for dis- 
 charging the duty. She is always with her 
 child — if she is where mothers ought to be — 
 sees continually the workings of faculties ; 
 where they need to be restrained, and where 
 led and attracted. Early as she may begin 
 
MOTHERS. l5l 
 
 her task, let her be assured, that her labor 
 will not be lost because undertaken too soon. 
 Mind, from the first hour of its existence, is 
 ever acting ; and soon may a mother see that, 
 carefully as she may study her child, quite as 
 carefully is her child studying her. Let her 
 watch the varying expression of its speaking 
 face, as its eyes follow her, and she will per- 
 ceive its mind is imbibing impressions from 
 everything it sees her do ; and thus showing, 
 that, before the lips have begun to utter 
 words, the mind has begun to act, and to form 
 a character. Let her watch on ; and when, 
 under her care, the expanding faculties have 
 begun to display themselves in the sportive- 
 ness of play, how often will she be surprised 
 to find the elements of character already fixed, 
 when she has least expected it. She has but 
 to watch, and she will find the embryo tyrant 
 or philanthropist, warrior or peace-maker, 
 with her in her nursery ; and then, if ever, 
 her constant prayer should be, " How shall I 
 order the child, and what shall I do unto 
 him ? " For, what he is to be, and what he is 
 to do, in any of these characters, she must 
 now decide. It is a law of our being that 
 
1 52 MOTHERS. 
 
 makes it so ; a law that I could wish were 
 written on every mother's heart by the finger 
 of God, and on the walls of her nursery in 
 letters of gold, that the mind of childhood is 
 like wax to receive, but like marble to hold, 
 every impression made upon it, be it for good 
 or for evil. Let her then improve her power 
 as she ought, " being steadfast, unmovable, 
 always abounding in the work " which God 
 requires at her hands ; and let her know that 
 her labor is not in vain in the Lord. For, 
 even though her own eyes may not be privi- 
 leged to witness in her child all that is noble 
 and great and good, she may at least save him 
 when her course on earth is finished. It is no 
 picture of the imagination that I hold out, 
 when I ask you to come and see the son of a 
 faithful mother, who has long pursued his 
 course of crime, till he seems hardened against 
 everything good or true ; yea, at times " sits 
 in the seat of the scorner," and scoffs at every- 
 thing holy and good — but yet hardened and 
 dead as his heart may seem, as to everything 
 else you may urge, there is one point on 
 which, till his dying day, he can be made to 
 feel. You touch it when you remind him of 
 
MOTHERS. 1 53 
 
 what he saw and felt when a child under the 
 care of a tender mother. His sensibilities there 
 he never utterly loses ; and often, often, by 
 that, as the last cord which holds him from ut- 
 ter perdition, is the prodigal drawn back and 
 restored ; so that, though " dead, he is alive 
 again," though once " lost, he is found." 
 
 Such are some of the illustrations of a 
 mother's power to do good to those most dear 
 to her, and of the responsibility that springs , 
 from it. There is no influence so powerful as 
 hers on the comine destinies of the church and 
 the world. She acts a part in forming the min- 
 isters of religion and the rulers of the land, 
 without which all subsequent training is com- 
 paratively vain. And to her, also, it falls to 
 train those who are .to be mothers when she is 
 gone, and to do for their generation what she 
 has done for hers. 
 
 Honor the dear old mother. Time has scat- 
 tered the snowy flakes on her brow, plowed 
 deep furrows on her cheeks, but. is she not 
 sweet and beautiful now ? The lips are thin 
 and shrunken, but those are the lips which 
 have kissed many a hot tear from the childish 
 cheeks, and they are the sweetest lips in all the 
 
1 54 MOTHERS. 
 
 world. The eye is dim, yet it glows with the 
 soft radiance of holy love which can never fade. 
 Ah, yes, she is a dear old mother. The sands 
 of life are nearly run out, but feeble as she is, 
 she will go further and reach down lower for 
 you than any other upon earth. You cannot 
 walk into a midnight where she cannot see 
 you ; you cannot enter a prison whose bars 
 will keep her out ; you can never mount a 
 scaffold too high for her to reach that she may 
 kiss and bless you in evidence of her deathless 
 love. When the world shall despise and for- 
 sake you, when it leaves you by the wayside 
 to die unnoticed, the dear old mother will 
 gather you in her feeble arms and carry you 
 home and tell you of all your virtues until you 
 almost forget that your soul is disfigured by 
 vices. Love her tenderly and cheer her de- 
 clining years with holy devotion. 
 
XV. 
 TIRED MOTHERS. 
 
 LITTLE elbow leans upon your knee — 
 
 Your tired knee that has so much to bear- 
 A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly 
 From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. 
 Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch 
 
 Of warm, moist fingers holding you so tight ; 
 You do not prize the blessing overmuch — 
 You almost are too tired to pray to-night. 
 
 But it is blessedness ! A year ago 
 
 I did not see it as I do to-day — 
 We are all so dull and thankless, and too slow 
 
 To catch the sunshine till it slips away. 
 And now it seems surpassing strange to me 
 
 That while I wore the badge of motherhood 
 I did not kiss more oft and tenderly 
 
 The little child that brought me only good. 
 
 And if, some night, when you sit down to rest, 
 You miss the elbow from your tired knee ; 
 
 This restless curly head from off your breast ; 
 This lisping tongue that chatters constantly ; 
 
 155 
 
1 56 TIRED MOTHERS. 
 
 If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped, 
 And ne'er would nestle in your palm again ; 
 
 If the white feet into the grave had tripped — 
 I could not blame you for your heartache then. 
 
 I wonder so that mothers ever fret 
 
 At their little children clinging to their gowns ; 
 Or that the foot-prints, when the day is wet, 
 
 Are ever black enough to make them frown 1 
 If I could find a little muddy boot, 
 
 Or cap, or jacket, on my chamber floor — 
 If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, 
 
 And hear it patter in my house once more ; 
 
 If I could mend a broken cart to-day, 
 
 To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky — 
 There is no woman in God's world could say 
 
 She was more blissfully content than I ! 
 But, ah, the dainty pillow next mine own 
 
 Is never rumpled by a shining head, 
 My singing birdling from its nest has flown— 
 
 The little boy I used to kiss — is dead ! 
 
XVI. 
 
 RESPONSIBILITY OF PARENTS. 
 
 ft 
 
 HERE is, perhaps, no duty more fre- 
 quently inculcated and enjoined in 
 the Bible, than that conveyed to the 
 mind and understanding by the three words 
 which we have placed at the head of this 
 chapter. The family is of divine origin — insti- 
 tuted by Jehovah himself. He saw that it 
 was not good that man should be alone, and 
 created woman full of tenderness and love, 
 blooming with beauty, and blushing with 
 charms, without whom man, even in Para- 
 dise, could not be completely happy. The 
 mutual desire of each for the other was fully 
 realized in that union which of the twain made 
 one flesh. It was required of them to obey 
 their Heavenly Father, as it is of their offspring 
 that they obey their earthly parents. 
 
 The spirit of disobedience soon manifested 
 itself in the first human pair, and was trans- 
 
 157 
 
1 58 RESPONSIBILITY OF PARENTS. 
 
 mitted to their children and to their children's 
 children, and will continue down to the latest 
 posterity. Notwithstanding this, however, 
 the command of God is to all children, " obey 
 your parents ; " and the command of parents, 
 is " bring up your children in the nurture and 
 admonition of the Lord." This is no less 
 imperative than that given to children. In 
 the parents is placed the authority to edu- 
 cate, instruct, and train their children. And 
 to the children it is said, " obey your parents 
 in all things, for this is right and well-pleasing 
 to the Lord." 
 
 Young parent, do you think that your 
 children are yours, to have and to hold for 
 your own pleasure and profit ? — that you have 
 a right to do what you will with them ? You 
 mistake ; they are but lent to you. Every 
 child is but a sacred trust — a responsibility, 
 than which there is none more mighty or fear- 
 ful in life. " Train up this child for Me. I will 
 require him at thy hands," says our Maker to 
 every parent who receives a child. Judging 
 by the declaration of inspiration, " Train up a 
 child in the way he should go, and when he is 
 old he will not depart from it," how many of 
 
RESPONSIBILITY OF PARENTS. i5g 
 
 our present men and women were trained up 
 in that way ; and what kind of an account will 
 have to be given by their parents ? 
 
 If you find an error in a child's mind, follow 
 it up till he is rid of it. Repeat and fix atten- 
 tion on the exact error, until it can never be 
 committed aeain. One clear and distinct idea 
 is worth a world of misty ones. Time is of 
 no consequence in comparison to the object. 
 Give the child possession of one clear, distinct 
 truth, and it becomes to him a center of light. 
 In all your teaching — no matter what time it 
 takes — never leave your pupil till you know 
 he has in his mind your exact thought. In 
 all explanations to your child, — and you will 
 find innumerable explanations called for, — be 
 patient and considerate, and leave no sense of 
 vagueness behind, neither a repressive influ- 
 ence. 
 
 Children are more easily led to be good by 
 examples of loving kindness, and tales of well- 
 doing in others, than threatened into obedi- 
 ence by records of sin, crime and punishment. 
 Then on the infant mind impress sincerity, 
 truth, honesty, benevolence and their kindred 
 virtues, and the welfare of your child will be 
 
160 RESPONSIBILITY OF PARENTS. 
 
 insured not only during this life, but the life 
 to come. Oh, what a responsibility to form a 
 creature, the frailest and feeblest that heaven 
 has made, into the intelligent and fearless 
 sovereign of the whole animated creation, 
 the interpreter and adorer and almost the 
 representative of Divinity — to train the igno- 
 rance and weakness of infancy into all the 
 virtue and power and wisdom of mature 
 years ! 
 
 Give children a sound moral and literary 
 education — useful learning for sails, and integ- 
 rity for ballast — set them afloat upon the sea 
 of life, and their voyage will be prosperous in 
 the best sense of the word. 
 
 The child is no more dependent on his 
 parents for his food and raiment, than for intel- 
 lectual and religious nurture. If the former 
 two be withheld, the little one soon perishes. 
 If these be duly administered, and mental and 
 religious culture be withholden, the child 
 grows up to bodily maturity with strong ani- 
 mal passions and desires, and being goaded 
 on by these, knows nothing of the restraints 
 felt by one who has been carefully trained 
 and instructed in the things spiritual, as well 
 
RESPONSIBILITY OF PARENTS. 161 
 
 as provided for in things temporal, and conse- 
 quently is fit for little else than the doing of 
 what should be left undone — and thus incur- 
 ring the penalty of broken law. Better, far 
 better for both parent and child, had the little 
 one not been born, than that he should have 
 a birth only that his body may be nourished 
 to the stature of manhood. 
 
 For the want of the due exercise of paren- 
 tal authority multitudes of children of both 
 sexes are growing up candidates for every 
 evil work. How often have we seen the 
 mother parley with her darling child at the 
 table, for example : — There are pies, cakes, 
 preserves, and the like upon the table, and 
 plainer food also ; the child, prompted by 
 pampered appetite, asks for pie, perhaps ; 
 the mother says no — you must eat some of 
 the coarser food first — the child says not so. 
 After much effort to persuade, and not a little 
 noise and clamor on the part of the dear little 
 rebel, the mother yields — the child has con- 
 quered — and this same performance is gone 
 through with every day, or as often as the 
 temptation arises. What a fearful responsi- 
 bility rests upon such parents — deliberately 
 ii 
 
1 62 RESPONSIBILITY OF PARENTS. 
 
 ruining their children, — making them wretched 
 for this world, even to say nothing of that 
 which is to come. No such child knows any- 
 thing about obedience. If he ever does what 
 he is told to do, it is from some other motive 
 than that of obedience. Such a child will not 
 be very likely to obey God, or regard man 
 any farther than prompted by self-interest. 
 
 The main effort in this life with many seems 
 to be to avoid responsibility. My friends, 
 don't cheat yourselves ; this cannot be done. 
 If there is an eternity, somewhere in that 
 eternity responsibility must be met. The 
 responsibilities of life are tremendous. Read- 
 er, God has something for you to do, and 
 which you can do better than any other being 
 in the universe, or He would not have created 
 you to do it, and somewhere in existence you 
 will work out the problem of your destiny. 
 This must be ! God makes no mistakes ; 
 so don't shirk responsibility, for you cannot 
 if you would. Face it like a man ! and dis- 
 charge it faithfully. 
 
XVII. 
 AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 LD boys have playthings as well as 
 young ones ; the difference is only in 
 the price. The permission of lawful 
 enjoyment is the surest method to prevent 
 unlawful gratifications. Fun is worth more 
 than physic, and whoever invents or discovers 
 a new supply deserves the name of a public 
 benefactor. A man cannot burrow in his 
 counting-room for ten or twenty of the best 
 years of his life, and come out as much of a 
 man and as little of a mole as when he went 
 in. Repose beautifies the heart and adorns 
 the life. It is to labor what the shadow is to" 
 the sun. There is as much science in recrea- 
 tion as in labor. To a brisk bustling man, 
 nothing makes time pass heavily but pastime. 
 Mirth is short and transient, cheerfulness 
 fixed and permanent. 
 
 " All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy ; 
 All play and no work makes Jack a mere toy." 
 
 163 
 
1 64 AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 Most men that follow sports, make them a 
 principal part of their life ; not reflecting that 
 while they are diverting themselves, they are 
 throwing away time. We alter the very 
 nature and design of recreation, when we 
 make a business of it. He that follows his 
 recreation instead of his business shall, in a 
 little time, have no business to follow. Of all 
 diversions of life, there is none so proper to 
 fill up its empty spaces, as the reading of 
 useful and entertaining authors ; and with 
 that the conversation of a well-chosen friend. 
 
 It has been assumed — and it is evidently a 
 true position — that inaction is not the rest that 
 re-invigorates the exhausted energies of either 
 the mind or body, but a new direction of 
 effort, by which new muscles of the body, or 
 new faculties of the mind, are brought into 
 activity. The true repose, then, which should 
 follow every life-conflict — and they are of 
 almost daily occurrence — is an entire diversion 
 of the thoughts and feelings into some new 
 channel. If this be not done, there can be no 
 rest ; for the current of thought will flow on 
 unchecked, until the mind becomes diseased, 
 and loses half its power. 
 
 And herein we see the use of amuse- 
 
AMUSEMENTS. 165 
 
 ments, or these innocent employments that 
 divert the mind, and fill it with pleasing 
 emotions. After the business of the day is 
 over, these come in their natural order, to 
 refresh and strengthen for new efforts ; and it 
 is more in accordance with the dictates of 
 right reason to seek for re-invigoration in 
 these than in dull inaction. 
 
 Amusements, therefore, we hold to be es- 
 sential to the health of both body and mind. 
 But, like every other good, they are liable to 
 be perverted ; and the young are more in 
 danger of perverting them than those who 
 have passed the prime of life. Nearly all the 
 various amusements, public and private, that 
 are entered into at this day, are innocent and 
 useful in themselves, although some of them 
 are sadly perverted to evil ends. Dancing, 
 games, concerts, the opera, scenic representa- 
 tions, etc., are all good in themselves, and 
 may be enjoyed innocently and beneficially 
 by all. In cards, for instance, there is no 
 evil abstractly, nor in a game of cards ; but 
 gambling is a great evil — one from which 
 every honest mind shrinks with horror. When 
 made a school of morals, the stage is a power- 
 ful teacher of truth, because it shows us vice 
 
1 66 AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 or virtue in living personifications, but as it 
 now is, we are compelled to acknowledge that 
 it is a poor place of resort for the strengthen- 
 ing of virtuous principles. 
 
 From this brief presentation of the subject, 
 every one must see that the views taken by 
 those who inveigh against amusements, as 
 either sinful or entirely useless, are erroneous, 
 and founded upon false notions of man's moral 
 nature. Our life here is for the development 
 and perfection of our characters as immortal 
 beings, created originally in true order, and 
 afforded all possible means for a return to 
 true order. 
 
 There are boys so circumstanced, as to be 
 deprived of nearly all amusements at an age 
 when work and play should each come in right 
 order. These are apt to make men who have 
 little sympathy for young people, and who 
 regard all amusements as waste of time, and 
 enervating to the character. They constantly 
 refer back to their own uncheered boyhood 
 as evidence that amusements are valueless ; 
 not thinking that the very aspect they show 
 to the world is one of the strong arguments 
 in favor of their balancing influence. From 
 men of this class, as well as from religious 
 
AMUSEMENTS. 167 
 
 ascetics, we have a steady warfare upon all 
 amusements. 
 
 The true end of all amusement is, as we 
 have seen, that recreation of the mind which 
 will enable it the better to perform its useful 
 tasks when the hour of duty returns. It 
 should come up from them re-invigorated ; 
 and this can hardly be the case, if there should 
 be in them anything that excites low, sensual, 
 or impure emotions ; or that insinuates false 
 sentiments on any subject. 
 
 The effect of amusements on your state of 
 mind will always indicate this utility or hurt- 
 fulness. If, after their enjoyment, you return 
 to your regular duties, with a mind re-invigor- 
 ated and cheerful, then they have done you 
 good. But, if the usual things that demand 
 your care and labor seem afterwards tame and 
 irksome, and your thought wanders away 
 from them to the evenings entertainments, 
 then you may well question their good influ- 
 ence. Beware, in this case, how you let mere 
 amusement and recreation make large demands 
 on your leisure time ; for you are in danger 
 of being drawn away from that abiding inter- 
 est in useful employments by which alone 
 man rises in the scale of worldly prosperity, 
 or becomes honorable and happy. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 ASHINGTON was wont to say, "Be 
 courteous to all, but intimate with 
 few, and let those few be well tried 
 before you give them your confidence." It 
 should be the aim of young men to go into 
 good society. We do not mean the rich, the 
 proud and fashionable, but the society of the 
 wise, the intelligent and good. Where you 
 find men that know more than you do, and 
 from whose conversation one can gain infor- 
 mation, it is always safe to be found. It has 
 broken down many a man by associating with 
 the low and vulgar, where the ribald song 
 and the indecent story were introduced to 
 excite laughter and influence the bad passions. 
 Lord Clarendon has attributed his success 
 and happiness in life to associating with 
 persons more learned and virtuous than him- 
 
 168 
 
ASSOCIATIONS. 169 
 
 self. If you wish to be respected — if you 
 desire happiness and not misery, we advise 
 you to associate with the intelligent and 
 good. Strive for mental excellence and strict 
 integrity, and you never will be found in the 
 sinks of pollution, and on the benches of 
 retailers and gamblers. Once habituate your- 
 self to a virtuous course — once secure a love 
 of good society, and no punishment would be 
 greater than by accident to be obliged for a 
 half a day to associate with the low and 
 vulgar. 
 
 Scarcely anything has a more decisive 
 influence in forming the character and fixing 
 the destiny of a young man for both worlds, 
 than the company he keeps. It is a maxim 
 of Divine wisdom, and it comes to you con- 
 firmed by the experience of all ages, — He that 
 walketh with wise men shall be wise, but a 
 companion of fools shall be destroyed. We 
 have often wished that we had kept an account 
 of the youths we have known to be ruined by 
 this cause. The number is fearfully large ; 
 and of all who have to our knowledge been 
 corrupted in their morals and blasted in their 
 prospects for time and eternity, we can 
 
I JO ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 recollect very few whose career in vice and 
 infamy could not be traced back to the influ- 
 ence of evil companions. Oh, how many 
 apprentices and clerks and students and young 
 professional men have we known utterly and 
 forever ruined by the cause here referred to ! 
 Once of fair morals and bright prospects, the 
 pride of fond parents and the hope of society, 
 in an unguarded hour they were drawn into 
 the society of unprincipled associates, went 
 with them to the gaming-table, to the house 
 of infamy, to the place of drinking, revelry, 
 and profane mirth, and having thus broken 
 away from the bonds of virtue, of decency, 
 and self-respect, they found themselves as it 
 were on enchanted ground, within the inex- 
 tricable toils of the destroyer, and were 
 drawn deeper and deeper in corruption and 
 shame, till character gone, hope gone, all gone, 
 they sunk, some into an untimely grave, vic- 
 tims of their vices, while others were obliged 
 to quit their business and their prospects, and 
 lived a grief and a sorrow to their parents and 
 their friends. Oh that we could call up and 
 place these unhappy persons before you, 
 and let you see them in all their degra- 
 
ASSOCIA TIONS. 1 7 1 
 
 dation and loss of hope for both worlds ! 
 Sure we are that, warned by their melancholy 
 example and miserable end, you would thank 
 us for this word of admonition, and shun, 
 as you would the way of perdition, the society 
 of the immoral and the vicious. Beware of 
 the beginnings of evil. It is much easier to 
 avoid bad company, than to break away from 
 it when you are once within its bewildering, 
 deadening influence. You may shun evil 
 companions, if you please ; but when you are 
 linked in with them, you are committed to 
 your fate, and no resolution will probably 
 avail to break the connection or save you 
 from the fatal consequences of its continuance. 
 Every young man may see how much 
 depends upon his choice of associates. If he 
 mingle with those who are governed by right 
 principles, his own good purposes will be 
 strengthened, and he will strengthen others in 
 return. But if he mingle with those who 
 make light of virtue, and revel in selfish and 
 sensual indulgences, he will find his own 
 respect for virtue growing weaker, and he 
 will gradually become more and more in love 
 with the grosser enjoyments of sense, that 
 
172 ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 drag a man downward, instead of lifting him 
 upward, and throw a mist of obscurity over all 
 his moral perceptions. 
 
 It has been truly said, an author is known 
 by his writings, a mother by her daughter, a 
 fool by his words, and all men by their com- 
 panions. 
 
 Intercourse with persons of decided virtue 
 and excellence is of great importance in the 
 formation of a good character. The force of 
 example is powerful ; we are creatures of 
 imitation, and, by a necessary influence, our 
 tempers and habits are very much formed 
 on the model of those with whom we famil- 
 iarly associate. Better be alone than in bad 
 company. Evil communications corrupt good 
 manners. Ill qualities are catching as well as 
 diseases ; and the mind is at least as much, if 
 not a great deal more, liable to infection, than 
 the body. Go with mean people, and you 
 think life is mean. 
 
 It is rare that a novice in iniquity falls at 
 once into the hands of finished seducers. 
 Novices are usually reached at first by young 
 men of their own age, who have recently 
 taken their first degrees in glaring sin. The 
 
AS SO CIA TIONS. 1 7 3 
 
 merry, roystering jollity of such sinners, their 
 gayety of spirit, their apparent happiness, the 
 glowing descriptions they give of their festivi- 
 ties, the sly hints they throw out at the green- 
 ness of the uninitiated, the half-playful, half- 
 earnest banterings with which they greet their 
 bashful excuses for not joining in their vices, 
 are the first seductive influences which usually 
 reach young men from the wicked. By these 
 means they learn to love their society ; they 
 lose their relish for the purity and quiet of 
 home ; they feel mortified at their ignorance 
 of iniquitous practices ; until, surrendering 
 themselves to the guidance of these children 
 of sin, they take costly lessons for themselves 
 in Sabbath -breaking, in drinking revels, and 
 in forbidden visits to various places of amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 The power of example is proverbial. We 
 are creatures of imitation, and nothing is of 
 more importance to young men than the 
 choice of their companions. If they select for 
 their associates the intelligent, the virtuous, 
 and the enterprising, great and most happy 
 will be the effects on their own character and 
 habits. With these living, breathing patterns 
 
1 74 ASSOCIA TIONS. 
 
 of excellence before them, they can hardly 
 fail to feel a disgust at everything that is low, 
 unworthy, and vicious, and be inspired with a 
 desire to advance in whatever is praiseworthy 
 and good. It is needless to add, the opposite 
 of all this is the certain consequence of intimacy 
 with persons of bad habits and profligate lives. 
 
 Here, then, young man, is the turning-point 
 of your destiny. When your heart first feels 
 enchanted by young men whom you know to 
 be the occasion of grief to their friends and 
 suspicion to their employers, your danger is 
 imminent and extreme. The fact that you fail 
 to discern the full enormity of their practices, 
 is the sign that you are marked for destruction. 
 
 Let every young man, then, seek for asso- 
 ciations in life ; but let him be exceedingly 
 careful how he make his selection. Almost 
 everything depends upon its being done with 
 prudence. 
 
 Evil companions are, therefore, to be totally 
 avoided. Safety is to be purchased only at the 
 price of entire abstinence from their society ; 
 for, as he who tastes his first glass of intoxi- 
 cating drink has no security against becoming 
 a drunkard, so he who finds a little delight in 
 
ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 175 
 
 the society of partially corrupted persons has 
 abandoned the ground of absolute safety. He 
 is within a charmed circle. The incantation 
 has begun. The demon of the circle is nigh. 
 Soon will he present the bond by which the 
 young dupe will sign away his virtue, his 
 hope, his soul. Beware ! oh, beware, then, 
 of every one of the seducers to vice ! Reject 
 the bad book ; turn away from the vile picture ; 
 refuse your company to the wicked ! Seek 
 God and his children ; so shall you happily 
 escape the dangers of life, and win a crown of 
 eternal glory ! 
 
 The following beautiful allegory is translated 
 from the German : Tophronius, a wise teacher, 
 would not suffer even his grown-up sons and 
 daughters to associate with those whose 
 conduct was not pure and upright. " Dear 
 father," said the gentle Eulalia to him one 
 day, when he forbade her, in company with 
 her brother, to visit the volatile Lucinda, 
 " dear father, you must think us very childish, 
 if you imagine that we should be exposed to 
 danger by it." The father took in silence a 
 dead coal from the hearth, and reached it to his 
 daughter. " It will not burn you, my child ; 
 
176 ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 take it." Eulalia did so, and behold ! her 
 delicate white hand was soiled and blackened, 
 and as it chanced her white dress also. " We 
 cannot be too careful in handling coals," said 
 Eulalia, in vexation. " Yes, truly," said her 
 father ; " you see, my child, that coals, even 
 if they do not burn, blacken. So it is with 
 the company of the vicious." 
 
 No man can allow himself to associate, with- 
 out prejudice, with the profane, the Sabbath- 
 breakers, the drunken, and the licentious, for 
 he lowers himself, without elevating them. 
 The sweep is not made the less black by 
 rubbing against the well-dressed and the clean, 
 while they are inevitably defiled. The Per- 
 sians have this beautiful fable to show the 
 value of good company : " A philosopher was 
 one day astonished by the fragrance of a piece 
 of clay. On asking how it came to have so 
 sweet a perfume, the clay answered : ' I was 
 once a piece of common clay, but I was placed 
 for some time in the company of a rose, and 
 the sweet quality of my company was com- 
 municated to me ; otherwise. I should only be 
 a piece of common clay, as I appear to be.' ,: 
 Tell me with whom thou art found, and I will 
 
ASSOCIATIONS. 177 
 
 tell thee whom thou art : let me know thy 
 chosen employment, and what to expect from 
 thee I know. Describe your company and 
 you will describe yourself. 
 
 The awfully sad consequences of evil associa- 
 tions is exhibited in the history of almost all 
 criminals. A young man, lately executed, 
 made the following speech on the gallows : 
 " This is a solemn day for me, boys ! I hope 
 this will be a warning to you against bad 
 company — I hope it will be a lesson to all 
 young people, and old as well as young, rich 
 and poor. It was that that brought me here 
 to-day to my last end, though I am innocent 
 of the murder I am about to suffer for. Before 
 my God I am innocent of the murder! I 
 never committed this or any other murder. 
 I know nothing of it. I am going to meet 
 my Maker in a few minutes. May the Lord 
 have mercy on my soul ! Amen, amen." 
 What a terrible warning his melancholy ex- 
 ample affords to young men never to deviate 
 from the straight line of duty. Live with the 
 culpable, and you will be very likely to die 
 with the criminal. Bad company is like a 
 nail driven into a post, which after the first or 
 12 
 
178 ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 second blow, may be drawn out with little diffi- 
 culty ; but being once driven in up to the head, 
 the pinchers cannot take hold to draw it out, 
 which can only be done by the destruction of 
 the wood. Let you be ever so pure, you 
 cannot associate with bad companions without 
 falling into bad odor. Evil company is like 
 tobacco smoke— you cannot be long in its 
 presence without carrying away the taint of 
 it. Tell us whom you choose and prefer as 
 companions, and we certainly can tell who 
 you are like. Do you love the society of the 
 vulgar ? Then you are already debased in 
 your sentiments. Do you seek to be with the 
 profane ? in your heart you are like them. 
 Are jesters and buffoons your choice friends ? 
 He who loves to laugh at folly is himself a 
 fool. Do you love and seek the society of the 
 wise and good ? Is this your habit ? Had 
 you rather take the lowest seat among these 
 than the highest seat among others ? Then 
 you have already learned to be good. You 
 may not make very much progress, but even 
 a good beginning is not to be despised. Hold 
 on your way, and seek to be the companion 
 of those that fear God. So you shall be wise 
 for yourself, and wise for eternity. 
 
XIX. 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 RIENDSHIP is a sweet attraction of 
 the heart toward the merit we esteem 
 or the perfections we admire, and pro- 
 duces a mutual inclination between two or 
 more persons, to promote each other's interest, 
 knowledge, virtue and happiness. The sweet- 
 est and most satisfactory connections in life 
 are those formed between persons of con- 
 genial minds, equally linked together by the 
 conformity of their virtues, and by all the ties 
 of esteem. Friendship is the most sacred of 
 all moral bonds. Trusts of confidence, with- 
 out any express stipulation or caution, are 
 yet, in the very nature of them, as sacred as 
 if they were guarded with a thousand articles 
 or conditions. Friendship has a notable effect 
 upon all states and conditions. It relieves 
 our cares, raises our hopes, and abates our 
 
 179 
 
180 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 fears. A friend who relates his success, talks 
 himself into a new pleasure ; and by opening 
 his misfortunes, leaves part of them behind 
 him. Friendship improves happiness, and 
 abates misery, by the doubling of our joy and 
 dividing our grief. ** 
 
 Friendship is a flower that blooms in all 
 seasons ; it may be seen flourishing on the 
 snow-capped mountains of Northern Russia, 
 as well as in more favored valleys of sunny 
 Italy, everywhere cheering us by its exquisite 
 and indescribable charms. No surveyed chart, 
 no national boundary line, no rugged moun- 
 tain or steep declining vale, put a limit to its 
 growth. Wherever it is watered with the 
 dews of kindness and affection, there you may 
 be sure to find it. Allied in closest compan- 
 ionship with its twin sister, Charity, it enters 
 the abode of sorrow and wretchedness, and 
 causes happiness and peace. It knocks at 
 the lonely and disconsolate heart ; and speaks 
 words of encouragement and joy. Its all- 
 powerful influence hovers o'er contending 
 armies, and unites the deadly foes in the 
 closest bonds of sympathy and kindness. Its 
 eternal and universal fragrance dispels every 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 1S1 
 
 poisoned thought of envy, and purifies the 
 mind with a holy and priceless contentment, 
 which all the pomp and power of earth could 
 not bestow. In vain do we look for this 
 heavenly flower in the cold, calculating world- 
 ling ; the poor, deluded wretch is dead to 
 every feeling of its ennobling virtue. In vain 
 do we look for it in the actions of the proud 
 and aristocratic votaries of fashion ; the love 
 of self-display, and of the false and fleeting 
 pleasures of the world, has banished it forever 
 from their hearts. In vain do we look for it in 
 the thoughtless and practical throng, who with 
 loud laugh, and extended open hands, proclaim 
 obedience to its laws — while at the same time 
 the canker of malice and envy and detraction 
 is enthroned in their hearts, and active on 
 their tongues. Friendship, true friendship, 
 can only be found to bloom in the soil of a 
 noble and self-sacrificing heart ; there it has a 
 perennial summer, a never-ending season of 
 felicity and joy to its happy possessor, casting 
 a thousand rays of love and hope and peace 
 to all around. 
 
 A man may have a thousand intimate 
 acquaintances, and not a friend among them 
 
1 8 2 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 all. If you have one friend, think yourself 
 happy. A friend — a real, true-hearted friend 
 — is more rare than he should be. Why is 
 it that selfishness predominates in the heart ? 
 — that he only is considered a friend who has 
 money and influence? In the higher walks 
 of life, how rarely is a true friend found— one 
 who will act as he feels, and speak as he 
 thinks. But among the humble and pure, 
 you will occasionally find the germ of pure 
 friendship. Ye who have found a true friend, 
 appreciate his worth. If he labors to benefit 
 you, say not a word, perform not an act, that 
 will send a thrill of pain to his bosom. If 
 there is a crime that betrays a vile heart, it is 
 the wounding of pure affection. Many a one 
 has seen too late the error of his course. 
 When the grave has concealed his best friend, 
 he felt — ah ! words will not describe the feel- 
 ing. Ye who are surrounded by the kind and 
 good — the watchful and true-hearted — appre- 
 ciate them, we pray you. Love them in 
 return for their kindness, and to the close of 
 life they will continue to guard and bless you. 
 Never forsake a friend. When enemies gather 
 around, when the world is dark and cheerless, 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 183 
 
 is the time to try a true friend. They who 
 turn from a scene of distress betray their 
 hypocrisy, and prove that only interest moves 
 them. If you have a friend who loves you, 
 who has studied your interest and happiness, 
 be sure to sustain him in adversity. Let him 
 know that his former kindness is appreciated, 
 and that his love was not thrown away. Real 
 fidelity may be rare, but it exists in the heart. 
 They only deny its worth who never loved a 
 friend, or labored to make a friend happy. 
 
 Friends that are worth having are not 
 made, but "grow," like Topsy in the novel. 
 An old man gave this advice to his sons on 
 his death-bed, " Never try to make a friend." 
 Enemies come fast enough without cultivating 
 the crop ; and friends who are brought forward 
 by hot-house expedients, are apt to wilt long 
 before they are fairly ripened. " Friends 
 are discovered rather than made," writes Mrs. 
 Stowe. " There are people who are in their 
 own nature friends, only they don't know 
 each other; but certain things, like poetry, 
 music and painting, are like the Freemason's 
 sign — they reveal the initiated to each other." 
 
 There is no pre-eminence among true 
 
1 84 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 friends ; for whether they are equally accom- 
 plished or not, they are equally affected to 
 each other. A false friend is like the shadow 
 on the sun-dial, appearing in sunshine, but 
 vanishing in shade. 
 
 A friend should be one in whose under- 
 standing and virtue we can equally confide, 
 and whose opinion we can value at once for 
 its justness and its sincerity. Relatives are 
 not necessarily our best friends, but they 
 cannot do us an injury without being enemies 
 to themselves. A friend is often more valuable 
 than a relative. Go to strangers for charity, 
 acquaintances for advice, relatives for nothing. 
 A friend of everybody is a friend to nobody. 
 
 When Socrates was asked why he had built 
 for himself so small a house, he replied, 
 " Small as it is, I wish I could fill it with friends." 
 These, indeed, are all that a wise man would 
 desire to assemble ; for a crowd is not company, 
 and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and 
 talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no 
 love. Without friends the world would be 
 but a wilderness. It has ever been my opin- 
 ion, says Horace, that a cheerful, good natured 
 friend is so great a blessing, that it admits of 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 1 8 5 
 
 no comparison but itself. Cicero used to say, 
 that it was no less an evil for a man to be 
 without a friend, than the heavens to be with- 
 out a sun. It is not the seeing of one's 
 friends, the having them within reach, the 
 hearing of and from them, that makes them 
 ours. Many a one has all that, and yet he 
 has nothing. It is believing in them, the 
 depending on them, assured that they are true 
 and good to the core. 
 
 Old friends ! , What a multitude of deep 
 and varied emotions are called forth from the 
 soul by the utterance of these two words ! 
 What thronging memories of other days crowd 
 the brain when they are spoken ! Ah, there is 
 a magic in the sound, and the spell which it 
 creates is both sad and pleasing. As we sit 
 by our fireside, while the winds are making 
 wild melody without the walls of our cottage, 
 and review the scenes of by-gone years which 
 flit before us in swift succession, dim and 
 shadowy as the recollection of a dream — how 
 those " old familiar faces," will rise up and 
 haunt our vision with their well remembered 
 features. But ah, where are they ? those 
 friends of our youth — those kindred spirits 
 
1 86 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 who shared our joy and sorrows when first 
 we started in the pilgrimage of life. Compan- 
 ions of our early days, they are endeared to 
 us by many a tie, and we now look back through 
 the vista of years, upon the hours of our com- 
 munion, as upon green oases in a sandy waste. 
 Years have passed over us with their buds 
 and flowers, their fruits and snows; and where 
 now are those "old familiar faces?" They 
 are scattered, and over many of their last 
 narrow homes, the thistle waves its lonely 
 head; "after life's fitful fever, they sleep well." 
 Some are buffeting the billows of Time's 
 stormy sea in distant lands ; though they are 
 absent our thoughts are often with them. A 
 few perhaps yet remain, and we meet them 
 oft as we pursue our daily vocation. To those 
 we cling with a closer grasp as the auburn of 
 their locks fades into grey. They are as a 
 cluster of sere leaves in winter which have 
 withstood the chill winds of November ; each 
 one that drops off binds the others yet closer 
 unto us. Time and changes cement our 
 friendship, and when an old friend passes off 
 the stage, his absence creates a blank which 
 new ones can never fill Our life is a devious 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 187 
 
 path, and as our companions drop off one by 
 one, and new faces supply their place, we 
 seem to move in a strange world and amid 
 strange people. The rocks and the hills, the 
 streams and the trees remain in the places 
 which they filled of yore, but the " old familiar 
 faces " with whom we wandered along their 
 banks and beneath their shade, have long since 
 departed, and a sensation of loneliness comes 
 over us, even when mingling in a crowd. The 
 thoughts which fill the mind when musing 
 upon the joys of " lang syne " are of a chast- 
 ened character. We are freed for a time 
 from the shackles of selfishness, and contem- 
 plate the purer and kindlier traits of the soul. 
 We behold the footprints of Time as marked 
 by the pencilings of decay — in the scenes of 
 the past We behold a type of the future — the 
 fate of our friends shadows forth that of our- 
 selves, and dull are we if we rise not from 
 fancied communication with old friends, both 
 wiser and better men and women. 
 
XX. 
 
 INFLUENCE. 
 
 N F L U E N C E is the power we exert over 
 others by our thoughts, words, and 
 actions — by our lives, in short. It is 
 a silent, a pervading, a magnetic, and a most 
 wonderful thing, It works in inexplicable 
 ways. We neither see nor hear it, yet, consci- 
 ously or unconsciously, we exert it. No one 
 can think, or speak, or act — no one can live — 
 without influencing others. We all sometimes 
 seem unconscious of this very important fact, 
 and appear to have adopted the strange idea 
 that what we do, or think, or say, can affect no 
 one but ourselves. You influence others and 
 mould their characters and destinies for time 
 and for eternity far more extensively than 
 you imagine. The whole truth in this matter 
 might flatter you ; it would certainly astonish 
 you if you could once grasp it in its full pro- 
 portions. It was a remark of Samuel J. Mills 
 
INFLUENCE. 1 89 
 
 that " No young man should live in the nine- 
 teenth century without making his influence 
 felt around the globe." At first thought that 
 seems a heavy contract for any young man to 
 take. As we come to apprehend more clearly 
 the immutable laws of God's moral universe 
 we find that this belting of the globe by his 
 influence is just what every responsible being 
 does — too often, alas, unconsciously. You 
 have seen the telephone, that wonderful in- 
 strument which so accurately transmits the 
 sound of the human voice so many miles. How 
 true it is that all these wonderful modern 
 inventions are only faint reflections of some 
 grand and eternal law of the moral universe of 
 God ! God's great telephone — I say it rever- 
 ently — is everywhere — filling earth and air and 
 sea, and sending round the world with unerring 
 accuracy, and for a blessing or a curse, every 
 thought of your heart, every word that falls 
 thoughtfully or thoughtlessly from your lips, 
 and every act you do. It is time you awoke 
 to the conviction that, whether you would 
 have it so or not, your influence is world-wide 
 for good or for evil. Which ? 
 
 There is another immense fact which we 
 
190 INFLUENCE. 
 
 may as well look squarely in the face. An 
 influence never dies. Once born it lives forever. 
 In one of his lyrics, Longfellow beautifully 
 illustrates this great truth : 
 
 " I shot an arrow in the air, 
 
 It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
 ***** 
 
 I breathed a song into the air, 
 
 It fell on earth, I knew not where ; 
 
 Long, long afterwards, in an oak 
 I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
 And the song, from beginning to end, 
 I found again in the heart of a friend." 
 
 No thought, no word, no act of man ever 
 dies. They are as immortal as his own soul. 
 He will be sure to find them written some- 
 where. Somewhere in this world he will meet 
 their fruits in part ; somewhere in the future 
 life he will meet their gathered harvest. It 
 may, and it may not, be a pleasant one to 
 look upon. 
 
 An influence not only lives forever, but it 
 keeps on growing as long as it lives. There 
 never comes a time when it reaches its maturity 
 and when its growth is arrested. The influence 
 which you start into life to-day in the family, 
 
INFLUENCE. 191 
 
 the neighborhood, or the social circle, is per- 
 haps very small now, very little cared for 
 now ; but it will roll forward through the ages, 
 growing wider and deeper and stronger with 
 every passing hour, and blighting or blessing 
 as it rolls. 
 
 " Gather up my influence and bury it with 
 me ! " exclaimed a youth, whose unforgiven 
 spirit was sinking into the invisible world. Idle 
 request ! Had he begged his friends to bind 
 the free winds, to chain the wild waves, to 
 grasp the fierce lightning, or make a path for 
 the sand-blast, his wish would have been more 
 feasible. The sceptical thought that fell as a 
 seed of evil from the lip and grew in the heart 
 of the listener into defiant infidelity, the light 
 word that pierced the spirit like a poisoned 
 dart, the angry glance which stirred the soul 
 to anguish and made tears flow at the midnight 
 hour, are all beyond our reach. The mind 
 thus wounded sighs on, and after we are dead 
 the chords vibrate which our fingers touched. 
 The measure of that influence, for weal or 
 woe, will lie hidden, a terrible secret, until 
 the day when the spirit, blindly driven to 
 despair and guilt, or blasted by sceptical 
 
I 9 2 INFLUENCE. 
 
 thought, shall stand writhing and wretched to 
 confront those by whom the offence came, 
 and to teach that influence is immutable and 
 eternal. It is influence that is thus powerful, 
 not the influence of those in high stations. 
 The effect of their conduct is more easily- 
 traced, because it works through public affairs. 
 But the influence of a beggar girl is as potential 
 in her sphere as is that of a queen in her more 
 enlarged circle. Wealth, station, talent, may 
 add to the force and extent of influence, but 
 they cannot create it. It is an attribute of 
 your nature, inseparable from it, inherent 
 in it. 
 
 Your influence is not confined to yourselves, 
 or to the scene of your immediate action ; it 
 extends to others, and will reach to succeeding 
 ages. Future generations will feel the effects 
 of your principles and your conduct. You 
 are so connected with the immortal beings 
 around you, and with those who are to come 
 after you, that you cannot avoid exerting 
 a most important influence over their char- 
 acter and final conditions; and thus, long 
 after you shall be no more, nay, long after 
 the world itself shall be no more, the conse- 
 
INFLUENCE. 1 93 
 
 quences of your conduct to thousands of your 
 fellow men, will be nothing less than everlast- 
 ing destruction, or eternal life. 
 
 What if life is young, and its paths are 
 strewed with flowers ? What if the current of 
 your ordinary ideas runs in a contrary direc- 
 tion ? What if a due sense of the true respon- 
 sibilities of life should restrain, in some degree, 
 the gayety of your spirits ? Are you, there- 
 fore, to trample upon the happiness of others ? 
 Are you to peril your own best interests ? 
 Remember, as is your influence, so is your 
 destiny. There is a woe for those who suffer 
 from evil influence ; but a heavier, direr woe 
 for them "by whom the offence cometh." 
 Consider, therefore, my dear reader, with a 
 seriousness worthy of your immortal nature, 
 the bearings of this momentous question. 
 Resolve, in the silent depths of your reflecting 
 spirit, " I will take care of my influence ! " 
 
 Consecrate your influence to virtue, to 
 humanity, to God. Thus in your life, you 
 shall be " like a star glittering in its own mild 
 lustre, undimmed by the radiance of another, 
 and uneclipsed by the deep shades of the 
 midnight heavens." 
 13 
 
XXI. 
 
 INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 HE bane of the American people is 
 intemperance. The high and the 
 low alike fall helplessly before it. It 
 invades the pulpit, the bar, and the workshop ; 
 and many an otherwise happy fireside is turned 
 into a sad abode of sorrow by this monstrous 
 vice. It may seem incredible, but official 
 facts show that more than sixty millions of 
 dollars are annually spent in the city of New 
 York alone for intoxicating drinks ; while for 
 the country at large the official report of the 
 Bureau of Statistics shows the appalling sum 
 of Five Hundred and Sixty Millions of dollars 
 to be spent annually in this frightful way. 
 The vigor of our nation is thus being destroy- 
 ed ; our alms-houses and prisons are filled ; 
 men who might be worthy are turned into 
 hardened criminals or wrecks of insanity, 
 brutalized in all their tastes and debased 
 
 194 
 
INTEMPERANCE. i 9 5 
 
 mentally and physically ; homes are desolated, 
 and misery and woe stalk abroad where other- 
 wise there ought to be thrift and happiness. 
 
 Nor are the wives and mothers of our land 
 exempt from the baleful influence of this fear- 
 ful vice of intemperance. What so fearful a 
 sight as a mother of children debased by rum ? 
 What a sad school of vice is that in which to 
 rear a family, and how does the polluting in- 
 fluence spread to generations yet to come ! 
 
 We are at war with alcohol in every form, 
 and under every disguise ; and this war we 
 mean shall last while we last. We believe it 
 to be the fatal foe to every precious interest 
 in life here and hereafter. It destroys prop- 
 erty, intellect and life. Why cannot its sad 
 victims be made to pause one moment for 
 calm reflection upon the certain and sad con- 
 sequences of their evil habit ? How can the 
 nation be made to see it, and to rouse itself 
 and shake off this deadly incubus ? Will 
 statistics wake the people? Here they are 
 from official data. More than one hundred 
 and twenty millions of dollars more are yearly 
 spent in the United States for rum than the 
 value of<z//the flour, cotton goods, boots and 
 
1 96 INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 shoes, woolens, clothing, books and news- 
 papers — more than the above six principal in- 
 dustries per year! You don't believe it? Well, 
 it is true, nevertheless. This we know. But 
 no pen can portray the deadly list of ills that 
 follow in the train of this satanic sin ; of hopes 
 blighted ; of intellects debased ; of homes 
 ruined ; of hearts broken ; of virtue lost ; of 
 children debauched in their young prime ; of 
 sorrow, misery and woe here, and heaven 
 lost! 
 
 Reader, do you drink ? Stop ! right now ! 
 Break that glass at once and forever ! Pause 
 and turn your thoughts within for a little calm 
 reflection. Are you a drunkard ? Look upon 
 that pale and wasted wife and mother, and at 
 your sad home, and ask, " Did I cause this 
 ruin ? " Are you a moderate drinker ? Remem- 
 ber there is death in that cup ! Young man, 
 beware of social influences ! Have the cour- 
 age to say No ! so will you secure your own 
 self-respect and the respect of those who have 
 not your courage. 
 
 It is the moral ruin which is caused by rum 
 which we wish we had the power to depict in 
 all its sulphurous hues. The people would 
 
INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 197 
 
 stand aghast with fright, and with one accord 
 would say, ■" This thing must stop ! " And it 
 would stop ; and in its stead we would have a 
 nation of sober men ; happy homes, filled with 
 love ; happy men, happy wives, happy mothers, 
 happy children ! What a leap forward will be 
 gained, when virtue shall take the place of vice 
 in every human heart; when every aspiration 
 should be for something higher and nobler, 
 than for something low and vile ? Why not ? 
 Sure enough, why not ? 
 
N the history of most successful men, 
 whether in science, art, or trade, it 
 will be found that the first real move- 
 ment upwards did not take place, until, in a 
 spirit of resolute self-denial, indolence, so 
 natural to almost every one, was mastered. 
 Necessity is, usually, the spur that sets the 
 sluggish energies in motion. Poverty, there- 
 fore, is oftener a blessing to a young man than 
 prosperity ; for, while the one tends to stimulate 
 his powers, the other inclines them to languor 
 and disuse. But, is it not very discreditable 
 for the young man, who is favored with educa- 
 tion, friends, and all the outside advantages 
 which could be desired as means to worldly 
 success, to let those who stand in these 
 respects, at the beginning, far below him, 
 gradually approach as the steady years move 
 
 198 
 
INDOLENCE. igg 
 
 on, and finally outstrip him in the race ? It 
 is not only discreditable, but disgraceful. A 
 man's true position in society, is that which he 
 achieves for himself — he is worth to the world 
 no more, no less. As he builds for society in 
 useful work, so he builds for himself. He is a 
 man for what he does, not for what his father 
 or his friends have done. If they have done 
 well, and given him a position, the deeper the 
 shame, if he sink down to a meaner level 
 through self-indulgence and indolence. 
 
 Indolence destroys more than industry ; and 
 many a drone who has perished prematurely, 
 had his friends been equally honest with Sir 
 Horace Vere, would have had it said of him, 
 as that nobleman said of his brother, when 
 the Marquis of Spinola asked, " Pray, Sir 
 Horace, of what did your brother die ? " 
 
 "He died of having nothing to do ! " was 
 the bluff knight's reply. 
 
 Excellence is providentially placed beyond 
 the reach of indolence that success may be the 
 reward of industry, and that idleness may be 
 punished with obscurity and disgrace. 
 
 A lazy boy makes a lazy man just as sure 
 as a crooked sapling makes a crooked tree. 
 
200 INDOLENCE. 
 
 Think of that, my little lads. Who ever saw 
 a boy grow up in idleness that did not make 
 a lazy, shiftless vagabond when he was old 
 enough to be a man, though he was not a man 
 in character, unless he had a fortune left him 
 to keep up appearance ? Those who make 
 our great and useful men were trained in their 
 boyhood to be industrious. 
 
 To a young man who has acquired the habit 
 of indulging himself in morning slothfulness, 
 it will be something of a trial to rise at five 
 o'clock, in both winter and summer; but the 
 self-denial practiced in doing this will be so 
 fully repaid, in a little while, that we are sure 
 no one, who has awakened up to the respon- 
 sibility of his position, and the incalculable 
 benefits that must result from efforts such as 
 he is making, will sink down again into dis- 
 graceful indolence. 
 
 Laziness grows on people ; it begins in 
 cobwebs and ends in iron chains. The more 
 business a man has to do the more he is able 
 to accomplish, for he learns to economize his 
 time. " I can't find bread for my family," 
 said a lazy fellow in company. " Nor I," re- 
 plied an industrious miller ; " I am obliged 
 to work for it." 
 
INDOLENCE. 20t 
 
 Activity is the result of some end or affec- 
 tion of the mind. Where no purpose is in the 
 mind there is indolence ; but when there is an 
 end in view of sufficient importance, all the 
 powers of the mind come into spontaneous 
 activity. Now, will any young man say that 
 there are not objects for him to attain, of 
 sufficient importance to awaken him from his 
 habits of indolence, no matter how much he 
 have confirmed himself in them ? We know 
 there is not one who does not, at times, feel 
 the necessity of concentrating every energy he 
 possesses upon the accomplishment of some 
 end ; but the evil is, the thoughts are not kept 
 steadily fixed upon the end, but are allowed 
 to wander off to sport with unimportant things, 
 or to retire in mere idle musings ; and thence 
 comes indolence ; for if there is no purpose, 
 there will be no activity. 
 
 An active and energetic mind may achieve 
 much, even where there is great want of 
 order ; but indolence chains a man down, and 
 keeps him fast in one position ; it is, there- 
 fore, the most serious defect of the two, and 
 should be striven against with unwearying per- 
 severance. 
 
202 
 
 INDOLENCE. 
 
 Self-complacency begets indolence, a con- 
 dition alike disastrous to nations and to in- 
 dividuals. Indolence, poverty ; poverty, mis- 
 ery. Indolence imparts vice ; vice leads to 
 crimes, and crimes to the gallows. 
 
 It is an error to believe that the vehement 
 passions alone, like love or ambition, triumph 
 over the rest. Indolence, nerveless as it may 
 be, is generally master of every other ; it 
 steals dominion over every action of life, and 
 stealthily paralyzes alike all passions and all 
 virtues. 
 
 Indolence leaves the door of the soul un- 
 locked, and thieves and robbers go in and 
 spoil it of its treasures. 
 
XXIII. 
 INTEGRITY. 
 
 L*F it be admitted that strict integrity is 
 not always the shortest way to success, 
 
 ts 
 
 is it not the surest, the happiest, and 
 the best ? A young man of thorough integ- 
 rity may, it is true, find it difficult, in the 
 midst of dishonest competitors and rivals, to 
 start in his business or profession ; but how 
 long ere he will surmount every difficulty, 
 draw around him patrons and friends, and rise 
 in the confidence and support of all who know 
 him ? 
 
 Look around over your community, and 
 see who they are that are most prospered in 
 their temporal interests, happiest in their lives, 
 and most respected in their characters. Are 
 they not the men of firm and decided princi- 
 ples, — of fair and open conduct ? There are, 
 thank God, many such in the midst of us ; 
 many, who know not how to sacrifice their 
 
 203 
 
204 INTEGRITY. 
 
 conscience to their interest, — many who con- 
 duct their affairs with strict probity, with a 
 noble, unbending regard to truth and duty. 
 Are not these the characters whom you and 
 all men most respect and esteem ? Are they 
 not in the greatest credit and in the happiest 
 condition, sharing largest in the pleasures of 
 an approving mind, and in the confidence and 
 love of their fellow men ? Let these men be 
 your pattern ; tread in their steps, imitate 
 their virtues, and rise to their honor and 
 happiness. What, if in pursuing this course, 
 you should not, at the close of life, have so 
 much money by a few hundred dollars ? Will 
 not a fair character, an approving conscience, 
 and an approving God, be an abundant com- 
 pensation for this little deficiency of pelf? 
 
 One of the first effects of integrity is to 
 secure to its possessor the confidence of society. 
 To have the confidence of others, is to have 
 influence over them, for men readily yield 
 themselves to the guidance of those in whom 
 they confide. Hence, a reputation for lofty 
 integrity is a better capital than gold ; — it is 
 more persuasive than eloquence ; — it is more 
 powerful than the sword. A remarkable ex- 
 
INTEGRITY. 2 o5 
 
 ample of its influence is furnished in the rivalry 
 of Robespierre and Mirabeau, during the first 
 epochs of the French Revolution. 
 
 A character for integrity, accuracy, and 
 promptness acquired while learning any branch 
 of business is the best capital which a young 
 man can have. It will make him friends, 
 open before him doors of enterprise, and set 
 him forward in the world with every facility 
 of prosperity and success. I have mentioned 
 a character of integrity, by which I mean a 
 character of high moral principle ; of unbend- 
 ing uprightness and honor ; it is worth every- 
 thing to a young man, and he should guard it 
 as his richest treasure, even as his life's blood. 
 It is indeed his life in all that relates to his 
 happiness and success in the world. It is a 
 crown of gold to him now, and preserved 
 untarnished in the fear and love of God, it is 
 a pledge of a crown of glory reserved for him 
 in heaven. 
 
 Cultivate the loftiest integrity, even in con- 
 nection with the smallest matters. Are you 
 a clerk? See to it that your minutest entries 
 are strictly correct ; that you never appro- 
 priate one cent of your employer's money or 
 
206 INTEGRITY. 
 
 property to your own uses. Deal with honor- 
 able exactness toward all who trade at your 
 store or counting-room. Eschew all business 
 lies, in selling goods. If, in measuring or 
 weighing an article, you discern defects which 
 lessen its value, boldly make them known. 
 Do not permit a dishonest employer to compel 
 you to be his instrument, — his tool for doing 
 wrong. Let him distinctly understand that 
 you do not hesitate between dishonor and dis- 
 missal. Prove, if need be, by the loss of your 
 situation, that you prefer an honest crust to a 
 dishonest banquet. If you are a mechanic, a 
 farmer, or an artist, prosecute your daily tasks 
 with the same careful diligence, in the absence, 
 as in the presence, of your employer ; thus 
 proving that you are " no eye-serva7tt" no 
 mere " man-pleas er ? but a conscientious and 
 dignified young man ; doing right, not for 
 reputation's sake, but because you love it, and 
 from a sense of obligation to Almighty God. 
 
XXIV. 
 GENIUS. 
 
 ENIUS is that quality or character of 
 the mind which is inventive, or gene- 
 rates ; which gives to the world new 
 ideas in science, art, literature, morals, or 
 religion ; which recognizes no set rules or prin- 
 ciples, but is a law unto itself, and rejoices in 
 its own originality ; which admitting of a 
 direction, never follows the old beaten track, 
 but strikes out for a new course ; which has 
 no fears of public opinion, nor leans upon pub- 
 lic favor — always leads but never follows, 
 which admits no truth unless convinced by 
 experiment, reflection, or investigation, and 
 never bows to the ipse dixit of any man, or 
 society, or creed. 
 
 It is one of the mysteries of our life that 
 genius, that noblest gift of God to man, is 
 nourished by poverty. Its greatest works 
 have been achieved by the sorrowing ones of 
 
 207 
 
208 
 
 GENIUS. 
 
 the world in tears and despair. Not in the 
 brilliant saloon, furnished with every comfort 
 an'd elegance ; not in the library well fitted, 
 softly carpeted, and looking- out upon a smooth, 
 green lawn, or a broad expanse of scenery ; not 
 in ease and competence — is genius born and 
 nurtured ; more frequently in adversity and 
 destitution, amidst the harassing cares of a 
 straitened household, in bare and fireless gar- 
 rets, with the noise of squalid children, in the 
 midst of the turbulence of domestic conten- 
 tions, and in the deep gloom of uncheered 
 despair, is genius born and reared. This is its 
 birth-place, and in scenes like these, unpro- 
 pitious, repulsive, wretched, have men labored, 
 studied and trained themselves, until they have 
 at last emanated out of the gloom of that ob- 
 scurity the shining lights of their times ; become 
 the companions of kings, the guides and teach- 
 ers of their kind, and exercise an influence 
 upon the thought of the world amounting to a 
 species of intellectual legislation. 
 
 Cleverness skims like a swallow in the sum- 
 mer evening, with a sharp shrill note, and a 
 sudden turning. The man of genius dwells 
 with men and with nature ; the man of talent 
 
GENIUS. 209 
 
 in his study ; but the clever man dances here, 
 there and everywhere, like a butterfly in a 
 hurricane, striking everything and enjoying 
 nothing, but too light to be dashed to pieces. 
 The man of talent will attack theories, the 
 clever man will assail the individual, and slan- 
 der private character. But the man of genius 
 despises both ; he heeds none, he fears none ; 
 he lives in himself, shrouded in the conscious- 
 ness of his own strength; he interferes with 
 none, and walks forth an example that " eagles 
 fly alone — they are but sheep that herd to- 
 gether." It is true, that should a poisonous 
 worm cross his path, he may tread it under 
 his foot ; should a cur snarl at him, he may 
 chastise it ; but he will not, cannot, attack the 
 privacy of another. Clever men write verses, 
 men of talent write prose y but the man of genius 
 writes poetry. 
 
 Genius, says Irving, seems to delight in 
 hatching its offspring in by-corners. The house 
 where Shakespeare was born was a small, 
 mean-looking edifice of wood and plaster, and, 
 according to tradition, he was brought up to 
 his father's craft of wool-combing. 
 
 Hath God given you genius and learning ? 
 
210 GENIUS. 
 
 It was not that you might amuse or deck your- 
 self with it, and kindle a blaze which should 
 only serve to attract and dazzle the eyes of 
 men. It was intended to be the means of lead- 
 ing both yourself and them to the father of 
 lights. 
 
 The drafts which true genius draws upon 
 posterity, although they may not always be 
 honored as soon as they are due, are sure to 
 be paid with compound interest in the end. 
 
 The great and decisive test for genius is, 
 that it calls forth power in the souls of others. 
 It not merely gives knowledge but breathes 
 energy. 
 
3V 
 
 XXV. 
 TACT. 
 
 MAN of tact immediately fills a new 
 position with naturalness, and, how- 
 ever he himself may feel its embar- 
 rassment, he forces the impression upon others, 
 that he is just the man for the place. On the 
 other hand, without tact, a man is impracti- 
 cable. Change his occupation and he acts 
 stiffly, awkwardly ; he is like a stiff-jointed 
 country recruit at his first drill ; so uncouth 
 are his movements, that lookers-on exclaim, 
 " He will never do!" His friends lose their 
 interest in his advancement. They fear to 
 advance him, lest his clownishness should 
 mortify their pride, and leave him to pine in 
 the obscurity of a lowly position. 
 
 A recent English writer gives the following 
 amusing off-handed portraiture of tact and 
 talent. The writer recognizes the just distinc- 
 
 211 
 
212 TACT. 
 
 tion between these two qualities. Tact in its 
 highest manifestation we have considered 
 only a little short of absolute genius. Talent 
 is something, but tact everything. Talent is 
 serious, grave and respectable ; tact is all that 
 and more. It is not a sixth sense, but the 
 life of all the five. It is the open eye, the 
 quick ear, the judging taste, the keen smell, 
 and the lively touch ; it is the interpreter of 
 all riddles — the surmounter of all difficulties 
 — the remover of all obstacles. It is useful 
 in all places and at all times; it is useful in 
 solitude, for it shows a man his way through 
 the w T orld. Talent is power — tact is skill ; 
 talent is weight — tact is momentum ; talent 
 knows what to do — tact knows how to do 
 it ; talent makes a man respectable — tact will 
 make a man respected ; talent is wealth — tact 
 is ready money. For all practical purposes 
 of life, tact carries it against talent — ten to 
 one. Talent makes the world wonder that it 
 gets on no faster — tact excites astonishment 
 that it gets on so fast ; and the secret is that 
 it has no weight to carry ; it makes no false 
 steps — it hits the right nail on the head — it 
 loses no time — it takes all hints — and by 
 
TACT. 
 
 213 
 
 keeping its eye on the weather-cock, is ready- 
 to take advantage of every wind that blows. 
 It has the air of common-place, and all the 
 force and powers of genius. It can change 
 sides with hey-presto movement and be at all 
 points of the compass, while talent is ponder- 
 ously and learnedly shifting a single point. 
 Talent calculates clearly, reasons logically, 
 makes out a case as clear as daylight, utters 
 its oracles with all the weight of justice and 
 reason. Tact refutes without contradicting, 
 puzzles the profound without profundity, and 
 without wit outwits the wise. Setting them 
 together on a race for popularity, pen in 
 hand, and tact will distance talent by half the 
 course. Talent brings to market that which 
 is wanted ; tact produces that which is wished 
 for. Talent instructs ; tact enlightens. Tal- 
 ent leads where no man follows ; tact follows 
 where humor leads. Talent is pleased that it 
 ought to have succeeded ; tact is delighted 
 that it has succeeded. Talent toils for a 
 posterity that will never repay it ; tact throws 
 away no pains, but catches the passion of the 
 passing hour. Talent builds for eternity, tact 
 on short lease, and gets good interest. Talent 
 
214 TACT. 
 
 is certainly a very fine thing to talk about, a 
 very good thing to be proud of, a very glori- 
 ous eminence to look down from ; but tact is 
 useful, portable, applicable, always market- 
 able ; it is the talent of talents, the available- 
 ness of resources, the applicability of power, 
 the eye of discrimination, the right hand of 
 intellect. 
 
 But tact is the gift of nature ! Yes ! to some 
 extent it is so. Versatility is easier to some 
 than to others. That is, it requires less effort 
 in some than in others, to adapt themselves 
 to new relations to society. But even the 
 versatility of the proudest sons of genius is the 
 offspring of self-culture. The man who shines 
 in an exalted position, who appears in it at 
 such perfect ease that one might infer he was 
 born to fill it, has gained the confidence which 
 inspires him with ease by previous self-culti- 
 vation. A man who is true to himself is 
 always in advance of his actual position ; 
 hence, when called to higher posts, he moves 
 into them and fills them with propriety and 
 dignity. This is tact. And the mental train- 
 ing which creates tact is within the reach of 
 every young man. 
 
XXVL 
 ECONOM K 
 
 CONOMY is a trite and forbidding 
 theme. The young man will feel 
 tempted to pass it by, and proceed to 
 the next chapter. But we beseech him to 
 read on, since his social advancement depends 
 in a good degree upon his frugality. He had 
 better be doomed, like the sons of ancient 
 Jacob in Egypt, to make bricks without straw, 
 than to enter the scenes of active life without 
 economy for a companion. 
 
 The habit of spending money too freely in 
 the gratification of a host of imaginary wants, 
 is one into which young men of generous 
 minds are too apt to fall. Limited to a small 
 income previously, and compelled to deny 
 themselves at nearly every point, they find it 
 almost impossible to resist the impulse that 
 prompts to self-gratification, and are thus led to 
 
 215 
 
2l6 
 
 ECONOMY. 
 
 spend, perhaps for years, the entire sum of 
 their earnings, and, more than probable, to 
 run into debt. The folly of this every one can 
 see and acknowledge, and yet too many have 
 not the resolution to act up to their con- 
 victions, y 
 
 This habit of spending money uselessly has 
 marred the fortunes of more young men than 
 any other cause. It is a weakness that should 
 be firmly and constantly resisted by every one. 
 Money should be considered as a means by 
 which man has power to act usefully in the 
 world, and he ought to endeavor to obtain it 
 with that end in view. The greater a man's 
 wealth, the broader may be, if he but will it, 
 the sphere of his usefulness. 
 
 Every man ought so to contrive as to live 
 within his means. This practice is of the very 
 essence of honesty. For if a man do not man- 
 age honestly to live within his own means, he 
 must necessarily be living dishonestly upon the 
 means of somebody else. Those who are 
 careless about personal expenditure, and con- 
 sider merely their own gratification, without 
 regard for the comfort of others, generally find 
 out the real uses of money when it is too late. 
 
ECONOMY. 217 
 
 It is wiser and more honorable for a man 
 to wear his coat three or six months longer, 
 until he have the money with which to buy a 
 new one, than it is to go in debt for the gar- 
 ment, and thus lay a tax upon his future 
 income, or run the risk of not being able to 
 pay for what he has worn, at the time agreed 
 upon. 
 
 On every hand we see people living upon 
 credit, putting off pay day till the last, making 
 in the end some desperate effort, either by 
 begging or borrowing, to scrape the money 
 together, and then struggling on again, with 
 the canker of care eating at their heart, to the 
 inevitable goal of bankruptcy. If people 
 would only make a push at the beginning, 
 instead of the end, they would save themselves 
 all this misery. The great secret of being 
 solvent, and well-to-do, and comfortable, is to 
 get ahead of your expenses. Eat and drink 
 this month what you earned last month — not 
 what you are going to earn next month. 
 There are, no doubt, many persons so unfortu- 
 nately situated that they can never accomplish 
 this. No man can to a certainty guard against 
 ill health ; no man can insure himself a well- 
 
21 8 ECONOMY. 
 
 conducted, helpful family, or a permanent 
 income. There will always be people who 
 cannot help their misfortunes ; but, as a rule, 
 these unfortunates are far less trouble to 
 society than those in a better position who 
 bring their misfortunes upon themselves by 
 deliberate recklessness and extravagances. 
 You may help a poor, honest, struggling man 
 to some purpose, but the utmost you can do 
 for an unthrift is thrown away. You give 
 him money you have earned by hard labor — 
 he spends it in pleasure, which you have 
 never permitted yourself to enjoy. Some 
 people use one-half their ingenuity to get into 
 debt, and the other half to avoid paying it. 
 An old merchant gives this sound advice : 
 " Never owe any more than you are able to 
 pay, and allow no man to owe you any more 
 than you are able to lose." 
 
 Credit never permits a man to know the 
 real value of money, nor to have full con- 
 trol over his affairs. It presents all his ex- 
 penses in the aggregate, and not in detail. 
 Every one has more or less of the miser's 
 love of money — of the actual gold pieces 
 and the crisp bank notes. Now, if you have 
 
ECONOMY. 
 
 219 
 
 these things in your pocket, you see them, 
 as you make your purchases, visibly dimin- 
 ishing under your eye. The lessening heap 
 cries to you to stop. You would like to 
 buy this, that, and the other ; but you know- 
 exactly how much money you have left, and 
 if you go on buying more things, your purse 
 will soon be empty. You do not see this 
 when you take credit. You give your orders 
 freely, without thought or calculation ; and 
 when the day of, payment comes, you find 
 that you have overrun the constable. 
 
 Simple industry and thrift will go far toward 
 making any person of ordinary working 
 faculty comparatively independent in means. 
 Even a working man may be so, provided he 
 will carefully husband his resources, and 
 watch the little outlets of useless expenditure. 
 A penny is a very small matter, yet the com- 
 fort of thousands of families depends upon the 
 proper spending and saving of pennies. 
 
 Mr. Spurgeon tells the following story of 
 his early life : " When I was a very small boy, 
 in pinafores, and went to a woman's school, 
 it so happened that I wanted a slate-pencil, 
 and had no money to buy it with. I was 
 
220 
 
 ECONOMY. 
 
 
 afraid of being scolded for losing my pencils 
 so often, for I was a careless little fellow, and 
 so did not care to ask at home ; what, then, 
 was I to do ? There was a little shop in the 
 place, where nuts, tops, cakes, and balls, were 
 sold by old Mrs. Dearson ; and sometimes I 
 had seen boys and girls get trusted by the old 
 lady. I argued with myself that Christmas 
 was coming, and that somebody or other 
 would be sure to give me a penny then, and 
 perhaps even a whole silver sixpence. I 
 would, therefore, go into debt for a slate- 
 pencil, and be sure to pay at Christmas. I 
 did not feel easy about it, but still I screwed 
 my courage up, and went into the shop. One 
 farthing was the amount ; and as I had never 
 owed anything before, my credit was good, 
 the pencil was handed over by the kind dame, 
 and I was in debt. It did not please me 
 much, and I felt as if I had done wrong ; but I 
 little knew how soon I should smart for it. 
 How my father came to hear of this little 
 stroke of business I never knew, but some 
 little bird or other whistled it to him, and he 
 was very soon down upon me in right earnest. 
 God bless him for it ; he was a sensible man, 
 
ECONOMY. 22 1 
 
 and none of your children-spoilers ; he did 
 not intend to bring up his children to speculate, 
 and play at what big rogues call financiering, 
 and he therefore knocked my getting into 
 debt on the head at once, and no mistake. 
 He gave me a very powerful lecture upon 
 getting into debt, and how like it was to 
 stealing, and upon the way in which people 
 were ruined by it ; and how a boy who would 
 owe a farthing might one day owe a hundred 
 pounds, and get into prison, and bring his 
 family to disgrace. It was a lecture, indeed ; 
 I think I can hear it now, and feel my ears 
 tingling at the recollection of it. Then I 
 marched off to the shop, like a deserter 
 marched into barracks, crying bitterly all down 
 the street, and feeling dreadfully ashamed, 
 because I thought everybody knew that I was 
 in debt. The farthing was paid amid many 
 solemn warnings, and the poor debtor was set 
 free, like a bird out of a cage. How sweet it 
 felt to be out of debt ! How did my little 
 heart vow and declare that nothing should 
 tempt me into debt again! It was a fine 
 lesson, and I have never forgotten it." 
 
 The loose cash which many persons throw 
 
222 ECONOMY. 
 
 away uselessly, and worse, would often form 
 a basis of fortune and independence for life. 
 These wasters are their own worst enemies, 
 though generally found amongst the ranks of 
 those who rail at the injustice of "the world." 
 But if a man will not be his own friend, how 
 can he expect that others will ? Orderly men 
 of moderate means have always something 
 left in their pockets to help others ; whereas 
 your prodigal and careless fellows who spend 
 all, never find an opportunity for helping any- 
 body. It is poor economy, however, to be a 
 scrub. Narrow-mindedness in living and in 
 dealing is generally short-sighted, and leads 
 to failure. The penny soul, it is said, never 
 came to two-pence. Generosity and liberality, 
 like honesty, prove the best policy after all. 
 
XXVII. 
 
 INDUSTRY. 
 
 AN was made for action, — for duty and 
 usefulness ; and it is only when he 
 lives in accordance with this great 
 design of his being, that he attains his highest 
 dignity and truest happiness. To make 
 pleasure our ultimate aim is certainly to fail 
 of it. 
 
 No matter what a young man's situation 
 and prospects are ; no matter if he is perfectly 
 independent in his circumstances, and heir to 
 millions ; he will certainly become a worth- 
 less character, if he does not aim at something 
 higher than his own selfish enjoyment ; if he 
 does not indeed devote himself to some honor- 
 able and useful calling. 
 
 I will add that so far as the formation of a 
 good character and success in the world are 
 concerned, I would rather have a child of 
 mine begin life, with nothing to rely upon 
 
 223 
 
224 INDUSTRY. 
 
 but his own exertions, than be heir to the richest 
 estate in the country. Character and success 
 depend vastly more on personal effort, than 
 on any external advantages. With such ef- 
 fort, the humblest cannot fail to rise ; with- 
 out such effort, the highest cannot fail to 
 sink. 
 
 A life of idleness is one of the direst of all 
 curses. The doctrine that labor, even of the 
 humblest character, is dishonorable, he must 
 resolutely trample in the dust, as false and 
 dangerous ; and contend that an industrious, 
 honest scavenger is really a more honorable 
 man than the most fashionable dandy, who 
 idles away his time on the pavements of Broad- 
 way, in ladies' drawing-rooms, in cafes, and in 
 theatres. Thus, eschewing false ideas, and 
 making every moment fruitful of some good 
 to mind or body, to himself or to others, he 
 cannot fail of a plenteous harvest of advan- 
 tages as life advances. 
 
 Nothing great is ever achieved, except by 
 industry and earnest application, combined 
 with an orderly arrangement of all the means 
 necessary to the accomplishment of the object 
 in view. From this may be clearly seen the 
 
INDUSTRY. 225 
 
 importance of habits of industry and order. 
 Without them, little can be done ; with them, 
 almost everything. 
 
 To be industrious, a young man must have 
 a useful pursuit and a worthy aim. He must 
 follow that pursuit diligently. Rising early 
 and economizing his moments, he must earn- 
 estly persist in his toil, adding little by little 
 to his capital stock of ideas, influence or 
 wealth. He must learn to glory in his labor, 
 be it mechanical, agricultural, or professional. 
 He must impress himself deeply with the idea 
 that a life of idleness is one of the direst of 
 all curses. 
 
 Vast numbers of young men annually sink 
 from positions of high promise into utter 
 abandonment and destruction. .But admit 
 that the idle youth so trims between sloth and 
 industry as to avoid utter ruin, — what then ? 
 He lives a useless, insignificant life. His 
 place in society is aptly illustrated by certain 
 books in a Boston library, which are lettered 
 " Succedaneum " on their backs. " Succeda- 
 neum ! " exclaims the visitor ; " what sort of 
 a book is that ? " Down it comes ; when lo ! 
 a wooden block, shaped just like a book, is 
 i5 
 
226 INDUSTRY, 
 
 in his hands. Then he understands the mean- 
 ing of the occult title to be, " In the place 
 of another ; " and that the wooden book is used 
 to fill vacant places, and keep genuine volumes 
 from falling into confusion. Such is an idler 
 in society. A man in form, but a block in 
 fact. 
 
 As nothing great can be accomplished with- 
 out industry and an earnest purpose, so noth- 
 ing great can be accomplished without order. 
 The one is indispensable to the other, and 
 they go hand in hand, as co-workers, in man's 
 elevation. 
 
 No young man should wish to live without 
 work ; work is a blessing instead of a curse ; 
 it makes men healthy, develops their powers 
 of body and mind ; frees them from tempta- 
 tion, makes them virtuous and enterprising, 
 and raises them to wealth, to honor, and to 
 happiness. The working men of our country 
 are its truest nobility. I refer of course both 
 to those who work with their minds, and those 
 who work with their hands ; and with these 
 workers every young man should be prompt to 
 enroll his name, and honor it, through life, by 
 being a working man, — a producer, and not 
 
INDUSTRY. 227 
 
 a mere consumer of what others earn. Hav- 
 ing chosen his occupation, let him give him- 
 self to it with patient, untiring application — 
 resolve to rise and to excel in it. If placed 
 in discouraging circumstances, let him remem- 
 ber the adage of Cicero, — Diligentia omnia 
 vincit. Many a dark morning has been suc- 
 ceeded by a long bright day. Our worthiest 
 and best men have been formed amid difficul- 
 ties and trials, and no young man should ever 
 succumb to difficulties, or shrink from toil. 
 Rightly met and borne they will give strength 
 and firmness to his character, and so contrib- 
 ute to his higher and better success in life. 
 
 Martin Luther, Richard Baxter, John 
 Wesley, Adam Clarke, Richard Watson, 
 Napoleon Bonaparte, Elihu Burritt, and a 
 host beside, might be quoted as demonstrations 
 of what may be done by an industrious 
 employment of moments during a life-time. 
 But what does it avail to multiply examples ? 
 Let the young man resolve to become an ex- 
 ample himself. Determine to make the most 
 of your opportunities, and henceforth act on 
 the principle that moments are grains of 
 gold, by the careful gathering of which you 
 
228 INDUSTRY. 
 
 are to become rich in knowledge, in experi- 
 ence, in honor, and in happiness. 
 
 I have seen young men starting from the 
 humblest walks and rising to honor, wealth, 
 and influence in the various callings in life. 
 I have seen others, much their superiors in 
 natural talents and external advantages, sink 
 into inefficiency and neglect, unable to acquire 
 any eminence or respect in the world. And 
 when I have inquired for the cause of this 
 difference, I have found almost universally 
 that it was owing to diligence and persever- 
 ance in one case, and to negligence and incon- 
 stancy in the other. I have rarely known a 
 young man fail to rise in the world who pur- 
 sued an honest calling with a steady, unwaver- 
 ing purpose to excel in it ; and I have never 
 known one fail to sink who was of a slothful, 
 unstable character. Industry and persever- 
 ance, coupled with fidelity, can do anything, 
 but without them nothing can be done. Like 
 the tortoise in the fable, it is the slow, sure, 
 perservering runner that first reaches the 
 goal. It is not a few bold, fitful efforts that 
 makes a man of mark. Even the great New- 
 ton modestly confessed that he owed his sue- 
 
INDUSTRY. 229 
 
 cess as a philosopher more to patience and 
 attention than to any original superiority of 
 mind. And we know of many at the present 
 day among the most useful and respected in 
 society, who have risen precisely in the same 
 manner. 
 
 Idleness is the nursery of crime. It is that 
 prolific germ of which all rank and poisonous 
 vices are the fruits. It is the source of temp- 
 tation. It is the field where " the enemy 
 sows tares while men sleep." Could we trace 
 the history of a large class of vices, we should 
 find that they generally originate from the 
 want of some useful employment, and are 
 brought in to supply its place. 
 
XXVIII. 
 SELF-CULTURE. 
 
 HE secret of moral self-culture lies in 
 training the will to decide according 
 to the fiat of an enlightened con- 
 science. When a question of good or ill is 
 brought before the mind for its action, its 
 several faculties are appealed to. The intel- 
 lect perceives, compares, and reflects on the 
 suggestions. The emotions, desires and pas- 
 sions, are addressed, and solicited to indul- 
 gence. The conscience pronounces its verdict 
 of right or wrong on the proposed act. Then 
 comes the self-determining will, coinciding 
 either with the conscience or the emotions. 
 The end of right moral culture is to habituate 
 it to decide against the passions, desires and 
 emotions, whenever they oppose the conscience. 
 Set a high price on your leisure moments. 
 They are sands of precious gold. Properly 
 
 230 
 
SELF-CULTURE. 
 
 231 
 
 expended, they will procure for you a stock 
 of great thoughts, — thoughts that will fill, stir, 
 invigorate, and expand your soul. 
 
 In rightly improving this time, every one 
 who is earnestly seeking to unfold the native 
 energies of his mind by giving it the food 
 which God designed that it should receive, 
 will soon discover, that, after a night's repose, 
 his mind is clearer and more vigorous than 
 after a day spent in labor, and, perhaps, anx- 
 iety ; and he will naturally seek to give as 
 much time for study in the morning as possi- 
 ble. Early rising will bring to him a two- 
 fold benefit ; it will strengthen both mind and 
 body. 
 
 Self-education is something very different 
 from mere reading by way of amusement. It 
 requires prolonged and laborious study. The 
 cultivation of a taste for reading is all very 
 well ; but mere reading does little toward 
 advancing any one in the world — little toward 
 preparing him for 2 higher station than the 
 one he fills. The knowledge which fits a man 
 for eminence in any profession or calling, is 
 not acquired without patient, long-continued, 
 and earnest application. 
 
232 SELF-CULTURE. 
 
 Mere reading, therefore, although of impor- 
 tance in itself, as a means of enlarging our 
 ideas and correcting and refining our tastes, 
 does not give a man much power — does not 
 help him to rise above the position in which 
 circumstances may have originally placed 
 him. It is study that does this. Franklin 
 the printers boy did not become Franklin 
 the philosopher and statesman, by reading 
 only, but by study ; and we do not hear of 
 his studying under teachers, and of being 
 guided by them — for, like many of us, he did 
 not possess these high advantages, — but his 
 education progressed under the supervision 
 of his own mind. He had to feel his way 
 along, and to correct his own errors, ever and 
 anon, as the dawning of fresh light enabled 
 him to see them. And you may do the same ; 
 you, with few acquirements now, and few 
 opportunities, may, if you only will it, become 
 as useful and eminent a man as Franklin. 
 But you must work for it. Diligently and 
 earnestly must you labor, or you cannot stand 
 side by side, in after years, with the men who 
 have become distinguished for the important 
 services they have been able to render their 
 fellows. 
 
SELF-CULTURE. 233 
 
 But usually young men are not willing to 
 devote themselves to that process of slow, 
 toilsome self-culture, which is the price of 
 great success. Could they soar to eminence 
 on the lazy wings of genius, the world would 
 be filled with great men. But this can never 
 be ; for, whatever aptitude for particular pur- 
 suits Nature may donate to her favorite chil- 
 dren, she conducts none but the laborious and 
 the studious to distinction. 
 
 The great thoughts of great men are now 
 to be procured at prices almost nominal. 
 Therefore, you can easily collect a library of 
 choice authors. Public lectures are also abun- 
 dant in our large cities. Attend the best of 
 them, and carefully treasure up their richest 
 ideas. But, above all, learn to reflect even 
 more than you read. Reading is to the mind 
 what eating is to the body; and reflection is 
 similar to digestion. To eat, without giving 
 nature time to assimilate the food to herself 
 by the slower process of digestion, is to de- 
 prive her, first, of health, and then, of life ; so, 
 to cram the intellect by reading, without due 
 reflection, is to weaken and paralyze the mind. 
 He who reads thus has " his perceptions daz- 
 
234 
 
 SELF-CULTURE. 
 
 zled and confused by the multitude of images 
 presented to them." 
 
 There are a very large number of young 
 men, just entering upon life, of good minds, 
 but deficient education, who from this cause, 
 are kept back, and labor under great disabili- 
 ties. Many of these are mechanics, and 
 others have no regular calling whatever, and 
 find it very difficult to earn anything beyond 
 a very meagre support. Upon these we would 
 urge, with great earnestness, the duty of self- 
 education, so called. The deficiencies of early 
 years need not keep them back from posi- 
 tions of eminence in society — those positions 
 awarded only to men of intellectual force and 
 sound information — if they will but strive for 
 them. A vast amount of knowledge may be 
 gained in the course of a very few years, by 
 rightly employing those leisure hours which 
 every one has ; and this knowledge, if of a 
 practical kind, will always insure to a man the 
 means of elevation in the world. 
 
XXIX. 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 HERE is a difference between charac- 
 ter and reputation. Character is what 
 we really are. Reputation is what 
 others suppose we are. A man may have a 
 good character and a bad reputation, or he 
 may have a good reputation and a bad charac- 
 ter. The reason of this is, that we form our 
 opinions of men from what they appear to be, 
 and not from what they really are. Some 
 men appear to be much better than they 
 really are, while others are better than 
 they appear to be. Most men are more 
 anxious about their reputation than they are 
 about their character. This is improper. 
 While every man should endeavor to main- 
 tain a good reputation, he should especial- 
 ly labor to possess a good character. Our 
 true happiness depends not so much on what 
 is thought of us by others, as on what we 
 
 235 
 
236 CHARACTER. 
 
 really are in ourselves. Men of good charac- 
 ter are generally men of good reputation ; but 
 this is not always the case, as the motives and 
 actions of the best men are sometimes mis- 
 understood and misrepresented. But it is 
 important, above everything else, that we 
 be right, and do right, whether our motives 
 and actions are properly understood and 
 appreciated or not. Nothing can be so im- 
 portant to any man as the formation and 
 possession of a good character. 
 
 The influences which operate in the forma- 
 tion of character are numerous, and however 
 trivial some of them may appear, they are 
 not to be despised. The most powerful forces 
 in nature are those which operate silently and 
 imperceptibly. This is equally true of those 
 moral forces which exert the greatest influences 
 on our minds, and give complexion to our 
 character. Among these, early impressions, 
 example, and habits, are perhaps the most 
 powerful. 
 
 Early impressions, although they may ap- 
 pear to be but slight, are the most enduring, 
 and exert the greatest influences on the life. 
 By repetition they acquire strength, become 
 
CHARACTER. 237 
 
 deeply rooted in the mind, and give bent and 
 inclination to its powers. " The tiniest bits of 
 opinion sown in the minds of children in 
 private life, afterwards issue forth to the 
 world, and become its public opinion ; for 
 nations are gathered out of nurseries." Ex- 
 amples, it is said, preach to eyes ; and there 
 are but few persons, especially among the 
 young, who can avoid imitating those with 
 whom they associate. For the most part, 
 this is so unconscious that its effects are 
 almost unheeded, but its influence is not 
 on that account the less permanent. The 
 models which are daily placed before us, tend 
 to mould our character and shape our course 
 in life. Habit results from the repetition of 
 the same act, until we become so accustomed 
 to it, that its performance requires no mental 
 effort, and scarcely attracts our attention. 
 
 By the influence of early impressions, the 
 force of example, and the power of habit, the 
 character becomes slowly and imperceptibly, 
 but at length decidedly formed ; the individual 
 acquires those traits and qualities by which he 
 is distinguished, and which bear directly upon 
 his happiness and welfare. It is very impor- 
 
238 CHARACTER. 
 
 tant, then, for every one, and especially for 
 the young, to be very careful as to the im- 
 pressions he cherishes, the example he imitates, 
 and the habits he forms. These are import- 
 ant elements which go to constitute character, 
 and if they are of an improper nature, the 
 result will be ruinous. Character is every- 
 thing. It matters not what a man's reputation 
 may be, without a good character he cannot 
 be happy. 
 
 In the formation of a good character, it is 
 of great importance that the early part of life 
 be improved and guarded with the utmost dili- 
 gence and carefulness. The most critical 
 period of life is that which elapses from four- 
 teen to twenty-one years of age. More is 
 done during this period, to mould and settle 
 the character of the future man than in all the 
 other years of life. If a young man passes this 
 season with pure morals and a fair reputation, 
 a good name is almost sure to crown his 
 maturer years, and descend with him to the 
 close of his days. On the other hand, if a 
 young man, in this spring season of life, 
 neglects his mind and heart ; if he indulges 
 himself in vicious courses, and forms habits of 
 
CHARACTER. 239 
 
 inefficiency and slothfulness, he experiences 
 a loss which no efforts can retrieve, and brings 
 a stain upon his character which no tears 
 can wash away. 
 
 "A fair reputation, it should be remem- 
 bered, is a plant, delicate in its nature, and by 
 no means rapid in its growth. It will not 
 shoot up in a night, like the gourd that shaded 
 the prophet's head ; but like that same gourd, 
 it may perish in a night." A character which 
 it has cost many years to establish, is often 
 destroyed in a single hour, or even minute. 
 Guard, then, with peculiar vigilance, this 
 forming, fixing season of your existence ; and 
 let the precious days and hours that are now 
 passing by you, be diligently occupied in 
 acquiring those habits of intelligence, of virtue 
 and enterprise, which are so essential to the 
 honor and success of future life. 
 
 To the formation of a good character, it is 
 of the highest importance that you have a com- 
 manding object in view, and that your aim in life 
 be elevated. To this cause, perhaps, more than 
 to any other, is to be ascribed the great differ- 
 ence which appears in the characters of men. 
 Some start in life with an object in view, and 
 
240 CHARACTER. 
 
 are determined to attain it ; whilst others live 
 without plan, and reach not for the prize set 
 before them. The energies of one are called 
 into vigorous action, and they rise to eminence, 
 whilst the others are left to slumber in ignoble 
 ease, and sink into obscurity. 
 
 The happiness of all with whom you are 
 or shall be connected in life, is deeply involved 
 in the characters you are now forming. Those 
 kind parents who watched over your infancy 
 and childhood, and who are looking to you 
 as the props of their declining age ; those 
 brothers and sisters, who are allied to you by 
 ties of the tenderest affection ; all your dear 
 relatives and friends, regard, with deep and 
 anxious solicitude, the course upon which you 
 are entering, and the habits which are to 
 stamp the character and fix the destiny of your 
 future life. In no way can you contribute 
 so much to the happiness of all who esteem 
 and love you, as by sustaining a good character ; 
 and in no way pierce their hearts with keener 
 sorrow, than by compelling them to behold 
 you sacrificing a fair reputation, and all your 
 prospects for life, in unworthy and vicious 
 indulgences. 
 
CHARACTER. 24 1 
 
 Another thing demanded of you by society 
 is an upright and virtuous character. If a 
 young man is loose in his principles and habits ; 
 if he lives without plan and without object, 
 spending his time in idleness and pleasure, 
 there is more hope of a fool than of him. 
 He is sure to become a worthless character, 
 and a pernicious member of society. He 
 forgets his high destination as a rational, 
 immortal being ; he degrades himself to a 
 level with the brute ; and is not only disquali- 
 fied for all the serious duties of life, but proves 
 himself a nuisance and a curse to all with 
 whom he is connected. 
 
 No young man can hope to rise in society, 
 or act worthily his part in life, without a fair 
 moral character. The basis of such a character 
 is virtuous principle ; or a deep, fixed sense 
 of moral obligation, sustained and invigorated 
 by the fear and love of God. The man who 
 possesses such a character can be trusted. 
 Integrity, truth, benevolence, justice, are not 
 with him words without meaning ; he knows 
 and he feels their sacred import, and aims, in 
 the whole tenor of his life, to exemplify the 
 virtues they express. Such a man has decision 
 16 
 
242 CHARACTER. 
 
 of character ; — he knows what is right, and is 
 firm in doing it. Such a man has independ- 
 ence of character ; — he thinks and acts for 
 himself, and is not to be made a tool of to 
 serve the purposes of party. Such a man 
 has consistency of character ; — he pursues a 
 straightforward course, and what he is to-day 
 you are sure of finding him to-morrow. Such 
 a man has true worth of character ; — and his 
 life is a blessing to himself, to his family, to 
 society, and to the world. 
 
 We contend that no man can rationally 
 hope to pass the ordeals of life in safety, 
 unless his outward virtues derive vitality and 
 vigor from an inward religious life. To be 
 perennial, the stream must proceed from a 
 living spring ; to be fruitful, the tree must 
 spread its roots in a congenial soil ; so, to 
 insure the possession of uprightness through 
 the manifold trials of human life, the soul of 
 a man must be in harmony with its Creator, — 
 through faith in Him, it must derive strength 
 to resist wrong, to desire and to will right, 
 when standing in the plunging torrent of evil 
 influences which is ever dashing down the 
 highways of trade. Greatly good men are 
 
CHARACTER. 
 
 243 
 
 always "like solitary towers in the city of 
 God ; and secret passages, running deep 
 beneath external nature, give their thoughts 
 intercourse with higher intelligences, which 
 strengthens and controls them." 
 
 Recollect your high destination, as rational 
 and immortal beings, and remember, that 
 your all, both for this and the future world, 
 depends on the manner in which you form 
 your character. If, during the few years in 
 which your characters are forming, you shun 
 the paths of vice, and carefully cultivate 
 habits of virtue, intelligence, and good con- 
 duct, you cannot fail to rise to respectability, 
 and usefulness, and happiness. You will have 
 the sweet approbation of your own minds 
 to cheer and animate you ; friends will rise up 
 to patronize and encourage you, Providence 
 will smile upon your efforts and ways ; and 
 your life, crowned with the blessings of God 
 and the gratitude of your fellow men, will 
 decline in peace, and give a fair promise of a 
 bright rising in another world. 
 
 1 
 
XXX. 
 
 VICE. 
 
 Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
 
 As to be hated needs but to be seen ; 
 
 Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
 
 We first endure, then pity, then embrace. — Pope. 
 
 EN, for the most part, are but little 
 aware of the danger which attends 
 the beginnings of evil. They readily 
 perceive the degrading and destructive ten- 
 dency of the grosser vices ; but they are slow 
 of heart to believe that there are certain 
 dispositions and habits which inevitably lead 
 to those vices and their consequent degrada- 
 tion and ruin. While they are careful to shun 
 the more open and flagrant offences, they are 
 not afraid to venture upon what are deemed 
 little sins, — upon slight deviations from duty, 
 — occasional indulgence of the appetites and 
 passions. 
 
 244 
 
VICE. 245 
 
 No young man becomes suddenly abandoned 
 and profligate. There is always a gradual 
 progress. He begins in slight, occasional 
 departures from rectitude, and goes on from 
 one degree of guilt to another, till conscience 
 becomes seared, the vicious propensity strong, 
 the habit of indulgence fixed, and the character 
 ruined. 
 
 Take for example, a young man, who 
 occasionally drinks to excess in the social 
 circle ; he does not dream that he is entering 
 upon a course which will probably end in 
 confirmed intemperance. He means no harm ; 
 he says of sin, is it not a little one ; there can 
 be no danger in this. But soon his bands are 
 made strong, and he becomes the slave of a 
 sottish vice. 
 
 One of the greatest artifices the devil uses 
 to engage men in vice and debauchery, is to 
 attach names of contempt to certain virtues ; 
 and to fill weak souls with a foolish fear of 
 passing for scrupulous, should they desire to 
 put them in practice. Sometimes those boast 
 of abstinence who have lost their digestive 
 power ; those boast of chastity whose blood 
 is cold and stagnant ; those boast of knowing 
 
246 VICE. 
 
 how to be silent who have nothing to say. 
 In short, mankind make vices of the pleasures 
 which they cannot enjoy, and virtues of the 
 infirmities to which they are subject. We 
 sometimes clap vice in fetters and then call it 
 virtue. Some men are kind because they are 
 dull, as common horses are easily broken to 
 harness. Some are orderly because they are 
 timid, like cattle driven by a boy with a wand. 
 And some are social because they are greedy, 
 like barn-yard fowls that mind each other's 
 clucking. Many persons think themselves 
 perfectly virtuous because, being well fed, 
 they have no temptation to vice. They don't 
 distinguish between virtue and victuals. 
 
 Vice is like the terrible cobra di capello 
 which winds itself round its victim, and from 
 its deadly fangs pours poison into his blood. 
 So vice enslaves and destroys. Whoever is 
 charmed to its embraces, finds himself enfolded 
 in bonds of might, and poisoned with a morbid 
 venom which irritates and stimulates his pas- 
 sions beyond the endurance of his vital powers ; 
 until, with a diseased body, a hardened heart, 
 and a remorseful spirit, he sinks to an untimely 
 death, and is driven to stand, shivering with 
 fear, before his God ! 
 
VICE. 247 
 
 On the other hand, the man who seriously 
 considers the nature and design of his being ; 
 who shuns the society and flees the amuse- 
 ments of the thoughtless and the vicious ; 
 who devotes his vacant hours to the improve- 
 ment of his mind and heart, and aims at the 
 acquisition of those habits and virtues which 
 may qualify him for the duties of life, — cannot 
 fail to rise in respectability, in influence and 
 honor. 
 
 His virtues and attainments make room for 
 him in society, and draw around him the con- 
 fidence and respect, the affection and support, 
 of all worthy and good men. 
 
 Never open a door to a little vice, lest a 
 great one should enter also. Small faults 
 indulged are little thieves that let in greater. 
 Many a man's vices have at first been nothing 
 worse than good qualities run wild. Vice, 
 abstractly considered, is often engendered in 
 idleness, but, the moment it becomes efficient- 
 ly vice, it must quit its cradle and cease to be 
 idle. Vice lives and thrives by concealment. 
 Why does no man confess his vices ? It is 
 because he is yet in them. It is for a waking 
 man to tell his dreams. Human frailty is no 
 
248 VICE. 
 
 excuse for criminal immorality. We may 
 hate men's vices without any ill-will to their 
 persons ; but we cannot help despising those 
 that have no kind of virtue to recommend 
 them. 
 
 The plea of every young mind that enters 
 upon its novitiate in the school of vice is for 
 only a little self-indulgence. The mind, while 
 undefiled by positive contact with the sins of 
 the senses, revolts from the idea of a wholly 
 vicious life. It views such a life as the dogs 
 of Egypt are said to fear the crocodiles which 
 abound in the Nile. So intense is this fear, 
 that, when impelled by fierce thirst to drink 
 its waters, they do it as they run, not daring 
 to pause long enough at once to satisfy their 
 burning desires. Thus does the young man 
 propose to taste illicit joys. He would only 
 taste and flee, lest he should be devoured ! 
 Alas ! he knows not the terrible power he 
 awakens, when he quaffs his first draught from 
 the prohibited stream of pleasure ! By that 
 one act, he casts away the talisman of his 
 safety, self-denial ; he removes the curb from 
 the mouth of lust, he pours foul water upon 
 the virgin snow, and thus places an inefface- 
 
VICE. 249 
 
 able stain upon his purity, he contracts guilt, 
 sows the seed of remorse, and sells his moral 
 freedom for naught. A little indulgence ? 
 Never, young man ! Allow it, and you are 
 lost ; blindness begins where vice first en- 
 chants. Beware, oh beware of this pestilential 
 apology ! Be like the knights of Tasso, who, 
 on Armida's enchanted isle, seeing all the 
 enticements of sense voluptuously prepared 
 and inviting to indulgence, exclaimed : 
 
 " Let us avoid the dream 
 Of warm desire, and in resolve be strong ; 
 Now shut our ears to the fair Siren's song, 
 And to each smile of feminine deceit 
 Close the fond eye." 
 
XXXI. 
 POVERTY. 
 
 MAN should not be despised because 
 he is poor. Even to slight the poor 
 is mean. To be poor is more honor- 
 able than to be dishonorably rich. Pious 
 poverty is better than poor piety. Poverty 
 breeds wealth ; and. wealth, in its turn, breeds 
 poverty. The earth, to form the mound, is 
 taken out of the ditch ; and the height of one 
 is near about the depth of the other. Wealth 
 and poverty are both temptations : that, tends 
 to excite pride ; this, discontent. The priva- 
 tions of poverty render us too cold and callous, 
 and the privileges of property too cold and 
 consequential ; the first place us beneath the 
 influence of opinion — the second above it. 
 Poverty induces and cherishes dependence, 
 and dependence strengthens and increases 
 corruption. Whoever is not contented in 
 
 250 
 
 
POVERTY. 
 
 251 
 
 poverty, would not be perfectly happy with 
 riches. Bulwer says that poverty is only an 
 idea in nine cases out of ten. Some men with 
 ten thousand dollars a year suffer more for 
 want of means than others with three hundred. 
 The reason is, the richer man has artificial 
 wants. His income is ten thousand, and, by 
 habit, he spends twelve or fifteen thousand, 
 and he suffers enough from being dunned for 
 unpaid debts to kill a sensitive man. A man 
 who earns a dollar a day, and does not run in 
 debt, is the happier of the two. Very few 
 people who have never been rich will believe 
 this ; but it is as true as God's word. There 
 are people, of course, who are wealthy and 
 enjoy their wealth, but there are thousands 
 upon thousands with princely incomes who 
 never know a moment's peace, because they 
 live above their means. There is really more 
 happiness in the world among the working 
 people than among those who are called rich. 
 It is contrary to God's law of nature for a 
 man to live in idleness. He who lives by the 
 " sweat of his brow," is the happiest. In 
 large cities many people are unhappy for 
 want of employment. If their lot had been 
 
2 52 POVERTY. 
 
 cast in the country, where they tilled the soil 
 for their own account, this would never hap- 
 pen. Poverty has, in large cities, very differ- 
 ent appearances. It is often concealed in 
 splendor, and often in extravagance. It is 
 the care of a very great part of mankind to 
 conceal their indigence from the rest. They 
 support themselves by temporary expedients, 
 and every day is lost in contriving for to-mor- 
 row. Have the courage to appear poor, and 
 you disarm poverty of its sharpest sting. Let 
 it be said, that though he is poor, yet he 
 always pays his debts. He that has much 
 and wants more is poor ; he who has little 
 and wants no more is rich. 
 
 " Poor and content, is rich, and rich enough." — Shak. 
 
 The poor man's purse may be empty, but he 
 has as much gold in the sunset and as much 
 silver in the moon as anybody. The richer a 
 man is the more he dreads poverty ; thus 
 poverty looks most frightful at a distance. 
 Want is little to be dreaded, when a man has 
 but a short time left to be miserable. Of all 
 poverty, that of the mind is most deplorable. 
 None but God and the poor know what the 
 
POVERTY. 253 
 
 poor do for each other. Nature is a great 
 believer in compensations. Those to whom 
 she sends wealth, she saddles with lawsuits 
 and dyspepsia. The poor never indulge in 
 woodcock, but they have a style of appetite 
 that converts a mackerel into a salmon, and that 
 is quite as well. To miss a fortune is not neces- 
 sarily a misfortune. Blessed may be the stroke 
 of disaster that sets free the children of the rich, 
 giving them over to the hard but kind bosom 
 of poverty. If there is anything in the world, 
 says Dr. Holland, that a young man should 
 be more grateful for than another, it is the 
 poverty which necessitates his starting in life 
 under very great disadvantages. Poverty is 
 one of the best tests of human quality in 
 existence. A triumph over it is like gradu- 
 ating with honor at West Point. It demon- 
 strates stuff and stamina. It is a certificate 
 of worthy labor faithfully performed. A 
 young man who cannot stand this test, is not 
 good for anything. He can never rise above 
 a drudge or a pauper. A young man who 
 cannot feel his will harden if the yoke of 
 poverty presses upon him, and his pluck rise 
 with every difficulty that poverty throws in 
 
254 
 
 POVERTY. 
 
 his way, may as well retire into some corner 
 and hide himself. Poverty saves a thousand 
 times more men than it ruins ; for it only ruins 
 those who are not particularly worth saving, 
 while it saves multitudes of those whom 
 wealth has ruined. I pity you, my rich 
 young friend, because you are in danger. 
 You lack one great stimulus to effort and excel- 
 lence, which your poor companion possesses. 
 You will be very apt, if you have a soft spot 
 in your head, to think yourself above him, 
 and that sort of thing makes you mean, and 
 injures you. With full pockets and full 
 stomach, and good linen and broadcloth on 
 your back, your heart and soul plethoric, in 
 the race of life you will find yourself surpassed 
 by all the poor boys around you, before you 
 know it. No, my boy ; if you are poor, thank 
 God and take courage, for he intends to give 
 you a chance to make something of yourself. 
 If you had plenty of money, ten chances to 
 one it would spoil you for all useful purposes. 
 Do you lack education ? Have you been 
 cut short in the text book ? Remember that 
 education, like some other things, does not 
 consist in the multitude of things a man 
 
POVERTY. 2 55 
 
 possesses. What can you do ? That is the 
 question that settles the business for you. 
 Do you know your business ? Do you know 
 men, and how to deal with them ? Has your 
 mind, by any means whatsoever, received 
 that discipline which gives to it action, power 
 and facility ? If so, then you are more a man, 
 and a thousand times better educated, than 
 the fellow who graduates from a college 
 with his brains full of stuff that he cannot 
 apply to the practical business of life — stuff, 
 the acquisition of which has been in no sense a 
 disciplinary process, so far as he is concerned. 
 There are very few men in this world less 
 than thirty years of age, and unmarried, who 
 can afford to be rich. One of the greatest 
 benefits to be reaped from great financial 
 disasters, is the saving of a large crop of 
 young men. 
 
XXXII. 
 ABILITY AND OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 the conditions of success, 
 power and a field 
 
 HESE are 
 
 Give a man power ana a neia in 
 which to use it, and he must accom- 
 plish something. He may not do and become 
 all that he desires and dreams of, but his life 
 cannot be a failure. I never hear men com- 
 plaining of the want of ability. The most 
 unsuccessful think that they could do great 
 things if they only had a chance. Somehow 
 or other something or somebody has always 
 been in the way. Providence has hedged 
 them in so that they could not carry out their 
 plans. They knew just how to get rich, but 
 they lacked opportunity. 
 
 Sit down by one who thus complains and 
 ask him to tell you the story of his life. 
 Before he gets half through he will give you 
 occasion to ask him, " Why didn't you do so 
 
 256 
 
ABILITY AND OPPORTUNITY. 2S7 
 
 at that time ? Why didn't you stick to that 
 piece of land and improve it, or to that busi- 
 ness and develop it ? Is not the present 
 owner of that property rich ? Is not the man 
 who took up the business you abandoned 
 successful ? " He will probably reply : " Yes, 
 that was an opportunity ; but I did not think 
 so then. I saw it when it was too late." In 
 telling his story he will probably say, of his 
 own accord, half a dozen times, " If I had 
 known how things were going to turn I might 
 have done as well as Mr. A. That farm of his 
 was offered to me. I knew that it was a good 
 one, and cheap, but I knew that it would 
 require a great deal of hard work to get it 
 cleared and fenced, to plant trees, vines, etc., 
 and to secure water for irrigation. I did not 
 like to undertake it. I am sorry now that I 
 didn't. It was one of my opportunities." 
 
 The truth is, God gives to all of us ability 
 and opportunities enough to enable us to be 
 moderately successful. If we fail, in ninety- 
 five cases out of a hundred it is our own fault. 
 We neglect to improve the talents with which 
 our Creator endowed us, or we failed to enter 
 the door that he opened for us. A man can- 
 17 
 
2 58 ABILITY AND OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 not expect that his whole life shall be made 
 up of opportunities, that they will meet him 
 at regular intervals as he goes on, like mile- 
 stones by the roadside. Usually he has one 
 or two, and if he neglects them he is like a man 
 who takes the wrong - road where several meet. 
 The further he goes the worse he fares. 
 
 A man's opportunity usually has some re- 
 lation to his ability. It is an opening for a man 
 of his talents and means. It is an opening for 
 him to use what he has, faithfully and to the 
 utmost. It requires toil, self-denial and faith. 
 If he says, " I want a better opportunity than 
 that. I am worthy of a higher position than it 
 offers ; " or if he says, " I won't work as hard 
 and economize as closely as that opportunity 
 demands," he may, in after years, see the folly 
 of his pride and indolence. 
 
 There are young men all over the land who 
 want to get rich, and yet they scorn such oppor- 
 tunities as A. T. Stewart and Commodore Van- 
 derbilt improved. They want to begin, not as 
 those men did, at the bottom of the ladder, 
 but half way up. They want somebody to 
 give them a lift, or carry them up in a balloon, 
 so that they can avoid the early and arduous 
 
ABILITY AND OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 259 
 
 struggles of the majority of those who have 
 been successful. No wonder that such men 
 fail, and then complain of Providence. Grum- 
 bling is usually a miserable expedient that peo- 
 ple resort to to drown the reproaches of con- 
 science. They know that they have been 
 foolish, but they try to persuade themselves 
 that they have been unfortunate. 
 
XXXIII. 
 
 BEA UTY. 
 
 EAUTY has been called " the power 
 
 ^T and aims of woman." Diogenes called 
 it " woman's most forcible letter of 
 recommendation." While a modern author 
 defines it "a bait that as often catches the 
 fisher as the fish." Nearly all the old philoso- 
 phers denounced and ridiculed beauty as 
 evanescent, worthless and mischievous ; but, 
 alas! while they preached against it they were 
 none the less its slaves. None of them were 
 able to withstand "the sly, smooth witchcraft 
 of a fair young face." A really beautiful wo- 
 man is a natural queen in the universe of love, 
 where all hearts pay a glad tribute to her 
 reign. 
 
 Nature, in many other works, has scattered 
 her beauty with an unsparing hand ; but none 
 of them impress so strongly upon the mind 
 
 260 
 
BEAUTY. 261 
 
 the idea of beauty as the female countenance. 
 The flower may be more delicate in its for- 
 mation, and may show a more exquisite color 
 — the wide-spread meadow may display its 
 beauty, and fields, and groves, and winding 
 streams may variegate the scene ; yet all that 
 is here presented fades before the female 
 countenance. In the countenance of man, 
 there is a certain majesty of look, which is 
 not found in the other sex ; yet where is that 
 softness, that sweet heavenly smile that plays 
 upon the countenance of a female — -where is 
 -that splendor that dazzles the eye of the be- 
 holder — that expression that baffles all descrip- 
 tion. The more we compare the female 
 countenance with any other object, the more 
 shall we be inclined to give the former the 
 palm of loveliness, and the more ready to ex- 
 claim with nature's sweet poet : 
 
 " Where is any author in the world, 
 Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye ? " 
 
 As among females there are some which 
 are superior to others, so there are also some 
 seasons when the female countenance excels 
 in loveliness. I have seen her shine in all the 
 
 1 
 
262 BEAUTY. 
 
 vivacity and splendor of the assembly, partak- 
 ing in the common gayety and enjoying the 
 pleasures of the scene, with all the liveliness 
 of youthful spirits. I have seen her at the 
 fireside, attending to the management of do- 
 mestic concerns — while her presence seemed 
 to banish care, and her converse enlightened 
 the family circle. I have seen her reposing 
 in gentle sleep, when her eye was unconscious 
 of my look — when the gentleness of her 
 slumbers told that innocence was seated in 
 her breast ; but never yet did I see female 
 so lovely as when affliction had rent her 
 bosom, and had chased the smile from her 
 cheek. Affliction, however, though it had 
 deprived her countenance of its vivacity, had 
 given a softening expression to her features, 
 which added to her loveliness. Her eyes 
 were uplifted, in calm resignation, as if implor- 
 ing help from Him, who is the father of the 
 fatherless, and the comforter of the afflicted. 
 
 The most fascinating women are those that 
 can most enrich the every day moments of 
 existence. In particular and attaching sense, 
 they are all those that can partake our 
 pleasures and our pains in the liveliest and 
 
BEAUTY. 263 
 
 most devoted manner. Beauty is little with- 
 out this. Beauty without virtue, is a flower 
 without perfume. Virtue is the paint that 
 can smooth the wrinkles of age. 
 
 The violet will soon cease to smile. Flowers 
 must fade. The love that has nothing but 
 beauty to sustain it soon withers away. A 
 pretty woman pleases the eye ; a good woman, 
 the heart. The one is a jewel, the other a 
 treasure. Invincible fidelity, good humor, 
 and complacency of temper, outlive all the 
 charms of a fine face, and make the decay of 
 it invisible. 
 
 Beauty has been not unaptly, though per- 
 haps rather vulgarly, defined as " all in the 
 eye," since it addresses itself solely to that 
 organ, and is intrinsically of little value. 
 From this ephemeral flower spring many of 
 the ingredients of matrimonial unhappiness. 
 It is a dangerous gift for both its possessor 
 and its admirer. If its possession, as is often 
 the case, turns the head, while its loss sours 
 the temper, if the long regret of its decay 
 outweighs the fleeting pleasure of its bloom, 
 the plain should pity rather than envy the 
 handsome. Beauty of countenance, which, 
 
264 BEAUTY. 
 
 being the light of the soul shining through 
 the face, is independent of features or com- 
 plexion, is the most attractive as well as the 
 most enduring" charm. Nothing* but talent 
 and amiability can bestow it, no statue or pic- 
 ture can rival it, and time itself cannot destroy 
 it. Beauty, dear reader, is the woman you 
 love the best — whatever she may seem to 
 others. 
 
 The secret of beauty is contentment. To 
 be at peace with ourselves and our condition 
 and surroundings is more to be prized than 
 wealth or position. And this treasure lies 
 within the power of each. Its possession de- 
 pends entirely upon ourselves, and it should 
 be deep and abiding. A cheerful, happy 
 face, the mirror of a serene and peaceful 
 mind, can give more real pleasure to your 
 family than money. It can spread sunshine 
 in the abode of poverty. Solomon well says 
 that a contented mind is a continual feast. 
 Contentment is opposed to fretting and cross- 
 ness and frowns ; and these never help mat- 
 ters. Chronic ill-humor sets its seal upon 
 the face in lines never to be erased, and we 
 instinctively avoid such people. Gooa-numor 
 
BEAUTY. 265 
 
 and serenity also make their mark, and attract 
 us by their loveliness. 
 
 Personal beauty is a letter of recommenda- 
 tion written by the hand of divinity, but fre- 
 quently dishonored by the bearer. An en- 
 emy of beauty is a foe to nature. We are 
 always less prone to admit the perfection of 
 those for whom our approbation is demanded ; 
 and many a woman has appeared compara- 
 tively plain in our eyes, from having - heard 
 her charms extolled, whose beauty might 
 otherwise have been readily admitted. As 
 a want of exterior generally increases the 
 interior beauty, we should perhaps generally 
 do well to judge of woman as the impressions 
 on medals — pronouncing those the most 
 valuable which are the plainest. Nature 
 seldom lavishes many of her gifts upon one 
 subject : the peacock has no voice ; the beau- 
 tiful Camellia Japonica has no odor ; and 
 belles frequently have no great share of intel- 
 lect. Beauties sometimes die old maids. 
 They set such a value on themselves that 
 they don't find a purchaser until the market 
 is closed. She who studies her glass, neglects 
 her heart. A beautiful woman if poor should 
 
266 BEAUTY. 
 
 use a double circumspection ; for her beauty 
 will tempt others, her poverty herself. " Thine 
 was a dangerous gift," .says the poet Rogers, 
 " the gift of beauty ; would thou hadst less, 
 or wert as once thou wast." Many and varied 
 are the female charms that conquer us. Here 
 we find a woman whose strength, like Samson's, 
 is in her hair ; a second holds your affections 
 by her teeth ; and a third is a Cinderella, who 
 wins hearts by her pretty little foot. But 
 she is the most beautiful woman whom we 
 love most ; and the woman we love the most 
 is frequently the one to whom we talk of it 
 the least. 
 
 An author says, there are two sorts of 
 persons which are not to be comforted ; a rich 
 man who finds himself dying, and a beauty 
 when she finds her charms fading. As flow- 
 ers fade, and the waters flow to the ocean, so 
 youth and beauty pass away, and our years 
 hasten to eternity. 
 
XXXIV. 
 LOVE. 
 
 OMAN loves more than man because she 
 sacrifices more. For every woman it 
 is with the food of the heart as with 
 that of the body ; it is possible to exist on a 
 very small quantity, but that small quantity 
 is an absolute necessity. Woman loves or 
 abhors ; man admires or despises. Woman 
 without love is a fruit without flavor. In 
 love, the virtuous woman says no; the pas- 
 sionate says yes ; the capricious says yes and 
 no ; the coquette neither yes nor no. A 
 coquette is a rose from whom every lover 
 plucks a leaf; the thorn remains for the future 
 husband. She may be compared to tinder 
 which catches sparks, but does not always 
 succeed in lighting a match. Love, while it 
 frequently corrupts pure hearts, often purifies 
 corrupt hearts. How well he knew the human 
 
 267 
 
268 LOVE. 
 
 heart who said, " we wish to constitute all the 
 happiness, or if that cannot be, the misery of 
 the one we love." Reason is only the last 
 resource of love. 
 
 He that loves upon the account of virtue, 
 can never be weary ; because there are always 
 fresh charms to attract and entertain him. 
 Solid love, whose root is virtue, can no more 
 die than virtue itself. It is by no means cer- 
 tain that Mark Anthony, when he gave the 
 world for love, didn't make a sharp bargain. 
 
 He who loves a lady's complexion, form 
 and features, loves not her true self, but her 
 soul's old clothes. The love that has nothing 
 but beauty to sustain it, soon withers and dies. 
 The love that is fed with presents always re- 
 quires feeding. 
 
 Some writer asserts that " a French woman 
 will love her husband if he is either witty or 
 chivalrous ; a German woman, if he is constant 
 and faithful ; a Dutch woman, if he does not 
 disturb her ease and comfort too much ; a 
 Spanish woman, if he wreaks vengeance on 
 those who incur his displeasure ; an Italian 
 woman, if he is dreamy and poetical ; a Danish 
 woman, if he thinks that her native country 
 
LOVE. 269 
 
 is the brightest and happiest on earth ; a Rus- 
 sian woman, if he despises all Westerners as 
 miserable barbarians ; an English woman, if 
 he succeeds in ingratiating himself with the 
 court and the aristocracy ; an American woman, 
 if — he has plenty of money." 
 
 There are two classes of disappointed lovers 
 — those who are disappointed before marriage, 
 and the more unhappy ones who are disap- 
 pointed after it. To be deprived of a person 
 we love is a happiness in comparison of living 
 with one we hate. 
 
 At first it surprises one that love should be 
 made the principal staple of all the best kinds 
 of fiction ; and perhaps it is to be regretted 
 that it is only one kind of love that is chiefly 
 depicted in works of fiction. But that love 
 itself is the most remarkable thine in human 
 life, there cannot be the slightest doubt. 
 For, see what it will conquer. It is not only 
 that it prevails over selfishness, but it has 
 the victory over weariness, tiresomeness and 
 familiarity. When you are with the person 
 loved, you have no sense of being bored. 
 This humble and trival circumstance is the 
 great test — the only sure and abiding test of 
 
270 LOVE. 
 
 love. With the persons you do not love you 
 are never supremely at your ease. You have 
 some of the sensation of walking upon stilts. 
 In conversation with them, however much 
 you admire them and are interested in them, 
 the horrid idea will cross your mind of 
 "What shall I say next?" Converse with 
 them is not perfect association. But with 
 those you love, the satisfaction in their pres- 
 ence is not unlike that of the relations of the 
 heavenly bodies to one another, which, in 
 their silent revolutions, lose none of their 
 attractive power. The sun does not talk to 
 the world, but it attracts it. 
 
 The love which survives the tomb, is one of 
 the noblest attributes of the soul. If we still 
 love those we lose, we cannot altogether lose 
 those we love. Oh, man, fear not for thy 
 affections, and feel no dread lest time should 
 efface them ! There is neither to-day nor 
 yesterday in the powerful echoes of memory 
 — there is only always. He who no longer 
 feels, has never felt. There are two memories 
 — the memory of the senses, which wears out 
 with the senses, and in which perishable things 
 decay ; and the memory of the soul, for which 
 
LOVE. 271 
 
 time does not exist, and which lives over, at 
 the same instant, every moment of its past and 
 present existence. Fear not, ye who love. 
 Time has power over hours, none over the 
 soul. Love is the great instrument and 
 engine of nature, the bond and cement of 
 society, the spring and spirit of the universe. 
 It is of that active, restless nature, that it 
 must of necessity exert itself ; and like the 
 fire, to which it is so often compared, it is not 
 a free agent to choose whether it will heat or 
 no, but it streams forth by natural results, 
 and unavoidable emanations, so that it will 
 fasten upon an inferior, unsuitable object, 
 rather than none at all. The soul may sooner 
 leave off to subsist than to love, and like the 
 vine, it withers and dies if it has nothing to 
 embrace. 
 
 That love is the leading element of the 
 highest happiness in marriage ; that love, 
 while it lasts, covers a multitude of errors, 
 privations, misfortunes — even sins — I do not 
 doubt. But the question is, how far is love, 
 when unaccompanied by any other of the con- 
 ditions which I have mentioned as belonging 
 to a perfect marriage, itself a justification of 
 
272 LOVE. 
 
 marriage ? True love works wonders ; but it 
 cannot prevent the physical and mental ail- 
 ments which develop themselves in people of 
 feeble organisms. It cannot supply a lack of 
 intelligence, a want of force in either husband 
 or wife ; and, as all housekeepers know, it 
 cannot " make the pot boil." Love alone, 
 when we consider its proverbial instability, 
 and the small chance it has of surviving under 
 bleak conditions, is certainly an insufficient 
 capital upon which to commence the partner- 
 ship of marriage. This is true of even the 
 highest and strongest loved ; how much more 
 so of the hasty and passionate attachments 
 which lead to so many thousands of marriages ! 
 There is an infinity of false sentiment about 
 the passion of love. While I would not cast 
 a doubt upon the existence of noble love, of 
 devotion, and of passion which no sorrow or 
 trial can tire, which is even refined and 
 strengthened by suffering, yet the value, the 
 office, the very nature of love in our ordinary 
 life is greatly misunderstood. Love is the 
 most exaggerated passion in literature. It 
 holds in our imagination a position which it 
 does not hold in the life of one man or woman 
 in a thousand. " Being the supreme passion 
 
LOVE. 273 
 
 of modern art," says a recent writer, " it be- 
 comes necessary to sound high its praises. 
 We should suppose, if we read only novels 
 and poetry, that the one thing interesting in 
 life is the relation of the sexes and the anxie- 
 ties of pairing. Many young people are so 
 dizzy with love that they are unable to go on 
 with the other interests of life. They cannot 
 see men as they are, engaged in their daily 
 work, pursuing their various ends and living 
 a multifarious life, of which love is but a sin- 
 gle element." Our regard for the passion 
 oversteps the healthy limit, and becomes mor- 
 bid ; we judge of it untruly ; we attend to its 
 promptings with absurd expectations, we teach 
 ourselves that the passion is uncontrollable, 
 and regard it as a kind of fate ; and we glo- 
 rify the supremacy of a first love, as if the 
 heart did not require a training as varied 
 as the intellect. Considering the widespread 
 misery which our misconceptions of love have 
 wrought, we might doubt whether this pas- 
 sion was not the greatest misfortune as well 
 as the greatest blessing in the world. We 
 may conclude, in spite of Chaucer, that love's 
 allegiance is not the only thing needful to 
 
 make a permanently happy marriage. 
 18 
 
XXXV. 
 COURTSHIP. 
 
 HE ostensible object of courtship is the 
 choice of a companion. For no other 
 object should any intercourse having 
 the appearance of courtship be permitted or 
 indulged in. It is a species of high handed 
 fraud upon an unsuspecting heart, worthy of 
 the heaviest penalty of public opinion, or 
 law. The affections are too tender and sacred 
 to be trifled with. He who does it is a wretch. 
 He should be ranked among thieves, robbers, 
 villains, and murderers. He who steals money 
 steals trash ; but he who steals affections 
 without a return of similar affections, steals 
 that which is dearer than life and more pre- 
 cious than wealth. His theft is a robbery of 
 the heart. 
 
 How little is thought of the first buddings 
 of love between two young persons ! By the 
 parents it is often deemed a fitting subject for 
 
 274 
 
COURTSHIP. 275 
 
 joke and laughter. The parties themselves, 
 conscious chiefly of a mutual attraction, aban- 
 don themselves to romantic visions of future 
 bliss, and to efforts to please each other. 
 Little do they dream that from their gay and 
 lightsome intercourse is to proceed a stream 
 of exquisite delight, or of burning poison, 
 running parallel, perhaps, with their immortal 
 existence. Yet so it is. A life of bitter, 
 bitter anguish, or of as much happiness as is 
 permitted to mortals on earth, lies enclosed 
 in the, but too lightly esteemed, state of 
 courtship. Next to marriage, it is the 
 gravest and most solemn affair relating to life 
 this side the grave. 
 
 One of the meanest things a young man can 
 do, and it is not at all of uncommon occurrence, 
 is to monopolize the time and attention of a 
 young girl for a year, or more, without any 
 definite object, and to the exclusion of other 
 gentlemen, who, supposing him to have matri- 
 monial intentions, absent themselves from her 
 society. This selfish " dog-in-the-manger " 
 way of proceeding should be discountenanced 
 and forbidden by all parents and guardians. 
 It prevents the reception of eligible offers of 
 
276 COURTSHIP. 
 
 marriage, and fastens upon the young lady, 
 when the acquaintance is finally dissolved, the 
 unenviable and tmmerited appellation of 
 "flirt." Let all your dealings with women, 
 young man, be frank, honest, and noble. That 
 many whose education and position in life 
 would warrant our looking for better things, 
 are culpably criminal on these points, is no 
 excuse ior your short-comings. That woman 
 is often injured, or wronged, through her 
 holiest feelings, adds but a blacker dye to 
 your meanness. Treat every woman you meet 
 as you would wish another man to treat yoitr 
 innocent, confiding sister. 
 
 Courtships are the sweet and dreamy thres- 
 holds of unseen Edens, where half the world 
 has paused in couples, talked in whispers, 
 under the moonlight, and passed on, and 
 never returned. Little squalls don't upset 
 the lover's boat ; they drive it all the faster 
 to port. 
 
 Courtship, says the Rev. G. S. Weaver, 
 should not seek to captivate, but to learn real 
 character. Love character, not person merely. 
 Feeling, not reason, leads astray. Courting 
 the wrong way is by impulse, and not judg- 
 
COURTSHIP. 277 
 
 ment ; by a process of wooing, and not of dis- 
 covery ; an effort to please, and not a search 
 for companionship ; with excitement, and not 
 with calmness and deliberation ; in haste, and 
 not with cautious prudence ; a vision of the 
 heart, and not a solemn reality ; conducted 
 by feeling, and not by reason ; so managed 
 as to be a perpetual blandishment of pleasure 
 the most intoxicating and delightful, and not 
 a trying ordeal for the enduring realities of 
 solid and stubborn life ; a perpetual yielding 
 up of everything, and not a firm maintenance 
 of everything that belongs to the man or 
 woman. In almost every particular false, 
 and hence must be followed by evil conse- 
 quences. 
 
 The young man and young woman who form 
 a solemn matrimonial alliance at any age 
 before they have attained manhood and 
 womanhood, do it more in folly than in wis- 
 dom, more in passion than in love, do it at 
 the risk of their life's peace, and the most 
 fearful consequences that follow in the train 
 of such matrimonial adventures. It can only 
 be called a matrimonial adventure. They do 
 it in childish ignorance. It is not possible for 
 
2/8 COURTSHIP. 
 
 a youth at that age to have a judgment suffi- 
 ciently matured, and a heart sufficiently sub- 
 dued, to render him capable of forming an 
 absolutely correct opinion upon a subject of 
 such vast importance and such complicated 
 results. Treat it lightly as you will, it is a 
 subject of the most momentous importance to 
 human virtue, prosperity and happiness, and 
 involves much of the most intricate and pro- 
 found philosophy of human life, conduct and 
 character. A subject of such importance 
 requires the matured powers of manhood and 
 womanhood, and the experience and obser- 
 vation of such maturity. 
 
 Many young ladies indulge in very nonsen- 
 sical opinions, or, rather notions, concerning 
 love. They foolishly fancy themselves bound 
 to be " smitten," to " fall in love," to be 
 " love-sick," with almost every silly idler who 
 wears a fashionable coat, is tolerably good- 
 looking, and pays them particular attention. 
 Reason, judgment, deliberation, according to 
 their fancies, have nothing to do with love. 
 Hence, they yield to their feelings, and give 
 their company to young men, regardless of 
 warning advice or entreaty. A father's sad- 
 
COURTSHIP. 279 
 
 ness, a mother's tears, are treated with con- 
 tempt, and often with bitter retorts. Their 
 lovers use flattering words, and, like silly 
 moths fluttering round the fatal lamp, they 
 allow themselves to be charmed into certain 
 misery. Affection is founded upon esteem ; 
 estimable qualities in a man can alone secure 
 the continuance of connubial love ; if these 
 are not in him, love has no foundation, it is 
 unreal, and will fall, a wilted flower, as soon 
 as the excitement of youthful passion is over- 
 past. 
 
 Passion leads us into a dream-land of folly. 
 Time dissolves the airy fabric of the fancy, 
 and the soul awakes to mourn, disconsolate, 
 amid the ruins which surround it. Listen not, 
 therefore, to the voices of passion. Heed 
 your reason. Keep the precious love of your 
 young heart, until you find a partner every 
 way worthy of it. You have no treasure 
 like that love. Bestow it unworthily, and 
 you are hopelessly ruined. Give it to some 
 pure heart, full of noble qualities, and you 
 will drink joy from a pure fountain. 
 
 With every young lady the paramount ques- 
 tion concerning him who offers her particular 
 
280 
 
 COURTSHIP. 
 
 attentions, ought to be, "Is he worthy of my 
 love ? " Her first aim should be to decide it. 
 She should observe him well and thoughtfully, 
 — study his character as it may be expressed 
 in his counteannce, his words, spirit, and 
 actions. Through her parents she should 
 inquire into his previous history, and learn 
 especially if he has been a dutiful son and 
 
 AN AFFECTIONATE BROTHER. This last is a 
 
 vital test, though it is generally overlooked ; 
 but it is very sure, that a young man devoid 
 of filial and fraternal love, will not, can not 
 make a good husband. 
 
 In the free, social intercourse of a young 
 lady with her friends of the other sex, the 
 idea of love, or a particular preference of one 
 over the other, should never be permitted to 
 enter her mind. She should look upon them 
 as her intelligent friends, and feel that their 
 association was for mutual advantage in 
 elevating the mind, improving the taste, and 
 strengthening the moral principles. 
 
 There is a popular feeling that it is some- 
 what a disgrace for a woman to pass through 
 life unmarried ; and shrinking from that 
 obloquy, multitudes marry according to the 
 
COURTSHIP. 281 
 
 forms of law when they are not drawn 
 together by any qualities of mind and soul, 
 and there is no true marriage of heart. What 
 wonder, then, that discontent and misery 
 arise, and a divorce, if not sought, is often 
 desired ! Those who regard love as a flame 
 that comes as a flash of gunpowder, must not 
 feel disappointed if the blackness and deso- 
 lation that succeed a gunpowder flash is all 
 that is left after their brief infatuation is over. 
 All love before, marriage should be a study 
 for love after marriage. If not well under- 
 stood, its power is apt to become exhausted. 
 The power of love must be measured not by 
 its intensity, but by its effects ; by its benefi- 
 cence in bringing into play a higher range of 
 motives, by the facilities it unfolds, by its 
 skill in harmonizing different natures. 
 
 Nine out of ten look upon marriage as 
 a gambling fair — to snatch an article at a 
 venture ; and consider the prizes are not much 
 more numerous in the one than in the other. 
 When there are fewer secret manoeuvres and 
 tricks of courtship before marriage, there will 
 be less unhappiness after. How often we see 
 couples who are " engaged " trying to hide 
 

 282 COURTSHIP. 
 
 little foibles and eccentricities from the one 
 they are expecting to live a life-time with ! 
 How blind such a course is! Then, if ever, 
 the true characteristics of each should appear ! 
 If anything is objectionable before marriage, 
 how much more so after, when a lie is added 
 to it ! Live true lives when you are " court- 
 ing." Better an engagement should be broken 
 off, than a life should be wasted. Many coun- 
 sel the young not to expect too much of love. 
 That is an evil philosophy, however, which 
 advises to moderation by undervaluing the 
 possibilities of a true and glorious love. Hap- 
 piness in this life depends more upon the 
 capacity of loving than on any other single 
 quality. If men lose all the treasure of love, 
 it does not prove that the treasure is not to be 
 found, but that they have not sought aright. 
 Many men dig for diamonds in love, and only 
 find pebbles in wedded life. The diamonds 
 are there, however, only they know not how 
 to dig for them. 
 
XXXVI. 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 'HIS is a subject upon which very few 
 think seriously, and those who make 
 it a matter of much reflection too gen- 
 erally think erroneously. 
 
 The great difficulty, with regard to those 
 who most need proper instruction on this sub- 
 ject, is, that they will not hearken to what is 
 said to them, but either follow the leadings of 
 impulse and passion, or look with cool delibera- 
 tion to the attainment of some selfish end. In 
 either case, mutual unhappiness is the almost 
 inevitable result. 
 
 Whoever marries without having just ideas 
 of so important a relation, runs great danger of 
 committing an error that will render turbid for 
 life all the well-springs of happiness. 
 
 When the honeymoon passes away, setting 
 behind dull mountains, or dipping silently into 
 
 283 
 
284 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 
 
 the stormy sea of life, the trying hour of 
 married life has come. Between the parties 
 there are no more illusions. The feverish 
 desire for possession has gone, and all excite- 
 ment receded. Then begins, or should, the 
 business of adaptation. If they find that they 
 do not love one another as they thought they 
 did, they should double their assiduous atten- 
 tions to one another, and be jealous of every- 
 thing which tends in the slightest way to 
 separate them. Life is too precious to be 
 thrown away in secret regrets or open differ- 
 ences. And let me say to every one to whom 
 the romance of life has fled, and who are dis- 
 contented in the slightest decree with their 
 conditions and relations, begin this recon- 
 ciliation at once. Renew the attentions of 
 earlier days. Draw your hearts close to- 
 gether. Talk the thing all over. Acknowl- 
 edge your faults to one another, and determine 
 that henceforth you will be all in all to each 
 other ; and my word for it, you shall find in 
 your relation the sweetest joy earth has for 
 you. There is no other way for you to do. 
 If you are happy at home, you must be happy 
 abroad ; the man or woman who has settled 
 
MARRIAGE. 2 85 
 
 down upon the conviction that he or she is at- 
 tached for life to an uncongenial yoke-fellow, 
 and that there is no way of escape, has lost 
 life ; there is no effort too costly to make which 
 can restore to its setting upon the bosom the 
 missing pearl. 
 
 If it be scarcely possible for two persons 
 connected by the ties of common friendship, 
 to live constantly together, or even habitually 
 to pass much time in mutual society, without 
 gradually approaching nearer and nearer in 
 their sentiments and habits ; still less probable 
 is it, that from the closest and most attractive 
 of all bands of union a similar effect should 
 not be the result. The effect will be experi- 
 enced by both parties, and perhaps in an equal 
 degree. But if it be felt by one in a greater 
 degree than by the other, it seems likely to be 
 thus felt by the husband. In female manners 
 inspired by affection, and bearing at once the 
 stamp of modesty and of good sense, example 
 operates with a captivating force which lew 
 can resist. 
 
 But, whatever be the influence which the 
 amiable virtues of a wife may obtain over her 
 husband ; let not the consciousness of it ever 
 

 2 86 MARRIAGE. 
 
 lead her to seek opportunities of displaying it, 
 nor to cherish a wish to intrude into those de- 
 partments which belong not to her jurisdic- 
 tion. Content with the province which reason 
 and revelation have assigned to her, and 
 sedulous to fulfil, with cheerful alacrity, the 
 duties which they prescribe ; let her equally 
 guard against desiring to possess undue weight 
 over her husband's conduct, and against exer- 
 cising amiss that which properly belongs to 
 her. 
 
 Married people should never be without a 
 home of their own, from the day when they 
 are united to the day of their death. By 
 giving it up, they may save money and avoid 
 trouble, but they are sure to lose happiness 
 and substantial comfort, and a great part of 
 the best uses of life. This is true at all times ; 
 but there are no five years in which it is so 
 important as those in which it is most fre- 
 quently disregarded. 
 
 Home life is the proper and normal con- 
 dition of marriage, and they who have no 
 home of their own are not much better than 
 half married, after all. 
 
 The objection made is the expense. They 
 
MARRIAGE. 287 
 
 cannot afford the first outlay, and the contin- 
 ued expenditure involved. To which we 
 might give a first and general answer, that until 
 we can afford to provide a home we have no 
 business to be married. But we admit that 
 the objection lies deeper and is more difficult 
 of removal than at first appears. It consists 
 in foolish habits of expenditure and in absurd 
 social ambition, by which unreal necessities 
 are created, and the problem of domestic life 
 is made one of almost impossible solution. It 
 is this which either prevents marriage or 
 destroys its comfort. When a young woman 
 who is accustomed to live and dress like a 
 princess, and a man who has always expended 
 his whole income on himself, contract an 
 alliance, they must either have a large income 
 to maintain the accustomed style, or adopt 
 the very unaristocratic expedient of "lodg- 
 ings," so as to keep up the appearance before 
 the world, and economize in comfort for the 
 sake of being extravagant in show. How 
 much there is of this let every American city 
 declare. A part of the evil, and no small part, 
 is the fault of parents, who train their daugh- 
 ters so that nothing but wealth can make 
 
288 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 them happy, and economy is a virtue vulgar 
 and hateful in their eyes ; but chiefly it is a 
 general lack of good sense, false ideas of re- 
 spectabilty, the want of independence, and 
 almost servile subjection to the opinion of 
 what we call the world, which generally means 
 some fifteen or twenty of the silliest persons 
 of our acquaintance. 
 
 Two things are essential to the happiness 
 of married life : First, to have a home of one's 
 own ; and, second, to establish it upon such a 
 scale as to live distinctly and clearly within 
 one's means — if possible, not quite up to them, 
 and by 110 possibility beyond them. A great 
 proportion of the failures in wedlock may be 
 traced directly to the neglect of the latter 
 rule. No man can feel happy or enjoy the 
 comfort of his own fireside, who is spending 
 more than he earns. Debt destroys his self- 
 respect, puts him at variance with the world, 
 and makes him irritable, ill-tempered, and 
 hard to please. There is no Christian virtue, 
 no Christian grace, that can keep company 
 with the burdensome annoyance of debt. 
 The thought of unpaid bills, and of rent 
 falling due and unprovided for, destroys the 
 
MARRIAGE. 289 
 
 relish of one's food and awakens him from 
 the soundest sleep at night, and the luxuries 
 for which the debts were contracted become 
 loathsome in his sight. Then comes fault- 
 finding and recrimination, and love flies out 
 at the window when the sheriff threatens to 
 come in at the door. Romantic people may 
 talk as much as they please about indulgent 
 husbands and fascinating wives, but the plain 
 matter of fact is, that no attraction or charms 
 in the wife, either of person or of mind, are 
 more available in keeping the husband's 
 affection and respect, than the despised virtues 
 of economy and thrift. By such care for his 
 interests she confers daily benefits upon him, 
 she lessens and cheers his labor, she increases 
 his credit, and enlarges his prosperity ; " She 
 will do him good and not evil all the days of 
 her life." 
 
 We are not so absurd as to sing the praise 
 of poverty, for no one remains poor when he 
 can help it ; but it certainly has its compensa- 
 tions, and they who are afraid of marriages, 
 or being married, deny themselves the luxury 
 and inherent respectability of a home, because 
 their house must be small and their furniture 
 19 
 
290 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 poplar instead of rose-wood, do not deserve 
 to be happy. Let them begin according, to 
 their means, however small, and honestly 
 living within them be contented with what 
 they have. Every added comfort, as they go 
 onward, will be prized, and if wealth be at 
 last attained it will be enjoyed, while those 
 who begin at the top of earthly prosperity 
 can at the best only remain there, and in the 
 mutations of human affairs are most likely to 
 come down. The truth is that, as already 
 said, happiness, in any respectable sense of 
 the word, depends very little upon what we 
 have, and almost entirely upon what we are. 
 
 The husband and wife who literally take 
 care of each other, depending comparatively 
 little upon the vexatious intervention of 
 servants, at the same time enjoy the duty 
 and appreciate the kindness. The comforts 
 which one owes directly to the wife's diligent 
 and affectionate care and industry, are won- 
 derfully different from those which money 
 buys and are brought by mercenary hands. 
 The costly gifts of riches, involving no labor 
 or inconvenience, are prized for their splendor 
 and beauty, and are accepted, perhaps as 
 
 
MARRIAGE. 291 
 
 tokens of regard; but they are not half so 
 precious as gifts, comparatively trifling, made 
 valuable by the consecration of pains-taking 
 and self-denial. I speak to many who have 
 tried both experiences — who began in the 
 most humble and moderate manner and have 
 gradually worked upward — and they would 
 all testify that, after the positive inconvenience 
 of straitened circumstances had passed, the 
 happiest part of life was in the enjoyment of 
 neither riches nor poverty, of moderate cir- 
 cumstances and quiet domestic life. They 
 look back to those days as the happiest, when 
 by mutual helping they gave and received the 
 proofs of affection and tenderness. 
 
 Marriage is to a woman, at once the happiest 
 and saddest event of her life ; it is the promise 
 of future bliss, raised on the death of all 
 present enjoyment. She quits her home, her 
 parents, her companions, her occupations, her 
 amusements — her everything upon which she 
 has hitherto depended for comfort — for affec- 
 tion, for kindness, for pleasure. The parents 
 by whose advice she has been guided, the 
 sister to whom she has dared impart every 
 embryo thought and feeling, the brother who 
 
292 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 has played with her, in turns the counselor 
 and the counseled, and the younger children 
 to whom she has hitherto been the mother 
 and the playmate — all are to be forsaken in 
 one instant ; every former tie is loosened, the 
 spring of every hope and action to be changed, 
 and yet she flies with joy into the untrodden 
 paths before her. Buoyed up by the confi- 
 dence of requited love, she bids a fond and 
 grateful adieu to the life that is past, and 
 turns with excited hopes and joyous anticipa- 
 tions of the happiness to come. 
 
 Leigh Hunt concludes an essay on marriage 
 as follows : " There is no one thing more 
 lovely in this life, more full of the divinest 
 courage, than when a young maiden, from 
 her past life, from her happy childhood, when 
 she rambled over every field and moor around 
 her home ; when a mother anticipated her 
 wants and soothed her little cares ; when 
 brothers and sisters grew from merry play- 
 mates to loving, trustful friends ; from the 
 Christmas gatherings and romps, the summer 
 festivals in bower or garden ; from the rooms 
 sanctified by the death of relatives ; from the 
 holy and secure backgrounds of her childhood, 
 
MARRIAGE. 
 
 293 
 
 and girlhood, and maidenhood, looks out into 
 a dark and unillumined future, away from all 
 that, and yet unterrified, undaunted, leans her 
 fair cheek upon her lover's breast, and whis- 
 pers, ' Dear heart ! I cannot see, but I believe. 
 The past was beautiful, but the future I can 
 trust with thee / '" 
 
 Then woe to the man who can blast such 
 hopes — who can, coward- like, break the illu- 
 sions that have won her, and destroy the con- 
 fidence which his love inspired. 
 
XXXVII. 
 AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 ANY a woman has gone into her room 
 and had a " good cry " because her 
 husband called her by her baptismal 
 name, and not by some absurd nickname in- 
 vented in the days of their folly ; or because, 
 pressed for time, he hurried out of the house 
 without going through the established formula 
 of leave-taking. The lover has merged into 
 the husband ; security has taken the place 
 of wooing ; and the woman does not take 
 kindly to the transformation. Sometimes she 
 plays a dangerous game, and tries what flirt- 
 ing with other men will do. If her scheme 
 does not answer, and her husband is not made 
 jealous, she is revolted, and holds herself that 
 hardly-used being, a neglected wife. She 
 cannot accept as a compliment the quiet trust 
 which certain cool-headed men of a loyal kind, 
 
 294 
 
AFTER MARRIAGE. 296 
 
 place in their wives ; and his tolerance of her 
 flirting manner — which he takes to be man- 
 ner only, with no evil in it, and with which, 
 though he may not especially like, he does 
 not interfere — seems to her indifference rather 
 than tolerance. Yet the confidence implied 
 in this forbearance is, in point of fact, a com- 
 pliment worth all the petits soins ever invented, 
 though this hearty faith is just the thing which 
 annoys her, and which she stigmatizes as 
 neglect. If she were to go far enough she 
 would find out her mistake. But by that time 
 she would have gone too far to profit by her 
 experience. 
 
 Nothing is more annoying than that display 
 of affection which some husbands and wives 
 show to each other in society. That familiar- 
 ity of touch, those half-concealed caresses, 
 those absurd names, that prodigality of endear- 
 ing epithets, that devoted attention which 
 they flaunt in the face of the public as a kind 
 of challenge to the world at large, to come 
 and admire their happiness, is always noticed 
 and laughed at. Yet to some women this 
 parade of love is the very essence of married 
 happiness, and part of their dearest privileges. 
 
296 
 
 AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 They believe themselves admired and envied, 
 when they are ridiculed and scoffed at ; and 
 they think their husbands are models for other 
 men to copy, when they are taken as examples 
 for all to avoid. Men who have any real man- 
 liness, however, do not give in to this kind of 
 thing ; though there are some as effeminate 
 and gushing as women themselves, who like 
 this sloppy effusiveness of love, and carry it on 
 into quite old age, fondling the ancient grand- 
 mother with gray hairs as lavishly as they had 
 fondled the youthful bride, and seeing no want 
 of harmony in calling a withered old dame of 
 sixty and upwards by the pet names by which 
 they had called her when she was a slip of a 
 girl of eighteen. The continuance of love from 
 youth to old age is very lovely, very cheering ; 
 but even " John Anderson, my Jo," would 
 lose its pathos if Mrs. Anderson had ignored 
 the difference between the raven locks and 
 the snowy brow. This public display of 
 familiar affection is never seen among men 
 who pride themselves on making good lovers, 
 as certain men do — those who have reduced 
 the practice of love-making to an art, a 
 science, and know their lesson to a letter. 
 
AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 297 
 
 These men are delightful to women, who like 
 nothing so much as beinsf made love to, as 
 well after marriage as ' before ; but men who 
 take matters quietly, and rely on the good 
 sense of their wives to take matters quietly, 
 too, sail round these scientific adorers for both 
 depth and manliness. And if women knew 
 their best interests they would care more for 
 the trust than the science. 
 
 All that excess of flattering and petting of 
 which women are so fond, becomes a bore to 
 a man if required as part of the daily habit of 
 life. Out in the world as he is, harassed by 
 anxieties of which she knows nothing, home 
 is emphatically his place of rest, where his 
 wife is his friend who knows his mind, where 
 he may be himself without fear of offending, 
 and relax the strain that must be kept up out 
 of doors ; where he may feel himself safe, 
 understood, and at ease. And some women, 
 and these by no means the coldest or the least 
 loving, are wise enough to understand this 
 need of rest in the man's harder life, and 
 accepting the quiet of security as part of the 
 conditions of marriage, content themselves 
 with the undemonstrative love into which the 
 
AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 fever of passion has subsided. Others fret 
 over it, and make themselves and their hus- 
 bands wretched because they cannot believe 
 in that which is not forever paraded before 
 their eyes. Yet what kind of a home is it for 
 the man if he has to walk as if on egg-shells, 
 every moment afraid of wounding the suscepti- 
 bilities of a woman who will take nothing on 
 trust, and who has to be continually assured 
 that he still loves her, before she will believe 
 that to-day is as yesterday ? Of one thing 
 she may be certain ; no wife who understands 
 what is the best kind of marriage demands 
 these continual attentions, which, voluntary 
 offerings of the lover, become enforced tribute 
 from the husband. She knows that as a wife, 
 whom it is not necessary to court or flatter, 
 she has a nobler place than that which is 
 expressed by the attentions paid to a mistress. 
 Wifehood, like all assured conditions, does not 
 need to be buttressed up, but a less certain 
 position must be supported from the outside, 
 and an insecure self-respect, an uncertain hold- 
 ing, must be perpetually strengthened and 
 reassured. Women who cannot live happily 
 without being made love to are more like 
 
AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 :Q9 
 
 mistresses than wives, and come but badly 
 off in the great struggles of life and the cruel 
 handling of time. Placing all their happiness 
 in things which cannot continue, they let slip 
 that which lies in their hands, and in their 
 desire to retain the romantic position of lov- 
 ers, lose the sweet security of wives. Per- 
 haps, if they had higher aims in life than 
 those with which they make shift to satisfy 
 themselves, they would not let themselves 
 sink to the level of this folly, and would un- 
 derstand better than they do now the worth 
 of realities as contrasted with appearances. 
 And yet we cannot but pity the poor, weak, 
 craving souls who long so pitifully for the 
 freshness of the morning to continue far into 
 the day and evening, who cling so tenaciously 
 to the fleeting romances of youth. They are 
 taken by the glitter of things — love-making 
 among the rest ; and the man who is the 
 showiest in his affection, who can express it 
 with the most color, and paint it, so to speak, 
 with the minutest touches, is the man whose 
 love seems to them the most trustworthy and 
 the most intense. They often make the mis- 
 take of confounding this show with the sub- 
 
300 AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 stance, of trusting to pictorial expression rather 
 than solid facts. And they often make the 
 mistake of cloying their husbands with per- 
 sonal half-childish caresses, which were all 
 very well in the early days, but which become 
 tiresome as time goes on and the gravity of 
 life deepens. And then, when the man quiet- 
 ly keeps them off, or more brusquely repels 
 them, they are hurt and miserable, and think 
 the whole happiness of their lives is dead, 
 and all that makes marriage beautiful at an 
 end. What is to be done to balance things 
 evenly in this unequal world of sex ? What, 
 indeed, is to be done at any time to recon- 
 cile strength with weakness, and to give each 
 its due ? One thing at least is sure. The 
 more thoroughly women learn the true na- 
 ture of men, the fewer mistakes they will 
 make, and the less unhappiness they will 
 create for themselves ; and the more patient 
 men are with the hysterical excitability, the 
 restless craving, which nature, for some pur- 
 pose at present unknown, has made the 
 special temperament of women, the fewer 
 femmes incomprises there will be in married 
 homes, and the larger the chance of married 
 happiness. 
 
AFTER MARRIAGE. ?oi 
 
 The great secret is, to learn to bear with 
 each other's failings ; not to be blind to them 
 — that is either an impossibility or a folly ; 
 we must see and feel them ; if we do neither, 
 they are not evils to us, and there is obviously 
 no need of forbearance ; but, to throw the 
 mantle of affection around them, concealing 
 them from each other's eyes ; to determine 
 not to let them chill the affections ; to resolve 
 to cultivate good-tempered forbearance, be- 
 cause it is the only way of mitigating the 
 present evil, always with a view to ultimate 
 amendment. Surely, it is not the perfection, 
 but the imperfection, of human character that 
 makes the strongest claim in love. All the 
 world must approve, even enemies must 
 admire the good and the estimable in human 
 nature. If husband and wife estimate only 
 that in each which all must be constrained to 
 value, what do they more than others ? It is 
 infirmities of character, imperfections of 
 nature, that call for pitying sympathy, the 
 tender compassion, that makes each the com- 
 forter, the monitor of the other. Forbearance 
 helps each to attain command over themselves. 
 Few are the creatures so utterly evil as to 
 
302 
 
 AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 abuse a generous confidence, a calm forbear- 
 ance. Married persons should be preemi- 
 nently friends, and fidelity is the great privilege 
 of friendship. The forbearance here contended 
 for is not a weak and wicked indulgence of 
 each other's faults, but such a calm, tender ob- 
 servation of them as excludes all harshness 
 and anger, and takes the best and gentlest 
 methods of pointing them out in the full con- 
 fidence of affection. 
 
 The very nearest approach to domestic fe- 
 licity on earth is in the mutual cultivation of 
 an absolute unselfishness. Never talk at one 
 another either alone or in company ; never 
 both manifest anger at once ; never speak 
 loud to one another, unless the house is on 
 fire ; never reflect on a past action, which 
 was done with a good motive and the 
 best judgment at the time ; let each one 
 strive to yield oftenest to the wishes of 
 the other ; let self-abnegation be the daily 
 aim and effort of each ; never find fault, unless 
 it is perfectly certain that a fault has been 
 committed, and always speak lovingly ; never 
 taunt with a past mistake ; neglect the whole 
 world besides rather than one another ; never 
 
AFTER MARRIAGE. 303 
 
 allow a request to be repeated ; never make 
 a remark at the expense of the other, it is a 
 meanness ; never part for a day without 
 loving words to think of during absence ; 
 never meet without a loving welcome ; never 
 let the sun go down on any anger or grievance ; 
 never consider any fault you have committed 
 settled until you have frankly confessed it and 
 asked forgiveness ; never forget the happy 
 hours of early love ; never sigh over what 
 might have been, but try to make the best 
 of what is ; never forget that marriage is 
 ordained of God, and that His blessing alone 
 can make it what it should ever be ; never be 
 contented till you know you are both walking 
 in the narrow way ; never let your hopes rest 
 upon anything this side of the eternal home. 
 Preserve the privacies of your house, your 
 marriage state and your hearts from father, 
 mother, sister, brother and all the world. 
 Between you two let no third person come to 
 share the secret joy or grief that belongs to 
 yourselves alone. Do you two, with God's help, 
 build your own quiet world, not allowing 
 your dearest earthly friend to be the confidant 
 of aught that concerns your domestic peace. 
 
304 
 
 AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 Let moments of alienation, if they occur, be 
 veiled and forgotten in moments and years of 
 faithful, devoted love, but never let the wall 
 of another's confidence be built up between 
 you and your wife's or your husband's heart. 
 Promise this to yourselves and to each other. 
 Renew the vow at every temptation ; you will 
 find your account in it ; your souls will grow, 
 as it were, together, and at last be as one. 
 Ah, if many a young pair had on their wed- 
 ding day known this all-important secret, how 
 many marriages would have been happier than, 
 alas, they are ! 
 
 Be not weary in well-doing. An old story 
 contains a lesson which many married couples 
 have not yet learned. When Jonathan Trum- 
 bull was Governor of Connecticut, a gentle- 
 man called at his house one day requesting a 
 private interview. He said : " I have called 
 upon a very unpleasant errand, sir, and want 
 your advice. My wife and I do not live 
 happily together, and I am thinking of getting 
 a divorce. What do you advise, sir ? " The 
 governor sat a few moments in thought ; then 
 turning to his visitor, said, " How did you 
 treat Mrs. W when you were courting 
 
AFTER MARRIAGE. 305 
 
 her ? and how did you feel toward her at the 
 time of your marriage ? " Squire W re- 
 plied, - u I treated her as kindly as I could, for 
 I loved her dearly at that time." " Well, 
 sir," said the governor, " go home and court 
 her now just as you did then, and love her 
 as when you married her. Do this in the 
 fear of God for one year, and then tell me the 
 result." When a year passed away Squire 
 
 W called a^ain to see the governor, and 
 
 said : " I have called to thank you for the 
 good advice you gave me, and to tell you that 
 my wife and I are as happy as when first we 
 were married. I cannot be grateful enough 
 for your good counsel." " I am glad to hear 
 
 it, Mr. W ," said the governor, " and I 
 
 hope you will continue to court your wife as 
 long as you live." 
 
 Addison has left on record the following 
 important sentence : " Two persons who have 
 chosen each other out of all the species, with 
 the design to be each other's mutual comfort, 
 and entertainment, have in that very action 
 bound themselves to be good humored, affable, 
 joyful, forgiving and patient, with respect to 
 each other's frailties and imperfections, to the 
 20 
 
306 AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 end of their lives." Mr. Henry says : " I have 
 heard of a married couple who, though they 
 were both of a hasty temper, yet lived com- 
 fortably together by simply observing a rule 
 on which they had mutually agreed, viz.: 
 ' Never to be both angry at the same time ; ' 
 and he adds, that an ingenious and pious 
 father was in the habit of giving this advice 
 to his children, when they were married : 
 
 " Doth one speak fire ? t'other with water come ! 
 Is one provok'd ? be t'other soft and dumb." 
 
 The following good counsel is from a wife 
 and mother : "I will try to make myself and 
 all around me agreeable. It will not do to leave 
 a man to himself till he comes to you, to take 
 no pains to attract him, to appear before him 
 with a long face. It is not so difficult as you 
 think, dear child, to behave to a husband so 
 that he shall remain forever a husband. I 
 am an old woman, but you can still do as you 
 like ; a word from you at the right time will 
 not fail of its effect ; what need have you to 
 play the part of suffering virtue ? The tear of 
 a loving girl, says an old book, is like a dew- 
 drop on a rose ; but that on the cheek of a 
 
AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 307 
 
 wife is a drop of poison to her husband. Try 
 to appear cheerful and contented, and your 
 husband will be so ; and when you have made 
 him happy, you will become so in reality. 
 Nothing flatters a man so much as the happi- 
 ness of his wife ; he is always proud of him- 
 self as being the source of it. As soon as 
 you are cheerful you will be lively and alert, 
 and allow no opportunity for speaking an 
 agreeable word to pass. Your education, 
 which gives you an immense advantage, will 
 greatly assist you, and your sensibility will 
 become the noblest gift that nature has 
 bestowed on you, when it shows itself in 
 affectionate assiduity, and stamps on every 
 action a soft, kind, tender character, instead 
 of wasting itself in secret repinings." 
 
 Let both parties consider, when they enter 
 upon the duties of domestic life, that the 
 rights of each are equal ; and let each feel 
 that it is as much a duty to do right as to exact 
 right. Let each consider, that, being brought 
 up in different families, and under different 
 influences, it is but natural to expect that 
 each should have opinions, and perhaps pre- 
 judices, different from the other ; and that 
 
308 AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 the right of each to his, or her, opinion, is 
 equal to that of the other. Let each remem- 
 ber, that the happiness of life depends upon 
 harmony, — that nothing will be gained by 
 strife. Hence, let each consider whether his, 
 or her peculiar notions, are matters of prin- 
 ciple, or matters of opinion and taste. If 
 the former, let each regard the other's as 
 sacred. Do not trifle with them. If the 
 latter, let each one consider the liability of 
 every one to err, and try to think and feel 
 alike. Talk over the matter, not for the 
 purpose of convincing, but for the purpose 
 of understanding each other. Weigh each 
 other's reasons fairly, and be willing to give 
 all reasonable credit. In a matter of principle, 
 it will also be proper, if both agree, for each 
 to state the subject of difference fairly, and 
 give the reasons for the difference. Reflect 
 much upon the points of difference with a 
 view to the reconciliation of differences, and 
 always be ready to yield a point when con- 
 vinced of error. On all important subjects, 
 as they affect the interests of both, take 
 counsel together before acting. Whatever 
 affects both should be understood and decided 
 
AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 309 
 
 by both. Avoid having separate interests. 
 Whatever may be said in favor of these, they 
 are certainly unnatural in domestic life, and 
 cannot fail to mar domestic happiness. There 
 can be no separate interests — whatever affects 
 one must affect the other. Never deceive 
 each other. The loss of confidence is one of 
 the greatest evils that can befall a married 
 pair. It destroys all domestic comfort, and 
 renders home a scene of turmoil and confusion. 
 When confidence is lost, all is lost. In fine, 
 let each strive to please the other, even in 
 little things ; (the whole of life is made up of 
 little things ;) and you will not fail to please. 
 If you see a fault in your companion, think if 
 you have not greater, and be as ready to 
 correct your own, as to require a correction 
 of your companion. Let each lay aside every 
 cause of offense to the other, that everything 
 may go on smoothly, that the burden of life 
 may be easily borne. 
 
XXXVIII. 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 
 
 "When a man hath taken a new wife he shall not 
 go to war, neither shall he be charged with any busi- 
 ness ; but he shall be free at home one year, and cheer 
 up the wife which he has taken." — Deut. 24:5. 
 
 MAN who avoids matrimony on ac- 
 count of the cares of wedded life> 
 cuts himself off from a great blessing 
 for fear of a trifling annoyance. He rivals the 
 wiseacre who secured himself against corns 
 by having his legs amputated. In his selfish 
 anxiety to live unencumbered, he only subjects 
 himself to a heavier burden ; for the passions, 
 that apportion to every individual the load he 
 is to bear through life, generally say to the 
 calculating bachelor — " As you are a single 
 man you shall carry double." The Assurance 
 Magazine, an English periodical, makes the 
 statement, that in the two periods of life, 20 
 
 310 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 
 
 311 
 
 to 2 5 and 2 5 to 30, the probability of a widower 
 marrying in a year is nearly three times as 
 great as that of a bachelor ; at 30 it is four 
 times as great ; at 60 the chances of a widower 
 marrying in the year is eleven times as great 
 as that of a bachelor. After the age of 30 the 
 probability of a bachelor marrying in a year 
 diminishes in a most rapid ratio ; the proba- 
 bility at 35 is not much more than half that 
 at 30, and nearly the same proportion exists 
 between each period of five years afterwards. 
 None but the married man has a home in his 
 old age. None has friends then, but he ; none 
 but he knows and feels the solace of the 
 domestic hearth ; none but he lives and 
 freshens in his green old age, amid the affec- 
 tions of his children. There is no tear shed 
 for the old bachelor ; there is no ready hand 
 and kind heart to cheer him in his loneliness 
 and bereavement ; there is none in whose eyes 
 he can see himself reflected, and from whose 
 lips he can receive the unfailing assurances of 
 care and love. He may be courted for his 
 money ; he may eat and drink and revel ; and 
 he may sicken and die in a hotel or a garret, 
 with plenty of attendants about him, like so 
 
312 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 
 
 many cormorants waiting for their prey ; but 
 he will never know the comforts of the do- 
 mestic fireside. 
 
 The guardians of the Holborn Union lately 
 advertised for candidates to fill the situation 
 of engineer at the workhouse, a single man, a 
 wife not being allowed to reside on the prem- 
 ises. Twenty-one candidates presented them- 
 selves, but it was found that as to testimonials, 
 character, workmanship, and appearance, the 
 best men were all married men. The guard- 
 ians had therefore to elect a married man. 
 
 A married man, falling into misfortune, is 
 more apt to retrieve his situation in the world 
 than a single one, chiefly because his spirits 
 are soothed and retrieved by domestic endear- 
 ments, and his self-respect kept alive by find- 
 ing, that although all abroad be darkness and 
 humiliation, yet there is a little world of love 
 at home over which he is a monarch. Jeremy 
 Taylor says, " If you are for pleasure, marry ; 
 if you prize rosy health, marry. A good wife 
 is heaven's last best gift to man — his angel of 
 mercy — minister of graces innumerable — his 
 gem of many virtues — his casket of jewels — 
 her voice, his sweetest music — her smiles, his 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 313 
 
 brightest day— her kiss the guardian of inno- 
 cence — her arms the pale of his safety, the 
 balm of his health, the balsam of his life — her 
 industry, his surest wealth — her economy, his 
 safest steward — her lips, his faithful counsellors 
 — her bosom the softest pillow of his cares — 
 and her prayers the ablest advocates of 
 heaven." He considered marriage " a nursery 
 of heaven," and "the greatest interest in the 
 world next to the last throw for eternity." 
 
 Doubtless you have remarked with satisfac- 
 tion, says a writer in Frazers Magazine, the 
 little oddities of men who marry rather late 
 in life are pruned away speedily after marriage. 
 You may have found a man who used to be 
 shabbily and carelessly dressed, with huge 
 shirt-collar frayed at the edges, and a glaring 
 yellow silk pocket-handkerchief, broken of 
 these and become a pattern of neatness. You 
 have seen a man whose hair and whiskers 
 were ridiculously cut, speedily become like 
 other human beings. You have seen a clergy- 
 man who wore a long beard in a little while 
 appear without one. You have seen a man 
 who used to sing ridiculous sentimental songs 
 leave them off. You have seen a man who 
 
314 ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 
 
 took snuff copiously, and who generally had 
 his breast covered with snuff, abandon the 
 vile habit. A wife is the grand wielder of 
 the moral pruning knife. If Johnson's wife 
 had lived, there would have been no hoarding 
 of bits of orange peel ; no touching all the 
 posts in walking along the street ; no eating 
 and drinking with a disgusting voracity. If 
 Oliver Goldsmith had been married, he would 
 never have worn that memorable and ridicu- 
 lous coat. Whenever you find a man whom 
 you know little about, oddly dressed, or talking 
 ridiculously, or exhibiting any eccentricity of 
 manner, you may be tolerably sure that he is 
 not a married man. For the little corners are 
 rounded off, the shoots are pruned away, in 
 married men. Wives generally have much 
 more sense than their husbands, especially 
 when the husbands are clever men. The 
 wife's advices are like the ballast that keeps 
 the ship steady. They are like the whole- 
 some though painful shears snipping off the 
 little growths of self-conceit and folly. 
 
 Robert Southey says a man may be cheerful 
 and contented in celibacy, but I do not think 
 he can ever be happy ; it is an unnatural state, 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 3 i5 
 
 and the best feelings of his nature are never 
 called into action. The risks of marriage are 
 for the greater part on the woman's side. 
 Women have so little the power of choice, 
 that it is not perhaps fair to say that they are 
 less likely to choose well than we are ; but I 
 am persuaded that they are more frequently 
 deceived in the attachments they form, and 
 their opinions concerning men are less accurate 
 than men's opinion of their sex. Now, if a 
 lady were to reproach me for having said this, 
 I should only reply that it was another mode 
 of saying there are more good wives in the 
 world than there are good husbands, which I 
 verily believe. I know of nothing which a 
 good and sensible man is so certain to find, if 
 he looks for it, as a good wife. 
 
 Somebody has said, "before thou marry, 
 be sure of a house wherein to tarry." And 
 see, my friend, that you make your house a 
 home. A house is a mere skeleton of bricks, 
 laths, plaster, and wood ; a home is a residence 
 not merely of the body but of the heart. It 
 is a place for the affections to develop them- 
 selves — for children to love, and learn, and 
 play in — for husband and wife to toil smilingly 
 
316 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 
 
 together to make life a blessing. A house 
 where a wife is a slattern and a sloven cannot 
 be a home ; a house where there is no happy 
 fireside, no book, no newspaper — above all, 
 where there is no religion and no Bible, how 
 can it be a home? My bachelor brother, 
 there cannot, by any possibility, be a home 
 where there is no wife. To talk of a home 
 without love, we might as well expect to find 
 a New England fireside in one of the pyra- 
 mids of Egypt. 
 
 There is a world of wisdom in the following : 
 " Every schoolboy knows that a kite would 
 not fly unless it had a string tying it down. 
 It is just so in life. The man who is tied 
 down by half-a-dozen blooming responsibilities 
 and their mother, will make a higher and 
 stronger flight than the bachelor who, having 
 nothing to keep him steady, is always floun- 
 dering in the mud. If you want to ascend in 
 the world, tie yourself to somebody." 
 
 " Jenny is poor, and I am poor, 
 Yet we will wed — so say no more ; 
 And should the bairnies to us come, 
 As few that wed but do have some ; 
 No doubt but heaven will stand our friend, 
 And bread as well as children send ; 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 317 
 
 So fares the hen in the farmer's yard, 
 
 To live alone she finds it hard ; 
 
 I've known her weary every claw, 
 
 In search of corn among the straw ; 
 
 But when in quest of nicer food, 
 
 She clucks among her chirping brood ; 
 
 With joy we see the self-same hen, 
 
 That scratched for one co'd scratch for ten. 
 
 These are the tho'ts that make me willing 
 
 To take my girl without a shilling ; 
 
 And for the self-same cause, you see, 
 
 Jenny resolves to marry me." 
 
XXXIX. 
 
 TELL YOUR WIFE. 
 
 m, F you are in any trouble or quandary, 
 j|^J tell your wife — that is if you have one 
 ^KSi — all about it at once. Ten to one 
 her invention will solve your difficulty sooner 
 than all your logic. The wit of woman has 
 been praised, but her instincts are quicker and 
 keener than her reason. Counsel with your 
 wife, or mother or sister, and be assured, 
 light will flash upon your darkness. Women 
 are too commonly adjudged as verdant in all 
 but purely womanish affairs. No philosophical 
 students of the sex thus judge them. Their 
 intuitions, or insights, are the most subtle. In 
 counseling a man to tell his wife, we would go 
 farther, and advise him to keep none of his 
 affairs a secret from her. Many a home has 
 been happily saved, and many a fortune 
 retrieved, by a man's full confidence in his 
 " better half." Woman is far more a seer and 
 
 3i8 
 
< 
 
TELL YOUR WIFE. 319 
 
 prophet than man, if she be given a fair 
 chance. 
 
 We will say nothing of the manner in which 
 that sex usually conduct an argument ; but 
 the intuitive judgments of women are often 
 more to be relied upon than the conclusions 
 which we reach by an elaborate process of 
 reasoning. No man that has an intelligent wife, 
 or who is accustomed to the society of edu- 
 cated women, will dispute this. Times with- 
 out number you must have known them 
 decide questions on the instant, and with un- 
 erring accuracy, which you had been poring 
 over for hours, perhaps, with no other result 
 than to find yourself getting deeper and 
 deeper into the tangled maze of doubts and 
 difficulties. It were hardly generous to allege 
 that they achieve these feats less by reasoning 
 than by a sort of sagacity which approximates 
 to the sure instinct of the animal races ; and 
 yet there seems to be some ground for the 
 remark of a witty French writer, that, when 
 a man has toiled step by step up a flight of 
 stairs he will be sure to find a woman at the 
 top ; but she will not be able to tell how she 
 got there. How she got there, however, is of 
 little moment. If the conclusions a woman 
 
320 TELL YOUR WLFE. 
 
 has reached are sound, that is all that con- 
 cerns us. And that they are very apt to be 
 sound on the practical matters of domestic and 
 secular life, nothing but prejudice or self- 
 conceit can prevent us from acknowledging. 
 The inference, therefore, is unavoidable, that 
 the man who thinks it beneath his dignity to 
 take counsel with an intelligent wife, stands 
 in his own light, and betrays that lack of 
 judgment which he tacitly attributes to her. 
 
 As a general rule, wives confide the mi- 
 nutest of their plans and thoughts to their 
 husbands, having no involvements to screen 
 from them. Why not reciprocate, if but for 
 the pleasure of meeting confidence with confi- 
 dence ? We are certain that no man succeeds 
 so well in the world as he who, taking a partner 
 for life, makes her the partner of his purposes 
 and hopes. What is wrong of his impulse or 
 judgment, she will check and set right with 
 her almost universally right instincts. " Help- 
 meet " was no insignificant title as applied to 
 man's companion. She is a help-meet to him 
 in every darkness, difficulty and sorrow of 
 life. And what she most craves and most 
 deserves is confidence — without which love is 
 never free from a shadow. 
 
XL. 
 
 COURTESY AT HOME. 
 
 OW much a sincere and hearty polite- 
 ness may do for others, is readily 
 tested and measured by all who have 
 learned to appreciate it for themselves. 
 While it is comparatively easy to be courteous 
 toward strangers, or toward people of dis- 
 tinction, whom one meets in society or on 
 public occasions, still it should be remembered 
 that it is at home, in the family, and among 
 kindred, that an every-day politeness of 
 manners is really most to be prized. There 
 it confers substantial benefits and brings the 
 sweetest returns. The little attentions which 
 members of the same household may show 
 toward one another day by day belong, in 
 fact, to what is styled " good breeding." 
 There cannot be any ingrained gentility which 
 does not exhibit itself first at home. There, 
 of all places in the world, it will be able to 
 21 321 
 
322 COURTESY AT HOME. 
 
 demonstrate how much genuine politeness 
 there is in the heart. A well-ordered family 
 cannot afford to dispense with the observance 
 of the good rules of mutual intercourse which 
 are enforced in good society. A churlish, 
 sour, morose deportment at home is simply 
 cruel, for it cuts into the tenderest sensibilities 
 and hurts love just where love is strongest 
 and most loyal. Parents and children, 
 brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, 
 never lose anything by mutual politeness ; on 
 the contrary, by maintaining not only its 
 forms, but by the inward cultivation of its 
 spirit, they become contributors to that 
 domestic felicity which is, in itself, a foretaste 
 of heaven. 
 
 No pleasanter sight is there, than a family 
 of young folks who are quick to perform little 
 acts of attention toward their elders. The 
 placing of the big arm-chair for mamma, 
 running for a footstool for aunty, hunting up 
 papa's spectacles, and scores of little deeds, 
 show the tender sympathy of gentle loving 
 hearts ; but if mamma never returns a smiling 
 "Thank you, dear;" if papa's "Just what I 
 was wanting, Susie," does not indicate that 
 
COURTESY AT HOME. 323 
 
 the little attention is appreciated, the children 
 soon drop the habit. Little people are imita- 
 tive creatures, and quickly catch the spirit 
 surrounding them. So if, when the mother's 
 spool of cotton rolls from her lap, the father 
 stoops to pick it up, bright eyes will see the 
 act, and quick minds make a note of it. By 
 example, a thousand times more quickly than 
 by precept, can children be taught to speak 
 kindly to each other, to acknowledge favors, 
 to be gentle and unselfish, to be thoughtful 
 and considerate of the comfort of the family. 
 The boys, with inward pride of their father's 
 courteous demeanor, will be chivalrous and 
 helpful to their young sisters ; the girls, 
 imitating their mother, will be patient and 
 gentle, even when big brothers are noisy and 
 heedless. In the homes where true courtesy 
 prevails, it seems to meet you on the threshold. 
 You feel the kindly welcome on entering. 
 No angry voices are heard up-stairs. No 
 sullen children are sent from the room. No 
 peremptory orders are given to cover the 
 delinquencies of house-keeping or servants. 
 A delightful atmosphere pervades the house 
 — unmistakable, yet indescribable. 
 
324 
 
 COURTESY AT HOME. 
 
 Such a house, filled by the spirit of love, is 
 a home indeed to all who enter within its 
 consecrated walls. 
 
 Speak kindly in the morning; it lightens 
 the cares of the day, and makes the household 
 and all other affairs move along more smoothly. 
 
 Speak kindly at night, for it may be that 
 before the dawn some loved one may finish 
 his or her space of life, and it will be too late 
 to ask forgiveness. 
 
 Speak kindly at all times ; it encourages 
 the downcast, cheers the sorrowing, and very 
 likely awakens the erring to earnest resolves 
 to do better, with strength to keep them. 
 
 Kind words are balm to the soul. They 
 oil up the entire machinery of life, and keep 
 it in good running order. 
 
XLI. 
 HOME GOVERNMENT. 
 
 HE importance of sacredly guarding the 
 family relation cannot well be over- 
 estimated. It is the foundation-stone 
 of all that is good and pure both in civilization 
 and religion. Take this away, and the whole 
 fabric must topple and fall. Would you look 
 into the future as with the spirit of prophecy, 
 and read as with a telescope the history and 
 character of our country, and of other coun- 
 tries ? You have but to watch the eyes of 
 children at play. 
 
 What children are, neighborhoods are. 
 What neighborhoods are, communities are, — 
 states, empires, worlds ! They are the elements 
 of Hereafter made visible. 
 
 They are the flowers of the invisible world, 
 — indestructible, self-perpetuating flowers, 
 with each a * multitude of angels and evil 
 
 325 
 
26 
 
 HOME GOVERNMENT. 
 
 spirits underneath its leaves, toiling and wrest- 
 ling for dominion over it! They are the blos- 
 soms of another world, whose fruitage is angels 
 and archangels. They are dew-drops that 
 have their source, not in the chambers of the 
 earth, nor among the vapors of the sky. 
 
 The very tones of the voice they last lis- 
 tened to make an impression upon their sen- 
 sitive organizations. Mothers, do not think 
 the time and strength wasted, which you 
 spend in reviewing the day with your little 
 boy or girl ; do not neglect to teach it how to 
 pray, and pray for it in simple and earnest 
 language, which it can understand. Soothe 
 and quiet its little heart after the experiences 
 of the day. It has had its disappointments 
 and trials as well as its play and pleasures ; it 
 is ready to throw its arms around your neck, 
 and take its good-night kiss. 
 
 Always send your little child to bed happy. 
 Whatever cares may trouble your mind, give 
 the dear child a warm good-night kiss as it 
 goes to its pillow. The memory of this, in 
 the stormy years which may be in store for 
 the little one, will be like Bethlehem's star 
 to the bewildered shepherds ; and welling up 
 
HOME GOVERNMENT. 327 
 
 in the heart will rise the thought : " My father, 
 my mother — loved me / " Lips parched with 
 fever will become dewy again at this thrill of 
 useful memories. Kiss your little child before 
 it goes to sleep. 
 
 Always allow them to tell you all that has 
 happened to interest or annoy them while 
 absent from home. Never think anything 
 which affects the happiness of your children 
 too small a matter to claim your attention. 
 Use every means in your power to win and 
 retain their confidence. Do not rest satisfied 
 without some account of each day's joys or 
 sorrows. It is a source of great comfort to 
 the innocent child to tell all its troubles to 
 mother, and do you lend a willing ear. For 
 know you, that as soon as they cease to tell 
 you all these things, they have chosen other 
 confidants, and therein lies the danger. O 
 mother ! this is the rock on which your son 
 may be wrecked at last. I charge you to set 
 a watch upon it. Be jealous of the first sign 
 that he is not opening all his heart to you. 
 
 Government is not to watch children with a 
 suspicious eye, to frown at the merry outbursts 
 of innocent hilarity, to suppress their joyous 
 
3^ 
 
 HOME GOVERNMENT. 
 
 laughter, and to mould them into melancholy 
 little models of octogenarian gravity. And 
 when they have been in fault, it is not simply to 
 punish them on acount of the personal injury 
 that you have chanced to suffer in consequence 
 of their fault, while disobedience, unattended 
 by inconvenience to yourself, passes without 
 notice. 
 
 Reprove with calmness and composure, and 
 not with angry irritation, — in a few words, 
 fitly chosen, and not with a torrent of abuse ; 
 punish as often as you threaten, and threaten 
 only when you intend and can remember to 
 perform ; say what you mean, and infallibly 
 do as you say. 
 
 It is a great mistake to suppose that what 
 will make a child stare or tremble impresses 
 more authority. The violent emphasis, the 
 hard, stormy voice, the menacing air, only 
 weaken authority. Is it not well understood, 
 that a bawling" and' violent teamster has no 
 real government over his team? Is it not 
 practically seen that a skillful commander of 
 one of those huge floating cities, moved by 
 steam on our American waters, manages and 
 works every motion by the waving of the 
 
HOME GOVERNMENT. 329 
 
 hand, or by signs that pass in silence, issuing 
 no order at all, save in the gentlest undertone 
 of voice ? So when there is, or is to be, a real 
 order in the house, it will come of no hard 
 and boisterous, or fretful and termagant way 
 of commanding. Gentleness will speak the 
 word of firmness, and firmness will be clothed 
 in that of true gentleness. 
 
 Good moral habits are essential to the 
 healthfulness of the home ; and these may be 
 best taught by the watchful mother's training. 
 One important part of her work is to remove 
 hindrances out of her children's way to health 
 and happiness. No dirt, or dirty habits, for 
 example, should be permitted; Washing 
 their hands and faces many times in the day 
 will often remove a sense of discomfort which 
 makes them fretful, as also will giving them 
 food at regular periods. Ragged dress, too, 
 and broken fastenings, add a feeling of degra- 
 dation, that a careful mother will prevent as 
 far as possible by keeping their clothes whole, 
 neat, and clean. Making their own garments, 
 we may here remark, gives useful employ- 
 ment to girls, and is an important aid in train- 
 ing them to thrifty habits. Many families go 
 
33° 
 
 HOME GOVERNMENT. 
 
 in rags because they never learned to sew ; 
 while the same wages in the hands of those 
 who know how to employ that useful " one- 
 eyed servant," the needle, keep the household 
 looking always respectable. 
 
 Never scold children, but soberly and 
 quietly reprove. Do not employ shame ex- 
 cept in extreme cases. The suffering is acute ; 
 it hurts self-respect in the child to reprove a 
 child before the family ; to ridicule it, to tread 
 down its feelings ruthlessly, is to wake in its 
 bosom malignant feelings. A child is defence- 
 less ; he is not allowed to argue. He is often 
 tried, condemned, and executed in a second. 
 He finds himself of little use. He is put at 
 things he don't care for, and withheld from 
 things which he does like. He is made the 
 convenience of grown-up people ; is hardly 
 supposed to have any rights, except in a cor- 
 ner, as it were ; is sent hither and thither ; 
 made to get up or sit down for everybody's 
 convenience but his own ; is snubbed and 
 catechised until he learns to dodge govern- 
 ment and elude authority, and then be whipped 
 for being " such a liar that no one can believe 
 you." 
 
HOME GOVERNMENT. 331 
 
 Parents often speak of breaking the will of 
 a child ; but it seems to us they had better 
 break its neck. The will needs regulating, 
 not destroying. We should as soon think of 
 breaking the legs of a horse in training him, 
 as a child's will. We never yet heard of a 
 will in itself too strong, more than of an arm 
 too mighty, or a mind too comprehensive in 
 its grasp, or too powerful in its hold. We 
 would discipline and develop the will into 
 harmonious proportions. The instruction of 
 a child should be such as to animate, inspire 
 and train, but not to hew, cut and carve ; for 
 we should always treat a child as a live tree, 
 which was to be helped to grow ; never as 
 dry, dead timber, to be carved into this or that 
 shape, and have certain grooves cut in it. A 
 living tree, and not dead timber, is every little 
 child. 
 
 Mothers, don't whip them ! Treat God's 
 lambs tenderly. Compel obedience, but not 
 with the rod. The other evening the maternal 
 face appeared at the door of a pleasant little 
 home I had often noticed, and loudly ordered 
 a little lad of three or so to " come in and see 
 if she did not do as she said she would." The 
 
332 
 
 HOME GOVERNMENT. 
 
 mother, in her wrath at being disobeyed, re- 
 entered the house, not hearing the little one's 
 sobbing explanation that he had stepped out- 
 side to bring the baby in. Directly the blows 
 and piteous cries fell upon my ears. Un- 
 doubtedly the little one had gone beyond the 
 prescribed bounds ; but it was to bring the 
 wee toddling thing inside, who as yet heeded 
 not commands, however harshly given, and 
 his full heart and meagre use of words with- 
 held the power of explanation. Poor little 
 man, how my heart ached for him ! Kissless 
 and sad he went to bed. Mothers, do not 
 whip them ! Do not yourselves make shadows 
 in the sunlight with which God always sur- 
 rounds children. Do not let them be lulled 
 to sleep by the falling of their tears, or by 
 their own sad sobs and sighs. Far pleasanter 
 it is when you go to tuck them in at night, 
 to find pink feet on the pillow, dimpled knees 
 in air, toys yet in embrace and smiles on 
 their sweet mouths. Yourselves bear in mind 
 their last words, " If I should die before I 
 wake." Treat them tenderly. I took my little 
 man a shot-gun to-night, handing it over the 
 gate, I said, " Now will you mind your mamma, 
 
HOME GOVERNMENT. 333 
 
 and stay inside when she tells you ?■" I am 
 sure the "me will" was very sincere; but if 
 they forget, bear with them. If childhood's 
 days cannot be free from sorrow, surely none 
 ever may. 
 
 They will not trouble you long. Children 
 grow up — nothing on earth grows so fast as 
 children. It was but yesterday, and that lad 
 was playing with tops, a buoyant boy. He is 
 a man, and gone now ! There is no more 
 childhood for him, or for us. Life has claimed 
 him. When a beginning is made, it is like a 
 raveling stocking ; stitch by stitch gives way 
 till all are gone. The house has not a child 
 in it — there is no more noise in the hall — boys 
 rushing in pell-mell ; it is very orderly now. 
 There are no more skates or sleds, bats, balls 
 or strings left scattered about. Things are 
 neat enough now. There is no delay for 
 sleepy folks ; there is no longer any task, 
 before you lie down, of looking after anybody, 
 and tucking up the bedclothes. There are no 
 disputes to settle, nobody to get off to school, 
 no complaint, no importunities for impossible 
 things, no rips to mend, no fingers to tie up, 
 no faces to be washed, or collars to be ar- 
 
334 
 
 HOME GOVERNMENT. 
 
 ranged. There never was such peace in the 
 house ! It would sound like music to have 
 some feet clatter down the front stairs ! Oh 
 for some children's noise ! What used to ail 
 us, that we were hushing their loud laugh, 
 checking their noisy frolic, and reproving 
 their slamming and banging the doors ? We 
 wish our neighbors would only lend us an 
 urchin or two to make a little noise in these 
 premises. A home without children ! It is 
 like a lantern and no candle ; a garden and 
 no flowers ; a vine and no grapes ; a brook 
 and no water gurgling and gushing in its 
 channel. We want to be tired, to be vexed, 
 to be run over, to hear children at work with 
 all its varieties. During the secular days, this 
 is enough marked. But it is the Sabbath that 
 puts our homes to the proof. That is the 
 Christian family day. The intervals of public 
 worship are long spaces of peace. The family 
 seems made up on that day. The children are 
 at home. You can lay your hands upon their 
 heads. They seem to recognize the greater 
 and lesser love — to God and to friends. The 
 house is peaceful, but not still. There is a low 
 and melodious thrill of children in it. But the 
 
HOME GOVERNMENT. 
 
 335 
 
 Sabbath comes too still now. There is a si- 
 lence that aches in the ear. There is too much 
 room at the table, too much at the hearth. 
 The bedrooms are a world too orderly. There 
 is too much leisure and too little care. Alas ! 
 what mean these things ? Is somebody grow- 
 ing old ? Are these signs and tokens ? Is life 
 waning ? 
 

 
 XLII. 
 
 BROKEN TIES, 
 
 OW many there are in every human 
 experience ! How many even apart 
 from those that death occasions ! 
 Your memory goes back to the home of 
 your childhood. All its belongings became, 
 as it were, a part of your nature. You recall 
 the familiar surroundings. Your interests 
 were bound up with them. And then the 
 time came when those ties must be sun- 
 dered. You went forth from the old home 
 into new scenes. You found these ties bind- 
 ing themselves about you, but the old ones 
 were broken. 
 
 And so it has been all the way along. You 
 became attached to persons and the shifting 
 scenes of life have carried them away from 
 you, and though you hear now and then of 
 their well-being, the old intimacy is perforce 
 gone, the old ties are sundered. The ties 
 
 336 
 
BROKEN TIES. 
 
 337 
 
 that hold us to our surroundings are continu- 
 ally breaking. No year is like that which 
 preceded it, no month, no day even. 
 
 Let us guard against those things that may 
 give offense, or that may through any fault of 
 ours break the tie that binds us to an old 
 friend. There is the bitterness of parting and 
 the added bitterness of self-reproach, the sad 
 recollection of what might have been. 
 
 And, since all things and relations change, 
 since ties must be broken, it is well for us to 
 learn to enjoy to the utmost our present. The 
 time is coming when your home ties perhaps 
 must be sundered. Enjoy, then, the present 
 relations. It may be a humble home, and 
 you are planning for one larger, and, to your 
 imagination, more enjoyable. Very well ; 
 only do not fail to take all the enjoyment you 
 can from your present surroundings. Your 
 friend will go to some distant place by and 
 by. Enjoy his society while you have it. 
 Your children, while they will always be 
 your children, will nevertheless grow up and 
 go out from the home -nest. The ties that 
 bind you to their youth will be severed. En- 
 joy them while you have them with you. It 
 22 
 
338 BROKEN TIES. 
 
 is well for us to plan as wisely as may be for 
 the future ; but it is folly for us to seek 
 our enjoyment in the future. Let us enjoy 
 what we have now, for "change" is written 
 on all our transitory and mutable life. It will 
 be only when we have sundered the last bonds 
 that bind us to this life .that we shall be where 
 there is no more breaking of ties, no more 
 regrets over pleasures that are gone, but 
 sweet enjoyment of an eternal present. 
 
XLIII. 
 
 BREVITY OF LIFE. 
 
 Like to the falling of a star, 
 Or as the flights of eagles are, 
 Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
 Or silver drops of morning dew, 
 Or like a wind that chafes the flood, 
 Or bubbles which on water stood — 
 E'en such is man, whose borrowed light 
 Is straight called in, and paid to-night. 
 The wind blows out, the bubble dies, 
 The spring entombed in autumn lies, 
 The dew dries up, the star is shot, 
 The flight is past — and man forgot ! 
 
 LITTLE while ago we were not in the 
 world — a little while hence we shall 
 be here no longer. This is arith- 
 metic. This is the clock. Demosthenes used 
 to say that every speech should begin with an 
 incontrovertible proposition. Now, it is scien- 
 tifically incontrovertible that a little while ago, 
 we were not here, and a little while hence we 
 shall be here no more. 
 
 339 
 
340 
 
 BREVITY OF LIFE. 
 
 How distinctly we remember longing for the 
 time when we should be eighteen or twenty 
 years old ; how long the time seemed then ; 
 how short as we look back upon it. Ask any 
 aged person how long since he or she was a 
 child, and the answer will be, " it seems but as 
 yesterday." 
 
 Old age is honorable, and a multitude of 
 years teach wisdom. How pleasant to con- 
 verse with the aged of the times fifty, three- 
 score, or even threescore and ten years since. 
 Some young people, children and grand-chil- 
 dren, are impatient of old age, while others 
 have a filial delight in their company, and love 
 to care for them, and tenderly lessen their 
 burdens. Old age, however serene the con- 
 science and well-spent the life, has its sadness. 
 After all their care and toil, the provision they 
 have made for themselves, and children on 
 whom they wish to lean in the decline of life, 
 they have a dread and fear of being a burden. 
 
 If you would make the aged happy, lead 
 them to feel that there is still a place for them 
 where they can be useful. When you see 
 their powers failing, do not notice it. It is 
 enough for them to feel it, without a reminder. 
 Do not humiliate them by doing things after 
 
BREVITY OF LIFE. 
 
 341 
 
 them. Accept their offered services, and do 
 not let them see you taking off the dust their 
 poor eye-sight has left undisturbed, or wiping 
 up the liquid their trembling hands have 
 spilled ; rather let the dust remain, and the 
 liquid stain the carpet, than rob them of their 
 self-respect by seeing you cover their deficien- 
 cies. You may give them the best room in 
 your house, you may garnish it with pictures, 
 and flowers, you may yield them the best seat 
 in your church-pew, the easiest chair in your 
 parlor, the highest seat of honor at your table ; 
 but if you lead, or leave, them to feel that they 
 have passed their usefulness, you plant a thorn 
 in their bosom that will rankle there while 
 life lasts. If they are capable of doing noth- 
 ing but preparing your kindlings, or darning 
 your stockings, indulge them in those things, 
 but never let them feel that it is because they 
 can do nothing else ; rather that they do this 
 so well. 
 
 Do not ignore their taste and judgment. 
 It may be that in their early days, and in the 
 circle where they move, they were as much 
 sought and honored as you are now ; and 
 until you arrive at that place, you can ill 
 imagine your feelings should you be considered 
 
342 BREVITY OF LIFE. 
 
 entirely void of their qualities, be regarded 
 as essential to no one, and your opinions be 
 unsought, or discarded if given. They may 
 have been active and successful in the training 
 of children and youth in the way they should 
 go ; and will they not feel it keenly, if no 
 attempt is made to draw from this rich ex- 
 perience ? 
 
 Indulge them as far as possible in their old 
 habits. The various forms of society in which 
 they were educated may be as dear to them 
 as yours are now to you ; and can they see 
 them slighted or disowned without a pang ? 
 If they relish their meals better by turning 
 their tea into the saucer, having their butter 
 on the same plate with their food, or eating 
 with both knife and fork, do not in word or 
 deed imply to them that the customs of their 
 days are obnoxious in good society ; and that 
 they are stepping down from respectability 
 as they descend the hill-side of life. Always 
 bear in mind that the customs of which you 
 are now so tenacious may be equally repug- 
 nant to the next generation. 
 
 It cannot be that earth is man's only abiding 
 place. It cannot be that our life is a bubble, 
 cast up by the ocean of eternity, to float 
 
BREVITY OF LIFE. 
 
 343 
 
 another moment upon its surface, and then 
 sink into nothingness and darkness forever. 
 Else why is it that the high and glorious 
 aspirations which leap like angels from the 
 temples of our hearts, are forever wandering 
 abroad, unsatisfied ? 
 
 Why is it that the rainbow and the cloud 
 come over us with a beauty that is not of 
 earth, and then pass off and leave us to muse 
 on their faded loveliness ? 
 
 Why is it that the stars which hold their 
 festival around the midnight throne are set 
 above the grasp of our limited faculties, and 
 are forever mocking us with their unapproach- 
 able glory ? 
 
 Finally, why is it that bright forms of human 
 beauty are presented to the view, and then 
 taken from us, leaving the thousand streams 
 of the affections to flow back in an Alpine 
 torrent upon our hearts ? 
 
 We are born for a higher destiny than that 
 of earth. There is a realm where the rainbow 
 never fades ; where the stars will be spread 
 out before us like the islands that slumber on 
 the ocean ; and where the beautiful beings 
 that here pass before us like visions will stay 
 in our presence forever! 
 
XLIV. 
 THE SILENT SHORE. 
 
 HE beautiful have gone with their 
 bloom from the gaze of human eyes. 
 Soft eyes that made it springtime to 
 our hearts are seen no more. We have loved 
 the light of many a smile that has faded from 
 us now ; and in our hearts have lingered sweet 
 voices that now are hushed in the silence of 
 death. Seats are left vacant in our earthly 
 homes, which none again can fill. Kindred 
 and friends, loved ones, have passed away 
 one by one ; our hearts are left desolate ; we 
 are lonely without them. They have passed 
 with their love to " that land, from whose 
 bourne no traveler returns." Shall we never 
 see them again ? Memory turns with linger- 
 ing regret to recall those smiles and the loved 
 tone of those dear familiar voices. In fancy 
 they are often by our side, but their home is 
 
 344 
 
THE SILENT SHORE. 
 
 345 
 
 on a brighter shore. They visit us in our 
 dreams, floating over our memory like shadows 
 over moonlit waters. When the heart is 
 weary with anguish, and the soul is bowed 
 with grief, do they not come and whisper 
 thoughts of comfort and hope ? Yes, sweet 
 memory brings them to us, and the love we 
 bore them lifts the heart from earthly aspira- 
 tions, and we long to join them in that better 
 land. 
 
 We may feel sad because they are lost to 
 us ; but while we weep and wonder, they are 
 wrapped in garments of light, and warble 
 songs of celestial joy. They will return to us 
 no more ; but we shall go to them ; share 
 their pleasures ; emulate their sympathies ; 
 and compete with them in the path of endless 
 development. We would not call them back. 
 In the homes above they are great, and well- 
 employed and blest. Shadows fall upon them 
 no more ; nor is life ruffled with anxious cares ; 
 love rules their life and thoughts ; and eternal 
 hopes beckon them forever to the pursuit of 
 infinite good. 
 
 To whom are these thoughts strange and 
 dull ? Who has no treasure in Heaven — well- 
 
346 THE SILENT SHORE. 
 
 remembered forms hallowed by separation 
 and distance — stars of hope illumining with 
 ever increasing beauty life's utmost horizon ? 
 What family circle has remained unbroken 
 — no empty chair — no cherished mementoes — 
 voices and footsteps returning no more — no 
 members transferred to the illimitable beyond ? 
 Where is he who has stood unhurt amid 
 the chill blasts, that have blighted mortal 
 hopes, and withered mortal loves ? Alas ! 
 the steps of death are everywhere ; his voice 
 murmuring in every sweep of the wind ; his 
 ruins visible on towering hill and in seques- 
 tered vale. We all have felt or seen his power. 
 Beneath the cypress we rest and weep ; our 
 hearts riven with memories of the loved and 
 lost ; and yet hope springing eternal from 
 earth's mausoleums to penetrate and possess 
 the future. 
 
 Faith penetrates the veil, and bids the in- 
 visible stand disclosed ; while its magic wand 
 wakens into life forms well-known, but holier 
 and lovelier far than we knew them here. 
 Such thoughts make us better, purer, gentler. 
 We cannot keep society with the sainted dead, 
 and with the great God in whose presence 
 
THE SILENT SHORE. 347 
 
 they dwell, without feeling a nobler life 
 throbbing through us. They draw us upward. 
 We grow less earthly, more heavenly ; and 
 God-like aspirations come to us, as we wander 
 along the border land where dwell the sainted 
 dead. 
 
 " The sorrow for the dead," says Irving, 
 " is the only sorrow from which we refuse to 
 be divorced. Every other wound we seek to 
 heal, every other affliction to forget ; but this 
 wound we consider it a duty to keep open ; 
 this afBiction we cherish and brood over in 
 solitude. 
 
 " Where is the mother who would willingly 
 forget the infant that perished like a blossom 
 from her arms, though every recollection is a 
 pang? Where is the child that would willingly 
 forget the most tender of parents, though to 
 remember be but to lament ? Who, even in 
 the hour of agony, would forget the friend 
 over whom he mourns? Who, even when 
 the tomb is closing upon the remains of her 
 he most loved, when he feels his heart, as it 
 were, crushed in the closing of its portal, 
 would accept of consolation that must be 
 bought by forgetfulness ? 
 
348 THE SILENT SHORE. 
 
 " No ; the love which survives the tomb is 
 one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If 
 it has its woes, it has likewise its delights ; 
 and when the overwhelming burst of grief is 
 calmed into the gentle tear of recollection, 
 when the sudden anguish and the convulsive 
 agony over the ruins of all we most loved is 
 softened away into pensive meditation on all 
 that it was in the days of its loveliness, who 
 would root out such a sorrow from the heart? 
 
 " Though it may sometimes throw a passing 
 cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread 
 a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet 
 who would exchange it even for the song of 
 pleasure or the burst of revelry ? No ; there 
 is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. 
 There is a remembrance of the dead to which 
 we turn even from the charms of the living. 
 
 " Oh, the grave ! the grave ! It buries 
 every error, covers every defect, extinguishes 
 every resentment. From its peaceful bosom 
 spring none but fond regrets and tender 
 recollections. Who can look upon the grave 
 even of an enemy, and not feel a compunc- 
 tious throb that he should ever have warred 
 with the poor handful of earth that lies moul- 
 dering before him ? 
 
THE SILENT SHORE. 
 
 349 
 
 " But the grave of those we loved, what a 
 place for meditation ! There it is that we 
 call up in long review the whole history of 
 virtue and gentleness, and the thousand en- 
 dearments lavished upon us almost unheeded 
 in the daily intercourse of intimacy. There 
 it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the 
 solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene. 
 
 " The bed of death, with all its stifled 
 griefs, its noiseless attendants, its mute, watch- 
 ful assiduities, , the last testimonies of expir- 
 ing love, the feeble, fluttering, thrilling, oh, 
 how thrilling ! pressure of the hand. The 
 last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon 
 us even from the threshold of existence. The 
 faint, faltering accents struggling in death to 
 give one more assurance of affection. Aye, 
 go to the grave of buried love and meditate ! 
 There settle the account with thy conscience 
 for every past benefit unrequited, every past 
 endearment unregarded, of that departed being 
 who can never — never — never return to be 
 soothed by thy contrition ! 
 
 " If thou art a child, and hast ever added a 
 sorrow to the soul or a furrow to the silver 
 brow of an affectionate parent ; if thou art a 
 
3 5o THE SILENT SHORE. 
 
 husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom 
 that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms 
 to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy 
 truth ; if thou art a friend, and hast ever 
 wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the 
 spirit that generously confided in thee ; if thou 
 art a lover, and hast given one unmerited 
 pang to that true heart which now lies cold 
 and still beneath thy feet ; then be sure every 
 unkind look, every ungracious word, every 
 ungentle action, will come thronging back 
 upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at 
 thy soul ; then be sure that thou wilt lie down 
 sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and 
 utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavail- 
 ing tear, more deep, more bitter, because un- 
 heard and unavailing. 
 
 "Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and 
 strew the beauties of nature about the grave ; 
 console thy broken spirit, if thou canst, with 
 these tender, yet futile tributes of regret; but 
 take warning by the bitterness of this thy con- 
 trite affliction over the dead, and henceforth 
 be more faithful and affectionate in the dis- 
 charge of thy duties to the living." 
 
 When we are dead, there will be some 
 
THE SILENT SHORE. 351 
 
 honest sorrow. A few will be really sad, as 
 we are robed for the grave. Fewer, probably, 
 than we now suppose. We are vain enough 
 to think our departure will produce considera- 
 ble sensation. But we over-estimate it. Out 
 of a small circle how soon shall we be forgot- 
 ten ! A single leaf of a boundless forest has 
 fallen ! That is all. 
 
 " The gay will laugh 
 When thou art gone ; the solemn brood of care 
 Plod on ; and each one, as before, will chase 
 His favorite phantom." 
 
 When we are dead, affection may erect a 
 monument. But the hand that set it up will 
 soon be as powerless as ours, and for the same 
 cause. How soon they that weep over us 
 will follow us ! The monument itself will 
 crumble, and it will fall on the dust that covers 
 us. If the marble or the granite long endures, 
 yet the eye of affection will not endure to 
 read the graven letters. Men will give a 
 glance at the name of one they never knew, 
 and pass on with not a thought of the slum- 
 berer below. 
 
 Deplorable indeed, is the state of him, who, 
 
3 52 THE SILENT SHORE. 
 
 having run through life's brief years in the 
 sweet sunshine of comfort and earthly happi- 
 ness, comes at length to the unwelcome hour 
 when Death summons him away, and who, as 
 he glances his spirit's eye through the vast 
 future that awaits him, sees no cheering light, 
 no rising sun, to gladden his endless career, 
 and remembers, with bitterness of soul, that 
 although he has rejoiced in many years upon 
 the earth, many, many " days of darkness " 
 now lie before him, even an Eternity of sorrow 
 and unavailing repentance. 
 
 Thrice happy he, whose path is that of the 
 just, which, beaming brighter and brighter 
 day by day, is lost at length in the noontide 
 splendors of the Heavenly Glory! 
 
 
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