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GIFT of
2. ALFRED C. FINNEY.
FROM THE LIBRARY OF
BYRON A. FINNEY, A.B., 1871
REFERENCE I, IBRARIAN, 1891-1916


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WHAT TO DO,
H O W T O DO IT;
oft,
MORALS AND MANNERS
s'Aſſº, Hr ºf
R. X. A M P L E 8.
BY
PETER PARLEY. />a< .
N E W Y O R. K. :
SHELDON, LAMPORT & BLAKEMAN,
115 NASSAU STREET. -
1855.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848,
By S. G. GOODRICH,
un the Clark's (ºffice of the District Court of the United States,
for the District of Massachusetts.
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C O N T E N T S.
PAGL
CHAP. I. Everything is made to be Happy • 1
CHAP. II. Do as you would be done unto .. 6
CHAP. III. Truth e © • - tº ... 8
CHAP. IV. The Choice, or Good and Evil . . . 16
Chap. V. What Kind of Heart have you got P . 22
CHAP. VI. What Kind of Heart have you got? . 31 .
CHAP. VII. Charity º o G e • & 34
CHAP. VIII. Charity e © e Ç . . 4.)
CHAP. IX. Charity . o º º º . 48
CHAP. X. Charity º O º © e . .51
CHAP. XI. Selfishness . º e º º • 57
Ch AP. XII. The Value of Character . . . 59
CHAP. XIII. Justice so o O º © . 61
CHAP. XIV. Humility © e e . . . 63 . . .
CHAP. XV. Mildness & e © e . 65
CHAP. XVI. Candour e o e º • - 67.
CHAP. XVII. Prejudice o © O o e O 70
IV CONTENTS.
IPA (; ſº
CHAP. XVIII. Mercy o © tº º . . $4
CHAP. XIX. Courage . º º © tº . 87
CHAP. XX. Patience and Impatience © . . 89
CHAP. XXI. Cheerfulness and Gloom . º . 92
Chap. XXII. Good Habits and Good Manners taught
by Example c e o o © º . 95
Chap. XXIII. Obedience Q o e . . 108
CHAP. XXIV. How to settle a Dispute . . l l 4
CHAP. XXV. Politeness . . . . . 120
CHAP. XXVI. Boasting . . e . . . . 133
Chap. XXVII. Weakness of Character . . . . 136
Chap. XXVIII. Self-reliance—Perseverance . 142
CHAP. XXIX. Gratitude º g . . . ] 50:
Ch.A.P. XXX. Amusement o * º . . 153
Chap. XXXI. Do not be too positive . º • 156
CHAP. XXXII. Attention © e © . . 160
Char. xxxiii. Yanity . . . . . . 166
Chap. XXXIV. Do not be discouraged by Difficulties idw
WHAT TO D0,
AND HOW TO DO IT.
ºw ------ 1 -. º
CHAPTER I.
EVERYTHING IS MADE TO BE HAPPY
If any one of my young friends will get
up early in the morning and go forth among
the birds, the insects, the four-footed beasts,
he will see that they all seem made to be
happy.
1

2 EVER, YTHING IS MADE
The robin in singing its song, the spar-
row in building its nest, the swallow in
pursuing its insect prey, the doves in their
fond interceurse with each other, the busy
crow in feeding its young—all seem made to
enjoy their existence, and all seem to ac-
complish the design for which they were
created.
The busy bee in storing away its honey,
the bustling ants in carrying on the various
affairs of the hill, the grasshopper in playing
his little fiddle, the butterfly in his search of
the sweetest flower, even the beetle in rolling
his ball, the cricket in chirping beneath a
heap of stones, and the spider in making
or mending his net—all appear to be in pur-
suit of happiness, and all seem to obtain it.
And the squirrel, skipping from tree to
- tree, the mouse in gnawing a hole to get at
the meal, the frog in the brook, the toad in
his burrow of earth, the wild deer in the
forest, the sheep upon the grassy hill side,
the cows in the meadow, the dog at his mas-
ter's side—these all declare that they are
in pursuit of enjoyment, and that they find
what they seek.
TO BE HAPPY. 3.
Happiness, then, is the end and object for
which these creatures were made: and they
all, taken in a general view, attain it. Life
to them is a blessing. It was given them by
a good and loving Creator, who meant that
they should enjoy it.
And were not human beings made for
happiness too? Yes—and for even greater
happiness than these birds, and insects, and
quadrupeds. We are made not only to enjoy
the pleasures of animal life, but those of the
heart and of the mind: we are not only made
to eat and drink, and perceive heat and cold,
but to feel the beauty of virtue, and the
grace of goodness; to enter the fields of
knowledge, and enjoy the boundless plea-
sures of thought.
The Creator, then, intended us for happi-
ness, but in giving us nobler endowments
than those of mere animals, he has bestowed
upon us liberty, or the power to act as we
please. Here, then, he made a great dif-
ference between us and the beasts: he laid
them under the haws of instinct: he placed
in each of them certain wonderful aptitudes,
habits, and powers, which govern and con-
trol them. Thus, obeying these laws, they
4 EVERYTHING IS MADE
fulfil the designs of God, and attain the end
of their existence. Man has good and evil
placed before him, and he may choose which
he pleases: it is God’s will that man should
choose the good, and thus be happy: but
still, having made us free, he leaves us to
choose evil and suffer sorrow, if we will.
While God, therefore, guides the birds
and fishes and insects and four-footed beasts,
by their instincts, to happiness, He has left
us to our own choice. It is for us to decide
whether we will be happy or not. God has
given us reason in the place of instinct, and
if we will obey that reason wisely, and follow
the paths which it points out, happiness is
ours, not only for this world, but for that
which is to come.
Now we do not send animals to school,
and give them books, for God is their
teacher: their instincts are all they need.
But human beings are to be educated, in-
structed, and by a gradual progress, elevated
to that high destiny for which they are qua-
lified. Instruction is the means by which
we are to be taught our duty, and by which
we may accomplish the end for which we .
were created.
TO B E HAPPY. 5
But instruction will not make us happy,
unless we listen to it, and obey its teachings.
We must not only know what is good and
right, but we must pursue and do what is
good and right. -
We all desire to be happy: no one can
by any possibility desire to be miserable.
And how can we be happy? The answer is
easy, to do good, and to do it in the right way.
We must not only take care to have our
hearts right, but our manners must be right:
we must not only be honest, true, charitable,
virtuous, but we must be amiable, kind,
cheerful, agreeable. We must not make it
our sole object to be happy ourselves, but we
must constantly try to make others happy
also. And how can we make others happy,
if our manners, our looks, our words, our
mode of speaking, are disagreeable?
Now proceeding upon the certainty that
all my young friends desire to be happy, I
write this book, to assist them in becoming
so. I intend it to be a pleasant book, full of
truth, but full of amusement also. My pur-
pose is to teach young people the great art of
life—that of doing right in the right way :
that of being not only good, but agreeable.
1 &
6 IDO AS YOU W Oluſ LD
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CHAPTER II.
DO AS YOU WOULD BE DONE UNTO.
THIs sentence contains the substance of
the moral law, that law which points out
our duty to our fellow-men. Now what do
we wish of our fellow-men—how do we
desire that others should treat us? We wish
them to treat us kindly, justly, charitably:
we wish them to be polite, affectionate,
cheerful, pleasant.
Let us then be kind, just, charitable, po-
lite, affectionate, cheerful, pleasant to others.
If all would observe this beautiful rule, which
Christ himself has given us, how happy

BE DONE UNTO. 7
should we be, and how happy should we
make all around us! What a delightful
world this would become, if every one would
look about and do to his neighbour, as he
would wish his neighbour to do to him
To show how pleasantly this rule would
work, let me tell you a story, a true one:
The horse of a pious man happening to
stray into the road, his neighbour put him
into the pound. Meeting the owner soon
after, he told him what he had done; “and
if I catch him in the road again,” said he,
“I will do it again.”
“Neighbour,” replied the other, “not
long since I looked out of my window in the
night, and saw your cattle in my meadow,
and I drove them out and shut them into your
yard, and I will do it again.” Struck with
the reply, the man liberated the horse from
the pound, and paid the charges himself.
And let me tell my little readers, if they
wish their playmates and companions to be
kind to them, they can best secure their
object by being kind themselves. Kindness
begets kindness; doing good to others is the
best way of doing good to ourselves.
CHAPTER III.
TRUTH.
TRUTH is conformity to fact, in a state-
ment or representation. If I say that London
is the largest city in the world, my statement
conforms to fact, and is therefore true. If I
say that Boston has more inhabitants than
New York, my statement does not conform
to fact, and therefore is not true.
There is one thing more to be considered,
which is, that the statement must conform to
fact in the sense in which it is meant to be
understood. If I say a thing which is lite-

'FR U TH. 9
rally true, but which is not true in the sense
in which I mean it to be understood, then I
am guilty of falsehood, because I intend to
deceive. The following story will illustrate
this : * *
Two hoys, who had been studying geo-
graphy, were walking together one evening,
when one of them exclaimed, “How brightly
the sun shinesſ” The other boy immedi-
ately replied that, as it was evening, the sun
did not shine. The first, boy insisted that it
did shine; whereupon a dispute arose, one of
the boys insisting that the sun did shine, the
other that it did not. At last, they agreed
to leave the point to their father, and ac-
cordingly they went to him and stated the
case. They both agreed that it was nine
o'clock at night; that the stars were glitter-
ing in the sky; that the sun had been down
for nearly two hours; and yet John, the
elder of the boys, maintained that, at that
moment, the sun was shining as brightly as at
noon-day. -
When the father demanded an explana-
tion, John said that the geography he had
just been studying, stated that when it was
10 TRUTH,
night here, it was day in China—“ and
now,” said he, “ of course the sun is shining
there, though it is night here. I said tha
the sun shines, and so it does.”
To this the father replied as follows:
“What you say now, John, is true, bu
still, what you said to James was a falsehood
You knew that he understood you to say
that the sun shone here—you meant that h
should so understand you; you meant tº
convey a statement to his mind that did no
conform to fact, and which was therefor
untrue. You had a reservation in your own
mind, which you withheld from James. You
did not say to him that you restricted you
statement to China—that was no part o
your assertion.
“Truth requires us not only to watch ove
our words, but the ideas we communicate
If we intentionally communicate ideas whicl
are false, then we are guilty of falsehood
Now you said to James that which wa
untrue, according to the sense in which you
knew he would, and in which you intended
he should, receive it, and therefore you
meant to violate the truth. I must accord.
TRUTH. 11
ingly decide against you, and in favour of
James; you were wrong, and James is
right. The sun did not shine as you said
it did, and as James understood you to say
it did.”
There are many other cases which illustrate
this “truth to the letter and lie to the sense.”
Some years since, when the laws against
travelling on the Sabbath were in force, a
man was riding on horseback near Wor-
cester, in Massachusetts. It was on a Sun-
day morning, and the traveller was soon

12 TRUTH,
stopped by a tythingman,” who demanded his
reason for riding on the Lord's day, and thus
violating the law.
“My father lies dead in Sutton,” said
the other, “ and I hope you will not de-
tain me.”
“Certainly not,” said the tythingman,
“under these circumstances;” and accord-
ingly he allowed the man to proceed. About
two days after, the traveller was returning,
and happened to meet the tythingman in
the road. The two persons recognized
each other, and the following conversation
ensued:
“You passed here on Sunday morning, I
think, sir,” said the tythingman.
“Yes, sir,” said the traveller.
“And you told me you were going to your
father's funeral—pray when did he die?”
“I did not say I was going to my fa-
ther's funeral—I said he lay dead in Sutton,
and so he did; but he has been dead for
fifteen years.”
* The word tythingman, in New England, is the title of
a town officer, who sees to the observance of certain laws
relating to the due observance of the Sabbath.
T.R.U.T.He l:
Thus you perceive that while the words o
the traveller were literally true, they con
veyed an intentional falsehood to the tything
man, and therefore the traveller was guilty o
deception. I know that people sometime
think these tricks very witty, but they ar
very wicked. Truth would be of ao value
if it might be used for the purposes of de
ception; it is because truth forbids all de
ception, and requires open dealing, that it i
so much prized. o
It is always a poor bargain to give awa,
truth for the sake of a momentary advantage
or for the purpose of playing off an ingeniou
trick. To barter truth for fun or mischief i
giving away gold for dross. Every time
person tells a lie, or practises a deception, h
inflicts an injury upon his mind, perhaps no
visible to the eye of man, but as plain to th
eye of God as a scar upon the flesh. B.
repeated falsehoods, a person may scar ove
his whole soul, so as to make it offensive il
the sight of that Being whose love an
favour we should seek, for his friendship i
the greatest of all blessings. -
Truth is the great thing to be sought, an
2
14 TRUTH.
falsehood the chief thing to be avoided.
Truth is the foundation of most other vir-
tues—of honesty, justice, and fidelity. No
character is so much prized as that of a lover
of truth, none so much despised as the liar
and the deceiver, for falsehood lies at the
bottom of almost every vice.
The Horse and his Groom.
A groom, whose business it was to take
care of a certain horse, let the animal go
loose into the field. After a while, he wanted
to catch him, but the brute chose to run
about at liberty, rather than be shut up in
the stable; so he pranced about the field and
kept out of the groom’s way.
The groom now went to the granary, and
got the measure with which he was wont to
bring the horse his oats. When the horse
saw the measure, he thought to be sure that
the groom had some oats for him; and so he
went up to him, and was instantly caught
and taken to the stable.
Another day, the horse was in the field,
and refused to be caught. So the groom
truth. 15
again got the measure, and held it out, in-
viting the horse, as before, to come up to
him. But the animal shook his head, say-
ing, “Nay, master groom; you told me a lie
the other day, and I am not so silly as to
be cheated a second time by you.”
“But,” said the groom, “I did not tell
you a lie; I only held out the measure, and
you fancied that it was full of oats. I did
not tell you there were oats in it.” *}
“Your excuse is worse than the cheat
itself,” said the horse. “You held out the
measure, and thereby did as much as to say,
* I have got some oats for you.’”
Actions speak as well as words. Every
deceiver, whether by words or deeds, is a
liar; and nobody, that has been once de-
ceived by him, will fail to shun and despise
him ever after. s
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I6 THE CHOICE,
CHAPTER IV.
THE CHOICE, of GOOD AND EVIL.
THERE are few persons who do precisely
as they ought to do. It is very seldom that
any one, even for a single day, discharges
every duty that rests upon him, at the same
time avoiding everything that is wrong.
There is usually something neglected, de-
layed, or postponed, that ought to be done
to-day. There is usually some thought en-
tertained, some feeling indulged, some deed
committed, that is sinful. If any person
doubts this, let him make the experiment;
let him closely watch every thought and
action for a single day, and he will perceive
that what we say is true—that all fall far
short of perfect obedience to the rule of
right.
And yet, if a person can once make up
his mind to do right, it is the surest way to
OR GOOTD AND EV IL 17
obtain happiness. I shall endeavour to
illustrate this by an allegory:
The Garden of Peace.
In an ancient city of the East, two youths
were passing a beautiful garden. It was
inclosed by a lofty trellis, which prevented
their entering; but, through the openings,
they could perceive that it was a most en-
chanting spot. It was embellished by every
object of nature and art that could give
beauty to the landscape. There were groves
of lofty trees, with winding avenues between
them : there were green lawns, the grass
of which seemed like velvet; there were
groups of shrubs, many of them in bloom,
and scattering delicious fragrance upon the
atmosphere.

t 2 Š
18 T 11 tº C 11 O1C jº,
Between these pleasing objects there were
fountains sending their silvery showers into
the air; and a stream of water, clear as
crystal, wound with gentle murmurs through
the place. The charms of this lovely scene
were greatly heightened by the delicious
music of birds, the hum of bees, and the
echoes of many youthful and happy voices.
The two young men gazed upon the scene
with intense interest; but as they could only
see a portion of it through the trellis, they
looked out for some gate by which they
might enter the garden. At a little distance,
they perceived a gateway, and they went to
the spot, supposing they should find an en-
trance here. There was, indeed, a gate;
but, it was locked, and they found it impos-
sible to gain admittance.
While they were considering what course
they should adopt, they perceived an inscrip-
tion over the gate, which ran as follows:
“32e'er till to-morroſo's ſight titlap
&Hijat map ag inctl be done to-day ;
#2t'er to tút thing you ’d ibisi) untion",
Tſitſu’d by to-morroiu's riging gun.
©figtrot thegt 33 ults a singſt year,
%int you may fretly enter jtre "
OR GOOD AND EVIL. 19
The two youths were much struck by
these lines; and, before they parted, both
agreed to make the experiment by trying
to live according to the inscription. -
I need not tell the details of their progress
in the trial: both found the task much more
difficult than they at first imagined. To
their surprise, they found that an observance
of the rule they had adopted required an
almost total change of their modes of life;
and this taught them, what they had not felt
before, that a very large part of their lives
—a very large share of their thoughts,
feelings and actions—were wrong, though
they were considered virtuous young men
by the society in which they lived. -
After a few weeks, the younger of the
two, finding that the scheme put too many
restraints upon his tastes, abandoned the
trial. The other persevered, and, at the
end of the year, presented himself at the
gateway of the garden.
To his great joy, he was instantly admit-
ted; and if the place pleased him when seen
dimly through the trellis, it appeared far
more lovely, now that he could actually tread
20 THE CHOICE,
its pathways, breathe its balmy air, and
mingle intimately with the scenes around.
One thing delighted, yet surprised him —
which was this: it now seemed easy for him
to do right; nay, to do right, instead of re-
quiring self-denial and a sacrifice of his tastes
and wishes, seemed to him a matter of course,
and the pleasantest thing he could do.
While he was thinking of this, a person
came near, and the two fell into conversa-
tion. After a little while, the youth told his
companion what he was thinking of, and
asked him to account for his feelings. “This
place,” said the other, “is the Garden of
Peace. It is the abode of those who have
chosen God’s will as the rule of their lives.
It is a happy home provided for those who
have conquered selfishness; those who have
learned to conquer their passions and do
their duty. This lovely garden is but a
picture of the heart that is firmly established
in the ways of virtue. Its ways are ways of
pleasantness, and all its paths are peace.”
While they were thus conversing, and as
they were passing near the gateway, the
youth saw on the other side the friend who
OR C COD AND EVIL. 21
had resolved to follow the inscription, but
who had given up the trial. Upon this, the
companion of the youth said, “Behold the
young man who could not conquer himself!
How miserable is he in comparison with
yourself! What is it makes the difference?
You are in the Garden of Peace ; he is ex-
cluded from it. This tall gateway is a bar-
rier that he cannot pass; this is the barrier,
interposed by human vices and human pas-
sions, which separates mankind from that
peace, of which we are all capable. Who-
ever can conquer himself, and has resolved
firmly that he will do it, has found the key
of that gate, and he may freely enter here:
If he cannot do that, he must continue to be
an outcast from the Garden of Peace.”

22 WHAT KIND OF HEART
CHAPTER V.
what KIND of HEART HAVE YOU Got?
MANY people seem to think only of their
external appearance, of their personal beauty,
or their dress. If they have a handsome
face, a good figure, and a fine attire, they
appear satisfied; nay, more, we often see
persons showing vanity and pride merely
because they have beautiful garments on, or
because they are called pretty or handsome.
Now I am not such a sour old fellow as
to despise these things, it is certainly desir-
able to appear well, indeed it is our bounden
duty to make ourselves agreeable; but I have
remarked that those persons who are vain of
outside show, forget that the real character
of a person is within the breast, and that it
is of vastly greater importance to have a
good heart than a handsome person.
The heart within the body is of flesh, but
HAVE YOU GOTP 23
it is the seat of life: upon its beatings our
life depends. Let the heart stop, and death
immediately follows. Beside this, the heart
is influenced by our feelings. If one is
suddenly frightened, it beats more rapidly.
Any strong emotion, or passion, or sensation,
quickens the action of the heart.
It is for these reasons, because the heart
is the seat of life, and because it seems to be
the centre or source of our passions and
feelings, that we often call the soul itself, the
heart. Thus the heart of flesh is a sort of
emblem or image of the soul. When I ask,
therefore, what sort of heart have you got?
I mean to ask what sort of soul have you got?
We often hear it said that such a person
has a hard heart, and such a one has a kind
or tender heart. In these cases we do not
speak of the heart of flesh, but of the mind
and intention. A hard heart, in this sense,
is a soul that is severe, harsh, and cruel; a
kind and tender heart, is a soul that is re-
gardful of the feelings of others, and desirous
of promoting the peace and happiness of
others. . .
You will see, therefore, that it is very im-
24 WHAT KIND OF HEART
portant for every individual to assure himself
that he has a good heart. The reasons why
it is important, I will endeavour to place
before you.
In the first place, “God looketh on the
heart.” He does not regard our dress, or
our complexion, or our features. These do
not form our character; they have nothing
to do with making us good or bad If God
looks into the breast and finds a good heart
there, a tender, kind soul, full of love toward
Him and all mankind,-a heart that is con-
stantly exercised by feelings of piety and
benevolence,—he approves of it, and he
loves it.
God does not care what sort of garment
covers such a heart, or what complexion or
features a person with such a heart has got.
He looketh on the heart, and finding that
good, he bestows his blessing, which is
worth more than all the wealth of this wide
world,
Personal appearance is of no value in the
sight of God. It is only because men value
it, that it is to be regarded. But upon the
character of the heart, the favour or displea-
HAve. YoU GOT 2 25
sure of God depends. It is of the greatest
importance, therefore, for each person to see
what kind of heart he has got. If he loves
to do mischief; if he loves to say or do harsh
and unkind things; if he loves to wound the
feelings of others; if he loves to see another
suffer; if he wishes, in any way, to injure
another in his mind, body, or estate, then he
has a bad heart; and God looks on that bad
heart as we look upon a malignant and
wicked countenance. . . .
Before God, every heart has a character.
We cannot see into the bosom, but God can.
All things are transparent to Him, and he
looketh on the heart as we do upon one an-
other's faces: and to Him, every heart is
as distinctly marked as men's countenances
are to us. A wolf has a severe, harsh, and
cruel expression m ais countenance. A bad
heart has as distinct an expression in the
sight of God, as the wolf's face to human
eyes.
The second reason for having a good
heart is, that it not only wins the favour of
God, but of men. However we may fancy
that mankind think only of outside appear-
3
26 WHAT KIND OF HEART
ance, they do in fact think more of internal
goodness. Mankind, in all ages and countries,
love, respect, and revere the person who has
a good heart; the person whose soul is habi-
tually exercised by piety toward God and
love toward mankind, is always esteemed
and loved in return.
| Such a person is almost sure to be happy;
even if he is destitute of money, he has that
which in this world is of more value, the
good will, the sympathy, the kind wishes
and kind offices of his fellow-men. If a per-
son wishes success in life, therefore, there is
no turnpike road to it like a good heart. A
man who seeks to extort, to require, to com-
mand the good will of the world, will miss
his object. A proud person, who would
force men to admire him, is resisted; he is
looked upon as a kind of robber, who de-
mands what is not his own, and he is usually
as much hated as the person who meets you
on a by-road at night, and, holding a pistol
in your face, demands your purse.
The proud person, the person who de-
mands your respect, and tries to force you
into good will toward him, turns your feel-
HAVE YOU GoTP tº 27
ings against him; it she gentle, the humble
and the kind-hearted, appeal to the breas
with a power we cannot resist. The person
therefore, of real power, is the person with a
good heart. He wields a sceptre which mer
would not resist if they could, and could no
if they would.
The third reason for having a good hear
is, that while the exercise of a bad heart is
painful, the exercise of a good heart is bliss.
ful. A heart that indulges in envy, malice
anger, revenge, jealousy, covetousness, be:
comes unhappy and miserable; a heart tha
exercises piety, love, charity, candour, peace
kindness, gentleness, becomes happy.
The exercise of piety and good feeling
brings pleasure and enjoyment to the soul
as cool, fresh water does to a thirsty lip: bac
feelings bring pain and misery to the soul
as bitter and poisoned water does to the
palate and the stomach. A person, there
fore, who indulges in bad feelings, is as un,
wise as one who refuses pure water and
drinks poison. -
The fourth reason for having a good hear
is, that it is the surest way to be handsome
28 WHAT KIND OF HEART
A person with a good heart is almost always
good-looking; and for this reason, that the
soul shines through the countenance. If
the heart is angry, the face is a tell-tale, and
shows it. If the heart is exercised with
piety, the countenance declares it.
Thus the habits of the soul become written
on the countenance; what we call the ex-
pression of the face is only the story which
the face tells about the feelings of the heart.
If the heart is habitually exercised by malice,
then a malicious expression becomes habi-
tually stamped upon the face. The expres-
sion of the countenance is a record which
sets forth to the world the habitual feelings,
the character of the heart.
I know very well that some persons learn
to put a false expression upon their faces:
Shakspeare speaks of one who “ can smile
and smile and be a villain still.” This false
veil, designed to hide a bad heart, is, how-
ever, generally too thin to answer its pur-
pose. Mankind usually detect the veil of
hypocrisy, and as flies see and shun a
spider's web, so mankind generally remark
and avoid the hypocrite’s veil. They know
HAve You GoT 2 29
that the spider, the dastardly betrayer, i.
behind it, ready to make dupes and victim
of those whom he can deceive.
The only true way, therefore, to have a
good face, a truly and permanently hand.
some face, is to have a good heart, and thus
have a good expression. There can be no
genuine and abiding beauty without it
complexion and features are of little conse.
quence. Those whom the world call hand.
some, have frequently neither regularity o
features nor fairness of complexion. It is
that indescribable thing called expression, the
pleasant story which the countenance tells
of the good heart within, that wins favour.
There are many other good reasons for
having a good heart; but I have not room to
tell them here. I must say a word, how-
ever, as to the means of curing a bad heart
and getting a good one.
The first thing is, to find out what a good
heart is, and what a bad heart is ; and in
making this inquiry it will much help you
to read carefully the account given of Jesus
Christ in the gospels of Matthew, Mark,
Luke, and John. There are no pages like
3 Š
30 WHAT KIND OF II EART
these so full of instruction, and that so
readily impart their meaning to the soul of
the reader.
They give us a portrait of our Saviour, -
and what a portrait ! How humble, yet how
majestic how mild, yet how dignified how
simple, yet how beautiful! He is repre-
sented as full of love toward God, and to-
ward mankind; as going about doing good;
as having a tender and kind feeling for every
human being; as healing the sick, giving
sight to the blind, and pouring the music of
sound upon the deaf ear. Love to God,
which teaches us to love all mankind, evi-
dently filled the heart of Jesus Christ ; and
his great desire seems to have been, that all
mankind should have hearts filled with the
same feeling that governed his. A good
heart, then, is one like Christ’s ; a bad heart
is one that is unlike Christ’s. A good heart
is one that is habitually exercised by love to
God and charity to man; a bad heart is one
that is exercised by selfishness, covetousness,
anger, revenge, greediness, envy, suspicion,
or malice.
HAVE YOU Got? 31
CHAPTER VI.
WHAT KIND OF HEART HAVE YOU GOT *
HAVING learned what is meant by a good
and bad heart, the next thing is to look into
our own breasts and see what kind of a heart
we ourselves have got. This is of first-rate
importance, and therefore it is that I ask the
question—“What sort of heart have you got,
reader 2%
Having, by careful examination, found out
what sort of a heart you have got, then you
are prepared to act with good effect. If you
find that you have a good heart, a heart like
Christ's, filled with the love of God and feel-
ings of obedience to God, and with love and
charity to all mankind, evinced by a desire
to promote the peace and happiness of all;
then be thankful for this best of gifts, and
pray Heaven that it may continue to be
yours. An immortal spirit, with the prin-
3 2. WIIAT KIND OF HI EART
ciple of goodness in it, is yours—and how
great a blessing is that
But if you discover that you have a bad
aeart, pray set about curing it as soon as
possible. An immortal spirit with a prin-
ciple of badness in it, is surely a thing to be
dreaded; and yet this is your condition, if
you have a bad heart. In such a case, re-
pentance is the first step for you to take.
Sorrow, sincere sorrow, is the condition upon
which past errors are forgiven by God; and
this condition must be complied with.
There is no forgiveness without repent-
ance, because there is no amendment with-
out it. Repentance implies aversion to sin;
and it is because the penitent hates sin, that
the record of his offences is blotted out.
While he loves sin, all his crimes, all his
transgressions must stand written down and
remembered against him, because he says
that he likes them,--he vindicates, ‘’ -
proves of them. Oh take good care, R. .
and gentle reader—take good care to blot
out the long account of your errors, before
God, speedily Do not, by still loving sin,
say to God that you are willing to have those
HAVE YOU Got? 33
that you have committed, and those you may
commit, brought up in judgment against you.
Draw black lines around the record of your
transgressions, by repentance.
And having thus begun right, continue to
go on right. At first, the task may be diffi-
cult. To break-in a bad heart to habits of
goodness, is like breaking a wild colt to the
saddle or harness; it resists, it rears up,
it kicks, it spurns the bit, it seeks to run
free and loose, as nature and impulse dictate
and as it has been wont to do before : but
master it once, and teach it to go in the path,
and it will soon be its habit, its pleasure, its
easy and chosen way to continue in the path.
To aid you in this process of ; iking a
good heart out of a bad one, study the Bible,
and especially that which records the life and
paints the portrait of Christ. Imitate, hum-
bly, but reverently and devoutly, his exam-
ple; drink at the fountain at which he drank,
the overflowing river of love to God.
This is the way to keep the spark of good-
ness in the heart; and to cherish this, to
keep it bright, exercise yourself in good.
deeds, in good thoughts, in good feelings.

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CHAPTER VII.
CHARITY.
CHARITY is that kindness of heart whi
makes us desirous of rendering others happ
It is one of the greatest of virtues, and wit
out it, no one can be good. It is a pu
love of mankind, and of all things that liv
and breathe, and feel. It is a beautiful se
timent, and in the sight of God is of me
value than all the gold and silver of th
world. It is indeed the pearl of great pric
* >x+.








C EIA RITY, 35
one who has it is rich in the sight of God;
one who has it not, is poor indeed, though
he may have lands and money in abundance.
The most common form of charity is
that of giving alms to the poor: and every
one who loves his money so well that he
cannot part with a portion of what is not
necessary for his own comfort, or that of his
family, to aid the needy and the helpless,
in the sight of God and true wisdom, is
worse than a beggar. Rich in the things of
this world, he is pinched with selfishness,
which implies a miserable dearth of true
riches.
Another form of charity is that of putting
kind and favorable constructions ºupon the
conduct of others. A person whö is harsh
in judging and severe in speaking of others
is destitute of charity. I am afraid that
some of my young friends, who are apt to
say unpleasant things of their companions,
are in this condition: -
Think a moment of it, my gentle reader;
——why should you desire to wound the heart
of another—to tear his character to pieces?
Have you any better right to injure the
36 CHARITY,
feelings or reputation of another, than to
wound his person? Is it not as bad to destroy
his good name, as to break his bones? In
the sight of God, one is as bad as the other;
they both show a want of that love which
we call charity, and this every good heart
possesses. A.
There are many persons who think that it
is witty to be severe; that it shows talent to
find fault; that it displays superiority to be
dexterous in picking out and showing-up
the follies and foibles of others. This is a
great mistake, for of all kinds of vulgarity
and meanness, that of fault-finding is the
most easy and the most common. Who is
there so weak, so dull, as not to be able to
make another appear wicked, unamiable, or
ridiculous, if he will watch his actions and
be resolved to attribute them to bad motives?
It is easy to draw a caricature likeness of
another: you have only to represent the
prominent features, with a little absurd ex-
aggeration, and any body sees at once the
ridiculous resemblance. Thus a caricature
of even a handsome person excites laughter:
but it is a very poor vocation—this of draw-
CHARITY, 37
ing caricatures—because a very stupid person
can succeed in it; because it is a species of
lying, for it violates the truth and inculcates
falsehood; because it cultivates bad habits
in him who executes and him who sees the
false picture; and because it wounds the feel-
ings of the subject of the caricature, and does
him as gross injustice as if you robbed him
of his money; and
because it stirs up
enmity and strife in
Society.
The true art of the
painter is to seize
upon the agreeable
expression of the
person he would
represent, and to portray it so that all will
know it at once as a likeness. The art of
doing this is a noble art, and it requires ability
and genius to excel in it.
Now, these remarks may be fairly ap-
plied to moral painting: . it is easy, in
speaking of others, to draw caricatures of
them and to make them seem ridiculous. I
am afraid, it is because the thing, is so easy
2- :

4
38 CHARITY,
that it is so common. Why is so much of
our conversation made up of uncharitable
talk about our neighbours, companions—
perhaps those we call our friends? Is it not
because the heart is wrong and loves scandal
—caricature—ridicule—and the tongue finds
it easy to exercise itself in this way?
Perhaps my readers may think that they
will become dull and uninteresting, if they
only speak of pleasant things. It is not so,
my dear young readers. Nothing can better
show good sense—a good heart—good taste
—good talents, than the habit of perceiving
and pointing out the good qualities of others.
Which shows the best taste—going forth
into the fields to gather noxious weeds and
offensive plants; or going forth to gather
sweet-scented flowers and lovely blossoms?
Which is most lovely—one who is addicted
to making and exhibiting nosegays, gathered
and grouped from the pleasant things in the
characters of their friends; or one who is in
the habit of treasuring up the unpleasant
things they can discover in those around
them, and retailing them for the poor com-
pensation of a smile or a laugh?
CHARITY, 39
To illustrate the advantages of dealing in
the good things which we may see in others,
if we will only seek for them, let me tell you
a matter of fact. I have the pleasure to
know a lady, who is one of the most agree-
able, the most gifted, and the most famous
in America, and though I have known her
intimately for years, I never heard her say
an unkind word of any living being!
This lady has written many books—some
of prose and some of poetry, and her name
is honoured as well in the Old World as the
New; yet you cannot find in them a page or
satire, or a sentence of misanthropy. All is
charity—all is a display of the beautiful in
nature and the lovely in character; she is
enamoured of beauty and virtue wherever
they dwell, and her books as well as her
conversation are but exhibitions of that holy
affection. What a glorious thing it is to
have a heart to admire and a genius to dis-
play the loveliness which God has scattered
over the landscape, and made to flourish
and bloom in the human bosom
Though I have said a good deal more
than I intended on charity, stili there is
40 CHARITY.
much more to be said of it. The Bible tells
us that it covers a multitude of sins, which
means, that a person who has true charity
will seek rather to hide than to display the
faults of others.
Alas, how unhappy should we be, if God,
who looketh on the heart, and sees all our
motives, were not more kind and charitable
to us, than we are to our fellow-men! If
we would hope for mercy above, let us prac-
tise it here below.
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CHAPTER VIII.
CHARITY.
History of the Two Seekers.
THERE were once two boys, Philip and
Frederick, who were brothers. Philip was
a cheerful, pleasant, good-natured fellow;
he had always a bright smile on his face,
and the mere sight of him made everybody
feel an emotion of happiness. His presence
was like a gleam of sunshine, peeping into a
dark room—it made all light and pleasant
around.
Beside this, Philip had a kind heart; in-
deed, his face was but a sort of picture of his
bosom. But the quality for which he was
remarkable was a disposition to see good
things only in his friends and companions:
he appeared to have no eye for bad quali-
ties. If he noticed the faults, errors, or
4 § .
42 CH A RITY.
vices of others, he seldom spoke of them.
He never came to his parents and teachers,
exaggerating the naughty things that his
playmates had done. On the contrary,
when he spoke of his friends, it was gene-
rally to tell some picasant thing they had
said or done. When he felt bound to notice
another's fault, he did it only from a sense
of duty, and always with reluctance, and in
mild terms. -
Now Frederick was quite the reverse of all
this. He loved dearly to tell tales. Every
day he came home from school, giving an
account of something wrong that had been
done by his playmates, or brothers and sis-
ters. He never told any good of them, but
took delight only in displaying their faults.
He did not tell his parents or teacher these
things from a sense of duty, but from a love
of telling unpleasant tales. And, what was
the worst part of it all, was this: Frederick’s
love of tale-bearing grew upon him, by in-
dulgence, till he would stretch the truth,
tººd make that which was innocent in one of
his little friends appear to be wicked. He
seemed to have no eye for pleasant and good
THE TWO SEEKERS. 43
things—he only noticed bad ones: nay, more,
he fancied that he saw wickedness, when
nothing of the kind existed. This evil pro-
pensity grew upon him by degrees; for you
know that if one gets into a bad practice, and
keeps on in it, it becomes at last a habit
which we cannot easily resist. A bad habit
is like an unbroken horse, which will not
mind the bit or bridle, and so is very apt to
run away with his rider.
It was just so with Frederick: he had got
into the habit of looking out for faults, and
telling of them, and now he could see no-
thing else, and talk of nothing else.
The mother of these two boys was a

.#4 CHARITY.
good and wise woman. She noticed the
traits of character we have described in her
sons, and while she was pleased with one,
she was pained and offended on account of
the other. She often talked with Frederick,
told him of his fault, and besought him to
imitate his amiable brother: but as I have
said, Frederick had indulged his love of tell-
ing tales, till it had become a habit, and this
habit every day ran away with him. At last
the mother hit upon a thing that cured
Frederick of his vice—and what do you think
it was 2
I do not believe that any of you can
guess whatit was that cured master Frederick.
It was not a pill, or a poultice; no, it was a
story—and as I think it a good one, I will
relate it to you.
“There were once two boys,” said the
mother, “who went forth into the fields.
One was named Horace, and the other was
named Clarence. The former was fond of
anything that was beautiful—of flowers, of
sweet odours, of pleasant landscapes. The
other loved things that were hideous or
hateful—as serpents and lizards—and his
THE TWO SEEKERS 45
favourite haunts were slimy swamps and
dingy thickets.
“One day the two boys returned from
their rambles; Horace bringing a beautiful
and fragrant blossom in his hand, and
Clarence bringing a serpent. They rushed
up to their mother, each anxious to show the
prize he had won. Clarence was so forward,
that he placed the serpent near his mother's
hand; on which the reptile put forth his
forked tongue, and then fixed his fangs in
her flesh.
“In a moment a pain darted through the
mother's frame, and her arm began to swell
up; she was in great distress, and sent for
the physician. When he came, he mani-
fested great alarm, for he said the serpent
was an adder, and its bite was fatal, unless
he could find a rare flower, for this alone
could heal the wound. While he said this,
he noticed the blossom which Horace held
in his hand. He seized upon it with joy,
saying—‘This, this is the very plant I de-
sired P. He applied it to the wound, and it
was healed in an instant.”
But this was not the whole of the story.
46 CH A R ITY.
“While these things were taking place, the
adder turned upon the hand of Clarence, and
inflicted a wound upon it. He screamed
aloud, for the pain was very acute. The
physician instantly saw what had happened,
and applying the healing flower to the poor
boy’s wound, the pain ceased, as if by en-
chantment, and he, too, was instantly
healed.”
Such was the story which the mother told
to her two sons. She then asked Frederick
if he understood the meaning of the tale.
The boy huwg his head, and made no answer.
The mother then went on as follows:
“My dear Frederick—the story means
that he who goes forth with a love of what
is beautiful, pleasant, and agreeable, is sure
to find it: and that he who goes forth to find
that which is evil, is also sure to find what
he seeks. It means that the former will
bring peace and happiness to his mother, his
home, his friends; and that the latter will
bring home evil—evil to sting his mother,
and evil that will turn and sting himself.
The story means that we can find good, if
we seek it, in our friends, and that this good
THE TWO SEEK ER.S. 47
is like a sweet flower, a healing plant, im-
parting peace and happiness to all around.
The story means that we can find or fancy
evil, if we seek for it, in our friends; but
that, like an adder, this only wounds others,
and poisons those who love to seize upon it.”
Frederick took the story to heart; he laid
it up in his memory. When he was tempted
to look out for the faults of his companions,
and to carry them home, he thought of the
adder, and turning away from evil, he looked
out for good; and it was not long before he
was as successful in finding it as his brother
Philip.
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CHAPTER IX.
CHARITY.
IN the southern part of France is a large
city called Marseilles: here there once lived
a man by the name of Guizon; he was
always busy, and seemed very anxious to
get money, either by his industry, or in some
other way.
He was poorly clad, and his food was of
the simplest and cheapest kind ; he lived
alone, and denied himself all the luxuries and
many of the comforts of life. .
He was honest and faithful, never taking
that which was not his own, and always per-
forming his promises; yet the people of

THE SUPPOSED. MISER, 49
Marseilles thought he was a miser, and they
held him in great contempt. As he passed
along the streets, the rich men looked on
him with scorn, And the poor hissed and
hooted at him. Even the boys would cry
out, “There goes old Skinflint.”
But the old man bore all this insult with
gentleness and patience. Day by day, he
went to his labour, and day by day, as he
passed through the crowd, he was saluted
with taunts, and sneers, and reproaches.
Thus time passed on, and poor Guizon
was now more than eighty years of age.
But he still continued the same persevering
industry, still lived in the same saving, sim-
ple manner as before.
Though he was now bent almost double,
and though his hair was thin and as white as
snow; though his knees tottered as he went
along the streets; still the rude jokes and
hisses of the throng pursued him wherever
he went. .
But, at length, the old man died, and it
was ascertained that he had heaped together
in gold and silver, a sum equal to forty
thousand pounds. On looking over his
5
§0 CHARITY.
papers, his will was found, in which were the
following words:
“I was once poor, and I observed that the
poor people of Marseilles suffered very much
for the want of pure, fresh water. I have
devoted my life to the saving of a sum of
money sufficient to build an aqueduct to sup-
ply the city of Marseilles with pure water, so
that the poor may have a full supply.”
Let us be careful how we judge others
uncharitably, in denouncing, ridiculing, per-
secuting those who live differently from what
we do—who seem to us to be marrow-minded
and selfish—it may be that we are doing
them great injustice, and injuring those who
are in reality far better than ourselves. Let
us, rather, be charitable, for this is always
safe.
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CHAPTER X.
CHARITY.
ONE evening as I was passing along a
street in Boston (in America,) I saw a pool
ragged fellow, known by the name of Simple
Simon. He had in his face a look of melan-
choly, and his clothes bespoke at once
poverty and neglect. He was in fact a harm-
less, helpless creature, having hardly common
sense, and living for the most part upon
charity.





52 CHARITY.
As I came near him, a finely-dressed young
man passed him by. According to his habit,
Simple Simon held out his hand to the
youth, as if asking for alms. The latter
turned his head aside with unconcealed dis-
gust, and making no other reply to the
beggar than this look of aversion, went his
way. -
As I was curious to see the effect of this
rudeness upon poor Simon, I went up to
him, and after a little conversation, I spoke
of the youth in a manner to draw out his
feelings.
“You say he is a handsome fellow, and so
he is,” said Simon : “ and he is a good young
man, too, for aught I know ; but he cannot
condescend to speak to me: and why should
he P I am now a poor creature and unfit to
be spoken to by one who wears a good coat
and kid gloves, and is the son of a great
man. Why should he speak to Silly Simon?”
“Then you know him, do you?” said I.
—“Know him —yes,” said the beggar,
“ and his father before him. His father was
a rich man and president of a college. My
father was poor, but still he wished to have
THE BEGGAR’s STORY. 53
his children well educated: so he sent my
brother Ben to the university. But things
went ill with my father; and as the saying
is—worse always comes behind to kick bad
down hill. Still, Ben was a good scholar,
and my father did not take him from the
college, hoping and striving all the time to
make things improve : so he got in debt to
the college, for Ben’s instruction. ºx
“Well, one day my father had a sheriff's
officer sent after him, and as he could not pay
the debt, he was taken to prison. Now, I do
not mind being sent to prison myself, for I
am a poor good-for nothing. I have been
sent there several times, and though I never
knew what it was for, still it is all the same
to Silly Simon. But my father was a sen-
sitive man, and to be shut up in a stone
room, where the air was damp and close, was
a strange thing to him. He was a little
nervous too, I believe, for it affected him
very much. He had been respected by the
world at large. and had spent his life in acts
acknowledged to be beneficial to mankind:
and now, to be confined as if he were guilty
of some crime, and unworthy of breathing
5 §
54 CHARITY.
the fresh air, and of holding intercourse with
his fellow-men! all this turned his head.
It affected him the more, that the blow came
from the college which ought, as he said, to
set examples of humanity.
A friend went to the president and begged
him to let my poor father out of prison, but
he pretended to know nothing about it, and
refused to interfere. At last some friend,
hearing of my father's situation, paid the
debt and he was released. But the affair
sunk deep into his heart; and perceiving
that the richer and more respectable members
of society took part with the president; that
the latter was kept in his place, and not
only vindicated but cherished—while he was
himself neglected and despised, because he
had become poor and been put in prison—
he lost his confidence in mankind and him-
self, and soon died of a broken heart.
“Misfortunes never come single you
know—so, soon after my father died, poor
Ben followed. I was left destitute, and
there was no one to care for me. By and
by I was taken sick of a fever: it settled on
my brain, and left it at last in a terrible
THE BEGGAR S STORY. 55
state. I never could get it fairly cleared up,
and all the better is it for me. If I had my
senses, then the things of which I tell you
would make me unhappy; but as it is, I am
contented. I can see the president’s son pass
by in scorn, and feel sorry for him; for,
after all, I think it must give him more pain
than it does me. Poverty is a sad thing,
Mr. Parley, but there is something worse.”
“And what is that P”
“Selfishness,” said Simon; “that kind
of selfishness which makes a man forget how
others feel. 1 am poor. silly, as they call
me, but still, I never forget what is going
on in the breasts of others. There are some
men so proud, so lofty, that they regard a
great part of their fellow-men as little as
we do worms and insects in our path. They
stride proudly on, thinking that if any one
is crushed beneath their mighty tread, it is
because he gets in their way, and this is all
they think or care about it. Now I am one
of those worms and I have often been trod
upon. I know the agony—the cruel agony
which attends such cases; and I therefore
feel for every human being who suffers. I
56 CHARITY, w
would not even tread upon a worm, If I
knew it.” -
I left the poor beggar with his words trea-
sured in my heart: and I drew this lesson
from his story, -that a beggar may still im
part truth and wisdom; that under the garb
of poverty, there may be something to re-
spect and admire; that even seeming weak-
ness has often a touching moral for those
who will listen and learn; and that God
sends down to the crushed bosom, in kind-
ness and for consolation. that mantle of
charity, which is even better than garments
of purple and fine linen. -

CHAPTER XI.
SELFISHNESS.
A dog and a cat were once sitting by a
kitchen door, when the cook came out and
threw several pieces of meat to them.
They both sprang to get it, but the dog
was the strongest, and so he drove the cat
away, and devoured all the meat himself. This
was selfishness; by which I mean, that the
dog cared only for himself. The cat wanted
the meat as much as he did; but he was the
strongest, and so he took it all.
But was this wrong? No, because the
dog knew no better. The dog has no idea
of God, or of that beautiful golden rule of
conduct, which requires us to do to others
as we would have them do to us.

58 SEL FISHN ESS.
Dr. Watts says,
“Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so; e
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For ’tis their nature too.”
But children have a different nature, and
a different rule of conduct. Instead of biting
and fighting, they are required to be kind
and gentle to one another, and to all mankind.
Instead of being selfish, like the dog, they
are commanded to be just and charitable; by
which I mean, that they should always give
to others what is their due, and also give to
others, if they can, what they stand in need of.
If a child snatches from another what is
not his, he is selfish and wicked. If a child
tries in any way to get what belongs to an-
other, he is selfish, and is in his heart a thief
or a robber. Selfishness is caring only for
one’s self. It is a very bad thing, and every
one should avoid it. A selfish person is
never truly good, or truly happy, or truly
beloved, when his character is known.
How miserable should we all be, if every
person was to care only for himself! Sup-
pose children and grown-up people, were all
to be as selfish as cats and dogs; what
constant fighting there would be among them.

CHAPTER XII.
THE VALUE OF CHARACTER,
I shALL relate a fable to you, which
shows what a bad thing it is to have a stain
on one's character, and how it may some-
times subject one to be punished for what
one has not committed.
A wolf once made complaint that he had
been robbed, and charged the theft upon his
neighbour the fox. The case came on for
trial before a monkey, who was justice of
the peace among the quadrupeds in those
parts. The parties did not employ lawyers,
but chose to plead their cause themselves.
When they had been fully heard, the judge,
*

60 THE VALUE OF CHARACTER,
assuming the air of a magistrate, delivered
his sentence as follows:
“My friends and neighbours,— I have
heard your case, and examined it attentively;
and my judgment is, that you both be made
to pay a fine; for you are both of bad cha-
racter, and if you do not deserve to be pu-
mished now, it is likely you will deserve to
be so very soon.
“That I have good grounds for this decree,
is sufficiently evident by the fact, that Mr.
Wolf's jaws are even now stained with blood,
and I can see a dead chicken sticking out of
Sir Fox’s pocket, notwithstanding the air
of injured innocence which he wears. And
beside, one who gets an evil reputation should
think it no hardship if he is occasionally
made to suffer for a crime he did not commit.”
This fable teaches us to beware of an evil
reputation; for it may cause us to be pu-
nished for the misdemeanors of others. Thus,
if a person gets the character of a liar, he
will not be believed when he tells the truth;
and when a theft is known, it is of course
laid to some one who has been caught in
stealing before.
CHAPTER XIII.
JUSTICE.
JUSTICE is rendering to others what is
their due, and not only requires of us fair
dealing in matters of property, but it re-
quires of us fair dealing in all the intercourse
of life. Every kind of advantage we take of
others, even in the smallest things, bespeaks
the spirit of injustice, and is to be con-
demned.
The child that snatches away another’s
toys; the shrewd and knowing boy that over-
reaches his more simple fellow in a barter of
penknives; the person who gives currency to
a scandalous tale; all these are guilty, at the
bar of conscience, of the crime of injustice.
One of the most common and yet most
mischievous kinds of injustice is that of put-
ting false and injurious constructions on the
actions of others. How often do we hear
people say,+such a one is proud—that man
6
62 JUSTICE.
..º
is seeking display—this one is puffed up with
conceit ! In most cases these imputations
are false, and therefore unjust. How wicked
then is this practice of evil speaking, as it
does much harm and no good! -
If I were to draw the portrait of a truly
noble character, I should make justice the
basis of it. A just person must have many
virtues; he must be a lover of truth, a lover
of honesty, a lover of what is right. He must
despise falsehood, trick, deception and fraud
of any kind. Let any of my readers who
desire to adorn their souls with a noble attri-
bute, cultivate justice, not only in deeds, but
in words, thoughts, and feelings. Let them
be just even in the little arguments that arise
around the fireside, in all the familiar inter-
course, sports, pleasures, and controversies of
the field, the high road, and the school-
room. Let them establish the habit of being
just, even in trifles: let them cherish the
feeling of justice as they would the dearest
friend. -
CHAPTER XIV.
HUMILITY.
THIS is a humble virtue, yet a most lovely
one. Jesus Christ has said that the poor in
spirit—the humble—the meek—are blessed,
for they shall see God. What a mighty
preference what a noble promise ! Humility
is, therefore, a pearl of great price, and is
really better than money and lands and mer-
chandise. It is not the rich, not the haughty,
the proud man, but the humble one that is
to see God.
Humility is often of great advantage in
life; for when the proud are resisted and
crushed, the meek and lowly are frequently
64 HUMILITY.
permitted to pass on, unheeded perchance,
but yet unhurt. The fable of the Oak and
the Reed will illustrate this.
An oak stood on the bank of a river,
and growing at its foot was a reed. The
oak was aged, and its limbs were torn away
by the blasts of years; but still it lifted its
head in pride, and looked down with contempt
upon the reed.
At last there came a fearful tempest. The
oak defied it, but the reed trembled in every
fibre. “See,” said the oak, “the advantage
of strength and power; see how I resist and
triumph (*
While it spoke thus, a terrible rush of the
gale beset it, its roots gave way, and, it fell
to the earth with a tremendous crash. But
while the oak was thus destroyed in its pride,
the humble reed bowed to the blast, and,
when the storm was over, it arose and flou-
rished as before.
CHAPTER XV.
MILDNESS.
THE Sun and Wind once fell into a dis-
pute as to their relative power. The Sun
insisted that, as he could thaw the iceberg,
and melt the snows of winter, and bid the
plants spring out of the ground, and send
light and heat over the world, he was the
most powerful. “It may be,” said he to the
Wind, “ that you can make the loudest up-
roar, but I can produce the greatest effect.
It is not always the most noisy people that
achieve the greatest deeds.”
“This may seem very well,” said the

6 Š
66 MILIDN ESS.
Wind; “but it is not just. Do I not blow
the ships across the sea, turn windmills
drive the clouds across the heavens, get u
squalls and thundergusts, and topple dow
steeples and houses with hurricanes?”
Thus the two disputed, when, at last,
traveller was seen coming along; and the
agreed each to give a specimen of what h
could do, and let the traveller decide betwee
them.
So the Wind began, and it blew lustily
It nearly took away the traveller's hat an
cloak, and very much impeded his progress
but he resisted stoutly. The Wind havin
tried its best, then came the Sun’s turn
So he shone down with his summer beams
and the traveller found himself so hot tha
he took off his hat and cloak, and almos
fainted; he soon decided that the Sun ha
more power than the Wind.
Thus our fable shows that the gentle ray
of the Sun were more potent than the tem
pest; and we generally find in life that mil
means are more effective, in the accomplish
ment of any object, than violence.
CHAPTER XVI.
CAND OUR.
CANDour is that state of heart which dis-,
poses a person to see and confess the truth.
It belongs to all real lovers of truth. With-
out it no person can be honest, just, sincere,
or faithful.
It is a most important virtue, for it lies at
the very root of goodness, and is indis-
pensable to rectitude of conduct and real
force of character. Candour is opposed to
prejudice: while prejudice would blind the
mind, candour would give it clearness of
perception. Candour is like a clear at-
mosphere, enabling us to see objects dis-
tinctly : prejudice is like a wrinkled glass,
that would distort the objects which are seen
through it. Candour would wipe clean the
spectacles of the mind: prejudice would ob-
scure them, or perhaps paint them over with
false and deceptive images.
68 CAND OUR.
Candour is opposed to many other vices,
all of which are unfriendly to truth. Disin-
genuousness, which would conceal the truth
by some deceptive veil; artifice, which would
make falsehood pass for truth; improper
concealment, which would hide the truth
where it is required; moral cowardice, which
makes one fear the truth; these mean yet
dangerous and besetting vices are all opposed
to candour. If any of my readers feel that
any of these sad diseases are in their souls,
let them administer candour, for this is a cer-
tain cure for them all.
Candour is necessary to those who would
be wise, for wisdom consists in knowing the
truth; and how can one see and know the
truth, if he is blinded by an imperfect vision,
or misled by an atmosphere that presents
objects either falsely or obscurely?
Candour is not only thus useful and ne-
cessary, but it is a most delightful grace in
character. No person can be amiable with-
out it : no person can have sincere friends
without it; no person can possess true beauty
of soul without it. The face is usually an
index to the soul; it is a sort of mirror re-
CAN DO UR. 69
flecting the passions that are within. If a
person is destitute of candour, destitute of a
love of truth, and therefore a lover of false-
hood, the face is very apt to tell the sorry
tale. If, on the contrary, a love of truth is
in the heart, it is likely to shine forth in that
which we call the expression. Think of this,
my gentle friends – think of this; and if you
would have true beauty of face, take care to
make candour an habitual tenant of the
soul.

CHAPTER XVII.
PREJUDICE.
PREJUDICE is a false judge that comes
into the mind, and induces it to pronounce
sentence of condemnation, either without
inquiry, or in opposition to truth and know-
ledge. It is a thief that steals truth and can-
dour from the soul, leaving it in the pos-
session of malice, envy, or falsehood—which-
ever may make the strongest appeal to self-
love or selfishness. -
If there were in the place where we live
some horrid monster, as, for instance, a
fierce lion that infested the path of the tra-
veller, or an insidious serpent that stole

PREJUDICE CON QUER.E.D. 71
around our footsteps and stung us with its
deadly poison, how soon would the whole
mass of society be in arms to destroy the
enemy. Yet prejudice is . more hurtful to
the peace of mankind; it is a thousand
times more destructive of human happiness
than such a monster or such a reptile as we
have supposed. It is a snake in the grass,
that poisons our souls unseen : it is a spider
that weaves its fatal web in the chambers of
thought, and carries on its work of de-
struction in silence and secrecy.
Prejudice influences us without our being
fully aware of its presence; and after we
have got into the habit of acting according
to its dictates, we often think that we are
doing right when we are doing very wrong.
I shall endeavour, by a few tales and inci-
dents, to show some of the ways in which we
are influenced by prejudice
Prejudice Conquered.
Several children were one day passing
by a church, when they noticed a little
girl, sitting on a stile. One of the elder
72 PR.EJ U DICE,
girls of the group, whose name was Lydia
Flair, thus spoke to the girl upon the stile.
“Well, Miss Gridley, pray what are you
doing there?”
The girl looked up with some surprise at
this rude speech, but answered mildly,–
“Oh, I am sitting here, because it is so
pleasant all around.”
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“Very sentimental, indeed P’ said Lydia;
and the little party moved along.
“Do you know Grace Gridley P” said
Ellen Lamb, one of the party, to Lydia.
“To be sure I do, and I hate her,” was
the reply.
“Hate her l’” said Ellen; “that is a strong
expression,-and why do you hate her?”











PR EJ U DICE CONQUERED. 73
“Oh, I do not know, exactly " said
Lydia; “but she goes to church three times
on a Sunday, and associates with people that
pretend to be so pious, and so much better
than other people.”
“You hate her, then, because she goes to
church so often ?” said Ellen.
“Why that is not all: she has such a
prim precise air; there is always something
about her so correct, that I feel uneasy
where she is. Beside, everybody says she is
good and handsome, and all that. I hate
people that are always praised by everybody,
for I believe they are no better than other
people, and are only more deceitful.”
“You feel, perhaps, a sort of envy, and
this may lead you to see their conduct in a
false light. Envy and prejudice, Lydia, will
often deceive us. Now I know Grace
Gridley, and I think her as different as pos-
sible from what you think her to be. So far
from being precise and hypocritical, she is
one of the most frank, sincere, and kind-
hearted creatures that I ever knew. I wish
you would allow me to make you better
acquainted with her.”
7
74 - PREJ U DICE.
“No, no—I know enough of her: I could
never like her.”
“You would like her—you could not help
it. Come ! go back with me, and let us see
a little more of Grace.”
Lydia permitted herself, though very
, reluctantly, to be led back to the place.
where Grace was sitting. She had not only
... a vague dislike of her, from the fact that
Grace went to church so often, and was
one of those whom her own parents were in
the habit of calling stiff, over-righteous, and
bigoted; but she had now been impertinent
to Grace, and as we are apt to dislike those
whom we have injured, Lydia had a new
motive for prejudice against her. However,
the party were soon brought back to the
stile, and Grace was induced to join them.
She made herself agreeable to all; and before
Lydia parted, the first steps were taken to-
ward a better acquaintance. The final result
of this was, an entire change of feeling and
opinion, on the part of Lydia, toward Grace.
A few months after the scene we have
described, the following conversation took
place between Ellen Lamb and Lydia Flair.
PREJ U DICE CONQUERED, 75
E. So you confess that you like Grace
Gridley, after all? * -
L. Why I cannot help liking her; she
is as different as possible from what I
conceived she was: I thought her bigoted,
—but I find, although she is very pious,
and very firm in her principles, that her
heart is overflowing with kind and generous
feelings. I deemed her deceitful, but
she is frankness itself. I expected that
she would be severe and censorious, but
she is the most considerate and charitable
creature in the world. Although very
handsome, yet she seems not to care any-
thing about it. I never saw any one that I
liked so much, and if I had committed a
fault, I would sooner go to her, confess it,
and ask her advice in the matter, than to any
other person.
E. I am glad to hear you say that, for it
is no more than just. But, my dear Lydia,
I wish you to reflect one moment, and then
tell me what it was that made you once dis-
like Grace so much, and do her such in-
justice?
L. I have told you, I believe; I told you
76 PREJ U IDICE.
she associated with stiff, over-pious people,
and I supposed she must be stiff and whining
herself.
E. In other words, you had a prejudice
against her; you had a dislike, without any
just reason. Let us take care of such pre-
judices, my dear Lydia and allow me to ask
if you are not indulging the same unreason-
able feeling, when you speak of Grace's
friends and associates, as stiff and whining
and hypocritical?
L. Oh no—at least, I think not.
J. And yet, Lydia—you do not know
these people. Is not this in itself wicked ?
Observe how this false reasoning misled you
in respect to Grace Gridley. It led you to
call her bigoted and hypocritical—whereas,
you now admit, that she is the reverse of all
this. Only think of the awful injustice you
did her;--you tried to steal away her good
character, and committed that worst of all
cruelty—you gave her a bad name.—
Here Lydia, stung to the heart with a
sense of her error, burst into tears: she was
thoughtless, but not hardened, and had
only done as too many do; she had indulged
ARISTI DES. 77
prejudice—and thus had been guilty of great
wickedness. She had done thus, in partial
ignorance of her sin, for as I have said pre-
judice is like a spider—it creeps slily into
the mind, and takes possession of it unseen,
and often hangs it over with dismal cobwebs,
which are invisible to the owner of the
tenement, though plain enough to the eye of
God and man.
The Story of Aristides.
There is a story handed down to us in the
history of ancient Greece, which shows us
that prejudice may even lead ignorant and
wrong-minded people to dislike and oppose
excellence. -
There was in Greece, a man named
Aristides, so celebrated for his integrity, his
honesty, his love of truth and his upright-
ness, that he was called ARISTIDEs THE
JUST. Well, in consequence of a false
charge brought against him by some of his
enemies, whose unjust proceedings he had
opposed, the people of Athens were about to
banish him from the city, but before this
7 §
78 PREJ U DIC E.
could be done, the vote of every citizen was
to be taken.
It was the custom for the Greeks in those
days to vote for the banishment of a person by
handing in tiles, or shells, on which the name
of the accused was inscribed. An ignorant
fellow, at the time of voting, seeing Aristides
near, and not knowing him, but judging
him to be a man of education, and capable
of writing, went up and asked him to write
the name of Aristides on his tile.
Aristides did as he was requested, and
having handed the tile to the man, asked
him, as a matter of curiosity, why he wished
to banish Aristides. “Because,” said the
freeman, “I am tired of hearing him called
the Just.”
Here then, we see that a man, even acting
in the high and responsible capacity of a
freeman, indulges an unreasonable dislike,
a prejudice,—he even allows a hatred o
excellence to influence him, when he is
exercising a trust which involves the happi-
ness of the whole community.
PREJ U DICE. 79
Truth Triumphant.
It sometimes happens that people living
in the same town or village, without any
good reason, contract a dislike of each other,
and when they meet scarcely speak to each
other: they are cold and distant, and by
degrees get into the habit of thinking and
speaking ill of each other.
One day as John Sawyer and Allen
Highsted, both of whom lived in the village
of Tintonex, met each other, the former
addressed the latter with a pleasant salu-
tation, which was received with a cold look
and a silent tongue. When one of his com-
panions, Seth Mead, asked Allen why he
treated John thus, “I do not like him,”
was the reply. *
“And why do not you like him?” said
Seth.
“Because I do not,” says Allen; “and
what is more—because I will not.”
“But this is unreasonable,” said the
other. -
S() PR. E.J U DIC b, .
“It may seem so—yet I have my reasons”
said Allen. “I think he is an impudent
'upstart.”
“Indeed! Are you acquainted with him?”
“No, and I do not wish to be : he is in a
different condition of life from what I am ;
his father is a shopkeeper, and mine is a
merchant. How should we have any inter-
course? We cannot feel alike; we cannot
live alike. Our manners, our tastes, our
pursuits, our associates must all be dissi-
milar. Beside, he is a mean-spirited, nar-
row-minded fellow.”
“You were never more mistaken, Allen
Highsted—never more in your life. John is
a frank, honest, noble-minded fellow : and
though his father is a shopkeeper, the boy is
as well-bred, and has as good manners as
any other in the village. Indeed, I think he
is a pattern of good manners and right feel-
ings. My father is, as you know, a man of
large fortune; he has been well educated,
and has seen the best society in this and
other countries; and he thinks very highly
of John’s father, and he encourages me to
associate with John.”
PR E J U D H C E. 8 |
“Well, you can do as you like—but I
hate the fellow.”
“And will you indulge a hatred without
reason 7” .
“No —I have reason for what I say and
feel. John dislikes me, and takes every
opportunity to say things against me.”
“Do you know this 2°
“I know it as well as I wish to.”
“Can you cite an instance P’’
“Yes—no longer ago than yesterday, in that
affair of Lacy’s; I have reason to suppose that
he caused me to be suspected of frightening
the child into fits, about which there was
such a clamour.” -
“Well, what reason had you to sup-
pose so?”
“Why, it is just like him; beside, I was
suspected, and how should that have hap-
pened if he did not bring it about?”
“Let me tell you the truth, Allen. You
were suspected, because you were seen near
the place about the time the thing hap-
pened. I was at Lacy’s house last evening,
and there were several people there talking
about it. It was said that you frightened
the child, but John Sawyer defended you
82 * PR.E.J U DICE,
bravely: if he had been your brother, he
could not have spoken of you more kindly.
There were some evil-minded persons there,
who knew that you had treated John ill,
and they tried to make him take revenge of
you, by helping on the suspicion against
you. But he was above it all, and believing
you innocent, he was too noble, too just, to
try to make people think you guilty.”
“Indeed! — indeed!”—said Allen, red-
dening deeply; “is this so? How wicked
—how cruel, then have I been Forgive
me, pray forgive me, my dear fellow.”
“I forgive you with all my heart,” said
Seth –“I have, indeed, nothing to forgive;
but I shall be most happy to see you dismiss
such a prejudice as you have indulged to-
ward John Sawyer: he is really a fine fellow,
and worthy of your esteem.”
“I believe it—I know it,” said Allen ;
“ and I fear that I have had a secret consci-
ousness, all the time, that I was doing him
wrong. I tried to think ill of him, and I
spoke ill of him, only because I did not
know him, or because I felt that his excel-
lence was a kind of reproach to me. I had
treated him ill, too, on many occasions, and
PREJ U DICE. 83
being conscious of this, I wished to excuse
my injustice by making him out a bad
fellow: so I took a malignant and satirical
view of all he did, and tried my ingenuity to
prove myself just and right. But, my dear
friend, I am cured of this weakness for ever.
I will go this instant to John, and make him a
due apology for my rudeness and unfairness.”
I hope these sketches will be sufficient to
show my readers some of the most common
forms in which prejudice operates, and how
it frequently contrives to cheat and mislead
mankind. Let us all guard against it as a
great enemy to our present and future peace.
It is a fierce and malignant tyrant, always
seeking dominion over us, and when once
enshrined in the heart, it is difficult to resist
its influence or check its authority.
All those who desire to be free-minded,
fair-minded, just and true, should strictly
examine every personal dislike they feel:
they should be careful to analyse it—see
upon what it rests—and if it be unfounded,
if it be but a prejudice, let them cast it out
if they would not harbour an evil spirit in
the heart.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MERCY.
THE merciful person considers the feelings
of everything that lives and feels: suffering
in others never fails to give him pain and to
awaken in him a desire to alleviate or re-
move it. I shall tell you a little story in
illustration of this excellent quality.
The Young Fisherman.
James Ferris was permitted to go to the
bridge to amuse himself with fishing. He
put down the hook, and after various nib-
bles, drew forth a perch. It was beauti-
fully marked with black and gold stripes,
and as it jumped and writhed on the hook,
the little boy felt delighted. “I have caught
a fish * said he, in exultation, to his com-
panions. It was the first he had ever caught,
and he experienced as sincere a feeling of
triumph as did Alexander when he gained a
battle. * *
MERCY. 80
Elated with his prize, James put a little
notched stick through one of the gills, and
bore it home. “I have caught a fish P’ said
he to every one he met. Having announced
his good luck to all the household, he took
the perch and put it into a bowl of water.
But alas, it was dead! it floated sideways
upon the water, but it was without life and
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motion. With a sad face, he went to his
mother.
“Mother,” said he, “my fish is dead. I .
wish it was alive again Cannot you bring
it to life P º
“No, my boy, it is impossible,” was the
anSWer.
“I am sorry I killed it,” said James, the
tear gathering in his eye; “it was so happy

8
t
86 MERCY.
and so beautiful in the water | Do fishes
feel, mother?”
“Yes, my child.”
“And did this poor perch suffer as much
when the hook was in his mouth, as I
should if I was drawn up with a hook in my
mouth P” -
“Perhaps not quite so much,” said the
mother, “but no doubt it must be a cruel
death for the poor little fish to die; to have
his mouth torn with a hook, and to be drawn
from the element in which he is formed to
live, into one where he must immediately
perish.”
“I will never kill and torment a fish
again for my amusement,” said James,
Bobbing,

CHAPTER XIX.
COURAGE.
Cour.AGE is of two kinds—physical and
moral. Physical courage is that which makes
a person dare to face danger to the body:
moral courage is that which makes a person
dare to do right, to tell the truth, to be just
and honest, even when such conduct may
bring reproach or ridicule.
Physical courage belongs particularly to
men and boys, who should be ashamed to
shrink from any duty because there is
danger in it. Courage too has been often
exhibited by women. We are told of a
mother in ancient times, who saw a tiger
about to seize her infant. Thoughtless of
the danger to herself, she sprung to her
child, clasped it in her arms, and faced the
furious beast, as if to say, “Before you de-
vour my child, you must devour me!” The
tiger was confounded at this act of reso-
88 COURAGE. &
lution, and as if abashed, slunk away and was
seen no more | The lastincident of this story
is not quite so likely as the first, but it exem-
plifies my meaning.
Boys and Girls.
“Ah, James, that is not fair, to tempt your
sister upon the thin ice, so that she may get
a ducking ! This teasing of sisters, my boy,
is poor sport, you of the stronger sex
should always be the defenders of the
weaker ones.”
A man who in any way insults a woman
is held in universal contempt: he is justly
deemed a coward, for he insults one weaker
than himself, and he does it because he feels
that he is safe from punishment. Now a
boy who teases, insults, or injures a girl, has
the spirit of cowardice in him, for he does
injury upon the mean calculation that he
has nothing to fear from retaliation.

CHAPTER XX.
PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE.
I could write a book about patience, for
it is of the greatest importance in life. It
enables us to keep our minds clear, so that
we may see and observe the truth; it enables
us to govern our passions,—to wait and
choose, not only the proper time, but the
proper mode of action.
There is many a pleasure in life which we
might possess, were it not for our impatience.
Young people, especially, miss a great deal
of happiness, because they cannot wait till
the proper time.
A man once gave a fine pear to his little
boy, saying to him, “The pear is green
now, my boy; but lay it by for a week, and
it will then be ripe, and very delicious.”
“But,” said the child, “I want to eat it
now, father.” -
- 8 Š
90 PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE.
“I tell you it is not ripe yet,” said the
father. “It will not taste pleasantly, and,
beside, it will make you ill.”
“No, it will not, father; I know it will not,
it looks so good. Do let me eat it?”
After a little more teasing, the father con-
sented, and the child ate the pear: the con-
sequence was, that the next day he was
taken ill. Now all this happened because
the child was impatient: he could not wait,
and, accordingly, the pear that might have
been very pleasant and harmless, was the
occasion of severe illness. Thus it is that
impatience, in a thousand instances, leads
children, and pretty old ones too, to convert
sources of happiness into actual mischief and
misery.
There were some boys once who lived near
a pond; and when winter came, they were
very anxious to have it frozen over, that they
might slide and skate upon the ice. At last,
there came a very cold night, and in the
morning the boys went to the pond, to see if
the ice would bear them. Their father came
by at the moment, and seeing that it was
hardly thick enough, told the boys that it
PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE. 91
was not safe yet, and advised them to wait
another day before they ventured upon it.
But the boys were in a great hurry to
enjoy the pleasure of sliding and skating:
so they walked out upon the ice; but pretty
soon it went crack—crack—crack and
down they were all plunged into the water.
It was not very deep, so they got out, though
they were very wet and uncomfortable; and
this happened because they would not wait.
Now these things, though they may seem
to be trifles, are full of instruction. They
teach us to beware of impatience, to wait till
the fruit is ripe, and not to skate till the ice
will bear; they teach us that the cup of plea-
sure, seized before the proper time, is turned
into poison : they show us the importance
of patience.

CHAPTER XXI.
CHEERFULNESS AND GLOOM.
THERE was once a Fairy who, as she was
playing among the flowers, felt a chill breath
of wind, and saw two or three of the blossoms
fall dead at her side. She immediately arose
and looked around, and beheld a tall woman,
like a witch, standing near : though covered
with furs, she was shivering with cold.
“What do you do here?” said the Fairy.
“I am commanded to try my power with
thine,” said the Ogress, in a harsh tone.
“And how shall this be done?” said the
Fairy.
“I have my wand, and thou hast thine,”
was the reply.
“Let me see a touch of thy skill,” said
the Fairy. Here the witch waved her wand,
and suddenly a blast of wind was heard
roaring in the adjacent forest. The green
leaves, now sere and yellow, were torn from
the trees and cast into the valley. The
CHEE RFU LNESS AND G LOOM. 93
songs of the birds were hushed; the flowers
drooped and died. Dark clouds hung in
the sky; the rivers ceased to flow; the air
was filled with sleet and hail; all around was
desolate and spoke of sorrow.
“What think you of it?” said the Ogress.
“It is fearful,” said the Fairy.
“But thou hast seen only a part,” said
the other. “Go with me to the mountains,
and see the avalanche: go with me to the
icy poles, where the sun is banished for half
the year; and then thou mayst judge of my
power.” -
“I doubt it not—yet I would not possess
thy gifts,” said the Fairy. “Go, ask the
...things that feel, and let them choose between
my power and thine.”
“Let me see thy gifts,” said the Ogress.
The Fairy waved her wand, and the scene
was changed. The balmy air of spring came
over the landscape, the azure sky shone
above the mountains; the murmur of waterfalls
came soothingly upon the ear; the music of
birds stole out from the grove; the blossoms
gemmed the fields; sweet odours were wafted
on the breeze! The Fairy looked at the Ogress,
94 CHEERFU LN ESS AND G LOOM.
and the latter smiled. As she did this, her
features softened; the robe of fear slid from
her shoulders; and herself, changed to a
bright and beautiful Fairy, stood before the
other. “I see,” said the late Ogress, “I
now see and confess thy power: it is supe-
rior to mine—for it can convert an unhappy
Ogress into a happy Fairy. My power was
only to do ill; thine was only to do good.
The former is not worthy of being possessed
or exercised, and I am now glad to yield my
reign and become one of the happy subjects
of thy dominion.”
Such is cheerfulness, and such is gloom
the one a Fairy, making all things plea-
sant; the other an Ogress, making all things
sad. One is for good, the other for evil.
Let all my young friends, who would exert
a happy and yet powerful influence, wield
the wand of cheerfulness and not that of
gloom. Let them remember that there is
an irresistible charm in a bright face, a sweet
voice, a willing step, a cheerful manner
Remember that there is something very re-
pelling in sour looks, tart speeches, harsh
tones, in a gloomy temper and manner.
CHAPTER XXII.
GOOD HABITS AND GOOD MANNERS TAUGHT
BY EXAMI PI, E. : )
THERE is no name in the annals of any
country more revered than that of George
Washington, the first President of the
United States. It is a matter of interest to
inquire how he became so good and great,
and how he obtained such a desirable repu-
tation; how he was able to do so much good
to his country and to mankind; how he was
qualified to leave behind him so excellent an
example; how he acquired that great wisdom
which guided him in life, and prepared him
for death; which made him, like Moses in
ancient days, the leader of a nation through
a wilderness of trial and suffering and dan-
ger, and now that he has been dead for
many years, renders him still the teacher,
not only of the United States, but of all the
civilized world.
96 GOOD HABITS AND MANNERS
It is a good plan for every one who wishes
to be useful, good, and happy, to study the
story of Washington, and see how it was
that he became so useful, so good, and so
happy. It is only by study that we can
gain knowledge; and the best way to find
out the path of duty and of success, is care-
fully to reflect upon the history of those who
have been successful. I purpose, therefore, to
give a brief outline of Washington’s character
and early life, taking care to present those
points which seem to have been the most
influential in forming his mind and shaping
his fortunes.
George Washington was born in Virginia,
on the 22d of February, 1732. His father
was a wealthy planter; he died in 1743,
when George was eleven years old; he was,
therefore, left to the care of his mother, who
was a good and wise woman.
Here you must remember that, when
Washington was a boy, young people in
America had not the advantages that they
have now : in Virginia, there were no high-
schools or colleges. He had, therefore, only
the privileges of a very common education,
TAU GHT BY EXAMPLE, 97
at a school where writing, reading, arithmetic,
and a little geometry were taught.
Now I will tell how it was that George
Washington made such good use of these
slender advantages. In the first place, he
had a good mother, who, like almost all
good mothers, frequently counselled and ad-
vised her son to make the best use of his time
at school; to pay attention to his lessons;
to learn them well; and thus, not only to
store his mind with knowledge, but to get
into the habit of studying thoroughly, and
of improving his mind. In the second place,
Washington had the good sense, the virtue,
and the wisdom to attend to his mother in these
things. These are the two great reasons why
a common-school education bore such fruits
as it did in him, and they are the two chief
reasons why he became so eminent.
This shows that the advantages a child
possesses are of less consequence than the
way in which he improves them. A boy
may be sent to a high-school, and go to
college, and have a good natural capacity,
and yet turn out to be a useless, weak, and
ignorant man. Merely a high-school, or a
9
98 GOOD HABITS AND MANNERS
college, cannot make a good, useful, or great
man. These are substantial blessings; but
in order to be good, useful, great, or even
happy, it is necessary in youth to do as
Washington did; that is, to make the best
possible use of your advantages.
Another thing to be noticed here is, that
Washington had none of that folly which
some boys think smartness, or a mark of
genius or manliness, a disposition to disobey
a mother or a schoolmaster. Washington
was obedient to both of them. If, there-
fore, a boy wishes to be successful in life,
let him cultivate obedience to parents and
teachers.
One of the great advantages that followed
from Washington's making the best of his
school privileges was, his adopting good
habits. He got into the habit of doing every-
thing thoroughly. He was not willing to
learn a lesson by halves, and when he came
to recite it, to guess and shuffle his way out.
No, indeed he did not leave a lesson till
he had fully mastered it—till he knew all
about it—till he had stamped it so firmly
in his mind as to make the impression in-
TAUGHT BY EXAMPLE. 99
delible. Habits may be likened to a rail-
road, on which the carriages move smoothly
and easily: so when you have frequently in-
dulged a wrong tendency, you will find it
grow more and more easy to do wrong.
The importance of forming right habits is
seen upon a little reflection. The things we
do once or twice we are likely to repeat: we
are, therefore, always forming habits, good
or bad; and children frequently get them as
settled as a rail-road track, before they are
aware of it. Now, these habits may ruin
those who adopt them, and turn into evil
the best advantages that they can enjoy.
If a boy gets the habit of studying in a
half-way, slovenly, slip-shod manner, he is
almost certain to be greatly injured thereby.

100 GOOD HABITS AND MAN N E R.S
If he goes to college, he there continues the
same habit ; when he comes out, he still car-
ries it with him; when he enters upon busi-
ness, it still hangs about him. He does
nothing well, or thoroughly ; he is careless
and slovenly in all he does; there is imper-
fection and weakness in his career, and
finally he turns out an unsuccessful man.
If he is a merchant, he usually fails in busi-
ness; if a lawyer, a physician, or minister,
he is generally at the tail-end of his pro-
fession, poor, useless, and despised. Such is
the mighty influence of our habits! and re-
member that they are formed in early life:
remember that every day feeds and fosters
our habits.
It is interesting to trace the way that
Washington's youthful habits operated upon
his life. Some of his copy-books are extant,
which show how careful he was in learning
to write. He took the pains to write out, in
a fine hand, the forms in which notes of
hand, bills of exchange, receipts, bonds,
deeds, wills, should be drawn. Thus he cul-
tivated the habit of writing neatly, of being
patient in copying papers, and of being accu-
TAU GHT BY EXAMPLE. 101
rate in making copies; and at the same time
he made himself acquainted with the forms
of drawing up business documents. In all
this, we see the habit of doing things
patiently, accurately, and thoroughly. We
see that Washington had so trained himself,
that he could cheerfully sit down and do that
which was mere toil, and which some boys
would think stupid drudgery.
There are also several quires of his school-
manuscripts remaining on which he worked
out questions in arithmetic and mathematics.
These manuscripts are very neatly executed;
there are several long sums which are nicely
done and beautifully arranged. There are,
also, extensive columns of figures, all set
down with careful precision.
Another thing visible in these manuscripts
is, that Washington studied accuracy; his
sums were all right. What a beautiful illus-
tration of the great man’s life His youth-
ful manuscripts show that he learned to .
render his school-boy pages fair, to work all
his sums correctly. Thus he started in life,
and thus he became qualified to make the
pages of his history glorious.
* 9 Š
102 GOOD I1 ABITS AND MANNERS
Another thing that had great influence in
the formation of Washington's character,
and in securing success in life, was that
very early he adopted a code or system of
rules of behaviour. This was found among
his papers after his death, in his own hand-
writing, written at the age of thirteen. I
will give you a few extracts from this
paper.
“Every action in company ought to be
with some sign of respect to those present.
Be no flatterer, neither play with any one
that delights not to be played with.
Read no letters, books, or papers in
company.
Come not near the books or papers of
another so as to read them.
Look not over another when he is writing
a letter.
Let your countenance in general be cheer-
ful, but in serious matters let it be grave.
Show not yourself glad at another’s mis-
fortune.
Let your discourse with others on matters
of business be short.
TAU G HT BY EXAMI LE. 1.03
It is good manners to let others speak
first.
Strive not with your superiors in argu-
ment, but be modest.
When a man does all he can, do not blame
him though he succeeds not well.
Take admonitions thankfully. :)
Be not hasty to believe flying reports to
the injury of another.
In your dress be modest, and consult your
condition.
Play not the peacock, looking vainly at
yourself.
It is better to be alone than in bad
company.
Let your conversation be without malice
or envy.
Urge not your friend to discover a secret.
Break not a jest where none take pleasure
in mirth.
Speak not injurious words either in jest or
earneSt.
Gaze not on the blemishes of others.
When another speaks, be attentive.
Be not forward to relate news.
104 GOOD HABITS AND MANNERS
Be not curious to know the affairs of
others.
Speak not evil of the absent.
When you speak of God, let it ever be
with reverence.
Labour to keep alive in your heart that
spark of heavenly fire called conscience.”
Such are some of the rules by which
Washington proposed to regulate his be-
haviour at the age of thirteen. Most of
them turn on one great principle, which is,
that you should treat others with respect;
that you should be tender of the feelings,
and rights, and characters of others; that
you should do to others as you would have
others do to you.
But Washington not only laid down good
rules and committed them to memory, but he
was in the habit of observing them; and he
not only observed them when a child, but
after he became a man. He got into the
habit of obeying every one of these rules,
and every one of them became a rail-road
track to him, and he therefore followed them;
IDRESS, 129
me, do you not think some of our ladies are
about as foolish 2
But we must not laugh at the ladies only,
for the other sex deserve a share of our
notice. Foppery is not confined to any
country. A young savage of the western
woods has often the ambition to figure as a
gay fellow, as well as the New York or
Boston dandy. He does not go to the tailor,
to be made a man of, but he relies upon his
own skill. He paints himself over with
clay, of various colours, mixed with bears'
grease. One side of his face is made blue,
and another yellow. On his breast, a ser-
pent is figured; on his back, a buffalo or a
wolf. On his head, he wears the feathers of
an eagle; around his neck, the claws of the
grisly bear; on his back is a bundle of scalps,
and on his arms the skin of a polecat. Over
his shoulder is a buffalo-robe decorated with
a frill of quills, and ornamented with beads.
Such is your dandy of savage life.
But, as we are not writing an article on
the fashions, it is our duty only to lay down
a few simple rules touching this affair of
dress. Without enlarging upon the subject,
130 POLITENIESS.
I may embrace what I have to say in the five
following suggestions: -
1. Dress according to your condition.
2. Avoid singularity in dress.
3. Neatness and cleanliness are indispensa-
ble. Even the finest and most costly things,
as Brussels lace, soiled and tumbled, would
fail to please, and may be compared to ill
flavoured custards or other delicacies.
4. That dress is best which is least re-
marked; which makes the person appear
well, without provoking the observation—
“he or she is finely dressed.” When the
dress is remarked for beauty, and the person
for ugliness, the toilette is ill performed.
5. What is fashionable, is not always right.
The Sparrow and Robin.
A robin was one summer evening sitting
upon a tree and singing its cheerful song
right merrily. A critical sparrow was near
by, and when the robin had done, he ex-
claimed, “What a miserable song! Why,
it really seemed as if it would split my ears.
How can you, robin, pretend to sing, when
THE SPARROW AND ROBIN. 131
there are those around who understand music
so much better?”
“Why, dear sparrow,” said the robin,
“I only sing simple songs, such as nature
has taught me; and here is my pretty mate
at my side, and she says my song gives her
pleasure.”
“The more fool she,” said the sparrow,
smartly, “to be captivated with such hum-
drum stuff. If you want to hear music, you
must listen to the catbird,” who has been to
foreign countries, and the macaws, that are
dressed so fine. They have introduced a
new style of music, and it is all the fashion;
and your lackadaisical songs are now out of
vogue, and none but the vulgar can bear
them.”
“Very well, if it be so,” said the robin
quietly. “I know my songs are of a very
humble kind, but they are still pleasing to
me and mine; and I doubt not that my sim-
ple melodies give more true pleasure than the
more fashionable airs of these foreign min-
strels. One thing proves it, and that is this:
* The catbird is a noisy American songster, much given
to imitating other birds.
132 POLITEN ESS,
when any one of the birds sings our “native
wood-notes wild,’ there is a silence all
around, and every one has a look of delight.
But when one of the fashionable musicians is
singing, though the birds roll up their eyes
and say, ‘ exquisite P and ‘enchanting!’ and
all that, they look, all the time, as if they
were in the greatest distress. It seems to
me very silly for people to praise a thing
they dislike or do not understand, merely
because it has come into fashion.”
This fable may show, that what is merely
fashionable may be, and often is, praised by
a certain set of people; but that most-per-
sons prefer what is simple and natural, and
fºunded in nature and good taste.

CHAPTER XXVI.
BOASTING.
I cAN hardly tell the reason, but the fact
seems to be, that the ass, an honest and
somewhat stupid animal, appears to have
given rise to more fables than any other
beast, except the fox. I have myself told
some fables in which this long-eared person-
age is made to utter a great many wise
things, but I am now going to tell two
fables, in which the creature is represented as
talking rather foolishly.
A man was once going along the road
with an ass, whom he treated somewhat
roughly, upon which the beast first whisked

12
134 |BOASTING.
his lºng tail, and then groaned, and finally
spoke outright. “It seems to me, sir,” said
the honest creature, “ that you use me very
ill, particularly as I belong to a race of great
antiquity, and one that has been honoured
above all four-footed beasts l’”
“Why, how is that? said the man.
“How is that? indeed l’” said the ass. “If
you had read the Bible as much as you
ought to have done, you would remember
that it was one of my ancestors which con-
versed with a prophet, and stood in the pre-
sence of an angel on a certain occasion.
This is an honour which belongs exclusively
to the ass family, of which I am one, and
therefore it seems meet that you should treat
me with proper respect.”
“Well done P’ said the countryman;
“well done ! poor brute. This is ever the
way. It seems to be with asses as with
men: when one has no merit of his own,
he always boasts of the dignity of his family,
or the virtues of his ancestors. For my part,
I know of nothing that sinks a beast or a
man lower, than to see him attempt to cover
up his own vices, or weakness, or folly, by
THE LION AND THE Ass. 135
showing off the dignity of his pedigree, on
the respectability of his connections.” Then
giving the ass a somewhat contemptuouſ
push, the man passed on.
The Lion and the Ass.
An ass was one day travelling with a lion
who wanted the assistance of his bray ir
frightening the animals he was hunting. The
ass felt very proud of his company, and did
not like to speak to his old acquaintances.
As they were travelling along in this man-
ner, the ass met an old friend, of his own
race, who very civilly bade him a good morn-
ing. The ass started back with a stare, and
said, “really, you are very impudent; I do
not know you!”
“Why not?” replied his friend: “because
you are in company with a lion, are you
any better than I am,_anything more than
an ass **
Those narrow-minded people, who, in
prosperity, forget the friends of their hum-
bler days, are about as wise as the ass in
the fable. -
CHAPTER XXVII.
WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER.
THERE is a beautiful story in the fifth
chapter of the second Book of Kings, about
a famous person named Naaman. He was
captain of the army of the king of Syria, and
was a great and mighty man. *
But he was afflicted with a loathsome
disease, called leprosy, which is common in
the eastern countries. Now the Syrians
had gone to war, and had brought away from
the land of Israel a young maiden as a cap-
tive, and she waited on Naaman’s wife. The
story in the Bible goes on as follows:
“And she said unto her mistress, Would
to God my lord were with the prophet that is
in Samaria, for he would cure him of his
leprosy. And one went in and told his lord,
saying, Thus and thus said the maid that is
of the land of Israel. And the king of Syria
WEAKN ESS OF CHARACTER, 137
said, Go to, go, and I will send a letter unto
the king of Israel. And he departed, and
took with him ten talents of silver, and six
thousand pieces of gold, and ten changes of
raiment. And he brought the letter to the
king of Israel, saying, Now, when this letter
is come unto thee, behold, I have therewith
sent Naaman my servant to thee, that thou
mayest recover him of his leprosy. And it
came to pass, when the king of Israel had
read the letter, that he rent his clothes, and
said, Am I God, to kill and to make alive,
that this man doth send unto me to recover
a man of his leprosy 2 wherefore consider,
I pray you, and see how he seeketh a quarrel
against me.
“And it was so, when Elisha, the man of
God, had heard that the king of Israel had
rent his clothes, that he sent to the king,
saying, Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes?
let him come now to me, and he shall know
that there is a prophet in Israel. So Naaman
came with his horses and with his chariot,
and stood at the door of the house of Elisha.
And Elisha sent a messenger unto him,
saying, Go and wash in Jordan seven times,
12 Š
138 WEARN ESS OF CHARACTER.
and thy flesh shall come again unto the
and thou shalt be clean. But Naaman wº
wroth, and went away, and said, Behold,
thought, he would surely come out to me, an
stand, and call on the name of the Lord h
God, and strike his hand over the place, an
recover the leper. Are not Abana an
Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than a
the waters of Israel? may I not wash i
them, and be clean? So he turned, and wer
away in a rage.”
Now this beautiful story may afford in
struction to young people of our time; fo
like the Syrian captain, we all of us like t
do things in our own way; and furthermore
we like to perform certain duties rather tha
others.
The truth is this, that in almost all ou
conduct, we permit our pride, our likes an
dislikes, our tastes and aversions to gover
us, rather than our sense of duty. We ver
seldom ask ourselves “what ought I to do
and how ought I to do it?” implicitly an
cheerfully acting according to the repl
which conscience gives. Even those wh
mean to be governed by duty, are very ap
WEAKN ESS OF CHARACTER. 139
to look over their list of duties, pick out
those which are most agreeable, and perform
them, neglecting or delaying all others; and
even in performing duties, we are likely to
do them in the way most agreeable to our-
selves, and often not in the best way.
Now all this is weakness and folly: it is
real and practical disobe-
dience; it shows that the
heart is not right, that we
are selfish, self-willed, self-
seeking, rather than ho- |
nest, sincere, faithful fol-
lowers of duty.
Let us suppose a case.
Anna is sick, and her mo- 5
ther wishes her to take
some medicine, and pro-
poses that she shall take Š ... wº
castor oil. º sº
“Oh, mother,” observes Anna, “I hate
castor oil.”
“So does everybody,” says the mother.
“But is it not better, my dear child, to take
a little disagreeable physic than to continue
sick, and run the risk of having a fever?”

140 WEAKN ESS OF CHARACTER.
“But, mother, will not something else d
as well?” is the reply. .
“No, not as well,” says the mother, “th
best thing for you is castor-oil; and sick o
well, it is always right to do the best thing
we can.” -
“Oh, mother,” retorts the thoughtles
child, “I cannot take castor-oil; anything
but castor-oil; but really I cannot tak
that.”
Now this little girl is very much lik
Naaman. She wants to get well, but sh
wishes to do it in her own way. Sh
dislikes castor-oil particularly, and reall;
feels willing to take the risk of being ver
sick, rather than to swallow a little medicin
which disgusts her. So it was with Naaman
he wished to get well, and he was willing
to take a bath, but he was a proud man, an
he did not like the idea of giving a preferenc
to a river of Judea over the beautiful river
of Damascus; and so he refused, and wen
away in a rage. *
Thus it is that the little, as well as th
great, are very apt to find some difficulty i
the performance of duty, even where it woul
{HOW TO SETTI, E A DISPUTE. 117
parties, and to result in a clear understanding
of the real question.
A few years since, I happened to be tra-
velling in a stage-coach, where, among half
a dozen passengers, there were a Frenchman
and an Englishman. There seemed to be a
sort of cat-and-dog feeling between them;
for if one opened his lips to speak, the other
was sure to fly at the observation with the
teeth and claws of dispute. As we were
driving along, the Englishman spoke of a
sheep he had seen in some foreign land, with
a tail so long as to drag upon the ground.
Thereupon, the Frenchman shrugged his
shoulders, curled up his lip, lifted his eye-
brows, and took a pinch of snuff.
“What do you mean by that?” said the
Englishman, not a little nettled at the con
temptuous air of his rival
“Wat do I mean?” said the latter; “I
means dat a sheap has not got von tail
at all.” -
“A sheep has not got a tail, ha?” said the
Englishman.
“No, not von bit,” said the Frenchman.
“Well, this comes of eating frogs,” said
118 HOW TO SETTLE A DISPUTE.
the John Bull. “What can you expect of a
man who eats frogs? You say a sheep has
not got a tail. I tell you, mounseer, a sheep
has got a tail.”
“Pardon, monsieur,” said the other, with
a polite bow, yet with a very sneering ex-
pression; “you say de sheap has von tail: I
say de sheap has no tail, not von bit.”
By this time
the parties
were greatly
excited, and
I cannot say F
what might -F#
have hap- ºr
pened, had
not one of --> --- TT
the passengers asked the Frenchman what
he meant by a “sheap 2"
“Wat I mean by sheap 2 vy I means von
big larsh ting, with sails and rudder, that go
upon de sea.”
“Oh ho!” said the Englishman, “ you
mean a ship.”
“Oui, monsieur,” was the reply; “I

HOW TO SETTLE A DISPUTE. 119
mean von sheap, that has de captain and de
sailors, and goes on de vater.”
“Very well,” said the Englishman: “I
meant a sheep, a creature with four legs, and
covered with "wool.”
“Ah, you mean von sheap vit de vool!”
said the other; “ch, oui, monsieur; de
sheap vit de vool has detail. Oui, oui.”
This incident taught me a iesson, and I
give it to my readers;–if they ever get anno
a controversy, let them consider wherner one
of the parties does not mean a ship, and the
other a sheep.

CHAPTER XXV.
PUCITENESS.
THIS is doing to others as we would have
others do to us, in the familiar intercourse
of life. Politeness is, therefore, not only a
mark of refinement, of good breeding, but it
is a duty. It consists in paying a deference
to the feelings of others, in trifles; whether
we eat or drink, or whatever we do, we
should avoid coarseness, vulgarity, and every-
thing in looks, movements, words and
actions, that may offend those around us.
We should adopt the best manners of the so-
ciety in which we live; if certain rules, even
supposing them to be arbitrary or artificial,
are in force there, we are bound, as far as
we understand them, to follow them when-
ever they are not wrong.
There is no surer mark of a coarse and
ill-regulated mind, than a refusal to observe
POLITEN ESS. 12]
the courtesies, civilities, and decent cere-
monies of the society in which a person
lives. All these are soon learned, and there
is no excuse for their neglect.
Politeness forbids rude words, rude looks,
and everything that betokens a lack of re-
spect to the company present: politeness
would carry the gentle and kind spirit of
christianity into all the intercourse . of
Society. Let no one, who would desire the
character of a Christian iady, or a Christian
gentleman, or a Christian at all, refuse to
practise politeness. A person is as much
bound to be just in little matters as in great
matters; and he who will offend in things of
taste, feeling, and decency, is very likely to
offend in the weightier matters of the law.
Can a man who sins in pence be honest in
pounds 2 -
There is no greater mistake than to sup-
pose that politeness means hypocrisy, or
that bluntness means sincerity. Why should
a delicate regard to the feelings of others, a
desire to be merciful and just, even in those
invisible things which can only be weighed
in the delicate balance of the bosom, be
11
122 POLITEN ESS.
called duplicity? Why should the rough,
careless, footstep trampling upon roses, be
thought to display an honest regard to the
proprietor of the garden 7 No, no, bluntness
is vulgarity, call it what we may; and though
politeness may be adopted as the hypocrite’s
mask, it is because he knows it to be a
virtue, and would assume its image and su-
perscription.
There is nothing which does more to de-
grade a person than to forget his breeding,
to be tempted by a flaw of ill-humour into
some rude, offensive, or insulting look, word
or action. When once politeness is put
on, and the character of the lady or the
gentleman is assumed, like the armour of the
ancient knight, it is ever to be worn, and
ever to be kept bright. If you meet with a
person who is sometimes polite, and some-
times rude, you may safely set him down as
a sham gentleman or a sham lady, as the
case may be. -
One serious thing have I to say to my
friends of the sterner sex; a man who will
on any occasion be guilty of a breach of
politeness to one of the gentler portion of
THE MOUTH. | 23
our species is no gentleman, but a dastardly
counterfeit. The position of woman, the
character of woman, give her an inviolable
claim to that protection which the encircling
boundaries of politeness are calculated to
afford; and he who breaks them down, or
overleaps them, is a cowardly trespasser.
The Mouth.
The mouth was made to eat and speak
with. It is therefore a convenient and useful
thing, and we could not do without it. '
But the mouth, like almost everything
else, needs to be taken care of. Sometimes
the mouth will pout, and make a person look
very disagreeable.
... Sometimes the mouth will eat very fast,
and get too much in at a time. Do not let
your mouth do any such things as these :
I had almost forgotten to tell you another
very curious thing about the mouth, and
that is, that it laughs. I believe dogs, and
cats, and pigs, and hens, and geese, never
laugh; but children laugh, and old people
too, sometimes.
124 PO LITEN ESS.
It is well enough to laugh, at proper
times. I love to see children laugh in their
play. I love to see them laugh when I tell
an amusing story.
But I never like to see any one laugh at
the misfortune or fault of another. Tell me,
reader, did your mouth ever laugh at another
child because he was poor? or because he
was poorly dressed ? or because he fell down
and hurt himself? or because he happened
to know less than you do?
If your mouth has ever done any of these
maughty things, I pray you, teach your
mouth better manners.
The Tongue.
Every one has in his mouth a thing to
talk with, called the tongue. This is made
to tell the truth with. When the tongue ,
tells a lie, it does that which is very wrong.
The tongue is made to say kind and plea-
sant things to our friends. When it says a
saucy thing to anybody, it is a naughty
tongue.
When the tongue says a disobedient word.
THE TONGUE. 125
to a father or mother, it is a wicked tongue.
When it says an unkind word to a brother
or sister, it is a very bad tongue indeed.
When the tongue swears, it does that
which God has expressly forbidden.
When the tongue speaks bad words, it is
a vile tongue. What boy or girl would like
to carry about such a tongue in his mouth?
Now, my young reader, let me ask you
a few questions. What sort of a tongue
have you? Does it always speak the truth?
does that tongue of yours ever say saucy
words?
Does your tongue ever say disobedient
words to your parents? does it ever, say
unkind words to a brother or a sister?
does it ever swear? does it ever utter vile
words?
O, my friend, if your tongue ever does
anything wrong, what shall be done? Can
you tell me how to correct an evil tongue?
I can tell you. Take care of your heart and
think right thoughts, and you will be sure to
speak right words.
11 §
126 POLITEN ESS,
The Hand.
Every limb and member of the body is
made for some good purpose.
The eye is made to see with ; the ear is
made to hear with ; the nose is made to smell
with; the mouth is made to eat and speak with.
The feet are made to run and walk with ;
the hands are made to work with, to write
with, and to do many other things.
But do you think children’s hands were
ever made to strike their brothers, or sisters,
or playmates? Were your hands ever made
to snatch away things from each other?
Who gave you hands ! God gave them to
you. Did he give you hands to steal with?
Did God give you hands that you might throw
stones at geese, or dogs, or hens, or cows, or
any other innocent animals?

DF, ESS. - 127
Did God give you hands to injure or
wound any of the creatures he has made 7
Take care of your hands, then, my
children | Take care that the hands which
God has given, do nothing that God dis-
approves. ::
Dress.
There is nothing in which mankind dis-
play more caprice, than in dress; and it is
curious to remark, that this caprice is most
conspicuous in the more civilized countries.
In London and Paris, the fashions of dress
change every year, and in some things, every
few weeks. There is a new style of bonnet
in Paris almost every month.
But in China and India, and indeed over
all Asia, the fashions of dress are unchange-
able. The people now wear almost exactly
the same garments, of the same colours and
the same forms, as were in use a thousand
years ago. The Chinese gentleman of our
day probably has almost the same appearance
as one of the age of Confucius.
The country people of Europe, generally,
128 POLITEN ESS,
have a fixed costume, which continues, with
little change, from generation to generation :
but in the great cities, all is variety and
vicissitude. In America we copy European
fashions, and there are some silly people
whose greatest desire is to be dressed in the
Parisian style.
- |
W/ſ||
º - % <-- º \
A Sº...aſ | &\ § A W
º § | Žº *\\\ \\ \\
ſº
Now when we are told of the Chines
ladies, who have their feet bandaged in orde
to make them small, until they can hardl.
walk,-thus rendering themselves miserabl
and useless, and all this to be thought gen
teel,--we think them very absurd. Yet te


DRESS, 129
me, do you not think some of our ladies are
about as foolish 2
But we must not laugh at the ladies only,
for the other sex deserve a share of our
notice. Foppery is not confined to any
country. A young savage of the western
woods has often the ambition to figure as a
gay fellow, as well as the New York or
Boston dandy. He does not go to the tailor,
to be made a man of, but he relies upon his
own skill. He paints himself over with
clay, of various colours, mixed with bears'
grease. One side of his face is made blue,
and another yellow. On his breast, a ser-
pent is figured; on his back, a buffalo or a
wolf. On his head, he wears the feathers of
an eagle; around his neck, the claws of the
grisly bear; on his back is a bundle of scalps,
and on his arms the skin of a polecat. Over
his shoulder is a buffalo-robe decorated with
a frill of quills, and ornamented with beads.
Such is your dandy of savage life.
But, as we are not writing an article on
the fashions, it is our duty only to lay down
a few simple rules touching this affair of
dress. Without enlarging upon the subject,
130 POLITENIESS.
I may embrace what I have to say in the five
following suggestions:
1. Dress according to your condition.
2. Avoid singularity in dress.
3. Neatness and cleanliness are indispensa-
ble. Even the finest and most costly things,
as Brussels lace, soiled and tumbled, would
fail to please, and may be compared to ill
flavoured custards or other delicacies.
4. That dress is best which is least re-
marked ; which makes the person appear
well, without provoking the observation—
“he or she is finely dressed.” When the
dress is remarked for beauty, and the person
for ugliness, the toilette is ill performed.
5. What is fashionable, is not always right.
The Sparrow and Robin.
A robin was one summer evening sitting
upon a tree and singing its cheerful song
right merrily. A critical sparrow was near
by, and when the robin had done, he ex-
claimed, “What a miserable song ! Why,
it really seemed as if it would split my ears.
How can you, robin, pretend to sing, when
THE SPARROW AND ROBIN. 13]
there are those around who understand music
so much better?”
“Why, dear sparrow,” said the robin,
“I only sing simple songs, such as nature
has taught me; and here is my pretty mate
at my side, and she says my song gives her
pleasure.” *
“The more fool "she,” said the sparrow,
smartly, “to be captivated with such hum-
drum stuff. If you want to hear music, you
must listen to the catbird,” who has been to
foreign countries, and the macaws, that are
dressed so fine. They have introduced a
new style of music, and it is all the fashion;
and your lackadaisical songs are now out of
vogue, and none but the vulgar can bear
them.” *
“Very well, if it be so,” said the robin
quietly. “I know my songs are of a very
bumble kind, but they are still pleasing to
me and mine; and I doubt not that my sim-
ple melodies give more true pleasure than the
more fashionable airs of these foreign min-
strels. One thing proves it, and that is this:
* The catbird is a noisy American songster, much given
to imitating other birds.
132 POLITEN ESS,
when any one of the birds sings our “native
wood-notes wild,’ there is a silence all
around, and every one has a look of delight.
But when one of the fashionable musicians is
singing, though the birds roll up their eyes
and say, ‘ exquisite P and ‘enchanting!” and
all that, they look, all the time, as if they
were in the greatest distress. It seems to
me very silly for people to praise a thing
they dislike or do not understand, merely
because it has come into fashion.”
This fable may show, that what is merely
fashionable may be, and often is, praised by
a certain set of people; but that most per-
sons prefer what is simple and natural, and
fºunded in nature and good taste.

CHAPTER XXVI.
BOASTING.
I CAN hardly tell the reason, but the fact
seems to be, that the ass, an honest and
somewhat stupid animal, appears to have
given rise to more fables than any other
beast, except the fox. I have myself told
some fables in which this long-eared person-
age is made to utter a great many wise
things, but I am now going to tell two
fables, in which the creature is represented as
talking rather foolishly.
A man was once going along the road
with an ass, whom he treated somewhat
roughly, upon which the beast first whisked

12
134 BOASTING.
his long tail, and then groaned, and finally
spoke outright. “It seems to me, sir,” said
the honest creature, “that you use me very
ill, particularly as I belong to a race of great
antiquity, and one that has been honoured
above all four-footed beasts P’
“Why, how is that? said the man.
“How is that? indeed P’ said the ass. “If
you had read the Bible as much as you
ought to have done, you would remember
that it was one of my ancestors which con-
versed with a prophet, and stood in the pre-
sence of an angel on a certain occasion.
This is an honour which belongs exclusively
to the ass family, of which I am one, and
therefore it seems meet that you should treat
me with proper respect.”
“Well done !” said the countryman;
“well done poor brute. This is ever the
way. It seems to be with asses as with
men: when one has no merit of his own,
he always boasts of the dignity of his family,
or the virtues of his ancestors. For my part,
I know of nothing that sinks a beast or a
man lower, than to see him attempt to cover
up his own vices, or weakness, or folly, by
THE LION AND THE ASS, 135
showing off the dignity of his pedigree, or
the respectability of his connections.” Then
giving the ass a somewhat contemptuouſ
push, the man passed on.
The Lion and the Ass.
An ass was one day travelling with a lion
who wanted the assistance of his bray ir
frightening the animals he was hunting. The
ass felt very proud of his company, and did
not like to speak to his old acquaintances.
As they were travelling along in this man-
ner, the ass met an old friend, of his own
race, who very civilly bade him a good morn-
ing. The ass started back with a stare, and
said, “really, you are very impudent; I do
not know you!”
“Why not?” replied his friend: “because
you are in company with a lion, are you
fany better than I am,_anything more than
an ass?” -
Those narrow-minded people, who, in
prosperity, forget the friends of their hum-
bler days, are about as wise as the ass in
the fable. -
CHAPTER XXVII.
WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER.
THERE is a beautiful story in the fifth
chapter of the second Book of Kings, about
a famous person named Naaman. He was
captain of the army of the king of Syria, and
was a great and mighty man.
But he was afflicted with a loathsome
disease, called leprosy, which is common in
the eastern countries. Now the Syrians
had gone to war, and had brought away from
the land of Israel a young maiden as a cap-
tive, and she waited on Naaman’s wife. The
story in the Bible goes on as follows: -
“And she said unto her mistress, Would
to God my lord were with the prophet that is
in Samaria, for he would cure him of his
leprosy. And one went in and told his lord,
saying, Thus and thus said the maid that is
of the land of Israel. And the king of Syria
WEAKN ESS OF CHARACTER, 137
said, Go to, go, and I will send a letter unto
the king of Israel. And he departed, and
took with him ten talents of silver, and six
thousand pieces of gold, and ten changes of
raiment. And he brought the letter to the
king of Israel, saying, Now, when this letter
is come unto thee, behold, I have therewith
sent Naaman my servant to thee, that thou
mayest recover him of his leprosy. And it
came to pass, when the king of Israel had
read the letter, that he rent his clothes, and
said, Am I God, to kill and to make alive,
that this man doth send unto me to recover
a man of his leprosy 2 wherefore consider,
I pray you, and see how he seeketh a quarrel
against me.
“And it was so, when Elisha, the man of
God, had heard that the king of Israel had
rent his clothes, that he sent to the king,
saying, Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes?
let him come now to me, and he shall know
that there is a prophet in Israel. So Naaman
came with his horses and with his chariot,
and stood at the door of the house of Elisha.
And Elisha sent a messenger unto him,
saying, Go and wash in Jordan seven times,
12 Š
138 wFAKN Ess of CHARACTER.
and thy flesh shall come again unto thee,
and thou shalt be clean. But Naaman was
wroth, and went away, and said, Behold, I
thought, he would surely come out to me, and
stand, and call on the name of the Lord his
God, and strike his hand over the place, and
recover the leper. Are not Abana and
Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all
the waters of Israel? may I not wash in
them, and be clean? So he turned, and went
away in a rage.”
Now this beautiful story may afford in-
struction to young people of our time; for,
like the Syrian captain, we all of us like to
do things in our own way; and furthermore,
we like to perform certain duties rather than
others. . *
The truth is this, that in almost all our
conduct, we permit our pride, our likes and
dislikes, our tastes and aversions to govern
us, rather than our sense of duty. We very
seldom ask ourselves “what ought I to do
and how ought I to do it?” implicitly and
cheerfully acting according to the reply
which conscience gives. Even those who
mean to be governed by duty, are very apt
WEAKN ESS OF CAIA R A CTE R. 139
to look over their list of duties, pick out
those which are most agreeable, and perform
them, neglecting or delaying all others; and
even in performing duties, we are likely to
do them in the way most agreeable to our-
selves, and often not in the best way.
Now all this is weakness and folly: it is
real and practical disobe- -
dience; it shows that the
heart is not right, that we
are selfish, self-willed, self-
seeking, Father than ho- |
nest, singere, faithful fol-
lowers of duty. -
Let us suppose a case.
Anna is sick, and her mo–
ºther wishes her to take
some medicine, and pro-
poses that she shall take
castor oil. - sº
“Oh, mother,” observes Anna, “I hate
castor oil.”
“So does everybody,” says the mother.
“But is it not better, my dear child, to take
a little disagreeable physic than to continue
sick, and run the risk of having a fever?”

140 WEAKN ESS OF CHARACTER,
' “But, mother, will not something else do
as well?” is the reply. º
“No, not as well,” says the mother, “th
best thing for you is castor-oil; and sick or
well, it is always right to do the best thing
we can.”
“Oh, mother,” retorts the thoughtless
child, “I cannot take castor-oil; anything
but castor-oil; but really I cannot take
that.”
Now this little girl is very much like
Naaman. She wants to get we , but she
wishes to do it in her own ºfty; She
dislikes castor-oil particularly, and really
feels willing to take the risk of being very
sick, rather than to swallow a little medicine
which disgusts her. So it was with Naaman :
he wished to get well, and he was willing
to take a bath, but he was a proud man, and
he did not like the idea of giving a preference
to a river of Judea over the beautiful rivers
of Damascus; and so he refused, and went
away in a rage.
Thus it is that the little, as well as the
great, are very apt to find some difficulty in
the performance of duty, even where it would

WEAKN ESS OF CH A RACTER, . 141
benefit themselves. Almost every person
finds something, every day of his life, which
he cannot, or rather which he will not do,
but which at the same time he ought to do.
Now this is a very important matter; and
the reason is this, that if we cannot do the
right thing at the right time, and in the
right way, though we may be very active,
industrious, and emergetic, still we shall find
ourselves really weak, inefficient and unsuc-
cessful in life.
But how shall we cure such a fault as
this, if we happen to have it? I will tell
you. Watch yourselves carefully, and when
you find yourselves saying mentally, “That
thing I cannot do:” consider whether it be a
duty, and if it be so, do it immediately, and
do it as it ought to be done. Remember
that when Naaman repented of his folly, and
bathed in Jordan he was healed.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
SELF-IRELIANCE–PERSEW FRANCE.
LET the distrustful man look about him,
and watch the progress of children learning
to walk, or to run, to swim, or to ride; then
let him lift up his eyes and watch the pro-
gress of all beginners in business, the vast
business of life. Beginners are always timid;
yet, in business, beginners are almost always
successful. And it is mostly after they have
become in a degree successful, when they
have enlarged their business, when they
have lost their timidity and become over-
confident in themselves, or presumptuous,

PERSE VER, AN CE. 143
that their credit is questioned, and their
downfal foretold and expected.
Watch their progress nevertheless, and as
they cure themselves of their timidity, do
you cure yourself of yours.
The rash child begins to run too early, and
gets beaten into a more just opinion of him-
self. He is soon cured. But though cured,
he is by no means sure of beating the timid,
self-distrustful child in the long run. Mere
animal courage is almost worthless. The
courage of the soul is what is to be de-
pended upon. And what is the courage of
the soul? It is a fixed and holy confidence
in God. -
The timid child, instead of rising up from
his little stool, and walking off at once, to be
caught by his mother, sits still and trembles
and whimpers, or faces about and drops
down by little and little, and for a long time
cannot be coaxed into trusting himself. But
watch him, and by and by you find him
holding on a chair, then standing alone, then
trying to walk, led by both hands, then by a
single finger. Study him well, and remem-
ber the lesson. Or watch the sailor-boy
*
N
144 PERSEVERANCE.
when he first goes aloft, how timidly the
bravest feel their way, how bravely the most
timid mount the dizzy mast after awhile !
And then, which is the better sailor, will de-
pend not so much upon their animal courage,
as upon their common sense, and their habit
of reasoning with themselves.
* The first plunges
at once, and would
he persevere, and
think, and reason
with himself, he
would keep ahead
all his life; but he
seldom does, and
for that reason is
often outstripped
by the self-distrust-
ful but persevering.
The second feels his
way, gathers confidence, and by little and little
begins to overlook danger, to forget himself,
and to see nothing but one great object be-
fore him, duty. -
Take another example. A five-barred
gate is before you. You are on horseback,

PERSEVE RANCE. 145
and have a pretty good seat, but for the world
you would not venture to take such a leapſ
Yet others, no more accustomed to leaping
than yourself, ride at the gate; and while
some clear it with a triumphant cheer, others
are left in the mud. If you are timid and
self-distrustful, what should be your course?
You are urged to try, you are told there is
no danger, what others have done you can
do. Do not believe a word of it. With
your present feelings, if you try you will be
sure either to stick by the way and spoil your
horse, to pull him over backwards upon
yourself, or to break your neck. What,
then, should you do? Either go to a
riding-school, or betake yourself to an open
field, and practise by yourself, or with a

13
146 PERSE V ERAN CE.
friend, beginning at one bar, then trying at
two, three, four, and finally at five, if you
think it seriously worth your while, and
know your horse
Perhaps you are learning to swim. Peo-
ple about you are jumping off from high
places; or diving, head first, with their legs
straight and feet close together. You would
give the world to be able to do it. But you
are surrounded by injudicious friends. “Try,
try, you can do it !” they say.
Not for your life: if you are self-distrust-
ful, you will be sure to fall flat, or to turn
over, as you dive, and pretty sure to be dis-
couraged, or stopped for ever in your pro-
gress. What, then, should you do? Begin
moderately : go where you know you are
safe. Do what you know you can do, for
that you will do boldly, and that will give
you confidence. One thing at a time, and
but one. Begin as a little child: be teach-
able and patient. And mark me, if you are
faithful to yourself, you may be sure of
outstripping the over-confident in the long
TU1I] . -
Do you know that Curran the great orator,
PERS EVER ANC E. 147
broke down in his first speech, and, as some
said, made a fool of himself? It is often the
case that a man whose first speech is wonder-
ful never makes another worth listening to :
of such men there is little hope. Do you
know that Frederick the Great ran away in
his first battle? It is said, and it is not un-
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likely, that the Duke of Wellington showed
the white feather in India Have you ever
heard the story of two young officers who
were sent, under Wellington’s own eye, to
make a charge upon a body of French cavalry
in Spain 3 As they rode together, one grew
pale, trembled, and his feet shook in his



148 PERSE W ERAN CE.
stirrups. His companion, a fine, bold fel-
low, observed it, and reproached him. “You
are afraid,” said he. “That is very true,”
said the other, “I am afraid; and if you
were half as much afraid as I am, you would
turn your horse's head and ride back to the
camp.” As they had not advanced far,
the other, indignant, returned to Wellington
to tell the story, and to ask for a worthier
companion. “Clap spurs to your horse,
sir,” was Wellington's reply, “or the busi-
mess will be done by your cowardly com-
panion before you get there.” He was right:
the business was done; the coward swept
down upon the enemy like a whirlwind, and
scattered them like chaff. Which of these two
was the braver man?
“I will try,” said Miller; and trying, he
did what an over-confident man would have
promised to do, but might have failed in
performing.
So with all the business of life. Try, try,
keep trying. You will most assuredly suc-
ceed at last, if you persist. And if you do
not succeed, it is not your fault.
Begin cautiously, as cautiously as you
PERSEV 1: RAN C F. 149
please. Try your strength by little and
little, and after a few years, not months, nor
days, but years, you will be astonished at
your progress, and be cured of your self-
distrust.
Persevere—Think well before you begin.
But having once begun, persevere through
good report and through evil report, and you
shall have your reward.
13 &

CHAPTER XXIX.
GRATITUDE.
GRATITUDE is the feeling which acknow-
ledges kindness: it is a sentiment, which is
alike agreeable to him who exercises it, and
him who is the object of it. It is a source of
much of the happiness of life, and is given
to mankind by God, as one of the sweetest
blessings. Yet, I am sorry to say, that in-
gratitude is not uncommon : there are those
who refuse to acknowledge kindness which
they have received. This exhibits a shock-
ing state of heart, and perhaps displays more

G tº ATITU D E. | 5 |
meanness and turpitude than almost any
other single vice. Let my readers beware
how they indulge it, even in the most trifling
affairs of life. I will tell you a story, which
shows that one of the most savage of brutes
is not insensible to kindness. Will you take
a lower moral standing than a wild beast?
In the famous days of ancient Rome, it
was a custom to have a circus where lions
and tigers were kept, and human beings
were thrown into them and devoured, in
punishment of offences they had committed
against the government. The exhibition of
these bloody scenes was one of the favorite
public amusements of the Romans.
It chanced that upon a certain time a
slave, by the name of Androcles, had escaped
and fled to the forests of Africa. He took
refuge in a cave where he found a lion, which
having got a thorn in his foot, was in great
agony from the swelling and festering of the
wound. Androcles extracted the thorn, and
dressed the wound, and the lion and he
parted.
After some years Androcles, venturing
back to Rome, was seized, and condemned
152 GRA TITU D E.
to be thrown into the circus, where a large
and fierce lion, just brought from the wild.
of Africa, was in readiness to devour him
There was a large audience to witness the
scene; judge of the surprise of all present
when the lion which rushed upon Androcle
at first, no sooner put his paws upon him
than his rage abated, and he crouched fawn.
ing at his feet! It was the very lion whose
wounded foot Androcles had healed. The
lion knew his benefactor, and displayed his
gratitude. Alas, alas ! this untutored savage
of the forest showed a better feeling than has
sometimes been exhibited by human being
toward their benefactors, even in cases where
they have enjoyed the light of Christianity.

CHAPTER XXX.
AMUSEMENT.
A waggomer, whose business it was to
transport goods from one town to another,
had a fine horse, upon whose saddle he was
accustomed to carry several bells, which
kept up a cheerful jingling as he trudged
along the road. The horse got used to these
bells, and was so much pleased with them,
that he seemed dull and out of spirits when,
for some reason, they were left off. The
waggoner, perceiving that his horse did not
work so well without the bells, restored them
to their place, remarking that his horse was

154 AM USEMENT,
like himself, he liked music and merriment,
and even hard work came more easy for a
little recreation by the way.
There was much truth and good sense in
the observation of the waggoner. “All work
and no play,” says the proverb, “makes
Jack a dull boy.” It is right and proper
that we should devote some part of our time
to amusement, for by means of it we are
cheered and enlivened, and qualified to en-
gage in our severer duties with good effect.
But we should be careful of two points:
first, that we choose innocent amusements;
and second, that we do not permit our recre-
ations so far to engross our thoughts or our
time, as to interfere with the sober business
of life.
The Lion and the Mouse.
A lion was once going to war; he had
buckled on his sword, and gathered his
forces, and, with the monkey and the bear
supporting his long robe behind, he was
proudly marching over the plain at the head
of his army. As he was proceeding, it
THE LION AND MOU SE. 155
chanced that his majesty encountered a
mouse, dancing merrily over the ground.
The king paused, and observed the little
dancer with a grim smile of satisfaction. At
this the bear grumbled, and the monkey
sneered, for his majesty being in a warlike
humour, they thought it meet that everybody
else should be so too : but they were both
speedily silenced by the lion, who spoke as
follows:
“Why do you grumble at this pretty little
fellow P See how graceful his movements
are, and how cheerful is his countenance
Remember that everything has its use, and
nothing is more useful than that which
makes us cheerful, provided it is innocent.
Even we warriors have need of cheerful ex-
citement, for by this means we are better
fitted to discharge our solemn duties. Let
us not despise, then, even such sports and
trifles as come in our way, provided always
that they are as harmless as the frisks and
frolics of this little dancing master of the
meadow ; and provided, too, that we never
neglect business for pleasure.”
CHAPTER XXXI.
DO NOT BE TOO POSITIVE.
THERE are many young persons who are
very positive even when they are mistaken.
“There goes Jerry Smith,” said Philip.
“Where? I do not see him,” said John.
“Why yonder, at the top of the hill.”
“Oh, that is not Jerry Smith P’
* Yes it is.”
“No it is not; it is Seth Mead.”
“I tell you it is Jerry Smith; if it is not
I will eat him.”
Such is the dialogue, but pretty soon the
boy comes along; and behold it is Seth
Mead, and not Jerry Smith.
“There!” says John, “now you must eat
him, Phil.”
“Where is the hammer, Peter?” says his
father.
DO NOT BE TOO POSITIVE. 157
“I do not know, sir,” is the reply.
“But you had it last.”
*No, I had not, sir.”
“Yes, you had; you took it yesterday.”
“Oh, yes, I remember; I took it; but I
put it in the drawer again, where I took it.
from.”
“Are you sure ?”
“Yes, sir.” -
“I think you are mistaken; for if you
had put it there, it would have been there
still.”
“I am certain I put it back.”
“Well now, my son, I found it out on the
grass, where you had been at work. Did
you not leave it there?”
“Oh, yes, I believe I did | Yes, I re-
member, I did leave it there.”
“Well, now take a lesson from this; do
not be so positive, when you are not sure.
In two instances you have been mistaken:
you first said that you had not taken the
hammer out, and you were quite positive;
you then said you had put it where you got
it from, and you were again quite positive.
But remember that in both cases you were
l4
158 Do NoT BE Too Positive.
mistaken. Let this teach you to be more
modest and careful in future; and, instead cf
saying you are sure, say, I think so and so;
or, I believe so and so. No person ought
ever to say that he is positive of a thing,
when there is the least chance of mistake.”
“Mamma,” said Ellen, “may I go and
see Jane Hanson? she asked me to come.”
“When did she ask you?” said her
mamma. - -
“Yesterday, yesterday afternoon.”
“Not yesterday, my dear.”
“Yes it was yesterday, mamma: I saw
her on the green by the church.”
“Do not be positive, Ellen; it could not
have been yesterday.”
“Yes it was yesterday; I am certain it was
yesterday; I met her on the green, and she
asked me to come. Why, mamma, how
could I be mistaken 2 I know it was yes-
terday.”
“That cannot be, Ellen, for I have just
been at Mrs. Hanson's; and Jane went to
Providence in the coach, which set out at
seven, yesterday morning.”
DO NOT B E TOO POSITIVE. 159
“Oh! well, it must have been the day
before yesterday; yes, now I recollect, it was
the day before yesterday!”
“Well, my child, I am sorry to see you
so positive, when you are really not sure, and
when, in point of fact, you are mistaken.
Pray be more careful in future. You may
go to see Jane, but as you go along, say it
over in your mind, till you cannot forget it,
Do not be too positive.”

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CHAPTER XXXII.
ATTENTION.
To enforce the necessity of practising
attention, particularly in study, I offer to
my readers the following dialogue between
Charles and his mother:
Mother. No ; you have full half an hour to
spare.
C. Only half an hour!
me try to say this lesson again?
Will you hear
M. No ; for I am sure you will say it nc
better than before.
Charles. Mamma, it is almost school-time?

ATTENTION. 161
C. Why, mamma?
M. Because you have not been studying.
I have been looking at you from time to
tiºne, and have scarcely once seen your eyes
fixed on your book. .
C. I was only watching Jerry, for fear he
should weed up my young balsams.
M. I fancy Jerry knows what he is
about. 4.
C. Well; I will study now.
M. Do you generally whistle when you
study, Charles?
C. Was I whistling?
M. Yes, and with your eyes fixed on my
canary bird.
C. Well, mamma, I cannot help it. This
is the hardest and most stupid lesson that
eVer Was. -
M. And yet you told me your cousin
Richard learned it, yesterday, in twenty
minutes.
C. Then it is I that am stupid, I suppose.
M. I rather think not. I believe your
memory is as good as Richard's.
C. Oh, mamma! he always learns his
lessons quicker than I do.
- 14 §
162 ATTENTION.
M. And does that prove that his memory
is better?
C. To be sure it does.
M. When you are at play, does he re-
member things better than you do?
C. Why, no, I believe not.
M. Did not you tell us as much about
the lecture the other night, when you came
home, as he did?
C: Yes, and more too; papa said I did.
M. That required memory, certainly. I
do not think you have any right to lay the
blame on any natural defect.
C. Oh, I did not mean to say that! but
all I know is that Richard gets his lessons
quicker than I do; and what can the reason
be? He is not three weeks older than I am,
and does not seem more clever than I am
about other things.
M. Did you ever happen to sit near him
when he was studying 2
C. Yes, I have ; and I would rather sit
next any boy in school.
M. Why?
C. Oh, I do not know ! there is no comfort
in it. He is as cross over his books as a dog
ATTENTION. 163
is with a bone: he will not let anybody
speak to him. - -
M. What, not to ask areasonable question?
C, Oh! as to that, he helps me some-
times, when I cannot get on; but what I
mean is, if I ask him to look at anything
funny, or want to talk to him about any of
our plays for one minute, he says that I
disturb him, and take off his attention.
M. He complains that you take off his
attention, does he?
C. Yes, mamma.
M. Richard has learned a very important
secret, I see. -
C. A secret. What! one that helps him
to get his lessons?
M. Yes.
C.. I wish I could find it out.
M. I can tell it to you in one word which
you used just now. It is as good as “Open
Sésamé,” in the play of the Forty Thieves,
which you read the other day.
C. What can it be?
M. Attention, Charles; attention that
will open the door of your mind and let the
lesson in. -
!64 ATTENTION.
C. Oh dear! I wish calling the word out
aloud would answer the purpose.
M. I cannot say that it will, so my com-
parison is not a perfect one; but I wished to
fix your attention, and referred to something
that had amused you But, in good earnest,
Charles, the only reason why Richard learns
more quickly than you do is, that he never
allows himself to think of anything else while
he is engaged with his lesson. You speak of
yourself as studying—as long as you are
holding the book in your hand, though in
fact you are not studying one quarter of the
time.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
. vanity.
The Kingfisher and Nightingale.
A meeting once took place between a
kingfisher and a mocking-bird * The latter,
being dressed in very plain feathers, at first
felt a little humbled by the brilliant plumage
of his neighbour. The kingfisher, perceiving
the admiration of the mocking-bird, jerked
his tail and tossed his head, so as to show
off all the changing hues of his feathers to
great advantage.
While this was going on between the two
birds, a sportsman chanced to be passing
by, and seeing them, paused to watch their
proceedings. Readily understanding the
scene, and disgusted with the conceit and
* The mocking-bird is a famous American songster, and
is perhaps equal in its song to the nightingale of Europe.
| 66 VANITY.
vanity of the kingfisher, he drew up his gun,
and shot him. As he went to pick up
the fallen bird, he made the following
reflections:
“This silly kingfisher is like a person who
is vain of his dress or his outward beauty.
His skin, when stuffed with tow, is just as
valuable as when the bird’s flesh and bones,
and life, are in it; his outside is all there is
of him. But the modest mocking-bird is
like a person who contributes to our pleasure
or our instruction, and relies upon the good
he does to others for his standing among
mankind. How contemptible is pride; how
amiable and attractive is modesty united with
merit !” 4 * -
The For and Raven.
A raven was once sitting upon a tree with
a nice bit of cheese in his mouth. A fox,
being hungry, approached near to the raven
with the design of getting the bit of cheese,
if he could. So he began to speak as
follows :
“Good morning, Mr. Raven How fine
THE FOX AND RAVEN, 167
you iook to-day ! I never saw your coat
so rich and glossy before. Pray give me
a bit of that cheese; I am very fond of
cheese. “
“Hem ’’ said the raven, taking care not
to open his mouth, and seeming to think
that he was not such a ninny as to be flat-
tered out of his cheese by a fox. But rey-
nard is a sort of natural lawyer, who knows
the weak points of people, and has a faculty,
as well as a disposition, to turn them to
account. He thought to himself, “Now the
raven has a hoarse, croaking voice, and the
way to flatter any one is to praise that in
which he is most deficient;” so he began :
“Well, my dear raven, I told you I
wanted the cheese; but, in point of fact, I
care little about it. I hate cheese, for it
spoils the breath; but I really wanted to
hear you sing, and the cheese stops up your
mouth. I beg of you to sing me a little
French or Italian air; you execute those
things so deliciously.”
The raven, like some silly people who
have odious voices, fancied that he sang
168 VANITY.
divinely; so he dropped the cheese and
began : whereupon the fox picked up the
cheese, and holding his sides for laughter,
ran away, saying, “ Flattery, oh flattery,
thou art the key that unlocks all vain hearts
we have only to use the right kind, and we
can enter where we please: let him, there-
fore, who would cheat, or rob, or steal, use
flattery, and he will seldom fail of his
object P*
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CHAPTER XXXIV.
DO NOT BE DISCOURAGED BY DIFFICULTIES
WE must not expect always to go smoothl
forward in life, without opposition, reproach
or suffering; if we do, we shall be almos
sure to meet with disappointment, and to b
depressed by discouragement. Whereve
there is anything worth possessing, there w
shall find many persons striving for it, an
in the competition we shall of course mee
with difficulties. This truth is beautifull
told in the following little poem written b

- 15
170 Do NoT BE D1sco URAGED
an English clergyman who lives in America,
and entitled, “ Briars and Berries.” The
moral of the tale is, that where there is any-
thing good, there we shall find a mixture of
evil; that even the rose is allied to the thorn;
that “briars will be where berries grow.”
*T was on a cloudy, gloomy day,
(If rightly I the date remember—
For certainly I cannot say,)
About the middle of September,
When I, astride my pacing gray,
Was plodding on my weary way,
To spend the night and preach the word
To people who had scarcely heard
The gospel; or, to say the least,
Had never viewed it as a feast
Of fat things full of marrow.
In sadness as I rode along
And crossed the silver Uuadilla,
The robin sang a plaintive song,
And faintly drooped the ſading lily;
The Smoky sky, no longer blue,
Assumed a dim and dusky gray;
And autumn, o'er my feelings threw
The colouring of its own decay,
And filled my heart with sorrow.
BY DIFFIC U LTIES, 171
I, in my mind, was pondering o'er
The miseries that beset the preacher;
The persecutions which he bore—
(The scoff and scorn of every creature;)
His heated brain—his frame worn down,
Emaciated and dyspeptic,-
The hardened bigot's iron frown;
The jeers and satire of the sceptic—
One mocking revelation's page—
The other ridiculing reason;
And then the storms we must engage,
And all th’ inclemencies of season.
In this desponding, gloomy mood,
I rode perhaps a mile or two——
When lo! beside the way there stood
A little girl, with eyes of blue,
Light hair, and cheeks as red as cherries;
And through the briars, with much ado,
She wrought her way to pick the berries.
Quoth I, “My little girl, it seems
To me, you buy your berries dear;
For down your hand the red blood streams,
And down your cheek there rolls a tear.”
“O, yes,” said she, “but then, you know,
There will be briars where berries grow.”
BRIA is S AND BERRIES.
These words came home with keen rebuke
To me, who mourned life's little jostles,
And called to mind the things that Luke
Has written of the first apostles,
Who faced the foe without a fear,
And counted even life not dear.
And since, from that good hour to this,
Come pleasant or come stormy weather,
I still reflect that human bliss
And human woe are mixed together:
Come smiling friend or frowning foe–
“There will be briars where berries grow.”

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