HENRY WARD BEECH ER

Copyright, 1895,

HENRY

ALTEMUS,

by

H E N R Y ALTEMUS.

MANUFACTURER,

PHILADELPHIA.

110
B31I

TO

LYMAN B E E C H E R , D. D.
To you I owe more than to any other living being.
In childhood, you were my Parent; in later life, my
Teacher; in manhood, my Companion. To your affectionate vigilance I owe my principles, my knowledge,
and that I am a Minister of the Gospel of Christ. For
whatever profit they derive from this little Book, the
young will be indebted to you.

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PREFACE
HAVING watched the courses of those who seduce,
the young—their arts, their blandishments, their pret e n c e s ; having witnessed the beginning and consummation of ruin, almost in the same year, of many young;
men, naturally well disposed, whose downfall began*
with the appearances of innocence; I felt an earnest
desire, if I could, to raise the suspicion of the young,
and to direct their reason to the arts by which they are,,
with such facility, destroyed.
I ask every YOUNG MAN who may read this book, n o t
to submit his j u d g m e n t to mine, not to hate because I
denounce, nor blindly to follow m e ; but to weigh m y
reasons, that he may form his own judgment. I onlyclaim the place of a c o m p a n i o n ; and that I may gain
his ear, I have sought to present truth in those forms
which best please the y o u n g ; and though I am not
without hope of satisfying the aged and the wise, my
whole thought has been to carry with me the
intelligent
sympathy of YOUNG MEN.

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CONTENTS

LECTURE I.
PAGE

INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS,

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9

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45

LECTURE I I .
TWELVE CAUSES OF DISHONESTY,

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LECTURE I I I .
SIX WARNINGS,

77

LECTURE IV.
THE PORTRAIT GALLERY,

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IOJ

LECTURE V.
GAMBLERS AND GAMBLING,

<
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135

LECTURE VI.
THE STRANGE WOMAN

- 1 7 3

LECTURE V I I .
POPULAR AMUSEMENTS,

*

221

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INDUSTRY A N D IDLENESS

Give us this day our daily bread. Matt. vi. n .
This we commanded you, that if any would not work*
neither should he eat. For we hear that there are.
some who walk among you disorderly, working not at
all, but are busybodies. N o w them that are such we
command a n d exhort by our L o r d Jesus Christ, that
with quietness they work, and eat their own bread.
2 Thess. iii. i o , 12.

T

H E bread which we solicit of God, he
gives us through our own industry.
Prayer sows it, and Industry reaps it.
As Industry is habitual activity in some
useful pursuit, so, not only inactivity, but
also all efforts without the design of usefulness, are of the nature of Idleness. The
supine sluggard is no more indolent than
the bustling do-nothing. Men may walk
much, and read much, and talk much, and"
pass the day without an unoccupied moment, and yet be substantially idle; because
Industry requires, at least, the intention of
usefulness. But gadding, gazing, lounging,
mere pleasure-mongering, reading for the
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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

relief of ennui,—these are as useless as
sleeping, or dozing, or the stupidity of a
surfeit.
There are many grades of idleness; and
veins of it run through the most industrious
life. We shall indulge in some descriptions
of the various classes of idlers, and leave
the reader to judge, if he be an indolent
man, to which class he belongs.
. i. The lazy-man. He is of a very ancient
pedigree; for his family is minutely described by Solomon: How long wilt thou
sleep, 0 sluggard? when wilt thott azvake
out of sleep ? This is the language of impatience ; the speaker has been trying to
awaken him—pulling, pushing, rolling him
over, and shouting in his ear; but all to no
purpose. He soliloquizes, whether it is
possible for the man ever to wake up ! At
length, the sleeper drawls out a dozing petition to be let alone: " Yet a little
sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of
the hands to sleep; " and the last words
confusedly break into a snore,—that somnolent lullaby of repose. Long ago the
birds have finished their matins, the sun
has advanced full high, the dew has gone
from the grass, and the labors of Industry are far in progress, when our sluggard, awakened by his very efforts to maintain sleep, slowly emerges to perform life's

INDUSTR Y AND

IDLENESS

II

great duty of feeding—-with him, second
only in importance to sleep. And now,
well rested, and suitably nourished, surely
he will abound in labor. Nay, the sluggard
will not plough by reason of the cold. It is
yet early spring; there is ice in the north ;
and the winds are hearty: his tender skin
shrinks from exposure, and he waits for
milder days,—envying the residents of tropical climates, where cold never comes, and
harvests wave spontaneously. He is valiant
at sleeping and at the trencher; but for
other courage, the slothfid man saith, there
is a lion without; I shall be slain in the street.
He has not been out to see ; but he heard a
noise, and resolutely betakes himself to prudence. Under so thriving a manager, so
alert in the morning, so busy through the
day, and so enterprising, we might anticipate the thrift of his' husbandry. I went by
the field of the slothfid and by the vineyard
of the man void of understanding; and lo /
it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles
had covered the face of it, and its sto?te wall
was broken down. To complete the picture,
only one thing more is wanted,—a description of his house,—and then we should
have, at one view, the lazy-man, his farm,
and house. Solomon has given us that
also : By much slothfulness the building decay eth ; and through idleness of the hands the

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

house droppeth through.
L e t all this b e p u t
together, and possibly some reader m a y
find an unpleasant resemblance to his o w n
affairs.
H e sleeps long and late, he wakes to stupidity, with indolent eyes sleepily rolling
over neglected w o r k ; neglected because it is
too cold in spring, and too hot in summer,
and too laborious at all times,—a great coward in danger, and therefore very blustering
in safety. H i s lands run to waste, his fences
are dilapidated, his crops chiefly of weeds
and b r a m b l e s ; a shattered house, the side
leaning over as if wishing, like its owner, to
lie down to sleep; the chimney tumbling
down, the roof breaking in, with moss and
grass sprouting in its crevices; the well
without p u m p or windlass, a trap for their
children. This is the very castle of I n d o lence.
2. A n o t h e r idler as useless, b u t vastly
more active than t h e last, attends closely to
every one's business, except his own. His
wife earns the children's bread, and h i s ;
procures her own raiment and his ; she p r o cures the w o o d ; she procures the water,
while he, with hands in his pocket, is busy
watching the building of a neighbor's barn ;
or advising another how to trim and train
his v i n e s ; or he has heard of sickness in a
friend's family, and is there, to suggest a

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

13

h u n d r e d cures, and to do everything b u t to
h e l p ; he is a spectator of shooting-matches,
a stickler for a ring and fair play at every
fight.
H e knows all the stories of all t h e
families t h a t live in t h e town. If he can
catch a stranger at the tavern in a rainy day,
he pours out a strain of information, a pattering of words, as thick as t h e rain-drops
out of doors. H e has good advice to everybody, how to save, how to m a k e money,
how to do everything ; he can tell t h e saddler about his trade, he gives advice to t h e
smith about his work, and goes over with
him when it is forged to see the carriagem a k e r p u t it on, suggests improvements,
advises this paint or that varnish, criticises
the finish, or praises the trimmings. H e ij*
a violent reader of newspapers, almanacs,
and receipt b o o k s ; and with scraps of his^
t o i y and mutilated anecdotes, he faces the
very schoolmaster, and gives up only to the
volubility of the oily village lawyer,—few
have the hardihood to match him.
A n d t h u s every day he bustles t h r o u g h
his multifarious idleness, and completes his
circle of visits, as regularly as the pointers
of a clock visit each figure on the dial
p l a t e ; but alas! the clock forever tells man
the useful lesson of time passing steadily
away, and returning n e v e r ; but what useful
thing do these busy buzzing idlers perform?

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEAT

3. W e introduce
another idler. H e
follows no vocation; h e only follows those
w h o do. Sometimes he sweeps along the
streets, with consequential g a i t ; sometimes
perfumes it with wasted odors of tobacco.
H e also h a u n t s s u n n y benches, or breezy
piazzas. H i s business is to see ; his desire to
be seen, and no one fails to see him,—so
gaudily dressed, his h a t sitting aslant upon
a wilderness of hair, like a bird half startled
from its nest, and every thread arranged to
provoke attention. H e is a man of h o n o r ;
not that he keeps his word or shrinks from
meanness. H e defrauds his laundress, his
tailor, and his landlord. H e drinks and
smokes at other men's expense. H e gambles
and swears, and fights—when he is too
d r u n k to be afraid; but still he is a man of
honor, for he has whiskers and looks fierce,
wears mustachios and says, " upon my ko?tor,
sir; " "doyou doubt my honor, sir? "
T h u s he appears by d a y ; by night h e
does not a p p e a r ; he may be dimly seen flitting ; his voice may be heard loud in the
carousal of some refection cellar, or above
the songs and uproar of a midnight return,
and h o m e staggering.
4. T h e next of this brotherhood excites
our pity. H e began life most thriftily; for
his rising family he was gathering an ample
subsistence; but, involved in other men's

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

affairs, he went down in their ruin. Late in
life he begins once more, and at length, just
secure of an easy competence, his ruin is
compassed again. H e sits down quietly under it, complains of no one, envies no one, refuseth the cup, and is even more p u r e in
morals, than in better days. H e moves on
from day to day, as one who walks under a
spell,—it is the spell of despondency, which
nothing can disenchant or arouse.
He
neither seeks work nor refuses it.
He
wanders a m o n g men a dreaming gazer,
poorly clad, always kind, always irresolute,
able to plan nothing for himself, nor to e x ecute what others have planned for him.
H e lives and he dies a discouraged man,
and the most harmless and excusable of all
idlers.
5. I have not mentioned t h e fashionable
idler, whose riches defeat every object for
which God gave him birth. H e has a fine
form, and manly beauty, and the chief end
of life is to display them. W i t h notable
diligence h e ransacks the m a r k e t for rare
and curious fabrics, for costly seals, and
chains, and rings. A coat poorly fitted is
t h e unpardonable sin of his creed. H e m e d itates upon cravats, employs a profound
discrimination in selecting a hat, or a vest,
and adopts his conclusions upon the tastefulness of a button or a collar, with the

J5

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

deliberation of a statesman. T h u s caparisoned, he saunters in fashionable galleries,
or flaunts in stylish equipage, or parades
the streets with simpering belles, or delights
their itching ears with compliments of
flattery, or with choicely culled scandal.
H e is a reader of fictions, if they be
not too substantial; a writer of cards and
billet-doux, and is especially conspicuous
in albums. Gay and frivolous, rich and useless, polished till t h e enamel is worn off, his
whole life serves only to m a k e him an animated puppet of pleasure. H e is as corrupt
in imagination as he is refined in m a n n e r s ;
h e is as selfish in private as he is generous
in public; and even what he gives to another,
is given for his own sake. H e worships
where fashion worships, to-day at t h e
theatre, to-morrow at the church, as either
exhibits t h e whitest hand, or the most
polished actor. A gaudy, active and indolent
butterfly, he flutters without industry from
flower to flower, until summer closes, and
frosts sting him, and he sinks down and
dies, u n t h o u g h t of and unremembered.
6. One other portrait should be drawn of
a business man, who wishes to subsist by
his occupation while he attends to everyt h i n g else. If a sporting club goes to the
woods, he must go. H e has set his line in
every hole in the river, and dozed in a

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

summer day under every tree along its
bank. He rejoices in a riding party—a
sleigh-ride—a summer-frolic—a winter's
glee. He is everybody's friend—-universally
good-natured,—forever busy where it will
do him no good, and remiss where his interests require activity. He takes amusement for his main business, which other
men employ as a relaxation; and the serious
labor of life, which other men are mainly
employed in, he knows only as a relaxation.
After a few years he fails, his good nature
is something clouded, and as age sobers his
buoyancy, without repairing his profitless
habits, he soon sinks to a lower grade of
laziness, and to ruin.
It would be endless to describe the wiles
of idleness—how it creeps upon men, how
secretly it mingles with their pursuits, how
much time it purloins from the scholar,
from the professional man, and from the
artisan. It steals minutes, it clips off the
edges of hours, and at length takes possession of days. Where it has its will, it sinks
and drowns employment; but where necessity, or ambition, or duty resists such
violence, then indolence makes labor heavy;
scatters the attention; puts us to our tasks
with wandering thoughts, with irresolute
purpose, and with dreamy visions. Thus
when it may, it plucks out hours and rules

ig

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

over them; and where this may not be, it
lurks around them to impede the sway of
industry, and turn her seeming toils to
subtle idleness. Against so mischievous an
enchantress, we should be duly armed. I
shall, therefore, describe the advantage of
Industry, and the evils of Indolence.
I. A hearty Industry promotes happiness. Some men of the greatest industry
are unhappy from infelicity of disposition;
they are morose, or suspicious, or envious.
Such qualities make happiness impossible
under any circumstances.
Health is the platform on which all happiness must be built. Good appetite, good
digestion, and good sleep, are the elements
of health, and Industry confers them. As
use polishes metals, so labor the faculties,
until the body performs its unimpeded
functions with elastic cheerfulness and
hearty enjoyment.
Buoyant spirits are an element of happiness, and activity produces them ; but they
fly away from sluggishness, as fixed air
from open wine. Men's spirits are like
water, which sparkles when it runs, but
stagnates in still pools, and is mantled with
green, and breeds corruption and filth. The
applause of conscience, the self-respect of
pride, the consciousness of independence,
a manly joy of usefulness, the consent of

xNDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

every faculty of the mind to one's occupation, and their gratification in it—these constitute a happiness superior to the feverflashes of vice in its brightest moments.
After an experience of ages, which has
taught nothing from this, men should have
learned, that satisfaction is not the product
of excess, or of indolence, or of riches ; but
of industry, temperance, and usefulness.
Every village has instances which ought to
teach young men, that he, who goes aside
from the simplicity of nature, and the
purity of virtue, to wallow in excesses,
carousals, and surfeits, at length misses the
errand of his life; and sinking with
shattered body prematurely to a dishonored
grave, mourns that he mistook exhilaration
for satisfaction, and abandoned the very
home of happiness, when he forsook the
labors of useful Industry.
The poor man with Industry, is happier
than the rich man in Idleness; for labor
makes the one more manly, and riches unmans the other. The slave is often happier
than the master, who is nearer undone by
license than his vassal by toil. Luxurious
couches—plushy carpets from oriental
looms—pillows of eider-down—carriages
contrived with cushions and springs to
make motion imperceptible,—is the indolent master of these as happy as the slave

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

that wove the carpet, the Indian who hunted
the northern flock, or the servant who
drives the pampered steeds ? Let those who
envy the gay revels of city idlers, and pine
for their masquerades, their routs, and their
operas, experience for a week the lassitude
of their satiety, the unarousable torpor of
their life when not under a fiery stimulus,
their desperate ennui, and restless somnolency, they would gladly flee from their
haunts as from a land of cursed enchantment.
2. Industry is the parent of thrift. In
the over-burdened states of Europe, the
severest toil often only suffices to make
life a wretched vacillation between food and
famine; but in America, Industry is prosperity.
Although God has stored the world with
an endless variety of riches for man's wants,
he has made them all accessible only to
Industry. The food we eat, the raiment
which covers us, the house which protects,
must be secured by diligence. To tempt
man yet more to Industry, every product of
the earth has a susceptibility of improvement ; so that man not only obtains the
gifts of nature at the price of labor, but
these gifts become more precious as we bestow upon them greater skill and cultivation. The wheat and maize which crown

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

our ample fields, were food fit but for birds,
before man perfected them by labor. The
fruits of the forest and the hedge, scarcely
tempting to the extremest hunger, after
skill has dealt with them and transplanted
them to the orchard and the garden, allure
every sense with the richest colors, odors,
and flavors. The world is full of germs
wjiich man is set to develop ; and there is
scarcely an assignable limit, to which the
hand of skill and labor may not bear the
powers of nature.
The scheming speculations of the last ten
years have produced an aversion among
the young to the slow accumulations of
ordinary Industry, and fired them with a
conviction that shrewdness, cunning, and
bold ventures, are a more manly way to
wealth. There is a swarm of men, bred in
the heats of adventurous times, whose
thoughts scorn pence and farthings, and
who humble themselves to speak of dollars;
—hundreds and thousands are their words.
They are men of great operations. Forty
thousand dollars is a moderate profit of a
single speculation. They mean to own the
Bank; and to look down, before they die,
upon Astor and Girard. The young farmer
becomes almost ashamed to meet his
school-mate, whose stores line whole
streets, whose stocks are in every bank and

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

company, and whose increasing money is
already well-nigh inestimable. But if the
butterfly derides the bee in summer, he was
never k n o w n to do it in the lowering days
of a u t u m n .
E v e r y few years, Commerce has its earthquakes, and the tall and toppling wareh o u s e s which haste ran up, are first shaken
down.
T h e hearts of men fail them for
fear; and the suddenly rich, made more
s u d d e n l y poor, fill the land with their loud
laments.
But nothing strange has h a p pened. W h e n the whole story of commercial disasters is told, it is only found out
t h a t they, w h o slowly amassed the gains
of useful Industry, built upon a rock ; and
they, w h o flung together the imaginary
millions of commercial speculations, built
upon the sand. W h e n times g r e w dark,
a n d t h e winds came, and the floods descended and beat upon them b o t h — t h e
rock sustained the one, and the shifting sand
let down the other. If a y o u n g man has
n o higher ambition in life than riches,
Industry—plain,
rugged,
brown-faced,
h o m e l y clad, old-fashioned Industry, must
be courted. Y o u n g men are pressed with a
most unprofitable haste. T h e y wish to reap
before they have ploughed or sown. E v e r y t h i n g is driving at such a rate, that they
h a v e become giddy.
Laborious occupa-

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

tions are avoided. Money is to be earned
in genteel leisure, with the help of fine
clothes, and by the soft seductions of
smooth hair and luxuriant whiskers.
Parents, equally wild, foster the delusion.
Shall the promising lad be apprenticed to
his uncle, the blacksmith ? The sisters
think the blacksmith so very smutty; the
mother shrinks from the ungentility of his
swarthy labor; the father, weighing the
matter prudentially deeper, finds that a
whole life had been spent in earning the
uncle's property. These sagacious parents,
wishing the tree to bear its fruit before it
has ever blossomed, regard the long delay
of industrious trades as a fatal objection to
them. The son, then, must be a rich merchant, or a popular lawyer, or a broker;
and these, only as the openings to speculation.
Young business men are often educated
in two very unthrifty species of contempt;
a contempt for small gains, and a contempt
for hard labor. To do one's own errands,
to wheel one's own barrow, to be seen
with a bundle, bag, or burden, is disreputable. Men are so sharp now-a-days, that
they can compass by their shrewd heads,
what their fathers used to do with their
heads and hands.
3. Industry gives character and credit to

24

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

the young. The reputable portions of
society have maxims of prudence, by which
the young are judged and admitted to their
good opinion. Does he, regard his word ?
Is he industrious ? Is he economical ? Is he
free from immoral habits? The answer
which a young man's conduct gives to these
questions, settles his reception among good
men. Experience has shown that the
other good qualities of veracity, frugality,
and modesty, are apt to be associated with
industry. A prudent man would scarcely
be persuaded that a listless, lounging fellow,
would be economical or trust-worthy. An
employer would judge wisely, that where
there was little regard for time, or for
occupation, there would be as little, upon
temptation, for honesty or veracity. Pilferings of the till, and robberies, are fit deeds
for idle clerks, and lazy apprentices. Industry and knavery are sometimes found
associated; but men wonder at it, as at a
strange thing. The epithets of society,
which betoken its experience, are all in favor
of Industry. Thus, the terms " a hard
working man ; " " an industrious man ; "
4i
a laborious artisan;" are employed to
mean, an honest man ; a trust-worthy man.
I may here, as well as anywhere, impart
the secret of what is called good and bad
luck. There are men who, supposing Provi-

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

dence to have an implacable spite against
them, bemoan in the poverty of a wretched
old age the misfortunes of their lives.
Luck forever ran against them, and for
others. One, with a good profession, lost
his luck in the river, where he idled away
his time a-fishing, when he should have
been in the office. Another, with a good
trade, perpetually burnt up his luck by his
hot temper, which provoked all his employers to leave him. Another, with a
lucrative business, lost his luck by amazing
diligence at everything but his business.
Another, who steadily followed his trade,
as steadily followed his bottle. Another,
who was honest and constant to his work,
erred by perpetual misjudgments;—he
lacked discretion. Hundreds lose their
luck by indorsing; by sanguine speculations ; by trusting fraudulent men; and
by dishonest gains. A man never has
good luck who has a bad wife. I never knew
an early-rising, hard-working, prudent man,
careful of his earnings, and strictly honest,
who complained of bad luck. A good
character, good habits, and iron industry,
are impregnable to the assaults of all the ill
luck that fools ever dreamed of. But when
I see a tatterdemalion, creeping out of a
groggery late in the forenoon, with his
hands stuck into his pockets, the rim of his

26

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

hat turned up, and the crown knocked in,
I know he has had bad luck,—for the worst
of all luck, is to be a sluggard, a knave, or
a tippler.
4. Industry is a substitute for Genius.
Where one or more faculties exist in the
highest state of development and activity,—
as the faculty of music in Mozart,—invention
in Fulton,—ideality in Milton,—we call
their possessor a genius. But a genius is
usually understood to be a creature of such
rare facility of mind, that he can do anything
without labor. According to the popular
notion, he learns without study, and knows
without learning. He is eloquent without
preparation ; exact without calculation ; and
profound without reflection. While ordinary men toil for knowledge by reading, by
comparison, and by minute research, a genius is supposed to receive it as the mind
receives dreams. His mind is like a vast
cathedral, through whose colored windows
the sunlight streams, painting the aisles with
the varied colors of brilliant pictures. Such
minds may exist.
So far as my observations have ascertained the species, they abound in academies,
colleges, and Thespian societies; in village
debating clubs ; in coteries of young artists,
and among young professional aspirants.
They are to be known by a reserved air, ex-

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

cessive sensitiveness, and utter indolence;
by very long hair, and very open shirt coll a r s ; by the reading of much wretched poetry, and the writing of much, yet more
wretched ; by being very conceited, very
affected, very disagreeable, and very useless :•—beings w h o m no man wants for friend,
pupil, or companion.
T h e occupations of the great man, and of
the c o m m o n man, are necessarily, for the
most part, the s a m e ; for the business of life
is made up of minute affairs, requiring only
j u d g m e n t and diligence. A high order of
intellect is required for the discovery and
defence of truth ; but this is an unfrequent
task. W h e r e the ordinary wants of life
once require recondite principles, they will
need t h e application of familiar truths a
thousand times. T h o s e who enlarge the
bounds of knowledge, must push out with
bold adventure beyond t h e common walks
of men. But only a few pioneers are needed
for the largest armies, and a few profound
men in each occupation m a y herald the
advance of all the business of society. T h e
vast bulk of men are required to discharge
the homely duties of life; and they have
less need of genius than of intellectual
Industry and patient Enterprise. Y o u n g
men should observe, that those w h o t a k e
the honors and emoluments of mechanical

28

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

crafts, of commerce and of professional life,
are rather distinguished for a sound judgment and a close application, than for a brilliant genius. In the ordinary business of
life, Industry can do anything which Genius can do ; and very many things which it
cannot. Genius is usually impatient of application, irritable, scornful of men's dulness, squeamish at petty disgusts:—it loves
a conspicuous place, a short work, and a
large reward. It loathes the sweat of toil,
the vexations of life, and the dull burden of
care.
Industry has a firmer muscle, is less annoyed by delays and repulses, and, like
water, bends itself to the shape of the soil
over which it flows; and if checked, will
not rest, but accumulates, and mines a passage beneath, or seeks a side-race, or rises
above and overflows the obstruction. What
Genius performs at one impulse, Industry
gains by a succession of blows. In ordinary matters they differ only in rapidity of
execution, and are upon one level before
men,—who see the result but not iheprocess.
It is admirable to know that those things
which in skill, in art, and in learning, the
world has been unwilling to let die, have
not only been the conceptions of genius,
but the products of toil. The masterpieces
of antiquity, as well in literature, as in art,

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

are known to have received their extreme
finish, from an almost incredible continuance
of labor upon them. I do not remember a
book in all the departments of learning, nor
a scrap in literature, nor a work in all the
schools of art, from which its author has
derived a permanent renown, that is not
known to have been long and patiently
elaborated. Genius needs Industry, as much
as Industry needs Genius. If only Milton's
imagination could have conceived his visions, his consummate industry only could
have carved the immortal lines which enshrine them. If only Newton's mind could
reach out to the secrets of Nature, even his
could only do it by the homeliest toil. The
works of Bacon are not midsummer-night
dreams, but, like coral islands, tiiey have
risen from the depths of truth, and formed
their broad surfaces above the ocean by the
minutest accretions of persevering labor.
The conceptions of Michael Angelo would
have perished like a night's phantasy, had
not his industry given them permanence.
From enjoying the pleasant walks of Industry we turn reluctantly to explore the
paths of Indolence.
All degrees of Indolence incline a man
to rely upon others, and not upon himself;
to eat their bread and not his own. His
carelessness is somebody's loss ; his neglect

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

is somebody's downfall; his promises are a
perpetual stumbling block to all who trust
them. If he borrows, the article remains
borrowed ; if he begs and gets, it is as the
letting out of waters—no one knows when
it will stop. H e spoils y o u r work ; disappoints y o u r e x p e c t a t i o n s ; exhausts y o u r
patience ; eats up y o u r substance ; abuses
y o u r confidence ; and hangs a dead weight
upon all y o u r plans ; and the very best thing
an honest man can do with a lazy man, is to
get rid of him. Solomon says : Bray a fool
with a pestle, in a mortar zvith wheat, yet
will not his folly depart from
him.
He
does not mention what kind of a fool he
m e a n t ; but as he speaks of a fool by preeminence, I take it for granted he meant a
lazy man ; and I am t h e more inclined to
the opinion, from another expression of his
experience : As vinegar to the teeth,and smoke
to the eyes, so is the sluggard to them that
send him.
Indolence is a great spendthrift
An
indolently inclined y o u n g man can neither
make nor keep property. I have high
authority for this : He that is slothful in his
work, is brother to him that is a great
waster.
W h e n Satan would put ordinary men t o
a crop of mischief, like a wise h u s b a n d m a n ,
h e clears t h e g r o u n d and prepares it for

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

s e e d ; but he finds the idle man already
prepared, and he has scarcely the trouble
of s o w i n g ; for vices, like weeds, ask little
strewing, except what the wind gives their
ripe and winged seeds, s h a k i n g and scattering them all abroad. Indeed, lazy men
m a y fitly be likened to a tropical prairie,
over which the wind of temptation perpetually blows, drifting every vagrant seed from
hedge and hill, and which—without a
moment's rest t h r o u g h all t h e y e a r —
waves its rank harvest of luxuriant weeds.
First, the imagination will be haunted
with unlawful visitants. U p o n the outskirts of towns are shattered houses, abandoned b y reputable persons. T h e y are not
empty, because all the day silent; thieves,
vagabonds and villains h a u n t them, in joint
possession with rats, bats, and vermin.
Such are idle men's imaginations—full of
unlawful company.
T h e imagination is closely related to the
passions, and fires t h e m with its heat. T h e
day-dreams of indolent y o u t h , glow each
hour with warmer colors, and bolder adventures. T h e imagination fashions scenes
of enchantment, in which the passions
revel; and it leads t h e m out, in shadow at
first, to deeds which soon they will seek in
earnest. T h e brilliant colors of far-away
clouds, are but the colors of t h e s t o r m ;

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

t h e salacious day-dreams of indolent men,
rosy at first and distant, deepen every day,
d a r k e r and darker, to the color of actual
evil. T h e n follows the blight of every
habit.
Indolence promises without redeeming the p l e d g e ; a mist of forgetfulness rises up and obscures the m e m o r y of
vows and oaths. T h e negligence of laziness breeds m o r e falsehoods t h a n t h e
cunning of the sharper. A s poverty waits
upon the steps of Indolence, so, upon such
poverty, brood equivocations, subterfuges,
lying denials. Falsehood becomes t h e instrument of every plan. Negligence of
.truth, next occasional falsehood, then
wanton mendacity,—these three strides
traverse the whole road of lies.
Indolence as surely runs to dishonesty,
as to lying. Indeed, t h e y are but different
parts of the same road, and not far apart.
In directing the conduct of the Ephesian
converts, Paul says, Let him that stole, steal
no more, but rather let him labor, working
with his hands the thing which is good.
T h e men who were thieves, were those
w h o had ceased to work. Industry was
the road back to honesty. W h e n stores
are broken open, the idle are first suspected. T h e desperate forgeries and swindlings of past years have taught men, upon
their occurrence, to ferret their a u t h o r s

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

among the unemployed, or among those
vainly occupied in vicious pleasures.
The terrible passion for stealing rarely
grows upon the young, except through the
necessities of their idle pleasures. Business
is first neglected for amusement, and
amusement soon becomes the only business.
The appetite for vicious pleasure outruns
the means of procuring it. The theatre,
the circus, the card-table, the midnight
carouse, demand money. When scanty
earnings are gone, the young man pilfers
from the till. First, because he hopes to
repay, and next, because he despairs of
paying—for the disgrace of stealing ten
dollars or a thousand will be the same, but
not their respective pleasures. Next, he
will gamble, since it is only another form
of stealing. Gradually excluded from reputable society, the vagrant takes all the
badges of vice, and is familiar with her
paths; and, through them, enters the broad
road of crime. Society precipitates its lazy
members, as water does its filth ; and they
form at the bottom, a pestilent sediment,
stirred up by every breeze of evil, into riots,
robberies and murders. Into it drains all
the filth, and out of it, as from a morass,
flow all the streams of pollution. Brutal
wretches, desperately haunted by the law,
crawling in human filth, brood here their
3

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEAT

villain schemes, and plot mischief to man.
Hither resorts the truculent demagogue, to
stir up the fetid filth against his adversaries, or to bring up mobs out of this sea,
which cannot rest, but casts up mire and
dirt.
The results of Indolence upon communities, are as marked as upon individuals. In
a town of industrious people, the streets
would be clean; houses neat and comfortable ; fences in repair; school-houses
swarming with rosy-faced children, decently
clad, and well-behaved. The laws would
be respected, because justly administered.
The church would be thronged with devout
worshippers. The tavern would be silent,
and for the most part empty, or a welcome
retreat for weary travellers. Grog-sellers
would fail, and mechanics grow rich; labor
would be honorable, and loafing a disgrace.
For music, the people would have the
blacksmith's anvil, and the carpenter's hammer; and at home, the spinning-wheel, and
girls cheerfully singing at their work.
Debts would be seldom paid, because seldom made; but if contracted, no grim officer would be invited to the settlement.
Town-officers would be respectable men,
taking office reluctantly, and only for the
public good. Public days would be full of
sports, without fighting; and elections

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

would be as orderly as weddings or funerals.
In a town of lazy-men, I should expect
to find crazy houses, shingles and weatherboards knocked off; doors hkigeless, and
all a-creak; windows stuffed with rags, hats,
or pillows. Instead of flowers in summer,
and warmth in winter, every side of the
house would swarm with vermin in hot
weather—and with starveling pigs in cold ;
fences would be curiosities of lazy contrivance, and gates hung with ropes, or lying
flat in the mud. Lank cattle would follow
every loaded wagon, supplicating a morsel,
with famine in their looks. Children would
be ragged, dirty, saucy; the school-house
empty ; the jail full; the church silent; the
grog-shops noisy ; and the carpenter, the
saddler, and the blacksmith, would do their
principal work at taverns. Lawyers would
reign; constables flourish, and hunt sneaking criminals; burly justices, (as their interests might dictate,) would connive a
compromise, or make a commitment. The
peace-officers would wink at tumults, arrest rioters in fun, and drink with them in
good earnest. Good men would be obliged
to keep dark, and bad men would swear,
fight, and rule the town. Public days would
be scenes of confusion, and end in rows;

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

•elections would be drunken, illegal, boisterous and brutal.
The young abhor the last results of Idleness ; but they do not perceive that the first
steps lead to the last. They are in the opening of this career; but with them it is genteel leisure, not laziness; it is relaxation,
not sloth; amusement, not indolence. But
leisure, relaxation, and amusement, when
men ought to be usefully engaged, are Indolence. A specious Industry is the worst
Idleness. A young man perceives that the
first steps lead to the last, with everybody
but himself He sees others become drunkards by social tippling,—he sips socially, as
if he could not be a drunkard. He sees
others become dishonest, by petty habits of
fraud; but will indulge slight aberrations,
as if he could not become knavish. Though
others, by lying, lose all character, he does
not imagine that his little dalliances with
falsehood will make him a liar. He knows
that salacious imaginations, villanous pictures, harlot snuff-boxes, and illicit familiarities, have led thousands to her door, whose
house is the way to hell; yet he never sighs
or trembles lest these things should take
him to this inevitable way of damnation !
In reading these strictures upon Indolence, you will abhor it in others, without

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

suspecting it in yourself. While you read,
I fear you are excusing yourself; you are
supposing that your leisure has not been
laziness; or that, with your disposition, and
in your circumstances, Indolence is harmless/ Be not deceived : if you are idle, you
are on the road to ruin: and there a% few
stopping places upon it. It is rather a precipice, than a road. While I point out the
temptation to Indolence, scrutinize your
course, and pronounce honestly upon your
risk.
I. Some are tempted to Indolence by
their wretched training, or rather, wretched
want of it. How many families are the
most remiss, whose low condition and sufferings are the strongest inducement to Industry. The children have no inheritance,
yet never work ; no education, yet are never
sent to school. It is hard to keep their
rags around them, yet none of them will
earn better raiment. If ever there was a
case when a Government should interfere
between parent and child, that seems to be
the one, where children are started in life
with an education of vice. If, in every
community, three things should be put together, which always work together, the
front would be a grog-shop,—the middle a
jail,—the rear a gallows ;—an infernal trinity; and the recruits for this three-headed

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

monster, are largely drafted from the lazy
children of worthless parents.
2. The children of rich parents are apt
to be reared in Indolence. The ordinary
motives to industry are wanting, and the
temptations to sloth are multiplied. Other
men labor to provide a support; to amass
wealth; to secure homage; to obtain
power; to multiply the elegant products of
art. The child of affluence inherits these
things. Why should he labor who may
command universal service, whose money
subsidizes the inventions of art, exhausts
the luxuries of society, and makes rarities
common by their abundance? Only the
blind would not see that riches and ruin
run in one channel to prodigal children.
The most rigorous regimen, the most confirmed industry, and steadfast morality can
alone disarm inherited wealth, and reduce
it to a blessing. The profligate wretch,
who fondly watches his father's advancing
decrepitude, and secretly curses the lingering steps of death, (seldom too slow except
to hungry heirs,) at last is overblessed in
the tidings that the loitering work is done—
and the estate his. When the golden
shower has fallen, he rules as a prince in a
court of expe-ctant parasites. All the
sluices by which pleasurable vice drains an
estate are opened wide. A few years com-

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

plete the ruin. T h e hopeful heir, avoided
b y all w h o m he has helped, ignorant of
useful labor, and scorning a knowledge of
it, fired with an incurable appetite for
vicious excitement, sinks steadily down,—
a profligate, a wretch, a villain-scoundrel, a
convicted felon. L e t parents who hate
their offspring rear t h e m to hate labor, and
to inherit riches, and before long they will
be stung b y every vice, racked by its
poison, and damned by its penalty.
3. A n o t h e r cause of Idleness is found
in the secret effects of youthful indulgence.
T h e purest pleasures lie within the circle of
useful occupation. Mere pleasure,—sought
outside of usefulness,—existing by itself,-—
is fraught with poison. W h e n its exhilaration has thoroughly kindled the mind, the
passions thenceforth refuse a simple food;
they crave and require an excitement,
higher than any ordinary occupation can
give. After revelling all night in wine._ dreams, or amid the fascinations of t h e
dance, or the deceptions of the drama, what
has the dull store, or the dirty shop, which
can continue the pulse at this fever-heat of
delight? T h e face of Pleasure to t h e
youthful imagination, is the face of an angel, a paradise of smiles, a h o m e of l o v e ;
while the r u g g e d face of I n d u s t r y , embrowned by toil, is dull and repulsive: b u t

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

at the end it is not so. These are harlot
charms which Pleasure wears. At last,
when Industry shall put on her beautiful
garments, and rest in the palace which her
own hands have built,—Pleasure, blotched <
and diseased with indulgence, shall lie down
and die upon the dung-hill.
{
4. Example leads to Idleness. The
children of industrious parents at the sight
of vagrant rovers seeking their sports
wherever they will, disrelish labor, and
envy this unrestrained leisure. At the first
relaxation of parental vigilance, they shrink
from their odious tasks. Idleness is begun
when labor is a burden, and industry a
bondage, and only idle relaxation a pleasure.
The example of political men, officeseekers, and public officers, is not usually
conducive to Industry. The idea insensibly fastens upon the mind, that greatness
and hard labor are not companions. The
inexperience of youth imagines that great
men are men of great leisure. They see
them much in public, often applauded, and
greatly followed. How disgusting in contrast is the mechanic's life; a tinkering
shop,—dark and smutty,—is the only theatre
of his exploits; and labor, which covers
him with sweat and fills him with weariness, brings neither notice nor praise. The

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

ambitious apprentice, sighing over his soiled
hands, hates his ignoble work .;—neglecting
it, he aspires to better things,—plots in a
caucus; declaims in a bar-room ; fights in a
grog-shop; and dies in a ditch.
5. But the Indolence begotten by venal
ambition must not be so easily dropped.
At those periods of occasional disaster
when embarrassments cloud the face of
commerce, and trade drags heavily, sturdy
laborers forsake industrial occupations, and
petition for office. Had I a son able to<
gain a livelihood by toil, I had rather bury
him, than witness his beggarly supplications
for office;—sneaking along the path of
men's passions to gain his advantage ; holding in the breath of his honest opinions ;
and breathing feigned words of flattery to
hungry ears, popular or official; and crawling, viler than a snake, through all the unmanly courses by which ignoble wretches
purloin the votes of the dishonest, the
drunken, and the vile.
The late reverses of commerce have unsettled the habits of thousands. Manhood
seems debilitated, and many sturdy yeomen
are ashamed of nothing but labor. For a
farthing-pittance of official salary,—for the
miserable fees of a constable's office,—for
the parings and perquisites of any deputyship,—a hundred men in every village, rush

42

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

forward,—scrambling, jostling, crowding,—»
each more obsequious than the other to
lick the hand that holds the omnipotent
vote, or the starveling office. T h e most
supple cunning gains the prize. Of the disappointed crowd, a few, rebuked b y their
sober reflections, go back to their honest
trade,—ashamed and cured of office-seeking.
But the majority grumble for a day, then
prick forth their ears, arrange their feline
arts, and mouse again for another office.
T h e general appetite for office and disrelish
for industrial callings, is a prolific source of
Idleness ; and it would be well for the h o n o r
of y o u n g men if they were bred to regard
office as fit only for those w h o have clearly
shown themselves able and willing to support their families without it. N o office can
make a worthless man respectable ; and a
man of integrity, thrift, and religion, has
name e n o u g h without badge or office.
6. Men become Indolent t h r o u g h t h e
reverses of fortune. Surely, despondency
is a grievous thing, and a heavy load to
bear. T o see disaster and wreck in the present, and no light in the future; but only
storms, lurid by the contrast of past prosperity, and growing darker as they advance ;
— t o wear a constant expectation of woe like
a g i r d l e ; to see want at the door, imperiously knocking, while there is no strength

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

to repel, or courage to bear its tyranny ;—
indeed, this is dreadful enough. But there is
a thing more dreadful. It is more dreadful
if the man is wrecked with his fortune. Can
anything be more poignant in anticipation,
than one's ownself, unnerved, cowed down
and slackened to utter pliancy, and helplessly drifting and driven down the troubled
sea of life ? Of all things on earth, next to
his God, a broken man should cling to a
courageous Industry. If it brings n o t h i n g
back, and saves nothing, it will save him.
T o be pressed down b y adversity has
nothing in it of disgrace; but it is disgraceful to lie down under it like a supple dog.
Indeed, to stand composedly in the storm,
amidst its rage and wildest devastations; to
let it beat over you, and roar around you,
and pass b y you, and leave you undismayed,
—this is to be a MAN. A d v e r s i t y is the
mint in which God stamps upon* us his
image and superscription. In this matter
men may learn of insects. T h e ant will
repair his dwelling as often as the mischievous foot crushes i t ; the spider will
exhaust life itself, before he will live without
a web ;—the bee can be decoyed from his
labor neither b y plenty nor scarcity. If
s u m m e r be abundant it toils n o n e t h e less ;
if it be parsimonious of flowers, the tiny
laborer sweeps a wider circle, and b y I n -

44

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

dustry, repairs the frugality of the season.
Man should be ashamed to be rebuked in
vain by the spider, the ant, and the bee.
Seest thou a man diligent in his business,
he shall stand before kings, he shall not stand
before mean men.

TWELVE CAUSES
DISHONESTY

OF

Providing for honest things, not only in the sight of the
Lord, but also in the sight of men. 2 Cor. viii. 21.

O

N L Y extraordinary circumstances can
give the appearance of dishonesty to
an honest man. Usually, not to seem
honest, is not to be so. The quality must
not be doubtful like twilight, lingering
between night and day and taking hues from
both; it must be day-light, clear,and effulgent This is the doctrine of the Bible :
Providing for honest things, not only hi the
sight of the Lord, BUT ALSO IN THE SIGHT OF

MEN. In general it may be said that no one
has honesty without dross, until he has
honesty without suspicion.
We are passing through times upon
which the seeds of dishonesty have been
sown broadcast, and they have brought forth
a hundred-fold. These times will pass
away; but like ones will come again. As
(45)

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

physicians study the causes and record the
p h e n o m e n a of plagues and pestilences, to
draw from t h e m an antidote against their
recurrence, so should we leave to another
generation a history of moral plagues, as the
best antidote to their recurring malignity.
U p o n a land,—capacious beyond measure,
whose prodigal soil rewards labor with an
unharvestable abundance of
exuberant
fruits, occupied b y a people signalized b y
enterprise and industry,—there came a summer of prosperity which lingered so long
and shone so brightly, that men forgot that
winter could ever come. E a c h day grew
brighter.
N o reins were put upon the
imagination. Its dreams passed for realities.
Even sober men, touched with wildness,
seemed to expect a realization of oriental
tales. U p o n this bright day came sudden
frosts, storms, and blight. Men awoke from
gorgeous dreams in the midst of desolation.
T h e harvests of years were swept away in
a day. T h e strongest firms were rent as
easily as the oak by lightning. Speculating
companies were dispersed as seared leaves
from a tree in autumn. Merchants were
ruined by thousands.; clerks turned adrift
b y ten thousands. Mechanics were left
in idleness. F a r m e r s sighed over flocks
and wheat as useless as the stones and dirt.
T h e wide sea of commerce was s t a g n a n t ;

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

47

upon t h e realm of Industry settled down a
sullen lethargy.
O u t of this reverse swarmed an u n n u m bered host of dishonest men, like vermin
from a carcass. Banks were exploded,—or
robbed,—or fleeced b y astounding forgeries.
Mighty companies, without cohesion, went
to pieces, and hordes of wretches snatched
up every bale that came ashore.
Cities
were ransacked by troops of villains. T h e
unparalleled frauds, which s p r u n g like
mines on every hand, set every man to
trembling lest the next explosion should be
under his own feet. Fidelity seemed to
have forsaken men. Many that had earned
a reputation for sterling honesty were cast
so suddenly headlong into wickedness, that
man shrank from man. Suspicion overgrew
confidence, and the heart bristled with the
nettles and thorns of fear and jealousy.
T h e n had almost come to pass the divine
delineation of ancient wickedness : The good
ma?i is perished out of the earth : and there is
none upright among men : they all lie in wait
for blood; they hunt every man his brother
zvith a net. That they may do evil with
both hands earnestly, the prince and the judge
ask for a reward: and the great man tittereth his mischievous desire ; so they wrap it
up. The best of them is a brier; the most
upright is sharper than a thorn hedge.
The

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

world looked upon a continent of inexhaustible fertility, (whose harvest had
glutted the markets, and rotted in disuse,)
filled with lamentation, and its inhabitants
wandering like bereaved citizens among the
ruins of an earthquake, mourning for children, for houses crushed, and propertyburied forever.
That no measure might be put to the
calamity, the Church of God, which rises a
stately tower of refuge to desponding men,
seemed now to have lost its power of protection. When the solemn voice of Religion should have gone over the land, as
the call of God to guilty man to seek in
him their strength; in this time when Religion should have restored sight to the
blind, made the lame to walk, and bound
up the broken-hearted, she was herself
mourning in sackcloth. Out of her courts
came the noise of warring sects ; some contending against others with bitter warfare;
and some, possessed of a demon, wallowed
upon the ground foaming and rending
themselves. In a time of panic, and disaster, and distress, and crime, the fountain
which should have been for the healing of
men, cast up its sediments, and gave out
a bitter stream of pollution.
In every age, an universal pestilence has
hushed the clamor of contention, and cooled

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

49

the heats of parties; but the greatness of
our national calamity seemed only to enkindle the fury of political parties. Contentions never ran with such deep streams
and impetuous currents, as amidst the ruin
of our industry and prosperity. States
were greater debtors to foreign nations, than
their citizens were to each other* Both
states and citizens shrunk back from their
debts, and yet more dishonestly from the
taxes necessary to discharge them. The
General Government did not escape, but
lay becalmed, or pursued its course, like a
ship, at every furlong touching the rocks,
or beating against the sands. The Capitol
trembled with the first waves of a question
which is yet to shake the whole land. New
questions of exciting qualities perplexed
the realm of legislation, and of morals. To
all this must be added a manifest decline
of family government; an
increase
of the ratio of popular ignorance; a decrease of reverence for law, and an effeminate administration of it. Popular tumults
have been as frequent as freshets in our
rivers; and like them, have swept over the
land with desolation, and left their filthy
slime in the highest places:—upon the
press ;—upon the legislature;—in the halls ^
of our courts ;—and even upon the sacred
bench of Justice. If unsettled times foster
4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

dishonesty, it should have flourished a m o n g
us. A n d it has.
O u r nation must expect a periodical return of such convulsions ; but experience
should steadily curtail their ravages, and
remedy their immoral tendencies. Y o u n g
men have before them lessons of manifold
wisdom taught by the severest of m a s t e r s —
experience. T h e y should be studied ; and
that they may be, I shall, from this general
survey, turn to a specific enumeration 'of
the causes of dishonesty.
i. Some men find in their bosom from
the first, a vehement inclination to dishonest ways. ' Knavish propensities are inh e r e n t : born with the child and transmissible from parent to son. T h e children of a
sturdy thief, if taken from him at birth and
reared b y honest men, would, doubtless,
have to contend against a strongly dishonest inclination. Foundlings and orphans
under public charitable charge, are more
apt to become vicious than other children.
T h e y are usually born of low and vicious
parents, and inherit their parents' propensities. Only the most thorough moral
training can overrule this innate depravity.
2. A child naturally fair-minded, m a y
become dishonest by parental example. ' H e
is early taught to be sharp in bargains, and

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

51

vigilant for every advantage. Little is said
about honesty, and much upon shrewd
traffic. A dexterous trick, becomes a
family anecdote; visitors are regaled with
the boy's precocious keenness. Hearing
the praise of his exploits, he studies craft,
and seeks parental admiration by adroit
knaveries. He is taught, for his safety,
that he must not range beyond the law:
that would be unprofitable. He calculates
his morality thus : Legal honesty is the best
policy,—dishonesty, then, is a bad bargain
—and therefore wrong—everything is
wrong which is unthrifty. Whatever profit
breaks no legal statute—though it is gained
by falsehood, by unfairness, by gloss;
through dishonor, unkindness, and an unscrupulous conscience—he considers fair,
and says: The law allows it. Men may
spend a long life without an indictable
acticvn, and without an honest one. No
law can reach-the insidious ways of subtle
craft. The law allows, and religion forbids
men, to profit by others' misfortunes, to
prowl for prey among the ignorant, to overreach the simple, to suck the last life-drops
from the bleeding; to hover over men as a
vulture over herds, swooping down upon
the weak, the straggling, and the weary.
The infernal craft of cunning men, turns the
law itself to piracy, and works outrageous
)

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

fraud in the hall of Courts, by the decision
of judges, and under the seal of Justice.
3. Dishonesty is learned from one's employers. The boy of honest parents and
honestly bred, goes to a trade, or a store,
where the employer practises legal frauds.
The plain honesty of the boy excites roars
of laughter among the better taught clerks.
The master tells them that such blundering
truthfulness must be pitied; the boy evidently has been neglected, and is not to be
ridiculed for what he could not help. At
first, it verily pains the youth's scruples,
and tinges his face to frame a deliberate
dishonesty, to finish, and to polish it. His
tongue stammers at a lie; but the example
of a rich master, the jeers and gibes of
shopmates, with gradual practice, cure all
this. He becomes adroit in fleecing customers for his master's sake, and equally
dexterous in fleecing his master for his own
sake.
4. EXTRAVAGANCE is a prolific source of

dishonesty. Extravagance,—which is foolish expense, or expense disproportionate to
one's means,—may be found in all grades
of society; but it is chiefly apparent among
the rich, those aspiring to wealth, and those
wishing to be thought affluent. Many a
young man cheats his business, by transferring his means to theatres, race-courses,

TWELVE

CAUSES OE DISHONESTY

53

expensive parties, and to the nameless and
numberless projects of pleasure. The enterprise of others is baffled by the extravagance of their family; for few men can
make as much in a year as an extravagant
woman can carry on her back in one winter.
Some are ambitious of fashionable society,
and will gratify their vanity at any expense.
This disproportion between means and
expense soon brings on a crisis. The
victim is straitened for money; without it
he must abandon his rank; for fashionable
society remorselessly rejects all butterflies
which have lost their brilliant colors.
Which shall he choose, honesty and mortifying exclusion, or gaiety purchased by
dishonesty ? The severity of this choice
sometimes sobers the intoxicated brain;
and a young man shrinks from the gulf,
appalled at the darkness of dishonesty.
But to excessive vanity, high-life with or
without fraud, is Paradise; and any other
life Purgatory. Here many resort to dishonesty without a scruple. It is at this
point that public sentiment half sustains
dishonesty. It scourges the thief of Necessity, and pities the thief of Fashion.
The struggle with others is on the very
ground of honor. A wife led from affluence
to frigid penury and neglect; from leisure
and luxury to toil and want; daughters,

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEAT

once courted as rich, to be disesteemed
when poor,—this is the gloomy prospect,
seen through a magic haze of despondency.
Honor, love and generosity, strangely bewitched, plead for dishonesty as the only
alternative to such suffering. But go,
young man, to your wife; tell her the alternative ; if she is worthy of you, she will
face your poverty with a courage which
shall shame your fears, and lead you into
its wilderness and through it, all unshrinking. Many there be who went weeping
into this desert, and ere long, having found
in it the fountains of the purest peace, have
thanked God for the pleasures of poverty.
But if your wife unmans your resolution,
imploring dishonor rather than penury,
may God pity and help you! You dwell
with a sorceress, and few can resist her
wiles.
5. DEBT is an inexhaustible fountain c«f
Dishonesty. The Royal Preacher tells us :
The borrower is servant to the lender. Debt
is a rigorous servitude. The debtor learns
the cunning tricks, delays, concealments,
and frauds, by which slaves evade or cheat
their master. He is tempted to make
ambiguous statements ; pledges, with secret
passages of escape ; contracts, with fraudulent constructions; lying excuses, and
more mendacious promises. He is tempted

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

55

to elude responsibility; to delay settlements ; to prevaricate upon the terms; to
resist equity, and devise specious fraud.
When the eager creditor would restrain
such vagrancy by law, the debtor then
thinks himself released from moral obligation, and brought to a legal game, in which
it is lawful for the best player to win. He
disputes true accounts; he studies subterfuges ; extorts provocatious delays; and
harbors in every nook, and corner, and
passage, of the law's labyrinth. At length
the measure is filled up, and the malignant
power of debt is known. It has opened in
the heart every fountain of iniquity; it has
besoiled the conscience; it has tarnished
the honor; it has made the man a deliberate student of knavery; a systematic practitioner of fraud: it has dragged him through
all the sewers of petty passions,—anger,
hate, revenge, malicious folly, or malignant
shame. When a debtor is beaten at every
point, and the law will put her screws
upon him, there is no depth in the gulf of
dishonesty into which he will not boldly
plunge. Some men put their property to
the flames, assassinate the detested creditor,
and end the frantic tragedy by suicide, or
the gallows. Others, in view of the catastrophe, have converted all property to cash,
and concealed it. The law's utmost skill,

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

and the creditor's fury, are alike powerless
now,—the tree is green and thrifty ; its
roots drawing a copious supply from some
hidden fountain.
Craft has another harbor of resort for t h e
piratical crew of dishonesty; viz.: putting
the property out of the law's reach by a
fraudulent conveyance.
W h o e v e r runs in
debt, and consumes the equivalent of his
indebtedness ; whoever is fairly liable to
d a m a g e for broken contracts ; whoever b y
folly, has incurred debts and lost the benefit of his o u t l a y ; whoever is legally obliged
to pay for his malice or carelessness ; w h o ever by infidelity to public trusts has m a d e
his property a just remuneration for his
defaults ;—whoever of all these, or w h o ever, under any circumstances, puts out of
his hands property, morally or legally due
to

creditors, is

A DISHONEST MAN.

The

crazy excuses which men render to their
consciences, are only such as every villain
makes, who is unwilling to look upon the,
black face of his crimes.
H e who will receive a conveyance of property, knowing it to be illusive and fraudulent, is as wicked as t h e principal; and as
m u c h meaner, as the tool and subordinate
of villany is meaner than the master who
uses him.
If a church, k n o w i n g all these facts, or

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

57

wilfully ignorant of them, allows a member
to nestle in the security of the s a n c t u a r y ;
then the act of this robber, and the connivance of the church, are but the two parts of
one crime.
6. BANKRUPTCY, a l t h o u g h a branch of
debt, deserves a separate mention. It sometimes crushes a man's spirit, and sometimes
exasperates it. T h e poignancy of the evil
depends much upon the disposition of the
creditors; and as much upon the disposition of the victim. Should they act with
the lenity of Christian men, and he with
manly honesty, promptly rendering up what* ever satisfaction of debt he has,—he m a y
visit the lowest places of human adversity,
and find there the light of good men's esteem, the support of conscience, and the
sustenance of religion.
A bankrupt m a y fall into the hands of
men whose tender-mercies are cruel; or his
dishonest equivocations may exasperate
^heir temper and provoke every thorn and
brier of the law. W h e n men's passions are
let loose, especially their avarice whetted
by real or imaginary w r o n g ; when there is
a rivalry a m o n g creditors, lest any one
should feast upon t h e victim more than his
s h a r e ; and they all rush upon him like
wolves upon a wounded deer, dragging him
down, ripping him open, breast and flank,

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

plunging deep their bloody muzzles to reach
the heart and taste blood at t h e very fountain ;—is it strange that resistance is desperate and unscrupulous? A t length the sufferer drags his mutilated carcass aside, every
nerve and muscle w r u n g with pain, and his
whole body an instrument of agony.
He
curses the whole inhuman crew with envenomed imprecations ; and thenceforth, a
brooding misanthrope, he pays back to s o ciety, by studied villanies, the legal wrongs
which the relentless justice of a few, or his
own knavery, have b r o u g h t upon him.
7. T h e r e is a circle of moral dishonesties
practised because the LAW allows t h e m .
T h e very anxiety of law to reach the devices of cunning, so perplexes its statutes
with exceptions, limitations, and supplements, that like a castle gradually enlarged
for centuries, it has its crevices, dark corners, secret holes and winding passages-—
an endless harbor for rats and vermin, where
no trap can catch them.
W e are villanously infested with legal rats and rascals,
who are able to commit t h e most flagrant
dishonesties with impunity. T h e y can do
all of wrong which is profitable, without
that part which is actionable. T h e very
ingenuity of these miscreants excites such
admiration of their skill, that their life is
gilded with a specious respectability. Men

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

jg

profess little esteem for blunt, necessitous
thieves, w h o rob and run a w a y ; but for a
gentleman w h o can break t h e whole of
God's law so adroitly, as to leave man's law
u n b r o k e n ; w h o can indulge in such conservative stealing t h a t his fellow-men award
him a rank a m o n g honest men for t h e e x cessive skill of his dishonesty—for such a
one, I fear, there is almost universal s y m pathy.
8. P O L I T I C A L

DISHONESTY,

breeds

dis-

honesty of every kind. It is possible for
good men t o permit single sins t o co-exist
with general integrity, where the evil is indulged t h r o u g h ignorance.
Once, und o u b t e d Christians were slave-traders. T h e y
might be, while unenlightened ; b u t not in
our times. A state of mind which will intend one fraud, will, upon occasions, intend
a thousand. H e that upon one emergency
will lie, will be supplied with emergencies.
H e that will perjure himself to save a friend,
will do it, in a desperate juncture, t o save
himself. T h e highest W i s d o m has informed
us that He that is unjust in the least, is unjust also in much.
Circumstances m a y withdraw a politician from temptation t o any
b u t political dishonesty ; b u t under temptation, a dishonest politician would b e a
dishonest cashier,—would be dishonest
anywhere,—in anything. T h e fury which

(5o

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

destroys an opponent's character, would
stop- at nothing, if barriers were thrown
down. T h a t which is true of the leaders
in politics, is true of subordinates. Political dishonesty in voters runs into general dishonesty, as the rotten speck taints t h e
whole apple. A c o m m u n i t y whose politics
are conducted by a perpetual breach of
honesty on both sides, will be tainted b y
immorality thrqughout. Men will play the
same game in their private affairs, which
they have learned to play in public matters.
T h e guile, the crafty vigilance, the dishonest advantage, the cunning sharpness ;—the
tricks and traps and sly evasions ; the equivocal promises, and unequivocal neglect of
them, which characterize political action,
will equally characterize private action.
T h e mind has no kitchen to do its
dirty work in, while the parlor remains
clean. Dishonesty is an atmosphere ; if it
comes into one apartment, it penetrates into
every one. W h o e v e r will lie in politics,
will lie in traffic. W h o e v e r will slander in
politics, will slander in personal squabbles.
A professor of religion who is a dishonest
politician, is a dishonest Christian.
His
creed is a perpetual index of his hypocrisy.
T h e genius of our government directs
the attention of every citizen to politics.
Its spirit reaches the uttermost bound of

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

6J

society, and pervades the whole mass. If
its channels are slimy with corruption, what
limit can be set to its malign influence?
T h e turbulence of elections, the virulence
of the press, the desperation of bad men,
• t h e hopelessness of efforts which are not
! cunning, but only honest, have diiven m a n y
conscientious
men from
any
concern
with politics. This is suicidal. T h u s t h e
tempest will grow blacker and fiercer. O u r
youth will be caught up in its whirling bosom and dashed to pieces, and its hail will
break down every green thing. A t God's
house the cure should begin.
L e t the
hand of discipline smite the leprous lips
which shall utter the profane h e r e s y : All
is fair in politics.
If any hoary professor,
d r u n k with the mingled wine of excitement, shall tell our youth, that a Christian
man may act in politics by any other rule
of morality than that of the Bible; and
that wickedness performed for a party, is
not as abominable, as if done for a man ; or
t h a t any necessity justifies or palliates dishonesty in word or deed,—let such a one
g o out of the camp, and his pestilent breath
ho longer spread contagion a m o n g our
youth. N o man who loves his country,
should shrink from her side when she
groans with raging distempers. L e t every
Christian man stand in his p l a c e ; rebuke

52

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

every dishonest practice; scorn a political
as well as a personal lie; and refuse with
indignation to be insulted by the solicitation
of an immoral man. Let good men of all
parties require honesty, integrity, veracity,
and morality in politics, and there, as powerfully as anywhere else, the requisitions of
public sentiment will ultimately be felt.
9. A corrupt PUBLIC SENTIMENT produces
dishonesty. A public sentiment, in which
dishonesty is not disgraceful; in which bad
men are respectable, are trusted, are honored, are exalted—is a curse to the young.
The fever of speculation, the universal derangement of business, the growing laxness
of morals, is, to an alarming extent, introducing such a state of things. Men of notorious immorality, whose dishonesty is
flagrant, whose private habits would disgrace the ditch, are powerful and popular.
I have seen a man stained with every sin,
except those which required courage ; into
whose head I do not think a pure thought
has entered for forty years; in whose heart
an honorable feeling would droop for very
loneliness;—in evil he was ripe and rotten ;
hoary and depraved in deed, in word, in his
present life and in all his past; evil when
by himself, and viler among men ; corrupting
to the young;—to domestic fidelity, a recreant; to common honor, a traitor; to

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

63

honesty, an outlaw ; to religion, a h y p o c r i t e ;
—base in all that is w o r t h y of man, and accomplished in whatever is disgraceful ; and
yet this wretch could go where he w o u l d ;
enter good men's dwellings, and purloin
their votes. Men would curse him, yet obey
h i m ; hate him and assist h i m ; warn their
sons against him, and lead them to the polls
for him. A public sentiment which produces
ignominious knaves, cannot breed honest
men.
A n y calamity, civil or commercial, which
checks the administration of justice between
man and man, is ruinous to honesty. T h e
violent fluctuations of business cover the
ground with rubbish over which men stumble ; and fill the air with dust, in which
all the shapes of honesty appear distorted.
Men are thrown upon unusual e x p e d i e n t s ;
dishonesties are u n o b s e r v e d ; those who
have been reckless and profuse, stave off
the legitimate fruits of their folly by desperate shifts. W e have not yet emerged from
a period, in which debts were insecure;
the debtor legally protected against t h e
rights of the creditor; taxes laid, not b y
the requirements of justice, b u t for political
effect; and lowered to a dishonest insufficiency ; and when t h u s diminished, not collected ; the citizens resisting their own officers ; officers resigning at the bidding of

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

t h e electors ; t h e laws of property paralyzed ;
bankrupt laws built up ; and stay-laws unconstitutionally enacted, upon which t h e
courts look with aversion, yet fear to d e n y
them, lest the wildness of popular opinion
should roll back disdainfully upon t h e
bench, to despoil its dignity, and prostrate
its power. General suffering has made us
tolerant of general dishonesty; and t h e
gloom of our commercial disaster threatens
t o become the pall of our morals.
If the shocking stupidity of the public
mind to atrocious dishonesties is not
aroused ; if good men do not bestir t h e m selves to drag the y o u n g from this foul
sorcery ; if the relaxed bands of honesty
are not tightened, and conscience intoned
to a severer morality, our night is at hand,
— o u r midnight not far off. W o e to that
guilty people w h o sit down upon broken
laws, and wealth saved by injustice! W o e
to a generation fed upon the bread of fraud,
whose children's inheritance shall be a perpetual memento of their fathers' unrighteousness ; to whom dishonesty shall be
m a d e pleasant b y association with the revered memories of father, brother, a n d
friend !
B u t when a whole people, united b y a
c o m m o n disregard of justice, conspire t o
defraud public creditors; and States vie

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

65

with States in an infamous repudiation of
just debts, by open or sinister methods;
and nations exert their sovereignty to protect
and dignify the knavery of a Commonwealth ; then the confusion of domestic
affairs has bred a fiend, before whose flight
honor fades away, and under whose feet the
sanctity of truth and the religion of solemn
cbmpacts are stamped down and ground into
the dirt Need we ask the causes of growing dishonesty among the young, and the
increasing untrustworthiness of all agents,
when States are seen^clothed with the panoply of dishonesty, and nations put on
fraud for their garments ?
Absconding agents, swindling schemes,
and defalcations, occurring in such melancholy abundance, have at length ceased to
be wonders, and rank with the common
accidents of fire and flood. The budget of
each week is incomplete without its mob
and runaway cashier—its duel and defaulter;
and as waves which roll to the shore are
lost in those which follow on, so the villanies of each week obliterate the record of
the last.
T h e mania of dishonesty cannot arise
from local causes ; it is the result of disease
in the whole community; an eruption betokening foulness of the blood; blotches
symptomatic of a disordered system.
.

5

66

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

10. FINANCIAL AGENTS are especially liable to the temptations of Dishonesty. Safe
merchants, and visionary schemers; sagacious adventurers, and rash speculators;
frugal beginners, and retired millionaires,
are constantly around them. Every word,
every act, every entry, every letter, suggests
only wealth—its germ, its bud, its blossom,
its golden harvest. Its brilliance dazzles the
sight; its seductions stir the appetites; its
power fires the ambition, and the soul concentrates its energies to obtain wealth, as
life's highest and only joy.
Besides the influence of such associations,
direct dealing in money as a commodity,
has a peculiar effect upon the heart.
There is no property between it and the
mind;—no medium to mellow its light.
The mind is diverted and refreshed by no
thoughts upon the quality of soils; the
durability of structures; the advantages
of sites; the beauty of fabrics ; it is not
invigorated by the necessity of labor and
ingenuity which the mechanic feels; by
the invention of the artisan, or the taste
of the artist. The whole attention falls
directly upon naked Money. The hourly
sight of it whets the appetite, and sharpens
it to avarice. Thus, with an intense regard
of riches, steals in also the miser's relish of
coin—that insatiate gazing and fondling.

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

fy

by which seductive metal wins to itself all
the blandishments of love.
T h o s e who mean to be rich, often begin
by imitating the expensive courses of those
who are rich. T h e y are also tempted to
venture, before they have means of their
own, in brilliant speculations. H o w can a
y o u n g cashier pay the drafts of his illicit
pleasures, or procure the seed, for t h e
harvest of speculation, out of his narrow
salary ? H e r e first begins t o work t h e
leaven of death. T h e mind wanders in
dreams of g a i n ; it broods over projects
of unlawful riches ; stealthily at first, and
then with less reserve; at last it boldly
meditates the possibility of being dishonest
and safe.
W h e n a man can seriously
reflect upon dishonesty as a possible and
profitable thing, he is already deeply dis- <
honest. T o a mind so tainted, will flock
stories of c o n s u m m a t e craft, of effective
knavery, of fraud covered b y its brilliant
success. A t times, the mind shrinks from
its own thoughts, and trembles to look down
the giddy cliff on whose edge they poise,
or over which they fling themselves like
sporting sea-birds. But these imaginations
will not be driven from the heart w h e r e
they have once nested.
They haunt a
man's business, visit him m dreams, and
vampire-like^ fan the Oi^rvb^rs of t h e victim

68

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

whom they will destroy. In some feverish
hour, vibrating between conscience and
avarice, the man staggers to a compromise.
To satisfy his conscience he refuses to
steal; and to gratify his avarice, he borrows
the funds ;—not openly—not of owners—not of men: but of the till—the safe—the
vault!
He resolves to restore the money before
-discovery can ensue, and pocket the profits.
Meanwhile, false entries are made, perjured
•oaths are sworn, forged papers are filed.
His expenses grow profuse, and men
wonder from what fountain so copious a
stream can flow.
Let us stop here to survey his condition.
He flourishes, is called prosperous, thinks
himself safe. Is he safe, or honest? He
has stolen, and embarked the amount upon
a sea over which wander perpetual storms ;
where wreck is the common fate, and escape
the accident; and now all his chance for
the semblance of honesty, is staked upon
the return of his embezzlements from
among the sands, the rocks and currents,
the winds and waves, and darkness, of
tumultuous speculation. At length dawns
the day of discovery. His guilty dreams
have long foretokened it. As he confronts
the disgrace almost face to face, how
changed is the hideous aspect of his deed,

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

gg,

from that fair face of promise with which it
tempted him ! Conscience, and honor, and
plain honesty, which left him when t h e y
could not restrain, now come back to
sharpen his anguish.
Overawed by the
prospect of open shame, of his wife's disgrace, and his children's beggary, he cows
down, and slinks out of life a frantic suicide.
S o m e there be, however, less supple t o
shame. T h e y meet their fate with cool
i m p u d e n c e ; defy their e m p l o y e r s ; b r a v e
the court, and too often with success. T h e
delusion of the public mind, or the confusion of affairs is such, that, while p e t t y
c u l p n t s are tumbled into prison, a cool,v
calculating and immense scoundrel is pitied,
dandled and nursed by a sympathizing
community. In the broad road slanting to
t h e rogue's retreat, are seen the officer
of the bank, the agent of the state, t h e
officer of t h e church, in indiscriminate
haste, o u t r u n n i n g a lazy justice, and bearing off the gains of astounding frauds.
Avarice and pleasure seem to have dissolved the conscience. / / is a day of trouble
and of perplexity from the Lord. W e tremble to think that our children must leave
the covert of the family, and go out upon,
top* dark and yeasty sea, from whose wrath
<?*- m a n y wrecks are cast up at our feet
* * *ne thing I am certain; if the church of

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

Christ is silent to such deeds, and makes her
altar a refuge to such dishonesty, the d a y
is coming when s h e shall have no altar, t h e
light shall go out from her candlestick, her
walls shall be desolate, and the fox look
out at her windows.
11

EXECUTIVE

CLEMENCY, by

its

fre-

quency, has been a temptation to Dishonesty. W h o will fear to be a culprit when a
legal sentence is the a r g u m e n t of pity, and
t h e prelude of pardon ? W h a t can the
c o m m u n i t y expect but growing dishonesty,
w h e n juries connive at acquittals, and j u d g e s
c o n d e m n only to petition a pardon ; when
honest men and officers fly before a m o b ;
when jails are besieged and threatened, if
felons are not relinquished; when the E x e c utive, consulting the spirit of the c o m m u nity, receives the demands of the mob, and
h u m b l y complies, throwing down t h e fences
of t h e law, that base rioters m a y walk
unimpeded, to their work of vengeance, or
unjust mercy ? A sickly sentimentality too
often enervates the administration of justice ;
a n d the pardoning power becomes the
master-key to let out unwashed, unrepentant criminals. T h e y have fleeced us, robbed
us, and are ulcerous sores to t h e b o d y
politic; yet our heart turns to water over
their merited p u n i s h m e n t A fine y o u n g
fellow, b y accident, writes another's n a m e

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

yi

for his o w n ; by a mistake equally unfortunate, he presents it at t h e b a n k ; innocently
draws out the large a m o u n t ; generously
spends a part, and absent-mindedly hides
the rest. Hard-hearted wretches there are,
w h o would punish him for t h i s ! Y o u n g
men, admiring the neatness of the affair,
pity his misfortune, and curse a stupid
j u r y that knew no better than to send to a
penitentiary, him, whose skill deserved a
cashiership. H e goes to his cell, the pity
of a whole metropolis. Bulletins
from
Sing-Sing inform us daily what E d w a r d s *
is doing, as if he were Napoleon at St.
Helena. A t length pardoned, he will g o
forth again to a renowned liberty!
If there be one way quicker than another,,
b y which the Executive shall assist crime,
a n d our laws foster it, it is that course
which assures every dishonest man, that it
is easy to defraud, easy to avoid arrest, easy
to escape punishment, and easiest of all t o
obtain a pardon.
12.

COMMERCIAL SPECULATIONS are

pro-

lific of Dishonesty. Speculation is the risking of capital in enterprises greater than we
can control, or in enterprises whose elements
are not at all calculable. All calculations
of the future are uncertain ; but those which
are based upon long experience approximate
[* Monroe E d w a r d s , a notorious forger.—ED 1

72

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

certainty, while those which are drawn bysagacity from probable events, are notorio u s l y unsafe. Unless, however,
some
venture, we shall forever tread an old and
dull path ; therefore enterprise is allowed to
pioneer new ways. T h e safe enterpriser
explores cautiously, ventures at first a little,
a n d increases the venture with the ratio of
-experience. A speculator looks out upon
t h e new region, as upon a far-away landscape, whose features are softened to
beauty by distance ; upon a hope, he stakes
t h a t , which, if it wins, will m a k e him ; and
if it loses, will ruin him. W h e n the alternatives are victory, or utter destruction, a
battle may, sometimes, still be necessary.
But commerce has no such alternatives ;
o n l y speculation proceeds upon them.
If the capital is borrowed, it is as dishonest, upon such ventures, to risk, as to
lose it. Should a man borrow a noble
steed and ride a m o n g incitements which he
knew would rouse up his fiery spirit to an
uncontrollable height, and borne away with
wild speed, be plunged over a precipice,
his destruction might excite our pity, but
could not alter our opinion of his dishonesty. H e borrowed property, and endang e r e d it where he knew that it would be
uncontrollable.
If the capital'be one's own, it can scarce-

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

75

ly be risked and lost, without the ruin of
other men. No man could blow up his
store in a compact street, and destroy only
his own. Men of business are, like threads
of a fabric, woven together, and subject,
to a great extent, to a common fate of
prosperity or adversity. I have no right
to cut off my hand; I defraud myself, my
family, the community, and God; for all
these have an interest in that hand. Neither has a man the right to throw away his
property. He defrauds himself, his family,
the community in which he dwells ; for alL
these have an interest in that property. If
waste is dishonesty, then every risk, in proportion as it approaches it, ,is dishonest.
To venture, without that foresight which
experience gives, is wrong; and if we cannot foresee, then we must not venture.
Scheming speculation demoralizes honesty, and almost necessitates dishonesty.
He who puts his own interests to rash
ventures, will scarcely do better for others.
The Speculator regards the weightiest affair
as only a splendid game. Indeed, a Speculator on the exchange, and a Gambler at
his table, follow one vocation, only with
different instruments. One employs cards
or dice, the other property. The one can
no more foresee the result of his schemes,
than the other what spots will come up on

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

his d i c e ; the calculations of both are only
t h e chances of luck. Both burn with unhealthy e x c i t e m e n t ; both are avaricious of
gains, but careless of what they w i n ; both
depend more upon fortune than skill ; they
have a c o m m o n distaste for labor ; with each,
right and wrong are only the accidents of a
g a m e ; neither would scruple in any hour to
set his whole being on the edge of ruin,
a n d going over, to pull down, if possible, a
h u n d r e d others.
T h e wreck of such men leaves them with
a d r u n k a r d ' s appetite, and a fiend's desperation.
T h e revulsion from extravagant
hopes, to a certainty of midnight d a r k n e s s ;
t h e sensations of poverty, to him w h o was
in fancy just stepping upon a princely e s t a t e ;
t h e humiliation of gleaning for cents, where
h e has been profuse of d o l l a r s ; the chagrin
of seeing old competitors now above him,
grinning down upon his poverty a malignant
t r i u m p h ; the pity of pitiful men, and the
neglect of such as should have been his
friends,—and who were, while the sunshine
lay upon his path,—all these things, like so
m a n y strong winds, sweep across the soul
so that it cannot rest in the cheerless tranquility of honesty, but casts up mire and
dirt
H o w stately the balloon rises and
sails over continents, as over petty landscapes ! T h e slightest slit in its frail cover-

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

75

ing sends it tumbling down, swaying widely,
whirling and pitching hither and thither,
until it plunges into some dark glen, out of
the path of honest men, and too shattered
to tempt even a robber. So have we seen
a thousand men pitched d o w n ; so now, in
a thousand places may their wrecks be seen.
But still other balloons are framing, and the
air is full of victim-venturers.
If our y o u n g men are introduced to life
with distaste for safe ways, because the sure
profits are s l o w ; if the opinion becomes
prevalent that all business is great, only as
it tends to the uncertain, the extravagant,
and the r o m a n t i c ; then we m a y stay our
h a n d at once, nor waste labor in absurd e x postulations of honesty. I had as lief preach
humanity to a battle of eagles, as to urge
honesty and integrity upon those who have
determined to be rich, and to gain it b y g a m bling stakes, and m a d m e n ' s ventures.
All the bankruptcies of commerce are
harmless compared with a b a n k r u p t c y of
public morals. Should the Atlantic ocean
break over our shores, and roll sheer across
to the Pacific, sweeping every vestige of
cultivation, and burying our wealth, it would
be a mercy, compared to that ocean-deluge
of dishonesty and crime, which, sweeping
over t h e whole land, has spared our wealth
and taken our virtue. W h a t are cornfields

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

and vineyards, what are stores and manufactures, and what are gold and silver, and
all the precious commodities of the earth,
among beasts ?—and what are men, bereft
of conscience and honor, but beasts ?
We will forget those things which are
behind, and hope a more ^cheerful future.
W e turn to you, YOUNG MEN !—All good
men, all patriots, turn to watch your advance upon the stage, and to implore you
to be worthy of yourselves, and of your revered ancestry. Oh ! ye favored of Heaven !
witk a free land, a noble inheritance of wise
laws, and a prodigality of wealth in prospect,—advance to your possessions !—May
you settle down, as did Israel of old, a people of God in a promised and protected
land;—true to yourselves, true to your couflh
try, and true to your God.

SIX WARNINGS.

The generation of the upright shall be blessed, wealtk
and riches shall be in his house. Ps. cxii. 2, 3.
He that getteth riches, and not by right, shall leave them
in the midst of his days, and at the end shall be a fool.
Jer. xvii. 11.

W

H E N justly obtained, and rationally
used, riches are called a gift of God, an
evidence of his favor, and a great reward. When gathered unjustly, and corruptly used, wealth is pronounced a canker, a
rust, a fire, a curse. There is no contradiction,
then, when the Bible persuades to industry,
and integrity, by a promise of riches ; and then
dissuades from wealth, as a terrible thing,
destroying soul and body. Blessings are
vindictive to abusers, and kind to rightful
users;—they serve us, or rule us. Fire warms
our dwelling, or consumes it. Steam serves
man, and also destroys him. Iron, in the
plough, the sickle, the house, the ship, is
indispensable. The dirk, the assassin's
knife, the cruel sword and the spear, are
iron also.
(77)

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

T h e constitution of man, and of society,
alike evinces t h e design of God. Both a r e
m a d e t o b e happier b y t h e possession of
riches ;—their full development a n d perfection are dependent, t o u large extent, upon
wealth. W i t h o u t it, there can be neither
books n o r i m p l e m e n t s ; neither eommerde
nor arts, neither towns n o r cities. I t is a
folly t o denounce that, a love of which G o d
has placed in m^n b y a constitutional facu l t y ; that, with which h e has associated
high grades of happiness; that, which h a s
motives touching every faculty of the mind.
W e a l t h is an ARTIST : b y its p a t r o n a g e men

are encouraged to paint, to carve, to design,
t o build and a d o r n : — A MASTER-MECHANIC :

and inspires m a n t o invent, t o discover, t o
apply, t o forge, a n d to fashion : — A HUSBANDMAN : a n d under its influence men rear
the flock, till t h e earth, plant t h e vineyard,
the field, t h e orchard, and t h e garden : — A
MANUFACTURER : ^nd teaches men to card,

to spin, t o weave, t o color and dress all useful fabrics : — A MERCHANT : and sends forth
ships, and fills warehouses with their ret u r n i n g cargoes gathered from every zone.
I t is

the

scholar's

PATRON ; sustains

his

leisure, rewards his labor, builds t h e college,
and gathers t h e library.
Is a man weak ?—he can b u y t h e strong.
Is h e ' g n o r a n t ? — t h e learned will serve his

SIX

WARNINGS

79

wealth. Is he rude of speech ?—he may
procure the advocacy of the eloquent. T h e
rich cannot b u y honor, but honorable places
t h e y c a n ; they cannot purchase nobility,
but they may its titles. M o n e y cannot b u y
freshness of heart, but it can every l u x u r y
which tempts to enjoyment. Laws are its
body-guard, and no earthly power m a y
safely defy i t ; either while running in t h e
swift channels of commerce, or reposing in
the reservoirs of ancient families. H e r e is
a wonderful thing, that an inert metal,
which neither thinks, nor feels, nor stirs, can
set the whole world to thinking, planning,
running, digging, fashioning, and drives
on the sweaty mass with never-ending
labors!
Avarice seeks gold, not to build or b u y
t h e r e w i t h ; not to clothe or feed itself; not
to m a k e it an instrument of wisdom, of
skill, of friendship, or religion. Avarice
seeks it to heap it up ; to walk around the
pile, and gloat upon i t ; to fondle, and court,
to kiss and h u g the darling stuff to the end
of life, with the h o m a g e of idolatry.
Pride seeks it;—for it gives power, and
place, and titles, and exalts its possessor
above his fellows. T o be a thread in the
fabric of life, just like any other thread,
hoisted up and down by the treadle, played
across by the shuttle, and woven tightly

g0

- LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

into the piece, this m a y suit humility, but
not pride.
Vanity seeks i t ; — w h a t else can give it
costly clothing, and rare ornaments, and
stately dwellings, and showy equipage, and
attract admiring eyes to its gaudy colors
and costly jewels ?
Taste seeks it;—because b y it, may be
h a d whatever is beautiful, or refining, or instructive. W h a t leisure has poverty for
study, and how can it collect books, manuscripts, pictures, statues, coins,or curiosities ?
Love seeks i t ; — t o build a h o m e "full of
delights for father, wife or child ; and, wisest
of all,
Religion seeks i t ; — t o make it the messenger and servant of benevolence, to want,
to suffering, and to ignorance.
W h a t a sight does the b u s y world p r e sent, as of a great workshop, where hope
and fear,
love and
pride, and lust,
and pleasure, and avarice, separate or
in partnership, drive on the universal
race for wealth : delving in the mine, digging in the earth, sweltering at the forge,
plying the shuttle, p l o u g h i n g the w a t e r s ;
in houses, in shops, in stores, on the m o u n tain-side, or in the valley; b y skill, b y
labor, by thought, b y craft, by force, by
traffic; all men, in all places, b y all labors,
fair and unfair, the world around, b u s y ,

SIX

WARNINGS

8l

busy; ever searching for wealth that wealth
may supply their pleasures.
As every taste and inclination may receive its gratification through riches, the
universal and often fierce pursuit of it arises,
not from the single impulse of avarice, but
from the impulse of the whole mind; and
on this very account, its pursuits should be
more exactly regulated. Let me set up a
warning over against the special dangers
which lie along the ROAD TO RICHES.
I. I warn you against thinking that
riches necessarily confer happiness; and
poverty, unhappiness. Do not begin life
supposing that you shall be heart-rich, when
you are purse-rich. A man's happiness depends primarily upon his disposition ; if that
be good, riches will bring pleasure; but
only vexation, if that be evil. To lavish
money upon shining trifles, to make an idol
of one's self for fools to gaze at, to rear
mansions beyond our wants, to garnish
them for display and not for use, to chatter
through the heartless rounds of pleasure,
to lounge, to gape, to simper and giggle :—
can wealth make VANITY happy by such
folly ? If wealth descends upon AVARICE,
does it confer happiness ? It blights the
heart, as autumnal fires ravage the prairies!
The eye glows with greedy cunning, conscience shrivels, the light of love goes
6

g2

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

out, and the wretch moves amidst his coin
no better, no happier than a loathsome reptile in a mine of gold. A dreary fire of
self-love burns in the bosom of the avaricious rich, as a hermit's flame in a ruined
temple of the desert. The fire is kindled
for no deity, and is odorous with no incense, but only warms the shivering anchorite.
Wealth will do little for LUST, but to
hasten its corruption. There is no more
happiness in a foul heart, than there is
health in a pestilent morass. Satisfaction
is not made out of such stuff as fighting
carousals, obscene revelry, and midnight
orgies. An alligator, gorging or swollen
with surfeit and basking in the sun, has the
same happiness which riches bring to the
man who eats to gluttony, drinks to
drunkenness, and sleeps to stupidity. But
riches indeed bless that heart whose
almoner is BENEVOLENCE. If the taste is
refined,vif the affections are pure, if conscience is honest, if charity listens to the
needy, and generosity relieves them ; if the
public-spirited hand fosters all that embellishes and all that ennobles society—
then is the rich man happy.
On the other hand, do not suppose that
poverty is a waste and howling wilderness.
There is a poverty of vice—mean, loath-

SIX

WARNINGS

83

some, covered with all the sores of depravity. There is a poverty of indolence—
where virtues sleep, and passions fret and
bicker. There is a poverty which despondency makes—a deep dungeon, in which the
victim wears hopeless chains. May God
save you from that! There is a spiteful
and venomous poverty, in which mean and
cankered hearts, repairing none of their
own losses, spit at others' prosperity, and
curse the rich,—themselves doubly cursed
by their own hearts.
But there is a contented poverty, in
which industry and peace rule; and a joyful hope, which looks out into another
world where riches shall neither fly nor
fade. This poverty may possess an independent mind, a heart ambitious of usefulness, a hand quick to sow the seed of other
men's happiness, and find its own joy in
their enjoyment. If a serene age finds you
in such poverty, it is such a wilderness, if it
be a wilderness, as that in which God led
his chosen people, and on which he rained
every day a heavenly manna.
If God open to your feet the way to
wealth, enter it cheerfully; but remember
that riches will bless or curse you, as your
own heart determines. But if, circumscribed by necessity, you are still indigent,,
after all your industry, do not scorn pov«

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

erty. There is often in the hut more dignity than in the palace; more satisfaction
in the poor man's scanty fare than in the
rich man's satiety.
II. Men are warned in the Bible against
making HASTE TO BE RICH. He that hast£th to be rich hath an evil eye, and consider£th not that poverty shall come upon him.
This is spoken, not of the alacrity of enterprise, but of the precipitancy of avarice.
That is an evil eye which leads a man into
trouble by incorrect vision. When a man
seeks to prosper by crafty tricks instead of
•careful industry; when a man's inordinate
covetousness pushes him across all lines of
honesty that he may sooner clutch the
prize; when gambling speculation would
reap where it had not strewn; when men
gain riches by crimes—there is an EVIL EYE,
which guides them through a specious
prosperity, to inevitable ruin. So dependent is success upon patient industry, that
he who seeks it otherwise, tempts his own
ruin. A young lawyer, unwilling to wait
for that practice which rewards a good reputation, or unwilling to earn that reputation
by severe application, rushes through all
the dirty paths of chicane to a hasty prosperity ; and he rushes out of it, by the
dirtier paths of discovered villany. A
young politician, scarcely waiting till the

SIX

WARNINGS

85

law allows his majority, sturdily begs for
that popularity which h e should h a v e
patiently earned. I n t h e ferocious conflictsof political life, cunning, intrigue, falsehood,
slander, vituperative violence, at first s u s tain his pretensions, a n d at last demolish
them. I t is thus in all t h e ways of traffic,
in all t h e arts, and trades. T h a t prosperity
which grows like t h e mushroom, is a s
poisonous as the mushroom. F e w men a r e
destroyed ; b u t many destroy themselves.
W h e n God sends wealth to bless men h e
sends it gradually like a gentle rain. When*
God sends riches to punish men, they come
tumultuously, like a roaring torrent, tearing
up landmarks and sweeping all before t h e m
in promiscuous ruin. A l m o s t every evil
which environs t h e path to wealth, springs
from that criminal haste which substitutes
adroitness for industry, and trick for toil.
III.

Let

me

warn

you

against COVET-

OUSNESS. Thou shalt not covet, is t h e l a w
by which G o d s o u g h t t o bless a favorite
people. Covetousness is greediness of
money. T h e Bible meets it with significant
woes (Hab. ii. 9), b y God's hatred (Ps. x.
3), b y solemn warnings ( L u k e xii. 15), b y
denunciations
(1 Cor. v. 10, 1 1 ; Isai.
vii. 7), b y exclusion from Heaven (1 Cor. vi.
10). This pecuniary gluttony comes upon^
the competitors for wealth insidiously. A t

36

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

first, business is only a means of paying for
our pleasures. Vanity soon whets the appetite for money, to sustain her parade and
competition, to gratify her piques and jeaU
ousies. Pride throws in fuel for a brighter
flame. Vindictive hatreds often augment
the passion, until the whole soul glows as
a fervid furnace, and the body is driven as
a boat whose ponderous engine trembles
with the utmost energy of steam.
Covetousness is unprofitable. It defeats
its own purposes. It breeds restless daring, where it is dangerous to venture. It
works the mind to fever, so that its judgments are not cool, nor its calculations
calm. Greed of money is like fire; the
more fuel it has, the hotter it burns.
Everything conspires to intensify the heat.
Loss excites by desperation, and gain by
exhilaration. When there is fever in the
blood, there is fire on the brain; and
courage turns to rashness, and rashness
runs to ruin.
Covetousness breeds misery. The sight
of houses better than our own, of dress
beyond our means, of jewels costlier than
we may wear, of stately equipage, and rare
curiosities beyond our reach, these hatch
the viper brood of covetous thoughts ; vexing the poor—who would be rich ; tormenting the rich—who would be richer. The

SIX

WARNINGS

87

covetous man pines to see pleasure ; is sad
in the presence of cheerfulness ; and the
joy of the world is his sorrow, because all
the happiness of others is not his. I do not
wonder that God abhors him (Ps. x. 3). He
inspects his heart, as he would a cave full of
noisome birds, or a nest of rattling reptiles,
and loathes the sight of its crawling tenants.
To the covetous man life is a nightmare, and
God lets him wrestle with it as best he may.
Mammon might build its palace on such a
heart, and Pleasure bring all its revelry
there, and Honor all its garlands—it would
be like pleasures in a sepulchre, and garlands
on a tomb.
The creed of the greedy man is brief and
consistent; and unlike other creeds, is both
subscribed and believed. The chief end of
man is to glorify GOLD and enjoy it forever :
life is a time afforded man to grow rich in .death, the winding up of speculations: heaven^
a mart with golden streets: hell, a place
where shiftless men are punished with everlasting poverty.
God searched among the beasts for a fit
emblem of contempt, to describe the end of
a covetous prince : He shall be buried with
the burial of an Ass, drawn and cast forth
beyond the gates of Jerusalem (Jer. xxii. 19).
He whose heart is turned to greediness,
who sweats through life under the. load of

£8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

labor only to heap up money, and dies without private usefulness, or a record of public
service, is no better, in God's estimation,
than a pack-horse,—a mule,—an ass ; a creature for burdens, to be beaten, and worked
and killed, and dragged off by another like
him, abandoned to the birds and forgotten.
H E IS BURIED WITH THE BURIAL OF AN
ASS ! This is the MISER'S EPITAPH—and
yours, YOUNG MAN ! if you earn it by covetous-

ness !
IV. I warn you against SELFISHNESS. Of
riches it is written : There is no good in them
iutfor a man to rejoice and do good in his
life. If men absorb their property, it parches
the heart so that it will not give forth blossoms and fruits, but only thorns and thistles.
If men radiate and reflect upon others some
rays of the prosperity which shines upon
themselves, wealth is not only harmless, but
full of advantage.
The thoroughfares of wealth are crowded
by a throng who jostle, and thrust, and conflict, like men in the tumult of a battle.
The rules which crafty old men breathe into
the ears of the young are full of selfish
wisdom ;—teaching them that the chief end
•of man is to harvest, to husband, and to
lioard. Their life is made obedient to a
scale of preferences graded from a sordid
•experience; a scale which has penury for

SIX

WARNINGS

89

one extreme, and parsimony for the other;
and the virtues are ranked between them as
they are relatively fruitful in physical thrift
Every crevice of the heart is caulked with
costive maxims, so that no precious drop of
wealth may leak out through inadvertent
generosities. Indeed, generosity and all its
company are thought to be little better than
pilfering picklocks, against whose wiles the
heart is prepared, like a coin-vault, with
iron-clenched walls of stone, and impenetrable doors. Mercy, pity, and sympathy, are
vagrant fowls; and that they may not scale
the fence between a man and his neighbors,
their wings are clipped by the miser's mastermaxim—CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME. It certainly stays there.
The habit of regarding men as dishonest
rivals, dries up, also, the kindlier feelings.
A shrewd trafficker must watch his fellows,
be suspicious of their proffers, vigilant of
their movements, and jealous of their
pledges. The world's way is a very crooked
way, and a very guileful one. Its travellers
creep by stealth; or walk craftily, or glide in
concealments, or appear in specious guises.
He who stands out-watching among men, topluck his advantage from their hands, or tolose it by their wiles, comes at length toregard all men as either enemies or instruments. Of course he thinks it fair to strip

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

an enemy ; and j u s t as fair to use an instrument. Men are no more to him than bales,
b o x e s , or g o o d s — m e r e matters of traffic.
If he ever relaxes his commercial rigidity to
indulge in t h e fictions of poetry, it is when,
p e r h a p s on S u n d a y s or at a funeral, he talks
quite prettily about friendship, and generosity, and philanthropy. T h e tightest ship
m a y leak in a storm, and an unbartered
p e n n y may escape from this man, when the
surprise of the solicitation gives no time for
thought.
T h e heart cannot wholly petrify without
s o m e honest revulsions. Opiates are administered to it. This business-man tells
liis heart that it is beset by unscrupulous
-enemies ; that beneficent virtues are doors to
let them in ; t h a t liberality is bread given to
one's foes ; and selfishness only self-defence.
A t the same time, he enriches the future with
g e n e r o u s promises. While he is getting
rich, he cannot afford to be liberal ; but
w h e n once he is rich, a h ! how liberal he
m e a n s to be !—as t h o u g h habits could be
unbuckled like a'girdle, and* were not rather
steel-bands riveted, defying the edge of any
m a n ' s resolution, and clasping the heart
with invincible servitude !
T h o r o u g h selfishness destroys or paralyzes enjoyment. A heart made selfish by
t h e contest for wealth is like a citadel

SIX

WARNINGS

9

I

s t o r m e d in war. T h e b a n n e r of victory
waves over dilapidated walls, desolate
chambers, and magazines riddled with artillery. Men, covered with sweat, a n d begrimed with toil, expect t o find j o y in a
heart reduced by selfishness to a smouldering heap of ruins.
I warn every aspirant for wealth against
t h e infernal canker of selfishness. I t will
eat out of the heart with t h e fire of hell, or
bake it harder than a stone. T h e heart of
avaricious old age stands like a bare rock
in a bleak wilderness, and there is no rod of
authority, nor incantation of pleasure, which
can draw from it one crystal drop to
quench t h e raging thirst for satisfaction.
But listen not to my words alone ; hear t h e
solemn voice of God, pronouncing doom
upon t h e selfish: Your riches are comipted,
and your garments
are moth-eaten.
Your
gold and silver is cankered;
and the rust
of them shall be a zvitness against you, and
shall eat your flesh as it were fire (James
v. 2, 3).
V . I warn y o u against seeking wealth b y
COVERT DISHONESTY.

T h e everlasting plea

of petty fraud or open dishonesty, is, its
necessity or profitable?tess.
It is neither necessary n o r profitable.
T h e hope is a deception, a n d t h e excuse a
lie. T h e severity of competition affords no

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

reason for dishonesty in word or deed.
Competition is fair, but not all methods
of competition. A mechanic may compete
with a mechanic, b y rising earlier, by greater
industry, by greater skill, more punctuality,
greater thoroughness, by employing better
materials; by a more scrupulous fidelity to
promises, and b y facility in accommodation.
A m e r c h a n t m a y study to excel competitors, b y a better selection of goods, by
m o r e obliging manners, by more rigid
honesty, by a better knowledge of the market, by better taste in the arrangement of
his goods. Industry, honesty, kindness,
taste, genius and skill, are the only materials of all rightful competition.
But whenever you have exerted all your
knowledge, all your skill, all y o u r industry,
with long-continued patience and without
success, then, it is clear, not that you may
proceed to employ trick and cunning, but
t h a t you must STOP. God has put before
y o u a bound which no man may overleap.
T h e r e may be the appearance of gain on the
knavish side of the wall of honor. T r a p s
are always baited with food sweet to t h e
taste of the intended victim ; and Satan is
too crafty a trapper not to scatter the pitfall
of dishonesty with some shining particles of
gold.
But what if fraud were necessary to per-

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manent success ? will you take success upon such terms ? I perceive, too often, that
young men regard the argument as ended,
when they prove to themselves that they
cannot be rich without guile. Very well;
then be poor. But if you prefer money to
honor, you may well swear fidelity to the
villain's law ! If it is not base and detestable
to gain by equivocation, neither is it by lying ; and if not by lying, neither is it by
stealing; and if not by stealing, neither by
robbery or murder. Will you tolerate the
loss of honor and honesty for the sake of
profit ? For exactly this, Judas betrayed
Christ, and Arnold his country. Because
it is the only way to gain some pleasure,
may a wife yield her honor ?—a politician
sell himself?—a statesman barter his counsel?—-a judge take bribes?—a juryman
forswear himself?—or a witness commit
perjury? Then virtues are marketable
commodities, and may be hung up, like
meat in the shambles, or sold at auction to
the highest bidder.
Who can afford a victory gained by a
defeat of his virtue? What prosperity can
compensate the plundering of a man's heart ?
A good name is rather to be chosen than
great riches : sooner or later every man will
find it so.
With what dismay would Esau have

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

sorrowed for a lost birthright, had he lost
also the pitiful mess of pottage for which he
sold it? W i t h what double despair would
Judas have clutched at death, if he had not
obtained even t h e thirty pieces of silver
which were to pay his infamy ? A n d with
what utter confusion will all dishonest men,
w h o were learning of the Devil to defraud
other men, find at length, that h e was giving
his most finished lesson of deception,—by
cheating them I and making poverty and
disgrace the only fruit of the lies and frauds
which were framed for profit /
Getting
treasure by a lying tongue is a vanity tossed
to and fro of them that seek death.
Men have only looked upon the beginning
of a career when they pronounce upon the
profitableness of dishonesty. M a n y a ship
goes gaily out of harbor which never returns again. T h a t only is a good v o y a g e
which brings home the richly freighted ship.
God explicitly declares that an inevitable
curse of dishonesty shall fall upon the
criminal himself, or upon his children : He
that by usury, and unjust gain, increaseth
his substance, he shall gather it for him that
will pity the poor. His children are far
from safety, and they are crushed in the gate.
Neither is there any to deliver them:
the
robber swalloweth up their substance.
Iniquities, whose end is dark as midnight,

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are permitted to open bright as the morning; the most poisonous bud unfolds with
brilliant colors. So the threshold of perdition is burnished till it glows like the
gate of paradise. There is a way which
seemeth right unto a man, but the ends thereof are the ways of death. This is dishonesty described to the life. At first you
look down upon a smooth and verdant
path covered with flowers, perfumed with
odors, and overhung with fruits and
grateful shade. Its long perspective is
illusive; for it ends quickly in a precipice, over which you pitch into irretrievable
ruin.
For the sources of this inevitable disaster,
we need look no further than the effect of
dishonesty upon a man's own mind. The
difference between cunning and wisdom,
is the difference between acting by the certain and immutable laws of nature, and acting by the shifts of temporary expedients.
An honest man puts his prosperity upon the
broad current of those laws which govern
the world. A crafty man means to pry
between them, to steer across them, to take
advantage of them. An honest man steers
by God's chart; and a dishonest man
by his own. Which is the most liable to
perplexities and fatal mistakes of judgment ?
Wisdom steadily ripens to the end; cun-

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

ning is worm-bitten, and soon drops irom
the tree.
I could repeat the names of m a n y men,
(every village has such, and they swarm in
cities,) who are skilful, indefatigable, b u t
audaciously d i s h o n e s t ; and for a time t h e y
seemed going straight forward to the realm
of wealth. I never knew a single one to
avoid ultimate ruin. Men who act under
dishonest passions, are like men riding fierce
horses. It is not always with the rider
w h e n or where he shall stop. If for his sake,
t h e steed dashes wildly on while the road
is s m o o t h ; so, turning suddenly into a
r o u g h and dangerous way, the rider m u s t
go madly forward for the steed's sake,—
now chafed, his mettle up, his eye afire, and
beast and burden like a bolt speeding
t h r o u g h t h e air, until some b o u n d or sudden fall* tumble both to the g r o u n d — a
crushed and mangled mass.
A man pursuing plain ends by honest
means m a y be troubled on every side, yet
not distressed : perplexed, but not in despair :
persecuted, but not forsaken:
cast down, but
not destroyed.
But those that pursue their
advantage by a round of dishonesties, when
fear cometh as a desolation, and destruction
as a whirlwind, when distress and
anguish
come upon them,
. . . shall eat of the
fruit of their owit way, and be filled with

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their own devices ; for the turning away of
the simple shall slay them ; and the prosperity offools shall destroy them.
VI. The Bible overflows with warnings
to those who gain wealth by violent extortion, or by any flagrant villany. Some
men stealthily slip from under them the
possessions of the poor. Some beguile the
simple and heedless of their patrimony.
Some tyrannize over ignorance, and extort
from it its fair domains. Some steal away
the senses, and intoxicate the mind—the
more readily and largely to cheat; some
set their traps in all the dark places of
men's adversity, and prowl for wrecks all
along the shores on which men's fortunes
go to pieces. Men will take advantage of
extreme misery, to wring it with more
griping tortures, and compel it to the extremest sacrifices; and stop only when no
more can be borne by the sufferer, or nothing more extracted by the usurer. The
earth is as full of avaricious monsters, as
the tropical forests are of beasts of prey.
But amid all the lions, and tigers, and
hyenas, is seen the stately bulk of three
huge BEHEMOTHS.
The first BEHEMOTH is that incarnate
fiend who navigates the ocean to traffic in
human misery and freight with the groans
and tears of agony. Distant shores are
7

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

sought with cords and manacles; villages
surprised with torch and sword; and the
loathsome ship swallows what the sword
and the fire have spared. By night and
day the voyage speeds, and the storm spares
wretches more relentless than itself. * The
wind wafts and the sun lights the path for
a ship whose log is written in blood. Hideous profits, dripping red, even at this hour,
lure these infernal miscreants to their remorseless errands. The thirst of gold inspires such courage, skill, and cunning vigilance, that the thunders of four allied
navies cannot sink the infamous fleet.
What wonder? Just such a BEHEMOTH
of rapacity stalks among us, and fattens on
the blood of our sons. Men there are,
who, without a pang or gleam of remorse,
will coolly wait for character to rot, and
health to sink, and means to melt, that they
may suck up the last drop of the victim's
blood. Our streets are full of reeling
wretches ,whose bodies and manhood and
souls have been crushed and put to the
press, that monsters might wring out of
them a wine for their infernal thirst. The
agony of midnight massacre, the frenzy of
the ship's dungeon, the living death of the
middle passage, the wails of separation, and
the dismal torpor of hopeless servitude—
are these found only in the piracy of the

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slave trade ? They all are among us! worse
assassinations! worse dragging to a prisonship! worse groans ringing from the fetid
hold ! worse separations of families ! worse
bondage of intemperate men, enslaved by
that most inexorable of ail task-masters—
sensual habit!
The third BEHEMOTH is seen lurking
among the Indian savages, and bringing the
arts of learning, and the skill of civilization,
to aid in plundering the debauched barbarian. The cunning, murdering, scalping
Indian, is no match for the Christian whiteman. Compared with the midnight knavery
of men reared in schools, rocked by religion, tempered and taught by the humane
institutions of liberty and civilization, all
the craft of the savage is twilight. Vast
estates have been accumulated, without
having an honest farthing in them. Our
Penitentiaries might be sent to school to
the Treaty-grounds and Council-grounds.
Smugglers and swindlers might humble
themselves in the presence of Indian traders.
All the crimes against property known to
our laws flourish with unnatural vigor;
and some, unknown to civilized villahy. To
swindle ignorance, to overreach simplicity,
to lie without scruple to any extent, from
mere implication down to perjury; to tempt
the savages to rob each other, and to re-

IOO

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

ceive their plunder; to sell goods at incredible prices to the sober Indian, then to intoxicate him, and steal them all back by a
sham bargain, to be sold again, and stolen
again; to employ falsehood, lust, threats,
whisky, and even the knife and the pistol ;
in short to consume the Indian's substance
by every vice and crime possible to an unprincipled heart inflamed with ,an insatiable
rapacity, unwatched by Justice, and unrestrained by Law—this it is to be an INDIAN

I would rather inherit the bowels
of Vesuvius, or make my bed in Etna, than
own those estates which have been scalped
off from human beings as the hunter strips
a beaver of its fur. Of all these, of ALL who
gain possessions by extortion and robbery,
never let yourself be envious ! / was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity
of the wicked. Their eyes stand ottt zvith
fatness: they have more than heart could
wish. They are corrupt\ and speak wickedly
concerning oppression. They have set their
mouth against the heaveit, and their tongtie
walketh through the earth. When I sought
to know this, it was too painful for me, until
I went into the sanctuary. Surely thou didst
set them in slippery places I thou castedst
them down into destruction as in a moment!
They are utterly consumed with terrors. As
a dream when one awaketh, so, O Lord I

TRADER.

SIX

WARNINGS

IOI

when thou awakesty thou shalt despise their
image I
I would not bear their heart who have so
made money, were the world a solid globe
of gold, and mine. I would not stand for
them in the judgment, were every star of
heaven a realm of riches, and mine. I
would not walk with them the burning
marl of hell, to bear their torment,, and
utter their groans, for the throne of God
itself.
Let us hear the conclusion of the whole
matter. Riches got by deceit, cheat no
man so much as the getter. Riches bought
with guile, God will pay for with vengeance.
Riches got by fraud, are dug out of one's
own heart, and destroy the mine. Unjust
riches curse the owner in getting, in keeping, in • transmitting. They curse
his children in their father's memory,
in their own wasteful habits, in drawing
around them all bad men to be their companions.
While I do not discourage your search
for wealth, I warn you that it is not a cruise
upon level seas, and under bland skies.
You advance where ten thousand are broken
in pieces before they reach the mart; where
those who reach it are worn out, by their
labors, past enjoying their riches. You
seek a land pleasant to the sight, but dan-

I 0 2

LECTURES

TO YOUNG ME ft

gerous to the feet; a land of fragrant winds,
which lull to security; of golden fruits,
which are poisonous; of glorious hues,
which dazzle and mislead.
You may be rich and be pure; but it
will cost you a struggle. You may be rich
and go to heaven ; but ten, doubtless, will
sink beneath their riches, where one breaks "
through them to heaven. If you have
entered this shining way, begin to look for,
snares and traps. Go not careless of your
danger, and provoking it. See, on every
side of you, how many there are who seal
God's word with their blood :—
They that will be rich, fall into temptation
and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction
and perdition. For the LOVE of Money is
the root of all evil, which, while some have
coveted after, they have erred from the faith,
and pierced themselves through with many
sorrows.

I

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My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.
Prov. i. 10.

H

E who is allured to embrace evil under
some engaging form of beauty, or
seductive appearance of good, is
enticed. A man is tempted to what he
knows to be sinful; he is enticed where the
evil appears to be innocent. The Enticer
wins his way by bewildering the moral
sense, setting false lights ahead of the
imagination, painting disease with the hues
of health, making impurity to glow like
innocency, strewing the broad-road with
flowers, lulling its travellers with soothing
music, hiding all its chasms, covering its
pitfalls, and closing its long perspective with
the mimic glow of Paradise.
The young are seldom tempted to outright wickedness; evil comes to them as an
enticement. The honest generosity and
fresh heart of youth would revolt from open
meanness and undisguised vice. The Ad(103)

I0

4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

versary conforms his wiles to their nature.
He tempts them to the basest deeds by
beginning with innocent ones, gliding to
more exceptionable, and finally, to positively
wicked ones. All our warnings then ,must
be against the vernal beauty of vice. Its
autumn and winter none wish. It is my
purpose to describe the enticement of particular men upon the young.
Every youth knows that there are dangerous men abroad who would injure him by
lying, by slander, by over-reaching and
plundering him. From such they have
little to fear, because they are upon their
guard. Few imagine that they have anything to dread from those who have no
designs against them; yet such is the
instinct of imitation, so insensibly does the
example of men steal upon us and warp our
conduct to their likeness, that the young
often receive a deadly injury from men with
whom they never spoke. As all bodies in
nature give out or receive caloric until there
is an equilibrium of temperature, so there is
a radiation of character upon character.
Our thoughts, our tastes, our emotions, our
partialities, our prejudices, and finally, our
conduct and habits, are insensibly changed
by the silent influence of men who never
once directly tempted us, or even knew the
effect which they produced. I shall draw

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for y o u r inspection some of those dangerous
men, whose open or silent enticement has
availed against thousands, and will be
exerted upon thousands more.
I. T H E W I T . It is sometimes said b y
phlegmatic theologians that Christ never
laughed, but often wept. I shall not quarrel
with the assumption. I only say that men
have within them a faculty of mirthfulness
which God created. I suppose it was meant
for use. T h o s e who do not feel the impulsion of this faculty, are not the ones to sit
in j u d g m e n t upon those who do. It would
be very absurd for an owl in an ivy bush, to
read lectures on optics to an-eagle; or for a
mole to counsel a l y n x on the sin of sharpsightedness. H e is, divinely favored who
may trace a silver vein in all the affairs of
life; see sparkles of light in the gloomiest
s c e n e s ; and absolute radiance in those
which are bright. T h e r e are in the clouds
ten thousand inimitable forms and hues to be
found nowhere e l s e ; there are in plants
and trees beautiful shapes and endless varieties of color ; there are in flowers minute
pencillings of exquisite s h a d e ; in fruits a
delicate bloom,—like a veilv making the face
of beauty .more beautiful; sporting a m o n g
the trees, and upon the flowers, are tiny
insects — gems which glow like living
diamonds. Ten thousand eyes staie full

IO

6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

upon these things and see nothing; and yet
thus the Divine Artist has finished his
matchless work. Thus, too, upon all the
labors of life, the events of each hour, the
course of good or evil; upon each action,
or word, or attitude; upon all the endless
changes transpiring among myriad men,
there is a delicate grace, or bloom, or
sparkle, or radiance, which catches the eye
of Wit, and delights it with appearances
which are to the weightier matters of life,
what odor, colors, and symmetry, are to the
marketable and commercial properties of
matter.
A mind imbued with this feeling is full
of dancing motes, such as we see moving in
sunbeams when they pour through some
shutter into a dark room ; and when the
sights and conceptions of wit are uttered in
words they diffuse upon others that pleasure
whose brightness shines upon its own
cheerful imagination.
It is not strange that the Wit is a universal favorite. All companies rejoice in
his presence, watch for his words, repeat his
language. He moves like a comet whose
incomings and outgoings are uncontrollable.
He astonishes the regular stars, with the
eccentricity of his orbit, and flirts his long tail
athwart the heaven without the slightest mis
givings that it will be troublesome, and co-

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lO/

quets the very sun with audacious familiarity.
When wit is unperverted, it.lightens labor,
makes the very face of care to shine, diffuses
cheerfulness among men, multiplies the
sources of harmless enjoyment, gilds the
dark things of life, and heightens the lustre
of the brightest. If perverted, wit becomes
an instrument of malevolence, it gives a
deceitful coloring to vice, it reflects a semblance of truth upon error, and distorts the
features of real truth by false lights.
The Wit is liable to indolence by relying upon his genius ; to vanity, by the
praise which is offered as incense; to
malignant sarcasm, to revenge his affronts;
to dissipation, from Jhe habit of exhilaration, and from the company which court
him. The mere Wit is only a human
bauble. He is to life what bells are to
horses, not expected to draw the load, but
only to jingle while the horses draw.
The young often repine at their own native dulness; and since God did not choose
to endow them with this shining quality,
they will make it for themselves. Forthwith they are smitten with the itch of imitation. Their ears purvey to their mouth
the borrowed jest; their eyes note the Wit's
fashion, and the awkward youth clumsily
apes, in a side circle, the Wit's deft and graceful gesture, the smooth smile, the roguish

IO

8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

twinkle, the sly look—much as Caliban
would imitate Ariel. Every community is
supplied with self-made Wits. One retails
other men's sharp witticisms, as a Jew puts off
thread-bare garments. Another roars over
his own brutal quotations of Scripture.
Another invents a witticism by a logical
deduction of circumstances, and sniffs and
giggles over the result as complacently as if
other men laughed too. Others lie in wait
around your conversation to trip up some
word, or strike a light out of some sentance.
Others fish in dictionaries ior pitiful puns ;—
and all fulfil the prediction of Isaiah: Ye
shall conceive chaffy and bring forth stubble.
It becomes a mania.9 Each school has
its allusions, each circle has its apish motion,
each companionhood its park of wit-artillery;
and we find street-wit, shop-wit, auctionwit, school-wit, fool's-wit, whisky-wit, stablewit, and almost every kind of wit, but
mother-wit; — puns,
quibbles, catches,
would-be-jests, thread-bare stories, and
gew-gaw tinsel,—everything but the real
diamond, which sparkles simply because
God made it so that it could not help sparkling. Real, native mirth fulness is like a
pleasant rill which quietly wells up in some
verdant nook, and steals out from among
reeds and willows noiselessly, and is seen
far down the meadow, as much by the

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fruitfulness of its edges in flowers, as byits own glimmering light.
Let every one beware of the insensible
effect of witty men upon him; they gild
lies, so that base coin may pass for true;
that which is grossly wrong, wit may make
fascinating; when no argument could persuade you, the coruscations of wit may dazzle and blind you ; when duty presses you,
the threatenings of this human / lightning
may make you afraid to do right. Remember that the very best office of wit, is
only to lighten the serious labors of life;
that it is only a torch, by which men may
.cheer the gloom of a dark way. When it
sets up to be your counsellor or your guide,
it is the fool's fire, flitting irregularly and
leading you into the quag or morass. The
great Dramatist represents a witty sprite to
have put an ass* head upon a man's shoulders ; beware that you do not let this mischievous sprite put an ape's head upon yours.
If God has not given you this quicksilver, no art can make it; nor need you
regret it. The stone, the wood, and the
iron are a thousand times more valuable to
society than pearls and diamonds and rare
gems; and sterling sense, and industry, and
integrity\ are better a thousand times, in the
hard work of living, than the brilliance of
WIT.

I I O

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEW

II. There is a character which I shall
describe as the HUMORIST. I do not employ the term to designate one who indulges
in that pleasantest of all wit—latent wit;
but to describe a creature who conceals a
coarse animalism under a brilliant, jovial
exterior. The dangerous humorist is of a
plump condition, evincing the excellent
digestion of a good eater, and answering
very well to the Psalmist's description :
His eyes stand out with fatness ; he is not in
trouble as other men are; he has more thait
heart could wish, and his tongue walketh
through the earth. Whatever is pleasant in
ease, whatever is indulgent in morals, whatever is solacing in luxury; the jovial few,
the convivial many, the glass, the cards, the
revel, and midnight uproar,—these are his
delights. His manners are easy and agreeable ; his face redolent of fun and good
nature ; his whole air that of a man fond of
the utmost possible bodily refreshment.
Withal, he is sufficiently circumspect and
secretive of his course, to maintain a place
in genteel society; for that is a luxury.
He is not a glutton, but a choice eater.
He is not a gross drinker, only a gentlemanly consumer of every curious compound
of liquor. He has travelled; he can tell
you which, in every city, is the best bar,
the best restaurateur, the best stable. H e

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III

k n o w s every theatre, each a c t o r ; particularly is h e versed in t h e select morsels of
the scandalous indulgence peculiar to each.
H e knows every race-course, every nag,
the history of all the famous matches, and
t h e pedigree of every distinguished horse.
T h e whole vocabulary of pleasure is
vernacular,—its wit, its slang, its watchwords, and blackletter literature. H e is a
profound annalist of s c a n d a l ; every stream
of news, clear or muddy, disembogues
into the gulf of his prodigious m e m o r y .
H e can tell you, after living but a week in
a city, w h o gambles, when, for what sums,
and with what fate; who is impure, w h o
was, who is suspected, who is not suspected
— b u t o u g h t to be. H e is a morbid anatomist
of morals ; a brilliant flesh-fly—unerring
to detect taint.
L i k e other men, he loves admiration and
desires to extend his influence.
All these
manifold accomplishments are exhibited
before the callow y o u n g . T h a t he may secure a train of useful followers, he is profuse
of money ; and moves a m o n g them with an
easy, insinuating frankness, a never-ceasing
gaiety, so spicy with fun, so diverting with
stories, so full of little hits, sly innuendoes,
or solemn wit, with now and then a rare
touch of dexterous mimicry, and t h e whole
so pervaded by the indescribable flavor, the

I I 2

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

changing hues of h u m o r , — t h a t the y o u n g
are bewildered with idolatrous admiration.
W h a t gay y o u n g man, who is old e n o u g h
to admire himself and be ashamed of his
parents, can resist a man so bedewed with
h u m o r , narrating exquisite stories with such
m o c k gravity, with such slyness of m o u t h ,
a n d twinkling of the eye, with such grotesque attitudes, and significant gestures ?
H e is declared to be the most remarkable
m a n in the world.' N o w take off this m a n ' s
dress, put out the one faculty of mirthfulness, and he will stand disclosed without a
single positive v i r t u e ! W i t h strong appetites deeply indulged, hovering perpetually
upon the twilight edge of every v i c e ; and
whose wickedness is only not apparent, because it is garnished with flowers and garlands ; who is not despised, only because
his various news, artfully told, keep us in
good h u m o r with ourselves ! A t one period
of youthful life, this creature's influence
supplants that of every other man. T h e r e
is an absolute fascination in him which
awakens a craving in t h e mind to be of his
circle ; plain duties become drudgery, h o m e
has no l i g h t ; life at its ordinary k e y is
monotonous, and must be screwed up to
t h e concert pitch of this wonderful genius !
A s he tells his stories, so with a wretched
grimace of imitation, apprentices will try t o

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113

tell them; as he gracefully swings through
the street, they will roll; they will leer because he stares genteelly; he sips, they
guzzle—and talk impudently, because he
talks | with easy confidence. He walks
erect, they strut; he lounges, they loll; he
is less than a man, and they become even
less than he. Copper-rings, huge blotches
of breast-pins, wild streaming handkerchiefs,
jaunty hats, odd clothes, superfluous walking-sticks, ill-uttered oaths, stupid jokes,
and blundering pleasantries—these are the
first fruits of imitation! There are various
grades of it, from the office, store, shop,
street, clear down to the hostlery and stable.
Our cities are filled with these juvenile
nondescript monsters, these compounds of
vice, low wit, and vulgarity. The original
is morally detestable, and the counterfeit is
a very base imitation of a very base thing;
the dark shadow of a very ugly substance.
III. T H E CYNIC. The Cynic is one who
never sees a good quality in a man, and
never fails to see a bad one. He is the
human owl, vigilant in darkness and blind
to light, mousing for vermin, and never
seeing noble game. The Cynic puts all
human actions into only two classes—openly
bad, and secretly bad. All virtue and generosity and disinterestedness are merely the
appearance of good, but selfish at the bottom.
8

H4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

He holds that no man does a good thing
except for profit. Th^ effect of his conversation upon your feelings is to chill and
sear them; to send you away sore and
morose. His criticisms and innuendoes
fall indiscriminately. upon every lovely
thing, like frost upon flowers. If a man is
said to be pure and chaste, he will answer i
Yes, in the day time. If a woman is pronounced virtuous, he will reply: yes, as yet.
Mr. A. is a religious man : yes, on Sundays.
Mr. B. has just joined the church : certainly ;
the elections are coining on. The minister
of the gospel is called an example of diligence : / / is his trade. Such a man is
generous : of other men's money. This man
is obliging : to lull suspicion and cheat you.
That man is upright: because he is green*
Thus his eye strains out every good quality
and takes in only the bad. To him religion
is hypocrisy, honesty a preparation for fraud,,
virtue only want of opportunity, and undeniable purity, asceticism. The live-longday he will coolly sit with sneering lip,
uttering sharp speeches in the quietest
manner, and in polished phrase, transfixing
every character which is presented: His
words are softer than oily yet are they drawn
swords.
All this, to the young, seems a wonderful knowledge of human nature; they honor

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GALLERY

US

a man who appears to have found out
mankind.
They begin to indulge themselves in flippant sneers; and with supercilious brow, and impudent tongue, wagging
to an empty brain, call to naught the wise,
the long-tried, and the venerable.
I do believe that man is corrupt enough ;
but something of good has survived his
wreck ; something of evil religion has restrained, and something partially restored;
yet, I look upon the human heart as a
mountain of fire. I dread its crater. I
tremble when I see its lava roll the fiery
stream. THEREFORE, I am the more glad,
if upon the old crust of past eruptions, I cart
find a single flower springing up. So far
from rejecting appearances of virtue in the
corrupt heart of a depraved race, I am eager
to see their light as ever mariner was to
see a star in a stormy night.
Moss will grow upon gravestones; the
ivy will cling to the mouldering pile; the
mistletoe springs from the dying branch;
and, God be praised, something green,
something fair to the sight and grateful to
the heart, will yet twine around and grow
out of the seams and cracks of the desolate
temple of the human heart!
Who could walk through Thebes, Palmyra, or Petrsea, and survey the wide waste
of broken arches, crumbled altars, fallen

H6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

pillars, effaced cornices, toppling walls, and
crushed statues, with no feelings but those
of contempt? Who, unsorrowing, could
see the stork's nest upon the carved pillar,
satyrs dancing on marble pavements, and
scorpions nestling where beauty once
dwelt, and dragons the sole tenants of
royal palaces ? Amid such melancholy
magnificence, even the misanthrope might
weep! If here and there an altar stood
unbruised, or a graven column unblemished, or a statue nearly perfect, he might
well feel love for a man-wrought stone,
so beautiful, when all else is so dreary and
desolate. Thus, though man is as a desolate city, and his passions are as the wild
beasts of the wilderness howling in kings'
palaces, yet he is God's workmanship, and
a thousand touches of exquisite beauty
remain. Since Christ hath put his sovereign hand to restore man's ruin, many
points are remoulded, and the fair form of
a new fabric already appears growing from
the ruins, and the first faint flame is glimmering upon the restored altar.
It is impossible to indulge in such
habitual severity of opinion upon our
fellow-men, without injuring the tenderness
and delicacy of our own feelings. A man
will be what his most cherished feelings are.
If he encourage a noble generosity, every

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GALLERY

feeling will be enriched by it; if he nurse
bitter and envenomed thoughts, his own
spirit will absorb the poison; and he will
crawl among men as a burnished adder,,
whose life is mischief, and whose errand
is death.
Although experience should correct the
indiscriminate confidence of the young, no
experience should render them callous to
goodness wherever seen. He who hunts
for flowers, will find flowers ; and he who^
loves weeds, may find weeds. Let it be
remembered, that no man, who is not himself mortally diseased, will have a relish for
disease in others. A swollen wretch,,
blotched all over with leprosy, may grin
hideously at every wart or excrescence upon
beauty. A wholesome man will be pained
at it, and seek not to notice it. Reject*,
then, the morbid ambition of the Cynic, or
cease to call yourself a man!
IV. I fear that few villages exist without
a specimen of the LIBERTINE.

His errand into this world is to explore
every depth of sensuality, and collect upon
himself the foulness of every one. He is
proud to be vile; his ambition is to be viler
than other men. Were we not confronted
almost daily by such wretches, it would be
hard to believe that any could exist, to*
whom purity and decency were a burden^

jig

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

and only corruption a delight. This creature
has changed his nature, until only that
which disgusts a pure mind pleases his.
He is lured by the scent of carrion. His
-coarse feelings, stimulated by gross excitants, are insensible to delicacy.
The
exquisite bloom, the dew and freshness of
the flowers of the heart which delight both
good men and God himself, he gazes upon,
as a Behemoth would gaze enraptured upon
a prairie of flowers. It is so much,pasture.
The forms, the odors, the nues are only a
mouthful for his terrible appetite. Therefore, his breath blights every innocent thing.
He sneers at the mention of purity, and
leers in the very face of Virtue, as though
-she were herself corrupt, if the truth were
known.
He assures the credulous disciple that there is no purity; that its
appearances are only the veils which cover
indulgence. Nay, he solicits praise for the
very openness of his evil; and tells the
listener that all act as he acts, but only
few are courageous enough to own it. But
the uttermost parts of depravity are laid
-open only when several such monsters
meet together, and vie with each other,
as we might suppose shapeless mud-monsters disport in the slimiest ooze of the
•ocean. They dive >in fierce rivalry which
<shall reach the most infernal depth, and

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GALLERY

IIgj,

bring up the blackest sediment. It makes
the blood of an honest man run cold, to
hear but the echo of the shameless rehearsals of their salacious enterprises. Each
strives to tell a blacker tale than the other.
When the abomination of their actual life
is not damnable enough to satisfy the ambition of their unutterable corruption, they
devise, in their imagination, scenes yet
more flagrant; swear that they have performed them, and when they separate, each
strives to make his lying boastings true. I t
would seem as if miscreants so loathsome
would have no power of temptation upon
the young. Experience shows that the
worst men are, often, the most skilful in;
touching the springs of human action. A
young man knows little of life; less of
himself. He feels in his bosom the variousimpulses, wild desires, restless cravings
he can hardly tell for what, a sombre melancholy when all is gay, a violent exhilaration when others are sober. These wild
gushes of feeling, peculiar to youth, the
sagacious tempter has felt, has studied, has
practised upon, until he can sit before that
most capacious organ, the human mind,,
knowing every stop, and all the combinations, and competent to touch any note
through the diapason.
As a serpent
deceived the purest of mortals, so now a

32

0

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

beast may mislead their posterity. He
begins afar off. He decries the virtue of
all men; studies to produce a doubt that
any are under self-restraint. He unpacks
iiis filthy stories, plays off the fire-works
•of his corrupt imagination—its blue-lights,
its red-lights, and green-lights, and sparklespitting lights; and edging in upon the
yielding youth, who begins to wonder at
his experience, he boasts his first exploits,
lie hisses at the purity of women; he
grows yet bolder, tells more wicked deeds,
and invents worse even than he ever performed, though he has performed worse
than good men ever thought of. All
thoughts, all feelings, all ambition, are
merged in one and that the lowest, vilest,
most detestable ambition.
Had I a son of years, I could, with thanksgiving, see him go down to the grave,
rather than fall into the maw of this most
besotted devil. The plague is mercy, the
cholera is love, the deadliest fever is refreshment to man's body, in comparison
with this epitome and essence of moral disease. He lives among men, Hell's ambassador with full credentials ; nor can we conceive that there should be need of any other
fiend to perfect the works of darkness, while
he carries his body among us, stuffed with
every pestilent drug of corruption. The

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GALLERY

I2T

heart of every virtuous young man should
loathe him ; if he speaks, you should as
soon hear a wolf bark. Gather around you
the venomous snake, the poisonous toad,
the fetid vulture, the prowling hyena, and
their company would be an honor to you
above his; for they at least remain within
their own nature; but he goes out of his
nature that he may become more vile thaa
it is possible for a mere animal to be.
He is hateful to religion, hateful to virtue,
hateful to decency, hateful to the coldest
morality. The stenchful ichor of his dissolved heart has flowed over every feeling
of his nature, and left them as the
burning lava leaves the garden, the orchard,
and the vineyard. And it is a wonder that
the bolt of God which crushed Sodom does
not slay him. It is a wonder that the earth
does not refuse the burden and open and
swallow him up. I do not fear that the
young will be undermined by his direct assaults. But some will imitate, and their
example will be again freely imitated, and
finally, a remote circle of disciples will
spread the diluted contagion among the
virtuous. This man will be the fountainhead, and though none will come to drink
at a hot spring, yet further down along the
stream it sends out, will be found many
scooping from its waters.

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2

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

V. I have described the devil in his native form, b u t he sometimes appears as an
angel of light. T h e r e is a polished Libertine, in manners studiously refined, in taste
faultless; his face is mild and e n g a g i n g ;
his words drop as pure as newly-made
lioney. In general society, he would rather
attract regard as a model of purity, and suspicion herself could hardly look askance
upon him. U n d e r this brilliant exterior,
his heart is like a sepulchre, full of all uncleanness. Contrasted with the gross libertine, it would not be supposed that he had
a t h o u g h t in common with him. If his
heart could be opened to our eyes, as it is
t o God's, we should perceive scarcely dissimilar feeling in respect to appetite. P r o fessing unbounded admiration of virtue in
general, he leaves not in private a point
untransgressed.
H i s reading has culled
•every glowing picture of a m o r o u s poets,
-every tempting scene of loose dramatists,
and looser novelists. Enriched by these,
his imagination, like a rank soil, is overg r o w n with a prodigal luxuriance of poisonherbs and deadly flowers. Men, such as
this man is, frequently aspire to be the censors of morality. T h e y are h u r t at the injudicious reprehensions of vice from the p u l p i t !
T h e y make great outcry when plain words are
e m p l o y e d to denounce base things. T h e y are

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123

astonishingly sensitive and fearful lest good
men should soil their hands with too m u c h
meddling with evil. Their cries are not the
evidence of sensibility to virtue, but of too
lively a sensibility to vice. Sensibility is,
often, only the fluttering of an impure heart.
A t the very time that their voice is ringing
an alarm against immoral reformations, t h e y
are secretly skeptical of every tenet of virtue, and practically unfaithful to every one.
Of these two libertines, the most refined is
the more dangerous. T h e one is a rattlesnake which carries its warning with it; the
other, hiding
his burnished scales in
t h e grass, skulks to perform unsuspected
deeds in darkness. T h e one is the visible
fog and miasm of t h e m o r a s s ; the other is
the serene air of a tropical city, which, t h o u g h
brilliant, is loaded with invisible pestilence.
The

POLITICIAN.

If t h e r e be a man

on

earth whose character should be framed of
the most sterling honesty, and whose conduct should conform to the most scrupulous
morality, it is the m a n w h o administers p u b lic affairs. T h e most romantic notions of
integrity are here not extravagant. A s , under our institutions, public men will be,
upon t h e whole, fair exponents of the character of their constituents, the plainest w a y
to secure honest public men, is to inspire
those w h o make them, with a right under-

!24

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

standing of what political character ought
to be. Young men should be prompted to
discriminate between the specious, and the
real; the artful, and the honest; the wise,
and the cunning; the patriotic, and the pretender. I will sketch—
VI. The

DEMAGOGUE.

The

lowest of

politicians is that man who seeks to gratify
an invariable selfishness by pretending to
seek the public good. For a profitable
popularity he accommodates himself to all
opinions, to all dispositions, to every side,
and to each prejudice. He is a mirror,
with no face of its own, but a smooth surface from which each man of ten thousand
may see himself reflected. He glides from
man to man, coinciding with their views,
pretending their feelings, simulating their
tastes: with this one, he hates a man; with
that one, he loves the same man; he favors
a law, and he dislikes it; he approves, and
opposes; he is on both sides at once, and
seemingly wishes that he could be on one
side more than both sides. He attends
meetings to suppress intemperance,—but at
elections makes every grog-shop free to all
drinkers. He can with equal relish plead
most eloquently for temperance, or toss off
a dozen glasses in a dirty groggery. He
thinks that there is a time for everything,
and therefore, at one time he swears and

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GALLERY

jeers and leers with a carousing crew; and
at another time, having happily been converted, he displays the various features of
devotion. Indeed, he is a capacious Christian ; an epitome of faith. He piously ask?
the class-leader, of the welfare of his
charge, for he was always a Methodist and
always shall be,—until he meets a Presbyterian ; then he is a Presbyterian, old-school
or new, as the case requires. However, as
he is not a bigot, he can afford to be a
Baptist, in a good Baptist neighborhood,
and with a wink he tells the zealous elder,
that he never had one of his children baptized, not he! He whispers to the Reformer that he abhors all creeds but Baptism and the Bible. After all this, room
will be found in his heart for the fugitive
sects also, which come and go like clouds
in a summer sky. His flattering attention
at church edifies the simple-hearted
preacher, who admires that a plain sermon
should make a man whisper amen! and
weep. Upon the stump his tact is no less
rare. He roars and bawls with courageous
plainness, on points about which all agree:
but on subjects where men differ, his meaning is nicely balanced on a pivot that it
may dip either way. He depends for success chiefly upon humorous stories. A
glowing patriot a-telling stories is a danger-

I2

6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

ous antagonist; for it is hard to expose the
fallacy of a hearty laugh, and men convulsed with merriment are slow to perceive
in what way an argument is a reply to a
story.
Perseverance, effrontery, good nature,
and versatile cunning have advanced many
a bad man higher than a good man could
attain. Men will admit that he has not a
single moral virtue; but he is smart. We
object to no man for amusing himself at
the fertile resources of the politician here
painted; for sober men are sometimes
pleased with the grimaces arid mischievous
tricks of a versatile monkey; but would it
not be strange indeed if they should select
him for a ruler, or make him an exemplar
to their sons ?
VII. I describe next a more respectable
and more dangerous politician—the PARTY
MAN. He has associated his ambition, his
interests, and his affections with a party.
He prefers, doubtless, that his side should
be victorious by the best means, and under
the championship of good men; but rather
than lose the victory, he will consent to any
means, and follow any man. Thus, with a
general desire to be upright, the exigency
of his party constantly pushes him to dishonorable deeds. He opposes fraud by
craft; lie, by lie ; slander, by counter-as-*
\

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GALLERY

i2j

pension. To be sure it is wrong to misstate, to distort, to suppress or color facts;
it is wrong to employ the evil passions ; to
set class against class ; the poor against the
rich, the country against the city, the farmer
against the mechanic, one section against
another section. But his opponents do it,
and if they will take advantage of men's
corruption, he must, or lose by his virtue.
He gradually adopts two characters, a personal and a political character. All the requisitions of his conscience he obeys in his
private character ; all the requisitions of his
party, he obeys in his political conduct. In
one character he is a man of principle; in
the other, a man of mere expedients. As
a man he means to be veracious, honest,
moral; as a politician, he is deceitful, cunning, unscrupulous,—anything for party. As
a man, he abhors the slimy demagogue;
as a politician, he employs him as a scavenger. As a man, he shrinks from the
flagitiousness of slander ; as a politician, he
permits it, smiles upon it in others, rejoices
in the success gained by it. As a man,
he respects no one who is rotten in heart;
as a politician, no man through whom victory may be gained can be too bad. As a
citizen, he is an apostle of temperance; as
a politician, he puts his shoulder under the
men who deluge their track with whisky,

I2

8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

marching a crew of brawling patriots, p u g naciously d r u n k , to exercise t h e freeman's
noblest franchise,—the VOTE. A s a citizen,
he is considerate of the y o u n g , and counsels them with admirable w i s d o m ; then, as
a politician, he votes for tools, s u p p o r t i n g
for the magistracy worshipful aspirants
scraped from the ditch, the grog-shop, and
t h e b r o t h e l ; thus saying b y deeds which
t h e y o u n g are quick to u n d e r s t a n d : " I
jested, when I warned you of bad c o m p a n y ;
for you perceive none worse t h a n those
w h o m I delight to honor." F o r his religion
h e will give up all his secular interests;
b u t for his politics h e gives up even his religion. H e adores virtue, and rewards vice.
W h i l s t bolstering up unrighteous measures,
and more unrighteous men, he prays for t h e
advancement of religion, and justice, and
h o n o r ! I would to God that his prayer
might be answered upon his own political
h e a d ; for never was there a place where
such blessings
were more n e e d e d ! I
am puzzled to know what will happen
at death to this politic Christian, b u t
most unchristian
politician. Will both
of his characters go heavenward t o g e t h e r ?
If the strongest prevails, he will certainly g o
to hell. If his weakest, (which is his
Christian character,) is saved, what will become of his political character ? Shall he be

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GALLERY

I29

sundered in two, as Solomon proposed to
divide the contested infant ? If this style of
character were not flagitiously wicked, it
would still be supremely ridiculous—but it
is both. Let young men mark these
amphibious exemplars to avoid their influence. The young have nothing to gain
from those who are saints in religion and
morals, and Machiavels in politics; who
have partitioned off their heart, invited
Christ into one half, and Belial into the
other.
It is wisely said, that a strictly honest
man who desires purely the public good,
who will not criminally flatter the people,
nor take part in lies, or party-slander, nor
descend to the arts of the rat, the weasel,
and the fox, cannot succeed in politics. It
is calmly said by thousands that one cannot
be a politician and a Christian. Indeed, a
man is liable to downright ridicule if he
speaks in good earnest of a scrupulously
honest and religiously moral politician. I
regard all such representations as false.
We are not without men whose career is a
refutation of the slander. It poisons the
community to teach this fatal necessity of
corruption in a course which so many must
pursue. It is not strange, if such be the
popular opinion, that young men include
the sacrifice of strict integrity as a neces9

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

sary element of a political life, and calmly agree to it, as to an inevitable misfortune, rather than to a dark and voluntary
crime.
Only if a man is an ignorant heathen, can
he escape blame for such a decision ! A
young man, at this day, in this land, who
can coolly purpose a life of most unmanly
guile, who means to earn his bread and
fame by a sacrifice of integrity, is one who
requires only temptation and opportunity to
become a felon. What a heart has that
man, who can stand in the very middle of
the Bible, with its transcendent truths raising their glowing fronts on every side of
him, and feel no inspiration but that of
immorality and meanness ! He knows that
for him have been founded the perpetual
institutions of religion ; for him prophets
have spoken, miracles been wrought, heaven
robbed of its Magistrate, and the earth made
sacred above all planets as the Redeemer's
burial-place ;—he knows it all, and plunges
from this height to the very bottom of corruption ! He hears that he is immortal, and
despises the immortality; that he is a son
of God, and scorns the dignity; an heir of
heaven, and infamously sells his heirship^
and himself, for a contemptible mess of
loathsome pottage ! Do not tell me of any
excuses. It is a shame to attempt an

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GALLERY

excuse! If there were no religion, if that
vast sphere, out of which glow all the supereminent truths of the Bible, was a mere
emptiness and void, yet, methinks the" very
idea of Fatherland, the exceeding preciousness of the Laws and Liberties of a great
people, would enkindle such a high and
noble enthusiasm, that all baser feelings
would be consumed! But if the love of
country, a sense of character, a manly
regard for integrity, the example of our
most illustrious men, the warnings of
religion and all its solicitations, and the prospect of the future,—dark as Perdition to the
bad, and light as Paradise to the good,-—
cannot inspire a young man to anything
higher than a sneaking, truckling, dodging
scramble for fraudulent fame and dishonest
bread, it is because such a creature has never
felt one sensation of manly virtue;—it is
because his heart is a howling wilderness,
inhospitable to innocence.
Thus have I sketched a few of the characters which abound in every community;
dangerous, not more by their direct temptations, than by their insensible influence.
The sight of their deeds, of their temporary
success, their apparent happiness, relaxes
the tense rigidity of a scrupulous honesty,
inspires a ruinous liberality of sentiment
toward vice, and breeds the thoughts of evil;

!32
and

LECTURES
EVIL

10 YOUNG MEN

THOUGHTS a r e

the

cockatrice's

eggs, hatching into all bad deeds.
R e m e m b e r , if b y a n y of these y o u are
enticed to ruin, you will have to bear it
ALONE ! T h e y are strong to seduce, but
heartless t o sustain their victims. T h e y
will e x h a u s t y o u r means, teach y o u t o
despise the God of y o u r fathers, lead y o u
into every sin, g o with you while you afford
t h e m any pleasure or profit, and then, when
the inevitable disaster of wickedness begins
to overwhelm you, they will abandon whom
t h e y have debauched. W h e n , at length,
death gnaws at your bones a n d k n o c k s at
y o u r h e a r t ; when staggering, and worn out,
y o u r courage wasted, your hope gone, y o u r
purity, and long, long ago y o u r peace—will
h e w h o first enticed y o u r steps, now serve
y o u r extremity with one office of kindness ?
Will h e stay y o u r h e a d ? — c h e e r y o u r dying
a g o n y with o n e word of hope ?—or light
the way for y o u r coward steps t o the grave ?
— o r weep when y o u a r e g o n e ?—or send
one pitiful scrap t o y o u r desolate family ?
W h a t reveller wears crape for a dead
d r u n k a r d ?—what g a n g of gamblers ever
intermitted a game for the death of a companion ?—or went on kind missions of relief
to broken-down fellow-gamblers ? W h a t
harlot weeps for a harlot ?—what debauchee
mourns for a debauchee?
T h e y would

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GALLERY

carouse at your funeral, and gamble on your
coffin. If one flush more of pleasure were
to be had by it, they would drink shame
and ridicule to your memory out of your
own skull, and roar in bacchanal-revelry
over your damnation ! All the shameless
atrocities of wicked men are nothing to
their heartlessness toward each other when
broken-down. As I have seen worms
writhing on a carcass, overcrawling each
other, and elevating their fiery heads in
petty ferocity against each other, while all
were enshrined in the corruption of a common carrion,—I have thought, ah ! shameful picture of wicked men tempting each
other, abetting each other, until calamity
overtook them, and then fighting and
devouring or abandoning each other, without pity, or sorrow, or compassion, or
remorse. Evil men of every degree will use
you, flatter you, lead you on until you are
useless ; then, if the virtuous do not pity
you, or God compassionate, you are without
a friend in the universe.
My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou
not. If they say, Come with us, . . . we shall
find all precious substance, ive shall fill our
houses with spoil: cast in thy lot among us;
let us all have one purse : my son, walk not
thou in the way with them ; refrain thy feet

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4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

fro7n their path: for their feet run to evil,
and make haste to shed blood, . . . and they
lay in wait for their OWN blood, they lurk
privily for their own lives.

GAMBLERS A N D GAMBLING

Then the soldiers, when they had crucified Jesus, took
his garments and made four parts, to every soldier a
part, and also his coat. Now the coat was without
seam, woven from the top throughout. They said
therefore among themselves, Let us not rend it, but
cast lots for it, whose it shall be. These things
therefore the soldiers did.

I

H A V E condensed into one account the
separate parts of this gambling transaction as narrated by each evangelist.
How marked in every age is a Gambler's
character!
The enraged priesthood of
ferocious sects taunted Christ's dying
agonies; the bewildered multitude, accustomed to cruelty, could shout; but no
earthly creature, but a Gambler, could be so
lost to all feeling as to sit down coolly
under a dying man to wrangle for his garments, and arbitrate their avaricious differences by casting dice for his tunic, with
hands spotted with his spattered blood,
warm and yet undried upon them. The
descendants of these patriarchs of gambling,
(i3S)

!36

LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN

however, have taught us that there is nothing possible to hell, uncongenial to these,
its elect saints. In this lecture it is my
disagreeable task to lead your steps down
the dark path to their cruel haunts, there to
exhibit their infernal passions, their awful
ruin, and their ghastly memorials. In this
house of darkness, amid fierce faces gleaming with the fire of fiercer hearts, amid oaths
and groans and fiendish orgies, ending in
murders and strewn with sweltering
corpses,—-do not mistake, and suppose
yourself in Hell,—you are only in its precincts and vestibule.

Gambling is the staking or winning of
property upon mere hazard. The husbandman renders produce for his gains; the
mechanic renders the product of labor and
skill for his gains; the gambler renders for
his gain the sleights of useless skill, or
more often, downright cheating. Betting
is gambling ; there is no honest equivalent
to its gains. Dealings in fancy-stocks are
oftentimes sheer gambling, with all its
worst evils. Profits so earned are no better
than the profits of dice, cards, or hazard.
When skill returns for its earnings a, useful service, as knowledge, beneficial amuse-

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

j 37

rcients, or profitable labor, it is honest commerce. The skill of a pilot in threading a
narrow channel, the skill of a lawyer in
threading a still more intricate one, are as
substantial equivalents for a price received,
as if they were merchant goods or agricultural products. But all gains of mere skill
which result in no real benefit, are gambling
gains.
Gaming, as it springs from a principle of
our nature, has, in some form, probably
existed in every age. We trace it in
remote periods and among the most barbarous people. It loses none of its fascinations among a civilized people. On the
contrary, the habit of fierce stimulants, the
jaded appetite of luxury, and the satiety of
wealth, seem to invite the master-excitant.
Our land, not apt to be behind in good or
evil, is full of gambling in all its forms-:—
the gambling of commerce, the gambling of
bets and wagers, and the gambling of games
of hazard. There is gambling in refined
circles, and in the lowest; among the members of our national government, and of our
state governments.
Thief gambles with
thief, in jail; the judge who sent them
there, the lawyer who prosecuted, and the
lawyer who defended them, often gamble
too. This vice, once almost universally
prevalent among the Western bar, and still

1^8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

too frequently disgracing its members, is,
however, we are happy to believe, decreasing. In many circuits, not long ago, and
in some now, the judge, the jury, and the
bar, shuffled cards by night, and law by
day—dealing out money and justice alike.
The clatter of dice and cards disturbs your
slumber on the boat, and rings drowsily
from the upper rooms of the hotel. This
vice pervades the city, extends over every
line of travel, and infests the most moral
districts. The secreted lamp dimly lights
the apprentices to their game ; with unsuspected disobedience, boys creep out of their
beds to it; it goes on in the store close by
the till; it haunts the shop. The scoundrel in his lair, the scholar in his room ; the
pirate on his ship, gay Women at parties;
loafers on the street-corner, public functionaries in their offices; the beggar under the
hedge, the rascal in prison, and some professors of religion in the somnolent hours
of the Sabbath,—waste their energies by
the ruinous excitement of the game%
Besides these players, there are troops of
professional gamblers, troops of hangers-on,
troops of youth to be drawn in. An inexperienced eye would detect in our peaceful
towns no signs of this vulture-flock ;—so in
a sunny day, when all cheerful birds are
singing merrily, not a buzzard can be seen;

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AND GAMBLING

139

but let a carcass drop, and they will push
forth their gaunt heads from their gloomy
roosts, and come flapping from the dark
woods to speck the air, and dot the ground
with their numbers.
The universal prevalence of this vice is a
reason for parental vigilance ; and a reason
of remonstrance from the citizen, the parent,
the minister of the gospel, the patriot, and
the press. I propose to trace its opening,
describe its subjects, and detail its effects.
A young man, proud of freedom, anxious
to exert his manhood, has tumbled his
Bible, and sober books, and letters of counsel, into a dark closet. He has learned
various accomplishments, to flirt, to boast,
to swear, to fight, to drink. He has let
every one of these chains be put around
him, upon the solemn promise of Satan that
he would take them off whenever he,
wished. Hearing of the artistic feats of
eminent gamblers, he emulates them. So,
he ponders the game. He teaches what he
has learned to his shopmates, and feels
himself their master. As yet he has never
played for stakes. It begins thus : Peeping
into a book-store, he watches till the sober
customers go out; then slips in, and with
assumed boldness, not concealing his
shame, he asks for cards, buys them, and
hastens out. The first game is to pay for

I40

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

the cards. After the relish of playing for a
stake, no game can satisfy them without a
stake. A few nuts are staked; then a bottle
of wine; an oyster-supper. At last they
can venture a sixpence in actual money.—
just for the amusement of it. I need go
no further—whoever wishes to do anything
with the lad, can do it now. If properly
plied, and gradually led, he will go to any
length, and stop only at the gallows. Do
you doubt it ? let us trace him a year or
two further on.
With his father's blessing, and his
mother's tears, the young man departs
from home. He has received his patrimony, and embarks for life and independence. Upon his journey he rests at a city;
visits the " school of morals;" lingers in
more suspicious places; is seen by a
sharper ; and makes his acquaintance. The
knave sits by him at dinner; gives him the
news of the place, and a world of advice ;
cautions him against sharpers; inquires if
he has money, and charges him to keep it
secret; offers himself to make with him the
rounds of the town, and secure him from
imposition. At length, that he may see all,
he is taken to a gaming-house, but, with
apparent kindness, warned not to play.
He stands by to see the various fortunes of
the game; some, forever losing; some,

GAMBLERS AND GAMBLING

\^\

touch what number they will, gaining piles
of gold. Looking in thirst where wine is
free. A glass is taken; another of a better
kind ; next the best the landlord has, and
two glasses of that A change comes over
the youth; his exhilaration raises his
courage, and lulls his caution. Gambling
seen, seems a different thing from gambling
painted by a pious father! Just then his
friend remarks that one might easily double
his money by a few ventures, but that it
was, perhaps, prudent not to risk. Only
this was needed to fire his mind. What!
only prudence between me and gain ?
Then that shall not be long ! He stakes ;
he wins. Stakes again; wins again.
Glorious! I am the lucky man that is to
break the bank! He stakes, and wins
again. His pulse races ; his face burns ; his
blood is up, and fear gone. He loses ; loses
again; loses all his winnings; loses more.
But fortune turns again ; he wins anew. He
has now lost all self-command. Gains excite him, and'losses excite him more. He
doubles his stakes; then trebles them—and
all is swept. He rushes on, puts up his
whole purse, and loses the whole! Then
he would borrow; no man will lend. He
is desperate, he will fight at a word. He is
led to the street, and thrust out. The cool
breeze which blows upon his fevered cheek,

I42

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

wafts the slow and solemn stroke of the
clock,—one,—two,—three,—four; four of
the morning!
Quick work of ruin !—an innocent man destroyed in a night! He
staggers to his hotel, remembers as he
enters it, that he has not even enough to
pay his bill. It now flashes upon him that
his friend, who never had left him for an
hour before, had stayed behind where his
money is, and, doubtless, is laughing over
his spoils. His blood boils with rage. But
at length comes up the remembrance of
home; a parent's training and counsels for
more than twenty years, destroyed in a
night! " Good God ! what a wretch I have
been! I am not fit to live. I cannot go
home. I am a stranger here. O h ! that I
were dead ! Oh ! that I had died before I
knew this guilt, and were lying where my
sister lies! Oh God ! Oh God! my head
will burst with agony!" He stalks his
lonely room with an agony which only the
young heart knows in its first horrible
awakening to remorse—when it looks despair full in the face, and feels its hideous
incantations tempting him to suicide. Subdued at length by agony, cowed and weakened by distress, he is sought again by
those who plucked him. Cunning to subvert inexperience, to raise the evil passions,

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

143

and to allay the good, they make him their
pliant tool.
Farewell, young man ! I see thy steps
turned to that haunt again ! I see hope
lighting thy face; but it is a lurid light, and
never came from heaven. Stop before that
threshold!—turn, and bid farewell to
home !—-farewell to innocence !—farewell to
venerable father and aged mother!—the next
step shall part thee from them all forever.
And now henceforth be a mate to thieves,
a brother to corruption. Thou hast made
•a league with death, and unto death shalt
thou go.
Let us here pause, to draw the likeness
of a few who stand conspicuous in that
vulgar crowd of gamblers, with which hereafter he will consort. The first is a taciturn,
quiet man. No one knows when he comes
into town, or when he leaves. No man
hears of his gaining; for he never boasts,
nor reports his luck. He spends little for
parade; his money seems to go and come
only through the game. He reads none,
converses none, is neither a glutton nor a
hard-drinker; he sports few ornaments, and
wears plain clothing. Upon the whole, he
seems a gentlemanly man; and sober citizens say, " his only fault is gambling."
What then is this "onlyfault?"
In his
heart he has the most intense and consum-

144

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

ing lust of play. He is quiet because
every passion is absorbed in one; and that
one burning at the highest flame. He
thinks of nothing else, cares only for this.
All other things, even the hottest lusts of
other men, are too cool to be temptations
to him ; so much deeper is the style of his
passions. He will sit upon his chair, and
no man shall see him move for hours, except to play his cards. He sees none come
in, none go out. Death might groan on
one side of the room, and marriage might
sport on the other,—he would know neither. Every created influence is shut out;
one thing only moves him—\\\z game; and
that leaves not one pulse of excitability
unaroused, but stirs his soul to the very
dregs.
Very different is the roistering gamester.
He bears a jolly face, a glistening eye
something watery through watching and
drink. His fingers are manacled in rings;
his bosom glows with pearls and diamonds.
He learns the time which he wastes from a
watch full gorgeously carved, (and not
with the most modest scenes,) and slung
around his neck by a ponderous golden
chain. There is not so splendid a fellow to
be seen sweeping through the streets. The
landlord makes him welcome—he will bear
3 full bill. The tailor smiles like May—he

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

j

^

will buy half his shop. Other places bid
him welcome—he will bear large stealings.
Like the Judge, he makes his circuit, but
not for justice; like the Preacher, he has
his appointments, but not for instruction.
His circuits are the race-courses, the crowded capital, days of general convocation,
conventions, and mass-gatherings. He will
flame on the race-track, bet his thousands,
and beat the ring at swearing, oaths vernacular, imported, simple, or compound. The
drinking-booth smokes when he draws in
his welcome suit. Did you see him only
by day, flaming in apparel, jovial and freehearted at the Restaurateur or Hotel, you
would think him a Prince let loose—a cross
between Prince Hal and Falstaff.
But night is his day. These are mere exercises, and brief prefaces to his real accomplishments. He is a good fellow, who
dares play deeper; he is wild indeed, who
seems wilder ; and he is keen indeed, who
is sharper than he is, after all this show of
frankness. No one is quicker, slyer, and
more alert at a game. He can shuffle the
pack till an honest man would as soon
think of looking for a particular drop ol
water in the ocean, as for a particular card
in any particular place. Perhaps he is ignorant which is at the top and which at the
in

!46

LECTURED

TO YOUNG MEN

bottom ! At any rate, watch him closely,
or you will get a lean hand and he a fat
one. A plain man would think him a
wizard or the devil. When he touches a
pack they seem alive', and acting to his
will rather than his touch. He deals them
like lightning, they rain like snow-flakes*
sometimes one, sometimes two, if need be
four or five together, and his hand hardly
moved. If he loses, very well, he laughs ;
if he gains, he only laughs a little more.
Full of stories, full of songs, full of wit,
full of roistering spirit—yet do not trespass
too much upon his goodnature with insult \
All this outside is only the spotted hide
which covers the tiger. He who provokes
this man, shall see what lightning cart
break out of a summer-seeming cloud!
These do not fairly represent the race of
gamblers,—conveying too favorable an
impression. There is one, often met on
Steamboats, travelling solely to gamble.
He has the servants, or steward, or some
partner, in league with him, to fleece every
unwary player whom he inveigles to a game.
H e deals falsely ; heats his dupe to madness
by drink, drinking none himself; watches
the signal of his accomplice telegraphing
his opponent's hand; at a stray look, he
will slip your money off and steal it. T o
cover false playing, or to get rid of paying

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

itf

losses, he will lie fiercely, and swear uproariously, and break up the play to fight
with knife or pistol—first scraping the table
of every penny. When the passengers are
asleep, he surveys the luggage, to see what
may be worth stealing; he pulls a watch
from under the pillow of one sleeper; fumbles in the pockets of another; and gathers
booty throughout the cabin. Leaving the
boat before morning, he appears at some
village hotel, a magnificent gentleman, a
polished traveller, or even a distinguished
nobleman !
There is another gambler, cowardly, sleek,
stealthy, humble, mousing, and mean—a
simple blood-sucker. For money, he will be
a tool to other gamblers; steal for them,
and from them ; he plays the jackal, and
searches victims for them, humbly satisfied
to pick the bones afterward. Thus, (to employ his own language,) he ropes in the inexperienced young, flatters them, teaches
them, inflames their passions, purveys to
their appetites, cheats them, debauches them,
draws them down to his own level, and then
lords it over them in malignant meanness.
Himself impure, he plunges others into lasciviousness ; and with a train of reeking
satellites, he revolves a few years in the orbit
of the game, the brothel, and the doctor's
shop; then sinks and dies: the world is

I48

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

purer, and good men thank God that he is
gone.
Besides these, time would fail me to
describe the ineffable dignity of a gambling
judge; the cautious, phlegmatic lawyer,
gambling from sheer avarice; the brokendown and cast-away politician, seeking in
the game the needed excitement, and a
fair field for all the base tricks he once
played off as a patriot; the pert, sharp,
keen, jockey-gambler; the soaked, obese,
plethoric, wheezing, bacchanal; and a crowd
of ignoble worthies, wearing all the badges
and titles of vice, throughout its base
peerage.
A detail of the evils of gambling should
be preceded by an illustration of that constitution of mind out of which they mainly
spring—I mean its EXCITABILITY.
The
body is not stored with a fixed amount of
strength, nor the mind with a uniform
measure of excitement; but both are
capable, by stimulation, of expansion of
strength or feeling, almost without limit.
Experience shows, that within certain
bounds, excitement is healthful and necessary, but beyond this limit, exhausting and
•destructive. Men are allowed to choose
between moderate but long-continued excitement, and intense but short-lived excitement. Too generally they prefer the

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

149

latter. To gain this intense thrill, a thousand methods are tried. The inebriate obtains it by drink and drugs ; the politician^
by the keen interest of the civil campaign;
the young by amusements which violently
inflame and gratify their appetites. W h e a
once this higher flavor of stimulus has been
tasted, all that is less becomes vapid and
disgustful. A sailor tries to live on shore;
a few weeks suffice. To be sure, there is
no hardship, or *cold, or suffering; but
neither is there the strong excitement of
the ocean, the gale, the storm, and the
world of strange sights. The politician
perceives that his private affairs are deranged, his family neglected, his character
aspersed, his feelings exacerbated. When
men hear him confess that his career is a
hideous waking dream, the race vexatious,
and the end vanity, they wonder that he
clings to it; but he knows that nothing but
the fiery wine which he has tasted will rouse
up that intense excitement, now become
necessary to his happiness.
For this
reason, great men often cling to public
office with all its envy, jealousy, care, toil,
hates, competitions, and unrequited fidelity;
for these very disgusts, and the perpetual
struggle, strike a deeper chord of excitement than is possible to the gentler touches
of home, friendship and love. Here too is

150

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

the key to the real evil of promiscuous
novel-reading, to the habit of reverie and
mental romancing. None of life's common
duties can excite to such wild pleasure as
these; and they must be continued, or the
mind reacts into the lethargy of fatigue and
ennui. It is upon this principle that men
love pain ; suffering is painful to a spectator; but in tragedies, at public executions,
at pugilistic combats, at cock-fightings,
horse-races, bear-baitings, bull-fights, gladiatorial shows, it excites a jaded mind as
nothing else can. A tyrant torments for
the same reason that a girl reads her tearbedewed romance, or an inebriate drinks
his dram. No longer susceptible even to
inordinate stimuli, actual moans, and
shrieks, and the writhing of utter agony,
just suffice to excite his worn-out sense,
and inspire, probably, less emotion than
ordinary men have in listening to a tragedy
or reading a bloody novel.
Gambling is founded upon the very
worst perversion of this powerful element
of our nature. It heats every part of the
mind like an oven. The faculties which
produce calculation, pride of skill, of
superiority, love of gain, hope, fear, jealousy, hatred, are absorbed in the game,
and exhilarated, or exacerbated by victory
or defeat. These passions are, doubtless.

GAMBLER'S

AND

GAMBLING

\^\

excited in men by the daily occurrences of
life; but then they are transient, and counteracted by a thousand grades of emotion,
which rise and fall like the undulations of
the sea. But in gambling there is no intermission, no counteraction.
The whole
mind is excited to the utmost, and concentrated at its extreme point of excitation
for hours and days, with the additional
waste of sleepless nights, profuse drinking,
and other congenial immoralities. Every
other pursuit becomes tasteless; for na
ordinary duty has in it a stimulus which
can scorch a mind which now refuses to
burn without blazing, or to feel an interest
which is not intoxication. The victim of
excitement is like a mariner who ventures
into the edge of a whirlpool for a motion
more exhilarating than plain sailing. H e
is unalarmed during the first few gyrations,
for escape is easy. But each turn sweeps
him further in; the power augments, the
speed becomes terrific as he rushes toward
the vortex ; all escape now hopeless.' A
noble ship went in ; it is spit out in broken
fragments, splintered spars, crushed masts,
and cast up for many a rood along the
shore. The specific evils of gambling
may now be almost imagined.
I. It diseases the mind, unfitting it for the
duties of life. Gamblers are seldom indus-

!j2

LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN

trious men in any useful vocation. A
gambling mechanic finds his labor less
relishful as his passion for play increases.
He grows unsteady, neglects his work,
becomes unfaithful to promises; what he
performs he slights. Little jobs seem little
•enough; he desires immense contracts,
whose uncertainty has much the excitement
of gambling—and for the best of reasons;
and in the pursuit of great and sudden
profits, by wild schemes, he stumbles over
into ruin, leaving all who employed or
trusted him in the rubbish of his speculations.
A gambling lawyer, neglecting the drudgery of his profession, will court its exciting
duties. To explore authorities, compare
reasons, digest, and write,—this is tiresome.
But to advocate, to engage in fiery contests
with keen opponents, this is nearly as good
;as gambling. Many a ruined client has
cursed the law, and cursed a stupid jury,
and cursed everybody for his irretrievable
loss, except his lawyer, who gambled all
night when he should have prepared the
case, and came half asleep and debauched
into court in the morning to lose a good
case mismanaged, and snatched from his
gambling hands by the art of sober opponents.
A gambling student, if such a thing can

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

jjj

be, withdraws from thoughtful authors to
the brilliant and spicy; from the pure
among these, to the sharp and ribald ; from
all reading about depraved life, to seeing;
from sight to experience. Gambling vitiates
the imagination, corrupts the tastes, destroys
the industry—for no man will" drudge for
cents, who gambles for dollars by the hundred ; or practise a piddling economy,,
while, with almost equal indifference, he
makes or loses five hundred in a night.
II. For a like reason, it destroys alt
domestic habits and affections. Home is a
prison to an inveterate gambler; there is na
air there that he can breathe. For a moment he may sport with his children, and
smile upon his wife; but his heart, itsstrong passions, are not there. A little
branch-rill may flow through the family,,
but the deep river of his affections flows
away from home. On the issue of a game,
Tacitus narrates that the ancient Germans
would stake their property, their wives, their
children, and themselves. What less than,
this is it, when a man will stake that property which is to give his family bread, and
that honor which gives them place and rank
in society ?
When playing becomes desperate gambling, the heart is a hearth where all the fires;
of gentle feelings have smouldered to ashes ;

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

and a thorough-paced gamester could rattle
dice in a charnel-house, and wrangle for his
stakes amid murder and pocket gold dripping with the blood of his own kindred.
III. Gambling is the parent and companion of every vice which pollutes the
heart, or injures society.
It is a practice so disallowed among
Christians, and so excluded by mere moralists, and so hateful to industrious and thriving men, that those who practise it are shut
up to themselves ; unlike lawful pursuits, it
is not modified or restrained by collision
with others. Gamblers herd with gamblers.
They tempt and provoke each other to all
evil, without affording one restraint, and
without providing the counterbalance of a
single virtuous impulse. They are like
snakes coiling among snakes, poison and
poisoning ; like plague-patients, infected and
diffusing infection; each sick and all contagious. It is impossible to put bad men
together and not have them grow worse.
The herding of convicts promiscuously,
produced such a fermentation of depravity,
that, long ago, legislators forbade it. When
criminals, out of jail, herd together by
choice, the same corrupt nature will doom
them to growing loathsomeness, because of
increasing wickedness.
IV. It is a provocative of thirst The

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

JJJ

bottle is almost as needful as the card, the
ball, or the dice. Some are seduced to
drink; some drink for imitation, at first, and
fashion. When super-excitements, at intervals, subside, their victim cannot bear the
deathlike gloom of the reaction ; and, by
drugs or liquor, wind up their system to the
glowing point again. Therefore, drinking is
the invariable concomitant of the theatre,
circus, race-course, gaming-table, and of all
amusements which powerfully excite all but
the moral feelings. When the double fires
of dice and brandy blaze under a man, he
will soon be consumed. If men are found
who do not drink, they are the more noticeable because exceptions.
V. It is, even in its fairest form, the almost
inevitable cause of dishonesty. Robbers have
robbers' honor; thieves have thieves' law;
and pirates conform to pirates' regulations,
But where is there a gambler's code ? One
law there is, and this is not universal, pay
your gambling debts. But on the wijde question, how is it fair to win—what law is
there ? What will shut a man out from a
gambler's club ? May he not discover his
opponent's hand by fraud ? May not a concealed thread, pulling the significant one ;—
one, two ; or oney two, three ; or the sign of
a bribed servant or waiter, inform him, and
yet his standing be fair? May he not

I56

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

cheat in shuffling, and yet be in full orders
and canonical ? M a y he not cheat in dealing, and yet be a welcome gambler ?—may
h e not steal the money from your pile by
laying his hands upon it, just as any other
thief would, and yet be an approved
gambler ? M a y not the whole code be
stated thus : Pay what you lose, get what
you can, and in any way you can ! I am told,
perhaps, that there are honest gamblers,
gentlemanly gamblers.
Certainly; there
are always ripe apples before there are
rotten. Men always begin before they end;
there is always an approximation before
there is contact. Players will play truly till
they get used to playing u n t r u l y ; will be
honest, till they c h e a t ; will be honorable,
till they become base ; and when you have
said all this, what does it amount to but this,
that men who really gamble, really c h e a t ;
and that they only do not cheat, who are
not yet real gamblers ? If this mends the
matter, let it be so amended. I have spoken
of gamesters only a m o n g themselves; this
is the least part of the evil; for who is concerned wrhen lions destroy bears, or wolves
devour wolf-cubs, or snakes sting vipers?
In respect to that department of gambling
which includes the roping-in of strangers,
y o u n g men, collecting-clerks, and unsuspecting green-hands, and robbing them, I have

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

i$y

no language strong enough to mark down
its turpitude, its infernal rapacity. After
hearing many of the scenes not unfamiliar
to every gambler, I think Satan might be
proud of their dealings, and look up to them
with that deferential respect, with which one
monster gazes upon a superior. There is
not even the expectation of honesty. Some
scullion-herald of iniquity decoys the unwary wretch into the secret room ; he is
tempted to drink ^ made confident by the
specious simplicity of the game; allowed to
win; and every bait and lure and blind is
employed—then he is plucked to the skin
by tricks which appear as fair as honesty itself. The robber avows his deed, does it
openly; the gambler sneaks to the same
result under skulking pretences. There is
a frank way, and a mean way of doing a
wicked thing. The gambler takes the
meanest way of doing the dirtiest deed.
The victim's own partner is sucking his
blood ; it is a league of sharpers, to get his
money at any rate; and the wickedness is
so unblushing and unmitigated, that it
gives, at last, an instance of what the deceitful human heart, knavish as it is, is ashamed
to try to cover or conceal; but confesses with
helpless honesty, that it is fraud, cheating,
stealing, robbery,—and nothing else.
If I walk the dark street, and a perish-

I58

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

ing, hungry wretch meets me and bears off
tny purse with but a single dollar, the whole
town awakes; the officers are alert, the
myrmidons of the law scout, and hunt, and
bring in the trembling culprit to stow him
in the jail. But a worse thief may meet
me, decoy my steps, and by a greater dishonesty, filch ten thousand dollars,—and
what then ? The story spreads, the sharpers
move abroad unharmed, no one stirs. It is
the day's conversation; and like a sound it
rolls to the distance, and dies in an echo.
Shall such astounding iniquities be vomited out amidst us, and no man care ? Do
we love our children, and yet let them walk
in a den of vipers ? Shall we pretend to
virtue, and purity, and religion, and yet
make partners of our social life, men whose
heart has conceived such damnable deeds,
and whose hands have performed them ?
Shall there be even in the eye of religion
no difference between the corrupter of youth
and their guardian ? Are all the lines and
marks of morality so effaced, is the nerve
and courage of virtue so quailed by the
frequency and boldness of flagitious crimes,
that men, covered over with wickedness,
shall find their iniquity no obstacle to their
advancement among a Christian people.
In almost every form of iniquity there is
some shade or trace of good. We have in

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

jjjg

gambling a crime standing alone—dark,
malignant, uncompounded wickedness ! It
seems in its full growth a monster without
a tender mercy, devouring its own offspring
without one feeling but appetite. A gamester, as such, is the cool, calculating, essential spirit of concentrated avaricious selfishness. His intellect is a living thing, quickened with double life for villany ; his heart
is steel of fourfold temper. When a man
begins to gamble he is as a noble tree full
of sap, green with leaves, a shade to beasts,
and a covert to birds. When one becomes
a thorough gambler, he is like that tree
lightning-smitten, rotten in root, dry in
branch, and sapless; seasoned hard and
tough ; nothing lives beneath it, nothing on
its branches, unless a hawk or a vulture
perches for a moment to whet its beak, and
fly screaming away for its prey.
To every young man who indulges in the
least form of gambling, I raise a warning
voice ! Under the specious name of AMUSEMENT, you are laying the foundation of
gambling. Playing is the seed which comes
up gambling. It is the light wind which
brings up the storm. It is the white frost
which preludes the winter. You are mistaken, however, in supposing that it is
harmless in its earliest beginnings. Its terrible blight belongs, doubtless, to a later

!6o

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

stage; but its consumption of time, its
destruction of industry, its distaste for the
calmer pleasures of life, belong to the
very beginning. You will begin to play
with every generous feeling. Amusement
will be the plea. At the beginning the
game will excite enthusiasm, pride of skill,
the love of mastery, and the love of money.
The love of money, at first almost imperceptible, at last will rule out all the rest,—
like Aaron's rod,—a serpent, swallowing
every other serpent. Generosity, enthusiasm, pride and skill, love of mastery, will
be absorbed in one mighty feeling,—the
savage lust of lucre.
There is a downward climax in this sin.
The opening and ending are fatally connected, and drawn toward each other with
almost irresistible attraction. If gambling
is a vortex, playing is the outer ring of the
Maelstrom. The thousand pound stake,
the whole estate put up on a game—what
are these but the instruments of kindling
that tremendous excitement which a diseased heart craves ? What is the amusement for which yenu play but the excitement
of the game ? And for what but this does
the jaded gambler play ? You differ from
him only in the degree of the same feeling.
Do not solace yourself that you shall
escape because others have; for they

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

jfa

stopped, and you go on. Are you as safe as
they, when you are in the gulf-stream of
perdition, and they on the shore ? But
have you ever asked, how many have
escaped ? Not one in a thousand is left
unblighted! You have nine hundred and
ninety-nine chances against you, and one
for you ; and will you go on ? If a disease should stalk through the town, devouring whole families, and sparing not one in
five hundred, would you lie down under it
quietly because you have one chance in
five hundred? Had a scorpion stung you,
would it alleviate your pangs to reflect that
you had only one chance in one hundred ?
Had you swallowed corrosive poison,
would it ease your convulsions to think
there was only one chance in fifty for you ?
I do not call every man who plays a gambler, but a gambler in embryo. Let, me
trace your course from the amusement of
innocent playing to its almost inevitable
end.
Scene first. A genteel coffee-house,—
whose humane screen conceals a line of
grenadier bottles, and hides respectable
blushes from impertinent eyes. There is
a quiet little room opening out of the bar;
and here sit four jovial youths. The cards
are out, the wines are in. The fourth is a
reluctant hand; he does not love the drink,
ii

x 62

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

nor approve the game. H e anticipates
and fears the result of both. W h y is h e
here ?
H e is a whole-souled fellow, and
is afraid to seem ashamed of any fashionable gaiety. H e will sip his wine upon
the importunity of a friend newly come to
town, and is too polite to spoil that friend's
pleasure by refusing a part in the game.
T h e y sit, shuffle, d e a l ; the night wears
on, the clock telling no tale of passing
h o u r s — t h e p r u d e n t liquor-fiend has made
it safely d u m b . T h e night is getting old ;
its dank air grows fresher; the east is
grey ; the g a m i n g and drinking and hilarious laughter are over, and the y o u t h s
w r ending homeward.
W h a t says conscience ? N o matter what it s a y s ; they
did not hear, and we will not. W h a t e v e r
was said, it was very shortly answered
t h u s : " T h i s has not been g a m b l i n g ; all
were gentlemen ; there was no c h e a t i n g ;
simply a convivial e v e n i n g ; no stakes
except the bills incident to the entertainment. If a n y b o d y blames a y o u n g man
for a little innocent exhilaration on a special occasion, he is a superstitious bigot ;
let him c r o a k ! " Such a garnished g a m e
is made the t e x t to justify the whole
r o u n d of gambling. Let us, then, look at
Scene the second. In- a room so silent that
there is no sound except the shrill cock

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

163

crowing the morning, where the forgotten
candles burn dimly over the long and
lengthened wick, sit four men. Carved
marble could not be more motionless, save
their hands. Pale, watchful, t h o u g h weary,
their eyes pierce the cards, or furtively read
each other's faces. H o u r s have passed
over them thus. A t length they rise without w o r d s ; some, with a satisfaction which
only makes their faces brightly h a g g a r d ,
scrape off the piles of money ; others, dark,
sullen, silent, fierce, move away from their
lost money. T h e darkest and fiercest of
the four is that y o u n g friend who first sat
down to make out a g a m e ! H e will never
sit so innocently again. W h a t says h e to
his conscience now ? " I have a right to
g a m b l e ; I have a right to be damned too,
if I c h o o s e ; whose business is i t ? "
Scene the third. Years have passed on.
H e has seen y o u t h ruined, at first with expostulation, then with only silent regret,
then consenting t o take part of the spoils ;
and finally, he has himself decoyed, duped,
and stripped t h e m without mercy. Go
with me into that dilapidated house, not far
from the landing, at New Orleans. L o o k
into that dirty room. A r o u n d a b r o k e n
table, sitting upon boxes, kegs, or rickety
chairs, see a filthy crew dealing cards
s m o u c h e d with tobacco, grease and liquor.

164

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

One has a pirate-face burnished and burnt
with brandy; a shock of grizzly, matted
hair, half covering his villain eyes, which
glare out like a wild beast's from a thicket.
Close by him wheezes a white-faced, dropsical wretch, vermin-covered, and stenchful.
A scoundrel-Spaniard, and a burly negro,
(the jolliest of the four,) complete the group.
They have spectators—drunken sailors, and
ogling, thieving, drinking women, who
should have died long ago, when all that
was womanly died. Here hour draws on
hour, sometimes with brutal laughter, sometimes with threat, and oath, and uproar.
The last few stolen dollars lost, and temper
too, each charges each Avith cheating, and
high words ensue, and blows; and the
whole gang burst out the door, beating,
biting, scratching, and rolling over and over
in the dirt and dust. The worst, the fiercest,
the drunkest, of the four, is our friend who
began by making up the game!
Scene the fourth. Upon this bright day,
stand with me, if you would be sick of humanity, and look over that multitude of
men kindly gathered to see a murderer
h u n g ! At last, a guarded cart drags o*n a
thrice-guarded wretch. At the gallows'
ladder his courage fails. His coward-feet
refuse to ascend; dragged up, he is supported by bustling officials; his brain reels.

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

165

his eye swims, while t h e meek minister
utters a final prayer b y his leaden ear. T h e
prayer is said, the noose is fixed, the signal
is given ; a s h u d d e r runs t h r o u g h the crowd
as he swings free. After a moment, his
convulsed limbs stretch down, and h a n g
heavily and still; and h e who began t o
•gamble to make up a game, and ended
with stabbing an enraged victim whom h e
had fleeced, has here played his last game,
—himself the stake !
I feel impelled, in closing, to call t h e attention of all sober citizens to some potent
influences which are exerted in favor of
gambling.
In our civil economy we have Legislators
to devise and enact wholesome l a w s ;
Lawyers to counsel and aid those who need
the laws' relief; and J u d g e s to determine
and administer the laws. If Legislators,
Lawyers, and J u d g e s are gamblers, with
what hope do we warn off the y o u n g from
this deadly fascination, against such authoritative examples of high public functionaries ? W i t h what eminent fitness does t h a t
J u d g e press the bench, who in private commits the vices which officially he is set t o
condemn ! W i t h what singular terrors does
he frown on a convicted gambler with
w h o m he played last night, and will play
again t o - n i g h t ! H o w wisely should the fine

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

be light which the sprightly criminal will
win and pay out of the Judged own pocket!
With the name of JUDGE is associated
ideas of immaculate purity, sober piety, and
fearless, favorless justice. Let it then be
counted a dark crime for a recreant official
so far to forget his reverend place, and
noble office, as to run the gantlet of filthy
vices, and make the word Judge, to suggest
an incontinent trifler, who smites with his
mouth, and smirks with his eye ; who holds
the rod to strike the criminal, and smites
only the law to make a gap for criminals to
pass through ! If God loves this land, may
he save it from truckling, drinking, swearing,
gambling, vicious Judges ! *
With such Judges I must associate corrupt LEGISLATORS, whose bawling patriotism
leaks out in all the sinks of infamy at the
Capital. These living exemplars of vice,
pass still-born laws against vice. Are such
men sent to the Capital only to practise debauchery ?
Laborious
seedsmen—they
gather every germ of evil; and laborious
sowers—at home they strew them far and
wide! It is a burning shame, a high outrage, that public men, by corrupting the
* T h e general eminent integrity of the Bench is unquestionable—
and no remarks in the text are to be construed as an oblique aspersion of the profession. But the purer our Judges generally,
d i e more shameless is it that some will not abandon either their
vices or their office.

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

ifiy

young with the example of manifold vices,
should pay back their constituents for their
honors!
Our land has little to fear from abroad,
and much from within. We can bear foreign aggression, scarcity, the revulsions of
commerce; plagues, and pestilences; but we
cannot bear vicious Judges, corrupt Courts,
gambling Legislators, and a vicious, corrupt,
and gambling constituency. Let us not be
deceived ! The decay of civil institutions
begins at the core. The outside wears all
the lovely hues of ripeness, when the inside
is rotting. Decline does not begin in bold
and startling acts; but, as in autumnal
leaves, in rich and glowing colors. Over
diseased vitals, consumptive laws wear the
hectic blush, a brilliant eye, and transparent
skin. Could the public sentiment declare
that PERSONAL MORALITY is the first element
of patriotism; that corrupt Legislators are
the most pernicious of criminals; that the
Judge who lets the villain off, is the villain's
patron; that tolerance of crime is intolerance of virtue,—our nation might defy all
enemies and live forever!
And now, my young friends, I beseech
you to let alone this evil before it be meddled with. You are safe from vice when
you avoid even its appearance; and only
then. The first steps to wickedness are

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

imperceptible. We do not wonder at the
inexperience of Adam ; but it is wonderful
that six thousand years' repetition of the
same arts, and the same uniform disaster,
should have taught men nothing! that
generation after generation should perish,
and the wreck be no warning!
The mariner searches his chart for hidden rocks, stands off from perilous shoals,
and steers wide of reefs on which hang
shattered morsels of wrecked ships, and
runs in upon dangerous shores with the ship
manned, the wheel in hand, and the lead
constantly sounding. But the mariner upon
life's sea, carries no chart of other men's
voyages, drives before every wind that will
speed him, draws upon horrid shores with
slumbering crew, or heads in upon roaring
reefs as though he would not perish where
thousands have perished before him.
Hell is populated with the victims of
4i
harmless amusements!' Will man never
learn that the way to hell is through the
valley of DECEIT ? The power of Satan to
hold his victims is nothing to that mastery
of art by which he first gains them. When
he approaches to charm us, it is not as a
grim fiend, gleaming from a lurid cloud, but
as an angel of light radiant with innocence.
His words fall like dew upon the flower;
as musical as the crystal-drop warbling from

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

169

a fountain. Beguiled by his art, he leads
you to the enchanted ground. Oh! how it
glows with every refulgent hue of heaven !
Afar off he marks the dismal gulf of vice
and crime; its smoke of torment slowly
rising, and rising forever! and he himself
cunningly warns you of its dread disaster,,
for the very purpose of blinding and drawing you thither. He leads you to captivity
through all the bowers of lulling magic.
He plants your foot on odorous flowers \
he fans your cheek with balmy breath; he
overhangs your head with rosy clouds; he
fills your ear with distant, drowsy music,,
charming every sense to rest. Oh ye ! who
have thought the way to hell was bleak and
frozen as Norway, parched and barren as
Sahara, strewed like Golgotha with bones
and skulls reeking with stench like the vale
of Gehenna,—witness your mistake ! The
way to hell is gorgeous ! It is a highway,
cast up; no lion is there, no ominous bird
to hoot a warning, no echoings of the wailing-pit, no lurid gleams of distant fires, or
moaning sounds of hidden woe ! Paradise
is imitated to build you a way to death ; the
flowers of heaven are stolen and poisoned;
the sweet plant of knowledge is here; the
pure white flower of religion; seeming virtue and the charming tints of innocence are
scattered all along like native herbage. The

3

7o

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEJV

enchanted victim travels on. Standing afar
behind, a n d from a silver-trumpet, a heavenly messenger sends down t h e wind a solemn w a r n i n g : T H E R E IS A WAY W H I C H SEEMETH RIGHT TO MAN, BUT THE END THEREOF

is DEATH.

A n d again, with louder

blast:

T H E W I S E MAN F O R E S E E T H T H E EVIL ; FOOLS
PASS ON AND ARE PUNISHED. S t a r t l e d for a

m o m e n t , t h e victim p a u s e s ; gazes round
upon t h e flowery scene, and whispers, Is it
not harmless ? — "Harmless, " responds a
serpent from the grass !—"Harmless" echo
t h e sighing winds !—"Harmless" re-echo a
h u n d r e d airy tongues ! If now a gale from
heaven might only sweep t h e clouds away
t h r o u g h which t h e victim g a z e s ; o h ! if God
would break that potent power which chains
t h e blasts of hell, and let t h e sulphur-stench
roll u p t h e vale, h o w would t h e vision
c h a n g e ! — t h e road become a track of dead
men's b o n e s ! — t h e heavens a lowering
storm !—the balmy breezes, distant wailings
— a n d all those balsam-shrubs t h a t lied to
his senses, sweat drops of blood upon their
poison-boughs!
>
Y e w h o are meddling with t h e edges of
vice, y e are on this r o a d ! — a n d utterly
duped b y its enchantments ! Y o u r eye h a s
already lost its honest glance, y o u r taste
has lost its purity, y o u r heart t h r o b s with
p o i s o n ! T h e leprosy is all over y o u , its

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

ijx

blotches and eruptions cover you. Your
feet stand on slippery places, whence in due
time they shall slide, if you refuse the
warning which I raise.
They shall
slide from heaven, never to be visited
by a gambler; slide down to that
fiery abyss below you. out of which none
ever come. Then, when the last card i?
cast, and the game over, and you lost;
then, when the echo of your fall shall ring
through hell,—in malignant triumph, shall
the Arch-Gambler, who cunningly played
for your soul, have his prey ! Too late you
shall look back upon life as a MIGHTY GAME,
in which you were the stake, and Satan the
winner!

THE STRANGE WOMAN

All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: that the man of God may
be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works.
2 Tim. iii. 16, 17.

S

U R E L Y one cannot declare the whole
counsel of God, and leave out a subject which is interwoven with almost
every chapter of the Bible. So inveterate
is the prejudice against introducing into
the pulpit the subject of Licentiousness,
that Ministers of the Gospel, knowing the
vice to be singularly dangerous and frequent, have yet by silence almost complete,
or broken only by circuitous allusions,
manifested their submission to the popular
taste.* That Vice upon which it has
pleased God to be more explicit and full
* T h e liberality with which this Lecture was condemned before I
h a d written it, and the prompt criticisms afterwards, of those who
did not hear it, have induced me to print it almost unaltered.
Otherwise I should have changed many portions of it from forms
of expression peculiar to the pulpit into those better suited to 9
book.

C173)

174

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

than upon any other; against which he
uttered his voice upon Sinai, Thou sJialt not
commit adultery ; upon which the lawgiver,
Moses, legislated with boldness; which
Judges condemned ; upon which the venerable Prophets spake oft and again; against
which Christ with singular directness and
plainness uttered the purity of religion;
and upon which He inspired Paul to discourse to the Corinthians, and to almost
every primitive church; this subject, upon
which the Bible does not so much speak,
as thunder—not by a single bolt, but peal
after peal—we are solemnly warned not to
introduce into the pulpit!
I am entirely aware of the delicacy of introducing this subject into the pulpit.
One difficulty arises from the sensitiveness of unaffected purity. A mind, retaining all the dew and freshness of innocence,
shrinks from the very idea of impurity, as
if it were sin to have thought or heard of it,
—as if even the shadow of the evil would
leave some soil upon the unsullied whiteness of the virgin-mind. Shall we be angry
with this? or shall we rudely rebuke so
amiable a feeling, because it regrets a
necessary duty ? God forbid! If there be,
in the world, one whose generous faults
should be rebuked only by the tenderness
of a reproving smile, it is the mistake of

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

inexperienced purity. We would as soon
pelt an angel, bewildered among men and
half smothered with earth's noxious vapors,
for his trembling apprehensions. To any
such, who have half wished that I might not
speak, I say :—Nor would I, did I not know
that purity will suffer more by the silence
of shame, than by the honest voice of truth.
Another difficulty springs from the nature
of the English language, which has hardly
been framed in a school where it may wind
and fit itself to all the phases of impurity.
But were I speaking French—the dialect of
refined sensualism and of licentious literature ; the language of a land where taste
and learning and art wait upon the altars of
impurity—then I might copiously speak of
this evil, nor use one plain word. But I
thank God, the honest English tongue
which I have learned, has never been so
bred to this vile subservience of evil. We
have plain words enough to say plain
things, but the dignity and manliness of our
language has never grown supple to twine
around brilliant dissipation. It has too
many plain words, vulgar words, vile.words ;
but it has few mirror-words, which cast a
sidelong image of an idea; it has few words
which wear a meaning smile, a courtesanglance significant of something unexpressed.
When public vice necessitates public rep-

IjQ

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

rehension, it is, for these reasons, difficult
to redeem plainness from vulgarity. We
must speak plainly and properly; or else
speak by innuendo—which is the devil's
language.
Another difficulty lies in the confused
echoes which vile men create in every community, when the pulpit disturbs them. Do
I not know the arts of cunning men ? Did
not Demetrius, the Silversmith (worthy to
have lived in our day !) become most wonderfully pious, and run all over the city to
rouse up the dormant zeal of Diana's worshippers, and gather a mob, to whom he
preached that Diana must be cared for ;
when, to his fellow-craftsmen, he told the
truth : OUR CRAFT IS IN DANGER ! Men will
not quietly be exposed. They foresee the
rising of a virtuously retributive public sentiment, as the mariner sees the cloud of the
storm rolling up the heavens ! They strive
to forestall and resist it. How loudly will
a liquor-fiend protest against temperance
lectures—sinful enough for redeeming victims from his paw ! How sensitive some
men to a church bell! they are high priests
of revivals at a horse-race, a theatre, or a
liquor-supper ; but a religious revival pains
their sober minds. Even thus, the town
will be made vocal with outcries against
sermons on licentiousness. Who cries

\
TffE STRANGE

WOMAN\

out ?—the sober ?—the immaculate ?—the
devout ? It is the voice of the son of midnight ; it is the shriek of the STRANGE
WOMAN'S victim! and their sensitiveness is
not of purity, but of fear! Men protest
against the indecency of the pulpit, because
the pulpit makes them feel their own indecency ; they would drive us from the investigation of vice, t h a t t h e y m a y keep t h e
field open for their own occupancy. I
expect such men's reproaches. I know the
reasons of them. I am not to be turned b y
them, not one hair's breadth, if they rise to
double their present volume, until I have
h u n t e d h o m e the wolf to his lair, and
ripped off his brindled hide in his very den !
A n o t h e r difficulty exists, in the criminal
fastidiousness of the community upon this
subject. T h i s is the counterfeit of delicacy.
It resembles it less than paste-jewels do the
pure pearl. W h e r e delicacy, the atmosphere of a pure heart, is lost, or never was
had, a substitute is s o u g h t ; and is found in
forms of delicacy, not in its feelings.
It is
a delicacy of exterior, of etiquette, of show,
of r u l e s ; not of thought, not of pure imaginatio7i, not of the crystal-current of the
heart!
Criminal fastidiousness is the
Pharisee's s e p u l c h r e ; clean, white, beautiful without, full of dead men's bones within !
— t h e Pharisee's platter, the Pharisee's c u p

jg

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

—it is the very Pharisee himself; and like
him of old, lays on burdens grievous to be
borne. Delicacy is a spring which God has
sunken in the rock, which the winter never
freezes, the summer never heats; which
sends its quiet waters with music down the
flowery hill-side, and which is pure and
transparent, because it has at the bottom no
sediment. I would that every one of us
had this well of life, gushing from our
hearts—an everlasting and full stream !
False modesty always judges by the outside ; it cares how you speak, more than
what.
That which would outrage in plain
words, may be implied furtively, in the sallies of wit or fancy, and be admissible.
Every day I see this giggling modesty,
which blushes at language more than at its
meaning; which smiles upon base things,
if they will appear in the garb of virtue !
That disease of mind to which I have frequently alluded in these lectures* which
leads it to clothe vice beautifully and then
admit it, has had a fatal effect also upon
Literature ; giving currency to filth, by coining it in the mint of beauty. It is under
the influence of this disease of taste and
heart, that we hear expressed such strange
judgments upon English authors. Those
who speak plainly what they mean, when
they speak at all, are called rude and vul-

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

g a r ; while those upon whose exquisite sentences the dew of indelicacy rests like so
m a n y brilliant pearls of the m o r n i n g upon
flowers, are called our moral authors !
T h e most dangerous writers in t h e
English language are those whose artful
insinuations and mischievous polish reflect
upon the mind the image of impurity, without presenting the impurity itself. A plain
vulgarity in a writer is its own antidote. It
is like a foe w h o attacks us openly, and
gives us opportunity of defence. But impurity, secreted under beauty, is like a'treacherous friend who strolls with us in a garden
of sweets, and destroys us by the odor of
poisonous flowers proffered to our senses.
L e t the reprehensible grossness of Chaucer
be compared with the perfumed, elaborate
brilliancy of Moore's license. I would not
willingly answer at the bar of God for the
writings of e i t h e r ; but of the two, I would
rather bear the sin of Chaucer's plainspoken words, which never suggest more
than they say, than the sin of Moore's language, over which plays a witching h u e
and shade of licentiousness. I would rather
p u t the downright, and often abominable vulgarity of Swift into m y child's hand,
than the scoundrel-indirections of Sterne.
T h e y are both impure writers; but not
equally harmful. T h e one says what he

5go

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

•means; the other means what he dare not
say. Swift is, in this respect, Belial in his
own form; Sterne is Satan in the form of
an angel of light: and many will receive
the temptation of the Angel, who would
scorn the proffer of the Demon. What an
incredible state of morals, in the English
church, that permitted two of her eminent
clergy to be the most licentious writers of
the age, and as impure as almost any of the
English literature! Even our most classic
authors have chosen to elaborate, with
exquisite a$, scenes which cannot but have
more effect upon the passions than upon
the taste. Embosomed in the midst of
Thomson's glowing Seasons, one finds
descriptions unsurpassed by any part of
Don Juan; and as much more dangerous
than it is, as a courtesan, countenanced by
virtuous society, is more dangerous than
when among her own associates.
Indeed,
an author who surprises you with refined
indelicacies in moral and reputable writings, is worse than one, who, without disguise, and on purpose, serves up a whole
banquet of indelicacies. Many will admit
poison-morsels well sugared, who would
revolt from an infernal feast of impurity.
There is little danger that robbers will
tempt the honest young to robbery. Some
one first tempts him to falsehood; next, to

7 HE STRANGE

WOMAN

Y%i

petty dishonesties ; next, to pilfering ; t h e n ,
to thieving ; and now, only, will the robber
influence him, when others have handed
him down to his region of crime. T h o s e
a u t h o r s w h o soften evil, and show deformity with tints of b e a u t y ; who arm their
general purity with the occasional sting of
impurity ;—these are they who take the
feet out of the straight p a t h — t h e guiltiest
path of seduction.
H e w h o feeds an
inflamed appetite with food spiced to fire,
is less guilty than he w h o hid in the mind
the leaven which w r o u g h t this appetite.
T h e polished seducer is certainly m o r e
dangerous than the vulgar d e b a u c h e e —
both in life and in literature.
In this contrast are to be placed S h a k e speare and Bulwer : Shakespeare is sometimes gross, but not often covertly impure.
Bulwer is slily impure, but not often gross.
I am speaking, however, only of S h a k e speare's Plays, and not of his youthful
fugitive pieces; which, I am afraid, cannot
have part in this exception. H e began
wrongr but crew better. A t first, he wrote
b y the taste of his a g e ; but when a man,
he wrote to his own t a s t e : and t h o u g h h e
is not without sin, yet, compared with his
contemporaries, he is not more illustrious
for his genius than for his purity. Reprehension, to be effective, should be just.

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

N o man is prepared to excuse properly the
occasional blemishes of this wonderful
writer, who has not been shocked at the
immeasurable licentiousness of the Dramatists of his cycle. One play of Ford, one
act, one conversation, has more abominations than the whole world of Shakespeare.
Let those women, who ignorantly sneer at
Shakespeare, remember that they are indebted to him for the noblest conceptions
of woman's character in our literature—
t h e more praiseworthy, because h e found
n o models in current authors. T h e occasional touches of truth and womanly delicacy in the early Dramatists are no c o m pensation for the wholesale coarseness a n d
vulgarity of their female characters.
In
Shakespeare, woman appears in her true
form—pure, disinterested, ardent, d e v o t e d ;
capable of the noblest feelings and of t h e
highest deeds. T h e language of m a n y of
Shakespeare's women would be shocking
in our day ; but so would be the domestic
manners of that age. T h e same actions
m a y in one age be a sign of corruption,
and be perfectly innocent in another. N o
one is shocked that in a pioneer-cabin, one
room serves for a parlor, a kitchen, and a
bed-room, for the whole family, and for
promiscuous guests. Should fastidiousness
revolt at this, as vulgar,—the vulgarity

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

m u s t b e accredited to the fastidiousness,
and not to the custom. Y e t ; it would b e
inexcusable in a refined metropolis, a n d
everywhere the m o m e n t it ceases to b e
necessary. But nothing in these remarks
must apologize for language or deed, which
indicates an impure heart. N o age, n o
custom, m a y plead extenuation for essential l u s t ; and no sound mind can refrain
from commendation of the master-dramatist of t h e world, when he learns that in
waiting for a most licentious age, he rose
above it so far as to become s o m e t h i n g
like a model to it of a more virtuous way.
Shakespeare left the dramatical literature
immeasurably purer than it came to him.
Bulwer has m a d e the English novelliterature more vile than he found it. T h e
one was a reformer, the other an implacable
corrupter. W e respect and admire the one,
(while we m a r k his faults,) because he withstood his a g e ; and we despise with utter
loathing the other, whose specific gravity of
wickedness sunk him below the level of his
own age. W i t h a moderate caution, S h a k e speare may be safely put into the hands of
t h e young. I regard the admission of Bulwer as a crime against the first principles of
virtue.
' In all the cases which I have considered,
y o u will remark a greater indulgence to that

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

impurity which breaks out on the surface,
than to that which lurks in the blood and
destroys the constitution. It is the curse of
our literature that it is traversed by so many
rills of impurity. It is a vast champaign,
waving with unexampled luxuriance of
flower, and vine, and fruit; but the poisonous
flower everywhere mingles with the pure ;
and the deadly cluster lays its cheek on the
wholesome grape; nay, in the same cluster
•grow both the harmless and the hurtful
berry; so that the hand can hardly be
stretched out to gather flower or fruit without coming back poisoned. It is both a
shame and an amazing wonder, that the
literature of a Christian nation should reek
with a filth which Pagan antiquity could
scarcely endure ; that the Ministers of Christ
should have left floating in the pool of offensive writings, much that would have brought
blood to the cheek of a Roman priest, and
have shamed an actor of the school of Aristophanes. Literature is, in turn, both the
•cause and effect of the spirit of the age. Its
effect upon this age has been to create a
lively relish for exquisitely artful licentiousness, and disgust only for vulgarity. A
witty, brilliant, suggestive indecency is
tolerated for the sake of its genius. An age
which translates and floods the community
with French novels (inspired by Venus and

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

Bacchus,) which reprints in popular forms,
Byron, and Bulwer, and Moore, and Fielding, proposes to revise Shakespeare a n d
e x p u r g a t e the Bible !! Men who, at home,,
allow D o n Juan to lie within reach of
every reader, will not allow a Minister of
the gospel to expose the evil of such a
l i t e r a t u r e ! T o read authors whose lines
drop with the very gall of death ; to vault
in elegant dress as near the edge of indecency as is possible without treading o v e r ;
to express the utmost possible impurity so
dexterously, that not a vulgar word is used,,
b u t rosy, glowing, suggestive l a n g u a g e —
this, with many, is refinement.
But t a
expose the prevalent vice ; to meet its glittering literature with the plain and m a n l y
language of truth ; to say nothing e x c e p t
what one desires to say plainly—this, it
seems, is vulgarity !
One of the first steps in any reformation
must be, not alone nor first the correction
of the grossness, but of the elegancies of
impurity. Could our literature, and men's
conversation, be p u t under such a u t h o r i t y
that neither should express, b y insinuation,
what dared not be said openly, in a little
time, men would not dare to say at all what
it would be indecent to speak plainly.
If there be here any disciples of Bulwer
ready to disport in the very ocean of li-

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

cense, if its waters only seem translucent;
who can read and relish all that fires the
heart, and are only then distressed and
shocked when a serious man raises the rod
to correct and repress the evil; if there be
here any who can drain his goblet of
mingled wine, and only shudder at'crystal-water; any who can see this modern
prophet of villany strike the rock of corruption, to water his motley herd of revellers,
but hate him who out of the Rock of Truth
should bid gush the healthful stream;—I
beseech them to bow their heads in this
Christian assembly, and weep their tears of
regret in secret places, until the evening
service be done, and Bulwer can staunch
their tears, and comfort again their wounded
hearts.
Whenever an injunction is laid upon
plain and undeniable scripture-truth, and I
am forbidden, upon pain of your displeasure,
to preach it; then, I should not so much
regard my personal feelings, as the affront
which you put upon my master; and in my
inmost soul I shall resent that affront.
There is no esteem, there is no love, like
that which is founded in the sanctity of religion. Between many of you and me, that
sanctity exists. I stood by your side when
you awoke in the dark valley of conviction,
and owned yourselves lost. I have led you

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

by the hand out of the darkness; by your
side I have prayed, and my tears have
mingled with yours. I have bathed you in
the crystal-waters of a holy baptism; and
when you sang the song of the ransomed
captive, it filled my heart with a joy as
great as that which uttered it. Love, beginning in such scenes, and drawn from so
sacred a fountain, is not commercial, not
fluctuating. Amid severe toils and not a
few anxieties, it is the crown of rejoicing to
a Pastor. What have we in this world but
you ? To be your servant in the gospel,
we renounce all those paths by which other
men seek preferment. Silver and gold is
not in our houses, and our names are not
heard where fame proclaims others. Rest
we are forbidden until death; and girded
with the whole armor, our lives are spent
in the dust and smoke of continued battle.
But even such love will not tolerate bondage. We can be servants to love, but
never slaves to caprice; still less can we
heed the mandates of iniquity!

The proverbs of Solomon are designed
to furnish us a series of maxims for every
relation of life. There will naturally be the
most said where there is the most needed.

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

If the frequency of warning against any sin
measures the liability of man to that sin,
then none is worse than Impurity. In
many separate passages is the solemn warning against the STRANGE WOMAN given with
a force which must terrify all but the innocent or incorrigible; and with a delicacy
which all will feel but those whose modesty
is the fluttering of an impure imagination.
I shall take such parts of all these passages
as will make out a connected narrative.
When wisdom entereth into thy heart, and
knowledge is pleasant unto thy soul, discretion shall preserve thee . . . to deliver
thee from the strange woman, which flattereth with her tongue; her lips drop as a
ho?tey-comb, her mouth is smoother than oil.
She sitteth at the door of her house on a seat
in the high places of the city, to call to passengers who go right on their ways: " Whoso is simple let him turn in hither!' To him
that wanteth understanding,
she • saith,
"Stolen waters are sweet and bread eaten in
secret is pleasant; " but he knozveth not that
the dead are there. Lust not after her
beauty, neither let her take thee with her eyelids. She forsaketh the guide of her youth,
and forgetteth the covenant of her God. Lest
thou shouldst ponder the path of life, her
ways are movable, that thou canst not know

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

them.
Remove thy way far from her, and
come not nigh the door of her house, for her
house inclineth unto death.
She has cast
down many zvounded; yea, many strong men
have been slain by her. Her house is the
way to hell, going down to the chamber of
death ; none that go unto her, return again ;
neither take they hold of the paths of life.
Let not thy heart decline to her ways, lest
thou mourn at last, when thy flesh and thy
body are consumed, and say : "How have I
hated instruction, and my heart despised reproof. I was in all evil in the midst of the
congregation and assembly!'
I. Can language be found which can draw
a corrupt beauty so vividly as t h i s ; Which
forsakeih the gidde of her youth, and forgetteth the covenant of her God. L o o k out
upon t h a t fallen creature whose gay sally
t h r o u g h t h e street calls out the significant
laugh of bad men, the pity of good men,
and the horror of the pure. W a s not her
cradle as pure as ever a loved infant pressed ?
L o v e soothed its cries. Sisters watched its
peaceful sleep, and a m o t h e r pressed it
fondly to her bosom ! H a d you afterwards,
when spring-flowers covered the earth, and
every gale was odor, and every sound was
music, seen her, fairer than t h e lily or t h e
violet, searching them, would y o u not have
said, " Sooner shall the rose grow poisonous

ig0

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

t h a n s h e ; both m a y wither, b u t neither corrupt." A n d how often, at evening, did she
clasp her tiny hands in prayer ? H o w often
did she p u t the wonder-raising questions to
her mother, of God, and heaven, and the
dead—as if she had seen heavenly things
in a vision! A s y o u n g womanhood advanced, and these foreshadowed graces
ripened to the bud and burst into bloom,
health glowed in her cheek, love looked
from her eye, and purity was an atmosphere
a r o u n d her. A l a s ! she forsook the guide
of her youth.
Faint thoughts, of evil, like
a far-off cloud which the sunset gilds, came
first; nor does the rosy sunset blush deeper
along the heaven, than her cheek, at the
first t h o u g h t of evil. Now, ah ! mother,
and thou guiding elder sister, could you
have seen the lurking spirit e m b o s o m e d in
that cloud, a holy prayer might have broken
the spell, a tear have washed its stain I
Alas ! t h e y saw it n o t ; she spoke it n o t ;
she was forsaking
the guide of her youth.
She thinketh ho more of heaven. She
breatheth no more prayers. She hath no
more penitential tears to s h e d ; until, after
a long life, she drops the bitter tear upon
the cheek of despair,—then her only suitor.
T h o u hast forsaken the covenant of thy God.
Go down ! fall never to rise! Hell opens to
be thy home !

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

Oh Prince of torment! if thou hast transforming power, give some relief to this once
innocent child, whom another has corrupted ! Let thy deepest damnation seize
him who brought her hither! let his coronation be upon the very mount of torment!
and the rain of fiery hail be his salutation ?
He shall be crowned with thorns poisoned
and anguish-bearing; and every woe beat
upon him, and every wave of hell roll over
the first risings of baffled hope. Thy guilty
thoughts, and guilty deeds, shall flit after
thee with bows which never break, and
quivers forever emptying but never exhausted! If Satan hath one dart more
poisoned than another; if God hath one
bolt more transfixing and blasting than another ; if there be one hideous spirit more
unrelenting than others ; they shall be thine>
most execrable wretch ! who led her to forsake the guide of her youth, and to abandon
the covenant of her God.
II. The next injunction of God to the
young is upon the ensnaring danger of
Beauty. Desire not her beauty in thy heart,
neither let her take thee with her eyelids.
God did not make so much of nature with
exquisite beauty, or put within us a taste for
it, without object. He meant that it should
delight us. He made every flower to charm
us. He never made a color, nor graceful-

ig2

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

flying bird, nor silvery insect, without meaning to please our taste. W h e n H e clothes
a man or woman with beauty, H e confers a
favor, did we k n o w how to receive it.
Beauty, with amiable dispositions and. ripe
intelligence, is m o r e to any woman than a
queen's crown. T h e peasant's daughter, t h e
rustic belle, if they have woman's sound
discretion, m a y be rightfully prouder than
k i n g s ' d a u g h t e r s ; for God adorns those w h o
are both good and beautiful; man can only
conceal the want of beauty, by blazing
jewels.
A s moths and tiny insects flutter around
t h e bright blaze which was kindled for no
harm, so the foolish y o u n g , fall down burned
and destroyed by the blaze of beauty. A s
the flame which burns to destroy the insect,
is consuming itself and soon sinks into the
socket, so beauty, too often, draws on itself
t h a t ruin which it inflicts upon others.
If God hath given thee, beauty, t r e m b l e ;
for it is as gold in thy house—thieves and
robbers will prowl around and seek to possess it. If God hath put beauty before thine
eyes, remember how many strong men have
been cast down wounded by it. A r t thou
stronger than D a v i d ? A r t thou stronger
than m i g h t y patriarchs?—than k i n g s and
princes, who, by its fascinations, have lost
peace and purity, and honor, a n d riches, and

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

armies, and even kingdoms? Let other
men's destruction be thy wisdom; for it is
hard to reap prudence upon the field of
experience.
III. In the minute description of this
dangerous creature, mark next how seriously
we are cautioned of her WILES.

Her wiles of dress. Coverings of tapestry
and the fine linen of Egypt are hers; the
perfumes of myrrh and aloes and cinnamon.
Silks and ribbons, laces and rings, gold and
equipage ; ah ! how mean a price for damnation. The wretch who would be hung
simply for the sake of riding to the gallows
on a golden chariot, clothed in king's raiment—what a fool were he ! Yet how many
consent to enter the chariot of Death,—
drawn by the fiery steeds of lust which
fiercely fly, and stop not for food or breath
till they have accomplished their fatal
journey—if they may spread their seat
with flowery silks, or flaunt their forms with
glowing apparel and precious jewels!
Her wiles of speech. Beasts may not
speak; this honor is too high for them.
To God's imaged son this prerogative belongs, to utter thought and feeling in articulate sounds. We may breathe our
thoughts to a thousand ears, and infect a
multitude with the best portions of our
soul. How, then, has this soul's breath,
13

1^4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

this echo of our t h o u g h t s , this only image
of our feelings, been perverted, that from
the lips of sin it hath more persuasion, than
from the lips of wisdom ! W h a t horrid
wizard hath put the world under a spell
and charm, t h a t words from the lips of a
STRANGE WOMAN shall ring upon the ear
like tones of m u s i c ; while words from the
divine lips of religion fall upon the startled
ear like the funeral tones of the burial-bell !
Philosophy seems crabbed ; sin, fair. Purity
sounds morose and c r o s s ; but from the
lips of the harlot, words drop as honey, and
flow smoother than o i l ; her speech is fair,
her laugh is m e r r y as music. T h e eternal
glory of purity has no lustre, but the deep
damnation of lust is made as bright as the
gate of heaven 5
Her wiles of LOVE. L o v e is t h e mind's
light and h e a t ; it is that tenuous air in
which all the other faculties exist, as we
exist in the atmosphere. A mind of t h e
greatest stature without love, is like t h e
h u g e pyramid of Egypt—chill and cheerless in all its dark halls and passages. A
mind with love, is as a king's palace lighted
for a royal festival.
S h a m e ! that t h e sweetest of all the
mind's attributes should be suborned to sin !
that this daughter of God should become a
Ganymede to arrogant l u s t s ! — t h e c u p -

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

bearer to t y r a n t s ! — y e t so it is. Devilt e m p t e r ! will thy poison never c e a s e ? —
shall beauty be poisoned ?—shall language
be charmed ?—shall love be made to defile
like pitch, and burn as the living coals?
H e r tongue is like a bended bow, which
sends the silvery shaft of flattering words.
H e r eyes shall cheat thee, her dress shall
beguile thee, her beauty is a trap, her sighs
are baits, her words are lures, her love is
poisonous, her flattery is the spider's web
spread for thee. O h ! trust not thy heart
nor ear with D e l i l a h ! T h e locks of t h e
mightiest Samson are soon shorn off, if he
will b u t lay his slumbering head upon her
lap. H e who could slay heaps upon heaps
of Philistines, and bear upon his h u g e
shoulders the ponderous iron-gate, and pull
down the vast temple, was yet too weak to
contend with one wicked artful woman !
T r u s t the sea with t h y tiny boat, trust the
fickle wind, trust the changing skies of
April, trust the miser's generosity, the tyrant's m e r c y ; b u t ah ! simple man, trust
not thyself near the artful woman, armed
in her beauty, her cunning raiment, her
dimpled smiles, her sighs of sorrow, her
look of love, her voice of flattery;—for if'
thou hadst the strength of ten Ulysses, unless God help thee, Calypso shall m a k e thee
fast, and hold thee in her island!

IOy6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

Next beware the wile of her reasonings.
To him that wanteth ztnderstanding she
saith, stolen waters are sweet, and bread
£ate?i in secret is pleasant. I came forth to
meet thee, and I have found thee.
What says she in the credulous ear of
inexperience ? Why, she tells him that sin
is safe; she swears to him that sin is pure ;
she protests to him that sin is innocent.
Out of history she will entice him, and say:
Who hath ever refused my meat-offerings
and drink-offerings ? What king have I not
sought ? What conqueror have I not conquered ? Philosophers have not, in all their
wisdom, learned to hate me. I have been
the guest of the world's greatest men. The
Egyptian priest, the Athenian sage, the
Roman censor, the rude Gaul, have all
worshipped in my temple. Art thou afraid
to tread where Plato trod, and the pious
Socrates ? Art thou wiser than all that ever
lived ?
Nay, she readeth the Bible to him ; she
goeth back along the line of history, and
readeth of Abraham, and of his glorious
compeers; she skippeth past Joseph with
averted looks, and readeth of David and of
Solomon; and whatever chapter tells how
good men stumbled, there she has turned
down a leaf, and will persuade thee, with
honeyed speech, that the best deeds of

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

good men were their sins, and that thou
shouldst only imitate them in their stumbling and falls !
Or, if the Bible will not cheat thee, how
will she plead thine own nature ; how will
she whisper, God hath made thee so. How.
like her father, will she lure thee to pluck
the apple, saying, Thou shalt not surely die*
And she will hiss at virtuous men, and spit
on modest women, and shake her serpenttongue at any purity which shall keep thee
from her ways. Oh ! then, listen to what
God says: With much fair speech she
causeth him to yield; with the flattery of her
lips she forced him. He goeth after her as
an ox goeth. to slaughter, or as a fool to the
correction of the stocks, till a dart strike
through his liver,—as a bird hasteth to a
snare and knoweth not that it is for his

life.
I will point only to another wile. When
inexperience has been beguiled by her infernal machinations, how, like a flock of
startled birds, will spring up late regrets,
and shame, and fear; and worst of all, howwill conscience ply her scorpion-whip and
lash thee, uttering with stern visage, "thou
art dishonored, thou art a wretch, thou art
lost!" When the soul is full of such outcry, memory cannot sleep; she wakes, and
while conscience still plies the scourge, will

!o8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

bring back to thy thoughts, youthful purity,
home, a mother's face, a sister's love, a
father's counsel. Perhaps it is out of the
high heaven that thy mother looks down
to see thy baseness. O h ! if she has a
mother's heart,—nay, but she cannot weep
for thee there!
These wholesome pains, not to be felt if
there were not yet health in the mind,
would save the victim, could they have
time to work. But how often have I seen
the spider watch, from his dark round hole,
the struggling fly, until he began to break his
web ; and then dart out to cast his long
lithe arms about him, and fasten new cords
stronger than ever. So, God saith, the
strange woman shall secure her ensnared
victims, if they struggle : Lest thou shouldst
ponder the path of life, her ivays are movable
that thou canst not know them.
She is afraid to see thee soberly thinking
of leaving her, and entering the path of life;
therefore her ways are movable. She multiplies devices, she studies a thousand new
wiles, she has some sweet word for every
sense—obsequience for thy pride, praise
for thy vanity, generosity for thy selfishness, religion for thy conscience, racy quips
for thy wearisomeness, spicy scandal for
thy curiosity. She is never still, nor the
same; but evolving as many shapes as the

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

rolling cloud and as m a n y colors as dress
t h e wide prairie.
I V . H a v i n g disclosed her wiles, let m e
show you what God says of the chances of
escape to those who once follow her : None
that go unto Iter return again, neither take
they hold of the paths of life. T h e strength
of this language was not meant absolutely
to exclude hope from those who, having
wasted their substance in riotous living,
would yet return ; but to warn the unfallen,
into what an almost hopeless gulf they
plunge, if t h e y venture. S o m e m a y escape
— a s here and there a mangled sailor crawls
out of the water upon the beach,—the only
one or two of the whole c r e w ; the rest are
gurgling in the wave with impotent struggles, or already sunk to the bottom. T h e r e
are m a n y evils which hold their victims b y
the force of habit; there are others which
fasten t h e m by breaking their return to society. M a n y a person never reforms, b e cause reform would bring no relief. T h e r e
are other evils which hold men to t h e m ,
because t h e y are like the beginning of a
fire; they tend to burn with fiercer and
wider flames, until all fuel is consumed, and
g o out only when there is nothing to burn.
Of this last kind is the sin of licentiousness ;
and when the conflagration once b r e a k s
out, experience has shown, what the Bible

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

long ago declared, that the chances of reformation are few indeed. The certainty
of continuance is so great, that the chances
of escape are dropped from the calculation ;
and it is said roundly, NONE THAT GO UNTO
HER RETURN AGAIN.

V. We are repeatedly warned against
the strange woman's HOUSE.

There is no vice like licentiousness, to
delude with the most fascinating proffers of
delight, and fulfil the promise with the
most loathsome experience. All vices at
the beginning are silver-tongued, but none
so impassioned as this. All vices in the
•end cheat their dupes, but none with such
-overwhelming disaster as licentiousness.
I shall describe by an allegory, its specious
•seductions, its plausible promises, its
.apparent innocence,'its delusive safety, its
deceptive joys,—their change, their sting,
their flight, their misery, and the victim's
ruin.
Her HOUSE has been cunningly planned
by an EVIL ARCHITECT to attract and please
the attention. It stands in a vast garden
full of enchanting objects. It shines in
glowing colors, and seems full of peace
and full of pleasure. All the signs are of
unbounded enjoyment—safe, if not innocent.
Though every beam is rotten, and the house
*s the house of death, and in it are all the

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

vicissitudes of infernal m i s e r y ; yet to the
y o u n g it appears a palace of d e l i g h t
They
will not believe that death can lurk b e h i n d
so brilliant a fabric. T h o s e w h o are within, look out and pine to r e t u r n ; and those
w h o are without, look in and pine to enter.
Such is the mastery of deluding sin.
T h a t part of t h e garden which borders
on the h i g h w a y of innocence is carefully
planted. T h e r e is not a poison-weed, nor
thorn, nor thistle there.
Ten thousand
flowers bloom, and waft a thousand odors.
A victim cautiously inspects it; but it has
been too carefully patterned upon innocency
to be easily detected. This outer garden is
innocent;-—innocence is the lure to wile you
from the path into her grounds ;—innocence
is the bait of that trap by which she h a s
secured all her victims. A t the gate standsa comely porter, saying blandly : Whoso is
simple let him turn in hither.
Will the y o u t h
enter ? Will he seek her house ? T o himself he says, " I will enter only to see the
garden,—its fruits, its flowers, its birds, its
arbors, its warbling fountains ! " H e is r e solved in virtue. H e seeks wisdom, not
pleasure I — D u p e ! you are deceived already ; and this is your first lesson of wisdom. H e passes, and the porter leers behind 5
him ! H e is within an E n c h a n t e r ' s garden \
Can he not now return, if he wishes ?—he

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TO YOUNG MEN

will not wish to return, until it is too late.
H e ranges the outer garden near to the highway, thinking as he w a l k s : " H o w foolishly
have I been alarmed at pious lies about this
beautiful place ! I heard it was H e l l : I find
it is Paradise ! "
E m b o l d e n e d b y the innocency of his first
steps, he explores the garden further from
the road. T h e flowers grow richer; their
odors exhilarate; the very fruit breathes
perfume like flowers ; and birds seem intoxicated with delight a m o n g the fragrant
shrubs and loaded trees. Soft and silvery
music steals along the air. " A r e angels
singing ?—Oh ! fool that I was, to fear this
place ; it is all the heaven I need ! Ridiculous priest, to tell me that death was here,
w h e r e all is beauty, fragrance, and m e l o d y !
Surely, death never lurked in so. gorgeous
apparel as t h i s ! D e a t h is grim, acid hideous ! " H e has come near to the strange
w o m a n ' s HOUSE. If it was beautiful from
afar, it is celestial now ; for his eyes are bewitched with magic. W h e n our passions
enchant us, how beautiful is the way to
death ! In every window are sights of pleasure ; from every opening, issue sounds of
j o y — t h e lute, the harp, bounding feet, and
echoing laughter. N y m p h s have descried
this Pilgrim of t e m p t a t i o n ; — t h e y smile and
beckon. W h e r e are his resolutions n o w ?

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

This is t h e virtuous y o u t h w h o came t o
observe!
H e h a s already seen t o o m u c h !
but he will see m o r e ; h e will taste, feel, r e gret, weep, wail, die ! T h e most beautiful
n y m p h that eye ever rested on, approaches
with decent guise a n d modest gestures, t o
give him hospitable welcome. F o r a moment h e recalls his h o m e , his mother, his
sister-circle; b u t t h e y seem far-away, dim,
powerless ! I n t o his ear t h e beautiful herald pours the sweetest sounds of love : " Y o u
are welcome here, and worthy ! Y o u have
early wisdom, t o break t h e bounds of superstition, and t o seek these g r o u n d s where
s u m m e r never ceases, and sorrow never
comes ! H a i l ! and welcome to t h e H o u s e
of p l e a s u r e ! " T h e r e seemed t o be a r e sponse to these words ; the house, the trees,
and t h e very air, seemed to echo, " Hail !
and welcome ! " I n t h e stillness which followed, h a d the victim been less intoxicated,
he might have heard a clear a n d solemn
voice which seemed to fall straight down
from h e a v e n : C O M E NOT NIGH T H E DOOR O F
H E R HOUSE. H E R HOUSE IS T H E WAY T O
H E L L , GOING DOWN TO T H E CHAMBERS O F
DEATH!

It is t o o
shall never
straightway
ter; or as

l a t e ! H e has gone in,—who
return. He goeth after her
as an ox goeth to the slaugha fool to the correction of the

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

stocks . . . and knozvethnot that it is for
his life.
Enter with me, in imagination, the strange
woman's HOUSE—where, God grant you
may never enter in any other way. There
are five wards—Pleasure, Satiety, Discovery,
Disease, and Death.
Ward of Pleasure.-—The eye is dazzled
with the magnificence of its apparel,—elastic velvet, glossy silks, burnished satin,
crimson drapery, plushy carpets. Exquisite pictures glow upon the walls, carved
marble adorns every niche. The inmates
are deceived by these lying shows ; they
dance, they sing; with beaming eyes they
utter softest strains of flattery and graceful
compliment. They partake the amorous
wine, and the repast which loads the table.
They eat, they drink, they are blithe and
merry. Surely, they should be; for after
this brief hour, they shall never know purity nor joy again ! For this moment's revelry, they are selling heaven ! The strange
woman walks among her guests in all her
charms ; fans the flame of joy, scatters grateful odors, and urges on the fatal revelry.
As her poisoned wine is quaffed, and the
gay creatures begin to reel, the torches wane
and cast but a twilight. One by one, the
guests grow somnolent; and, at length,
they all repose. Their cup is exhausted,

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

their pleasure is forever over, life has exhaled to an essence, and that is c o n s u m e d !
W h i l e they sleep, servitors, practised to t h e
work, remove them all to another W a r d .
Ward of Satiety.—-Here reigns a bewildering twilight t h r o u g h which can hardly be
discerned the wearied inmates, yet sluggish
upon their couches. Overflushed with dance,
sated with wine and fruit, a fitful drowsiness
vexes them. T h e y wake, to c r a v e ; they
taste, to l o a t h e ; they sleep, to dream ; they
wake again from unquiet visions. T h e y
long for the sharp taste of pleasure, so
grateful yesterday. Again they sink, repining to sleep ; by starts, they rouse at an
ominous dream ; b y starts, they hear strange
cries ! T h e fruit burns and torments ; the
wine shoots sharp pains t h r o u g h their pulse.
Strange wonder fills them. T h e y remember
the, recent joy, as a reveller in the morning
thinks of his midnight-madness. T h e glowing garden and the banquet now seem all
stripped and gloomy. T h e y meditate ret u r n ; pensively they long for their native
s p o t ! A t sleepless moments, mighty resolutions form,—substantial as a dream.
M e m o r y grows dark. H o p e will not
shine. T h e past is not pleasant; t h e present is wearisome ; and the future gloomy.
The Ward of Discovery,—In
t h e third
ward no deception remains. T h e floors are

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

bare ; the naked walls drip filth ; the air is
poisonous with sickly fumes, and echoes
with mirth concealing hideous misery.
N o n e supposes that he has been happy.
T h e past seems like the dream of the miser,
who gathers gold spilled like rain upon the
road, and wakes, clutching his bed, and
crying " w h e r e is i t ? " On y o u r right
hand, as you enter, close b y the door, is a
g r o u p of fierce felons in deep drink with
d r u g g e d liquor. W i t h red and swollen
faces, or white and thin ; or scarred with
ghastly c o r r u p t i o n ; with scowling brows,
baleful eyes, bloated lips and demoniac
grins;—in person all uncleanly, in morals
all debauched, in peace, b a n k r u p t — t h e
desperate wretches wrangle one with the
other, swearing bitter oaths, and heaping
reproaches each upon each ! A r o u n d the
room y o u see miserable creatures unappareled, or dressed in rags, sobbing and
moaning. T h a t one who gazes out at the
window, calling for her mother and weeping, was right tenderly and purely bred.
She has been baptized twice,—once to God,
and once to t h e Devil. She s o u g h t this
place in the very vestments of God's house.
" Call not on t h y mother ! she is a saint in
Heaven, and cannot hear thee ! " Yet, all
night long she dreams of home, and childhood, and wakes to sigh and w e e p ; and

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

between her sobs, she cries " mother!
mother!"
Yonder is a youth, once a servant at
God's altar. His hair hangs tangled and
torn ; his eyes are bloodshot; his face is
livid; his fist is clenched. All the day, he
wanders up and down, cursing sometimes
himself, and sometimes the wretch that
brought him hither; and when he sleeps,
he dreams of Hell; and then he wakes to
feel all he dreamed. This is the Ward of
reality. All know why the first rooms
looked so gay—they were enchanted ! It
was enchanted wine they drank; and
enchanted fruit they ate : now they know
the pain of fatal food in every limb!
Ward of Disease.—Ye that look wistfully at the pleasant front of this terrific
house, come with me now, and look long
into the terror of this Ward ; for here are
the seeds of sin in their full harvest form !
We are in a lazar-room; its air oppresses
every sense; its sights confound our
thoughts; its sounds pierce our ear; its
stench repels us; it is full of diseases.
Here a shuddering wretch is clawing at his
breast, to tear away that worm which gnaws
his heart. By him is another, whose limbs
are dropping from his ghastly trunk. Next,
swelters another in reeking filth; his eyes
rolling in bony sockets, every breath a

208

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

pang, and every p a n g a groan. But yonder, on a pile of rags, lies one whose yells
of frantic agony appall every ear.
Clutching his rags with spasmodic grasp, his
swollen t o n g u e lolling from a blackened
mouth, his bloodshot eyes glaring and rolling, he shrieks o a t h s ; now blaspheming
God, and now imploring him. H e h o o t s
and shouts, and shakes his grisly head from
side to side, cursing or p r a y i n g ; now calling death, and then, as if driving away
fiends, yelling, a v a u n t ! a v a u n t !
A n o t h e r has been ridden by pain, until
h e can no longer s h r i e k ; but lies foaming
and grinding his teeth, and clenches his
bony hands, until the nails pierce the palm
— t h o u g h there is no blood there to issue
out—trembling all the time with the s h u d ders and chills of utter agony. T h e h a p piest wretch in all this W a r d , is an I d i o t ;
—dropsical, distorted, and m o p i n g ; all day
he wags his head, and chatters, and l a u g h s ,
and bites his n a i l s ; then he will sit
fqr hours motionless, with open jaw,
and glassy eye fixed on vacancy. In this
W a r d are huddled all the diseases of PLEASURE. T h i s is the torture-room of t h e
strange woman's H o u s e , and it excels the
Inquisition. T h e wheel, the r a c k ; the bed
of knives, the roasting fire, the brazen room
slowly heated, the slivers driven under the

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

nails, the hot pincers,—what are these to
the agonies of the last days of licentious
vice ? Hundreds of rotting wretches-would
change their couch of torment in the
strange woman's House, for the gloomiest
terror of the Inquisition, and profit by the
change. Nature herself becomes the tormentor. Nature, long trespassed on and
abused, at length casts down the wretch;
searches every vein, makes a road of every
nerve for the scorching feet of pain to travel
on, pulls at every muscle, breaks in the
breast, builds fires in the brain, eats out the
skin, and casts living coals of torment on
the heart. What are hot pincers to the
envenomed claws of disease? What is it
to be put into a pit of snakes and slimy
toads, and feel their coid coil or piercing
fang, to the creeping of a whole body of
vipers?-—where every nerve is a viper, and
every vein a viper, and every muscle a serpent; and the whole body, in all its parts,
coils and twists upon itself in unimaginable
anguish ? I tell you, there is no Inquisition so bad as that which the Doctor looks
upon ! Young man ! I can show you in
this Ward worse pangs than ever a savage
produced at the stake !—than ever a tyrant
wrung out by engines of torment!—than
ever an inquisitor devised! Every year,
in every town, die wretches scalded and

2io

^

LECTURES

TO YOUNG ME1ST

scorched with agony. Were the sum of
all the pain that comes with the last stages
of vice collected, it would rend the very
heavens with its outcry; would shake the
earth; would even blanch the cheek of Infatuation ! Ye that are listening in the garden of this strange woman, among her
cheating flowers; ye that are dancing in
her halls in the first Ward, come hither ;
look upon her fourth Ward—its vomited
blood, its sores and fiery blotches, its prurient sweat, its dissolving ichor, and rotten
bones! Stop, young man ! You turn
your head from this ghastly room ; and
yet, stop !—and stop soon, or thou shalt lie
here ! mark the solemn signals of thy passage! Thou hast had already enough
of warnings in thy cheek, in thy bosom, in
thy pangs of premonition !
But ah ! every one of you who are dancing with the covered paces of death, in the
strange woman's first hall, let me break your
spell; for now I shall open the doors of the
last Ward. Look!—Listen!—Witness your
own end, unless you take quickly a warning !
Ward of Death.—No longer does the
incarnate wretch pretend to conceal her
cruelty. She thrusts—aye! as if they were
dirt—she shovels out the wretches. Some
fall headlong through the rotten floor,—a
long fall to a fiery bottom. The floor trem-

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WOMAN

211

bles to deep thunders which roll below.
Here and there, jets of flame spout up, and
give a lurid light to the murky hall. Some
would fain escape; and flying across the
treacherous floor, which man never safely
passed, they go, through pitfalls and
treacherous traps, with hideous outcries
and astounding yells, to perdition ! Fiends
laugh! The infernal laugh, the cry of
agony, the thunder of damnation, shake the
very roof and echo from wall to wall.
Oh ! that the young might see the end of
vice before they see the beginning ! I know
that you shrink from this picture; but your
safety requires that you should look long
into the Ward of Death, that fear may
supply strength to your virtue. See the
blood oozing from the wall, the fiery hands
which pluck the wretches down, the light of
hell gleaming through, and hear its roar as
of a distant ocean chafed with storms. Will
you sprinkle the wall with your blood ?•—
will you feed those flames with your flesh ?
will you add your voice to those thundering
wails ?—will you go down a prey through
the fiery floor of the chamber of death ?
Believe then the word of God : Her house is
the way to hell, going down to the chambers
of death, . . . avoid it, pass not by it,
turn from it, and pass azvay !
I have described the strange woman's

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

House in strong language, and it needed it
If your taste shrinks from the description,
so does mine. Hell, and all the ways of
hell, when we pierce the cheating disguises
and see the truth, are terrible and trying to
behold; and if men would not walk there,
neither would we pursue their steps, to
sound the alarm, and gather back whom we
can.
Allow me to close by directing your attention to a few points of especial danger.
I. I solemnly warn you against indulging
a morbid imagination. In that busy and
mischievous faculty begins the evil. Were
it not for his airy imaginations, man might
stand his own master—not overmatched by
the worst part of himself. But ah! these
summer-reveries, these venturesome dreams,
these fairy castles, builded for no good purposes,—they are haunted by impure spirits,
who will fascinate,- bewitch, and corrupt
you. Blessed are the pure in heart. Blessed
art thou, most favored of God, whose
THOUGHTS are chastened; whose imagination will not breathe or fly in tainted air;
and whose path hath been measured by the
golden reed of Purity.
May I not paint PURITY, as a saintly
virgin, in spotless white, walking with open
face, in an air so clear that no vapor can
stain it ?

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

213

" Upon her lightning-brow love proudly sitting,
Flames out in power, shines out in majesty."

Her steps are a queen's steps ; God is her
father, and thou her brother, if thou wilt
make her thine! Let thy heart be her
dwelling; wear upon thy hand her ring, and
on thy breast her talisman.
II. Next to evil imaginations, I warn the
young of evil companions. Decaying fruit
corrupts the neighboring fruit. You cannot
make your head a metropolis of base stories,,
the ear and tongue a highway of immodest
words, and yet be pure. Another, as well
as yourself, may throw a spark on the
magazine of your passions—beware how
your companions do it! No man is your
friend who will corrupt you. An impure
man is every good man's enemy—-your
deadly foe; and all the worse, if he hide his
poisoned dagger under the cloak of good
fellowship. Therefore, select your associates, assort them, winnow them, keep the
grain, and let the wind sweep away the
chaff.
III. But I warn you, with yet more soU
emn emphasis, against EVIL BOOKS and EVIL

There is in every town an undercurrent which glides beneath our feet unsuspected by the pure; out of which, notwithstanding, our sons scoop many a goblet.
Books are hidden in trunks, concealed in
PICTURES.

214

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

d a r k h o l e s ; pictures are stored in sly
.portfolios, or trafficked from hand to hand ;
a n d the handiwork of depraved art is seen
in other forms which ought to make a harlot blush.
I should think a man would loathe himself, and wake up from owning such things
a s from a horrible nightmare. T h o s e who
•circulate them are incendiaries of morality;
t h o s e who make them, equal the worst
public criminals.
A p u r e heart would
s h r i n k from these abominable things as from
death. France, where religion long ago
went out smothered in licentiousness, has
flooded the world with a species of literature
redolent of depravity. U p o n the plea of
exhibiting nature and man, novels are now
scooped out of the very lava of corrupt
passions. T h e y are true to nature, b u t to
nature as it exists in knaves and courtesans.
U n d e r a plea of humanity, we have shown
u p to us, troops of harlots, to prove that
t h e y are not so bad as purists t h i n k ; gangs
•of desperadoes, to show that there is nothing
in crime inconsistent with the noblest
feelings. W e have in F r e n c h and English
novels of the infernal school, h u m a n e murderers, lascivious saints, holy infidels, honest
robbers.
T h e s e artists never seem lost,
except when straining after a conception of
religion. Their devotion is such as might

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

215

be expected from thieves, in the purlieus of
thrice-deformed vice. E x h a u s t e d libertines
are our professors of morality. T h e y scrape
the very sediment and m u c k of society t o
mould their creatures ; and their volumesare monster-galleries, in which t h e inhabitants of old Sodom would have felt at h o m e
as connoisseurs and critics. Over loathsome
women, and unutterably vile men, h u d d l e d
together in motley groups, and over all t h e i r
monstrous deeds, their lies, their plots, their
crimes, their dreadful pleasures, their glorying conversation, is thrown the checkered
light of a hot imagination, until they glow
with an infernal lustre.
Novels of t h e
F r e n c h school, and of English imitators,
are the common-sewers of society, intowhich drain the concentrated filth of t h e
worst passions, of t h e worst creatures, of
the worst cities. Such novels come to usimpudently pretending to be reformers of
morals and liberalizers of religion ; they p r o pose to instruct our laws, and teach a discreet humanity to justice ! T h e Ten Plagueshave visited our literature; water is turned
to blood ; frogs and lice creep and h o p over
our most familiar things,—the couch, the
cradle, and the bread-trough ; locusts, m u r rain, and fire, are smiting every green thing*
I am ashamed and outraged when I think
that wretches could be found to open these

2I

6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

foreign seals, and let out their plagues upon
us—that any Satanic Pilgrim should voyage
to France to dip from the dead sea of her
abomination, a baptism for our sons. It
were a mercy to this, to import serpents
from Africa and pour them out on our
prairies ; lions from Asia, and free them in
our forests ; lizards and scorpions and black
tarantulas, from the Indies, and put them in
our gardens. Men could slay these, but
those offspring-reptiles of the French mind,
who can kill these ? You might as well
draw sword on a plague, or charge a malaria
with the bayonet. This black-lettered literature circulates in this town, floats in our
stores, nestles in the shops, is fingered and
read nightly, and hatches in the young mind
broods of salacious thoughts. While the
parent strives to infuse Christian purity
into his child's heart, he is anticipated by
most accursed messengers of evil; and the
heart hisses already like a nest of young
and nimble vipers.
IV. Once more, let me persuade you that
no examples in high places, can justify imitation in low places. Your purity is too
precious to be bartered, because an official
knave tempts by his example. I would that
every eminent place of state were a sphere
of light, from which should be flung down
on your path a cheering glow to guide you

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

on to virtue. But if these wandering stars,
reserved I do believe for final blackness of
darkness, wheel their malign spheres in the
orbits of corruption,—go not after them.
God is greater than wicked great men;
heaven is higher than the highest places of
nations; and if God and heaven are not
brighter to your eyes than great men in
high places, then you must take part in their
doom, when, ere long, God shall dash them
to pieces!
V. Let me beseech you, lastly, to guard
your heart-purity. Never lose it; if it be
gone, you have lost from the casket
the most precious gift of God. The first
purity of imagination, of thought, and
of feeling, if soiled, can be cleansed
by no fuller's soap ; if lost, cannot
be found, though sought carefully with
tears. If a harp be broken, art may repair
it; if a light be quenched, the flame may
enkindle it; but if a flower be crushed,
what art can repair it ?—if an odor be wafted
away, who can collect or bring it back ?
The heart of youth is a wide prairie.
Over it hang the clouds of heaven to water
it, the sun throws its broad sheets of light
upon it, to wake its life; out of its bosom
spring, the long season through, flowers of
a hundred names and hues, twining together their lovely forms, wafting to each

2i8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

other a grateful odor, and nodding each to
each in the summer-breeze. O h ! such
would man be, did he hold that purity of
heart which God gave him ! But you have
a DEPRAVED HEART. It is a vast continent;
on it are mountain-ranges of powers, and
dark deep streams, and pools, and morasses.
If once the full and terrible clouds of temptation do settle thick and fixedly upon you,
and begin to cast down their dreadful
stores, may God save whom man can never !
Then the heart shall feel tides and streams
of irresistible power, mocking its control, and
hurrying fiercely down from steep to steep,
with growing desolation. Your only resource is to avoid the uprising of your
giant-passions.
We are drawing near to a festival day,*
by the usages of ages, consecrated to celebrate the birth of Christ. At his advent,
God hung out a prophet-star in the heaven;
guided by it, the wise men journeyed from
the east and worshipped at his feet. Oh !
let the star of Purity hang out to thine eye,
brighter than the orient orb to the Magi;
let it lead thee, not to the Babe> but to His
feet who now stands in Heaven, a Prince
and Saviour! If thou hast sinned, one
look, one touch, shall cleanse thee whilst
* T h i s Lecture was delivered upon Christmas eve.

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

219

thou art worshipping, and thou shalt rise
up healed.
N O T E — T h e exceptions taken to the current reformat! on-novels
of Godwin, Bulwer, Dickens, (perhaps,) Eugene Sue, and a host of
others, require a word of explanation, i . W e do not object to
any reasonable effort at reformation, moral, social, civil, or
economical—touch is needed. So far, the design of this school of
romancers is praiseworthy. 2. But we doubt the propriety of employing fictions as an instrument; especially fictions wrought to
produce a stage-effect, a violent thrill, rather than a conviction.
These works affect the feelings
more than the opinions.
3.
Nine-tenths of novel-readers are the young, the unreflecting, or
those whose hearts have been macadamized by the incessant
tramping of ten times ten thousand heroes and heroines, marching
across their feelings. Efforts at reformation should be directed to
other readers than these. , 4. But the worst is yet to be told.
Under the pretence of social reformations, the most flagitious vices
are inculcated. There can be no doubt of it. An analysis of the
best characters would give pride, lawlessness, passion, revenge,
lusts, hypocrisies ; in short, a catalogue of vices. Eugene Sue seeks
to raise the operatives, to show the ruinous partiality of law, the
hideous evils of prisons, & c , &c. T h e design appears well. W h a t
part of this design are the constant and deliberate lies of Rodolphe,
the hero ? T h i s wandering prince coolly justifies himself in putting
out a man's eyes, because the law would slay him if delivered up !
—provides means for decoying convicts from prison !—sets on
foot atrocious deceptions, to crush deceptions. This is the
best character in the far-famed Mysteries of Paris. Unquestionably the purest woman is Goualeuse, redeemed from prostitution 1 Madame Lucenay lives in unblushing adultery with Saint
R e m y , who proves to be a forger ! W e are edified by a scene of
noble indignation and virtue, in which this woman, who has violated the most sacred instincts, and all the sanctities of the family,
teaches R e m y his degradation for violating civil laws ! Admirable
reform ! An unblushing adulteress preaches so well to her paramour
forger ! T h e diabolical voluptuousness of Cecily—the assignations
of the pure Madame D'Harville—the astonishing reformations produced in a single hour, in which harlots turn vestals, murderers
philanthropists, poachers and marauders more honest than honest
men—these are but specimens of the instruments by which this
new and popular reform is changing our morals, and Christianizing us 1 W h a t then shall be said of the works of George Sand,
Masson, D u m a s , M. de Balsac and others like them, by whose
side Eugene Sue is an angel of purity ? A bookseller in a large city
on the Ohio river, on being asked, of what work he sold the most,
replied —" of Paul de Kock I"—the literary prince of nastiness.

1

POPULAR A M U S E M E N T S

Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart
cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the
ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes;
but know thou, that for all these things God will
bring thee into judgment. Eccl. xi. 9.

I

AM to venture the delicate task of reprehension, always unwelcome, but peculiarly offensive upon topics of public
popular amusement. I am anxious, in the
beginning,* to put myself right with the
young. If I satisfy myself, Christian men,
and the sober community, and do not satisfy them, my success will be like a physician's, whose prescriptions please himself,
and the relations, and do good to everybody except the patient,—he dies.
Allow me, first of all, to satisfy you that
I am not meddling with matters which do '
not concern me. This is the impression
which the patrons and partners of criminal
amusements study to make upon your
minds. They represent our duty to be in
(221)

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TO YOUNG MEN

the church,—taking
care of doctrines, and
of our own members.
W h e n more than
this is attempted ; when we speak a word
for you w h o are not church-members, we
are met with the surly answer, " W h y do
you meddle with things which don't concern you ? If you do not enjoy these
pleasures, w h y do you molest those w h o
do ? M a y not men do as t h e y please in
a free country, without being h u n g up in
a gibbet of public remark ? "
It is conveniently forgotten, I suppose, that in a
free country we have the same right to
criticise pleasure, which others have to
enjoy it. Indeed, you and I both know,
y o u n g gentlemen, that in coffee-house circles, and in convivial feasts nocturnal, the
Church is regarded as little better than a
spectacled old beldam, whose impertinent
eyes are spying everybody's business b u t
her o w n ; and who, too old or too h o m e l y
to be tempted herself, with compulsory virtue, pouts at the joyous dalliances of the
y o u n g and gay. Religion is called a nun,
sable with gloomy v e s t m e n t s ; and the
C h u r c h a cloister, where ignorance is
deemed innocence, and which sends out
querulous reprehensions of a world, which
it knows nothing about, and has professedly abandoned.
T h i s is p r e t t y ; and is
only defective, in not being true. T h e

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

Church is not a cloister, nor her members
recluses, nor are our censures of vice intermeddling. Not to dwell in generalities, let
us take a plain and common case :
A strolling company offer to educate our
youth; and to show the community the
road of morality, which, probably they have
not seen themselves for twenty years. We
cannot help laughing at a generosity so
much above one's means: and when they
proceed to hew and hack each other with
rusty iron, to teach our boys valor; and
dress up practical mountebanks, to teach
theoretical virtue; if we laugh somewhat
more, they turn upon us testily: Do you
mind your own business\ and leave its with
ours. We do not interfere with your preaching, do you let alone our acting.
But softly—may not religious people
amuse themselves with very diverting men ?
I hope it is not bigotry to have eyes and
ears: I hope it is not fanaticism, in the
use of these excellent senses, for us to
judge that throwing one's heels higher than
their head a-dancing, is not exactly the way
to teach virtue to our daughters ; and that
women, whose genial warmth of temperament has led them into a generosity something too great, are not the persons to teach
virtue, at any rate. Oh ! no ; we are told,
Christians must not know that all this is

224

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

very singular. Christians ought to think
that men who are kings and dukes and
philosophers on the stage, are virtuous
men, even if they gamble at night, and are
drunk all day; and if men are so used to
comedy, that their life becomes a perpetual
farce on morality, we have no right to laugh
at this extra professional acting!
Are we meddlers, who only seek the
good of our own families, and of our own
community where we live and expect to
die ? or they, who wander up and down
without ties of social connection, and without aim, except of money to be gathered
off from men's vices ?
- I am anxious to put all religious men in
their right position before you ; and in this
controversy between them and the gay
world, to show you the facts upon both
sides. A floating population, in pairs or
companies, without leave asked, blow the
trumpet for all our youth to flock to their
banners ! Are they related to them ?—are
they concerned in the welfare of our town ?
—do they live among us?—do they
bear any part of our burdens ?—do
they care for our substantial citizens?
We grade our streets, build our schools,
support all our municipal laws, and the
young men are ours ; our sons, our brothers, our wards, clerks, or apprentices; they

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

are living in our houses, our stores, our
shops, and we are their guardians, and take
care of them in health, and watch them in
sickness ; yet every vagabond who floats in
hither, swears and swaggers, as if they were
all his : and when they offer to corrupt all
these youth, we paying them round sums
of money for it, and we get courage finally
to say that we had rather not; that industry and honesty are better than expert
knavery—they turn upon us in great indignation with, Why don't you mind your own
business—what are you meddling with otir
affairs for ?
I will suppose a case. With much painstaking, I have saved enough money to buy
a little garden-spot. I put all around it a
good fence—I put the spade into it and
mellow the soil full deep; I go to the
nursery and pick out choice fruit trees—I
send abroad and select the best seeds of the
rarest vegetables; and so my garden thrives.
I know every inch of it, for I have watered
every inch with sweat. One morning I am
awakened by a mixed sound of sawing,
digging, and delving; and looking out, I
see a dozen men at work in my garden. I
run down and find one man sawing out a
huge hole in the fence. " M y dear sir,
what are you doing ?" " Oh, this high fence
is very troublesome to climb over; I am
*5

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TO YOUNG MEN

fixing an easier way for folks to get in."
Another man has headed down several
choice trees, and is putting in new grafts.
" Sir, what are you changing the kind for ? "
" Oh, this kind don't suit me ; I like a new
kind." One man is digging up my beans,
to plant cockles; another is rooting up my
strawberries, to put in parsley; and another
is destroying my currants, and gooseberries,
and raspberries, to plant mustard and Jamestown weed. At last, I lose all patience,
and cry out, " Well, gentlemen, this will
never do. I will never tolerate this
abominable imposition; you are ruining
my garden." One of them says, " You old
hypocritical bigot! do mind your business,
and let us enjoy ourselves. Take care of
your house, and do not pry into our pleasures."
Fellow-citizens ! I own that no man could
so invade your garden ; but men ate allowed thus to invade our town, and destroy
our children. You will let them evade
your laws, to fleece and demoralize you ;
and you sit down under their railing, as
thoughyou were the intruders!—just as if
the man, who drives a thief out of his
house, ought to ask the rascal's pardon for
interfering with his little plans of pleasure
and profit!
Every parent has a right—every citizen

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

and every minister has the same right, to
expose traps, which men have to set them;
the same right to prevent mischief, which
men have to plot it; the same right to
attack vice, which vice has to attack virtue;
a better right to save our sons and brothers,
and companions, than artful men have to
destroy them.
The necessity of amusement, is admitted
on all hands. There is an appetite of the
eye, of the ear, and of every sense, for
which God has provided the material.
Gaiety of every degree, this side of puerile
levity, is wholesome to the body, to the
mind, and to the morals. Nature is a vast
repository of manly enjoyments. The
magnitude of God's works is not less admirable than its exhilarating beauty. The
rudest forms have something of beauty;
the ruggedest strength is graced with some
charm; the very pins, and rivets, and clasps
of nature, are attractive by qualities of
beauty more than is necessary for mere
utility. The sun could go down without
gorgeous clouds; evening could advance
without its evanescent brilliance; trees
might have flourished without symmetry;
flowers have existed without odor, and
fruit without flavor. When I have journeyed through forests, where ten thousand
shrubs and vines exist without apparent

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

use; through prairies, whose undulations
^exhibit sheets of flowers innumerable, and
absolutely dazzling the eye with their
prodigality of beauty—beauty, not a tithe
•of which is ever seen by man—I have said,
it is plain that God is himself passionately
fond of beauty, and the earth is his garden,
as an acre is man's. God has made us like
Himself, to be pleased by the universal
beauty of the world. He has made provision in nature, in society, and in the family, for amusement and exhilaration enough
to fill the heart with the perpetual sunshine
•of delight.
Upon this broad earth, purfled with
flowers, scented with odors, brilliant in
colors, vocal with echoing and re-echoing
melody, I take my stand against all
demoralizing pleasure. Is it not enough
thar our Father's house is so full of dear
•delights, that we must wander prodigal to
the swine-herd for husks, and to the slough
for drink ?—when the trees of God's
heritage bend over our head, and solicit our
liand to pluck the golden fruitage, must we
still go in search of the apples of Sodom
—outside fair, and inside ashes ?
Men shall crowd to the Circus to hear
clowns, and see rare feats of horsemanship ;
but a bird may poise beneath the very sun,
or flying downward, swoop from the high

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

heaven; then flit with graceful ease hither
and thither, pouring liquid song as if it
were a perennial fountain of sound—no
man cares for that.
Upon the stage of life, the vastest tragedies are performing in every act; nations
pitching headlong to their final catastrophe;
others, raising their youthful forms to begin
the drama of their existence. The world
of society is as full of exciting interest,
as nature is full of beauty. The great
dramatic throng of life is hustling along—
the wise, the fool, the clown, the miser, the
bereaved, the broken-hearted. Life mingles
before us smiles and tears, sighs and laughter, joy and gloom, as the spring mingles
the winter-storm and summer-sunshine.
To this vast Theatre which God hath builded,
where stranger plays are seen than ever
author writ, man seldom cares to come.
When God dramatizes, when nations act,
or all the human kind conspire to educe
the vast catastrophe, men sleep and snore,
and let the busy scene go on, unlooked,
unthought upon ; and turn from all its varied
magnificence to hunt out some candlelighted hole and gaze at drunken ranters,
or cry at the piteous virtue of harlots in
distress. It is my object then, not to withdraw the young from pleasure, but from
unworthy pleasures; not to lessen their

230

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

enjoyments, but to increase them by re~
jecting the counterfeit and the vile.
Of gambling, I have already sufficiently
spoken. Of cock-fighting, bear-baiting,
and pugilistic contests, I need to speak but
little. These are the desperate excitements
of debauched men; but no man becomes
desperately criminal, until he has been
genteelly criminal. No one spreads his
sail upon such waters, at first; these brutal
amusements are but the gulf into which
flow all the streams of criminal pleasures;
and they who embark upon the river, are
sailing toward the gulf. Wretches who
have waded all the depths of iniquity, and
burned every passion to the socket, find in
rage and blows and blood, the only stimulus
of which they are susceptible. You are
training yourselves to be just such wretches,
if you are exhausting your passions in
illicit indulgences.
As it is impossible to analyze, separately,
each vicious amusement proffered to the
young, I am compelled to select two, each
the representative of a clan. Thus, the
reasonings applied to the amusement of
Racing, apply equally well to all violent
amusements which congregate indolent and
dissipated men, by ministering intense excitement. The reasonings applied to the
Theatre, with some modifications, apply to

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

t h e Circus, to promiscuous balls, to nightreveiling, bacchanalian feasts, and to other
similar indulgences. ..;
Many, who are not in danger, may incline to turn from these p a g e s ; they live in
rural districts, in villages, or towns, and are
out of the reach of jockeys, and actors, and
gamblers. This is t h e very reason why
you should read. W e are such a migratory,
restless people, that our h o m e is usually
everywhere but at h o m e ; and almost every
y o u n g man makes annual, or biennial visits
to famous cities; conveying produce to
market, or purchasing wares and goods.
It is at such times that the y o u n g are in
extreme d a n g e r ; for they are particularly
anxious, at such times, to appear at their
full age. A y o u n g man is ashamed, in a
great hotel, to seem raw and not to k n o w
the mysteries of the bar and of t h e town.
T h e y put on a very remarkable air, which
is meant for ease; they affect profusion of
expense ; they think it meet for a gentleman to know all that certain other citygentlemen seem proud of knowing.
As
sober citizens are not found lounging at
Hotels ; and the gentlemanly part of the
travelling community are usually retiring,
modest, and unnoticeable,—the y o u n g are
left to come in contact chiefly witW a very
flash class of men who swarm about city-

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LECTURES

T6 VOUNG MEN

Restaurateurs and Hotels,—swollen clerks,
crack sportsmen, epicures, and rich, green
y o u t h , seasoning.
T h e s e are the most
n u m e r o u s class which engage the attention
of the young. T h e y bustle in the sitting
r o o m ; or crowd the bar, assume the chief
seats at the table, and play the petty lord
in a manner so brilliant, as altogether to
dazzle our poor country boy, who m o u r n s
a t his deficient education, at t h e poverty of
his rural oaths, and the meagerness of
t h o s e illicit pleasures, which h e formerly
nibbled at with mouselike stealth; and he
sighs for these riper accomplishments. Besides, it is well known, that large commercial establishments have, residing at
such hotels, well appointed clerks to draw
.customers to their counter.
It is their
business to make your acquaintance, to fish
out the probable condition of your funds, to
sweeten your temper with delicate tit-bits
of pleasure ; to take you to the Theatre, and
a little further on, if need b e ; to draw you
in to a generous supper, and initiate you to
the high life of men whose whole life is only
t h e varied phases of lust, gastronomical
or amorous.
Besides these, there lurk in such places
l y n x - e y e d p r o c u r e r s ; men who have an
interest in y o u r appetites; who look upon
a y o u n g man, with some money, just as a

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

butcher looks upon a bullock—a t h i n g of
so m a n y pounds avoirdupois, of so m u c h
beef, so much tallow, and a hide. If you
have nothing, they will have nothing to dowith y o u ; if you have means, they undertake to supply you with the disposition touse them. T h e y k n o w the city, they k n o w
its haunts, they k n o w its secret doors, its
blind passages, its spicy pleasures, its racy
vices, clear down to the mud-slime of t h e
very bottom.
Meanwhile, the accustomed restraint of
h o m e cast off, the y o u t h feels that h e is unknown, and m a y do what h e chooses, u n exposed. T h e r e is, moreover, an intense
curiosity to see m a n y things of which he
has long ago heard and wondered; and it is
the very art and education of vice, to m a k e
itself attractive. It comes with garlands of
roses about its brow, with nectar in its.
goblet, and love upon its tongue.
If you have, beforehand, "no
settled
opinions as to what is right and what is
wrong ; if y o u r j u d g m e n t is now, for the
first time, to be formed upon the propriety
of y o u r a c t i o n s ; if you are not controlled
by settled principles, there is scarcely a
chance for your purity.
F o r this purpose, then, I desire to discuss
these things, that you may settle y o u r
opinions and principles before temptation

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

assails you. A s a ship is built upon the
dry shore, which afterwards is t o dare t h e
storm and brave the sea, so would I build
you staunch and strong, ere you be launched
abroad upon life.
I. RACING. This amusement justifies its
existence by t h e plea of UTILITY. W e will
examine it upon its own ground. W h o are
the patrons of t h e Turf? — f a r m e r s ? —
laborers ?—men who are practically t h e
most interested in the improvement of stock?
T h e unerring instinct of self-interest would
lead these men to patronize t h e Course, if its
utility were real. It is notorious that these
are not the patrons of racing. I t is sustained
by two classes of men—gambling jockeys
and jaded rich men. In England, and in
our own country, where t h e turf-sports are
freshest, they owe their existence entirely to
the extraordinary excitement which they
afford to dissipation, or to cloyed appetites.
F o r those industrial purposes for which the
horse is chiefly valuable, for roadsters, hacks,
and cart-horses, what do the patrons of the
turf care ? Their whole anxiety is centred
upon winning cups and s t a k e s ; and that is
incomparably the best blood which will run
the longest space in t h e shortest time. T h e
points required for this are noty and never
will be, t h e points for substantial service.
A n d it is notorious, that racing in E n g l a n d

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

deteriorated the stock in such important
respects, that the light-cavalry and dragoonservice suffered severely, until dependence
upon turf stables was abandoned. New
England, where racing is almost unknown,
is to this day the place where the horse
exists in the finest qualities; and for all
economical purposes, Virginia and Kentucky must yield to New England. Except for the sole purpose of racing, an
Eastern horse brings a higher price than any
other.
The other class of patrons who sustain a
Course are mere gambling jockeys. As
crows to a corn-field, or vultures to their
prey; as flies to summer-sweet, so to the
annual races, flow the whole tribe of gamesters and pleasure-lovers. It is the Jerusalem of wicked men ; and thither the tribes
go up, like Israel of old, but for a far different sacrifice. No form of social abomination
is unknown or unpractised; and if all the
good that is claimed, and a hundred times
more, were done to horses, it would be a
dear bargain. To ruin men for the sake of
improving horses; to sacrifice conscience
and purity for the sake of good bones and
muscles in a beast; this is paying a little too
much for good brutes. Indeed, the shameless immorality, the perpetual and growing
dishonesty, the almost immeasurable secret

236

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TO YOUNG MEN

villany of gentlemen of t h e turf, has alarmed
and disgusted m a n y stalwart racers, who,
having no objection to some evil, are a p palled at t h e very ocean of depravity which
rolls before them. I extract t h e words of
one of the leading sportsmen of England.
"Hozv many fine domains have been shared
among these hosts of rapacious sharks, during the last tzvo hundred years ; and, unless
the system be altered, hozv many more are
doomed to fall into the same gulf!
For, we
lament to say, the evil has increased:
all
heretofore

has

been

4

TARTS

AND CHEESE-

CAKES' to the villanousproceedings
of the last*
twenty years on the English turf!'
I will drop this barbarous amusement,
with a few questions.
W h a t have you, y o u n g men, to do with
the turf, admitting it to be what it claims, a
school for horses ? A r e y o u particularly
interested in that branch of learning ?
Is it safe to accustom yourselves to such
tremendous excitement as that of racing?
Is the invariable company of such places
of a kind which you o u g h t to be found in ?
—will races make y o u more moral ?—more
industrious ?—more careful ?—economical ?
—trustworthy ?
Y o u w h o have attended t h e m , what advice would you give a y o u n g man, a y o u n g e r

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

brother for instance, w h o should seriously
ask if he had better attend ?
I digress to say one word to women.
W h e n a Course was opened at Cincinnati,
ladies would not attend i t : when one was
opened here, ladies would not attend i t :
F o r very good reasons—they were LADIES.
If it be said that they attend the Races at
the South and in E n g l a n d , I reply, that t h e y
do a great m a n y other things which you
would not choose to do.
R o m a n ladies could see h u n d r e d s of
gladiators stab and hack each other—could
you ? Spanish ladies can see savage bullfights—would y o u ? It is possible for a
modest woman to countenance very questionable practices, where the customs of
society and the universal public opinion
approve them. But no woman can set herself against public opinion, in favor of an
immoral sport, without being herself immoral ; for, if worse be wanting, it is immorality enough for a woman to put herself
where her reputation will lose its suspiciousless lustre.
II. T H E T H E A T R E .
Desperate efforts
are made, year by year, to resuscitate this
expiring evil. Its claims are put forth with
vehemence. Let us examine them.
The drama cultivates the taste. L e t the
appeal be to facts. Let the roll of English

238

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

literature be e x p l o r e d — o u r Poets, R o mancers, Historians, Essayists, Critics, and
Divines—and for what part of their m e m orable writings are we indebted to the
D r a m a ? If we except one period of our
literature, the claim is wholly g r o u n d l e s s ;
and at this day, the truth is so opposite to
t h e claim, that extravagance, affectation,
and rant, are proverbially denominated
theatrical.
If agriculture should attempt to
supersede the admirable implements of h u s bandry, now in use, b y t h e primitive plough
or sharpened sticks, it would not be more
absurd than to advocate that clumsy machine of literature, the Theatre, b y the side
of the popular lecture, the pulpit, and the*
press. It is not congenial to our age or
necessities. Its day is gone b y — i t is in its
dotage, as might be suspected, from the
weakness of the garrulous apologies which
it puts forth.
It is a school of morals.
Yes, doubtless !
So the guillotine is defended on t h e plea of
humanity. Inquisitors declare their racks
and torture-beds to be the instruments of
love, affectionately admonishing the fallen
of the error of their ways. T h e slave-trade
has been defended on the plea of humanity,
and slavery is now defended for its mercies.
W e r e it necessary for any school or party,
doubtless we should h e a r arguments to

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AMUSEMENTS

prove the Devil's grace, and the utility of
his agency among men.
But, let me settle these impudent pretensions to Theatre-virtue, by the home
thrust of a few plain questions.
Will any of you who have been to Theatres, please to tell me whether virtue ever
received important accessions from the gallery of Theatres ?
Will you tell me whether the Pit is a
place where an ordinarily modest man
would love to seat his children ?
Was ever a Theatre known where a
prayer at the opening, and a prayer at the
close,would not be tormentingly discordant ?
How does it happen, that in a school for
morals, the teachers never learn their own
lessons ?
Would you allow a son or daughter to
associate alone with actors or actresses?
Do these men who promote virtue so
zealously when acting, take any part in
public moral enterprises, when their stage
dresses are off?
Which would surprise you most, to see
actors steadily at Church, or to see Christians steadily at a Theatre? Would not
both strike you as singular incongruities?
What is the reason that loose and abandoned men abhor religion in a Church, and
love it so much in a Theatre?

240

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

Since the Theatre is the handmaid of
virtue, why are drinking houses so necessary to its neighborhood, yet so offensive to
Churches? The trustees of the Tremont
Theatre in Boston, publicly protested
against an order of council forbidding liquor
to be sold on the premises, on the ground
that it was impossible to support the Theatre without it.
I am told that Christians do attend the
Theatres. Then I will tell them the story
of the Ancients. A holy monk reproached
the devil for stealing a young man who was
found at the Theatre. He promptly replied, " I found him on my premises, and
took him."
But, it is said, if Christians would take
Theatres in hand, instead of abandoning
them to loose men, they might become the
handmaids of religion.
The Church has had an intimate acquaintance with the Theatre for eighteen
hundred years. During that period, every
available agent for the diffusion of morality
has been earnestly tried. The Drama has
been tried. The result is, that familiarity
has bred contempt and abhorrence. If,
after so long and thorough an acquaintance,
the Church stands the mortal enemy of
Theatres, the testimony is conclusive. It
is the evidence of generations speaking by

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AMUSEMENTS

the most sober, thinking, and honest men.
Let not this vagabond prostitute pollute
any longer the precincts of the Church, with
impudent proposals of alliance. When the
Church needs an alliance it will not look for
it in the kennel. Ah ! what a blissful scene
would that be—the Church and Theatre
imparadised in each other's arms ! What a
sweet conjunction would be made, could we
build our Churches so as to preach in the
morning, and play in them by night! And
how melting it would be, beyond the love
of David and Jonathan, to see minister and
actor in loving embrace; one slaying Satan
by direct thrusts of plain preaching, and
the other sucking his very life out by the
enchantment of the Drama ! To this millennial scene of Church and Theatre, I only
suggest a single improvement: that the
vestry be enlarged to a ring for a Circus,
when not wanted for prayer-meetings; that
the Sabbath-school room should be furnished with card-tables, and useful texts of
scripture might be printed on the cards, for
the pious meditations of gamblers during
the intervals of play and worship.
But if these places are put down, men will
go to worse ones. Where will they find
worse ones? Are those who go to the
Theatre, the Circus, the Race-course, the
men who abstain from worse places ? It is

242

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

notorious that the crowd of theatre-goers
are vomited upfront these worse places. It
is notorious that the Theatre is the door to
all the sinks of iniquity. It is through this
infamous place that the young learn to love
those vicious associates and practices to
which, else, they would have been strangers.
Half the victims of the gallows and of the
Penitentiary will tell you, that these schools
for morals were to them the gate of debauchery, the porch of pollution, the vestibule of the very house of Death.
The Drama makes one acquainted with
human life, and with nature. It is too
true. There is scarcely an evil incident to
human life, which may not be fully learned
at the Theatre.
Here flourishes every
variety of wit—-ridicule of sacred things,
burlesques of religion, and licentious doubleentendres. Nowhere can so much of this
lore be learned, in so short a time, as at the
Theatre. There one learns how pleasant a
thing is vice; amours are consecrated ;
license is prospered ; and the young come
away alive to the glorious liberty of conquest and lust. But the stage is not the
only place about the Drama where human
nature is learned. In the Boxes the young
may make the acquaintance of those who
abhor home and domestic quiet; of those
who glory in profusion and obtrusive dis-

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

p l a y ; of those who expend all, and more
than their earnings, upon gay clothes and
j e w e l r y ; of those w h o think it no harm to
borrow their money without leave from their
employer's till ; of those who despise vulgar
appetite, but affect polished and genteel
licentiousness. Or, he m a y go to the Pit,
and learn the whole round of villain-life from
masters in the art. H e may sit down a m o n g
thieves, blood-loving scoundrels, swindlers,
broken-down men of pleasure—the coarse,
the vulgar, the debauched, the inhuman, t h e
infernal. Or, if still more of h u m a n nature
is wished, he can learn yet m o r e ; for t h e
T h e a t r e epitomizes every degree of c o r r u p tion. Let the virtuous y o u n g scholar go t o
t h e Gallery, and learn there, decency, m o d esty, and refinement, a m o n g the quarrelling,
drunken, ogling, mincing, brutal women of
the b r o t h e l ! A h ! there is no place like
the T h e a t r e for learning human nature / A
y o u n g man can g a t h e r up more experimental knowledge here in a week, than elsewhere in half a year. But I wonder t h a t
t h e D r a m a should ever confess the fact;
and yet more, that it should lustily plead in
self-defence, that Theatres teach men so much
of human nature / H e r e are brilliant bars,
t o teach the y o u n g to d r i n k ; here are g a y
companions, to undo in half an h o u r t h e
scruples formed by an education of y e a r s ;

244

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

here are pimps of pleasure, to delude t h e
brain with bewildering sophisms of license ;
here is pleasure, all flushed in its gayest,
boldest, most fascinating forms; and few]
there be who can resist its wiles, and fewer •
'
yet who can yield to them and escape ruin.
If y o u would pervert the taste—go to the
Theatre. If you would imbibe false views
go to the Theatre. If you would efface as
speedily as possible all qualms of conscience
— g o to the Theatre. If you would put y o u r self irreconcilably against the spirit of virtue
and religion—go to the T h e a t r e . If you
would be infected with each particular vice
in the catalogue of D e p r a v i t y — g o to the
Theatre. L e t parents, who wish to m a k e
their children weary of h o m e and quiet
domestic enjoyments, take them to the
Theatre. If it be desirable for the y o u n g to
loathe industry and didactic reading, and
burn for fierce excitements, and seek them
by stealth or t h r o u g h pilferings, if need be
— t h e n send t h e m to t h e Theatre. It is
notorious that the bill of fare at these temples of pleasure is made up to the taste of
the lower appetites; that low comedy, and
lower farce, running into absolute obscenity,
are the only means of filling a house.
T h e a t r e s which should exhibit nothing b u t
the classic D r a m a , would exhibit it to empty
seats.
T h e y must be corrupt, to l i v e ;

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

and those who attend them will be corrupted.
< Let me turn your attention to several
reasons which should incline every young
man to forswear such criminal amusements.
I. The first reason is, their waste of time,
I do not mean that they waste only the
time consumed while you are within them;
but they make you waste your time afterwards. You will go once, and wish to go
again ; you will go twice, and seek it a third
time; you will go a third time,—a fourth;
and whenever the bill flames, you will be
seized with a restlessness and craving to go,
until the appetite will become a passion.
You will then waste your nights : your
mornings being heavy, melancholy,, and
stupid, you will waste them. Your day
will next be confused and crowded: your
duties poorly executed or deferred; habits
of arrant shiftlessness will ensue; and day
by day, industry will grow tiresome^ and
leisure sweeter, until you are a waster of
time—an idle man ; and if not a rogue, you
will be a fortunate exception.
II. You ought not to countenance these
things because they will waste your money.
Young gentlemen ! squandering is as shameful as hoarding. A fool can throw away,
and a fool can lock up ; but it is a wise man,
who, neither parsimonious nor profuse>

246

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

steers the middle course of generous econo m y and frugal liberality. A y o u n g man, at
first, thinks that all he spends at such places,
is the ticket-price of the Theatre, or the
small bet on the r a c e s ; and this h e k n o w s
is not much. But this is certainly not t h e
whole bill—nor half
First, you pay y o u r entrance. But there
are a thousand petty luxuries which one
must not neglect, or custom will call him
niggard. Y o u must b u y y o u r cigars, and
y o u r friend's. You must b u y your juleps,
and treat in your turn. Y o u must occasionally wait on your lady, and she must be
comforted with divers confections.
You
cannot go to such places in homely w o r k ing dress ; new and costlier clothes must b e
bought. All your companions have jewelry,
— y o u will want a ring, or a seal, or a gold
watch, or an ebony cane, a silver toothpick,
or quizzing glass. T h u s , item presses upon
item, and in the year a long bill runs up of
money spent for little trifles.
But if all this money could buy you off
from the yet worse effects, the bargain
would not be so dear. But compare, if you
please, this mode of expenditure with the
principle of your ordinary expense. In all
ordinary and business-transactions you get
an equivalent for y o u r money,—either food
for support, or clothes for comfort, or per-

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

nianent property. But when a y o u n g m a n
has spent one or two hundred dollars for
t h e Theatre, Circus, Races, Balls, and revelling, what has he to show for it at the end
of the year ? N o t h i n g at all good, and
much that is bad. Y o u sink )/our m o n e y
as really as if you threw it into the s e a ;
and you do it in such a way that you form
habits of careless expense.
You lose all
sense of the value of property ; and when a
man sees no value in property, he will see
no necessity for labor ; and when he is lazy,
and careless of property, both, he will b e
dishonest.
T h u s , a habit which seems innocent—the habit of trifling with p r o p e r t y —
often degenerates to worthlessness, indolence, and roguery.
I I I . Such pleasures are incompatible with
y o u r ordinary pursuits.
T h e very way to ruin an honest business
is to be ashamed of it^ or to p u t alongside
of it something which a man loves better.
T h e r e can be no industrial calling so exciting
as the Theatre, t h e Circus, and the Races.
If you wish to m a k e y o u r real business
very stupid and hateful, visit such places.
After the glare of the T h e a t r e has dazzled
y o u r eyes, y o u r blacksmith-shop will look
smuttier than ever it did before. After y o u
have seen stalwart heroes p o u n d i n g their
antagonists, you will find it a dull business

2AS

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

to pound iron; and a valiant apprentice
who has seen such gracious glances of love
and such rapturous kissing of hands, will
hate to dirty his heroic fingers with mortar,
or by rolling felt on the hatter's board. If
a man had a homely, but most useful wife
—patient, kind, intelligent, hopeful in
sorrow, and cheerful in prosperity, but yet
very plain, very homely,—would he be wise
to bring under his roof a fascinating and artful beauty? would the contrast, and her
wiles, make him love his own wife better ?
Young gentlemen, your wives are your industrial calling! These raree-shows are
artful jades, dressed up on purpose to purloin your affections. Let no man be led to
commit adultery with a Theatre, against
the rights of his own trade.
" IV. Another reason why you should let
alone these deceitful^ pleasures is, that they
will engage you in bad company. To the
Theatre, the Ball, the Circus, the Racecourse, the gaming-table, resort all the
idle, the dissipated, the rogues, the licentious, the epicures, the gluttons, the artful
jades, the immodest prudes, the joyous, the
worthless, the refuse. When you go, you
will not, at first, take introduction to them
all, but to those nearest like yourself; by
them the way will be open to others. And
a very great evil has befallen a young

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

m&f>, when wicked men feel t h a t t h e y
have a right to his acquaintance.
When
I see a gambler slapping a y o u n g m e chanic on the b a c k ; or a lecherous scoundrel suffusing a y o u n g man's cheek by a
story at which, despite his blushes, he yet
laughs ; I know the y o u t h has been guilty
of criminal indiscretion, or these men
could not approach him thus. T h a t is a
brave and strong heart that can stand up
pure in a c o m p a n y of artful wretches.
W h e n wicked men mean to seduce a
y o u n g man, so tremendous are the odds
in favor of practiced experience against
innocence, that there is not one chance
in a thousand, if the young man lets them
approach him.
L e t every y o u n g man remember that he carries, by nature, a
breast of passions just such as bad men
have. W i t h youth they s l u m b e r ; but
temptation can wake them, bad men can
influence them, they know the road, they
know how to serenade the h e a r t ; how to
raise the sash, and elope with each passion. T h e r e is but one resource for innocence a m o n g men or women ; and that
is, an embargo upon all commerce of bad
men. Bar the window!—bolt the d o o r !
— n o r answer their strain, if they charm
never so wisely! In no other way can
you be safe. So well am I assured cf

250

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

the power of bad men to seduce the err*
ing purity of man, that I pronounce it
next to impossible for man or woman to
escape, if they permit bad men to approach
and dady with them. Oh ! there is more
than magic in temptation, when it beams
down upon the heart of man, like the sun
upon a morass! At the noontide-hour
of purity, the mists shall rise and wreathe a
thousand fantastic forms of delusion ; and a
sudden freak of passion, a single gleam of
the imagination, one sudden rush of the
capricious heart, and the resistance of
years may be prostrated in a moment, the
heart entered by the besieging enemy, its
rooms sought out, and every lovely affection rude, ly seized by the invader's lust,
and given to ravishment and to ruin!
V. Putting together in one class, all gamblers, circus-riders, actors and racing-jockeys, I pro/iounce them to be men who live
off of society without returning any useful
equivalent for their support. At the most
lenient sentence, they are a band of gay
idlers. They do not throw one cent into the
stock of public good. They do not make
shoes, or hats, or houses, or harness, or anything else that is useful. A hostler is useful;
he performs a necessary office. A scullion is
useful; somebody must act his part. A
street-sweeper, a chimney-sweep, the seller

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

of old clothes, a scavenger, a tinker, a bootblack—-all these men are respectable; for
though their callings are very humble, they
are founded on the real wants of society.
The bread which such men eat, is the representation of what they have done for society ; not the bread of idleness, but of
usefulness. But what do pleasure-mongers
do for a living ?—what do they invent ?—
what do they make ?—what do they repair ?
—what do they for the mind, for the body,
for man, or child, or beast ? The dog that
gnaws a refuse bone, pays for it in barking
at a thief. The cat that purrs its gratitude
for a morsel of meat, will clear our house
of rats. But what do we get in return for
supporting whole loads of play-mongers,
and circus-clowns ? They eat, they drink,
they giggle, they grimace, they strut in
gairish clothes—and what else ? They
have not afforded even useful amusement;
they are professional laugh-makers; their
trade is comical or tragical buffoonery—the
trade of tickling men. We do not feel any
need of them, before they come ; and when
they leave, the only effects resulting from
their visits are, unruly boys, aping apprentices, and unsteady workmen.
Now, upon principles of mere political
v :onomy, is it wise to support a growing
c. iss of improvident idlers ? If at the top

252

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

of society, the government should erect a
class of favored citizens, and pamper their
idleness with fat pensions, the indignation
of the whole c o m m u n i t y would break out
against such privileged aristocrats. But we
have, at t h e b o t t o m of society, a set of wandering, jesting, dancing, fiddling aristocrats,
whom we support for the sake of their capers, grins, and caricatures upon life, and
no one seems to think this an evil.
V I . But even this is cheap and wise,
compared with the evil which I shall mention. If these morality-teachers
could
guarantee us against all evil from 'their
doings, we might pay their support and
think it a cheap bargain. T h e direct and
necessary effect of their pursuit, however, is
to demoralize men.
Those w h o defend Theatres would scorn
to admit actors into their society. It is
within the k n o w l e d g e of all, that men, who
t h u s cater for public pleasure, are excluded
from respectable society.
T h e general
fact is not altered b y the exceptions—
and honorable exceptions there are. But
where there is one Siddons, and one Ellen
T r e e , and one F a n n y Kemble, how m a n y
h u n d r e d actresses are there who dare not
venture within modest society ? W h e r e
there is one Garrick and Sheridan, how
m a n y thousand licentious wretches are

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

there, whose acting is but a means of sensual indulgence ? In the support of gamblers, circus-riders, actors, and racing-jockeys, a Christian and industrious people are
guilty of supporting mere mischief-makers
—men whose very heart is diseased, and
whose sores exhale contagion to all
around them. We pay moral assassins to
stab the purity of our children. We warn
our sons of temptation, and yet plant the
seeds which shall bristle with all the spikes
and thorns of the worst temptation. If to
this strong language, you answer, that
these men are generous and jovial, that
their very business is to please, that they do
not mean to do harm,—I reply, that I do not
charge them with trying to produce immorality, but with pursuing a course which
produces it, whether they try or not. An
evil example does harm by its own liberty,
without asking leave. Moral disease, like
the plague, is contagious, whether the patient wishes it or not. A vile man infects
his children in spite of himself. Criminals
make criminals, just as taint makes taint,
disease makes disease, plagues make
plagues. Those who run the gay round of
pleasure cannot help dazzling the young,
confounding their habits, and perverting
their morals—it is the very nature of their
employment.

254

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

T h e s e demoralizing professions could not
be sustained but by the patronage of moral
men. W h e r e do the clerks, the apprentices, the dissipated, get their m o n e y which
buys an e n t r a n c e ? F r o m w h o m is t h a t
m o n e y drained, always, in every land, which
supports vice ? Unquestionably from the
good, the laborious, the careful. T h e skill,
the enterprise, t h e labor, the good m o r a l s
of every nation, are always taxed for the expenses of vice. Jails are built out of honest
men's earnings. Courts are supported from
peaceful men's property. Penitentiaries are
built b y the toil of virtue. Crime never
pays its own way. Vice has no hands to
work, no head to calculate.
Its whole
faculty is to corrupt and to w a s t e ; and
good men, directly or indirectly, foot the
bill.
A t this time, when we are waiting in vain
for the return of that bread which we wastefully cast upon the waters ; when, all over
the sea, men are fishing up the wrecks of
those argosies, and full freighted fortunes,
which foundered in the sad storm of recent
times,—some question might be asked
about the economy of vice ; the economy
of paying for our sons' idleness; the econo m y of maintaining a whole lazy profession
of gambiers, racers, actresses, and actors,—
human, equine and belluine :—whose errand

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

is mischief, and luxury, and license, and
giggling folly. It ought to be asked of men
who groan at a tax to pay their honest
foreign debts, whether they can be taxed to
pay the bills of mountebanks ? *
It is astonishing how little the influence
of those professions has been considered,
which exert themselves mainly to delight
the sensual feelings of men. That whole
race of men, whose camp is the Theatre, the
Circus, the Turf, or the Gaming-table, is a
* W e cannot pay for honest loans, but we can pay Elssler hundreds of thousands for being an airy sylph ! America can p a y
vagabond-fiddlers, strumpet-dancers, fashionable actors, dancinghorses, and boxing-men ! Heaven forbid that these should w a n t ! —
but to pay honest debts,—indeed, indeed, we have honorable
scruples of conscience about t h a t ! !
Let our foreign creditors dismiss their fears, and forgive us the
commercial d e b t ; write no more drowsy letters about public
faith;
let them write spicy comedies, and send over fiddlers, and dancers,
and actors, and singers ;—they will soon collect the debt and keep us
good-natured ! After every extenuation—hard times, deficient currency, want of market, & c , there is a deeper reason than these at
the bottom of our inert indebtedness. Living among the body of
the people, and having nothing to lose or gain by my opinions, 1
must say plainly, that the community are not sensitive to the dis*
grace of flngrant public b a n k r u p t c y ; they do not seem to care
whether their public debt be paid or not
I perceive no
enthusiast
on that subject: it is not a topic for either party, nor of anxious
private conversation. A profound indebtedness, ruinous to out
credit and to our morals, is allowed to lie at the very bottom of the
abyss of dishonest indifference.
Men love to be taxed for their lusts ; there is an open exchequer
for licentiousness, and for giddy pleasure. W e grow suddenly saving, when benevolence asks alms, or justice duns for debts ; we dole
a pittance to suppliant creditors, to be rid of their clamor. But let
the divine Fanny, with evolutions extremely efficacious upon the
feelings, fire the enthusiasm of a whole Theatre of men, whose applauses rise—as she does ; let this courageous dancer, almrst literally true to nature, display her adventurous feats before a thousand
men, and the very miser will turn spendthrift; the land which will
not pay its honest creditors, will enrich a strolling danseuse, and
rain down upon the stage a stream of golden boxes, or golden coin,
wreaths a n d rosy billet-doux.

256

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

race whose instinct is destruction, w h o live
to corrupt, and live off of the corruption
which they make. F o r their support, we
sacrifice annual hecatombs of youthful victims. Even sober Christian men, look
smilingly upon the gairish outside of these
train-bands of destruction; and while we
see the results to be, uniformly, dissipation,
idleness, dishonesty, vice and crime, still
t h e y lull us with the lying lyric of "classic
drama"
and "human
life"
" morality"
"poetry" and "divine
comedy"
Disguise it as you will, these men of
pleasure are, the world over, CORRUPTERS OF
YOUTH. U p o n no principle of kindness can
we tolerate t h e m ; no excuse is bold
e n o u g h ; we can take bail from none of their
weaknesses—it is not safe to have them
abroad even upon excessive bail.
You
might as well take bail of lions, and allow
scorpions to breed in our streets for a suitable license ; or for a t a x indulge assassins.
Men whose life is given to evil pleasures are,
to ordinary criminals, what a universal pestilence is to a local disease. T h e y fill the air,
pervade the community, and bring around
every y o u t h au atmosphere of death. Corrupters of y o u t h have no mitigation of their
baseness. Their generosity avails nothing,
their knowledge nothing, their varied accomplishments nothing. T h e s e are only so

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

m a n y facilities for greater evil. Is a serpent
less deadly, because his burnished scales
s h i n e ? Shall a dove praise and court t h e
vulture, because he has such glossy plum a g e ? T h e more accomplishments a bad
man has, the more dangerous is h e ; — t h e y
are the garlands whicn cover up the knife
with which he will stab. T h e r e is no such
a thing as good corrupters. Y o u might as
well talk of a mild and pleasant murder, a
very lenient assassination, a grateful stench,
or a pious devil. W e denounce them ; for
it is our nature to loathe perfidious corruption. W e have no compunction to withhold us. W e mourn over a torn and bleeding lamb ; but who m o u r n s the wolf which
rent it ? W e weep for despoiled i n n o c e n c e ;
but who sheds a tear for the savage fiend w h o
plucks away the flower of virtue ? W e
s h u d d e r and pray for the shrieking victim
of the Inquisition; but who would spare t h e
hoary Inquisitor, before whose shriveled
form the piteous maid implores relietin vain?
Even thus, we palliate the sins of generous
youth ; and their downfall is our sorrow :
b u t for their destroyers, for the CORRUPTERS
O F YOUTH, who practise the infernal cliemistry of ruin, and dissolve the y o u n g heart in
vice—we have neither tears, nor pleas, nor
patience. W e lift our heart to H i m who
beareth the iron rod of vengeance, and pray
17

258

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

for the appointed time of judgment. Ye
miscreants! think ye that ye are growing
tall, and walking safely, because God hath
forgotten ? The bolt shall yet smite you \
you shall be heard as the falling of an oak in
the silent forest—the vaster its growth, the
more terrible its resounding downfall! Oh I
t h o u CORRUPTER OF YOUTH !

I WOuld

not

take thy death, for all the pleasure of thy
guilty life, a thousand fold. Thou shalt
draw near to the shadow of death. To the
Christian, these shades are the golden haze
which heaven's light makes, when it meets
the earth and mingles with its shadows.
But to thee, these shall be shadows full of
phantom-shapes. Images of terror in the
Future shall dimly rise and beckon ;—the
ghastly deeds of the Past shall stretch out
their skinny hands to push thee forward }
Thou shalt not die unattended. Despair
shall mock thee. Agony shall tender to
thy parched lips her fiery cup. Remorse
shall feel for thy heart, and rend it open.
Good men shall breathe freer at thy death,
and utter thanksgiving when thou art gone.
Men shall place thy grave-stone as a monument and testimony that a plague is stayed ;
no tear shall wet it, no mourner linger
there! And, as borne on the blast thy
guilty spirit whistles toward the gate of hell,
the hideous shrieks of those whom thy

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

hand hath destroyed, shall pierce thee—
hell's first welcome. In the bosom of that
everlasting storm which rains perpetual
misery in hell, shalt thou, CORRUPTER OF
YOUTH ! be forever hidden from our view:
and may God wipe out the very thoughts
of thee from our memory.

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V. Cooper. A history of all t h e Political P a r t i e s
w i t h t h e i r views and records on all i m p o r t a n t
questions. All political platforms from t h e beginning to date. G r e a t Speeches on Great Issues.
P a r l i a m e n t a r y Practice and t a b u l a t e d history of
chronological events. A library w i t h o u t t h i s work
is deficient. 8vo., 750 pages. Cloth, $3.00. Full
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VIC. T H E A U T O B I O G R A P H Y O F A F O X T E R R I E R ,
by Marie More Marsh. "A fitting companion to
t h a t other wonderful book, 'Black Beauty,' "
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WOMAN'S W O R K IN T H E H O M E , by Archdeacon Farrar. Cloth, small 18mo., 50 cents.

T H E APOCRYPHAL BOOKS OF T H E N E W TESTAf

M E N T , being t h e gospels and epistles used by t h e
followers of Christ in t h e first t h r e e centuries
after his death, and rejected by t h e Council of
Nice, A. D. 325. Cloth. 8vo., illustrated, $2.00
T H E P I L G R I M ' S P R O G R E S S , as John Bunyan wrote it.
A fac-simile reproduction of t h e first edition, published in 1678. Antique cloth, 12mo., $1.25.
T H E F A I R E S T O F T H E F A I R , by Hildegarde H a w t h o r n e . " T h e grand-daughter of Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e possesses a full s h a r e of his wonderful
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A LOVER IN H O M E S P U N , by F . Clifford Smith. Int e r e s t i n g tales of a d v e n t u r e and home life in Can• ada. Cloth, 12mo., 75 cents.
f
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AROUND T H E W O R L D I N E I G H T Y M I N U T E S . Cont a i n s over 100 photographs of t h e most famous
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S H A K E S P E A R E ' S C O M P L E T E W O R K S , w i t h a biographical sketch by Mary Cowden Clark, embellished w i t h 64 Boydell, and numerous other illust r a t i o n s , four volumes, over 2,000 pages. Half
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T H E CARE O F C H I L D R E N , by Elisabeth R. Scovil.
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question of g r e a t e r weight or importance t h a n
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T R I F AND T R I X Y , by J o h n H a b b e r t o n , a u t h o r of
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S H E W H O W I L L NOT W H E N S H E MAY, by Eleanor
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A SON O F T H E CAROLINAS, by C. E. S a t t e r t h w a i t e .
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T H E DAY B R E A K E T H , by F a n n i e Alricks Shugert. A
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W H A T W O M E N S H O U L D K N O W . A w o m a n ' s book
about women. By Mrs. E . B. Duffy. Cloth, 320
pages, 75 cents.

DORE'S MASTERPIECES.
T H E D O R E B I B L E G A L L E R Y . A complete p a n o r a m a
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M I L T O N ' S P A R A D I S E LOST, w i t h 50 full page engravings by Gustave Dore.
D A N T E ' S I N F E R N O , w i t h 75 full page engravings by
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D A N T E ' S P U R G A T O R Y AND P A R A D I S E , w i t h 60 full
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Cloth, ornamental, large quarto (9 x 12 inches), each
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gilt, large imperial q u a r t o (11x14% inches), $4.50.
T H E R I M E O F T H E A N C I E N T M A R I N E R , by Samuel
Taylor Coleridge, w i t h 46 full page engravings by
*
G u s t a v e Dore. Cloth, full gilt, large imperial
9
q u a r t o (11x14% inches), $3.00.

HENRY ALTEMUS' PUBLICATIONS.
i BUNYAN'S P I L G R I M ' S P R O G R E S S , w i t h 100 engravings by Frederick B a r n a r d and others. Cloth,
small q u a r t o (9x10 inches), $1.00.
: DICKENS' CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND, with
,
75 fine engravings by famous a r t i s t s . Cloth, small
quarto, boxed (9x10 inches), $1.00.
B I B L E P I C T U R E S AND S T O R I E S , 100 full page engravings. Cloth, small quarto (7x9 inches), $1.00.
! MY ODD L I T T L E F O L K , some r h y m e s and verses about
I
t h e m , by Malcolm Douglass. Numerous original
engravings. Cloth, small q u a r t o (7x9 inches),
$1.00.
P A U L AND V I R G I N I A , by Bernardin de St. Pierre, w i t h
125 engravings by Maurice Leloir. Cloth, small
q u a r t o (9x10), $1.00.
L I F E AND A D V E N T U R E S O F ROBINSON CRUSOE,
w i t h 120 original engravings by W a l t e r P a g e t .
Cloth, octavo (7y2x9%), $1.50.

ALTEMUS' ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY OF
STANDARD AUTHORS.
Cloth, Twelve Mo. Size, 5 ^ x 7 % I n c h e s . E a c h $1.00.
T A L E S FROM S H A K E S P E A R E , by Charles and Mary
L a m b , w i t h 155 illustrations by famous a r t i s t s .
P A U L AND V I R G I N I A , by Bernardin de St. P i e r r e , w i t h
125 engravings by Maurice Leloir.
A L I C E ' S A D V E N T U R E S IN W O N D E R L A N D , AND
T H R O U G H T H E LOOKING-GLASS AND W H A T
, A L I C E F O U N D T H E R E , by Lewis Carroll. Complete in one volume w i t h 92 engravings by J o h n
Tenniel.
L t J C I L E , by Owen Meredith, with numerous illustrations
by George Du Maurier, au t h o r of Trilby.
B L A C K BEAUTY, by A n n a Sewell, w i t h nearly 50 original engravings.
S C A R L E T L E T T E R , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e , w i t h
numerous original full-page and t e x t illustrations.
T H E H O U S E O F T H E S E V E N G A B L E S , by Nathaniel
H a w t h o r n e , w i t h numerous original full-page and
t e x t illustrations.
B A T T L E S O F T H E W A R F O R I N D E P E N D E N C E , by
P r e s c o t t Holmes, w i t h 70 illustrations.
B A T T L E S O F T H E W A R F O R T H E UNION, by Prescott Holmes, w i t h 80 illustrations.
T H E SONG OF H I A W A T H A , by H e n r y W . Longfellow,
With 100 illustrations.

H E N R Y A L T E M U S ' PUBLICATIONS.
ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLES' LIBRARY".
Price, 50 cents each.
ROBINSON CRUSOE: (Chiefly in words of one syllable). His life and strange, surprising adventures,
with 70 beautiful illustrations by Walter Paget.
ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND, with. 42
illustrations by John Tenniel. "The most delightful of children's stories. Elegant and delicious
nonsense."—Saturday Review.
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS AND WHAT
ALICE FOUND THERE; a companion to "Alice
in Wonderland," with 50 illustrations by John
Tenniel.
BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, with 50 full page
and text illustrations.
A CHILD'S STORY OF THE BIBLE, with 72 full page
illustrations.
A CHILD'S LIFE OF CHRIST, with 49 illustrations.
God has implanted in the infant heart a desire
to hear of Jesus, and children are early attracted
and sweetly riveted by the wonderful Story of the
Master from the Manger to the Throne.
SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON, with 50 illustrations. The
father of the family tells the tale of the vicissitudes through which he and his wife and children pass, the wonderful discoveries made and
dangers encountered. The book is full of interest
and instruction.
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS AND THE DISCOVERY
OF AMERICA, with 70 illustrations. Every
American boy and girl should be acquainted with
the story of the life of the great discoverer, with
its struggles, adventures, and trials.
THE STORY OF EXPLORATION AND DISCOVERY
IN AFRICA, with 80 illustrations.
Records
the experiences of adventures and discoveries in
developing the "Dark Continent," from the early
days of Bruce and Mungo Park down to Livingstone and Stanley, and the heroes of our own
times. No present can be more acceptable than
such a volume as this, where courage, intrepidity,
resource, and devotion are so admirably mingled.
THE FABLES OF JESOP. Compiled from the best accepted sources: With 62 illustrations. The fables
of ^ s o p are among the very earliest compositions
of this kind, and probably have never been surpassed for point and brevity.

H E N R Y A L T E M U S ' PUBLICATIONS.
Altemus' Young Peoples' Library—Continued.
Price, 50 cents each.
'GULLIVER'S TRAVELS. Adapted for young readers,
with 50 illustrations.
MOTHER GOOSE'S RHYMES, JINGLES AND FAIRY
TALES, with 234 illustrations.
LIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED
STATES, by Prescott Holmes. With portraits of
the Presidents and also of the unsuccessful candidates for the office; as well as the ablest of the
Cabinet officers. It is just the book for intelligent boys, and it will help to make them intelligent and patriotic citizens.
THE STORY OF ADVENTURE IN THE FROZEN
SEAS, with 70 illustrations. By Prescott Holmes.
We have here brought together the records of the
attempts to reach the North Pole. The book
shows how much can be accomplished by steady
perseverance and indomitable pluck.
ILLUSTRATED NATURAL HISTORY, by the Rev. J.
G. Wood, with 80 illustrations. This author has
done more to popularize the study of natural history than any other writer. The illustrations are
striking and life-like.
A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND, by Charles Dickens, with 50 illustrations. Tired of listening to
his children memorize the twaddle of old fashioned
English history the author covered the ground in
his own peculiar and happy style for his own
children's use. When the work was published its
success was instantaneous.
BLACK BEAUTY; THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A
HORSE, by Anna Sewell, with 50 illustrations.
A work sure to educate boys and girls to treat
with kindness all members of the animal kingdom. Recognized as the greatest story of animal
life extant.
THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS, with
130 illustrations. Contains the most favorably
known of the stories.
GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES. With 55 illustrations.
The Tales are a wonderful collection, as interesting, from a literary point of view, as they are
delightful as stories.
FLOWER FABLES. By Louisa May Alcott. With numerous illustrations, full page and text.
A series of very interesting fairy tales by the
most charming of American story-tellers.

H E N R Y A L T E M U S ' PUBLICATIONS.
Altemus' Young Peoples' Library—Continued.
Price, 50 cents each.
ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES. By Hang Christian Aa-*
dersen. With 77 illustrations.
The spirit of high moral teaching, and the delicacy of sentiment, feeling, and expression that
pervade these tales make these wonderful creations not only attractive to the young, but equally
acceptable to those of mature years, who are abie
to understand their real significance and appreciate the depth of their meaning.
GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR: A HISTORY FOR YOUTH.
By Nathaniel Hawthorne. With 60 illustrations.
The story of America from the landing of the
Puritans to the acknowledgment without reserve
of the Independence of the United States, told
with all the elegance, simplicity, grace, clearness,
and force for which Hawthorne is conspicuously
noted.
ALTEMUS' DEVOTIONAL SERIES.
Standard Religious Literature Appropriately Bound la
Handy Volume Size. Each Volume contains
Illuminated Title, Portrait of Author,
and Appropriate Illustrations.
White Vellum, Gold and Monotints, Boxed, each 50 cent«.
1 KEPT FOR THE MASTER'S USE, by Frances Ridley Havergal. ^Will perpetuate her name."
2 MY KING AND HIS SERVICE, OR DAILY
THOUGHTS FOR THE KING'S CHILDREN,
by Frances Ridley Havergal. ''Simple, tender,
gentle, and full of Christian love."
3 MY POINT OF VIEW. Selections from the works [
of Professor Henry Drummond.
*
4 OF THE IMITATION OF CHRIST, by Thomas
A'Kempis. "With the exception of the Bible it Is
probably the book most read in Christian literature."
5 ADDRESSES, by Professor Henry Drummond. "Intelligent sympathy with the Christian's need."

H E N R Y ALTEMUS' PUBLICATIONS.
Altemus' Devotional Series—Continued.
Price, 50 cents each.
<6 NATURAL LAW IN THE SPIRITUAL WORLD, by
Professor Henry Drummond. "A most notable
book which has earned for the author a worldwide reputation."
7 v ADDRESSES, by the Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks. "Has
exerted a marked influence over the rising generation."
8 ABIDE IN CHRIST. Thoughts on the Blessed Life
of Fellowship with the Son of God. By the Rev.
Andrew Murray. "It cannot fail to stimulate and
cheer. "Spurgeon.
9 LIKE CHRIST. Thoughts on the Blessed Life of
Conformity to the Son of God. By the Rev. Andrew Murray. A sequel to "Abide in Christ."
"May be read with comfort and edification by
all."
10 WITH CHRIST IN THE SCHOOL OF PRAYER,
by the Rev. Andrew Murray. "The best work on
prayer in the language."
11 HOLY IN CHRIST. Thoughts on the calling of God's
Children to be Holy as He is Holy. By the Rev.
Andrew Murray. "This sacred theme is treated
Scripturally and robustly without spurious sentimentalism."
12 THE MANLINESS OF CHRIST, by Thomas Hughes,
author of "Tom Brown's School Days," etc. "Evidences of the sublimest courage and manliness in
the boyhood, ministry, and in the last acts of
Christ's life."
13 ADDRESSES TO YOUNG MEN, by the Rev. Henry
Ward Beecher. Seven addresses on common vices
and iheir results.
14 THE PATHWAY OF SAFETY, by the Rt. Rev.
Ashton Oxenden, D. D. Some words of advice
and encouragement on the text "What Must I
do to be Saved."
15 THE CHRISTIAN LIFE, by the Rt. Rev. Ashton
Oxenden, D. D. A beautiful delineation of an
ideal life from the conversion to the final reward.
16 THE THRONE OF GRACE. Before which the burdened soul may cast itself on the bosom of infinite love and enjoy in prayer "a peace which
passeth all understanding."

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS,

A l t e m u s ' Devotional Series—Continued.
Price, 50 cents each.
17 T H E P A T H W A Y O F P R O M I S E , by t h e a u t h o r of
" T h e T h r o n e of G r a c e . " T h o u g h t s consolatory
and encouraging to t h e Christian pilgrim a s he
journeys onward to his heavenly home.
18 T H E I M P R E G N A B L E ROCK O F H O L Y S C R I P T U R E , by t h e Rt. Hon. William E w a r t Gladstone,
M. P . T h e most masterly defence of t h e t r u t h s
of t h e Bible e x t a n t . T h e a u t h o r s a y s : T h e Christ i a n F a i t h and t h e Holy Scriptures a r m us w i t h
t h e m e a n s of neutralizing t h e a s s a u l t s of evil in
•and from ourselves.
19 S T E P S I N T O T H E B L E S S E D L I F E , by t h e Rev. F .
B. Meyer, B . A. A powerful help t o w a r d s sanctification.
20 T H E MESSAGE O F P E A C E , by t h e Rev. Richard
W. Church, D. D. E i g h t excellent sermons on
t h e advent of t h e Babe of Bethlehem and his influence and effect on t h e world.
21 J O H N P L O U G H M A N ' S T A L K , by t h e Rev. Charles
H . Spurgeon.
\ 22 J O H N P L O U G H M A N ' S P I C T U R E S , by t h e Rev.
Charles H . Spurgeon.
23 T H E C H A N G E D CROSS; AND O T H E R R E L I G IOUS P O E M S .
24 GOLD D U S T . A collection of Golden Counsels for
t h e Sanctiflcation of Daily Life. E d i t e d by Charlotte M. Yonge.
25 D A I L Y FOOD F O R C H R I S T I A N S . Being a Promise and a n o t h e r Scriptural portion for every day
in t h e y e a r ; together w i t h the Verse of a H y m n .
26 P E E P O F DAY. Or a Series of t h e E a r l i e s t Religious I n s t r u c t i o n t h e I n f a n t Mind is Capable of
Receiving.
27 L I N E U P O N L I N E . Or a second Series of t h e Earliest Religious Instruction t h e I n f a n t Mind is Ca-.
pable of Receiving.
28 P R E C E P T U P O N P R E C E P T . By t h e a u t h o r of
" T h e P e e p of D a y , " " L i n e Upon L i n e , " " P r e cept Upon P r e c e p t , " etc.
29 T H E P R I N C E O F T H E H O U S E O F D A V I D , by t h e
Rev. J. H . I n g r a h a m .
30 J E S S I C A ' S F I R S T P R A Y E R AND
JESSICA'S
M O T H E R , by H e s b a S t r e t t o n .

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

ALT/EMUS 7 N E W I L L U S T R A T E D
SERIES.

VADEMECUM

Masterpieces of English and American Literature, H a n d y
Volume Size, Large T y p e Editions. E a c h Volume
Contains Illuminated Title Pages, and P o r t r a i t
of A u t h o r a n d N u m e r o u s E n g r a v i n g s .
F u l l cloth, ivory finish, ornamental inlaid sides and back,
boxed, 10 cents.
1 C R A N F O R D , by Mrs. Gaskell.
2 A W I N D O W IN T H R U M S , by J. M. Barrie.
3 RAB AND H I S F R I E N D S , M A R J O R I E F L E M I N G ,
ETC., by J o h n Brown, M. D.
4 T H E VICAR O F W A K E F I E L D , by Oliver Goldsmith.

5 T H E IDLE T H O U G H T S OF AN IDLE FELLOW,
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16

by J e r o m e K. J e r o m e . "A book for an idle holiday."
T A L E S FROM S H A K S P E A R E , by Charles and Mary
L a m b , with an introduction by t h e Rev. Alfred
Ainger, M. D.
SESAME AND L I L I E S , by J o h n Ruskin.
T h r e e Lectures—I. Of t h e K i n g ' s T r e a s u r e s . I I .
Of Queen's Garden. I I I . Of t h e Mystery of Life.
T H E E T H I C S O F T H E DUST, by J o h n Ruskin.
Ten lectures to little housewives on t h e elements
of crystalization.
T H E P L E A S U R E S O F L I F E , by Sir J o h n Lubbock.
Complete in one volume.
T H E S C A R L E T L E T T E R , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
T H E H O U S E O F T H E S E V E N G A B L E S , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE, by Nathaniel
Hawthorne.
T W I C E T O L D T A L E S , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
T H E ESSAYS O F F R A N C I S (LORD) BACON W I T H
MEMOIRS AND N O T E S .
ESSAYS, F i r s t Series, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
ESSAYS, Second Series, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

Alteraus* New Illustrated Yademecum Series—Continued.
Price, 40 cents each.
17 R E P R E S E N T A T I V E MEN, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Mental p o r t r a i t s each representing a class.
1. T h e Philosopher. 2. T h e Mystic. 3. T h e Skeptic. 4. T h e Poet. 5. T h e Man of t h e World. 6.
The Writer.

18 T H O U G H T S OF T H E E M P E R O R MARCUS AUREL I U S ANTONINUS, t r a n s l a t e d by George Long.
19 T H E D I S C O U R S E S O F E P I C T E T U S W I T H T H E
E N C H I R I D I O N , t r a n s l a t e d by George Long.
20 O F T H E I M I T A T I O N O F C H R I S T , by T h o m a s
A ' K e m p i s . F o u r books complete in one volume.
21 A D D R E S S E S , by Professor H e n r y D r u m m o n d . T h e
G r e a t e s t Thing in t h e World; P a x Vobiscum; T h e
Changed Life; H o w to L e a r n H o w ; Dealing W i t h
D o u b t ; P r e p a r a t i o n for L e a r n i n g ; W h a t is a
Christian; T h e Study of t h e Bible; A Talk on
Books.
22 L E T T E R S , S E N T E N C E S AND MAXIMS, by Lord
Chesterfield.
Masterpieces of good t a s t e , good
writing, and good sense.
23 R E V E R I E S O F A B A C H E L O R . A book of t h e
h e a r t . By Ik Marvel.
24 D R E A M L I F E , by Ik Marvel. A companion to "Reveries of a Bachelor."
25 SARTOR R E S A R T U S , by T h o m a s Carlyle.
26 H E R O E S AND H E R O W O R S H I P , by T h o m a s Carlyle.
27 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, by H a r r i e t Beecher Stowe.
28 ESSAYS O F E L I A , by Charles L a m b .
29 MY P O I N T O F V I E W . R e p r e s e n t a t i v e selections
from t h e works of Professor H e n r y D r u m m o n d
by William Shepard.
30 T H E S K E T C H BOOK, by W a s h i n g t o n Irving. Complete.
31 K E P T F O R T H E M A S T E R ' S USE, by F r a n c e s Ridley H a v e r g a l .
32 L U C I L E , by Owen Meredith.
33 L A L L A R O O K H , by Thomas Moore.
34 T H E LADY O F T H E L A K E , by Sir W a l t e r Scott.
S5 MARMION, by Sir W a l t e r Scott.

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

Altemus' New Illustrated Vademecum Series—Continued.
P r i c e , 40 cents each.
36 T H E P R I N C E S S ; AND MAUD, by Alfred (Lord)
Tennyson.
37 C H I L D E H A R O L D ' S P I L G R I M A G E , by Lord Byron.
38 I D Y L L S O F T H E K I N G , by Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
39 E V A N G E L I N E , by H e n r y W a d s w o r t h Longfellow.
40 VOICES O F T H E N I G H T AND O T H E R P O E M S ,
by H e n r y W a d s w o r t h Longfellow.

41 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS,
by H e n r y W a d s w o r t h Longfellow.
42 T H E Q U E E N O F T H E AIR, by J o h n Rnskin. A
study of t h e Greek m y t h s of cloud and storm.
43 P O E M S , Volume I, by J o h n Greenleaf W h i t t i e r .
44 P O E M S , Volume I I , by J o h n Greenleaf W h i t t i e r .
45 T H E R A V E N ; AND O T H E R P O E M S , by E d g a r Allan Poe.
46 T H A N A T O P S I S ; AND O T H E R P O E M S , by William
Cullen B r y a n t .
47 T H E LAST L E A F ; AND O T H E R P O E M S , by Oliver
Wendell Holmes.
48 T H E H E R O E S OR G R E E K F A I R Y T A L E S , by
Charles Kingsley.
49 A W O N D E R BOOK, by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
50 U N D I N E , by de L a Motte Fouque.
51 A D D R E S S E S , by t h e Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks.
52 BALZAC'S S H O R T E R S T O R I E S , by Honore de
Balzac.
53 T W O Y E A R S B E F O R E T H E MAST, by Richard
H. Dana, Jr.
54 B E N J A M I N F R A N K L I N . An autobiography.
55 T H E L A S T ESSAYS O F E L I A , by Charles L a m b .
56 TOM B R O W N ' S SCHOOL DAYS, by
Thomas
Hughes.
57 W E I R D T A L E S , by E d g a r Allen Poe.
58 T H E CROWN O F W I L D OLIVE, by J o h n Ruskin.
T h r e e lectures on Work, Traffic and W a r .
59 N A T U R A L L A W I N T E S P I R I T U A L W O R L D , by
Professor H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
60 A B B E CONSTANTIN, by Ludovic Halevy.
61 MANON LESCAUT, by Abbe Prevost.

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

Altemus' New Illustrated Vademecum Series—Continued.
Price, 40 cents each.

62 T H E R O M A N C E OF A POOR YOUNG MAN, by
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87

Octave Feuillet.
B L A C K BEAUTY, by Anna Sewell.
C A M I L L E , by Alexander D u m a s , J r .
T H E L I G H T O F ASIA, by Sir E d w i n Arnold.
T H E LAYS O F A N C I E N T ROME, by T h o m a s Babington Macaulay.
T H E C O N F E S S I O N S O F AN E N G L I S H OPIUME A T E R , by T h o m a s De Quincey.
T R E A S U R E ISLAND, by Robert L. Stevenson.
CARMEN, by P r o s p e r Merimee.
A S E N T I M E N T A L J O U R N E Y , by L a u r e n c e Sterne.
T H E B L I T H E D A L E ROMANCE, by N a t h a n i e l H a w thorne.
BAB B A L L A D S , AND SAVOY SONGS, by W. H .
Gilbert.
F A N C H O N , T H E C R I C K E T , by George Sand.
P O E M S , by J a m e s Russell Lowell.
J O H N P L O U G H M A N S T A L K , by t h e Rev. Charles
H . Spurgeon.
J O H N P L O U G H M A N ' S P I C T U R E S , by t h e Rev.
Charles H. Spurgeon.
T H E M A N L I N E S S O F C H R I S T , by T h o m a s H u g h e s . ,
A D D R E S S E S TO YOUNG MEN, by t h e Rev. H e n r y
W a r d Beecher.
T H E AUTOCRAT O F T H E B R E A K F A S T T A B L E ,
by Oliver Wendell Holmes.
MULVANEY S T O R I E S , by R u d y a r d Kipling.
BALLADS, by R u d y a r d Kipling.
MORNING T H O U G H T S , by F r a n c e s Ridley Havergal.
T E N N I G H T S IN A BAR ROOM, by T. S. A r t h u r .
E V E N I N G T H O U G H T S , by F r a n c e s Ridley Havergal.
I N MEMORIAM, by Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
COMING TO C H R I S T , by F r a n c e s Ridley H a v e r g a l .
H O U S E O F T H E W O L F , by Stanley W e y m a n .

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

A l t e m u s ' New Illustrated Vademecum Series—Continued.
Price, 40 cents each.
88 T H E C H A N G E D CROSS AND O T H E R R E L I G I O U S
POEMS.
89 L A D D I E AND MISS TOOSEY'S MISSION.
90 GOLD D U S T .
91 D A I L Y FOOD F O R C H R I S T I A N S .
92 P L A I N T A L E S F R O M T H E H I L L S , by R u d y a r d
Kipling.
93 P H A N T O M R I C K S H A W , by Rudyard Kipling.
*94 J E S S I C A ' S F I R S T P R A Y E R AND
JESSICA'S
M O T H E R , by H e s b a Stretton.
95 T H E T H R O N E O F GRACE.
96 S T E P S I N T O T H E B L E S S E D L I F E , by Rev. F . B.
Meyer.
i
97 A D V E N T U R E S O F A B R O W N I E , by Miss Mulock.
98 T H E I M P R E G N A B L E ROCK O F H O L Y S C R I P T U R E , by Hon. W. E. Gladstone.
99 P A T H W A Y O F P R O M I S E .
100 P A T H W A Y O F S A F E T Y , by R t . Rev. Ashton Oxenden.
101 K I D N A P P E D , by Robert Louis Stevenson.
102 T H E P R I N C E O F T H E H O U S E O F DAVID, by
Rev. J . H . I n g r a h a m .
103 T H E C H R I S T I A N L I F E , by Rt. Rev. Ashton Oxenden.
104 T H E MESSAGE O F P E A C E , by Rev R. W. Church.
105 P E E P O F DAY. Or a Series of t h e Earliest Religious I n s t r u c t i o n t h e I n f a n t Mind is Capable of
Receiving.
106 L I N E U P O N L I N E . Or a Second Series of t h e Earliest Religious .Instruction t h e I n f a n t Mind is
Capable of Receiving.
107 P R E C E P T U P O N P R E C E P T . By t h e a u t h o r of
" T h e Peep of D a y , " " L i n e Upon L i n e , " " P r e cept Upon P r e c e p t , " etc.
108 T A N G L E W O O D T A L E S , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
109 T H E SONG O F H I A W A T H A , by H e n r y W a d s w o r t h
Longfellow,

ALTEMUS' ETERNAL LIFE SEMES.
Selections from the writings of well-known religious authors,
printed and daintily bound with original designs
in silver and ink.
Price, 25 cents per volume.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8

E T E R N A L L I F E , by Professor H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
L O R D , T E A C H US TO P R A Y , by Rev. A n d r e w M u r r a y .
G O D ' S W O R D A N D G O D ' S W O R K , by M a r t i n L u t h e r .
F A I T H , by T h o m a s Arnold.
T H E C R E A T I O N STORY, by H o n o r a b l e W i l l i a m E . Gladstone.
T H E M E S S A G E O F C O M F O R T , by R t . Rev. Ashton Oxenden.
T H E M E S S A G E O F P E A C E , by Rev. R W . C h u r c h .
T H E L O R D ' S P R A Y E R A N D T H E T E N COMMANDMENTS, by
D e a n Stanley.
9 T H E M E M O I R S O F J E S U S , by Rev. Robert F . H o r t o n .
10 H Y M N S O F P R A I S E A N D G L A D N E S S , by Elisabeth R. Scovil.
11 D I F F I C U L T I E S , by H a n n a h W h i t a l l S m i t h .
12 G A M B L E R S A N D G A M B L I N G , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d B e e c h e r .
13 H A V E F A I T H I N G O D , by R e v . A n d r e w M u r r a y .
14 T W E L V E C A U S E S O F D I S H O N E S T Y , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d
Beecher.
15 T H E C H R I S T I N W H O M C H R I S T I A N S B E L I E V E , by R t . Rev.
Phillips Brooks.
16 I N MY N A M E , by Rev. A n d r e w M u r r a y .
17 S I X W A R N I N G S , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d Beecher.
18 T H E D U TY O F T H E C H R I S T I A N B U S I N E S S M A N , by R t . Rev.
P h i l l i p s Brooks.
39 P O P U L A R A M U S E M E N T S , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d Beecher.
20 T R U E L I B E R T Y , by R t . Rev. Phillips Brooks.
21 I N D U S T R Y A N D I D L E N E S S , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d Beecher.
22 T H E B E A U T Y O F A L I F E O F S E R V I C E , by R t . Rev. Phillips
Brooks.
23 T H E S E C O N D C O M I N G O F O U R L O R D , b y Rev. A.T.Pierson, D . D .
24 T H O U G H T A N D A C T I O N , b y R t . Rev. Phillips B r o o k s .
25 T H E H E A V E N L Y V I S I O N , b y Rev. F . B . Meyer.
28 M O R N I N G S T R E N G T H , by Elisabeth R. Scovil.
27 F O R T H E Q U I E T H O U R , by E d i t h V. Bradc.
28 E V E N I N G C O M F O R r , by Elisabeth R. Scovil.
29 W O R D S O F H E L P F O R C H R I S T I A N G I R L S , by Rev. F . B . Meyer.
30 H O W TO S T U D Y T H E B I B L E , by Rev. D w i g h t L . Moody.
81 E X P E C T A T I O N C O R N E R , by E . S. Elliot.
32 J E S S I C A ' S F I R S T P R A Y E R , by Hesba S t r e t t o n .
33 J E S S I C A ' S M O T H E R , by Hesba S t r e t t o n .
34 T H E G R E A T E S T T H I N G I N T H E W O R L D , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
35 H O W TO L E A R N H O W , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
36 W H A T IS A C H R I S T I A N ? T H E S T U D Y O F T H E B I B L E : A
T A L K ON B O O K S , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .

ALTEMUS' ETERNAL LIFE SERIES—Continued.
37 P A X V O B I S C U M , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
88 T H E C H A N G E D L I F E , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
39 F I R S T 1 A T A L K W I T H BOYS, by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .

ALTEMUS' BELLES-LETTRES SERIES.
A collection of Essays and Addresses by Eminent English
and American Authors, beautifully printed
and daintily bound, with original
designs in silver inks.
Price, 25 cents per volume.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11

I N D E P E N D E N C E D A Y , b y Rev. E d w a r d . E . Halo.
T H E S C H O L A R I N P O L I T I C S , b y H o n . R i c h a r d Olney.
T H E Y O U N G M A N I N B U S I N E S S , by E d w a r d W . B o k .
T H E Y O U N G M A N A N D T H E C H U R C H , by E d w a r d W . B o k .
T H E S P O I L S SYSTEM, by H o n . Carl S e h u r z .
C O N V E R S A T I O N , by T h o m a s D e Q u i n o e y .
S W E E T N E S S A N D L I G H T , by M a t t h e w A r n o l d .
W O R K , by J o h n R u s k i n .
N A T U R E A N D A R T , by Ralph W a l d o E m e r s o n .
T H E U S E A N D M I S U S E O F B O O K S , by F r e d e r i c H a r r i s o n .
T H E MONROE DOCTRINE : ITS ORIGIN, M E A N I N G A N D
A P P L I C A T I O N , by Prof. J o h n Bach McMaster (University of
Pennsylvania)
12 T H E D E S T I N Y O F M A N , b y S i r J o h n L u b b o c k .
IE L O V E A N D F R I E N D S H I P , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
14 R I P V A N W I N K L E , by W a s h i n g t o n I r v i n g .
15 A R T , P O E T R Y A N D MUSIC, by Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
16 T H E C H O I C E O F B O O K S , by Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
17 M A N N E R S , by Ralph W a l d o E m e r s o n .
18 C H A R A C T E R , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
19 T H E L E G E N D O F S L E E P Y H O L L O W , by W a s h i n g t o n I r v i n g .
20 T H E B E A U T I E S O F N A T U R E , by Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
21 S E L F R E L I A N C E , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
22 T H E D U T Y O F H A P P I N E S S , by Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
23 S P I R I T U A L L A W S , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
24 O L D C H R I S T M A S , by W a s h i n g t o n I r r i n g .
25 H E A L T H , W E A L T H A N D T H E B L E S S I N G O F F R I E N D S , b y
Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
26 I N T E L L E C T , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
27 W H Y A M E R I C A N S D i S L I K E E N G L A N D ? b y Prof. George B .
A d a m s (Yale).
28 T H E H I G H E R E D U C A T I O N AS A T R A I N I N G F O R B U S I N E S S ,
by Prof. H a r r y P r a t t J u d s o n (University of Chicago).
29 MISS T O O S E Y ' S M I S S I O N .
30 L A D D I E .
31 J . COLE, by E m m a G e l l i b r a n d .

t

THE PORTRAIT

GALLERY

129

sundered in two, as Solomon proposed to
divide the contested infant ? If this style of
character were not flagitiously wicked, it
would still he supremely ridiculous—hut it
is both. Let young men mark these
amphibious exemplars to avoid their influence, The young have nothing to gain
from those who are saints in religion and
morals, and Machiavels in politics; who
have partitioned off their heart, invited
Christ into one half, and Belial into the
other.
It is wisely said, that a strictly honest
man who desires purely the public good,
who will not criminally flatter the people,
nor take part in lies, or party-slander, nor
descend to the arts of the rat, the weasel,
and the fox, cannot succeed in politics. It
is calmly said by thousands that one cannot
be a politician and a Christian, Indeed, a
man is liable to downright ridicule if he
speaks in good earnest of a scrupulously
honest and religiously moral politician, I
regard all such representations as false,
We are not without mm whose career is a
refutation of the slander. It poisons the
community to teach this fatal necessity of
corruption in a course wiiich so many must
pursue. It is not strange, if such be the
popular opinion, that young men include
the sacrifice of strict integrity as a neces*
9

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HENRY WARD BEECH ER

Copyright, 1895,

• ENKY

ALTIHUl,

by

H E N R Y ALTEMUS.

MANUFACTUXIlt,

PHILADELPHIA.

110
B31I

TO

LYMAN B E E C H E R , D. D.
To you I owe more than to any other living being.
In childhood, you were my Parent; in later life, my
Teacher; in manhood, my Companion. To your affectionate vigilance I owe my principles, my knowledge,
and that I am a Minister of the Gospel of Christ. For
whatever profit they derive from this little Book, the
young will be indebted to you.

(3)

PREFACE
HAVING watched the courses of those who seduce.
the young—their arts, their blandishments, their pret e n c e s ; having witnessed the beginning and consummation of ruin, almost in the same year, of many young;
men, naturally well disposed, whose downfall began*
with the appearances of innocence; I felt an earnest
desire, if I could, to raise the suspicion of the young,
and to direct their reason to the arts by which they are,.
with such facility, destroyed.
I ask every YOUNG MAN who may read this book, n o t
to submit his j u d g m e n t to mine, not to hate because I
denounce, nor blindly to follow m e ; but to weigh m y
reasons, that he may form his own judgment. I onlyclaim the place of a c o m p a n i o n ; and that I may gain
his ear, I have sought to present truth in those forms
which best please the y o u n g ; and though I am not
without hope of satisfying the aged and the wise, my
whole thought has been to carry with me the
intelligent
sympathy of YOUNG MEN.

(5)

CONTENTS

LECTURE I.
PAGE

INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS,

.

.

.

.

9

.

45

LECTURE I I .
TWELVE CAUSES OF DISHONESTY,

.

.

LECTURE I I I .
SIX WARNINGS,

77

LECTURE IV.
THE PORTRAIT GALLERY,

.

.

.

.

IOJ

LECTURE V.
GAMBLERS AND GAMBLING,

<
,

.

.

135

LECTURE VI.
THE STRANGE WOMAN

- 1 7 3

LECTURE V I I .
POPULAR AMUSEMENTS,

*

221

(7)

INDUSTRY A N D IDLENESS

Give us this day our daily bread. Matt. vi. n .
This we commanded you, that if any would not work*
neither should he eat. For we hear that there are.
some who walk among you disorderly, working not at
all, but are busybodies. N o w them that are such we
command a n d exhort by our L o r d Jesus Christ, that
with quietness they work, and eat their own bread.
2 Thess. iii. i o , 12.

T

H E bread which we solicit of God, he
gives us through our own industry.
Prayer sows it, and Industry reaps it.
As Industry is habitual activity in some
useful pursuit, so, not only inactivity, but
also all efforts without the design of usefulness, are of the nature of Idleness. The
supine sluggard is no more indolent than
the bustling do-nothing. Men may walk
much, and read much, and talk much, and"
pass the day without an unoccupied moment, and yet be substantially idle; because
Industry requires, at least, the intention of
usefulness. But gadding, gazing, lounging,
mere pleasure-mongering, reading for the
(9)

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

relief of ennui,—these are as useless as
sleeping, or dozing, or the stupidity of a
surfeit.
There are many grades of idleness; and
veins of it run through the most industrious
life. We shall indulge in some descriptions
of the various classes of idlers, and leave
the reader to judge, if he be an indolent
man, to which class he belongs.
. i. The lazy-man. He is of a very ancient
pedigree; for his family is minutely described by Solomon: How long wilt thou
sleep, 0 sluggard? when wilt thott azvake
out of sleep ? This is the language of impatience ; the speaker has been trying to
awaken him—pulling, pushing, rolling him
over, and shouting in his ear; but all to no
purpose. He soliloquizes, whether it is
possible for the man ever to wake up ! At
length, the sleeper drawls out a dozing petition to be let alone: " Yet a little
sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of
the hands to sleep; " and the last words
confusedly break into a snore,—that somnolent lullaby of repose. Long ago the
birds have finished their matins, the sun
has advanced full high, the dew has gone
from the grass, and the labors of Industry are far in progress, when our sluggard, awakened by his very efforts to maintain sleep, slowly emerges to perform life's

INDUSTR Y AND

IDLENESS

II

great duty of feeding—-with him, second
only in importance to sleep. And now,
well rested, and suitably nourished, surely
he will abound in labor. Nay, the sluggard
will not plough by reason of the cold. It is
yet early spring; there is ice in the north ;
and the winds are hearty: his tender skin
shrinks from exposure, and he waits for
milder days,—envying the residents of tropical climates, where cold never comes, and
harvests wave spontaneously. He is valiant
at sleeping and at the trencher; but for
other courage, the slothfid man saith, there
is a lion without; I shall be slain in the street.
He has not been out to see ; but he heard a
noise, and resolutely betakes himself to prudence. Under so thriving a manager, so
alert in the morning, so busy through the
day, and so enterprising, we might anticipate the thrift of his' husbandry. I went by
the field of the slothfid and by the vineyard
of the man void of understanding; and lo /
it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles
had covered the face of it, and its sto?te wall
was broken down. To complete the picture,
only one thing more is wanted,—a description of his house,—and then we should
have, at one view, the lazy-man, his farm,
and house. Solomon has given us that
also : By much slothfulness the building decay eth ; and through idleness of the hands the

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

house droppeth through.
L e t all this b e p u t
together, and possibly some reader m a y
find an unpleasant resemblance to his o w n
affairs.
H e sleeps long and late, he wakes to stupidity, with indolent eyes sleepily rolling
over neglected w o r k ; neglected because it is
too cold in spring, and too hot in summer,
and too laborious at all times,—a great coward in danger, and therefore very blustering
in safety. H i s lands run to waste, his fences
are dilapidated, his crops chiefly of weeds
and b r a m b l e s ; a shattered house, the side
leaning over as if wishing, like its owner, to
lie down to sleep; the chimney tumbling
down, the roof breaking in, with moss and
grass sprouting in its crevices; the well
without p u m p or windlass, a trap for their
children. This is the very castle of I n d o lence.
2. A n o t h e r idler as useless, b u t vastly
more active than t h e last, attends closely to
every one's business, except his own. His
wife earns the children's bread, and h i s ;
procures her own raiment and his ; she p r o cures the w o o d ; she procures the water,
while he, with hands in his pocket, is busy
watching the building of a neighbor's barn ;
or advising another how to trim and train
his v i n e s ; or he has heard of sickness in a
friend's family, and is there, to suggest a

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

13

h u n d r e d cures, and to do everything b u t to
h e l p ; he is a spectator of shooting-matches,
a stickler for a ring and fair play at every
fight.
H e knows all the stories of all t h e
families t h a t live in t h e town. If he can
catch a stranger at the tavern in a rainy day,
he pours out a strain of information, a pattering of words, as thick as t h e rain-drops
out of doors. H e has good advice to everybody, how to save, how to m a k e money,
how to do everything ; he can tell t h e saddler about his trade, he gives advice to t h e
smith about his work, and goes over with
him when it is forged to see the carriagem a k e r p u t it on, suggests improvements,
advises this paint or that varnish, criticises
the finish, or praises the trimmings. H e ij*
a violent reader of newspapers, almanacs,
and receipt b o o k s ; and with scraps of his^
t o i y and mutilated anecdotes, he faces the
very schoolmaster, and gives up only to the
volubility of the oily village lawyer,—few
have the hardihood to match him.
A n d t h u s every day he bustles t h r o u g h
his multifarious idleness, and completes his
circle of visits, as regularly as the pointers
of a clock visit each figure on the dial
p l a t e ; but alas! the clock forever tells man
the useful lesson of time passing steadily
away, and returning n e v e r ; but what useful
thing do these busy buzzing idlers perform?

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEAT

3. W e introduce
another idler. H e
follows no vocation; h e only follows those
w h o do. Sometimes he sweeps along the
streets, with consequential g a i t ; sometimes
perfumes it with wasted odors of tobacco.
H e also h a u n t s s u n n y benches, or breezy
piazzas. H i s business is to see ; his desire to
be seen, and no one fails to see him,—so
gaudily dressed, his h a t sitting aslant upon
a wilderness of hair, like a bird half startled
from its nest, and every thread arranged to
provoke attention. H e is a man of h o n o r ;
not that he keeps his word or shrinks from
meanness. H e defrauds his laundress, his
tailor, and his landlord. H e drinks and
smokes at other men's expense. H e gambles
and swears, and fights—when he is too
d r u n k to be afraid; but still he is a man of
honor, for he has whiskers and looks fierce,
wears mustachios and says, " upon my ko?tor,
sir; " "doyou doubt my honor, sir? "
T h u s he appears by d a y ; by night h e
does not a p p e a r ; he may be dimly seen flitting ; his voice may be heard loud in the
carousal of some refection cellar, or above
the songs and uproar of a midnight return,
and h o m e staggering.
4. T h e next of this brotherhood excites
our pity. H e began life most thriftily; for
his rising family he was gathering an ample
subsistence; but, involved in other men's

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AND

IDLENESS

affairs, he went down in their ruin. Late in
life he begins once more, and at length, just
secure of an easy competence, his ruin is
compassed again. H e sits down quietly under it, complains of no one, envies no one, refuseth the cup, and is even more p u r e in
morals, than in better days. H e moves on
from day to day, as one who walks under a
spell,—it is the spell of despondency, which
nothing can disenchant or arouse.
He
neither seeks work nor refuses it.
He
wanders a m o n g men a dreaming gazer,
poorly clad, always kind, always irresolute,
able to plan nothing for himself, nor to e x ecute what others have planned for him.
H e lives and he dies a discouraged man,
and the most harmless and excusable of all
idlers.
5. I have not mentioned t h e fashionable
idler, whose riches defeat every object for
which God gave him birth. H e has a fine
form, and manly beauty, and the chief end
of life is to display them. W i t h notable
diligence h e ransacks the m a r k e t for rare
and curious fabrics, for costly seals, and
chains, and rings. A coat poorly fitted is
t h e unpardonable sin of his creed. H e m e d itates upon cravats, employs a profound
discrimination in selecting a hat, or a vest,
and adopts his conclusions upon the tastefulness of a button or a collar, with the

J5

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

deliberation of a statesman. T h u s caparisoned, he saunters in fashionable galleries,
or flaunts in stylish equipage, or parades
the streets with simpering belles, or delights
their itching ears with compliments of
flattery, or with choicely culled scandal.
H e is a reader of fictions, if they be
not too substantial; a writer of cards and
billet-doux, and is especially conspicuous
in albums. Gay and frivolous, rich and useless, polished till t h e enamel is worn off, his
whole life serves only to m a k e him an animated puppet of pleasure. H e is as corrupt
in imagination as he is refined in m a n n e r s ;
h e is as selfish in private as he is generous
in public; and even what he gives to another,
is given for his own sake. H e worships
where fashion worships, to-day at t h e
theatre, to-morrow at the church, as either
exhibits t h e whitest hand, or the most
polished actor. A gaudy, active and indolent
butterfly, he flutters without industry from
flower to flower, until summer closes, and
frosts sting him, and he sinks down and
dies, u n t h o u g h t of and unremembered.
6. One other portrait should be drawn of
a business man, who wishes to subsist by
his occupation while he attends to everyt h i n g else. If a sporting club goes to the
woods, he must go. H e has set his line in
every hole in the river, and dozed in a

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

summer day under every tree along its
bank. He rejoices in a riding party—a
sleigh-ride—a summer-frolic—a winter's
glee. He is everybody's friend—-universally
good-natured,—forever busy where it will
do him no good, and remiss where his interests require activity. He takes amusement for his main business, which other
men employ as a relaxation; and the serious
labor of life, which other men are mainly
employed in, he knows only as a relaxation.
After a few years he fails, his good nature
is something clouded, and as age sobers his
buoyancy, without repairing his profitless
habits, he soon sinks to a lower grade of
laziness, and to ruin.
It would be endless to describe the wiles
of idleness—how it creeps upon men, how
secretly it mingles with their pursuits, how
much time it purloins from the scholar,
from the professional man, and from the
artisan. It steals minutes, it clips off the
edges of hours, and at length takes possession of days. Where it has its will, it sinks
and drowns employment; but where necessity, or ambition, or duty resists such
violence, then indolence makes labor heavy;
scatters the attention; puts us to our tasks
with wandering thoughts, with irresolute
purpose, and with dreamy visions. Thus
when it may, it plucks out hours and rules

ig

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

over them; and where this may not be, it
lurks around them to impede the sway of
industry, and turn her seeming toils to
subtle idleness. Against so mischievous an
enchantress, we should be duly armed. I
shall, therefore, describe the advantage of
Industry, and the evils of Indolence.
I. A hearty Industry promotes happiness. Some men of the greatest industry
are unhappy from infelicity of disposition;
they are morose, or suspicious, or envious.
Such qualities make happiness impossible
under any circumstances.
Health is the platform on which all happiness must be built. Good appetite, good
digestion, and good sleep, are the elements
of health, and Industry confers them. As
use polishes metals, so labor the faculties,
until the body performs its unimpeded
functions with elastic cheerfulness and
hearty enjoyment.
Buoyant spirits are an element of happiness, and activity produces them ; but they
fly away from sluggishness, as fixed air
from open wine. Men's spirits are like
water, which sparkles when it runs, but
stagnates in still pools, and is mantled with
green, and breeds corruption and filth. The
applause of conscience, the self-respect of
pride, the consciousness of independence,
a manly joy of usefulness, the consent of

xNDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

every faculty of the mind to one's occupation, and their gratification in it—these constitute a happiness superior to the feverflashes of vice in its brightest moments.
After an experience of ages, which has
taught nothing from this, men should have
learned, that satisfaction is not the product
of excess, or of indolence, or of riches ; but
of industry, temperance, and usefulness.
Every village has instances which ought to
teach young men, that he, who goes aside
from the simplicity of nature, and the
purity of virtue, to wallow in excesses,
carousals, and surfeits, at length misses the
errand of his life; and sinking with
shattered body prematurely to a dishonored
grave, mourns that he mistook exhilaration
for satisfaction, and abandoned the very
home of happiness, when he forsook the
labors of useful Industry.
The poor man with Industry, is happier
than the rich man in Idleness; for labor
makes the one more manly, and riches unmans the other. The slave is often happier
than the master, who is nearer undone by
license than his vassal by toil. Luxurious
couches—plushy carpets from oriental
looms—pillows of eider-down—carriages
contrived with cushions and springs to
make motion imperceptible,—is the indolent master of these as happy as the slave

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

that wove the carpet, the Indian who hunted
the northern flock, or the servant who
drives the pampered steeds ? Let those who
envy the gay revels of city idlers, and pine
for their masquerades, their routs, and their
operas, experience for a week the lassitude
of their satiety, the unarousable torpor of
their life when not under a fiery stimulus,
their desperate ennui, and restless somnolency, they would gladly flee from their
haunts as from a land of cursed enchantment.
2. Industry is the parent of thrift. In
the over-burdened states of Europe, the
severest toil often only suffices to make
life a wretched vacillation between food and
famine; but in America, Industry is prosperity.
Although God has stored the world with
an endless variety of riches for man's wants,
he has made them all accessible only to
Industry. The food we eat, the raiment
which covers us, the house which protects,
must be secured by diligence. To tempt
man yet more to Industry, every product of
the earth has a susceptibility of improvement ; so that man not only obtains the
gifts of nature at the price of labor, but
these gifts become more precious as we bestow upon them greater skill and cultivation. The wheat and maize which crown

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

our ample fields, were food fit but for birds,
before man perfected them by labor. The
fruits of the forest and the hedge, scarcely
tempting to the extremest hunger, after
skill has dealt with them and transplanted
them to the orchard and the garden, allure
every sense with the richest colors, odors,
and flavors. The world is full of germs
wjiich man is set to develop ; and there is
scarcely an assignable limit, to which the
hand of skill and labor may not bear the
powers of nature.
The scheming speculations of the last ten
years have produced an aversion among
the young to the slow accumulations of
ordinary Industry, and fired them with a
conviction that shrewdness, cunning, and
bold ventures, are a more manly way to
wealth. There is a swarm of men, bred in
the heats of adventurous times, whose
thoughts scorn pence and farthings, and
who humble themselves to speak of dollars;
—hundreds and thousands are their words.
They are men of great operations. Forty
thousand dollars is a moderate profit of a
single speculation. They mean to own the
Bank; and to look down, before they die,
upon Astor and Girard. The young farmer
becomes almost ashamed to meet his
school-mate, whose stores line whole
streets, whose stocks are in every bank and

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

company, and whose increasing money is
already well-nigh inestimable. But if the
butterfly derides the bee in summer, he was
never k n o w n to do it in the lowering days
of a u t u m n .
E v e r y few years, Commerce has its earthquakes, and the tall and toppling wareh o u s e s which haste ran up, are first shaken
down.
T h e hearts of men fail them for
fear; and the suddenly rich, made more
s u d d e n l y poor, fill the land with their loud
laments.
But nothing strange has h a p pened. W h e n the whole story of commercial disasters is told, it is only found out
t h a t they, w h o slowly amassed the gains
of useful Industry, built upon a rock ; and
they, w h o flung together the imaginary
millions of commercial speculations, built
upon the sand. W h e n times g r e w dark,
a n d t h e winds came, and the floods descended and beat upon them b o t h — t h e
rock sustained the one, and the shifting sand
let down the other. If a y o u n g man has
n o higher ambition in life than riches,
Industry—plain,
rugged,
brown-faced,
h o m e l y clad, old-fashioned Industry, must
be courted. Y o u n g men are pressed with a
most unprofitable haste. T h e y wish to reap
before they have ploughed or sown. E v e r y t h i n g is driving at such a rate, that they
h a v e become giddy.
Laborious occupa-

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AND

IDLENESS

tions are avoided. Money is to be earned
in genteel leisure, with the help of fine
clothes, and by the soft seductions of
smooth hair and luxuriant whiskers.
Parents, equally wild, foster the delusion.
Shall the promising lad be apprenticed to
his uncle, the blacksmith ? The sisters
think the blacksmith so very smutty; the
mother shrinks from the ungentility of his
swarthy labor; the father, weighing the
matter prudentially deeper, finds that a
whole life had been spent in earning the
uncle's property. These sagacious parents,
wishing the tree to bear its fruit before it
has ever blossomed, regard the long delay
of industrious trades as a fatal objection to
them. The son, then, must be a rich merchant, or a popular lawyer, or a broker;
and these, only as the openings to speculation.
Young business men are often educated
in two very unthrifty species of contempt;
a contempt for small gains, and a contempt
for hard labor. To do one's own errands,
to wheel one's own barrow, to be seen
with a bundle, bag, or burden, is disreputable. Men are so sharp now-a-days, that
they can compass by their shrewd heads,
what their fathers used to do with their
heads and hands.
3. Industry gives character and credit to

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TO YOUNG MEN

the young. The reputable portions of
society have maxims of prudence, by which
the young are judged and admitted to their
good opinion. Does he, regard his word ?
Is he industrious ? Is he economical ? Is he
free from immoral habits? The answer
which a young man's conduct gives to these
questions, settles his reception among good
men. Experience has shown that the
other good qualities of veracity, frugality,
and modesty, are apt to be associated with
industry. A prudent man would scarcely
be persuaded that a listless, lounging fellow,
would be economical or trust-worthy. An
employer would judge wisely, that where
there was little regard for time, or for
occupation, there would be as little, upon
temptation, for honesty or veracity. Pilferings of the till, and robberies, are fit deeds
for idle clerks, and lazy apprentices. Industry and knavery are sometimes found
associated; but men wonder at it, as at a
strange thing. The epithets of society,
which betoken its experience, are all in favor
of Industry. Thus, the terms " a hard
working man ; " " an industrious man ; "
4i
a laborious artisan;" are employed to
mean, an honest man ; a trust-worthy man.
I may here, as well as anywhere, impart
the secret of what is called good and bad
luck. There are men who, supposing Provi-

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AND

IDLENESS

dence to have an implacable spite against
them, bemoan in the poverty of a wretched
old age the misfortunes of their lives.
Luck forever ran against them, and for
others. One, with a good profession, lost
his luck in the river, where he idled away
his time a-fishing, when he should have
been in the office. Another, with a good
trade, perpetually burnt up his luck by his
hot temper, which provoked all his employers to leave him. Another, with a
lucrative business, lost his luck by amazing
diligence at everything but his business.
Another, who steadily followed his trade,
as steadily followed his bottle. Another,
who was honest and constant to his work,
erred by perpetual misjudgments;—he
lacked discretion. Hundreds lose their
luck by indorsing; by sanguine speculations ; by trusting fraudulent men; and
by dishonest gains. A man never has
good luck who has a bad wife. I never knew
an early-rising, hard-working, prudent man,
careful of his earnings, and strictly honest,
who complained of bad luck. A good
character, good habits, and iron industry,
are impregnable to the assaults of all the ill
luck that fools ever dreamed of. But when
I see a tatterdemalion, creeping out of a
groggery late in the forenoon, with his
hands stuck into his pockets, the rim of his

26

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

hat turned up, and the crown knocked in,
I know he has had bad luck,—for the worst
of all luck, is to be a sluggard, a knave, or
a tippler.
4. Industry is a substitute for Genius.
Where one or more faculties exist in the
highest state of development and activity,—
as the faculty of music in Mozart,—invention
in Fulton,—ideality in Milton,—we call
their possessor a genius. But a genius is
usually understood to be a creature of such
rare facility of mind, that he can do anything
without labor. According to the popular
notion, he learns without study, and knows
without learning. He is eloquent without
preparation ; exact without calculation ; and
profound without reflection. While ordinary men toil for knowledge by reading, by
comparison, and by minute research, a genius is supposed to receive it as the mind
receives dreams. His mind is like a vast
cathedral, through whose colored windows
the sunlight streams, painting the aisles with
the varied colors of brilliant pictures. Such
minds may exist.
So far as my observations have ascertained the species, they abound in academies,
colleges, and Thespian societies; in village
debating clubs ; in coteries of young artists,
and among young professional aspirants.
They are to be known by a reserved air, ex-

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IDLENESS

cessive sensitiveness, and utter indolence;
by very long hair, and very open shirt coll a r s ; by the reading of much wretched poetry, and the writing of much, yet more
wretched ; by being very conceited, very
affected, very disagreeable, and very useless :•—beings w h o m no man wants for friend,
pupil, or companion.
T h e occupations of the great man, and of
the c o m m o n man, are necessarily, for the
most part, the s a m e ; for the business of life
is made up of minute affairs, requiring only
j u d g m e n t and diligence. A high order of
intellect is required for the discovery and
defence of truth ; but this is an unfrequent
task. W h e r e the ordinary wants of life
once require recondite principles, they will
need t h e application of familiar truths a
thousand times. T h o s e who enlarge the
bounds of knowledge, must push out with
bold adventure beyond t h e common walks
of men. But only a few pioneers are needed
for the largest armies, and a few profound
men in each occupation m a y herald the
advance of all the business of society. T h e
vast bulk of men are required to discharge
the homely duties of life; and they have
less need of genius than of intellectual
Industry and patient Enterprise. Y o u n g
men should observe, that those w h o t a k e
the honors and emoluments of mechanical

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TO YOUNG MEN

crafts, of commerce and of professional life,
are rather distinguished for a sound judgment and a close application, than for a brilliant genius. In the ordinary business of
life, Industry can do anything which Genius can do ; and very many things which it
cannot. Genius is usually impatient of application, irritable, scornful of men's dulness, squeamish at petty disgusts:—it loves
a conspicuous place, a short work, and a
large reward. It loathes the sweat of toil,
the vexations of life, and the dull burden of
care.
Industry has a firmer muscle, is less annoyed by delays and repulses, and, like
water, bends itself to the shape of the soil
over which it flows; and if checked, will
not rest, but accumulates, and mines a passage beneath, or seeks a side-race, or rises
above and overflows the obstruction. What
Genius performs at one impulse, Industry
gains by a succession of blows. In ordinary matters they differ only in rapidity of
execution, and are upon one level before
men,—who see the result but not iheprocess.
It is admirable to know that those things
which in skill, in art, and in learning, the
world has been unwilling to let die, have
not only been the conceptions of genius,
but the products of toil. The masterpieces
of antiquity, as well in literature, as in art,

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IDLENESS

are known to have received their extreme
finish, from an almost incredible continuance
of labor upon them. I do not remember a
book in all the departments of learning, nor
a scrap in literature, nor a work in all the
schools of art, from which its author has
derived a permanent renown, that is not
known to have been long and patiently
elaborated. Genius needs Industry, as much
as Industry needs Genius. If only Milton's
imagination could have conceived his visions, his consummate industry only could
have carved the immortal lines which enshrine them. If only Newton's mind could
reach out to the secrets of Nature, even his
could only do it by the homeliest toil. The
works of Bacon are not midsummer-night
dreams, but, like coral islands, tiiey have
risen from the depths of truth, and formed
their broad surfaces above the ocean by the
minutest accretions of persevering labor.
The conceptions of Michael Angelo would
have perished like a night's phantasy, had
not his industry given them permanence.
From enjoying the pleasant walks of Industry we turn reluctantly to explore the
paths of Indolence.
All degrees of Indolence incline a man
to rely upon others, and not upon himself;
to eat their bread and not his own. His
carelessness is somebody's loss ; his neglect

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

is somebody's downfall; his promises are a
perpetual stumbling block to all who trust
them. If he borrows, the article remains
borrowed ; if he begs and gets, it is as the
letting out of waters—no one knows when
it will stop. H e spoils y o u r work ; disappoints y o u r e x p e c t a t i o n s ; exhausts y o u r
patience ; eats up y o u r substance ; abuses
y o u r confidence ; and hangs a dead weight
upon all y o u r plans ; and the very best thing
an honest man can do with a lazy man, is to
get rid of him. Solomon says : Bray a fool
with a pestle, in a mortar zvith wheat, yet
will not his folly depart from
him.
He
does not mention what kind of a fool he
m e a n t ; but as he speaks of a fool by preeminence, I take it for granted he meant a
lazy man ; and I am t h e more inclined to
the opinion, from another expression of his
experience : As vinegar to the teeth,and smoke
to the eyes, so is the sluggard to them that
send him.
Indolence is a great spendthrift
An
indolently inclined y o u n g man can neither
make nor keep property. I have high
authority for this : He that is slothful in his
work, is brother to him that is a great
waster.
W h e n Satan would put ordinary men t o
a crop of mischief, like a wise h u s b a n d m a n ,
h e clears t h e g r o u n d and prepares it for

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IDLENESS

s e e d ; but he finds the idle man already
prepared, and he has scarcely the trouble
of s o w i n g ; for vices, like weeds, ask little
strewing, except what the wind gives their
ripe and winged seeds, s h a k i n g and scattering them all abroad. Indeed, lazy men
m a y fitly be likened to a tropical prairie,
over which the wind of temptation perpetually blows, drifting every vagrant seed from
hedge and hill, and which—without a
moment's rest t h r o u g h all t h e y e a r —
waves its rank harvest of luxuriant weeds.
First, the imagination will be haunted
with unlawful visitants. U p o n the outskirts of towns are shattered houses, abandoned b y reputable persons. T h e y are not
empty, because all the day silent; thieves,
vagabonds and villains h a u n t them, in joint
possession with rats, bats, and vermin.
Such are idle men's imaginations—full of
unlawful company.
T h e imagination is closely related to the
passions, and fires t h e m with its heat. T h e
day-dreams of indolent y o u t h , glow each
hour with warmer colors, and bolder adventures. T h e imagination fashions scenes
of enchantment, in which the passions
revel; and it leads t h e m out, in shadow at
first, to deeds which soon they will seek in
earnest. T h e brilliant colors of far-away
clouds, are but the colors of t h e s t o r m ;

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

t h e salacious day-dreams of indolent men,
rosy at first and distant, deepen every day,
d a r k e r and darker, to the color of actual
evil. T h e n follows the blight of every
habit.
Indolence promises without redeeming the p l e d g e ; a mist of forgetfulness rises up and obscures the m e m o r y of
vows and oaths. T h e negligence of laziness breeds m o r e falsehoods t h a n t h e
cunning of the sharper. A s poverty waits
upon the steps of Indolence, so, upon such
poverty, brood equivocations, subterfuges,
lying denials. Falsehood becomes t h e instrument of every plan. Negligence of
.truth, next occasional falsehood, then
wanton mendacity,—these three strides
traverse the whole road of lies.
Indolence as surely runs to dishonesty,
as to lying. Indeed, t h e y are but different
parts of the same road, and not far apart.
In directing the conduct of the Ephesian
converts, Paul says, Let him that stole, steal
no more, but rather let him labor, working
with his hands the thing which is good.
T h e men who were thieves, were those
w h o had ceased to work. Industry was
the road back to honesty. W h e n stores
are broken open, the idle are first suspected. T h e desperate forgeries and swindlings of past years have taught men, upon
their occurrence, to ferret their a u t h o r s

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

among the unemployed, or among those
vainly occupied in vicious pleasures.
The terrible passion for stealing rarely
grows upon the young, except through the
necessities of their idle pleasures. Business
is first neglected for amusement, and
amusement soon becomes the only business.
The appetite for vicious pleasure outruns
the means of procuring it. The theatre,
the circus, the card-table, the midnight
carouse, demand money. When scanty
earnings are gone, the young man pilfers
from the till. First, because he hopes to
repay, and next, because he despairs of
paying—for the disgrace of stealing ten
dollars or a thousand will be the same, but
not their respective pleasures. Next, he
will gamble, since it is only another form
of stealing. Gradually excluded from reputable society, the vagrant takes all the
badges of vice, and is familiar with her
paths; and, through them, enters the broad
road of crime. Society precipitates its lazy
members, as water does its filth ; and they
form at the bottom, a pestilent sediment,
stirred up by every breeze of evil, into riots,
robberies and murders. Into it drains all
the filth, and out of it, as from a morass,
flow all the streams of pollution. Brutal
wretches, desperately haunted by the law,
crawling in human filth, brood here their
3

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TO YOUNG

MEAT

villain schemes, and plot mischief to man.
Hither resorts the truculent demagogue, to
stir up the fetid filth against his adversaries, or to bring up mobs out of this sea,
which cannot rest, but casts up mire and
dirt.
The results of Indolence upon communities, are as marked as upon individuals. In
a town of industrious people, the streets
would be clean; houses neat and comfortable ; fences in repair; school-houses
swarming with rosy-faced children, decently
clad, and well-behaved. The laws would
be respected, because justly administered.
The church would be thronged with devout
worshippers. The tavern would be silent,
and for the most part empty, or a welcome
retreat for weary travellers. Grog-sellers
would fail, and mechanics grow rich; labor
would be honorable, and loafing a disgrace.
For music, the people would have the
blacksmith's anvil, and the carpenter's hammer; and at home, the spinning-wheel, and
girls cheerfully singing at their work.
Debts would be seldom paid, because seldom made; but if contracted, no grim officer would be invited to the settlement.
Town-officers would be respectable men,
taking office reluctantly, and only for the
public good. Public days would be full of
sports, without fighting; and elections

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AND

IDLENESS

would be as orderly as weddings or funerals.
In a town of lazy-men, I should expect
to find crazy houses, shingles and weatherboards knocked off; doors hkigeless, and
all a-creak; windows stuffed with rags, hats,
or pillows. Instead of flowers in summer,
and warmth in winter, every side of the
house would swarm with vermin in hot
weather—and with starveling pigs in cold ;
fences would be curiosities of lazy contrivance, and gates hung with ropes, or lying
flat in the mud. Lank cattle would follow
every loaded wagon, supplicating a morsel,
with famine in their looks. Children would
be ragged, dirty, saucy; the school-house
empty ; the jail full; the church silent; the
grog-shops noisy ; and the carpenter, the
saddler, and the blacksmith, would do their
principal work at taverns. Lawyers would
reign; constables flourish, and hunt sneaking criminals; burly justices, (as their interests might dictate,) would connive a
compromise, or make a commitment. The
peace-officers would wink at tumults, arrest rioters in fun, and drink with them in
good earnest. Good men would be obliged
to keep dark, and bad men would swear,
fight, and rule the town. Public days would
be scenes of confusion, and end in rows;

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

•elections would be drunken, illegal, boisterous and brutal.
The young abhor the last results of Idleness ; but they do not perceive that the first
steps lead to the last. They are in the opening of this career; but with them it is genteel leisure, not laziness; it is relaxation,
not sloth; amusement, not indolence. But
leisure, relaxation, and amusement, when
men ought to be usefully engaged, are Indolence. A specious Industry is the worst
Idleness. A young man perceives that the
first steps lead to the last, with everybody
but himself He sees others become drunkards by social tippling,—he sips socially, as
if he could not be a drunkard. He sees
others become dishonest, by petty habits of
fraud; but will indulge slight aberrations,
as if he could not become knavish. Though
others, by lying, lose all character, he does
not imagine that his little dalliances with
falsehood will make him a liar. He knows
that salacious imaginations, villanous pictures, harlot snuff-boxes, and illicit familiarities, have led thousands to her door, whose
house is the way to hell; yet he never sighs
or trembles lest these things should take
him to this inevitable way of damnation !
In reading these strictures upon Indolence, you will abhor it in others, without

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

suspecting it in yourself. While you read,
I fear you are excusing yourself; you are
supposing that your leisure has not been
laziness; or that, with your disposition, and
in your circumstances, Indolence is harmless/ Be not deceived : if you are idle, you
are on the road to ruin: and there a% few
stopping places upon it. It is rather a precipice, than a road. While I point out the
temptation to Indolence, scrutinize your
course, and pronounce honestly upon your
risk.
I. Some are tempted to Indolence by
their wretched training, or rather, wretched
want of it. How many families are the
most remiss, whose low condition and sufferings are the strongest inducement to Industry. The children have no inheritance,
yet never work ; no education, yet are never
sent to school. It is hard to keep their
rags around them, yet none of them will
earn better raiment. If ever there was a
case when a Government should interfere
between parent and child, that seems to be
the one, where children are started in life
with an education of vice. If, in every
community, three things should be put together, which always work together, the
front would be a grog-shop,—the middle a
jail,—the rear a gallows ;—an infernal trinity; and the recruits for this three-headed

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

monster, are largely drafted from the lazy
children of worthless parents.
2. The children of rich parents are apt
to be reared in Indolence. The ordinary
motives to industry are wanting, and the
temptations to sloth are multiplied. Other
men labor to provide a support; to amass
wealth; to secure homage; to obtain
power; to multiply the elegant products of
art. The child of affluence inherits these
things. Why should he labor who may
command universal service, whose money
subsidizes the inventions of art, exhausts
the luxuries of society, and makes rarities
common by their abundance? Only the
blind would not see that riches and ruin
run in one channel to prodigal children.
The most rigorous regimen, the most confirmed industry, and steadfast morality can
alone disarm inherited wealth, and reduce
it to a blessing. The profligate wretch,
who fondly watches his father's advancing
decrepitude, and secretly curses the lingering steps of death, (seldom too slow except
to hungry heirs,) at last is overblessed in
the tidings that the loitering work is done—
and the estate his. When the golden
shower has fallen, he rules as a prince in a
court of expe-ctant parasites. All the
sluices by which pleasurable vice drains an
estate are opened wide. A few years com-

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

plete the ruin. T h e hopeful heir, avoided
b y all w h o m he has helped, ignorant of
useful labor, and scorning a knowledge of
it, fired with an incurable appetite for
vicious excitement, sinks steadily down,—
a profligate, a wretch, a villain-scoundrel, a
convicted felon. L e t parents who hate
their offspring rear t h e m to hate labor, and
to inherit riches, and before long they will
be stung b y every vice, racked by its
poison, and damned by its penalty.
3. A n o t h e r cause of Idleness is found
in the secret effects of youthful indulgence.
T h e purest pleasures lie within the circle of
useful occupation. Mere pleasure,—sought
outside of usefulness,—existing by itself,-—
is fraught with poison. W h e n its exhilaration has thoroughly kindled the mind, the
passions thenceforth refuse a simple food;
they crave and require an excitement,
higher than any ordinary occupation can
give. After revelling all night in wine._ dreams, or amid the fascinations of t h e
dance, or the deceptions of the drama, what
has the dull store, or the dirty shop, which
can continue the pulse at this fever-heat of
delight? T h e face of Pleasure to t h e
youthful imagination, is the face of an angel, a paradise of smiles, a h o m e of l o v e ;
while the r u g g e d face of I n d u s t r y , embrowned by toil, is dull and repulsive: b u t

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

at the end it is not so. These are harlot
charms which Pleasure wears. At last,
when Industry shall put on her beautiful
garments, and rest in the palace which her
own hands have built,—Pleasure, blotched <
and diseased with indulgence, shall lie down
and die upon the dung-hill.
{
4. Example leads to Idleness. The
children of industrious parents at the sight
of vagrant rovers seeking their sports
wherever they will, disrelish labor, and
envy this unrestrained leisure. At the first
relaxation of parental vigilance, they shrink
from their odious tasks. Idleness is begun
when labor is a burden, and industry a
bondage, and only idle relaxation a pleasure.
The example of political men, officeseekers, and public officers, is not usually
conducive to Industry. The idea insensibly fastens upon the mind, that greatness
and hard labor are not companions. The
inexperience of youth imagines that great
men are men of great leisure. They see
them much in public, often applauded, and
greatly followed. How disgusting in contrast is the mechanic's life; a tinkering
shop,—dark and smutty,—is the only theatre
of his exploits; and labor, which covers
him with sweat and fills him with weariness, brings neither notice nor praise. The

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

ambitious apprentice, sighing over his soiled
hands, hates his ignoble work .;—neglecting
it, he aspires to better things,—plots in a
caucus; declaims in a bar-room ; fights in a
grog-shop; and dies in a ditch.
5. But the Indolence begotten by venal
ambition must not be so easily dropped.
At those periods of occasional disaster
when embarrassments cloud the face of
commerce, and trade drags heavily, sturdy
laborers forsake industrial occupations, and
petition for office. Had I a son able to<
gain a livelihood by toil, I had rather bury
him, than witness his beggarly supplications
for office;—sneaking along the path of
men's passions to gain his advantage ; holding in the breath of his honest opinions ;
and breathing feigned words of flattery to
hungry ears, popular or official; and crawling, viler than a snake, through all the unmanly courses by which ignoble wretches
purloin the votes of the dishonest, the
drunken, and the vile.
The late reverses of commerce have unsettled the habits of thousands. Manhood
seems debilitated, and many sturdy yeomen
are ashamed of nothing but labor. For a
farthing-pittance of official salary,—for the
miserable fees of a constable's office,—for
the parings and perquisites of any deputyship,—a hundred men in every village, rush

42

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

forward,—scrambling, jostling, crowding,—»
each more obsequious than the other to
lick the hand that holds the omnipotent
vote, or the starveling office. T h e most
supple cunning gains the prize. Of the disappointed crowd, a few, rebuked b y their
sober reflections, go back to their honest
trade,—ashamed and cured of office-seeking.
But the majority grumble for a day, then
prick forth their ears, arrange their feline
arts, and mouse again for another office.
T h e general appetite for office and disrelish
for industrial callings, is a prolific source of
Idleness ; and it would be well for the h o n o r
of y o u n g men if they were bred to regard
office as fit only for those w h o have clearly
shown themselves able and willing to support their families without it. N o office can
make a worthless man respectable ; and a
man of integrity, thrift, and religion, has
name e n o u g h without badge or office.
6. Men become Indolent t h r o u g h t h e
reverses of fortune. Surely, despondency
is a grievous thing, and a heavy load to
bear. T o see disaster and wreck in the present, and no light in the future; but only
storms, lurid by the contrast of past prosperity, and growing darker as they advance ;
— t o wear a constant expectation of woe like
a g i r d l e ; to see want at the door, imperiously knocking, while there is no strength

INDUSTRY

AND

IDLENESS

to repel, or courage to bear its tyranny ;—
indeed, this is dreadful enough. But there is
a thing more dreadful. It is more dreadful
if the man is wrecked with his fortune. Can
anything be more poignant in anticipation,
than one's ownself, unnerved, cowed down
and slackened to utter pliancy, and helplessly drifting and driven down the troubled
sea of life ? Of all things on earth, next to
his God, a broken man should cling to a
courageous Industry. If it brings n o t h i n g
back, and saves nothing, it will save him.
T o be pressed down b y adversity has
nothing in it of disgrace; but it is disgraceful to lie down under it like a supple dog.
Indeed, to stand composedly in the storm,
amidst its rage and wildest devastations; to
let it beat over you, and roar around you,
and pass b y you, and leave you undismayed,
—this is to be a MAN. A d v e r s i t y is the
mint in which God stamps upon* us his
image and superscription. In this matter
men may learn of insects. T h e ant will
repair his dwelling as often as the mischievous foot crushes i t ; the spider will
exhaust life itself, before he will live without
a web ;—the bee can be decoyed from his
labor neither b y plenty nor scarcity. If
s u m m e r be abundant it toils n o n e t h e less ;
if it be parsimonious of flowers, the tiny
laborer sweeps a wider circle, and b y I n -

44

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

dustry, repairs the frugality of the season.
Man should be ashamed to be rebuked in
vain by the spider, the ant, and the bee.
Seest thou a man diligent in his business,
he shall stand before kings, he shall not stand
before mean men.

TWELVE CAUSES
DISHONESTY

OF

Providing for honest things, not only in the sight of the
Lord, but also in the sight of men. 2 Cor. viii. 21.

O

N L Y extraordinary circumstances can
give the appearance of dishonesty to
an honest man. Usually, not to seem
honest, is not to be so. The quality must
not be doubtful like twilight, lingering
between night and day and taking hues from
both; it must be day-light, clear,and effulgent This is the doctrine of the Bible :
Providing for honest things, not only hi the
sight of the Lord, BUT ALSO IN THE SIGHT OF

MEN. In general it may be said that no one
has honesty without dross, until he has
honesty without suspicion.
We are passing through times upon
which the seeds of dishonesty have been
sown broadcast, and they have brought forth
a hundred-fold. These times will pass
away; but like ones will come again. As
(45)

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

physicians study the causes and record the
p h e n o m e n a of plagues and pestilences, to
draw from t h e m an antidote against their
recurrence, so should we leave to another
generation a history of moral plagues, as the
best antidote to their recurring malignity.
U p o n a land,—capacious beyond measure,
whose prodigal soil rewards labor with an
unharvestable abundance of
exuberant
fruits, occupied b y a people signalized b y
enterprise and industry,—there came a summer of prosperity which lingered so long
and shone so brightly, that men forgot that
winter could ever come. E a c h day grew
brighter.
N o reins were put upon the
imagination. Its dreams passed for realities.
Even sober men, touched with wildness,
seemed to expect a realization of oriental
tales. U p o n this bright day came sudden
frosts, storms, and blight. Men awoke from
gorgeous dreams in the midst of desolation.
T h e harvests of years were swept away in
a day. T h e strongest firms were rent as
easily as the oak by lightning. Speculating
companies were dispersed as seared leaves
from a tree in autumn. Merchants were
ruined by thousands.; clerks turned adrift
b y ten thousands. Mechanics were left
in idleness. F a r m e r s sighed over flocks
and wheat as useless as the stones and dirt.
T h e wide sea of commerce was s t a g n a n t ;

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

47

upon t h e realm of Industry settled down a
sullen lethargy.
O u t of this reverse swarmed an u n n u m bered host of dishonest men, like vermin
from a carcass. Banks were exploded,—or
robbed,—or fleeced b y astounding forgeries.
Mighty companies, without cohesion, went
to pieces, and hordes of wretches snatched
up every bale that came ashore.
Cities
were ransacked by troops of villains. T h e
unparalleled frauds, which s p r u n g like
mines on every hand, set every man to
trembling lest the next explosion should be
under his own feet. Fidelity seemed to
have forsaken men. Many that had earned
a reputation for sterling honesty were cast
so suddenly headlong into wickedness, that
man shrank from man. Suspicion overgrew
confidence, and the heart bristled with the
nettles and thorns of fear and jealousy.
T h e n had almost come to pass the divine
delineation of ancient wickedness : The good
ma?i is perished out of the earth : and there is
none upright among men : they all lie in wait
for blood; they hunt every man his brother
zvith a net. That they may do evil with
both hands earnestly, the prince and the judge
ask for a reward: and the great man tittereth his mischievous desire ; so they wrap it
up. The best of them is a brier; the most
upright is sharper than a thorn hedge.
The

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

world looked upon a continent of inexhaustible fertility, (whose harvest had
glutted the markets, and rotted in disuse,)
filled with lamentation, and its inhabitants
wandering like bereaved citizens among the
ruins of an earthquake, mourning for children, for houses crushed, and propertyburied forever.
That no measure might be put to the
calamity, the Church of God, which rises a
stately tower of refuge to desponding men,
seemed now to have lost its power of protection. When the solemn voice of Religion should have gone over the land, as
the call of God to guilty man to seek in
him their strength; in this time when Religion should have restored sight to the
blind, made the lame to walk, and bound
up the broken-hearted, she was herself
mourning in sackcloth. Out of her courts
came the noise of warring sects ; some contending against others with bitter warfare;
and some, possessed of a demon, wallowed
upon the ground foaming and rending
themselves. In a time of panic, and disaster, and distress, and crime, the fountain
which should have been for the healing of
men, cast up its sediments, and gave out
a bitter stream of pollution.
In every age, an universal pestilence has
hushed the clamor of contention, and cooled

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

49

the heats of parties; but the greatness of
our national calamity seemed only to enkindle the fury of political parties. Contentions never ran with such deep streams
and impetuous currents, as amidst the ruin
of our industry and prosperity. States
were greater debtors to foreign nations, than
their citizens were to each other* Both
states and citizens shrunk back from their
debts, and yet more dishonestly from the
taxes necessary to discharge them. The
General Government did not escape, but
lay becalmed, or pursued its course, like a
ship, at every furlong touching the rocks,
or beating against the sands. The Capitol
trembled with the first waves of a question
which is yet to shake the whole land. New
questions of exciting qualities perplexed
the realm of legislation, and of morals. To
all this must be added a manifest decline
of family government; an
increase
of the ratio of popular ignorance; a decrease of reverence for law, and an effeminate administration of it. Popular tumults
have been as frequent as freshets in our
rivers; and like them, have swept over the
land with desolation, and left their filthy
slime in the highest places:—upon the
press ;—upon the legislature;—in the halls ^
of our courts ;—and even upon the sacred
bench of Justice. If unsettled times foster
4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

dishonesty, it should have flourished a m o n g
us. A n d it has.
O u r nation must expect a periodical return of such convulsions ; but experience
should steadily curtail their ravages, and
remedy their immoral tendencies. Y o u n g
men have before them lessons of manifold
wisdom taught by the severest of m a s t e r s —
experience. T h e y should be studied ; and
that they may be, I shall, from this general
survey, turn to a specific enumeration 'of
the causes of dishonesty.
i. Some men find in their bosom from
the first, a vehement inclination to dishonest ways. ' Knavish propensities are inh e r e n t : born with the child and transmissible from parent to son. T h e children of a
sturdy thief, if taken from him at birth and
reared b y honest men, would, doubtless,
have to contend against a strongly dishonest inclination. Foundlings and orphans
under public charitable charge, are more
apt to become vicious than other children.
T h e y are usually born of low and vicious
parents, and inherit their parents' propensities. Only the most thorough moral
training can overrule this innate depravity.
2. A child naturally fair-minded, m a y
become dishonest by parental example. ' H e
is early taught to be sharp in bargains, and

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

51

vigilant for every advantage. Little is said
about honesty, and much upon shrewd
traffic. A dexterous trick, becomes a
family anecdote; visitors are regaled with
the boy's precocious keenness. Hearing
the praise of his exploits, he studies craft,
and seeks parental admiration by adroit
knaveries. He is taught, for his safety,
that he must not range beyond the law:
that would be unprofitable. He calculates
his morality thus : Legal honesty is the best
policy,—dishonesty, then, is a bad bargain
—and therefore wrong—everything is
wrong which is unthrifty. Whatever profit
breaks no legal statute—though it is gained
by falsehood, by unfairness, by gloss;
through dishonor, unkindness, and an unscrupulous conscience—he considers fair,
and says: The law allows it. Men may
spend a long life without an indictable
acticvn, and without an honest one. No
law can reach-the insidious ways of subtle
craft. The law allows, and religion forbids
men, to profit by others' misfortunes, to
prowl for prey among the ignorant, to overreach the simple, to suck the last life-drops
from the bleeding; to hover over men as a
vulture over herds, swooping down upon
the weak, the straggling, and the weary.
The infernal craft of cunning men, turns the
law itself to piracy, and works outrageous
)

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

fraud in the hall of Courts, by the decision
of judges, and under the seal of Justice.
3. Dishonesty is learned from one's employers. The boy of honest parents and
honestly bred, goes to a trade, or a store,
where the employer practises legal frauds.
The plain honesty of the boy excites roars
of laughter among the better taught clerks.
The master tells them that such blundering
truthfulness must be pitied; the boy evidently has been neglected, and is not to be
ridiculed for what he could not help. At
first, it verily pains the youth's scruples,
and tinges his face to frame a deliberate
dishonesty, to finish, and to polish it. His
tongue stammers at a lie; but the example
of a rich master, the jeers and gibes of
shopmates, with gradual practice, cure all
this. He becomes adroit in fleecing customers for his master's sake, and equally
dexterous in fleecing his master for his own
sake.
4. EXTRAVAGANCE is a prolific source of

dishonesty. Extravagance,—which is foolish expense, or expense disproportionate to
one's means,—may be found in all grades
of society; but it is chiefly apparent among
the rich, those aspiring to wealth, and those
wishing to be thought affluent. Many a
young man cheats his business, by transferring his means to theatres, race-courses,

TWELVE

CAUSES OE DISHONESTY

53

expensive parties, and to the nameless and
numberless projects of pleasure. The enterprise of others is baffled by the extravagance of their family; for few men can
make as much in a year as an extravagant
woman can carry on her back in one winter.
Some are ambitious of fashionable society,
and will gratify their vanity at any expense.
This disproportion between means and
expense soon brings on a crisis. The
victim is straitened for money; without it
he must abandon his rank; for fashionable
society remorselessly rejects all butterflies
which have lost their brilliant colors.
Which shall he choose, honesty and mortifying exclusion, or gaiety purchased by
dishonesty ? The severity of this choice
sometimes sobers the intoxicated brain;
and a young man shrinks from the gulf,
appalled at the darkness of dishonesty.
But to excessive vanity, high-life with or
without fraud, is Paradise; and any other
life Purgatory. Here many resort to dishonesty without a scruple. It is at this
point that public sentiment half sustains
dishonesty. It scourges the thief of Necessity, and pities the thief of Fashion.
The struggle with others is on the very
ground of honor. A wife led from affluence
to frigid penury and neglect; from leisure
and luxury to toil and want; daughters,

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEAT

once courted as rich, to be disesteemed
when poor,—this is the gloomy prospect,
seen through a magic haze of despondency.
Honor, love and generosity, strangely bewitched, plead for dishonesty as the only
alternative to such suffering. But go,
young man, to your wife; tell her the alternative ; if she is worthy of you, she will
face your poverty with a courage which
shall shame your fears, and lead you into
its wilderness and through it, all unshrinking. Many there be who went weeping
into this desert, and ere long, having found
in it the fountains of the purest peace, have
thanked God for the pleasures of poverty.
But if your wife unmans your resolution,
imploring dishonor rather than penury,
may God pity and help you! You dwell
with a sorceress, and few can resist her
wiles.
5. DEBT is an inexhaustible fountain c«f
Dishonesty. The Royal Preacher tells us :
The borrower is servant to the lender. Debt
is a rigorous servitude. The debtor learns
the cunning tricks, delays, concealments,
and frauds, by which slaves evade or cheat
their master. He is tempted to make
ambiguous statements ; pledges, with secret
passages of escape ; contracts, with fraudulent constructions; lying excuses, and
more mendacious promises. He is tempted

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

55

to elude responsibility; to delay settlements ; to prevaricate upon the terms; to
resist equity, and devise specious fraud.
When the eager creditor would restrain
such vagrancy by law, the debtor then
thinks himself released from moral obligation, and brought to a legal game, in which
it is lawful for the best player to win. He
disputes true accounts; he studies subterfuges ; extorts provocatious delays; and
harbors in every nook, and corner, and
passage, of the law's labyrinth. At length
the measure is filled up, and the malignant
power of debt is known. It has opened in
the heart every fountain of iniquity; it has
besoiled the conscience; it has tarnished
the honor; it has made the man a deliberate student of knavery; a systematic practitioner of fraud: it has dragged him through
all the sewers of petty passions,—anger,
hate, revenge, malicious folly, or malignant
shame. When a debtor is beaten at every
point, and the law will put her screws
upon him, there is no depth in the gulf of
dishonesty into which he will not boldly
plunge. Some men put their property to
the flames, assassinate the detested creditor,
and end the frantic tragedy by suicide, or
the gallows. Others, in view of the catastrophe, have converted all property to cash,
and concealed it. The law's utmost skill,

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

and the creditor's fury, are alike powerless
now,—the tree is green and thrifty ; its
roots drawing a copious supply from some
hidden fountain.
Craft has another harbor of resort for t h e
piratical crew of dishonesty; viz.: putting
the property out of the law's reach by a
fraudulent conveyance.
W h o e v e r runs in
debt, and consumes the equivalent of his
indebtedness ; whoever is fairly liable to
d a m a g e for broken contracts ; whoever b y
folly, has incurred debts and lost the benefit of his o u t l a y ; whoever is legally obliged
to pay for his malice or carelessness ; w h o ever by infidelity to public trusts has m a d e
his property a just remuneration for his
defaults ;—whoever of all these, or w h o ever, under any circumstances, puts out of
his hands property, morally or legally due
to

creditors, is

A DISHONEST MAN.

The

crazy excuses which men render to their
consciences, are only such as every villain
makes, who is unwilling to look upon the,
black face of his crimes.
H e who will receive a conveyance of property, knowing it to be illusive and fraudulent, is as wicked as t h e principal; and as
m u c h meaner, as the tool and subordinate
of villany is meaner than the master who
uses him.
If a church, k n o w i n g all these facts, or

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

57

wilfully ignorant of them, allows a member
to nestle in the security of the s a n c t u a r y ;
then the act of this robber, and the connivance of the church, are but the two parts of
one crime.
6. BANKRUPTCY, a l t h o u g h a branch of
debt, deserves a separate mention. It sometimes crushes a man's spirit, and sometimes
exasperates it. T h e poignancy of the evil
depends much upon the disposition of the
creditors; and as much upon the disposition of the victim. Should they act with
the lenity of Christian men, and he with
manly honesty, promptly rendering up what* ever satisfaction of debt he has,—he m a y
visit the lowest places of human adversity,
and find there the light of good men's esteem, the support of conscience, and the
sustenance of religion.
A bankrupt m a y fall into the hands of
men whose tender-mercies are cruel; or his
dishonest equivocations may exasperate
^heir temper and provoke every thorn and
brier of the law. W h e n men's passions are
let loose, especially their avarice whetted
by real or imaginary w r o n g ; when there is
a rivalry a m o n g creditors, lest any one
should feast upon t h e victim more than his
s h a r e ; and they all rush upon him like
wolves upon a wounded deer, dragging him
down, ripping him open, breast and flank,

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

plunging deep their bloody muzzles to reach
the heart and taste blood at t h e very fountain ;—is it strange that resistance is desperate and unscrupulous? A t length the sufferer drags his mutilated carcass aside, every
nerve and muscle w r u n g with pain, and his
whole body an instrument of agony.
He
curses the whole inhuman crew with envenomed imprecations ; and thenceforth, a
brooding misanthrope, he pays back to s o ciety, by studied villanies, the legal wrongs
which the relentless justice of a few, or his
own knavery, have b r o u g h t upon him.
7. T h e r e is a circle of moral dishonesties
practised because the LAW allows t h e m .
T h e very anxiety of law to reach the devices of cunning, so perplexes its statutes
with exceptions, limitations, and supplements, that like a castle gradually enlarged
for centuries, it has its crevices, dark corners, secret holes and winding passages-—
an endless harbor for rats and vermin, where
no trap can catch them.
W e are villanously infested with legal rats and rascals,
who are able to commit t h e most flagrant
dishonesties with impunity. T h e y can do
all of wrong which is profitable, without
that part which is actionable. T h e very
ingenuity of these miscreants excites such
admiration of their skill, that their life is
gilded with a specious respectability. Men

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

jg

profess little esteem for blunt, necessitous
thieves, w h o rob and run a w a y ; but for a
gentleman w h o can break t h e whole of
God's law so adroitly, as to leave man's law
u n b r o k e n ; w h o can indulge in such conservative stealing t h a t his fellow-men award
him a rank a m o n g honest men for t h e e x cessive skill of his dishonesty—for such a
one, I fear, there is almost universal s y m pathy.
8. P O L I T I C A L

DISHONESTY,

breeds

dis-

honesty of every kind. It is possible for
good men t o permit single sins t o co-exist
with general integrity, where the evil is indulged t h r o u g h ignorance.
Once, und o u b t e d Christians were slave-traders. T h e y
might be, while unenlightened ; b u t not in
our times. A state of mind which will intend one fraud, will, upon occasions, intend
a thousand. H e that upon one emergency
will lie, will be supplied with emergencies.
H e that will perjure himself to save a friend,
will do it, in a desperate juncture, t o save
himself. T h e highest W i s d o m has informed
us that He that is unjust in the least, is unjust also in much.
Circumstances m a y withdraw a politician from temptation t o any
b u t political dishonesty ; b u t under temptation, a dishonest politician would b e a
dishonest cashier,—would be dishonest
anywhere,—in anything. T h e fury which

(5o

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

destroys an opponent's character, would
stop- at nothing, if barriers were thrown
down. T h a t which is true of the leaders
in politics, is true of subordinates. Political dishonesty in voters runs into general dishonesty, as the rotten speck taints t h e
whole apple. A c o m m u n i t y whose politics
are conducted by a perpetual breach of
honesty on both sides, will be tainted b y
immorality thrqughout. Men will play the
same game in their private affairs, which
they have learned to play in public matters.
T h e guile, the crafty vigilance, the dishonest advantage, the cunning sharpness ;—the
tricks and traps and sly evasions ; the equivocal promises, and unequivocal neglect of
them, which characterize political action,
will equally characterize private action.
T h e mind has no kitchen to do its
dirty work in, while the parlor remains
clean. Dishonesty is an atmosphere ; if it
comes into one apartment, it penetrates into
every one. W h o e v e r will lie in politics,
will lie in traffic. W h o e v e r will slander in
politics, will slander in personal squabbles.
A professor of religion who is a dishonest
politician, is a dishonest Christian.
His
creed is a perpetual index of his hypocrisy.
T h e genius of our government directs
the attention of every citizen to politics.
Its spirit reaches the uttermost bound of

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

6J

society, and pervades the whole mass. If
its channels are slimy with corruption, what
limit can be set to its malign influence?
T h e turbulence of elections, the virulence
of the press, the desperation of bad men,
• t h e hopelessness of efforts which are not
! cunning, but only honest, have diiven m a n y
conscientious
men from
any
concern
with politics. This is suicidal. T h u s t h e
tempest will grow blacker and fiercer. O u r
youth will be caught up in its whirling bosom and dashed to pieces, and its hail will
break down every green thing. A t God's
house the cure should begin.
L e t the
hand of discipline smite the leprous lips
which shall utter the profane h e r e s y : All
is fair in politics.
If any hoary professor,
d r u n k with the mingled wine of excitement, shall tell our youth, that a Christian
man may act in politics by any other rule
of morality than that of the Bible; and
that wickedness performed for a party, is
not as abominable, as if done for a man ; or
t h a t any necessity justifies or palliates dishonesty in word or deed,—let such a one
g o out of the camp, and his pestilent breath
ho longer spread contagion a m o n g our
youth. N o man who loves his country,
should shrink from her side when she
groans with raging distempers. L e t every
Christian man stand in his p l a c e ; rebuke

52

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

every dishonest practice; scorn a political
as well as a personal lie; and refuse with
indignation to be insulted by the solicitation
of an immoral man. Let good men of all
parties require honesty, integrity, veracity,
and morality in politics, and there, as powerfully as anywhere else, the requisitions of
public sentiment will ultimately be felt.
9. A corrupt PUBLIC SENTIMENT produces
dishonesty. A public sentiment, in which
dishonesty is not disgraceful; in which bad
men are respectable, are trusted, are honored, are exalted—is a curse to the young.
The fever of speculation, the universal derangement of business, the growing laxness
of morals, is, to an alarming extent, introducing such a state of things. Men of notorious immorality, whose dishonesty is
flagrant, whose private habits would disgrace the ditch, are powerful and popular.
I have seen a man stained with every sin,
except those which required courage ; into
whose head I do not think a pure thought
has entered for forty years; in whose heart
an honorable feeling would droop for very
loneliness;—in evil he was ripe and rotten ;
hoary and depraved in deed, in word, in his
present life and in all his past; evil when
by himself, and viler among men ; corrupting
to the young;—to domestic fidelity, a recreant; to common honor, a traitor; to

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

63

honesty, an outlaw ; to religion, a h y p o c r i t e ;
—base in all that is w o r t h y of man, and accomplished in whatever is disgraceful ; and
yet this wretch could go where he w o u l d ;
enter good men's dwellings, and purloin
their votes. Men would curse him, yet obey
h i m ; hate him and assist h i m ; warn their
sons against him, and lead them to the polls
for him. A public sentiment which produces
ignominious knaves, cannot breed honest
men.
A n y calamity, civil or commercial, which
checks the administration of justice between
man and man, is ruinous to honesty. T h e
violent fluctuations of business cover the
ground with rubbish over which men stumble ; and fill the air with dust, in which
all the shapes of honesty appear distorted.
Men are thrown upon unusual e x p e d i e n t s ;
dishonesties are u n o b s e r v e d ; those who
have been reckless and profuse, stave off
the legitimate fruits of their folly by desperate shifts. W e have not yet emerged from
a period, in which debts were insecure;
the debtor legally protected against t h e
rights of the creditor; taxes laid, not b y
the requirements of justice, b u t for political
effect; and lowered to a dishonest insufficiency ; and when t h u s diminished, not collected ; the citizens resisting their own officers ; officers resigning at the bidding of

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

t h e electors ; t h e laws of property paralyzed ;
bankrupt laws built up ; and stay-laws unconstitutionally enacted, upon which t h e
courts look with aversion, yet fear to d e n y
them, lest the wildness of popular opinion
should roll back disdainfully upon t h e
bench, to despoil its dignity, and prostrate
its power. General suffering has made us
tolerant of general dishonesty; and t h e
gloom of our commercial disaster threatens
t o become the pall of our morals.
If the shocking stupidity of the public
mind to atrocious dishonesties is not
aroused ; if good men do not bestir t h e m selves to drag the y o u n g from this foul
sorcery ; if the relaxed bands of honesty
are not tightened, and conscience intoned
to a severer morality, our night is at hand,
— o u r midnight not far off. W o e to that
guilty people w h o sit down upon broken
laws, and wealth saved by injustice! W o e
to a generation fed upon the bread of fraud,
whose children's inheritance shall be a perpetual memento of their fathers' unrighteousness ; to whom dishonesty shall be
m a d e pleasant b y association with the revered memories of father, brother, a n d
friend !
B u t when a whole people, united b y a
c o m m o n disregard of justice, conspire t o
defraud public creditors; and States vie

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

65

with States in an infamous repudiation of
just debts, by open or sinister methods;
and nations exert their sovereignty to protect
and dignify the knavery of a Commonwealth ; then the confusion of domestic
affairs has bred a fiend, before whose flight
honor fades away, and under whose feet the
sanctity of truth and the religion of solemn
cbmpacts are stamped down and ground into
the dirt Need we ask the causes of growing dishonesty among the young, and the
increasing untrustworthiness of all agents,
when States are seen^clothed with the panoply of dishonesty, and nations put on
fraud for their garments ?
Absconding agents, swindling schemes,
and defalcations, occurring in such melancholy abundance, have at length ceased to
be wonders, and rank with the common
accidents of fire and flood. The budget of
each week is incomplete without its mob
and runaway cashier—its duel and defaulter;
and as waves which roll to the shore are
lost in those which follow on, so the villanies of each week obliterate the record of
the last.
T h e mania of dishonesty cannot arise
from local causes ; it is the result of disease
in the whole community; an eruption betokening foulness of the blood; blotches
symptomatic of a disordered system.
.

5

66

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

10. FINANCIAL AGENTS are especially liable to the temptations of Dishonesty. Safe
merchants, and visionary schemers; sagacious adventurers, and rash speculators;
frugal beginners, and retired millionaires,
are constantly around them. Every word,
every act, every entry, every letter, suggests
only wealth—its germ, its bud, its blossom,
its golden harvest. Its brilliance dazzles the
sight; its seductions stir the appetites; its
power fires the ambition, and the soul concentrates its energies to obtain wealth, as
life's highest and only joy.
Besides the influence of such associations,
direct dealing in money as a commodity,
has a peculiar effect upon the heart,
There is no property between it and the
mind;—no medium to mellow its light.
The mind is diverted and refreshed by no
thoughts upon the quality of soils; the
durability of structures; the advantages
of sites; the beauty of fabrics ; it is not
invigorated by the necessity of labor and
ingenuity which the mechanic feels; by
the invention of the artisan, or the taste
of the artist. The whole attention falls
directly upon naked Money. The hourly
sight of it whets the appetite, and sharpens
it to avarice. Thus, with an intense regard
of riches, steals in also the miser's relish of
coin—that insatiate gazing and fondling,

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

fy

by which seductive metal wins to itself all
the blandishments of love,
T h o s e who mean to be rich, often begin
by imitating the expensive courses of those
who are rich. T h e y are also tempted to
venture, before they have means of their
own, in brilliant speculations. H o w can a
y o u n g cashier pay the drafts of his illicit
pleasures, or procure the seed, for t h e
harvest of speculation, out of his narrow
salary ? H e r e first begins t o work t h e
leaven of death. T h e mind wanders in
dreams of g a i n ; it broods over projects
of unlawful riches ; stealthily at first, and
then with less reserve; at last it boldly
meditates the possibility of being dishonest
and safe.
W h e n a man can seriously
reflect upon dishonesty as a possible and
profitable thing, he is already deeply dis- <
honest. T o a mind so tainted, will flock
stories of c o n s u m m a t e craft, of effective
knavery, of fraud covered b y its brilliant
success. A t times, the mind shrinks from
its own thoughts, and trembles to look down
the giddy cliff on whose edge they poise.
or over which they fling themselves like
sporting sea-birds. But these imaginations
will not be driven from the heart w h e r e
they have once nested.
They haunt a
man's business, visit him m dreams, and
vampire-like^ fan the Oi^rvb^rs of t h e victim

68

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

whom they will destroy. In some feverish
hour, vibrating between conscience and
avarice, the man staggers to a compromise.
To satisfy his conscience he refuses to
steal; and to gratify his avarice, he borrows
the funds ;—not openly—not of owners—not of men: but of the till—the safe—the
vault!
He resolves to restore the money before
-discovery can ensue, and pocket the profits.
Meanwhile, false entries are made, perjured
•oaths are sworn, forged papers are filed.
His expenses grow profuse, and men
wonder from what fountain so copious a
stream can flow.
Let us stop here to survey his condition.
He flourishes, is called prosperous, thinks
himself safe. Is he safe, or honest? He
has stolen, and embarked the amount upon
a sea over which wander perpetual storms ;
where wreck is the common fate, and escape
the accident; and now all his chance for
the semblance of honesty, is staked upon
the return of his embezzlements from
among the sands, the rocks and currents,
the winds and waves, and darkness, of
tumultuous speculation. At length dawns
the day of discovery. His guilty dreams
have long foretokened it. As he confronts
the disgrace almost face to face, how
changed is the hideous aspect of his deed,

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

gg,

from that fair face of promise with which it
tempted him ! Conscience, and honor, and
plain honesty, which left him when t h e y
could not restrain, now come back to
sharpen his anguish.
Overawed by the
prospect of open shame, of his wife's disgrace, and his children's beggary, he cows
down, and slinks out of life a frantic suicide.
S o m e there be, however, less supple t o
shame. T h e y meet their fate with cool
i m p u d e n c e ; defy their e m p l o y e r s ; b r a v e
the court, and too often with success. T h e
delusion of the public mind, or the confusion of affairs is such, that, while p e t t y
c u l p n t s are tumbled into prison, a cool,v
calculating and immense scoundrel is pitied,
dandled and nursed by a sympathizing
community. In the broad road slanting to
t h e rogue's retreat, are seen the officer
of the bank, the agent of the state, t h e
officer of t h e church, in indiscriminate
haste, o u t r u n n i n g a lazy justice, and bearing off the gains of astounding frauds.
Avarice and pleasure seem to have dissolved the conscience. / / is a day of trouble
and of perplexity from the Lord. W e tremble to think that our children must leave
the covert of the family, and go out upon.
top* dark and yeasty sea, from whose wrath
<?*- m a n y wrecks are cast up at our feet
* * *ne thing I am certain; if the church of

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

Christ is silent to such deeds, and makes her
altar a refuge to such dishonesty, the d a y
is coming when s h e shall have no altar, t h e
light shall go out from her candlestick, her
walls shall be desolate, and the fox look
out at her windows.
11

EXECUTIVE

CLEMENCY, by

its

fre-

quency, has been a temptation to Dishonesty. W h o will fear to be a culprit when a
legal sentence is the a r g u m e n t of pity, and
t h e prelude of pardon ? W h a t can the
c o m m u n i t y expect but growing dishonesty,
w h e n juries connive at acquittals, and j u d g e s
c o n d e m n only to petition a pardon ; when
honest men and officers fly before a m o b ;
when jails are besieged and threatened, if
felons are not relinquished; when the E x e c utive, consulting the spirit of the c o m m u nity, receives the demands of the mob, and
h u m b l y complies, throwing down t h e fences
of t h e law, that base rioters m a y walk
unimpeded, to their work of vengeance, or
unjust mercy ? A sickly sentimentality too
often enervates the administration of justice ;
a n d the pardoning power becomes the
master-key to let out unwashed, unrepentant criminals. T h e y have fleeced us, robbed
us, and are ulcerous sores to t h e b o d y
politic; yet our heart turns to water over
their merited p u n i s h m e n t A fine y o u n g
fellow, b y accident, writes another's n a m e

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

yi

for his o w n ; by a mistake equally unfortunate, he presents it at t h e b a n k ; innocently
draws out the large a m o u n t ; generously
spends a part, and absent-mindedly hides
the rest. Hard-hearted wretches there are,
w h o would punish him for t h i s ! Y o u n g
men, admiring the neatness of the affair,
pity his misfortune, and curse a stupid
j u r y that knew no better than to send to a
penitentiary, him, whose skill deserved a
cashiership. H e goes to his cell, the pity
of a whole metropolis. Bulletins
from
Sing-Sing inform us daily what E d w a r d s *
is doing, as if he were Napoleon at St.
Helena. A t length pardoned, he will g o
forth again to a renowned liberty!
If there be one way quicker than another,.
b y which the Executive shall assist crime,
a n d our laws foster it, it is that course
which assures every dishonest man, that it
is easy to defraud, easy to avoid arrest, easy
to escape punishment, and easiest of all t o
obtain a pardon.
12.

COMMERCIAL SPECULATIONS are

pro-

lific of Dishonesty. Speculation is the risking of capital in enterprises greater than we
can control, or in enterprises whose elements
are not at all calculable. All calculations
of the future are uncertain ; but those which
are based upon long experience approximate
[* Monroe E d w a r d s , a notorious forger.—ED 1

72

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

certainty, while those which are drawn bysagacity from probable events, are notorio u s l y unsafe. Unless, however,
some
venture, we shall forever tread an old and
dull path ; therefore enterprise is allowed to
pioneer new ways. T h e safe enterpriser
explores cautiously, ventures at first a little,
a n d increases the venture with the ratio of
-experience. A speculator looks out upon
t h e new region, as upon a far-away landscape, whose features are softened to
beauty by distance ; upon a hope, he stakes
t h a t , which, if it wins, will m a k e him ; and
if it loses, will ruin him. W h e n the alternatives are victory, or utter destruction, a
battle may, sometimes, still be necessary.
But commerce has no such alternatives ;
o n l y speculation proceeds upon them.
If the capital is borrowed, it is as dishonest, upon such ventures, to risk, as to
lose it. Should a man borrow a noble
steed and ride a m o n g incitements which he
knew would rouse up his fiery spirit to an
uncontrollable height, and borne away with
wild speed, be plunged over a precipice,
his destruction might excite our pity, but
could not alter our opinion of his dishonesty. H e borrowed property, and endang e r e d it where he knew that it would be
uncontrollable.
If the capital'be one's own, it can scarce-

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

75

ly be risked and lost, without the ruin of
other men. No man could blow up his
store in a compact street, and destroy only
his own. Men of business are, like threads
of a fabric, woven together, and subject,
to a great extent, to a common fate of
prosperity or adversity. I have no right
to cut off my hand; I defraud myself, my
family, the community, and God; for all
these have an interest in that hand. Neither has a man the right to throw away his
property. He defrauds himself, his family,
the community in which he dwells ; for alL
these have an interest in that property. If
waste is dishonesty, then every risk, in proportion as it approaches it, ,is dishonest.
To venture, without that foresight which
experience gives, is wrong; and if we cannot foresee, then we must not venture.
Scheming speculation demoralizes honesty, and almost necessitates dishonesty.
He who puts his own interests to rash
ventures, will scarcely do better for others.
The Speculator regards the weightiest affair
as only a splendid game. Indeed, a Speculator on the exchange, and a Gambler at
his table, follow one vocation, only with
different instruments. One employs cards
or dice, the other property. The one can
no more foresee the result of his schemes,
than the other what spots will come up on

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

his d i c e ; the calculations of both are only
t h e chances of luck. Both burn with unhealthy e x c i t e m e n t ; both are avaricious of
gains, but careless of what they w i n ; both
depend more upon fortune than skill ; they
have a c o m m o n distaste for labor ; with each,
right and wrong are only the accidents of a
g a m e ; neither would scruple in any hour to
set his whole being on the edge of ruin,
a n d going over, to pull down, if possible, a
h u n d r e d others.
T h e wreck of such men leaves them with
a d r u n k a r d ' s appetite, and a fiend's desperation.
T h e revulsion from extravagant
hopes, to a certainty of midnight d a r k n e s s ;
t h e sensations of poverty, to him w h o was
in fancy just stepping upon a princely e s t a t e ;
t h e humiliation of gleaning for cents, where
h e has been profuse of d o l l a r s ; the chagrin
of seeing old competitors now above him,
grinning down upon his poverty a malignant
t r i u m p h ; the pity of pitiful men, and the
neglect of such as should have been his
friends,—and who were, while the sunshine
lay upon his path,—all these things, like so
m a n y strong winds, sweep across the soul
so that it cannot rest in the cheerless tranquility of honesty, but casts up mire and
dirt
H o w stately the balloon rises and
sails over continents, as over petty landscapes ! T h e slightest slit in its frail cover-

TWELVE

CAUSES OF DISHONESTY

75

ing sends it tumbling down, swaying widely,
whirling and pitching hither and thither,
until it plunges into some dark glen, out of
the path of honest men, and too shattered
to tempt even a robber. So have we seen
a thousand men pitched d o w n ; so now, in
a thousand places may their wrecks be seen.
But still other balloons are framing, and the
air is full of victim-venturers.
If our y o u n g men are introduced to life
with distaste for safe ways, because the sure
profits are s l o w ; if the opinion becomes
prevalent that all business is great, only as
it tends to the uncertain, the extravagant,
and the r o m a n t i c ; then we m a y stay our
h a n d at once, nor waste labor in absurd e x postulations of honesty. I had as lief preach
humanity to a battle of eagles, as to urge
honesty and integrity upon those who have
determined to be rich, and to gain it b y g a m bling stakes, and m a d m e n ' s ventures.
All the bankruptcies of commerce are
harmless compared with a b a n k r u p t c y of
public morals. Should the Atlantic ocean
break over our shores, and roll sheer across
to the Pacific, sweeping every vestige of
cultivation, and burying our wealth, it would
be a mercy, compared to that ocean-deluge
of dishonesty and crime, which, sweeping
over t h e whole land, has spared our wealth
and taken our virtue. W h a t are cornfields

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

and vineyards, what are stores and manufactures, and what are gold and silver, and
all the precious commodities of the earth,
among beasts ?—and what are men, bereft
of conscience and honor, but beasts ?
We will forget those things which are
behind, and hope a more ^cheerful future.
W e turn to you, YOUNG MEN !—All good
men, all patriots, turn to watch your advance upon the stage, and to implore you
to be worthy of yourselves, and of your revered ancestry. Oh ! ye favored of Heaven !
witk a free land, a noble inheritance of wise
laws, and a prodigality of wealth in prospect,—advance to your possessions !—May
you settle down, as did Israel of old, a people of God in a promised and protected
land;—true to yourselves, true to your couflh
try, and true to your God.

SIX WARNINGS.

The generation of the upright shall be blessed, wealtk
and riches shall be in his house. Ps. cxii. 2, 3.
He that getteth riches, and not by right, shall leave them
in the midst of his days, and at the end shall be a fool.
Jer. xvii. 11.

W

H E N justly obtained, and rationally
used, riches are called a gift of God, an
evidence of his favor, and a great reward. When gathered unjustly, and corruptly used, wealth is pronounced a canker, a
rust, a fire, a curse. There is no contradiction,
then, when the Bible persuades to industry,
and integrity, by a promise of riches ; and then
dissuades from wealth, as a terrible thing,
destroying soul and body. Blessings are
vindictive to abusers, and kind to rightful
users;—they serve us, or rule us. Fire warms
our dwelling, or consumes it. Steam serves
man, and also destroys him. Iron, in the
plough, the sickle, the house, the ship, is
indispensable. The dirk, the assassin's
knife, the cruel sword and the spear, are
iron also.
(77)

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

T h e constitution of man, and of society,
alike evinces t h e design of God. Both a r e
m a d e t o b e happier b y t h e possession of
riches ;—their full development a n d perfection are dependent, t o u large extent, upon
wealth. W i t h o u t it, there can be neither
books n o r i m p l e m e n t s ; neither eommerde
nor arts, neither towns n o r cities. I t is a
folly t o denounce that, a love of which G o d
has placed in m^n b y a constitutional facu l t y ; that, with which h e has associated
high grades of happiness; that, which h a s
motives touching every faculty of the mind.
W e a l t h is an ARTIST : b y its p a t r o n a g e men

are encouraged to paint, to carve, to design,
t o build and a d o r n : — A MASTER-MECHANIC :

and inspires m a n t o invent, t o discover, t o
apply, t o forge, a n d to fashion : — A HUSBANDMAN : a n d under its influence men rear
the flock, till t h e earth, plant t h e vineyard,
the field, t h e orchard, and t h e garden : — A
MANUFACTURER : ^nd teaches men to card,

to spin, t o weave, t o color and dress all useful fabrics : — A MERCHANT : and sends forth
ships, and fills warehouses with their ret u r n i n g cargoes gathered from every zone.
I t is

the

scholar's

PATRON ; sustains

his

leisure, rewards his labor, builds t h e college,
and gathers t h e library.
Is a man weak ?—he can b u y t h e strong.
Is h e ' g n o r a n t ? — t h e learned will serve his

SIX

WARNINGS

79

wealth. Is he rude of speech ?—he may
procure the advocacy of the eloquent. T h e
rich cannot b u y honor, but honorable places
t h e y c a n ; they cannot purchase nobility,
but they may its titles. M o n e y cannot b u y
freshness of heart, but it can every l u x u r y
which tempts to enjoyment. Laws are its
body-guard, and no earthly power m a y
safely defy i t ; either while running in t h e
swift channels of commerce, or reposing in
the reservoirs of ancient families. H e r e is
a wonderful thing, that an inert metal,
which neither thinks, nor feels, nor stirs, can
set the whole world to thinking, planning,
running, digging, fashioning, and drives
on the sweaty mass with never-ending
labors!
Avarice seeks gold, not to build or b u y
t h e r e w i t h ; not to clothe or feed itself; not
to m a k e it an instrument of wisdom, of
skill, of friendship, or religion. Avarice
seeks it to heap it up ; to walk around the
pile, and gloat upon i t ; to fondle, and court,
to kiss and h u g the darling stuff to the end
of life, with the h o m a g e of idolatry.
Pride seeks it;—for it gives power, and
place, and titles, and exalts its possessor
above his fellows. T o be a thread in the
fabric of life, just like any other thread,
hoisted up and down by the treadle, played
across by the shuttle, and woven tightly

g0

- LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

into the piece, this m a y suit humility, but
not pride.
Vanity seeks i t ; — w h a t else can give it
costly clothing, and rare ornaments, and
stately dwellings, and showy equipage, and
attract admiring eyes to its gaudy colors
and costly jewels ?
Taste seeks it;—because b y it, may be
h a d whatever is beautiful, or refining, or instructive. W h a t leisure has poverty for
study, and how can it collect books, manuscripts, pictures, statues, coins,or curiosities ?
Love seeks i t ; — t o build a h o m e "full of
delights for father, wife or child ; and, wisest
of all,
Religion seeks i t ; — t o make it the messenger and servant of benevolence, to want,
to suffering, and to ignorance.
W h a t a sight does the b u s y world p r e sent, as of a great workshop, where hope
and fear,
love and
pride, and lust,
and pleasure, and avarice, separate or
in partnership, drive on the universal
race for wealth : delving in the mine, digging in the earth, sweltering at the forge,
plying the shuttle, p l o u g h i n g the w a t e r s ;
in houses, in shops, in stores, on the m o u n tain-side, or in the valley; b y skill, b y
labor, by thought, b y craft, by force, by
traffic; all men, in all places, b y all labors,
fair and unfair, the world around, b u s y ,

SIX

WARNINGS

8l

busy; ever searching for wealth that wealth
may supply their pleasures.
As every taste and inclination may receive its gratification through riches, the
universal and often fierce pursuit of it arises,
not from the single impulse of avarice, but
from the impulse of the whole mind; and
on this very account, its pursuits should be
more exactly regulated. Let me set up a
warning over against the special dangers
which lie along the ROAD TO RICHES.
I. I warn you against thinking that
riches necessarily confer happiness; and
poverty, unhappiness. Do not begin life
supposing that you shall be heart-rich, when
you are purse-rich. A man's happiness depends primarily upon his disposition ; if that
be good, riches will bring pleasure; but
only vexation, if that be evil. To lavish
money upon shining trifles, to make an idol
of one's self for fools to gaze at, to rear
mansions beyond our wants, to garnish
them for display and not for use, to chatter
through the heartless rounds of pleasure,
to lounge, to gape, to simper and giggle :—
can wealth make VANITY happy by such
folly ? If wealth descends upon AVARICE,
does it confer happiness ? It blights the
heart, as autumnal fires ravage the prairies!
The eye glows with greedy cunning, conscience shrivels, the light of love goes
6

g2

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

out, and the wretch moves amidst his coin
no better, no happier than a loathsome reptile in a mine of gold. A dreary fire of
self-love burns in the bosom of the avaricious rich, as a hermit's flame in a ruined
temple of the desert. The fire is kindled
for no deity, and is odorous with no incense, but only warms the shivering anchorite.
Wealth will do little for LUST, but to
hasten its corruption. There is no more
happiness in a foul heart, than there is
health in a pestilent morass. Satisfaction
is not made out of such stuff as fighting
carousals, obscene revelry, and midnight
orgies. An alligator, gorging or swollen
with surfeit and basking in the sun, has the
same happiness which riches bring to the
man who eats to gluttony, drinks to
drunkenness, and sleeps to stupidity. But
riches indeed bless that heart whose
almoner is BENEVOLENCE. If the taste is
refined,vif the affections are pure, if conscience is honest, if charity listens to the
needy, and generosity relieves them ; if the
public-spirited hand fosters all that embellishes and all that ennobles society—
then is the rich man happy.
On the other hand, do not suppose that
poverty is a waste and howling wilderness.
There is a poverty of vice—mean, loath-

SIX

WARNINGS

83

some, covered with all the sores of depravity. There is a poverty of indolence—
where virtues sleep, and passions fret and
bicker. There is a poverty which despondency makes—a deep dungeon, in which the
victim wears hopeless chains. May God
save you from that! There is a spiteful
and venomous poverty, in which mean and
cankered hearts, repairing none of their
own losses, spit at others' prosperity, and
curse the rich,—themselves doubly cursed
by their own hearts.
But there is a contented poverty, in
which industry and peace rule; and a joyful hope, which looks out into another
world where riches shall neither fly nor
fade. This poverty may possess an independent mind, a heart ambitious of usefulness, a hand quick to sow the seed of other
men's happiness, and find its own joy in
their enjoyment. If a serene age finds you
in such poverty, it is such a wilderness, if it
be a wilderness, as that in which God led
his chosen people, and on which he rained
every day a heavenly manna.
If God open to your feet the way to
wealth, enter it cheerfully; but remember
that riches will bless or curse you, as your
own heart determines. But if, circumscribed by necessity, you are still indigent,,
after all your industry, do not scorn pov«

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

erty. There is often in the hut more dignity than in the palace; more satisfaction
in the poor man's scanty fare than in the
rich man's satiety.
II. Men are warned in the Bible against
making HASTE TO BE RICH. He that hast£th to be rich hath an evil eye, and consider£th not that poverty shall come upon him.
This is spoken, not of the alacrity of enterprise, but of the precipitancy of avarice.
That is an evil eye which leads a man into
trouble by incorrect vision. When a man
seeks to prosper by crafty tricks instead of
•careful industry; when a man's inordinate
covetousness pushes him across all lines of
honesty that he may sooner clutch the
prize; when gambling speculation would
reap where it had not strewn; when men
gain riches by crimes—there is an EVIL EYE,
which guides them through a specious
prosperity, to inevitable ruin. So dependent is success upon patient industry, that
he who seeks it otherwise, tempts his own
ruin. A young lawyer, unwilling to wait
for that practice which rewards a good reputation, or unwilling to earn that reputation
by severe application, rushes through all
the dirty paths of chicane to a hasty prosperity ; and he rushes out of it, by the
dirtier paths of discovered villany. A
young politician, scarcely waiting till the

SIX

WARNINGS

85

law allows his majority, sturdily begs for
that popularity which h e should h a v e
patiently earned. I n t h e ferocious conflictsof political life, cunning, intrigue, falsehood,
slander, vituperative violence, at first s u s tain his pretensions, a n d at last demolish
them. I t is thus in all t h e ways of traffic,
in all t h e arts, and trades. T h a t prosperity
which grows like t h e mushroom, is a s
poisonous as the mushroom. F e w men a r e
destroyed ; b u t many destroy themselves.
W h e n God sends wealth to bless men h e
sends it gradually like a gentle rain. When*
God sends riches to punish men, they come
tumultuously, like a roaring torrent, tearing
up landmarks and sweeping all before t h e m
in promiscuous ruin. A l m o s t every evil
which environs t h e path to wealth, springs
from that criminal haste which substitutes
adroitness for industry, and trick for toil.
III.

Let

me

warn

you

against COVET-

OUSNESS. Thou shalt not covet, is t h e l a w
by which G o d s o u g h t t o bless a favorite
people. Covetousness is greediness of
money. T h e Bible meets it with significant
woes (Hab. ii. 9), b y God's hatred (Ps. x.
3), b y solemn warnings ( L u k e xii. 15), b y
denunciations
(1 Cor. v. 10, 1 1 ; Isai.
vii. 7), b y exclusion from Heaven (1 Cor. vi.
10). This pecuniary gluttony comes upon^
the competitors for wealth insidiously. A t

36

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

first, business is only a means of paying for
our pleasures. Vanity soon whets the appetite for money, to sustain her parade and
competition, to gratify her piques and jeaU
ousies. Pride throws in fuel for a brighter
flame. Vindictive hatreds often augment
the passion, until the whole soul glows as
a fervid furnace, and the body is driven as
a boat whose ponderous engine trembles
with the utmost energy of steam.
Covetousness is unprofitable. It defeats
its own purposes. It breeds restless daring, where it is dangerous to venture. It
works the mind to fever, so that its judgments are not cool, nor its calculations
calm. Greed of money is like fire; the
more fuel it has, the hotter it burns.
Everything conspires to intensify the heat.
Loss excites by desperation, and gain by
exhilaration. When there is fever in the
blood, there is fire on the brain; and
courage turns to rashness, and rashness
runs to ruin.
Covetousness breeds misery. The sight
of houses better than our own, of dress
beyond our means, of jewels costlier than
we may wear, of stately equipage, and rare
curiosities beyond our reach, these hatch
the viper brood of covetous thoughts ; vexing the poor—who would be rich ; tormenting the rich—who would be richer. The

SIX

WARNINGS

87

covetous man pines to see pleasure ; is sad
in the presence of cheerfulness ; and the
joy of the world is his sorrow, because all
the happiness of others is not his. I do not
wonder that God abhors him (Ps. x. 3). He
inspects his heart, as he would a cave full of
noisome birds, or a nest of rattling reptiles,
and loathes the sight of its crawling tenants.
To the covetous man life is a nightmare, and
God lets him wrestle with it as best he may.
Mammon might build its palace on such a
heart, and Pleasure bring all its revelry
there, and Honor all its garlands—it would
be like pleasures in a sepulchre, and garlands
on a tomb.
The creed of the greedy man is brief and
consistent; and unlike other creeds, is both
subscribed and believed. The chief end of
man is to glorify GOLD and enjoy it forever :
life is a time afforded man to grow rich in .death, the winding up of speculations: heaven^
a mart with golden streets: hell, a place
where shiftless men are punished with everlasting poverty.
God searched among the beasts for a fit
emblem of contempt, to describe the end of
a covetous prince : He shall be buried with
the burial of an Ass, drawn and cast forth
beyond the gates of Jerusalem (Jer. xxii. 19).
He whose heart is turned to greediness,
who sweats through life under the. load of

£8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

labor only to heap up money, and dies without private usefulness, or a record of public
service, is no better, in God's estimation,
than a pack-horse,—a mule,—an ass ; a creature for burdens, to be beaten, and worked
and killed, and dragged off by another like
him, abandoned to the birds and forgotten.
H E IS BURIED WITH THE BURIAL OF AN
ASS ! This is the MISER'S EPITAPH—and
yours, YOUNG MAN ! if you earn it by covetous-

ness !
IV. I warn you against SELFISHNESS. Of
riches it is written : There is no good in them
iutfor a man to rejoice and do good in his
life. If men absorb their property, it parches
the heart so that it will not give forth blossoms and fruits, but only thorns and thistles.
If men radiate and reflect upon others some
rays of the prosperity which shines upon
themselves, wealth is not only harmless, but
full of advantage.
The thoroughfares of wealth are crowded
by a throng who jostle, and thrust, and conflict, like men in the tumult of a battle.
The rules which crafty old men breathe into
the ears of the young are full of selfish
wisdom ;—teaching them that the chief end
•of man is to harvest, to husband, and to
lioard. Their life is made obedient to a
scale of preferences graded from a sordid
•experience; a scale which has penury for

SIX

WARNINGS

89

one extreme, and parsimony for the other;
and the virtues are ranked between them as
they are relatively fruitful in physical thrift
Every crevice of the heart is caulked with
costive maxims, so that no precious drop of
wealth may leak out through inadvertent
generosities. Indeed, generosity and all its
company are thought to be little better than
pilfering picklocks, against whose wiles the
heart is prepared, like a coin-vault, with
iron-clenched walls of stone, and impenetrable doors. Mercy, pity, and sympathy, are
vagrant fowls; and that they may not scale
the fence between a man and his neighbors,
their wings are clipped by the miser's mastermaxim—CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME. It certainly stays there.
The habit of regarding men as dishonest
rivals, dries up, also, the kindlier feelings.
A shrewd trafficker must watch his fellows,
be suspicious of their proffers, vigilant of
their movements, and jealous of their
pledges. The world's way is a very crooked
way, and a very guileful one. Its travellers
creep by stealth; or walk craftily, or glide in
concealments, or appear in specious guises.
He who stands out-watching among men, topluck his advantage from their hands, or tolose it by their wiles, comes at length toregard all men as either enemies or instruments. Of course he thinks it fair to strip

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

an enemy ; and j u s t as fair to use an instrument. Men are no more to him than bales,
b o x e s , or g o o d s — m e r e matters of traffic.
If he ever relaxes his commercial rigidity to
indulge in t h e fictions of poetry, it is when,
p e r h a p s on S u n d a y s or at a funeral, he talks
quite prettily about friendship, and generosity, and philanthropy. T h e tightest ship
m a y leak in a storm, and an unbartered
p e n n y may escape from this man, when the
surprise of the solicitation gives no time for
thought.
T h e heart cannot wholly petrify without
s o m e honest revulsions. Opiates are administered to it. This business-man tells
liis heart that it is beset by unscrupulous
-enemies ; that beneficent virtues are doors to
let them in ; t h a t liberality is bread given to
one's foes ; and selfishness only self-defence.
A t the same time, he enriches the future with
g e n e r o u s promises. While he is getting
rich, he cannot afford to be liberal ; but
w h e n once he is rich, a h ! how liberal he
m e a n s to be !—as t h o u g h habits could be
unbuckled like a'girdle, and* were not rather
steel-bands riveted, defying the edge of any
m a n ' s resolution, and clasping the heart
with invincible servitude !
T h o r o u g h selfishness destroys or paralyzes enjoyment. A heart made selfish by
t h e contest for wealth is like a citadel

SIX

WARNINGS

9

I

s t o r m e d in war. T h e b a n n e r of victory
waves over dilapidated walls, desolate
chambers, and magazines riddled with artillery. Men, covered with sweat, a n d begrimed with toil, expect t o find j o y in a
heart reduced by selfishness to a smouldering heap of ruins.
I warn every aspirant for wealth against
t h e infernal canker of selfishness. I t will
eat out of the heart with t h e fire of hell, or
bake it harder than a stone. T h e heart of
avaricious old age stands like a bare rock
in a bleak wilderness, and there is no rod of
authority, nor incantation of pleasure, which
can draw from it one crystal drop to
quench t h e raging thirst for satisfaction.
But listen not to my words alone ; hear t h e
solemn voice of God, pronouncing doom
upon t h e selfish: Your riches are comipted,
and your garments
are moth-eaten.
Your
gold and silver is cankered;
and the rust
of them shall be a zvitness against you, and
shall eat your flesh as it were fire (James
v. 2, 3).
V . I warn y o u against seeking wealth b y
COVERT DISHONESTY.

T h e everlasting plea

of petty fraud or open dishonesty, is, its
necessity or profitable?tess.
It is neither necessary n o r profitable.
T h e hope is a deception, a n d t h e excuse a
lie. T h e severity of competition affords no

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

reason for dishonesty in word or deed.
Competition is fair, but not all methods
of competition. A mechanic may compete
with a mechanic, b y rising earlier, by greater
industry, by greater skill, more punctuality,
greater thoroughness, by employing better
materials; by a more scrupulous fidelity to
promises, and b y facility in accommodation.
A m e r c h a n t m a y study to excel competitors, b y a better selection of goods, by
m o r e obliging manners, by more rigid
honesty, by a better knowledge of the market, by better taste in the arrangement of
his goods. Industry, honesty, kindness,
taste, genius and skill, are the only materials of all rightful competition.
But whenever you have exerted all your
knowledge, all your skill, all y o u r industry,
with long-continued patience and without
success, then, it is clear, not that you may
proceed to employ trick and cunning, but
t h a t you must STOP. God has put before
y o u a bound which no man may overleap.
T h e r e may be the appearance of gain on the
knavish side of the wall of honor. T r a p s
are always baited with food sweet to t h e
taste of the intended victim ; and Satan is
too crafty a trapper not to scatter the pitfall
of dishonesty with some shining particles of
gold.
But what if fraud were necessary to per-

'SIX

WARNINGS

93

manent success ? will you take success upon such terms ? I perceive, too often, that
young men regard the argument as ended,
when they prove to themselves that they
cannot be rich without guile. Very well;
then be poor. But if you prefer money to
honor, you may well swear fidelity to the
villain's law ! If it is not base and detestable
to gain by equivocation, neither is it by lying ; and if not by lying, neither is it by
stealing; and if not by stealing, neither by
robbery or murder. Will you tolerate the
loss of honor and honesty for the sake of
profit ? For exactly this, Judas betrayed
Christ, and Arnold his country. Because
it is the only way to gain some pleasure,
may a wife yield her honor ?—a politician
sell himself?—a statesman barter his counsel?—-a judge take bribes?—a juryman
forswear himself?—or a witness commit
perjury? Then virtues are marketable
commodities, and may be hung up, like
meat in the shambles, or sold at auction to
the highest bidder.
Who can afford a victory gained by a
defeat of his virtue? What prosperity can
compensate the plundering of a man's heart ?
A good name is rather to be chosen than
great riches : sooner or later every man will
find it so.
With what dismay would Esau have

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

sorrowed for a lost birthright, had he lost
also the pitiful mess of pottage for which he
sold it? W i t h what double despair would
Judas have clutched at death, if he had not
obtained even t h e thirty pieces of silver
which were to pay his infamy ? A n d with
what utter confusion will all dishonest men,
w h o were learning of the Devil to defraud
other men, find at length, that h e was giving
his most finished lesson of deception,—by
cheating them I and making poverty and
disgrace the only fruit of the lies and frauds
which were framed for profit /
Getting
treasure by a lying tongue is a vanity tossed
to and fro of them that seek death.
Men have only looked upon the beginning
of a career when they pronounce upon the
profitableness of dishonesty. M a n y a ship
goes gaily out of harbor which never returns again. T h a t only is a good v o y a g e
which brings home the richly freighted ship.
God explicitly declares that an inevitable
curse of dishonesty shall fall upon the
criminal himself, or upon his children : He
that by usury, and unjust gain, increaseth
his substance, he shall gather it for him that
will pity the poor. His children are far
from safety, and they are crushed in the gate.
Neither is there any to deliver them:
the
robber swalloweth up their substance.
Iniquities, whose end is dark as midnight,

SIX

WARNINGS

95

are permitted to open bright as the morning; the most poisonous bud unfolds with
brilliant colors. So the threshold of perdition is burnished till it glows like the
gate of paradise. There is a way which
seemeth right unto a man, but the ends thereof are the ways of death. This is dishonesty described to the life. At first you
look down upon a smooth and verdant
path covered with flowers, perfumed with
odors, and overhung with fruits and
grateful shade. Its long perspective is
illusive; for it ends quickly in a precipice, over which you pitch into irretrievable
ruin.
For the sources of this inevitable disaster,
we need look no further than the effect of
dishonesty upon a man's own mind. The
difference between cunning and wisdom,
is the difference between acting by the certain and immutable laws of nature, and acting by the shifts of temporary expedients.
An honest man puts his prosperity upon the
broad current of those laws which govern
the world. A crafty man means to pry
between them, to steer across them, to take
advantage of them. An honest man steers
by God's chart; and a dishonest man
by his own. Which is the most liable to
perplexities and fatal mistakes of judgment ?
Wisdom steadily ripens to the end; cun-

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

ning is worm-bitten, and soon drops irom
the tree.
I could repeat the names of m a n y men,
(every village has such, and they swarm in
cities,) who are skilful, indefatigable, b u t
audaciously d i s h o n e s t ; and for a time t h e y
seemed going straight forward to the realm
of wealth. I never knew a single one to
avoid ultimate ruin. Men who act under
dishonest passions, are like men riding fierce
horses. It is not always with the rider
w h e n or where he shall stop. If for his sake,
t h e steed dashes wildly on while the road
is s m o o t h ; so, turning suddenly into a
r o u g h and dangerous way, the rider m u s t
go madly forward for the steed's sake,—
now chafed, his mettle up, his eye afire, and
beast and burden like a bolt speeding
t h r o u g h t h e air, until some b o u n d or sudden fall* tumble both to the g r o u n d — a
crushed and mangled mass.
A man pursuing plain ends by honest
means m a y be troubled on every side, yet
not distressed : perplexed, but not in despair :
persecuted, but not forsaken:
cast down, but
not destroyed.
But those that pursue their
advantage by a round of dishonesties, when
fear cometh as a desolation, and destruction
as a whirlwind, when distress and
anguish
come upon them,
. . . shall eat of the
fruit of their owit way, and be filled with

SIX

WARNINGS

97

their own devices ; for the turning away of
the simple shall slay them ; and the prosperity offools shall destroy them.
VI. The Bible overflows with warnings
to those who gain wealth by violent extortion, or by any flagrant villany. Some
men stealthily slip from under them the
possessions of the poor. Some beguile the
simple and heedless of their patrimony.
Some tyrannize over ignorance, and extort
from it its fair domains. Some steal away
the senses, and intoxicate the mind—the
more readily and largely to cheat; some
set their traps in all the dark places of
men's adversity, and prowl for wrecks all
along the shores on which men's fortunes
go to pieces. Men will take advantage of
extreme misery, to wring it with more
griping tortures, and compel it to the extremest sacrifices; and stop only when no
more can be borne by the sufferer, or nothing more extracted by the usurer. The
earth is as full of avaricious monsters, as
the tropical forests are of beasts of prey.
But amid all the lions, and tigers, and
hyenas, is seen the stately bulk of three
huge BEHEMOTHS.
The first BEHEMOTH is that incarnate
fiend who navigates the ocean to traffic in
human misery and freight with the groans
and tears of agony. Distant shores are
7

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

sought with cords and manacles; villages
surprised with torch and sword; and the
loathsome ship swallows what the sword
and the fire have spared. By night and
day the voyage speeds, and the storm spares
wretches more relentless than itself. * The
wind wafts and the sun lights the path for
a ship whose log is written in blood. Hideous profits, dripping red, even at this hour,
lure these infernal miscreants to their remorseless errands. The thirst of gold inspires such courage, skill, and cunning vigilance, that the thunders of four allied
navies cannot sink the infamous fleet.
What wonder? Just such a BEHEMOTH
of rapacity stalks among us, and fattens on
the blood of our sons. Men there are,
who, without a pang or gleam of remorse,
will coolly wait for character to rot, and
health to sink, and means to melt, that they
may suck up the last drop of the victim's
blood. Our streets are full of reeling
wretches ,whose bodies and manhood and
souls have been crushed and put to the
press, that monsters might wring out of
them a wine for their infernal thirst. The
agony of midnight massacre, the frenzy of
the ship's dungeon, the living death of the
middle passage, the wails of separation, and
the dismal torpor of hopeless servitude—
are these found only in the piracy of the

SIX

WARNINGS

99

slave trade ? They all are among us! worse
assassinations! worse dragging to a prisonship! worse groans ringing from the fetid
hold ! worse separations of families ! worse
bondage of intemperate men, enslaved by
that most inexorable of ail task-masters—
sensual habit!
The third BEHEMOTH is seen lurking
among the Indian savages, and bringing the
arts of learning, and the skill of civilization,
to aid in plundering the debauched barbarian. The cunning, murdering, scalping
Indian, is no match for the Christian whiteman. Compared with the midnight knavery
of men reared in schools, rocked by religion, tempered and taught by the humane
institutions of liberty and civilization, all
the craft of the savage is twilight. Vast
estates have been accumulated, without
having an honest farthing in them. Our
Penitentiaries might be sent to school to
the Treaty-grounds and Council-grounds.
Smugglers and swindlers might humble
themselves in the presence of Indian traders.
All the crimes against property known to
our laws flourish with unnatural vigor;
and some, unknown to civilized villahy. To
swindle ignorance, to overreach simplicity,
to lie without scruple to any extent, from
mere implication down to perjury; to tempt
the savages to rob each other, and to re-

IOO

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

ceive their plunder; to sell goods at incredible prices to the sober Indian, then to intoxicate him, and steal them all back by a
sham bargain, to be sold again, and stolen
again; to employ falsehood, lust, threats,
whisky, and even the knife and the pistol ;
in short to consume the Indian's substance
by every vice and crime possible to an unprincipled heart inflamed with ,an insatiable
rapacity, unwatched by Justice, and unrestrained by Law—this it is to be an INDIAN

I would rather inherit the bowels
of Vesuvius, or make my bed in Etna, than
own those estates which have been scalped
off from human beings as the hunter strips
a beaver of its fur. Of all these, of ALL who
gain possessions by extortion and robbery,
never let yourself be envious ! / was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity
of the wicked. Their eyes stand ottt zvith
fatness: they have more than heart could
wish. They are corrupt\ and speak wickedly
concerning oppression. They have set their
mouth against the heaveit, and their tongtie
walketh through the earth. When I sought
to know this, it was too painful for me, until
I went into the sanctuary. Surely thou didst
set them in slippery places I thou castedst
them down into destruction as in a moment!
They are utterly consumed with terrors. As
a dream when one awaketh, so, O Lord I

TRADER.

SIX

WARNINGS

IOI

when thou awakesty thou shalt despise their
image I
I would not bear their heart who have so
made money, were the world a solid globe
of gold, and mine. I would not stand for
them in the judgment, were every star of
heaven a realm of riches, and mine. I
would not walk with them the burning
marl of hell, to bear their torment,, and
utter their groans, for the throne of God
itself.
Let us hear the conclusion of the whole
matter. Riches got by deceit, cheat no
man so much as the getter. Riches bought
with guile, God will pay for with vengeance.
Riches got by fraud, are dug out of one's
own heart, and destroy the mine. Unjust
riches curse the owner in getting, in keeping, in • transmitting. They curse
his children in their father's memory,
in their own wasteful habits, in drawing
around them all bad men to be their companions.
While I do not discourage your search
for wealth, I warn you that it is not a cruise
upon level seas, and under bland skies.
You advance where ten thousand are broken
in pieces before they reach the mart; where
those who reach it are worn out, by their
labors, past enjoying their riches. You
seek a land pleasant to the sight, but dan-

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG ME ft

gerous to the feet; a land of fragrant winds,
which lull to security; of golden fruits,
which are poisonous; of glorious hues,
which dazzle and mislead.
You may be rich and be pure; but it
will cost you a struggle. You may be rich
and go to heaven ; but ten, doubtless, will
sink beneath their riches, where one breaks "
through them to heaven. If you have
entered this shining way, begin to look for,
snares and traps. Go not careless of your
danger, and provoking it. See, on every
side of you, how many there are who seal
God's word with their blood :—
They that will be rich, fall into temptation
and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction
and perdition. For the LOVE of Money is
the root of all evil, which, while some have
coveted after, they have erred from the faith,
and pierced themselves through with many
sorrows.

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My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.
Prov. i. 10.

H

E who is allured to embrace evil under
some engaging form of beauty, or
seductive appearance of good, is
enticed. A man is tempted to what he
knows to be sinful; he is enticed where the
evil appears to be innocent. The Enticer
wins his way by bewildering the moral
sense, setting false lights ahead of the
imagination, painting disease with the hues
of health, making impurity to glow like
innocency, strewing the broad-road with
flowers, lulling its travellers with soothing
music, hiding all its chasms, covering its
pitfalls, and closing its long perspective with
the mimic glow of Paradise.
The young are seldom tempted to outright wickedness; evil comes to them as an
enticement. The honest generosity and
fresh heart of youth would revolt from open
meanness and undisguised vice. The Ad(103)

I0

4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

versary conforms his wiles to their nature.
He tempts them to the basest deeds by
beginning with innocent ones, gliding to
more exceptionable, and finally, to positively
wicked ones. All our warnings then ,must
be against the vernal beauty of vice. Its
autumn and winter none wish. It is my
purpose to describe the enticement of particular men upon the young.
Every youth knows that there are dangerous men abroad who would injure him by
lying, by slander, by over-reaching and
plundering him. From such they have
little to fear, because they are upon their
guard. Few imagine that they have anything to dread from those who have no
designs against them; yet such is the
instinct of imitation, so insensibly does the
example of men steal upon us and warp our
conduct to their likeness, that the young
often receive a deadly injury from men with
whom they never spoke. As all bodies in
nature give out or receive caloric until there
is an equilibrium of temperature, so there is
a radiation of character upon character.
Our thoughts, our tastes, our emotions, our
partialities, our prejudices, and finally, our
conduct and habits, are insensibly changed
by the silent influence of men who never
once directly tempted us, or even knew the
effect which they produced. I shall draw

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for y o u r inspection some of those dangerous
men, whose open or silent enticement has
availed against thousands, and will be
exerted upon thousands more.
I. T H E W I T . It is sometimes said b y
phlegmatic theologians that Christ never
laughed, but often wept. I shall not quarrel
with the assumption. I only say that men
have within them a faculty of mirthfulness
which God created. I suppose it was meant
for use. T h o s e who do not feel the impulsion of this faculty, are not the ones to sit
in j u d g m e n t upon those who do. It would
be very absurd for an owl in an ivy bush, to
read lectures on optics to an-eagle; or for a
mole to counsel a l y n x on the sin of sharpsightedness. H e is, divinely favored who
may trace a silver vein in all the affairs of
life; see sparkles of light in the gloomiest
s c e n e s ; and absolute radiance in those
which are bright. T h e r e are in the clouds
ten thousand inimitable forms and hues to be
found nowhere e l s e ; there are in plants
and trees beautiful shapes and endless varieties of color ; there are in flowers minute
pencillings of exquisite s h a d e ; in fruits a
delicate bloom,—like a veilv making the face
of beauty .more beautiful; sporting a m o n g
the trees, and upon the flowers, are tiny
insects — gems which glow like living
diamonds. Ten thousand eyes staie full

IO

6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

upon these things and see nothing; and yet
thus the Divine Artist has finished his
matchless work. Thus, too, upon all the
labors of life, the events of each hour, the
course of good or evil; upon each action,
or word, or attitude; upon all the endless
changes transpiring among myriad men,
there is a delicate grace, or bloom, or
sparkle, or radiance, which catches the eye
of Wit, and delights it with appearances
which are to the weightier matters of life,
what odor, colors, and symmetry, are to the
marketable and commercial properties of
matter.
A mind imbued with this feeling is full
of dancing motes, such as we see moving in
sunbeams when they pour through some
shutter into a dark room ; and when the
sights and conceptions of wit are uttered in
words they diffuse upon others that pleasure
whose brightness shines upon its own
cheerful imagination.
It is not strange that the Wit is a universal favorite. All companies rejoice in
his presence, watch for his words, repeat his
language. He moves like a comet whose
incomings and outgoings are uncontrollable.
He astonishes the regular stars, with the
eccentricity of his orbit, and flirts his long tail
athwart the heaven without the slightest mis
givings that it will be troublesome, and co-

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lO/

quets the very sun with audacious familiarity.
When wit is unperverted, it.lightens labor,
makes the very face of care to shine, diffuses
cheerfulness among men, multiplies the
sources of harmless enjoyment, gilds the
dark things of life, and heightens the lustre
of the brightest. If perverted, wit becomes
an instrument of malevolence, it gives a
deceitful coloring to vice, it reflects a semblance of truth upon error, and distorts the
features of real truth by false lights.
The Wit is liable to indolence by relying upon his genius ; to vanity, by the
praise which is offered as incense; to
malignant sarcasm, to revenge his affronts;
to dissipation, from Jhe habit of exhilaration, and from the company which court
him. The mere Wit is only a human
bauble. He is to life what bells are to
horses, not expected to draw the load, but
only to jingle while the horses draw.
The young often repine at their own native dulness; and since God did not choose
to endow them with this shining quality,
they will make it for themselves. Forthwith they are smitten with the itch of imitation. Their ears purvey to their mouth
the borrowed jest; their eyes note the Wit's
fashion, and the awkward youth clumsily
apes, in a side circle, the Wit's deft and graceful gesture, the smooth smile, the roguish

IO

8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

twinkle, the sly look—much as Caliban
would imitate Ariel. Every community is
supplied with self-made Wits. One retails
other men's sharp witticisms, as a Jew puts off
thread-bare garments. Another roars over
his own brutal quotations of Scripture.
Another invents a witticism by a logical
deduction of circumstances, and sniffs and
giggles over the result as complacently as if
other men laughed too. Others lie in wait
around your conversation to trip up some
word, or strike a light out of some sentance.
Others fish in dictionaries ior pitiful puns ;—
and all fulfil the prediction of Isaiah: Ye
shall conceive chaffy and bring forth stubble.
It becomes a mania.9 Each school has
its allusions, each circle has its apish motion,
each companionhood its park of wit-artillery;
and we find street-wit, shop-wit, auctionwit, school-wit, fool's-wit, whisky-wit, stablewit, and almost every kind of wit, but
mother-wit; — puns,
quibbles, catches,
would-be-jests, thread-bare stories, and
gew-gaw tinsel,—everything but the real
diamond, which sparkles simply because
God made it so that it could not help sparkling. Real, native mirth fulness is like a
pleasant rill which quietly wells up in some
verdant nook, and steals out from among
reeds and willows noiselessly, and is seen
far down the meadow, as much by the

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fruitfulness of its edges in flowers, as byits own glimmering light.
Let every one beware of the insensible
effect of witty men upon him; they gild
lies, so that base coin may pass for true;
that which is grossly wrong, wit may make
fascinating; when no argument could persuade you, the coruscations of wit may dazzle and blind you ; when duty presses you,
the threatenings of this human / lightning
may make you afraid to do right. Remember that the very best office of wit, is
only to lighten the serious labors of life;
that it is only a torch, by which men may
.cheer the gloom of a dark way. When it
sets up to be your counsellor or your guide,
it is the fool's fire, flitting irregularly and
leading you into the quag or morass. The
great Dramatist represents a witty sprite to
have put an ass* head upon a man's shoulders ; beware that you do not let this mischievous sprite put an ape's head upon yours.
If God has not given you this quicksilver, no art can make it; nor need you
regret it. The stone, the wood, and the
iron are a thousand times more valuable to
society than pearls and diamonds and rare
gems; and sterling sense, and industry, and
integrity\ are better a thousand times, in the
hard work of living, than the brilliance of
WIT.

I I O

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEW

II. There is a character which I shall
describe as the HUMORIST. I do not employ the term to designate one who indulges
in that pleasantest of all wit—latent wit;
but to describe a creature who conceals a
coarse animalism under a brilliant, jovial
exterior. The dangerous humorist is of a
plump condition, evincing the excellent
digestion of a good eater, and answering
very well to the Psalmist's description :
His eyes stand out with fatness ; he is not in
trouble as other men are; he has more thait
heart could wish, and his tongue walketh
through the earth. Whatever is pleasant in
ease, whatever is indulgent in morals, whatever is solacing in luxury; the jovial few,
the convivial many, the glass, the cards, the
revel, and midnight uproar,—these are his
delights. His manners are easy and agreeable ; his face redolent of fun and good
nature ; his whole air that of a man fond of
the utmost possible bodily refreshment.
Withal, he is sufficiently circumspect and
secretive of his course, to maintain a place
in genteel society; for that is a luxury.
He is not a glutton, but a choice eater.
He is not a gross drinker, only a gentlemanly consumer of every curious compound
of liquor. He has travelled; he can tell
you which, in every city, is the best bar,
the best restaurateur, the best stable. H e

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III

k n o w s every theatre, each a c t o r ; particularly is h e versed in t h e select morsels of
the scandalous indulgence peculiar to each.
H e knows every race-course, every nag,
the history of all the famous matches, and
t h e pedigree of every distinguished horse.
T h e whole vocabulary of pleasure is
vernacular,—its wit, its slang, its watchwords, and blackletter literature. H e is a
profound annalist of s c a n d a l ; every stream
of news, clear or muddy, disembogues
into the gulf of his prodigious m e m o r y .
H e can tell you, after living but a week in
a city, w h o gambles, when, for what sums,
and with what fate; who is impure, w h o
was, who is suspected, who is not suspected
— b u t o u g h t to be. H e is a morbid anatomist
of morals ; a brilliant flesh-fly—unerring
to detect taint.
L i k e other men, he loves admiration and
desires to extend his influence.
All these
manifold accomplishments are exhibited
before the callow y o u n g . T h a t he may secure a train of useful followers, he is profuse
of money ; and moves a m o n g them with an
easy, insinuating frankness, a never-ceasing
gaiety, so spicy with fun, so diverting with
stories, so full of little hits, sly innuendoes,
or solemn wit, with now and then a rare
touch of dexterous mimicry, and t h e whole
so pervaded by the indescribable flavor, the

I I 2

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

changing hues of h u m o r , — t h a t the y o u n g
are bewildered with idolatrous admiration.
W h a t gay y o u n g man, who is old e n o u g h
to admire himself and be ashamed of his
parents, can resist a man so bedewed with
h u m o r , narrating exquisite stories with such
m o c k gravity, with such slyness of m o u t h ,
a n d twinkling of the eye, with such grotesque attitudes, and significant gestures ?
H e is declared to be the most remarkable
m a n in the world.' N o w take off this m a n ' s
dress, put out the one faculty of mirthfulness, and he will stand disclosed without a
single positive v i r t u e ! W i t h strong appetites deeply indulged, hovering perpetually
upon the twilight edge of every v i c e ; and
whose wickedness is only not apparent, because it is garnished with flowers and garlands ; who is not despised, only because
his various news, artfully told, keep us in
good h u m o r with ourselves ! A t one period
of youthful life, this creature's influence
supplants that of every other man. T h e r e
is an absolute fascination in him which
awakens a craving in t h e mind to be of his
circle ; plain duties become drudgery, h o m e
has no l i g h t ; life at its ordinary k e y is
monotonous, and must be screwed up to
t h e concert pitch of this wonderful genius !
A s he tells his stories, so with a wretched
grimace of imitation, apprentices will try t o

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113

tell them; as he gracefully swings through
the street, they will roll; they will leer because he stares genteelly; he sips, they
guzzle—and talk impudently, because he
talks | with easy confidence. He walks
erect, they strut; he lounges, they loll; he
is less than a man, and they become even
less than he. Copper-rings, huge blotches
of breast-pins, wild streaming handkerchiefs,
jaunty hats, odd clothes, superfluous walking-sticks, ill-uttered oaths, stupid jokes,
and blundering pleasantries—these are the
first fruits of imitation! There are various
grades of it, from the office, store, shop,
street, clear down to the hostlery and stable.
Our cities are filled with these juvenile
nondescript monsters, these compounds of
vice, low wit, and vulgarity. The original
is morally detestable, and the counterfeit is
a very base imitation of a very base thing;
the dark shadow of a very ugly substance.
III. T H E CYNIC. The Cynic is one who
never sees a good quality in a man, and
never fails to see a bad one. He is the
human owl, vigilant in darkness and blind
to light, mousing for vermin, and never
seeing noble game. The Cynic puts all
human actions into only two classes—openly
bad, and secretly bad. All virtue and generosity and disinterestedness are merely the
appearance of good, but selfish at the bottom.
8

H4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

He holds that no man does a good thing
except for profit. Th^ effect of his conversation upon your feelings is to chill and
sear them; to send you away sore and
morose. His criticisms and innuendoes
fall indiscriminately. upon every lovely
thing, like frost upon flowers. If a man is
said to be pure and chaste, he will answer i
Yes, in the day time. If a woman is pronounced virtuous, he will reply: yes, as yet.
Mr. A. is a religious man : yes, on Sundays.
Mr. B. has just joined the church : certainly ;
the elections are coining on. The minister
of the gospel is called an example of diligence : / / is his trade. Such a man is
generous : of other men's money. This man
is obliging : to lull suspicion and cheat you.
That man is upright: because he is green*
Thus his eye strains out every good quality
and takes in only the bad. To him religion
is hypocrisy, honesty a preparation for fraud,,
virtue only want of opportunity, and undeniable purity, asceticism. The live-longday he will coolly sit with sneering lip,
uttering sharp speeches in the quietest
manner, and in polished phrase, transfixing
every character which is presented: His
words are softer than oily yet are they drawn
swords,
All this, to the young, seems a wonderful knowledge of human nature; they honor

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GALLERY

US

a man who appears to have found out
mankind.
They begin to indulge themselves in flippant sneers; and with supercilious brow, and impudent tongue, wagging
to an empty brain, call to naught the wise,
the long-tried, and the venerable.
I do believe that man is corrupt enough ;
but something of good has survived his
wreck ; something of evil religion has restrained, and something partially restored;
yet, I look upon the human heart as a
mountain of fire. I dread its crater. I
tremble when I see its lava roll the fiery
stream. THEREFORE, I am the more glad,
if upon the old crust of past eruptions, I cart
find a single flower springing up. So far
from rejecting appearances of virtue in the
corrupt heart of a depraved race, I am eager
to see their light as ever mariner was to
see a star in a stormy night.
Moss will grow upon gravestones; the
ivy will cling to the mouldering pile; the
mistletoe springs from the dying branch;
and, God be praised, something green,
something fair to the sight and grateful to
the heart, will yet twine around and grow
out of the seams and cracks of the desolate
temple of the human heart!
Who could walk through Thebes, Palmyra, or Petrsea, and survey the wide waste
of broken arches, crumbled altars, fallen

H6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

pillars, effaced cornices, toppling walls, and
crushed statues, with no feelings but those
of contempt? Who, unsorrowing, could
see the stork's nest upon the carved pillar,
satyrs dancing on marble pavements, and
scorpions nestling where beauty once
dwelt, and dragons the sole tenants of
royal palaces ? Amid such melancholy
magnificence, even the misanthrope might
weep! If here and there an altar stood
unbruised, or a graven column unblemished, or a statue nearly perfect, he might
well feel love for a man-wrought stone,
so beautiful, when all else is so dreary and
desolate. Thus, though man is as a desolate city, and his passions are as the wild
beasts of the wilderness howling in kings'
palaces, yet he is God's workmanship, and
a thousand touches of exquisite beauty
remain. Since Christ hath put his sovereign hand to restore man's ruin, many
points are remoulded, and the fair form of
a new fabric already appears growing from
the ruins, and the first faint flame is glimmering upon the restored altar.
It is impossible to indulge in such
habitual severity of opinion upon our
fellow-men, without injuring the tenderness
and delicacy of our own feelings. A man
will be what his most cherished feelings are.
If he encourage a noble generosity, every

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GALLERY

feeling will be enriched by it; if he nurse
bitter and envenomed thoughts, his own
spirit will absorb the poison; and he will
crawl among men as a burnished adder,.
whose life is mischief, and whose errand
is death.
Although experience should correct the
indiscriminate confidence of the young, no
experience should render them callous to
goodness wherever seen. He who hunts
for flowers, will find flowers ; and he who^
loves weeds, may find weeds. Let it be
remembered, that no man, who is not himself mortally diseased, will have a relish for
disease in others. A swollen wretch,.
blotched all over with leprosy, may grin
hideously at every wart or excrescence upon
beauty. A wholesome man will be pained
at it, and seek not to notice it. Reject*.
then, the morbid ambition of the Cynic, or
cease to call yourself a man!
IV. I fear that few villages exist without
a specimen of the LIBERTINE.

His errand into this world is to explore
every depth of sensuality, and collect upon
himself the foulness of every one. He is
proud to be vile; his ambition is to be viler
than other men. Were we not confronted
almost daily by such wretches, it would be
hard to believe that any could exist, to*
whom purity and decency were a burden^

jig

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

and only corruption a delight. This creature
has changed his nature, until only that
which disgusts a pure mind pleases his.
He is lured by the scent of carrion. His
-coarse feelings, stimulated by gross excitants, are insensible to delicacy.
The
exquisite bloom, the dew and freshness of
the flowers of the heart which delight both
good men and God himself, he gazes upon,
as a Behemoth would gaze enraptured upon
a prairie of flowers. It is so much,pasture.
The forms, the odors, the nues are only a
mouthful for his terrible appetite. Therefore, his breath blights every innocent thing.
He sneers at the mention of purity, and
leers in the very face of Virtue, as though
-she were herself corrupt, if the truth were
known.
He assures the credulous disciple that there is no purity; that its
appearances are only the veils which cover
indulgence. Nay, he solicits praise for the
very openness of his evil; and tells the
listener that all act as he acts, but only
few are courageous enough to own it. But
the uttermost parts of depravity are laid
-open only when several such monsters
meet together, and vie with each other,
as we might suppose shapeless mud-monsters disport in the slimiest ooze of the
•ocean. They dive >in fierce rivalry which
<shall reach the most infernal depth, and

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IIgj,

bring up the blackest sediment. It makes
the blood of an honest man run cold, to
hear but the echo of the shameless rehearsals of their salacious enterprises. Each
strives to tell a blacker tale than the other.
When the abomination of their actual life
is not damnable enough to satisfy the ambition of their unutterable corruption, they
devise, in their imagination, scenes yet
more flagrant; swear that they have performed them, and when they separate, each
strives to make his lying boastings true. I t
would seem as if miscreants so loathsome
would have no power of temptation upon
the young. Experience shows that the
worst men are, often, the most skilful in;
touching the springs of human action. A
young man knows little of life; less of
himself. He feels in his bosom the variousimpulses, wild desires, restless cravings
he can hardly tell for what, a sombre melancholy when all is gay, a violent exhilaration when others are sober. These wild
gushes of feeling, peculiar to youth, the
sagacious tempter has felt, has studied, has
practised upon, until he can sit before that
most capacious organ, the human mind,.
knowing every stop, and all the combinations, and competent to touch any note
through the diapason.
As a serpent
deceived the purest of mortals, so now a

32

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

beast may mislead their posterity. He
begins afar off. He decries the virtue of
all men; studies to produce a doubt that
any are under self-restraint. He unpacks
iiis filthy stories, plays off the fire-works
•of his corrupt imagination—its blue-lights,
its red-lights, and green-lights, and sparklespitting lights; and edging in upon the
yielding youth, who begins to wonder at
his experience, he boasts his first exploits,
lie hisses at the purity of women; he
grows yet bolder, tells more wicked deeds,
and invents worse even than he ever performed, though he has performed worse
than good men ever thought of. All
thoughts, all feelings, all ambition, are
merged in one and that the lowest, vilest,
most detestable ambition.
Had I a son of years, I could, with thanksgiving, see him go down to the grave,
rather than fall into the maw of this most
besotted devil. The plague is mercy, the
cholera is love, the deadliest fever is refreshment to man's body, in comparison
with this epitome and essence of moral disease. He lives among men, Hell's ambassador with full credentials ; nor can we conceive that there should be need of any other
fiend to perfect the works of darkness, while
he carries his body among us, stuffed with
every pestilent drug of corruption. The

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I2T

heart of every virtuous young man should
loathe him ; if he speaks, you should as
soon hear a wolf bark. Gather around you
the venomous snake, the poisonous toad,
the fetid vulture, the prowling hyena, and
their company would be an honor to you
above his; for they at least remain within
their own nature; but he goes out of his
nature that he may become more vile thaa
it is possible for a mere animal to be.
He is hateful to religion, hateful to virtue,
hateful to decency, hateful to the coldest
morality. The stenchful ichor of his dissolved heart has flowed over every feeling
of his nature, and left them as the
burning lava leaves the garden, the orchard,
and the vineyard. And it is a wonder that
the bolt of God which crushed Sodom does
not slay him. It is a wonder that the earth
does not refuse the burden and open and
swallow him up. I do not fear that the
young will be undermined by his direct assaults. But some will imitate, and their
example will be again freely imitated, and
finally, a remote circle of disciples will
spread the diluted contagion among the
virtuous. This man will be the fountainhead, and though none will come to drink
at a hot spring, yet further down along the
stream it sends out, will be found many
scooping from its waters.

I2

2

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

V. I have described the devil in his native form, b u t he sometimes appears as an
angel of light. T h e r e is a polished Libertine, in manners studiously refined, in taste
faultless; his face is mild and e n g a g i n g ;
his words drop as pure as newly-made
lioney. In general society, he would rather
attract regard as a model of purity, and suspicion herself could hardly look askance
upon him. U n d e r this brilliant exterior,
his heart is like a sepulchre, full of all uncleanness. Contrasted with the gross libertine, it would not be supposed that he had
a t h o u g h t in common with him. If his
heart could be opened to our eyes, as it is
t o God's, we should perceive scarcely dissimilar feeling in respect to appetite. P r o fessing unbounded admiration of virtue in
general, he leaves not in private a point
untransgressed.
H i s reading has culled
•every glowing picture of a m o r o u s poets,
-every tempting scene of loose dramatists,
and looser novelists. Enriched by these,
his imagination, like a rank soil, is overg r o w n with a prodigal luxuriance of poisonherbs and deadly flowers. Men, such as
this man is, frequently aspire to be the censors of morality. T h e y are h u r t at the injudicious reprehensions of vice from the p u l p i t !
T h e y make great outcry when plain words are
e m p l o y e d to denounce base things. T h e y are

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GALLERY

123

astonishingly sensitive and fearful lest good
men should soil their hands with too m u c h
meddling with evil. Their cries are not the
evidence of sensibility to virtue, but of too
lively a sensibility to vice. Sensibility is,
often, only the fluttering of an impure heart.
A t the very time that their voice is ringing
an alarm against immoral reformations, t h e y
are secretly skeptical of every tenet of virtue, and practically unfaithful to every one.
Of these two libertines, the most refined is
the more dangerous. T h e one is a rattlesnake which carries its warning with it; the
other, hiding
his burnished scales in
t h e grass, skulks to perform unsuspected
deeds in darkness. T h e one is the visible
fog and miasm of t h e m o r a s s ; the other is
the serene air of a tropical city, which, t h o u g h
brilliant, is loaded with invisible pestilence.
The

POLITICIAN.

If t h e r e be a man

on

earth whose character should be framed of
the most sterling honesty, and whose conduct should conform to the most scrupulous
morality, it is the m a n w h o administers p u b lic affairs. T h e most romantic notions of
integrity are here not extravagant. A s , under our institutions, public men will be,
upon t h e whole, fair exponents of the character of their constituents, the plainest w a y
to secure honest public men, is to inspire
those w h o make them, with a right under-

!24

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

standing of what political character ought
to be. Young men should be prompted to
discriminate between the specious, and the
real; the artful, and the honest; the wise,
and the cunning; the patriotic, and the pretender. I will sketch—
VI. The

DEMAGOGUE.

The

lowest of

politicians is that man who seeks to gratify
an invariable selfishness by pretending to
seek the public good. For a profitable
popularity he accommodates himself to all
opinions, to all dispositions, to every side,
and to each prejudice. He is a mirror,
with no face of its own, but a smooth surface from which each man of ten thousand
may see himself reflected. He glides from
man to man, coinciding with their views,
pretending their feelings, simulating their
tastes: with this one, he hates a man; with
that one, he loves the same man; he favors
a law, and he dislikes it; he approves, and
opposes; he is on both sides at once, and
seemingly wishes that he could be on one
side more than both sides. He attends
meetings to suppress intemperance,—but at
elections makes every grog-shop free to all
drinkers. He can with equal relish plead
most eloquently for temperance, or toss off
a dozen glasses in a dirty groggery. He
thinks that there is a time for everything,
and therefore, at one time he swears and

THE PORTRAIT

GALLERY

jeers and leers with a carousing crew; and
at another time, having happily been converted, he displays the various features of
devotion. Indeed, he is a capacious Christian ; an epitome of faith. He piously ask?
the class-leader, of the welfare of his
charge, for he was always a Methodist and
always shall be,—until he meets a Presbyterian ; then he is a Presbyterian, old-school
or new, as the case requires. However, as
he is not a bigot, he can afford to be a
Baptist, in a good Baptist neighborhood,
and with a wink he tells the zealous elder,
that he never had one of his children baptized, not he! He whispers to the Reformer that he abhors all creeds but Baptism and the Bible. After all this, room
will be found in his heart for the fugitive
sects also, which come and go like clouds
in a summer sky. His flattering attention
at church edifies the simple-hearted
preacher, who admires that a plain sermon
should make a man whisper amen! and
weep. Upon the stump his tact is no less
rare. He roars and bawls with courageous
plainness, on points about which all agree:
but on subjects where men differ, his meaning is nicely balanced on a pivot that it
may dip either way. He depends for success chiefly upon humorous stories. A
glowing patriot a-telling stories is a danger-

I2

6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

ous antagonist; for it is hard to expose the
fallacy of a hearty laugh, and men convulsed with merriment are slow to perceive
in what way an argument is a reply to a
story.
Perseverance, effrontery, good nature,
and versatile cunning have advanced many
a bad man higher than a good man could
attain. Men will admit that he has not a
single moral virtue; but he is smart. We
object to no man for amusing himself at
the fertile resources of the politician here
painted; for sober men are sometimes
pleased with the grimaces arid mischievous
tricks of a versatile monkey; but would it
not be strange indeed if they should select
him for a ruler, or make him an exemplar
to their sons ?
VII. I describe next a more respectable
and more dangerous politician—the PARTY
MAN. He has associated his ambition, his
interests, and his affections with a party.
He prefers, doubtless, that his side should
be victorious by the best means, and under
the championship of good men; but rather
than lose the victory, he will consent to any
means, and follow any man. Thus, with a
general desire to be upright, the exigency
of his party constantly pushes him to dishonorable deeds. He opposes fraud by
craft; lie, by lie ; slander, by counter-as-

THE PORTRAIT

GALLERY

i2j

pension. To be sure it is wrong to misstate, to distort, to suppress or color facts;
it is wrong to employ the evil passions ; to
set class against class ; the poor against the
rich, the country against the city, the farmer
against the mechanic, one section against
another section. But his opponents do it,
and if they will take advantage of men's
corruption, he must, or lose by his virtue.
He gradually adopts two characters, a personal and a political character. All the requisitions of his conscience he obeys in his
private character ; all the requisitions of his
party, he obeys in his political conduct. In
one character he is a man of principle; in
the other, a man of mere expedients. As
a man he means to be veracious, honest,
moral; as a politician, he is deceitful, cunning, unscrupulous,—anything for party. As
a man, he abhors the slimy demagogue;
as a politician, he employs him as a scavenger. As a man, he shrinks from the
flagitiousness of slander ; as a politician, he
permits it, smiles upon it in others, rejoices
in the success gained by it. As a man,
he respects no one who is rotten in heart;
as a politician, no man through whom victory may be gained can be too bad. As a
citizen, he is an apostle of temperance; as
a politician, he puts his shoulder under the
men who deluge their track with whisky,

I2

8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

marching a crew of brawling patriots, p u g naciously d r u n k , to exercise t h e freeman's
noblest franchise,—the VOTE. A s a citizen,
he is considerate of the y o u n g , and counsels them with admirable w i s d o m ; then, as
a politician, he votes for tools, s u p p o r t i n g
for the magistracy worshipful aspirants
scraped from the ditch, the grog-shop, and
t h e b r o t h e l ; thus saying b y deeds which
t h e y o u n g are quick to u n d e r s t a n d : " I
jested, when I warned you of bad c o m p a n y ;
for you perceive none worse t h a n those
w h o m I delight to honor." F o r his religion
h e will give up all his secular interests;
b u t for his politics h e gives up even his religion. H e adores virtue, and rewards vice.
W h i l s t bolstering up unrighteous measures,
and more unrighteous men, he prays for t h e
advancement of religion, and justice, and
h o n o r ! I would to God that his prayer
might be answered upon his own political
h e a d ; for never was there a place where
such blessings
were more n e e d e d ! I
am puzzled to know what will happen
at death to this politic Christian, b u t
most unchristian
politician. Will both
of his characters go heavenward t o g e t h e r ?
If the strongest prevails, he will certainly g o
to hell. If his weakest, (which is his
Christian character,) is saved, what will become of his political character ? Shall he be

THE PORTRAIT

GALLERY

I29

sundered in two, as Solomon proposed to
divide the contested infant ? If this style of
character were not flagitiously wicked, it
would still be supremely ridiculous—but it
is both. Let young men mark these
amphibious exemplars to avoid their influence. The young have nothing to gain
from those who are saints in religion and
morals, and Machiavels in politics; who
have partitioned off their heart, invited
Christ into one half, and Belial into the
other.
It is wisely said, that a strictly honest
man who desires purely the public good,
who will not criminally flatter the people,
nor take part in lies, or party-slander, nor
descend to the arts of the rat, the weasel,
and the fox, cannot succeed in politics. It
is calmly said by thousands that one cannot
be a politician and a Christian. Indeed, a
man is liable to downright ridicule if he
speaks in good earnest of a scrupulously
honest and religiously moral politician. I
regard all such representations as false.
We are not without men whose career is a
refutation of the slander. It poisons the
community to teach this fatal necessity of
corruption in a course which so many must
pursue. It is not strange, if such be the
popular opinion, that young men include
the sacrifice of strict integrity as a neces9

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

sary element of a political life, and calmly agree to it, as to an inevitable misfortune, rather than to a dark and voluntary
crime.
Only if a man is an ignorant heathen, can
he escape blame for such a decision ! A
young man, at this day, in this land, who
can coolly purpose a life of most unmanly
guile, who means to earn his bread and
fame by a sacrifice of integrity, is one who
requires only temptation and opportunity to
become a felon. What a heart has that
man, who can stand in the very middle of
the Bible, with its transcendent truths raising their glowing fronts on every side of
him, and feel no inspiration but that of
immorality and meanness ! He knows that
for him have been founded the perpetual
institutions of religion ; for him prophets
have spoken, miracles been wrought, heaven
robbed of its Magistrate, and the earth made
sacred above all planets as the Redeemer's
burial-place ;—he knows it all, and plunges
from this height to the very bottom of corruption ! He hears that he is immortal, and
despises the immortality; that he is a son
of God, and scorns the dignity; an heir of
heaven, and infamously sells his heirship^
and himself, for a contemptible mess of
loathsome pottage ! Do not tell me of any
excuses. It is a shame to attempt an

THE PORTRAIT

GALLERY

excuse! If there were no religion, if that
vast sphere, out of which glow all the supereminent truths of the Bible, was a mere
emptiness and void, yet, methinks the" very
idea of Fatherland, the exceeding preciousness of the Laws and Liberties of a great
people, would enkindle such a high and
noble enthusiasm, that all baser feelings
would be consumed! But if the love of
country, a sense of character, a manly
regard for integrity, the example of our
most illustrious men, the warnings of
religion and all its solicitations, and the prospect of the future,—dark as Perdition to the
bad, and light as Paradise to the good,-—
cannot inspire a young man to anything
higher than a sneaking, truckling, dodging
scramble for fraudulent fame and dishonest
bread, it is because such a creature has never
felt one sensation of manly virtue;—it is
because his heart is a howling wilderness,
inhospitable to innocence.
Thus have I sketched a few of the characters which abound in every community;
dangerous, not more by their direct temptations, than by their insensible influence.
The sight of their deeds, of their temporary
success, their apparent happiness, relaxes
the tense rigidity of a scrupulous honesty,
inspires a ruinous liberality of sentiment
toward vice, and breeds the thoughts of evil;

!32
and

LECTURES
EVIL

10 YOUNG MEN

THOUGHTS a r e

the

cockatrice's

eggs, hatching into all bad deeds.
R e m e m b e r , if b y a n y of these y o u are
enticed to ruin, you will have to bear it
ALONE ! T h e y are strong to seduce, but
heartless t o sustain their victims. T h e y
will e x h a u s t y o u r means, teach y o u t o
despise the God of y o u r fathers, lead y o u
into every sin, g o with you while you afford
t h e m any pleasure or profit, and then, when
the inevitable disaster of wickedness begins
to overwhelm you, they will abandon whom
t h e y have debauched. W h e n , at length,
death gnaws at your bones a n d k n o c k s at
y o u r h e a r t ; when staggering, and worn out,
y o u r courage wasted, your hope gone, y o u r
purity, and long, long ago y o u r peace—will
h e w h o first enticed y o u r steps, now serve
y o u r extremity with one office of kindness ?
Will h e stay y o u r h e a d ? — c h e e r y o u r dying
a g o n y with o n e word of hope ?—or light
the way for y o u r coward steps t o the grave ?
— o r weep when y o u a r e g o n e ?—or send
one pitiful scrap t o y o u r desolate family ?
W h a t reveller wears crape for a dead
d r u n k a r d ?—what g a n g of gamblers ever
intermitted a game for the death of a companion ?—or went on kind missions of relief
to broken-down fellow-gamblers ? W h a t
harlot weeps for a harlot ?—what debauchee
mourns for a debauchee?
T h e y would

THE PORTRAIT

GALLERY

carouse at your funeral, and gamble on your
coffin. If one flush more of pleasure were
to be had by it, they would drink shame
and ridicule to your memory out of your
own skull, and roar in bacchanal-revelry
over your damnation ! All the shameless
atrocities of wicked men are nothing to
their heartlessness toward each other when
broken-down. As I have seen worms
writhing on a carcass, overcrawling each
other, and elevating their fiery heads in
petty ferocity against each other, while all
were enshrined in the corruption of a common carrion,—I have thought, ah ! shameful picture of wicked men tempting each
other, abetting each other, until calamity
overtook them, and then fighting and
devouring or abandoning each other, without pity, or sorrow, or compassion, or
remorse. Evil men of every degree will use
you, flatter you, lead you on until you are
useless ; then, if the virtuous do not pity
you, or God compassionate, you are without
a friend in the universe.
My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou
not. If they say, Come with us, . . . we shall
find all precious substance, ive shall fill our
houses with spoil: cast in thy lot among us;
let us all have one purse : my son, walk not
thou in the way with them ; refrain thy feet

I3

4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

fro7n their path: for their feet run to evil,
and make haste to shed blood, . . . and they
lay in wait for their OWN blood, they lurk
privily for their own lives.

GAMBLERS A N D GAMBLING

Then the soldiers, when they had crucified Jesus, took
his garments and made four parts, to every soldier a
part, and also his coat. Now the coat was without
seam, woven from the top throughout. They said
therefore among themselves, Let us not rend it, but
cast lots for it, whose it shall be. These things
therefore the soldiers did.

I

H A V E condensed into one account the
separate parts of this gambling transaction as narrated by each evangelist.
How marked in every age is a Gambler's
character!
The enraged priesthood of
ferocious sects taunted Christ's dying
agonies; the bewildered multitude, accustomed to cruelty, could shout; but no
earthly creature, but a Gambler, could be so
lost to all feeling as to sit down coolly
under a dying man to wrangle for his garments, and arbitrate their avaricious differences by casting dice for his tunic, with
hands spotted with his spattered blood,
warm and yet undried upon them. The
descendants of these patriarchs of gambling,
(i3S)

!36

LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN

however, have taught us that there is nothing possible to hell, uncongenial to these,
its elect saints. In this lecture it is my
disagreeable task to lead your steps down
the dark path to their cruel haunts, there to
exhibit their infernal passions, their awful
ruin, and their ghastly memorials. In this
house of darkness, amid fierce faces gleaming with the fire of fiercer hearts, amid oaths
and groans and fiendish orgies, ending in
murders and strewn with sweltering
corpses,—-do not mistake, and suppose
yourself in Hell,—you are only in its precincts and vestibule.

Gambling is the staking or winning of
property upon mere hazard. The husbandman renders produce for his gains; the
mechanic renders the product of labor and
skill for his gains; the gambler renders for
his gain the sleights of useless skill, or
more often, downright cheating. Betting
is gambling ; there is no honest equivalent
to its gains. Dealings in fancy-stocks are
oftentimes sheer gambling, with all its
worst evils. Profits so earned are no better
than the profits of dice, cards, or hazard.
When skill returns for its earnings a, useful service, as knowledge, beneficial amuse-

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

j 37

rcients, or profitable labor, it is honest commerce. The skill of a pilot in threading a
narrow channel, the skill of a lawyer in
threading a still more intricate one, are as
substantial equivalents for a price received,
as if they were merchant goods or agricultural products. But all gains of mere skill
which result in no real benefit, are gambling
gains.
Gaming, as it springs from a principle of
our nature, has, in some form, probably
existed in every age. We trace it in
remote periods and among the most barbarous people. It loses none of its fascinations among a civilized people. On the
contrary, the habit of fierce stimulants, the
jaded appetite of luxury, and the satiety of
wealth, seem to invite the master-excitant.
Our land, not apt to be behind in good or
evil, is full of gambling in all its forms-:—
the gambling of commerce, the gambling of
bets and wagers, and the gambling of games
of hazard. There is gambling in refined
circles, and in the lowest; among the members of our national government, and of our
state governments.
Thief gambles with
thief, in jail; the judge who sent them
there, the lawyer who prosecuted, and the
lawyer who defended them, often gamble
too. This vice, once almost universally
prevalent among the Western bar, and still

1^8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

too frequently disgracing its members, is,
however, we are happy to believe, decreasing. In many circuits, not long ago, and
in some now, the judge, the jury, and the
bar, shuffled cards by night, and law by
day—dealing out money and justice alike.
The clatter of dice and cards disturbs your
slumber on the boat, and rings drowsily
from the upper rooms of the hotel. This
vice pervades the city, extends over every
line of travel, and infests the most moral
districts. The secreted lamp dimly lights
the apprentices to their game ; with unsuspected disobedience, boys creep out of their
beds to it; it goes on in the store close by
the till; it haunts the shop. The scoundrel in his lair, the scholar in his room ; the
pirate on his ship, gay Women at parties;
loafers on the street-corner, public functionaries in their offices; the beggar under the
hedge, the rascal in prison, and some professors of religion in the somnolent hours
of the Sabbath,—waste their energies by
the ruinous excitement of the game%
Besides these players, there are troops of
professional gamblers, troops of hangers-on,
troops of youth to be drawn in. An inexperienced eye would detect in our peaceful
towns no signs of this vulture-flock ;—so in
a sunny day, when all cheerful birds are
singing merrily, not a buzzard can be seen;

GAMBLER*

AND GAMBLING

139

but let a carcass drop, and they will push
forth their gaunt heads from their gloomy
roosts, and come flapping from the dark
woods to speck the air, and dot the ground
with their numbers.
The universal prevalence of this vice is a
reason for parental vigilance ; and a reason
of remonstrance from the citizen, the parent,
the minister of the gospel, the patriot, and
the press. I propose to trace its opening,
describe its subjects, and detail its effects.
A young man, proud of freedom, anxious
to exert his manhood, has tumbled his
Bible, and sober books, and letters of counsel, into a dark closet. He has learned
various accomplishments, to flirt, to boast,
to swear, to fight, to drink. He has let
every one of these chains be put around
him, upon the solemn promise of Satan that
he would take them off whenever he,
wished. Hearing of the artistic feats of
eminent gamblers, he emulates them. So,
he ponders the game. He teaches what he
has learned to his shopmates, and feels
himself their master. As yet he has never
played for stakes. It begins thus : Peeping
into a book-store, he watches till the sober
customers go out; then slips in, and with
assumed boldness, not concealing his
shame, he asks for cards, buys them, and
hastens out. The first game is to pay for

I40

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

the cards. After the relish of playing for a
stake, no game can satisfy them without a
stake. A few nuts are staked; then a bottle
of wine; an oyster-supper. At last they
can venture a sixpence in actual money.—
just for the amusement of it. I need go
no further—whoever wishes to do anything
with the lad, can do it now. If properly
plied, and gradually led, he will go to any
length, and stop only at the gallows. Do
you doubt it ? let us trace him a year or
two further on.
With his father's blessing, and his
mother's tears, the young man departs
from home. He has received his patrimony, and embarks for life and independence. Upon his journey he rests at a city;
visits the " school of morals;" lingers in
more suspicious places; is seen by a
sharper ; and makes his acquaintance. The
knave sits by him at dinner; gives him the
news of the place, and a world of advice ;
cautions him against sharpers; inquires if
he has money, and charges him to keep it
secret; offers himself to make with him the
rounds of the town, and secure him from
imposition. At length, that he may see all,
he is taken to a gaming-house, but, with
apparent kindness, warned not to play.
He stands by to see the various fortunes of
the game; some, forever losing; some,

GAMBLERS AND GAMBLING

\^\

touch what number they will, gaining piles
of gold. Looking in thirst where wine is
free. A glass is taken; another of a better
kind ; next the best the landlord has, and
two glasses of that A change comes over
the youth; his exhilaration raises his
courage, and lulls his caution. Gambling
seen, seems a different thing from gambling
painted by a pious father! Just then his
friend remarks that one might easily double
his money by a few ventures, but that it
was, perhaps, prudent not to risk. Only
this was needed to fire his mind. What!
only prudence between me and gain ?
Then that shall not be long ! He stakes ;
he wins. Stakes again; wins again.
Glorious! I am the lucky man that is to
break the bank! He stakes, and wins
again. His pulse races ; his face burns ; his
blood is up, and fear gone. He loses ; loses
again; loses all his winnings; loses more.
But fortune turns again ; he wins anew. He
has now lost all self-command. Gains excite him, and'losses excite him more. He
doubles his stakes; then trebles them—and
all is swept. He rushes on, puts up his
whole purse, and loses the whole! Then
he would borrow; no man will lend. He
is desperate, he will fight at a word. He is
led to the street, and thrust out. The cool
breeze which blows upon his fevered cheek,

I42

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

wafts the slow and solemn stroke of the
clock,—one,—two,—three,—four; four of
the morning!
Quick work of ruin !—an innocent man destroyed in a night! He
staggers to his hotel, remembers as he
enters it, that he has not even enough to
pay his bill. It now flashes upon him that
his friend, who never had left him for an
hour before, had stayed behind where his
money is, and, doubtless, is laughing over
his spoils. His blood boils with rage. But
at length comes up the remembrance of
home; a parent's training and counsels for
more than twenty years, destroyed in a
night! " Good God ! what a wretch I have
been! I am not fit to live. I cannot go
home. I am a stranger here. O h ! that I
were dead ! Oh ! that I had died before I
knew this guilt, and were lying where my
sister lies! Oh God ! Oh God! my head
will burst with agony!" He stalks his
lonely room with an agony which only the
young heart knows in its first horrible
awakening to remorse—when it looks despair full in the face, and feels its hideous
incantations tempting him to suicide. Subdued at length by agony, cowed and weakened by distress, he is sought again by
those who plucked him. Cunning to subvert inexperience, to raise the evil passions,

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

143

and to allay the good, they make him their
pliant tool.
Farewell, young man ! I see thy steps
turned to that haunt again ! I see hope
lighting thy face; but it is a lurid light, and
never came from heaven. Stop before that
threshold!—turn, and bid farewell to
home !—-farewell to innocence !—farewell to
venerable father and aged mother!—the next
step shall part thee from them all forever.
And now henceforth be a mate to thieves,
a brother to corruption. Thou hast made
•a league with death, and unto death shalt
thou go.
Let us here pause, to draw the likeness
of a few who stand conspicuous in that
vulgar crowd of gamblers, with which hereafter he will consort. The first is a taciturn,
quiet man. No one knows when he comes
into town, or when he leaves. No man
hears of his gaining; for he never boasts,
nor reports his luck. He spends little for
parade; his money seems to go and come
only through the game. He reads none,
converses none, is neither a glutton nor a
hard-drinker; he sports few ornaments, and
wears plain clothing. Upon the whole, he
seems a gentlemanly man; and sober citizens say, " his only fault is gambling."
What then is this "onlyfault?"
In his
heart he has the most intense and consum-

144

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TO YOUNG MEN

ing lust of play. He is quiet because
every passion is absorbed in one; and that
one burning at the highest flame. He
thinks of nothing else, cares only for this.
All other things, even the hottest lusts of
other men, are too cool to be temptations
to him ; so much deeper is the style of his
passions. He will sit upon his chair, and
no man shall see him move for hours, except to play his cards. He sees none come
in, none go out. Death might groan on
one side of the room, and marriage might
sport on the other,—he would know neither. Every created influence is shut out;
one thing only moves him—\\\z game; and
that leaves not one pulse of excitability
unaroused, but stirs his soul to the very
dregs.
Very different is the roistering gamester.
He bears a jolly face, a glistening eye
something watery through watching and
drink. His fingers are manacled in rings;
his bosom glows with pearls and diamonds.
He learns the time which he wastes from a
watch full gorgeously carved, (and not
with the most modest scenes,) and slung
around his neck by a ponderous golden
chain. There is not so splendid a fellow to
be seen sweeping through the streets. The
landlord makes him welcome—he will bear
3 full bill. The tailor smiles like May—he

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

j

^

will buy half his shop. Other places bid
him welcome—he will bear large stealings.
Like the Judge, he makes his circuit, but
not for justice; like the Preacher, he has
his appointments, but not for instruction.
His circuits are the race-courses, the crowded capital, days of general convocation,
conventions, and mass-gatherings. He will
flame on the race-track, bet his thousands,
and beat the ring at swearing, oaths vernacular, imported, simple, or compound. The
drinking-booth smokes when he draws in
his welcome suit. Did you see him only
by day, flaming in apparel, jovial and freehearted at the Restaurateur or Hotel, you
would think him a Prince let loose—a cross
between Prince Hal and Falstaff.
But night is his day. These are mere exercises, and brief prefaces to his real accomplishments. He is a good fellow, who
dares play deeper; he is wild indeed, who
seems wilder ; and he is keen indeed, who
is sharper than he is, after all this show of
frankness. No one is quicker, slyer, and
more alert at a game. He can shuffle the
pack till an honest man would as soon
think of looking for a particular drop ol
water in the ocean, as for a particular card
in any particular place. Perhaps he is ignorant which is at the top and which at the
in

!46

LECTURED

TO YOUNG MEN

bottom ! At any rate, watch him closely,
or you will get a lean hand and he a fat
one. A plain man would think him a
wizard or the devil. When he touches a
pack they seem alive', and acting to his
will rather than his touch. He deals them
like lightning, they rain like snow-flakes*
sometimes one, sometimes two, if need be
four or five together, and his hand hardly
moved. If he loses, very well, he laughs ;
if he gains, he only laughs a little more.
Full of stories, full of songs, full of wit,
full of roistering spirit—yet do not trespass
too much upon his goodnature with insult \
All this outside is only the spotted hide
which covers the tiger. He who provokes
this man, shall see what lightning cart
break out of a summer-seeming cloud!
These do not fairly represent the race of
gamblers,—conveying too favorable an
impression. There is one, often met on
Steamboats, travelling solely to gamble.
He has the servants, or steward, or some
partner, in league with him, to fleece every
unwary player whom he inveigles to a game.
H e deals falsely ; heats his dupe to madness
by drink, drinking none himself; watches
the signal of his accomplice telegraphing
his opponent's hand; at a stray look, he
will slip your money off and steal it. T o
cover false playing, or to get rid of paying

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

itf

losses, he will lie fiercely, and swear uproariously, and break up the play to fight
with knife or pistol—first scraping the table
of every penny. When the passengers are
asleep, he surveys the luggage, to see what
may be worth stealing; he pulls a watch
from under the pillow of one sleeper; fumbles in the pockets of another; and gathers
booty throughout the cabin. Leaving the
boat before morning, he appears at some
village hotel, a magnificent gentleman, a
polished traveller, or even a distinguished
nobleman !
There is another gambler, cowardly, sleek,
stealthy, humble, mousing, and mean—a
simple blood-sucker. For money, he will be
a tool to other gamblers; steal for them,
and from them ; he plays the jackal, and
searches victims for them, humbly satisfied
to pick the bones afterward. Thus, (to employ his own language,) he ropes in the inexperienced young, flatters them, teaches
them, inflames their passions, purveys to
their appetites, cheats them, debauches them,
draws them down to his own level, and then
lords it over them in malignant meanness.
Himself impure, he plunges others into lasciviousness ; and with a train of reeking
satellites, he revolves a few years in the orbit
of the game, the brothel, and the doctor's
shop; then sinks and dies: the world is

I48

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

purer, and good men thank God that he is
gone.
Besides these, time would fail me to
describe the ineffable dignity of a gambling
judge; the cautious, phlegmatic lawyer,
gambling from sheer avarice; the brokendown and cast-away politician, seeking in
the game the needed excitement, and a
fair field for all the base tricks he once
played off as a patriot; the pert, sharp,
keen, jockey-gambler; the soaked, obese,
plethoric, wheezing, bacchanal; and a crowd
of ignoble worthies, wearing all the badges
and titles of vice, throughout its base
peerage.
A detail of the evils of gambling should
be preceded by an illustration of that constitution of mind out of which they mainly
spring—I mean its EXCITABILITY.
The
body is not stored with a fixed amount of
strength, nor the mind with a uniform
measure of excitement; but both are
capable, by stimulation, of expansion of
strength or feeling, almost without limit.
Experience shows, that within certain
bounds, excitement is healthful and necessary, but beyond this limit, exhausting and
•destructive. Men are allowed to choose
between moderate but long-continued excitement, and intense but short-lived excitement. Too generally they prefer the

GAMBLERS

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149

latter. To gain this intense thrill, a thousand methods are tried. The inebriate obtains it by drink and drugs ; the politician^
by the keen interest of the civil campaign;
the young by amusements which violently
inflame and gratify their appetites. W h e a
once this higher flavor of stimulus has been
tasted, all that is less becomes vapid and
disgustful. A sailor tries to live on shore;
a few weeks suffice. To be sure, there is
no hardship, or *cold, or suffering; but
neither is there the strong excitement of
the ocean, the gale, the storm, and the
world of strange sights. The politician
perceives that his private affairs are deranged, his family neglected, his character
aspersed, his feelings exacerbated. When
men hear him confess that his career is a
hideous waking dream, the race vexatious,
and the end vanity, they wonder that he
clings to it; but he knows that nothing but
the fiery wine which he has tasted will rouse
up that intense excitement, now become
necessary to his happiness.
For this
reason, great men often cling to public
office with all its envy, jealousy, care, toil,
hates, competitions, and unrequited fidelity;
for these very disgusts, and the perpetual
struggle, strike a deeper chord of excitement than is possible to the gentler touches
of home, friendship and love. Here too is

150

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

the key to the real evil of promiscuous
novel-reading, to the habit of reverie and
mental romancing. None of life's common
duties can excite to such wild pleasure as
these; and they must be continued, or the
mind reacts into the lethargy of fatigue and
ennui. It is upon this principle that men
love pain ; suffering is painful to a spectator; but in tragedies, at public executions,
at pugilistic combats, at cock-fightings,
horse-races, bear-baitings, bull-fights, gladiatorial shows, it excites a jaded mind as
nothing else can. A tyrant torments for
the same reason that a girl reads her tearbedewed romance, or an inebriate drinks
his dram. No longer susceptible even to
inordinate stimuli, actual moans, and
shrieks, and the writhing of utter agony,
just suffice to excite his worn-out sense,
and inspire, probably, less emotion than
ordinary men have in listening to a tragedy
or reading a bloody novel.
Gambling is founded upon the very
worst perversion of this powerful element
of our nature. It heats every part of the
mind like an oven. The faculties which
produce calculation, pride of skill, of
superiority, love of gain, hope, fear, jealousy, hatred, are absorbed in the game,
and exhilarated, or exacerbated by victory
or defeat. These passions are, doubtless,

GAMBLER'S

AND

GAMBLING

\^\

excited in men by the daily occurrences of
life; but then they are transient, and counteracted by a thousand grades of emotion,
which rise and fall like the undulations of
the sea. But in gambling there is no intermission, no counteraction.
The whole
mind is excited to the utmost, and concentrated at its extreme point of excitation
for hours and days, with the additional
waste of sleepless nights, profuse drinking,
and other congenial immoralities. Every
other pursuit becomes tasteless; for na
ordinary duty has in it a stimulus which
can scorch a mind which now refuses to
burn without blazing, or to feel an interest
which is not intoxication. The victim of
excitement is like a mariner who ventures
into the edge of a whirlpool for a motion
more exhilarating than plain sailing. H e
is unalarmed during the first few gyrations,
for escape is easy. But each turn sweeps
him further in; the power augments, the
speed becomes terrific as he rushes toward
the vortex ; all escape now hopeless.' A
noble ship went in ; it is spit out in broken
fragments, splintered spars, crushed masts,
and cast up for many a rood along the
shore. The specific evils of gambling
may now be almost imagined.
I. It diseases the mind, unfitting it for the
duties of life. Gamblers are seldom indus-

!j2

LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN

trious men in any useful vocation. A
gambling mechanic finds his labor less
relishful as his passion for play increases.
He grows unsteady, neglects his work,
becomes unfaithful to promises; what he
performs he slights. Little jobs seem little
•enough; he desires immense contracts,
whose uncertainty has much the excitement
of gambling—and for the best of reasons;
and in the pursuit of great and sudden
profits, by wild schemes, he stumbles over
into ruin, leaving all who employed or
trusted him in the rubbish of his speculations.
A gambling lawyer, neglecting the drudgery of his profession, will court its exciting
duties. To explore authorities, compare
reasons, digest, and write,—this is tiresome.
But to advocate, to engage in fiery contests
with keen opponents, this is nearly as good
;as gambling. Many a ruined client has
cursed the law, and cursed a stupid jury,
and cursed everybody for his irretrievable
loss, except his lawyer, who gambled all
night when he should have prepared the
case, and came half asleep and debauched
into court in the morning to lose a good
case mismanaged, and snatched from his
gambling hands by the art of sober opponents.
A gambling student, if such a thing can

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

jjj

be, withdraws from thoughtful authors to
the brilliant and spicy; from the pure
among these, to the sharp and ribald ; from
all reading about depraved life, to seeing;
from sight to experience. Gambling vitiates
the imagination, corrupts the tastes, destroys
the industry—for no man will" drudge for
cents, who gambles for dollars by the hundred ; or practise a piddling economy,,
while, with almost equal indifference, he
makes or loses five hundred in a night.
II. For a like reason, it destroys alt
domestic habits and affections. Home is a
prison to an inveterate gambler; there is na
air there that he can breathe. For a moment he may sport with his children, and
smile upon his wife; but his heart, itsstrong passions, are not there. A little
branch-rill may flow through the family,,
but the deep river of his affections flows
away from home. On the issue of a game,
Tacitus narrates that the ancient Germans
would stake their property, their wives, their
children, and themselves. What less than.
this is it, when a man will stake that property which is to give his family bread, and
that honor which gives them place and rank
in society ?
When playing becomes desperate gambling, the heart is a hearth where all the fires;
of gentle feelings have smouldered to ashes ;

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

and a thorough-paced gamester could rattle
dice in a charnel-house, and wrangle for his
stakes amid murder and pocket gold dripping with the blood of his own kindred.
III. Gambling is the parent and companion of every vice which pollutes the
heart, or injures society.
It is a practice so disallowed among
Christians, and so excluded by mere moralists, and so hateful to industrious and thriving men, that those who practise it are shut
up to themselves ; unlike lawful pursuits, it
is not modified or restrained by collision
with others. Gamblers herd with gamblers.
They tempt and provoke each other to all
evil, without affording one restraint, and
without providing the counterbalance of a
single virtuous impulse. They are like
snakes coiling among snakes, poison and
poisoning ; like plague-patients, infected and
diffusing infection; each sick and all contagious. It is impossible to put bad men
together and not have them grow worse.
The herding of convicts promiscuously,
produced such a fermentation of depravity,
that, long ago, legislators forbade it. When
criminals, out of jail, herd together by
choice, the same corrupt nature will doom
them to growing loathsomeness, because of
increasing wickedness.
IV. It is a provocative of thirst The

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

JJJ

bottle is almost as needful as the card, the
ball, or the dice. Some are seduced to
drink; some drink for imitation, at first, and
fashion. When super-excitements, at intervals, subside, their victim cannot bear the
deathlike gloom of the reaction ; and, by
drugs or liquor, wind up their system to the
glowing point again. Therefore, drinking is
the invariable concomitant of the theatre,
circus, race-course, gaming-table, and of all
amusements which powerfully excite all but
the moral feelings. When the double fires
of dice and brandy blaze under a man, he
will soon be consumed. If men are found
who do not drink, they are the more noticeable because exceptions.
V. It is, even in its fairest form, the almost
inevitable cause of dishonesty. Robbers have
robbers' honor; thieves have thieves' law;
and pirates conform to pirates' regulations,
But where is there a gambler's code ? One
law there is, and this is not universal, pay
your gambling debts. But on the wijde question, how is it fair to win—what law is
there ? What will shut a man out from a
gambler's club ? May he not discover his
opponent's hand by fraud ? May not a concealed thread, pulling the significant one ;—
one, two ; or oney two, three ; or the sign of
a bribed servant or waiter, inform him, and
yet his standing be fair? May he not

I56

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

cheat in shuffling, and yet be in full orders
and canonical ? M a y he not cheat in dealing, and yet be a welcome gambler ?—may
h e not steal the money from your pile by
laying his hands upon it, just as any other
thief would, and yet be an approved
gambler ? M a y not the whole code be
stated thus : Pay what you lose, get what
you can, and in any way you can ! I am told,
perhaps, that there are honest gamblers,
gentlemanly gamblers.
Certainly; there
are always ripe apples before there are
rotten. Men always begin before they end;
there is always an approximation before
there is contact. Players will play truly till
they get used to playing u n t r u l y ; will be
honest, till they c h e a t ; will be honorable,
till they become base ; and when you have
said all this, what does it amount to but this,
that men who really gamble, really c h e a t ;
and that they only do not cheat, who are
not yet real gamblers ? If this mends the
matter, let it be so amended. I have spoken
of gamesters only a m o n g themselves; this
is the least part of the evil; for who is concerned wrhen lions destroy bears, or wolves
devour wolf-cubs, or snakes sting vipers?
In respect to that department of gambling
which includes the roping-in of strangers,
y o u n g men, collecting-clerks, and unsuspecting green-hands, and robbing them, I have

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

i$y

no language strong enough to mark down
its turpitude, its infernal rapacity. After
hearing many of the scenes not unfamiliar
to every gambler, I think Satan might be
proud of their dealings, and look up to them
with that deferential respect, with which one
monster gazes upon a superior. There is
not even the expectation of honesty. Some
scullion-herald of iniquity decoys the unwary wretch into the secret room ; he is
tempted to drink ^ made confident by the
specious simplicity of the game; allowed to
win; and every bait and lure and blind is
employed—then he is plucked to the skin
by tricks which appear as fair as honesty itself. The robber avows his deed, does it
openly; the gambler sneaks to the same
result under skulking pretences. There is
a frank way, and a mean way of doing a
wicked thing. The gambler takes the
meanest way of doing the dirtiest deed.
The victim's own partner is sucking his
blood ; it is a league of sharpers, to get his
money at any rate; and the wickedness is
so unblushing and unmitigated, that it
gives, at last, an instance of what the deceitful human heart, knavish as it is, is ashamed
to try to cover or conceal; but confesses with
helpless honesty, that it is fraud, cheating,
stealing, robbery,—and nothing else.
If I walk the dark street, and a perish-

I58

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

ing, hungry wretch meets me and bears off
tny purse with but a single dollar, the whole
town awakes; the officers are alert, the
myrmidons of the law scout, and hunt, and
bring in the trembling culprit to stow him
in the jail. But a worse thief may meet
me, decoy my steps, and by a greater dishonesty, filch ten thousand dollars,—and
what then ? The story spreads, the sharpers
move abroad unharmed, no one stirs. It is
the day's conversation; and like a sound it
rolls to the distance, and dies in an echo.
Shall such astounding iniquities be vomited out amidst us, and no man care ? Do
we love our children, and yet let them walk
in a den of vipers ? Shall we pretend to
virtue, and purity, and religion, and yet
make partners of our social life, men whose
heart has conceived such damnable deeds,
and whose hands have performed them ?
Shall there be even in the eye of religion
no difference between the corrupter of youth
and their guardian ? Are all the lines and
marks of morality so effaced, is the nerve
and courage of virtue so quailed by the
frequency and boldness of flagitious crimes,
that men, covered over with wickedness,
shall find their iniquity no obstacle to their
advancement among a Christian people.
In almost every form of iniquity there is
some shade or trace of good. We have in

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

jjjg

gambling a crime standing alone—dark,
malignant, uncompounded wickedness ! It
seems in its full growth a monster without
a tender mercy, devouring its own offspring
without one feeling but appetite. A gamester, as such, is the cool, calculating, essential spirit of concentrated avaricious selfishness. His intellect is a living thing, quickened with double life for villany ; his heart
is steel of fourfold temper. When a man
begins to gamble he is as a noble tree full
of sap, green with leaves, a shade to beasts,
and a covert to birds. When one becomes
a thorough gambler, he is like that tree
lightning-smitten, rotten in root, dry in
branch, and sapless; seasoned hard and
tough ; nothing lives beneath it, nothing on
its branches, unless a hawk or a vulture
perches for a moment to whet its beak, and
fly screaming away for its prey.
To every young man who indulges in the
least form of gambling, I raise a warning
voice ! Under the specious name of AMUSEMENT, you are laying the foundation of
gambling. Playing is the seed which comes
up gambling. It is the light wind which
brings up the storm. It is the white frost
which preludes the winter. You are mistaken, however, in supposing that it is
harmless in its earliest beginnings. Its terrible blight belongs, doubtless, to a later

!6o

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

stage; but its consumption of time, its
destruction of industry, its distaste for the
calmer pleasures of life, belong to the
very beginning. You will begin to play
with every generous feeling. Amusement
will be the plea. At the beginning the
game will excite enthusiasm, pride of skill,
the love of mastery, and the love of money.
The love of money, at first almost imperceptible, at last will rule out all the rest,—
like Aaron's rod,—a serpent, swallowing
every other serpent. Generosity, enthusiasm, pride and skill, love of mastery, will
be absorbed in one mighty feeling,—the
savage lust of lucre.
There is a downward climax in this sin.
The opening and ending are fatally connected, and drawn toward each other with
almost irresistible attraction. If gambling
is a vortex, playing is the outer ring of the
Maelstrom. The thousand pound stake,
the whole estate put up on a game—what
are these but the instruments of kindling
that tremendous excitement which a diseased heart craves ? What is the amusement for which yenu play but the excitement
of the game ? And for what but this does
the jaded gambler play ? You differ from
him only in the degree of the same feeling.
Do not solace yourself that you shall
escape because others have; for they

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

jfa

stopped, and you go on. Are you as safe as
they, when you are in the gulf-stream of
perdition, and they on the shore ? But
have you ever asked, how many have
escaped ? Not one in a thousand is left
unblighted! You have nine hundred and
ninety-nine chances against you, and one
for you ; and will you go on ? If a disease should stalk through the town, devouring whole families, and sparing not one in
five hundred, would you lie down under it
quietly because you have one chance in
five hundred? Had a scorpion stung you,
would it alleviate your pangs to reflect that
you had only one chance in one hundred ?
Had you swallowed corrosive poison,
would it ease your convulsions to think
there was only one chance in fifty for you ?
I do not call every man who plays a gambler, but a gambler in embryo. Let, me
trace your course from the amusement of
innocent playing to its almost inevitable
end.
Scene first. A genteel coffee-house,—
whose humane screen conceals a line of
grenadier bottles, and hides respectable
blushes from impertinent eyes. There is
a quiet little room opening out of the bar;
and here sit four jovial youths. The cards
are out, the wines are in. The fourth is a
reluctant hand; he does not love the drink,
ii

x 62

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

nor approve the game. H e anticipates
and fears the result of both. W h y is h e
here ?
H e is a whole-souled fellow, and
is afraid to seem ashamed of any fashionable gaiety. H e will sip his wine upon
the importunity of a friend newly come to
town, and is too polite to spoil that friend's
pleasure by refusing a part in the game.
T h e y sit, shuffle, d e a l ; the night wears
on, the clock telling no tale of passing
h o u r s — t h e p r u d e n t liquor-fiend has made
it safely d u m b . T h e night is getting old ;
its dank air grows fresher; the east is
grey ; the g a m i n g and drinking and hilarious laughter are over, and the y o u t h s
w r ending homeward.
W h a t says conscience ? N o matter what it s a y s ; they
did not hear, and we will not. W h a t e v e r
was said, it was very shortly answered
t h u s : " T h i s has not been g a m b l i n g ; all
were gentlemen ; there was no c h e a t i n g ;
simply a convivial e v e n i n g ; no stakes
except the bills incident to the entertainment. If a n y b o d y blames a y o u n g man
for a little innocent exhilaration on a special occasion, he is a superstitious bigot ;
let him c r o a k ! " Such a garnished g a m e
is made the t e x t to justify the whole
r o u n d of gambling. Let us, then, look at
Scene the second. In- a room so silent that
there is no sound except the shrill cock

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

163

crowing the morning, where the forgotten
candles burn dimly over the long and
lengthened wick, sit four men. Carved
marble could not be more motionless, save
their hands. Pale, watchful, t h o u g h weary,
their eyes pierce the cards, or furtively read
each other's faces. H o u r s have passed
over them thus. A t length they rise without w o r d s ; some, with a satisfaction which
only makes their faces brightly h a g g a r d ,
scrape off the piles of money ; others, dark,
sullen, silent, fierce, move away from their
lost money. T h e darkest and fiercest of
the four is that y o u n g friend who first sat
down to make out a g a m e ! H e will never
sit so innocently again. W h a t says h e to
his conscience now ? " I have a right to
g a m b l e ; I have a right to be damned too,
if I c h o o s e ; whose business is i t ? "
Scene the third. Years have passed on.
H e has seen y o u t h ruined, at first with expostulation, then with only silent regret,
then consenting t o take part of the spoils ;
and finally, he has himself decoyed, duped,
and stripped t h e m without mercy. Go
with me into that dilapidated house, not far
from the landing, at New Orleans. L o o k
into that dirty room. A r o u n d a b r o k e n
table, sitting upon boxes, kegs, or rickety
chairs, see a filthy crew dealing cards
s m o u c h e d with tobacco, grease and liquor.

164

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

One has a pirate-face burnished and burnt
with brandy; a shock of grizzly, matted
hair, half covering his villain eyes, which
glare out like a wild beast's from a thicket.
Close by him wheezes a white-faced, dropsical wretch, vermin-covered, and stenchful.
A scoundrel-Spaniard, and a burly negro,
(the jolliest of the four,) complete the group.
They have spectators—drunken sailors, and
ogling, thieving, drinking women, who
should have died long ago, when all that
was womanly died. Here hour draws on
hour, sometimes with brutal laughter, sometimes with threat, and oath, and uproar.
The last few stolen dollars lost, and temper
too, each charges each Avith cheating, and
high words ensue, and blows; and the
whole gang burst out the door, beating,
biting, scratching, and rolling over and over
in the dirt and dust. The worst, the fiercest,
the drunkest, of the four, is our friend who
began by making up the game!
Scene the fourth. Upon this bright day,
stand with me, if you would be sick of humanity, and look over that multitude of
men kindly gathered to see a murderer
h u n g ! At last, a guarded cart drags o*n a
thrice-guarded wretch. At the gallows'
ladder his courage fails. His coward-feet
refuse to ascend; dragged up, he is supported by bustling officials; his brain reels,

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

165

his eye swims, while t h e meek minister
utters a final prayer b y his leaden ear. T h e
prayer is said, the noose is fixed, the signal
is given ; a s h u d d e r runs t h r o u g h the crowd
as he swings free. After a moment, his
convulsed limbs stretch down, and h a n g
heavily and still; and h e who began t o
•gamble to make up a game, and ended
with stabbing an enraged victim whom h e
had fleeced, has here played his last game,
—himself the stake !
I feel impelled, in closing, to call t h e attention of all sober citizens to some potent
influences which are exerted in favor of
gambling.
In our civil economy we have Legislators
to devise and enact wholesome l a w s ;
Lawyers to counsel and aid those who need
the laws' relief; and J u d g e s to determine
and administer the laws. If Legislators,
Lawyers, and J u d g e s are gamblers, with
what hope do we warn off the y o u n g from
this deadly fascination, against such authoritative examples of high public functionaries ? W i t h what eminent fitness does t h a t
J u d g e press the bench, who in private commits the vices which officially he is set t o
condemn ! W i t h what singular terrors does
he frown on a convicted gambler with
w h o m he played last night, and will play
again t o - n i g h t ! H o w wisely should the fine

f66

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TO YOUNG MEN

be light which the sprightly criminal will
win and pay out of the Judged own pocket!
With the name of JUDGE is associated
ideas of immaculate purity, sober piety, and
fearless, favorless justice. Let it then be
counted a dark crime for a recreant official
so far to forget his reverend place, and
noble office, as to run the gantlet of filthy
vices, and make the word Judge, to suggest
an incontinent trifler, who smites with his
mouth, and smirks with his eye ; who holds
the rod to strike the criminal, and smites
only the law to make a gap for criminals to
pass through ! If God loves this land, may
he save it from truckling, drinking, swearing,
gambling, vicious Judges ! *
With such Judges I must associate corrupt LEGISLATORS, whose bawling patriotism
leaks out in all the sinks of infamy at the
Capital. These living exemplars of vice,
pass still-born laws against vice. Are such
men sent to the Capital only to practise debauchery ?
Laborious
seedsmen—they
gather every germ of evil; and laborious
sowers—at home they strew them far and
wide! It is a burning shame, a high outrage, that public men, by corrupting the
* T h e general eminent integrity of the Bench is unquestionable—
and no remarks in the text are to be construed as an oblique aspersion of the profession. But the purer our Judges generally,
d i e more shameless is it that some will not abandon either their
vices or their office.

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

ifiy

young with the example of manifold vices,
should pay back their constituents for their
honors!
Our land has little to fear from abroad,
and much from within. We can bear foreign aggression, scarcity, the revulsions of
commerce; plagues, and pestilences; but we
cannot bear vicious Judges, corrupt Courts,
gambling Legislators, and a vicious, corrupt,
and gambling constituency. Let us not be
deceived ! The decay of civil institutions
begins at the core. The outside wears all
the lovely hues of ripeness, when the inside
is rotting. Decline does not begin in bold
and startling acts; but, as in autumnal
leaves, in rich and glowing colors. Over
diseased vitals, consumptive laws wear the
hectic blush, a brilliant eye, and transparent
skin. Could the public sentiment declare
that PERSONAL MORALITY is the first element
of patriotism; that corrupt Legislators are
the most pernicious of criminals; that the
Judge who lets the villain off, is the villain's
patron; that tolerance of crime is intolerance of virtue,—our nation might defy all
enemies and live forever!
And now, my young friends, I beseech
you to let alone this evil before it be meddled with. You are safe from vice when
you avoid even its appearance; and only
then. The first steps to wickedness are

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TO YOUNG MEN

imperceptible. We do not wonder at the
inexperience of Adam ; but it is wonderful
that six thousand years' repetition of the
same arts, and the same uniform disaster,
should have taught men nothing! that
generation after generation should perish,
and the wreck be no warning!
The mariner searches his chart for hidden rocks, stands off from perilous shoals,
and steers wide of reefs on which hang
shattered morsels of wrecked ships, and
runs in upon dangerous shores with the ship
manned, the wheel in hand, and the lead
constantly sounding. But the mariner upon
life's sea, carries no chart of other men's
voyages, drives before every wind that will
speed him, draws upon horrid shores with
slumbering crew, or heads in upon roaring
reefs as though he would not perish where
thousands have perished before him.
Hell is populated with the victims of
4i
harmless amusements!' Will man never
learn that the way to hell is through the
valley of DECEIT ? The power of Satan to
hold his victims is nothing to that mastery
of art by which he first gains them. When
he approaches to charm us, it is not as a
grim fiend, gleaming from a lurid cloud, but
as an angel of light radiant with innocence.
His words fall like dew upon the flower;
as musical as the crystal-drop warbling from

GAMBLERS

AND

GAMBLING

169

a fountain. Beguiled by his art, he leads
you to the enchanted ground. Oh! how it
glows with every refulgent hue of heaven !
Afar off he marks the dismal gulf of vice
and crime; its smoke of torment slowly
rising, and rising forever! and he himself
cunningly warns you of its dread disaster,,
for the very purpose of blinding and drawing you thither. He leads you to captivity
through all the bowers of lulling magic.
He plants your foot on odorous flowers \
he fans your cheek with balmy breath; he
overhangs your head with rosy clouds; he
fills your ear with distant, drowsy music,.
charming every sense to rest. Oh ye ! who
have thought the way to hell was bleak and
frozen as Norway, parched and barren as
Sahara, strewed like Golgotha with bones
and skulls reeking with stench like the vale
of Gehenna,—witness your mistake ! The
way to hell is gorgeous ! It is a highway,
cast up; no lion is there, no ominous bird
to hoot a warning, no echoings of the wailing-pit, no lurid gleams of distant fires, or
moaning sounds of hidden woe ! Paradise
is imitated to build you a way to death ; the
flowers of heaven are stolen and poisoned;
the sweet plant of knowledge is here; the
pure white flower of religion; seeming virtue and the charming tints of innocence are
scattered all along like native herbage. The

3

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TO YOUNG

MEJV

enchanted victim travels on. Standing afar
behind, a n d from a silver-trumpet, a heavenly messenger sends down t h e wind a solemn w a r n i n g : T H E R E IS A WAY W H I C H SEEMETH RIGHT TO MAN, BUT THE END THEREOF

is DEATH.

A n d again, with louder

blast:

T H E W I S E MAN F O R E S E E T H T H E EVIL ; FOOLS
PASS ON AND ARE PUNISHED. S t a r t l e d for a

m o m e n t , t h e victim p a u s e s ; gazes round
upon t h e flowery scene, and whispers, Is it
not harmless ? — "Harmless, " responds a
serpent from the grass !—"Harmless" echo
t h e sighing winds !—"Harmless" re-echo a
h u n d r e d airy tongues ! If now a gale from
heaven might only sweep t h e clouds away
t h r o u g h which t h e victim g a z e s ; o h ! if God
would break that potent power which chains
t h e blasts of hell, and let t h e sulphur-stench
roll u p t h e vale, h o w would t h e vision
c h a n g e ! — t h e road become a track of dead
men's b o n e s ! — t h e heavens a lowering
storm !—the balmy breezes, distant wailings
— a n d all those balsam-shrubs t h a t lied to
his senses, sweat drops of blood upon their
poison-boughs!
>
Y e w h o are meddling with t h e edges of
vice, y e are on this r o a d ! — a n d utterly
duped b y its enchantments ! Y o u r eye h a s
already lost its honest glance, y o u r taste
has lost its purity, y o u r heart t h r o b s with
p o i s o n ! T h e leprosy is all over y o u , its

GAMBLERS

AND GAMBLING

ijx

blotches and eruptions cover you. Your
feet stand on slippery places, whence in due
time they shall slide, if you refuse the
warning which I raise.
They shall
slide from heaven, never to be visited
by a gambler; slide down to that
fiery abyss below you. out of which none
ever come. Then, when the last card i?
cast, and the game over, and you lost;
then, when the echo of your fall shall ring
through hell,—in malignant triumph, shall
the Arch-Gambler, who cunningly played
for your soul, have his prey ! Too late you
shall look back upon life as a MIGHTY GAME,
in which you were the stake, and Satan the
winner!

THE STRANGE WOMAN

All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: that the man of God may
be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works.
2 Tim. iii. 16, 17.

S

U R E L Y one cannot declare the whole
counsel of God, and leave out a subject which is interwoven with almost
every chapter of the Bible. So inveterate
is the prejudice against introducing into
the pulpit the subject of Licentiousness,
that Ministers of the Gospel, knowing the
vice to be singularly dangerous and frequent, have yet by silence almost complete,
or broken only by circuitous allusions,
manifested their submission to the popular
taste.* That Vice upon which it has
pleased God to be more explicit and full
* T h e liberality with which this Lecture was condemned before I
h a d written it, and the prompt criticisms afterwards, of those who
did not hear it, have induced me to print it almost unaltered.
Otherwise I should have changed many portions of it from forms
of expression peculiar to the pulpit into those better suited to 9
book.

C173)

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

than upon any other; against which he
uttered his voice upon Sinai, Thou sJialt not
commit adultery ; upon which the lawgiver,
Moses, legislated with boldness; which
Judges condemned ; upon which the venerable Prophets spake oft and again; against
which Christ with singular directness and
plainness uttered the purity of religion;
and upon which He inspired Paul to discourse to the Corinthians, and to almost
every primitive church; this subject, upon
which the Bible does not so much speak,
as thunder—not by a single bolt, but peal
after peal—we are solemnly warned not to
introduce into the pulpit!
I am entirely aware of the delicacy of introducing this subject into the pulpit.
One difficulty arises from the sensitiveness of unaffected purity. A mind, retaining all the dew and freshness of innocence,
shrinks from the very idea of impurity, as
if it were sin to have thought or heard of it,
—as if even the shadow of the evil would
leave some soil upon the unsullied whiteness of the virgin-mind. Shall we be angry
with this? or shall we rudely rebuke so
amiable a feeling, because it regrets a
necessary duty ? God forbid! If there be,
in the world, one whose generous faults
should be rebuked only by the tenderness
of a reproving smile, it is the mistake of

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

inexperienced purity. We would as soon
pelt an angel, bewildered among men and
half smothered with earth's noxious vapors,
for his trembling apprehensions. To any
such, who have half wished that I might not
speak, I say :—Nor would I, did I not know
that purity will suffer more by the silence
of shame, than by the honest voice of truth.
Another difficulty springs from the nature
of the English language, which has hardly
been framed in a school where it may wind
and fit itself to all the phases of impurity.
But were I speaking French—the dialect of
refined sensualism and of licentious literature ; the language of a land where taste
and learning and art wait upon the altars of
impurity—then I might copiously speak of
this evil, nor use one plain word. But I
thank God, the honest English tongue
which I have learned, has never been so
bred to this vile subservience of evil. We
have plain words enough to say plain
things, but the dignity and manliness of our
language has never grown supple to twine
around brilliant dissipation. It has too
many plain words, vulgar words, vile.words ;
but it has few mirror-words, which cast a
sidelong image of an idea; it has few words
which wear a meaning smile, a courtesanglance significant of something unexpressed.
When public vice necessitates public rep-

IjQ

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

rehension, it is, for these reasons, difficult
to redeem plainness from vulgarity. We
must speak plainly and properly; or else
speak by innuendo—which is the devil's
language.
Another difficulty lies in the confused
echoes which vile men create in every community, when the pulpit disturbs them. Do
I not know the arts of cunning men ? Did
not Demetrius, the Silversmith (worthy to
have lived in our day !) become most wonderfully pious, and run all over the city to
rouse up the dormant zeal of Diana's worshippers, and gather a mob, to whom he
preached that Diana must be cared for ;
when, to his fellow-craftsmen, he told the
truth : OUR CRAFT IS IN DANGER ! Men will
not quietly be exposed. They foresee the
rising of a virtuously retributive public sentiment, as the mariner sees the cloud of the
storm rolling up the heavens ! They strive
to forestall and resist it. How loudly will
a liquor-fiend protest against temperance
lectures—sinful enough for redeeming victims from his paw ! How sensitive some
men to a church bell! they are high priests
of revivals at a horse-race, a theatre, or a
liquor-supper ; but a religious revival pains
their sober minds. Even thus, the town
will be made vocal with outcries against
sermons on licentiousness. Who cries

\
TffE STRANGE

WOMAN\

out ?—the sober ?—the immaculate ?—the
devout ? It is the voice of the son of midnight ; it is the shriek of the STRANGE
WOMAN'S victim! and their sensitiveness is
not of purity, but of fear! Men protest
against the indecency of the pulpit, because
the pulpit makes them feel their own indecency ; they would drive us from the investigation of vice, t h a t t h e y m a y keep t h e
field open for their own occupancy. I
expect such men's reproaches. I know the
reasons of them. I am not to be turned b y
them, not one hair's breadth, if they rise to
double their present volume, until I have
h u n t e d h o m e the wolf to his lair, and
ripped off his brindled hide in his very den !
A n o t h e r difficulty exists, in the criminal
fastidiousness of the community upon this
subject. T h i s is the counterfeit of delicacy.
It resembles it less than paste-jewels do the
pure pearl. W h e r e delicacy, the atmosphere of a pure heart, is lost, or never was
had, a substitute is s o u g h t ; and is found in
forms of delicacy, not in its feelings.
It is
a delicacy of exterior, of etiquette, of show,
of r u l e s ; not of thought, not of pure imaginatio7i, not of the crystal-current of the
heart!
Criminal fastidiousness is the
Pharisee's s e p u l c h r e ; clean, white, beautiful without, full of dead men's bones within !
— t h e Pharisee's platter, the Pharisee's c u p

jg

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

—it is the very Pharisee himself; and like
him of old, lays on burdens grievous to be
borne. Delicacy is a spring which God has
sunken in the rock, which the winter never
freezes, the summer never heats; which
sends its quiet waters with music down the
flowery hill-side, and which is pure and
transparent, because it has at the bottom no
sediment. I would that every one of us
had this well of life, gushing from our
hearts—an everlasting and full stream !
False modesty always judges by the outside ; it cares how you speak, more than
what.
That which would outrage in plain
words, may be implied furtively, in the sallies of wit or fancy, and be admissible.
Every day I see this giggling modesty,
which blushes at language more than at its
meaning; which smiles upon base things,
if they will appear in the garb of virtue !
That disease of mind to which I have frequently alluded in these lectures* which
leads it to clothe vice beautifully and then
admit it, has had a fatal effect also upon
Literature ; giving currency to filth, by coining it in the mint of beauty. It is under
the influence of this disease of taste and
heart, that we hear expressed such strange
judgments upon English authors. Those
who speak plainly what they mean, when
they speak at all, are called rude and vul-

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

g a r ; while those upon whose exquisite sentences the dew of indelicacy rests like so
m a n y brilliant pearls of the m o r n i n g upon
flowers, are called our moral authors !
T h e most dangerous writers in t h e
English language are those whose artful
insinuations and mischievous polish reflect
upon the mind the image of impurity, without presenting the impurity itself. A plain
vulgarity in a writer is its own antidote. It
is like a foe w h o attacks us openly, and
gives us opportunity of defence. But impurity, secreted under beauty, is like a'treacherous friend who strolls with us in a garden
of sweets, and destroys us by the odor of
poisonous flowers proffered to our senses.
L e t the reprehensible grossness of Chaucer
be compared with the perfumed, elaborate
brilliancy of Moore's license. I would not
willingly answer at the bar of God for the
writings of e i t h e r ; but of the two, I would
rather bear the sin of Chaucer's plainspoken words, which never suggest more
than they say, than the sin of Moore's language, over which plays a witching h u e
and shade of licentiousness. I would rather
p u t the downright, and often abominable vulgarity of Swift into m y child's hand,
than the scoundrel-indirections of Sterne.
T h e y are both impure writers; but not
equally harmful. T h e one says what he

5go

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

•means; the other means what he dare not
say. Swift is, in this respect, Belial in his
own form; Sterne is Satan in the form of
an angel of light: and many will receive
the temptation of the Angel, who would
scorn the proffer of the Demon. What an
incredible state of morals, in the English
church, that permitted two of her eminent
clergy to be the most licentious writers of
the age, and as impure as almost any of the
English literature! Even our most classic
authors have chosen to elaborate, with
exquisite a$, scenes which cannot but have
more effect upon the passions than upon
the taste. Embosomed in the midst of
Thomson's glowing Seasons, one finds
descriptions unsurpassed by any part of
Don Juan; and as much more dangerous
than it is, as a courtesan, countenanced by
virtuous society, is more dangerous than
when among her own associates.
Indeed,
an author who surprises you with refined
indelicacies in moral and reputable writings, is worse than one, who, without disguise, and on purpose, serves up a whole
banquet of indelicacies. Many will admit
poison-morsels well sugared, who would
revolt from an infernal feast of impurity.
There is little danger that robbers will
tempt the honest young to robbery. Some
one first tempts him to falsehood; next, to

7 HE STRANGE

WOMAN

Y%i

petty dishonesties ; next, to pilfering ; t h e n ,
to thieving ; and now, only, will the robber
influence him, when others have handed
him down to his region of crime. T h o s e
a u t h o r s w h o soften evil, and show deformity with tints of b e a u t y ; who arm their
general purity with the occasional sting of
impurity ;—these are they who take the
feet out of the straight p a t h — t h e guiltiest
path of seduction.
H e w h o feeds an
inflamed appetite with food spiced to fire,
is less guilty than he w h o hid in the mind
the leaven which w r o u g h t this appetite.
T h e polished seducer is certainly m o r e
dangerous than the vulgar d e b a u c h e e —
both in life and in literature.
In this contrast are to be placed S h a k e speare and Bulwer : Shakespeare is sometimes gross, but not often covertly impure.
Bulwer is slily impure, but not often gross.
I am speaking, however, only of S h a k e speare's Plays, and not of his youthful
fugitive pieces; which, I am afraid, cannot
have part in this exception. H e began
wrongr but crew better. A t first, he wrote
b y the taste of his a g e ; but when a man,
he wrote to his own t a s t e : and t h o u g h h e
is not without sin, yet, compared with his
contemporaries, he is not more illustrious
for his genius than for his purity. Reprehension, to be effective, should be just.

g2

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TO YOUNG MEN

N o man is prepared to excuse properly the
occasional blemishes of this wonderful
writer, who has not been shocked at the
immeasurable licentiousness of the Dramatists of his cycle. One play of Ford, one
act, one conversation, has more abominations than the whole world of Shakespeare.
Let those women, who ignorantly sneer at
Shakespeare, remember that they are indebted to him for the noblest conceptions
of woman's character in our literature—
t h e more praiseworthy, because h e found
n o models in current authors. T h e occasional touches of truth and womanly delicacy in the early Dramatists are no c o m pensation for the wholesale coarseness a n d
vulgarity of their female characters.
In
Shakespeare, woman appears in her true
form—pure, disinterested, ardent, d e v o t e d ;
capable of the noblest feelings and of t h e
highest deeds. T h e language of m a n y of
Shakespeare's women would be shocking
in our day ; but so would be the domestic
manners of that age. T h e same actions
m a y in one age be a sign of corruption,
and be perfectly innocent in another. N o
one is shocked that in a pioneer-cabin, one
room serves for a parlor, a kitchen, and a
bed-room, for the whole family, and for
promiscuous guests. Should fastidiousness
revolt at this, as vulgar,—the vulgarity

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

m u s t b e accredited to the fastidiousness,
and not to the custom. Y e t ; it would b e
inexcusable in a refined metropolis, a n d
everywhere the m o m e n t it ceases to b e
necessary. But nothing in these remarks
must apologize for language or deed, which
indicates an impure heart. N o age, n o
custom, m a y plead extenuation for essential l u s t ; and no sound mind can refrain
from commendation of the master-dramatist of t h e world, when he learns that in
waiting for a most licentious age, he rose
above it so far as to become s o m e t h i n g
like a model to it of a more virtuous way.
Shakespeare left the dramatical literature
immeasurably purer than it came to him.
Bulwer has m a d e the English novelliterature more vile than he found it. T h e
one was a reformer, the other an implacable
corrupter. W e respect and admire the one,
(while we m a r k his faults,) because he withstood his a g e ; and we despise with utter
loathing the other, whose specific gravity of
wickedness sunk him below the level of his
own age. W i t h a moderate caution, S h a k e speare may be safely put into the hands of
t h e young. I regard the admission of Bulwer as a crime against the first principles of
virtue.
' In all the cases which I have considered,
y o u will remark a greater indulgence to that

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

impurity which breaks out on the surface,
than to that which lurks in the blood and
destroys the constitution. It is the curse of
our literature that it is traversed by so many
rills of impurity. It is a vast champaign,
waving with unexampled luxuriance of
flower, and vine, and fruit; but the poisonous
flower everywhere mingles with the pure ;
and the deadly cluster lays its cheek on the
wholesome grape; nay, in the same cluster
•grow both the harmless and the hurtful
berry; so that the hand can hardly be
stretched out to gather flower or fruit without coming back poisoned. It is both a
shame and an amazing wonder, that the
literature of a Christian nation should reek
with a filth which Pagan antiquity could
scarcely endure ; that the Ministers of Christ
should have left floating in the pool of offensive writings, much that would have brought
blood to the cheek of a Roman priest, and
have shamed an actor of the school of Aristophanes. Literature is, in turn, both the
•cause and effect of the spirit of the age. Its
effect upon this age has been to create a
lively relish for exquisitely artful licentiousness, and disgust only for vulgarity. A
witty, brilliant, suggestive indecency is
tolerated for the sake of its genius. An age
which translates and floods the community
with French novels (inspired by Venus and

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

Bacchus,) which reprints in popular forms,
Byron, and Bulwer, and Moore, and Fielding, proposes to revise Shakespeare a n d
e x p u r g a t e the Bible !! Men who, at home,.
allow D o n Juan to lie within reach of
every reader, will not allow a Minister of
the gospel to expose the evil of such a
l i t e r a t u r e ! T o read authors whose lines
drop with the very gall of death ; to vault
in elegant dress as near the edge of indecency as is possible without treading o v e r ;
to express the utmost possible impurity so
dexterously, that not a vulgar word is used,,
b u t rosy, glowing, suggestive l a n g u a g e —
this, with many, is refinement.
But t a
expose the prevalent vice ; to meet its glittering literature with the plain and m a n l y
language of truth ; to say nothing e x c e p t
what one desires to say plainly—this, it
seems, is vulgarity !
One of the first steps in any reformation
must be, not alone nor first the correction
of the grossness, but of the elegancies of
impurity. Could our literature, and men's
conversation, be p u t under such a u t h o r i t y
that neither should express, b y insinuation,
what dared not be said openly, in a little
time, men would not dare to say at all what
it would be indecent to speak plainly.
If there be here any disciples of Bulwer
ready to disport in the very ocean of li-

lS6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

cense, if its waters only seem translucent;
who can read and relish all that fires the
heart, and are only then distressed and
shocked when a serious man raises the rod
to correct and repress the evil; if there be
here any who can drain his goblet of
mingled wine, and only shudder at'crystal-water; any who can see this modern
prophet of villany strike the rock of corruption, to water his motley herd of revellers,
but hate him who out of the Rock of Truth
should bid gush the healthful stream;—I
beseech them to bow their heads in this
Christian assembly, and weep their tears of
regret in secret places, until the evening
service be done, and Bulwer can staunch
their tears, and comfort again their wounded
hearts.
Whenever an injunction is laid upon
plain and undeniable scripture-truth, and I
am forbidden, upon pain of your displeasure,
to preach it; then, I should not so much
regard my personal feelings, as the affront
which you put upon my master; and in my
inmost soul I shall resent that affront.
There is no esteem, there is no love, like
that which is founded in the sanctity of religion. Between many of you and me, that
sanctity exists. I stood by your side when
you awoke in the dark valley of conviction,
and owned yourselves lost. I have led you

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

by the hand out of the darkness; by your
side I have prayed, and my tears have
mingled with yours. I have bathed you in
the crystal-waters of a holy baptism; and
when you sang the song of the ransomed
captive, it filled my heart with a joy as
great as that which uttered it. Love, beginning in such scenes, and drawn from so
sacred a fountain, is not commercial, not
fluctuating. Amid severe toils and not a
few anxieties, it is the crown of rejoicing to
a Pastor. What have we in this world but
you ? To be your servant in the gospel,
we renounce all those paths by which other
men seek preferment. Silver and gold is
not in our houses, and our names are not
heard where fame proclaims others. Rest
we are forbidden until death; and girded
with the whole armor, our lives are spent
in the dust and smoke of continued battle.
But even such love will not tolerate bondage. We can be servants to love, but
never slaves to caprice; still less can we
heed the mandates of iniquity!

The proverbs of Solomon are designed
to furnish us a series of maxims for every
relation of life. There will naturally be the
most said where there is the most needed.

J88

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

If the frequency of warning against any sin
measures the liability of man to that sin,
then none is worse than Impurity. In
many separate passages is the solemn warning against the STRANGE WOMAN given with
a force which must terrify all but the innocent or incorrigible; and with a delicacy
which all will feel but those whose modesty
is the fluttering of an impure imagination.
I shall take such parts of all these passages
as will make out a connected narrative.
When wisdom entereth into thy heart, and
knowledge is pleasant unto thy soul, discretion shall preserve thee . . . to deliver
thee from the strange woman, which flattereth with her tongue; her lips drop as a
ho?tey-comb, her mouth is smoother than oil.
She sitteth at the door of her house on a seat
in the high places of the city, to call to passengers who go right on their ways: " Whoso is simple let him turn in hither!' To him
that wanteth understanding,
she • saith,
"Stolen waters are sweet and bread eaten in
secret is pleasant; " but he knozveth not that
the dead are there. Lust not after her
beauty, neither let her take thee with her eyelids. She forsaketh the guide of her youth,
and forgetteth the covenant of her God. Lest
thou shouldst ponder the path of life, her
ways are movable, that thou canst not know

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

them.
Remove thy way far from her, and
come not nigh the door of her house, for her
house inclineth unto death.
She has cast
down many zvounded; yea, many strong men
have been slain by her. Her house is the
way to hell, going down to the chamber of
death ; none that go unto her, return again ;
neither take they hold of the paths of life.
Let not thy heart decline to her ways, lest
thou mourn at last, when thy flesh and thy
body are consumed, and say : "How have I
hated instruction, and my heart despised reproof. I was in all evil in the midst of the
congregation and assembly!'
I. Can language be found which can draw
a corrupt beauty so vividly as t h i s ; Which
forsakeih the gidde of her youth, and forgetteth the covenant of her God. L o o k out
upon t h a t fallen creature whose gay sally
t h r o u g h t h e street calls out the significant
laugh of bad men, the pity of good men,
and the horror of the pure. W a s not her
cradle as pure as ever a loved infant pressed ?
L o v e soothed its cries. Sisters watched its
peaceful sleep, and a m o t h e r pressed it
fondly to her bosom ! H a d you afterwards,
when spring-flowers covered the earth, and
every gale was odor, and every sound was
music, seen her, fairer than t h e lily or t h e
violet, searching them, would y o u not have
said, " Sooner shall the rose grow poisonous

ig0

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

t h a n s h e ; both m a y wither, b u t neither corrupt." A n d how often, at evening, did she
clasp her tiny hands in prayer ? H o w often
did she p u t the wonder-raising questions to
her mother, of God, and heaven, and the
dead—as if she had seen heavenly things
in a vision! A s y o u n g womanhood advanced, and these foreshadowed graces
ripened to the bud and burst into bloom,
health glowed in her cheek, love looked
from her eye, and purity was an atmosphere
a r o u n d her. A l a s ! she forsook the guide
of her youth.
Faint thoughts, of evil, like
a far-off cloud which the sunset gilds, came
first; nor does the rosy sunset blush deeper
along the heaven, than her cheek, at the
first t h o u g h t of evil. Now, ah ! mother,
and thou guiding elder sister, could you
have seen the lurking spirit e m b o s o m e d in
that cloud, a holy prayer might have broken
the spell, a tear have washed its stain I
Alas ! t h e y saw it n o t ; she spoke it n o t ;
she was forsaking
the guide of her youth.
She thinketh ho more of heaven. She
breatheth no more prayers. She hath no
more penitential tears to s h e d ; until, after
a long life, she drops the bitter tear upon
the cheek of despair,—then her only suitor.
T h o u hast forsaken the covenant of thy God.
Go down ! fall never to rise! Hell opens to
be thy home !

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

Oh Prince of torment! if thou hast transforming power, give some relief to this once
innocent child, whom another has corrupted ! Let thy deepest damnation seize
him who brought her hither! let his coronation be upon the very mount of torment!
and the rain of fiery hail be his salutation ?
He shall be crowned with thorns poisoned
and anguish-bearing; and every woe beat
upon him, and every wave of hell roll over
the first risings of baffled hope. Thy guilty
thoughts, and guilty deeds, shall flit after
thee with bows which never break, and
quivers forever emptying but never exhausted! If Satan hath one dart more
poisoned than another; if God hath one
bolt more transfixing and blasting than another ; if there be one hideous spirit more
unrelenting than others ; they shall be thine>
most execrable wretch ! who led her to forsake the guide of her youth, and to abandon
the covenant of her God.
II. The next injunction of God to the
young is upon the ensnaring danger of
Beauty. Desire not her beauty in thy heart,
neither let her take thee with her eyelids.
God did not make so much of nature with
exquisite beauty, or put within us a taste for
it, without object. He meant that it should
delight us. He made every flower to charm
us. He never made a color, nor graceful-

ig2

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

flying bird, nor silvery insect, without meaning to please our taste. W h e n H e clothes
a man or woman with beauty, H e confers a
favor, did we k n o w how to receive it.
Beauty, with amiable dispositions and. ripe
intelligence, is m o r e to any woman than a
queen's crown. T h e peasant's daughter, t h e
rustic belle, if they have woman's sound
discretion, m a y be rightfully prouder than
k i n g s ' d a u g h t e r s ; for God adorns those w h o
are both good and beautiful; man can only
conceal the want of beauty, by blazing
jewels.
A s moths and tiny insects flutter around
t h e bright blaze which was kindled for no
harm, so the foolish y o u n g , fall down burned
and destroyed by the blaze of beauty. A s
the flame which burns to destroy the insect,
is consuming itself and soon sinks into the
socket, so beauty, too often, draws on itself
t h a t ruin which it inflicts upon others.
If God hath given thee, beauty, t r e m b l e ;
for it is as gold in thy house—thieves and
robbers will prowl around and seek to possess it. If God hath put beauty before thine
eyes, remember how many strong men have
been cast down wounded by it. A r t thou
stronger than D a v i d ? A r t thou stronger
than m i g h t y patriarchs?—than k i n g s and
princes, who, by its fascinations, have lost
peace and purity, and honor, a n d riches, and

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

armies, and even kingdoms? Let other
men's destruction be thy wisdom; for it is
hard to reap prudence upon the field of
experience.
III. In the minute description of this
dangerous creature, mark next how seriously
we are cautioned of her WILES.

Her wiles of dress. Coverings of tapestry
and the fine linen of Egypt are hers; the
perfumes of myrrh and aloes and cinnamon.
Silks and ribbons, laces and rings, gold and
equipage ; ah ! how mean a price for damnation. The wretch who would be hung
simply for the sake of riding to the gallows
on a golden chariot, clothed in king's raiment—what a fool were he ! Yet how many
consent to enter the chariot of Death,—
drawn by the fiery steeds of lust which
fiercely fly, and stop not for food or breath
till they have accomplished their fatal
journey—if they may spread their seat
with flowery silks, or flaunt their forms with
glowing apparel and precious jewels!
Her wiles of speech. Beasts may not
speak; this honor is too high for them,
To God's imaged son this prerogative belongs, to utter thought and feeling in articulate sounds. We may breathe our
thoughts to a thousand ears, and infect a
multitude with the best portions of our
soul. How, then, has this soul's breath,
13

1^4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

this echo of our t h o u g h t s , this only image
of our feelings, been perverted, that from
the lips of sin it hath more persuasion, than
from the lips of wisdom ! W h a t horrid
wizard hath put the world under a spell
and charm, t h a t words from the lips of a
STRANGE WOMAN shall ring upon the ear
like tones of m u s i c ; while words from the
divine lips of religion fall upon the startled
ear like the funeral tones of the burial-bell !
Philosophy seems crabbed ; sin, fair. Purity
sounds morose and c r o s s ; but from the
lips of the harlot, words drop as honey, and
flow smoother than o i l ; her speech is fair,
her laugh is m e r r y as music. T h e eternal
glory of purity has no lustre, but the deep
damnation of lust is made as bright as the
gate of heaven 5
Her wiles of LOVE. L o v e is t h e mind's
light and h e a t ; it is that tenuous air in
which all the other faculties exist, as we
exist in the atmosphere. A mind of t h e
greatest stature without love, is like t h e
h u g e pyramid of Egypt—chill and cheerless in all its dark halls and passages. A
mind with love, is as a king's palace lighted
for a royal festival.
S h a m e ! that t h e sweetest of all the
mind's attributes should be suborned to sin !
that this daughter of God should become a
Ganymede to arrogant l u s t s ! — t h e c u p -

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

bearer to t y r a n t s ! — y e t so it is. Devilt e m p t e r ! will thy poison never c e a s e ? —
shall beauty be poisoned ?—shall language
be charmed ?—shall love be made to defile
like pitch, and burn as the living coals?
H e r tongue is like a bended bow, which
sends the silvery shaft of flattering words.
H e r eyes shall cheat thee, her dress shall
beguile thee, her beauty is a trap, her sighs
are baits, her words are lures, her love is
poisonous, her flattery is the spider's web
spread for thee. O h ! trust not thy heart
nor ear with D e l i l a h ! T h e locks of t h e
mightiest Samson are soon shorn off, if he
will b u t lay his slumbering head upon her
lap. H e who could slay heaps upon heaps
of Philistines, and bear upon his h u g e
shoulders the ponderous iron-gate, and pull
down the vast temple, was yet too weak to
contend with one wicked artful woman !
T r u s t the sea with t h y tiny boat, trust the
fickle wind, trust the changing skies of
April, trust the miser's generosity, the tyrant's m e r c y ; b u t ah ! simple man, trust
not thyself near the artful woman, armed
in her beauty, her cunning raiment, her
dimpled smiles, her sighs of sorrow, her
look of love, her voice of flattery;—for if'
thou hadst the strength of ten Ulysses, unless God help thee, Calypso shall m a k e thee
fast, and hold thee in her island!

IOy6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

Next beware the wile of her reasonings.
To him that wanteth ztnderstanding she
saith, stolen waters are sweet, and bread
£ate?i in secret is pleasant. I came forth to
meet thee, and I have found thee.
What says she in the credulous ear of
inexperience ? Why, she tells him that sin
is safe; she swears to him that sin is pure ;
she protests to him that sin is innocent.
Out of history she will entice him, and say:
Who hath ever refused my meat-offerings
and drink-offerings ? What king have I not
sought ? What conqueror have I not conquered ? Philosophers have not, in all their
wisdom, learned to hate me. I have been
the guest of the world's greatest men. The
Egyptian priest, the Athenian sage, the
Roman censor, the rude Gaul, have all
worshipped in my temple. Art thou afraid
to tread where Plato trod, and the pious
Socrates ? Art thou wiser than all that ever
lived ?
Nay, she readeth the Bible to him ; she
goeth back along the line of history, and
readeth of Abraham, and of his glorious
compeers; she skippeth past Joseph with
averted looks, and readeth of David and of
Solomon; and whatever chapter tells how
good men stumbled, there she has turned
down a leaf, and will persuade thee, with
honeyed speech, that the best deeds of

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

good men were their sins, and that thou
shouldst only imitate them in their stumbling and falls !
Or, if the Bible will not cheat thee, how
will she plead thine own nature ; how will
she whisper, God hath made thee so. How.
like her father, will she lure thee to pluck
the apple, saying, Thou shalt not surely die*
And she will hiss at virtuous men, and spit
on modest women, and shake her serpenttongue at any purity which shall keep thee
from her ways. Oh ! then, listen to what
God says: With much fair speech she
causeth him to yield; with the flattery of her
lips she forced him. He goeth after her as
an ox goeth. to slaughter, or as a fool to the
correction of the stocks, till a dart strike
through his liver,—as a bird hasteth to a
snare and knoweth not that it is for his

life.
I will point only to another wile. When
inexperience has been beguiled by her infernal machinations, how, like a flock of
startled birds, will spring up late regrets,
and shame, and fear; and worst of all, howwill conscience ply her scorpion-whip and
lash thee, uttering with stern visage, "thou
art dishonored, thou art a wretch, thou art
lost!" When the soul is full of such outcry, memory cannot sleep; she wakes, and
while conscience still plies the scourge, will

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

bring back to thy thoughts, youthful purity,
home, a mother's face, a sister's love, a
father's counsel. Perhaps it is out of the
high heaven that thy mother looks down
to see thy baseness. O h ! if she has a
mother's heart,—nay, but she cannot weep
for thee there!
These wholesome pains, not to be felt if
there were not yet health in the mind,
would save the victim, could they have
time to work. But how often have I seen
the spider watch, from his dark round hole,
the struggling fly, until he began to break his
web ; and then dart out to cast his long
lithe arms about him, and fasten new cords
stronger than ever. So, God saith, the
strange woman shall secure her ensnared
victims, if they struggle : Lest thou shouldst
ponder the path of life, her ivays are movable
that thou canst not know them,
She is afraid to see thee soberly thinking
of leaving her, and entering the path of life;
therefore her ways are movable. She multiplies devices, she studies a thousand new
wiles, she has some sweet word for every
sense—obsequience for thy pride, praise
for thy vanity, generosity for thy selfishness, religion for thy conscience, racy quips
for thy wearisomeness, spicy scandal for
thy curiosity. She is never still, nor the
same; but evolving as many shapes as the

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

rolling cloud and as m a n y colors as dress
t h e wide prairie.
I V . H a v i n g disclosed her wiles, let m e
show you what God says of the chances of
escape to those who once follow her : None
that go unto Iter return again, neither take
they hold of the paths of life. T h e strength
of this language was not meant absolutely
to exclude hope from those who, having
wasted their substance in riotous living,
would yet return ; but to warn the unfallen,
into what an almost hopeless gulf they
plunge, if t h e y venture. S o m e m a y escape
— a s here and there a mangled sailor crawls
out of the water upon the beach,—the only
one or two of the whole c r e w ; the rest are
gurgling in the wave with impotent struggles, or already sunk to the bottom. T h e r e
are m a n y evils which hold their victims b y
the force of habit; there are others which
fasten t h e m by breaking their return to society. M a n y a person never reforms, b e cause reform would bring no relief. T h e r e
are other evils which hold men to t h e m ,
because t h e y are like the beginning of a
fire; they tend to burn with fiercer and
wider flames, until all fuel is consumed, and
g o out only when there is nothing to burn.
Of this last kind is the sin of licentiousness ;
and when the conflagration once b r e a k s
out, experience has shown, what the Bible

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

long ago declared, that the chances of reformation are few indeed. The certainty
of continuance is so great, that the chances
of escape are dropped from the calculation ;
and it is said roundly, NONE THAT GO UNTO
HER RETURN AGAIN.

V. We are repeatedly warned against
the strange woman's HOUSE.

There is no vice like licentiousness, to
delude with the most fascinating proffers of
delight, and fulfil the promise with the
most loathsome experience. All vices at
the beginning are silver-tongued, but none
so impassioned as this. All vices in the
•end cheat their dupes, but none with such
-overwhelming disaster as licentiousness.
I shall describe by an allegory, its specious
•seductions, its plausible promises, its
.apparent innocence,'its delusive safety, its
deceptive joys,—their change, their sting,
their flight, their misery, and the victim's
ruin.
Her HOUSE has been cunningly planned
by an EVIL ARCHITECT to attract and please
the attention. It stands in a vast garden
full of enchanting objects. It shines in
glowing colors, and seems full of peace
and full of pleasure. All the signs are of
unbounded enjoyment—safe, if not innocent.
Though every beam is rotten, and the house
*s the house of death, and in it are all the

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

vicissitudes of infernal m i s e r y ; yet to the
y o u n g it appears a palace of d e l i g h t
They
will not believe that death can lurk b e h i n d
so brilliant a fabric. T h o s e w h o are within, look out and pine to r e t u r n ; and those
w h o are without, look in and pine to enter,
Such is the mastery of deluding sin.
T h a t part of t h e garden which borders
on the h i g h w a y of innocence is carefully
planted. T h e r e is not a poison-weed, nor
thorn, nor thistle there.
Ten thousand
flowers bloom, and waft a thousand odors.
A victim cautiously inspects it; but it has
been too carefully patterned upon innocency
to be easily detected. This outer garden is
innocent;-—innocence is the lure to wile you
from the path into her grounds ;—innocence
is the bait of that trap by which she h a s
secured all her victims. A t the gate standsa comely porter, saying blandly : Whoso is
simple let him turn in hither.
Will the y o u t h
enter ? Will he seek her house ? T o himself he says, " I will enter only to see the
garden,—its fruits, its flowers, its birds, its
arbors, its warbling fountains ! " H e is r e solved in virtue. H e seeks wisdom, not
pleasure I — D u p e ! you are deceived already ; and this is your first lesson of wisdom. H e passes, and the porter leers behind 5
him ! H e is within an E n c h a n t e r ' s garden \
Can he not now return, if he wishes ?—he

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

will not wish to return, until it is too late.
H e ranges the outer garden near to the highway, thinking as he w a l k s : " H o w foolishly
have I been alarmed at pious lies about this
beautiful place ! I heard it was H e l l : I find
it is Paradise ! "
E m b o l d e n e d b y the innocency of his first
steps, he explores the garden further from
the road. T h e flowers grow richer; their
odors exhilarate; the very fruit breathes
perfume like flowers ; and birds seem intoxicated with delight a m o n g the fragrant
shrubs and loaded trees. Soft and silvery
music steals along the air. " A r e angels
singing ?—Oh ! fool that I was, to fear this
place ; it is all the heaven I need ! Ridiculous priest, to tell me that death was here,
w h e r e all is beauty, fragrance, and m e l o d y !
Surely, death never lurked in so. gorgeous
apparel as t h i s ! D e a t h is grim, acid hideous ! " H e has come near to the strange
w o m a n ' s HOUSE. If it was beautiful from
afar, it is celestial now ; for his eyes are bewitched with magic. W h e n our passions
enchant us, how beautiful is the way to
death ! In every window are sights of pleasure ; from every opening, issue sounds of
j o y — t h e lute, the harp, bounding feet, and
echoing laughter. N y m p h s have descried
this Pilgrim of t e m p t a t i o n ; — t h e y smile and
beckon. W h e r e are his resolutions n o w ?

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

This is t h e virtuous y o u t h w h o came t o
observe!
H e h a s already seen t o o m u c h !
but he will see m o r e ; h e will taste, feel, r e gret, weep, wail, die ! T h e most beautiful
n y m p h that eye ever rested on, approaches
with decent guise a n d modest gestures, t o
give him hospitable welcome. F o r a moment h e recalls his h o m e , his mother, his
sister-circle; b u t t h e y seem far-away, dim,
powerless ! I n t o his ear t h e beautiful herald pours the sweetest sounds of love : " Y o u
are welcome here, and worthy ! Y o u have
early wisdom, t o break t h e bounds of superstition, and t o seek these g r o u n d s where
s u m m e r never ceases, and sorrow never
comes ! H a i l ! and welcome to t h e H o u s e
of p l e a s u r e ! " T h e r e seemed t o be a r e sponse to these words ; the house, the trees,
and t h e very air, seemed to echo, " Hail !
and welcome ! " I n t h e stillness which followed, h a d the victim been less intoxicated,
he might have heard a clear a n d solemn
voice which seemed to fall straight down
from h e a v e n : C O M E NOT NIGH T H E DOOR O F
H E R HOUSE. H E R HOUSE IS T H E WAY T O
H E L L , GOING DOWN TO T H E CHAMBERS O F
DEATH!

It is t o o
shall never
straightway
ter; or as

l a t e ! H e has gone in,—who
return. He goeth after her
as an ox goeth to the slaugha fool to the correction of the

2Q4

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

stocks . . . and know eth not that it is for
his life.
Enter with me, in imagination, the strange
woman's HOUSE—where, God grant you
may never enter in any other way. There
are five wards—Pleasure, Satiety, Discovery,
Disease, and Death.
Ward of Pleasure.-—The eye is dazzled
with the magnificence of its apparel,—elastic velvet, glossy silks, burnished satin,
crimson drapery, plushy carpets. Exquisite pictures glow upon the walls, carved
marble adorns every niche. The inmates
are deceived by these lying shows ; they
dance, they sing; with beaming eyes they
utter softest strains of flattery and graceful
compliment. They partake the amorous
wine, and the repast which loads the table.
They eat, they drink, they are blithe and
merry. Surely, they should be; for after
this brief hour, they shall never know purity nor joy again ! For this moment's revelry, they are selling heaven ! The strange
woman walks among her guests in all her
charms ; fans the flame of joy, scatters grateful odors, and urges on the fatal revelry.
As her poisoned wine is quaffed, and the
gay creatures begin to reel, the torches wane
and cast but a twilight. One by one, the
guests grow somnolent; and, at length,
they all repose. Their cup is exhausted,

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

their pleasure is forever over, life has exhaled to an essence, and that is c o n s u m e d !
W h i l e they sleep, servitors, practised to t h e
work, remove them all to another W a r d .
Ward of Satiety.—-Here reigns a bewildering twilight t h r o u g h which can hardly be
discerned the wearied inmates, yet sluggish
upon their couches. Overflushed with dance,
sated with wine and fruit, a fitful drowsiness
vexes them. T h e y wake, to c r a v e ; they
taste, to l o a t h e ; they sleep, to dream ; they
wake again from unquiet visions. T h e y
long for the sharp taste of pleasure, so
grateful yesterday. Again they sink, repining to sleep ; by starts, they rouse at an
ominous dream ; b y starts, they hear strange
cries ! T h e fruit burns and torments ; the
wine shoots sharp pains t h r o u g h their pulse.
Strange wonder fills them. T h e y remember
the, recent joy, as a reveller in the morning
thinks of his midnight-madness. T h e glowing garden and the banquet now seem all
stripped and gloomy. T h e y meditate ret u r n ; pensively they long for their native
s p o t ! A t sleepless moments, mighty resolutions form,—substantial as a dream.
M e m o r y grows dark. H o p e will not
shine. T h e past is not pleasant; t h e present is wearisome ; and the future gloomy.
The Ward of Discovery,—In
t h e third
ward no deception remains. T h e floors are

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

bare ; the naked walls drip filth ; the air is
poisonous with sickly fumes, and echoes
with mirth concealing hideous misery.
N o n e supposes that he has been happy.
T h e past seems like the dream of the miser,
who gathers gold spilled like rain upon the
road, and wakes, clutching his bed, and
crying " w h e r e is i t ? " On y o u r right
hand, as you enter, close b y the door, is a
g r o u p of fierce felons in deep drink with
d r u g g e d liquor. W i t h red and swollen
faces, or white and thin ; or scarred with
ghastly c o r r u p t i o n ; with scowling brows,
baleful eyes, bloated lips and demoniac
grins;—in person all uncleanly, in morals
all debauched, in peace, b a n k r u p t — t h e
desperate wretches wrangle one with the
other, swearing bitter oaths, and heaping
reproaches each upon each ! A r o u n d the
room y o u see miserable creatures unappareled, or dressed in rags, sobbing and
moaning. T h a t one who gazes out at the
window, calling for her mother and weeping, was right tenderly and purely bred.
She has been baptized twice,—once to God,
and once to t h e Devil. She s o u g h t this
place in the very vestments of God's house.
" Call not on t h y mother ! she is a saint in
Heaven, and cannot hear thee ! " Yet, all
night long she dreams of home, and childhood, and wakes to sigh and w e e p ; and

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

between her sobs, she cries " mother!
mother!"
Yonder is a youth, once a servant at
God's altar. His hair hangs tangled and
torn ; his eyes are bloodshot; his face is
livid; his fist is clenched. All the day, he
wanders up and down, cursing sometimes
himself, and sometimes the wretch that
brought him hither; and when he sleeps,
he dreams of Hell; and then he wakes to
feel all he dreamed. This is the Ward of
reality. All know why the first rooms
looked so gay—they were enchanted ! It
was enchanted wine they drank; and
enchanted fruit they ate : now they know
the pain of fatal food in every limb!
Ward of Disease.—Ye that look wistfully at the pleasant front of this terrific
house, come with me now, and look long
into the terror of this Ward ; for here are
the seeds of sin in their full harvest form !
We are in a lazar-room; its air oppresses
every sense; its sights confound our
thoughts; its sounds pierce our ear; its
stench repels us; it is full of diseases.
Here a shuddering wretch is clawing at his
breast, to tear away that worm which gnaws
his heart. By him is another, whose limbs
are dropping from his ghastly trunk. Next,
swelters another in reeking filth; his eyes
rolling in bony sockets, every breath a

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TO YOUNG MEN

pang, and every p a n g a groan. But yonder, on a pile of rags, lies one whose yells
of frantic agony appall every ear.
Clutching his rags with spasmodic grasp, his
swollen t o n g u e lolling from a blackened
mouth, his bloodshot eyes glaring and rolling, he shrieks o a t h s ; now blaspheming
God, and now imploring him. H e h o o t s
and shouts, and shakes his grisly head from
side to side, cursing or p r a y i n g ; now calling death, and then, as if driving away
fiends, yelling, a v a u n t ! a v a u n t !
A n o t h e r has been ridden by pain, until
h e can no longer s h r i e k ; but lies foaming
and grinding his teeth, and clenches his
bony hands, until the nails pierce the palm
— t h o u g h there is no blood there to issue
out—trembling all the time with the s h u d ders and chills of utter agony. T h e h a p piest wretch in all this W a r d , is an I d i o t ;
—dropsical, distorted, and m o p i n g ; all day
he wags his head, and chatters, and l a u g h s ,
and bites his n a i l s ; then he will sit
fqr hours motionless, with open jaw,
and glassy eye fixed on vacancy. In this
W a r d are huddled all the diseases of PLEASURE. T h i s is the torture-room of t h e
strange woman's H o u s e , and it excels the
Inquisition. T h e wheel, the r a c k ; the bed
of knives, the roasting fire, the brazen room
slowly heated, the slivers driven under the

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

nails, the hot pincers,—what are these to
the agonies of the last days of licentious
vice ? Hundreds of rotting wretches-would
change their couch of torment in the
strange woman's House, for the gloomiest
terror of the Inquisition, and profit by the
change. Nature herself becomes the tormentor. Nature, long trespassed on and
abused, at length casts down the wretch;
searches every vein, makes a road of every
nerve for the scorching feet of pain to travel
on, pulls at every muscle, breaks in the
breast, builds fires in the brain, eats out the
skin, and casts living coals of torment on
the heart. What are hot pincers to the
envenomed claws of disease? What is it
to be put into a pit of snakes and slimy
toads, and feel their coid coil or piercing
fang, to the creeping of a whole body of
vipers?-—where every nerve is a viper, and
every vein a viper, and every muscle a serpent; and the whole body, in all its parts,
coils and twists upon itself in unimaginable
anguish ? I tell you, there is no Inquisition so bad as that which the Doctor looks
upon ! Young man ! I can show you in
this Ward worse pangs than ever a savage
produced at the stake !—than ever a tyrant
wrung out by engines of torment!—than
ever an inquisitor devised! Every year,
in every town, die wretches scalded and

2io

^

LECTURES

TO YOUNG ME1ST

scorched with agony. Were the sum of
all the pain that comes with the last stages
of vice collected, it would rend the very
heavens with its outcry; would shake the
earth; would even blanch the cheek of Infatuation ! Ye that are listening in the garden of this strange woman, among her
cheating flowers; ye that are dancing in
her halls in the first Ward, come hither ;
look upon her fourth Ward—its vomited
blood, its sores and fiery blotches, its prurient sweat, its dissolving ichor, and rotten
bones! Stop, young man ! You turn
your head from this ghastly room ; and
yet, stop !—and stop soon, or thou shalt lie
here ! mark the solemn signals of thy passage! Thou hast had already enough
of warnings in thy cheek, in thy bosom, in
thy pangs of premonition !
But ah ! every one of you who are dancing with the covered paces of death, in the
strange woman's first hall, let me break your
spell; for now I shall open the doors of the
last Ward. Look!—Listen!—Witness your
own end, unless you take quickly a warning !
Ward of Death.—No longer does the
incarnate wretch pretend to conceal her
cruelty. She thrusts—aye! as if they were
dirt—she shovels out the wretches. Some
fall headlong through the rotten floor,—a
long fall to a fiery bottom. The floor trem-

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

211

bles to deep thunders which roll below.
Here and there, jets of flame spout up, and
give a lurid light to the murky hall. Some
would fain escape; and flying across the
treacherous floor, which man never safely
passed, they go, through pitfalls and
treacherous traps, with hideous outcries
and astounding yells, to perdition ! Fiends
laugh! The infernal laugh, the cry of
agony, the thunder of damnation, shake the
very roof and echo from wall to wall.
Oh ! that the young might see the end of
vice before they see the beginning ! I know
that you shrink from this picture; but your
safety requires that you should look long
into the Ward of Death, that fear may
supply strength to your virtue. See the
blood oozing from the wall, the fiery hands
which pluck the wretches down, the light of
hell gleaming through, and hear its roar as
of a distant ocean chafed with storms. Will
you sprinkle the wall with your blood ?•—
will you feed those flames with your flesh ?
will you add your voice to those thundering
wails ?—will you go down a prey through
the fiery floor of the chamber of death ?
Believe then the word of God : Her house is
the way to hell, going down to the chambers
of death, . . . avoid it, pass not by it,
turn from it, and pass azvay !
I have described the strange woman's

212

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

House in strong language, and it needed it
If your taste shrinks from the description,
so does mine. Hell, and all the ways of
hell, when we pierce the cheating disguises
and see the truth, are terrible and trying to
behold; and if men would not walk there,
neither would we pursue their steps, to
sound the alarm, and gather back whom we
can.
Allow me to close by directing your attention to a few points of especial danger.
I. I solemnly warn you against indulging
a morbid imagination. In that busy and
mischievous faculty begins the evil. Were
it not for his airy imaginations, man might
stand his own master—not overmatched by
the worst part of himself. But ah! these
summer-reveries, these venturesome dreams,
these fairy castles, builded for no good purposes,—they are haunted by impure spirits,
who will fascinate,- bewitch, and corrupt
you. Blessed are the pure in heart. Blessed
art thou, most favored of God, whose
THOUGHTS are chastened; whose imagination will not breathe or fly in tainted air;
and whose path hath been measured by the
golden reed of Purity.
May I not paint PURITY, as a saintly
virgin, in spotless white, walking with open
face, in an air so clear that no vapor can
stain it ?

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

213

" Upon her lightning-brow love proudly sitting,
Flames out in power, shines out in majesty."

Her steps are a queen's steps ; God is her
father, and thou her brother, if thou wilt
make her thine! Let thy heart be her
dwelling; wear upon thy hand her ring, and
on thy breast her talisman.
II. Next to evil imaginations, I warn the
young of evil companions. Decaying fruit
corrupts the neighboring fruit. You cannot
make your head a metropolis of base stories,.
the ear and tongue a highway of immodest
words, and yet be pure. Another, as well
as yourself, may throw a spark on the
magazine of your passions—beware how
your companions do it! No man is your
friend who will corrupt you. An impure
man is every good man's enemy—-your
deadly foe; and all the worse, if he hide his
poisoned dagger under the cloak of good
fellowship. Therefore, select your associates, assort them, winnow them, keep the
grain, and let the wind sweep away the
chaff.
III. But I warn you, with yet more soU
emn emphasis, against EVIL BOOKS and EVIL

There is in every town an undercurrent which glides beneath our feet unsuspected by the pure; out of which, notwithstanding, our sons scoop many a goblet.
Books are hidden in trunks, concealed in
PICTURES.

214

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

d a r k h o l e s ; pictures are stored in sly
.portfolios, or trafficked from hand to hand ;
a n d the handiwork of depraved art is seen
in other forms which ought to make a harlot blush.
I should think a man would loathe himself, and wake up from owning such things
a s from a horrible nightmare. T h o s e who
•circulate them are incendiaries of morality;
t h o s e who make them, equal the worst
public criminals.
A p u r e heart would
s h r i n k from these abominable things as from
death. France, where religion long ago
went out smothered in licentiousness, has
flooded the world with a species of literature
redolent of depravity. U p o n the plea of
exhibiting nature and man, novels are now
scooped out of the very lava of corrupt
passions. T h e y are true to nature, b u t to
nature as it exists in knaves and courtesans.
U n d e r a plea of humanity, we have shown
u p to us, troops of harlots, to prove that
t h e y are not so bad as purists t h i n k ; gangs
•of desperadoes, to show that there is nothing
in crime inconsistent with the noblest
feelings. W e have in F r e n c h and English
novels of the infernal school, h u m a n e murderers, lascivious saints, holy infidels, honest
robbers.
T h e s e artists never seem lost,
except when straining after a conception of
religion. Their devotion is such as might

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

215

be expected from thieves, in the purlieus of
thrice-deformed vice. E x h a u s t e d libertines
are our professors of morality. T h e y scrape
the very sediment and m u c k of society t o
mould their creatures ; and their volumesare monster-galleries, in which t h e inhabitants of old Sodom would have felt at h o m e
as connoisseurs and critics. Over loathsome
women, and unutterably vile men, h u d d l e d
together in motley groups, and over all t h e i r
monstrous deeds, their lies, their plots, their
crimes, their dreadful pleasures, their glorying conversation, is thrown the checkered
light of a hot imagination, until they glow
with an infernal lustre.
Novels of t h e
F r e n c h school, and of English imitators,
are the common-sewers of society, intowhich drain the concentrated filth of t h e
worst passions, of t h e worst creatures, of
the worst cities. Such novels come to usimpudently pretending to be reformers of
morals and liberalizers of religion ; they p r o pose to instruct our laws, and teach a discreet humanity to justice ! T h e Ten Plagueshave visited our literature; water is turned
to blood ; frogs and lice creep and h o p over
our most familiar things,—the couch, the
cradle, and the bread-trough ; locusts, m u r rain, and fire, are smiting every green thing*
I am ashamed and outraged when I think
that wretches could be found to open these

2I

6

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

foreign seals, and let out their plagues upon
us—that any Satanic Pilgrim should voyage
to France to dip from the dead sea of her
abomination, a baptism for our sons. It
were a mercy to this, to import serpents
from Africa and pour them out on our
prairies ; lions from Asia, and free them in
our forests ; lizards and scorpions and black
tarantulas, from the Indies, and put them in
our gardens. Men could slay these, but
those offspring-reptiles of the French mind,
who can kill these ? You might as well
draw sword on a plague, or charge a malaria
with the bayonet. This black-lettered literature circulates in this town, floats in our
stores, nestles in the shops, is fingered and
read nightly, and hatches in the young mind
broods of salacious thoughts. While the
parent strives to infuse Christian purity
into his child's heart, he is anticipated by
most accursed messengers of evil; and the
heart hisses already like a nest of young
and nimble vipers.
IV. Once more, let me persuade you that
no examples in high places, can justify imitation in low places. Your purity is too
precious to be bartered, because an official
knave tempts by his example. I would that
every eminent place of state were a sphere
of light, from which should be flung down
on your path a cheering glow to guide you

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

on to virtue. But if these wandering stars,
reserved I do believe for final blackness of
darkness, wheel their malign spheres in the
orbits of corruption,—go not after them.
God is greater than wicked great men;
heaven is higher than the highest places of
nations; and if God and heaven are not
brighter to your eyes than great men in
high places, then you must take part in their
doom, when, ere long, God shall dash them
to pieces!
V. Let me beseech you, lastly, to guard
your heart-purity. Never lose it; if it be
gone, you have lost from the casket
the most precious gift of God. The first
purity of imagination, of thought, and
of feeling, if soiled, can be cleansed
by no fuller's soap ; if lost, cannot
be found, though sought carefully with
tears. If a harp be broken, art may repair
it; if a light be quenched, the flame may
enkindle it; but if a flower be crushed,
what art can repair it ?—if an odor be wafted
away, who can collect or bring it back ?
The heart of youth is a wide prairie.
Over it hang the clouds of heaven to water
it, the sun throws its broad sheets of light
upon it, to wake its life; out of its bosom
spring, the long season through, flowers of
a hundred names and hues, twining together their lovely forms, wafting to each

2i8

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

other a grateful odor, and nodding each to
each in the summer-breeze. O h ! such
would man be, did he hold that purity of
heart which God gave him ! But you have
a DEPRAVED HEART. It is a vast continent;
on it are mountain-ranges of powers, and
dark deep streams, and pools, and morasses.
If once the full and terrible clouds of temptation do settle thick and fixedly upon you,
and begin to cast down their dreadful
stores, may God save whom man can never !
Then the heart shall feel tides and streams
of irresistible power, mocking its control, and
hurrying fiercely down from steep to steep,
with growing desolation. Your only resource is to avoid the uprising of your
giant-passions.
We are drawing near to a festival day,*
by the usages of ages, consecrated to celebrate the birth of Christ. At his advent,
God hung out a prophet-star in the heaven;
guided by it, the wise men journeyed from
the east and worshipped at his feet. Oh !
let the star of Purity hang out to thine eye,
brighter than the orient orb to the Magi;
let it lead thee, not to the Babe> but to His
feet who now stands in Heaven, a Prince
and Saviour! If thou hast sinned, one
look, one touch, shall cleanse thee whilst
* T h i s Lecture was delivered upon Christmas eve,

THE STRANGE

WOMAN

219

thou art worshipping, and thou shalt rise
up healed.
N O T E — T h e exceptions taken to the current reformat! on-novels
of Godwin, Bulwer, Dickens, (perhaps,) Eugene Sue, and a host of
others, require a word of explanation, i . W e do not object to
any reasonable effort at reformation, moral, social, civil, or
economical—touch is needed. So far, the design of this school of
romancers is praiseworthy. 2. But we doubt the propriety of employing fictions as an instrument; especially fictions wrought to
produce a stage-effect, a violent thrill, rather than a conviction.
These works affect the feelings
more than the opinions.
3.
Nine-tenths of novel-readers are the young, the unreflecting, or
those whose hearts have been macadamized by the incessant
tramping of ten times ten thousand heroes and heroines, marching
across their feelings. Efforts at reformation should be directed to
other readers than these. , 4. But the worst is yet to be told.
Under the pretence of social reformations, the most flagitious vices
are inculcated. There can be no doubt of it. An analysis of the
best characters would give pride, lawlessness, passion, revenge,
lusts, hypocrisies ; in short, a catalogue of vices. Eugene Sue seeks
to raise the operatives, to show the ruinous partiality of law, the
hideous evils of prisons, & c , &c. T h e design appears well. W h a t
part of this design are the constant and deliberate lies of Rodolphe,
the hero ? T h i s wandering prince coolly justifies himself in putting
out a man's eyes, because the law would slay him if delivered up !
—provides means for decoying convicts from prison !—sets on
foot atrocious deceptions, to crush deceptions. This is the
best character in the far-famed Mysteries of Paris. Unquestionably the purest woman is Goualeuse, redeemed from prostitution 1 Madame Lucenay lives in unblushing adultery with Saint
R e m y , who proves to be a forger ! W e are edified by a scene of
noble indignation and virtue, in which this woman, who has violated the most sacred instincts, and all the sanctities of the family,
teaches R e m y his degradation for violating civil laws ! Admirable
reform ! An unblushing adulteress preaches so well to her paramour
forger ! T h e diabolical voluptuousness of Cecily—the assignations
of the pure Madame D'Harville—the astonishing reformations produced in a single hour, in which harlots turn vestals, murderers
philanthropists, poachers and marauders more honest than honest
men—these are but specimens of the instruments by which this
new and popular reform is changing our morals, and Christianizing us 1 W h a t then shall be said of the works of George Sand,
Masson, D u m a s , M. de Balsac and others like them, by whose
side Eugene Sue is an angel of purity ? A bookseller in a large city
on the Ohio river, on being asked, of what work he sold the most,
replied —" of Paul de Kock I"—the literary prince of nastiness.

1

POPULAR A M U S E M E N T S

Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart
cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the
ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes;
but know thou, that for all these things God will
bring thee into judgment. Eccl. xi. 9.

I

AM to venture the delicate task of reprehension, always unwelcome, but peculiarly offensive upon topics of public
popular amusement. I am anxious, in the
beginning,* to put myself right with the
young. If I satisfy myself, Christian men,
and the sober community, and do not satisfy them, my success will be like a physician's, whose prescriptions please himself,
and the relations, and do good to everybody except the patient,—he dies.
Allow me, first of all, to satisfy you that
I am not meddling with matters which do '
not concern me. This is the impression
which the patrons and partners of criminal
amusements study to make upon your
minds. They represent our duty to be in
(221)

222

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

the church,—taking
care of doctrines, and
of our own members.
W h e n more than
this is attempted ; when we speak a word
for you w h o are not church-members, we
are met with the surly answer, " W h y do
you meddle with things which don't concern you ? If you do not enjoy these
pleasures, w h y do you molest those w h o
do ? M a y not men do as t h e y please in
a free country, without being h u n g up in
a gibbet of public remark ? "
It is conveniently forgotten, I suppose, that in a
free country we have the same right to
criticise pleasure, which others have to
enjoy it. Indeed, you and I both know,
y o u n g gentlemen, that in coffee-house circles, and in convivial feasts nocturnal, the
Church is regarded as little better than a
spectacled old beldam, whose impertinent
eyes are spying everybody's business b u t
her o w n ; and who, too old or too h o m e l y
to be tempted herself, with compulsory virtue, pouts at the joyous dalliances of the
y o u n g and gay. Religion is called a nun,
sable with gloomy v e s t m e n t s ; and the
C h u r c h a cloister, where ignorance is
deemed innocence, and which sends out
querulous reprehensions of a world, which
it knows nothing about, and has professedly abandoned.
T h i s is p r e t t y ; and is
only defective, in not being true. T h e

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

Church is not a cloister, nor her members
recluses, nor are our censures of vice intermeddling. Not to dwell in generalities, let
us take a plain and common case :
A strolling company offer to educate our
youth; and to show the community the
road of morality, which, probably they have
not seen themselves for twenty years. We
cannot help laughing at a generosity so
much above one's means: and when they
proceed to hew and hack each other with
rusty iron, to teach our boys valor; and
dress up practical mountebanks, to teach
theoretical virtue; if we laugh somewhat
more, they turn upon us testily: Do you
mind your own business\ and leave its with
ours. We do not interfere with your preaching, do you let alone our acting.
But softly—may not religious people
amuse themselves with very diverting men ?
I hope it is not bigotry to have eyes and
ears: I hope it is not fanaticism, in the
use of these excellent senses, for us to
judge that throwing one's heels higher than
their head a-dancing, is not exactly the way
to teach virtue to our daughters ; and that
women, whose genial warmth of temperament has led them into a generosity something too great, are not the persons to teach
virtue, at any rate. Oh ! no ; we are told,
Christians must not know that all this is

224

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

very singular. Christians ought to think
that men who are kings and dukes and
philosophers on the stage, are virtuous
men, even if they gamble at night, and are
drunk all day; and if men are so used to
comedy, that their life becomes a perpetual
farce on morality, we have no right to laugh
at this extra professional acting!
Are we meddlers, who only seek the
good of our own families, and of our own
community where we live and expect to
die ? or they, who wander up and down
without ties of social connection, and without aim, except of money to be gathered
off from men's vices ?
- I am anxious to put all religious men in
their right position before you ; and in this
controversy between them and the gay
world, to show you the facts upon both
sides. A floating population, in pairs or
companies, without leave asked, blow the
trumpet for all our youth to flock to their
banners ! Are they related to them ?—are
they concerned in the welfare of our town ?
—do they live among us?—do they
bear any part of our burdens ?—do
they care for our substantial citizens?
We grade our streets, build our schools,
support all our municipal laws, and the
young men are ours ; our sons, our brothers, our wards, clerks, or apprentices; they

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

are living in our houses, our stores, our
shops, and we are their guardians, and take
care of them in health, and watch them in
sickness ; yet every vagabond who floats in
hither, swears and swaggers, as if they were
all his : and when they offer to corrupt all
these youth, we paying them round sums
of money for it, and we get courage finally
to say that we had rather not; that industry and honesty are better than expert
knavery—they turn upon us in great indignation with, Why don't you mind your own
business—what are you meddling with otir
affairs for ?
I will suppose a case. With much painstaking, I have saved enough money to buy
a little garden-spot. I put all around it a
good fence—I put the spade into it and
mellow the soil full deep; I go to the
nursery and pick out choice fruit trees—I
send abroad and select the best seeds of the
rarest vegetables; and so my garden thrives.
I know every inch of it, for I have watered
every inch with sweat. One morning I am
awakened by a mixed sound of sawing,
digging, and delving; and looking out, I
see a dozen men at work in my garden. I
run down and find one man sawing out a
huge hole in the fence. " M y dear sir,
what are you doing ?" " Oh, this high fence
is very troublesome to climb over; I am
*5

226

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

fixing an easier way for folks to get in."
Another man has headed down several
choice trees, and is putting in new grafts.
" Sir, what are you changing the kind for ? "
" Oh, this kind don't suit me ; I like a new
kind." One man is digging up my beans,
to plant cockles; another is rooting up my
strawberries, to put in parsley; and another
is destroying my currants, and gooseberries,
and raspberries, to plant mustard and Jamestown weed. At last, I lose all patience,
and cry out, " Well, gentlemen, this will
never do. I will never tolerate this
abominable imposition; you are ruining
my garden." One of them says, " You old
hypocritical bigot! do mind your business,
and let us enjoy ourselves. Take care of
your house, and do not pry into our pleasures."
Fellow-citizens ! I own that no man could
so invade your garden ; but men ate allowed thus to invade our town, and destroy
our children. You will let them evade
your laws, to fleece and demoralize you ;
and you sit down under their railing, as
thoughyou were the intruders!—just as if
the man, who drives a thief out of his
house, ought to ask the rascal's pardon for
interfering with his little plans of pleasure
and profit!
Every parent has a right—every citizen

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

and every minister has the same right, to
expose traps, which men have to set them;
the same right to prevent mischief, which
men have to plot it; the same right to
attack vice, which vice has to attack virtue;
a better right to save our sons and brothers,
and companions, than artful men have to
destroy them.
The necessity of amusement, is admitted
on all hands. There is an appetite of the
eye, of the ear, and of every sense, for
which God has provided the material.
Gaiety of every degree, this side of puerile
levity, is wholesome to the body, to the
mind, and to the morals. Nature is a vast
repository of manly enjoyments. The
magnitude of God's works is not less admirable than its exhilarating beauty. The
rudest forms have something of beauty;
the ruggedest strength is graced with some
charm; the very pins, and rivets, and clasps
of nature, are attractive by qualities of
beauty more than is necessary for mere
utility. The sun could go down without
gorgeous clouds; evening could advance
without its evanescent brilliance; trees
might have flourished without symmetry;
flowers have existed without odor, and
fruit without flavor. When I have journeyed through forests, where ten thousand
shrubs and vines exist without apparent

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TO YOUNG MEN

use; through prairies, whose undulations
^exhibit sheets of flowers innumerable, and
absolutely dazzling the eye with their
prodigality of beauty—beauty, not a tithe
•of which is ever seen by man—I have said,
it is plain that God is himself passionately
fond of beauty, and the earth is his garden,
as an acre is man's. God has made us like
Himself, to be pleased by the universal
beauty of the world. He has made provision in nature, in society, and in the family, for amusement and exhilaration enough
to fill the heart with the perpetual sunshine
•of delight.
Upon this broad earth, purfled with
flowers, scented with odors, brilliant in
colors, vocal with echoing and re-echoing
melody, I take my stand against all
demoralizing pleasure. Is it not enough
thar our Father's house is so full of dear
•delights, that we must wander prodigal to
the swine-herd for husks, and to the slough
for drink ?—when the trees of God's
heritage bend over our head, and solicit our
liand to pluck the golden fruitage, must we
still go in search of the apples of Sodom
—outside fair, and inside ashes ?
Men shall crowd to the Circus to hear
clowns, and see rare feats of horsemanship ;
but a bird may poise beneath the very sun,
or flying downward, swoop from the high

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

heaven; then flit with graceful ease hither
and thither, pouring liquid song as if it
were a perennial fountain of sound—no
man cares for that.
Upon the stage of life, the vastest tragedies are performing in every act; nations
pitching headlong to their final catastrophe;
others, raising their youthful forms to begin
the drama of their existence. The world
of society is as full of exciting interest,
as nature is full of beauty. The great
dramatic throng of life is hustling along—
the wise, the fool, the clown, the miser, the
bereaved, the broken-hearted. Life mingles
before us smiles and tears, sighs and laughter, joy and gloom, as the spring mingles
the winter-storm and summer-sunshine.
To this vast Theatre which God hath builded,
where stranger plays are seen than ever
author writ, man seldom cares to come.
When God dramatizes, when nations act,
or all the human kind conspire to educe
the vast catastrophe, men sleep and snore,
and let the busy scene go on, unlooked,
unthought upon ; and turn from all its varied
magnificence to hunt out some candlelighted hole and gaze at drunken ranters,
or cry at the piteous virtue of harlots in
distress. It is my object then, not to withdraw the young from pleasure, but from
unworthy pleasures; not to lessen their

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TO YOUNG MEN

enjoyments, but to increase them by re~
jecting the counterfeit and the vile.
Of gambling, I have already sufficiently
spoken. Of cock-fighting, bear-baiting,
and pugilistic contests, I need to speak but
little. These are the desperate excitements
of debauched men; but no man becomes
desperately criminal, until he has been
genteelly criminal. No one spreads his
sail upon such waters, at first; these brutal
amusements are but the gulf into which
flow all the streams of criminal pleasures;
and they who embark upon the river, are
sailing toward the gulf. Wretches who
have waded all the depths of iniquity, and
burned every passion to the socket, find in
rage and blows and blood, the only stimulus
of which they are susceptible. You are
training yourselves to be just such wretches,
if you are exhausting your passions in
illicit indulgences.
As it is impossible to analyze, separately,
each vicious amusement proffered to the
young, I am compelled to select two, each
the representative of a clan. Thus, the
reasonings applied to the amusement of
Racing, apply equally well to all violent
amusements which congregate indolent and
dissipated men, by ministering intense excitement. The reasonings applied to the
Theatre, with some modifications, apply to

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AMUSEMENTS

t h e Circus, to promiscuous balls, to nightreveiling, bacchanalian feasts, and to other
similar indulgences. ..;
Many, who are not in danger, may incline to turn from these p a g e s ; they live in
rural districts, in villages, or towns, and are
out of the reach of jockeys, and actors, and
gamblers. This is t h e very reason why
you should read. W e are such a migratory,
restless people, that our h o m e is usually
everywhere but at h o m e ; and almost every
y o u n g man makes annual, or biennial visits
to famous cities; conveying produce to
market, or purchasing wares and goods.
It is at such times that the y o u n g are in
extreme d a n g e r ; for they are particularly
anxious, at such times, to appear at their
full age. A y o u n g man is ashamed, in a
great hotel, to seem raw and not to k n o w
the mysteries of the bar and of t h e town.
T h e y put on a very remarkable air, which
is meant for ease; they affect profusion of
expense ; they think it meet for a gentleman to know all that certain other citygentlemen seem proud of knowing.
As
sober citizens are not found lounging at
Hotels ; and the gentlemanly part of the
travelling community are usually retiring,
modest, and unnoticeable,—the y o u n g are
left to come in contact chiefly witW a very
flash class of men who swarm about city-

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T6 VOUNG MEN

Restaurateurs and Hotels,—swollen clerks,
crack sportsmen, epicures, and rich, green
y o u t h , seasoning.
T h e s e are the most
n u m e r o u s class which engage the attention
of the young. T h e y bustle in the sitting
r o o m ; or crowd the bar, assume the chief
seats at the table, and play the petty lord
in a manner so brilliant, as altogether to
dazzle our poor country boy, who m o u r n s
a t his deficient education, at t h e poverty of
his rural oaths, and the meagerness of
t h o s e illicit pleasures, which h e formerly
nibbled at with mouselike stealth; and he
sighs for these riper accomplishments. Besides, it is well known, that large commercial establishments have, residing at
such hotels, well appointed clerks to draw
.customers to their counter.
It is their
business to make your acquaintance, to fish
out the probable condition of your funds, to
sweeten your temper with delicate tit-bits
of pleasure ; to take you to the Theatre, and
a little further on, if need b e ; to draw you
in to a generous supper, and initiate you to
the high life of men whose whole life is only
t h e varied phases of lust, gastronomical
or amorous.
Besides these, there lurk in such places
l y n x - e y e d p r o c u r e r s ; men who have an
interest in y o u r appetites; who look upon
a y o u n g man, with some money, just as a

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

butcher looks upon a bullock—a t h i n g of
so m a n y pounds avoirdupois, of so m u c h
beef, so much tallow, and a hide. If you
have nothing, they will have nothing to dowith y o u ; if you have means, they undertake to supply you with the disposition touse them. T h e y k n o w the city, they k n o w
its haunts, they k n o w its secret doors, its
blind passages, its spicy pleasures, its racy
vices, clear down to the mud-slime of t h e
very bottom.
Meanwhile, the accustomed restraint of
h o m e cast off, the y o u t h feels that h e is unknown, and m a y do what h e chooses, u n exposed. T h e r e is, moreover, an intense
curiosity to see m a n y things of which he
has long ago heard and wondered; and it is
the very art and education of vice, to m a k e
itself attractive. It comes with garlands of
roses about its brow, with nectar in its.
goblet, and love upon its tongue.
If you have, beforehand, "no
settled
opinions as to what is right and what is
wrong ; if y o u r j u d g m e n t is now, for the
first time, to be formed upon the propriety
of y o u r a c t i o n s ; if you are not controlled
by settled principles, there is scarcely a
chance for your purity.
F o r this purpose, then, I desire to discuss
these things, that you may settle y o u r
opinions and principles before temptation

LECTURES

TO YOUNG

MEN

assails you. A s a ship is built upon the
dry shore, which afterwards is t o dare t h e
storm and brave the sea, so would I build
you staunch and strong, ere you be launched
abroad upon life.
I. RACING. This amusement justifies its
existence by t h e plea of UTILITY. W e will
examine it upon its own ground. W h o are
the patrons of t h e Turf? — f a r m e r s ? —
laborers ?—men who are practically t h e
most interested in the improvement of stock?
T h e unerring instinct of self-interest would
lead these men to patronize t h e Course, if its
utility were real. It is notorious that these
are not the patrons of racing. I t is sustained
by two classes of men—gambling jockeys
and jaded rich men. In England, and in
our own country, where t h e turf-sports are
freshest, they owe their existence entirely to
the extraordinary excitement which they
afford to dissipation, or to cloyed appetites.
F o r those industrial purposes for which the
horse is chiefly valuable, for roadsters, hacks,
and cart-horses, what do the patrons of the
turf care ? Their whole anxiety is centred
upon winning cups and s t a k e s ; and that is
incomparably the best blood which will run
the longest space in t h e shortest time. T h e
points required for this are noty and never
will be, t h e points for substantial service.
A n d it is notorious, that racing in E n g l a n d

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

deteriorated the stock in such important
respects, that the light-cavalry and dragoonservice suffered severely, until dependence
upon turf stables was abandoned. New
England, where racing is almost unknown,
is to this day the place where the horse
exists in the finest qualities; and for all
economical purposes, Virginia and Kentucky must yield to New England. Except for the sole purpose of racing, an
Eastern horse brings a higher price than any
other.
The other class of patrons who sustain a
Course are mere gambling jockeys. As
crows to a corn-field, or vultures to their
prey; as flies to summer-sweet, so to the
annual races, flow the whole tribe of gamesters and pleasure-lovers. It is the Jerusalem of wicked men ; and thither the tribes
go up, like Israel of old, but for a far different sacrifice. No form of social abomination
is unknown or unpractised; and if all the
good that is claimed, and a hundred times
more, were done to horses, it would be a
dear bargain. To ruin men for the sake of
improving horses; to sacrifice conscience
and purity for the sake of good bones and
muscles in a beast; this is paying a little too
much for good brutes. Indeed, the shameless immorality, the perpetual and growing
dishonesty, the almost immeasurable secret

236

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

villany of gentlemen of t h e turf, has alarmed
and disgusted m a n y stalwart racers, who,
having no objection to some evil, are a p palled at t h e very ocean of depravity which
rolls before them. I extract t h e words of
one of the leading sportsmen of England.
"Hozv many fine domains have been shared
among these hosts of rapacious sharks, during the last tzvo hundred years ; and, unless
the system be altered, hozv many more are
doomed to fall into the same gulf!
For, we
lament to say, the evil has increased:
all
heretofore

has

been

4

TARTS

AND CHEESE-

CAKES' to the villanousproceedings
of the last*
twenty years on the English turf!'
I will drop this barbarous amusement,
with a few questions.
W h a t have you, y o u n g men, to do with
the turf, admitting it to be what it claims, a
school for horses ? A r e y o u particularly
interested in that branch of learning ?
Is it safe to accustom yourselves to such
tremendous excitement as that of racing?
Is the invariable company of such places
of a kind which you o u g h t to be found in ?
—will races make y o u more moral ?—more
industrious ?—more careful ?—economical ?
—trustworthy ?
Y o u w h o have attended t h e m , what advice would you give a y o u n g man, a y o u n g e r

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

brother for instance, w h o should seriously
ask if he had better attend ?
I digress to say one word to women.
W h e n a Course was opened at Cincinnati,
ladies would not attend i t : when one was
opened here, ladies would not attend i t :
F o r very good reasons—they were LADIES.
If it be said that they attend the Races at
the South and in E n g l a n d , I reply, that t h e y
do a great m a n y other things which you
would not choose to do.
R o m a n ladies could see h u n d r e d s of
gladiators stab and hack each other—could
you ? Spanish ladies can see savage bullfights—would y o u ? It is possible for a
modest woman to countenance very questionable practices, where the customs of
society and the universal public opinion
approve them. But no woman can set herself against public opinion, in favor of an
immoral sport, without being herself immoral ; for, if worse be wanting, it is immorality enough for a woman to put herself
where her reputation will lose its suspiciousless lustre.
II. T H E T H E A T R E .
Desperate efforts
are made, year by year, to resuscitate this
expiring evil. Its claims are put forth with
vehemence. Let us examine them.
The drama cultivates the taste. L e t the
appeal be to facts. Let the roll of English

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LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

literature be e x p l o r e d — o u r Poets, R o mancers, Historians, Essayists, Critics, and
Divines—and for what part of their m e m orable writings are we indebted to the
D r a m a ? If we except one period of our
literature, the claim is wholly g r o u n d l e s s ;
and at this day, the truth is so opposite to
t h e claim, that extravagance, affectation,
and rant, are proverbially denominated
theatrical.
If agriculture should attempt to
supersede the admirable implements of h u s bandry, now in use, b y t h e primitive plough
or sharpened sticks, it would not be more
absurd than to advocate that clumsy machine of literature, the Theatre, b y the side
of the popular lecture, the pulpit, and the*
press. It is not congenial to our age or
necessities. Its day is gone b y — i t is in its
dotage, as might be suspected, from the
weakness of the garrulous apologies which
it puts forth.
It is a school of morals.
Yes, doubtless !
So the guillotine is defended on t h e plea of
humanity. Inquisitors declare their racks
and torture-beds to be the instruments of
love, affectionately admonishing the fallen
of the error of their ways. T h e slave-trade
has been defended on the plea of humanity,
and slavery is now defended for its mercies.
W e r e it necessary for any school or party,
doubtless we should h e a r arguments to

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

prove the Devil's grace, and the utility of
his agency among men.
But, let me settle these impudent pretensions to Theatre-virtue, by the home
thrust of a few plain questions.
Will any of you who have been to Theatres, please to tell me whether virtue ever
received important accessions from the gallery of Theatres ?
Will you tell me whether the Pit is a
place where an ordinarily modest man
would love to seat his children ?
Was ever a Theatre known where a
prayer at the opening, and a prayer at the
close,would not be tormentingly discordant ?
How does it happen, that in a school for
morals, the teachers never learn their own
lessons ?
Would you allow a son or daughter to
associate alone with actors or actresses?
Do these men who promote virtue so
zealously when acting, take any part in
public moral enterprises, when their stage
dresses are off?
Which would surprise you most, to see
actors steadily at Church, or to see Christians steadily at a Theatre? Would not
both strike you as singular incongruities?
What is the reason that loose and abandoned men abhor religion in a Church, and
love it so much in a Theatre?

240

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

Since the Theatre is the handmaid of
virtue, why are drinking houses so necessary to its neighborhood, yet so offensive to
Churches? The trustees of the Tremont
Theatre in Boston, publicly protested
against an order of council forbidding liquor
to be sold on the premises, on the ground
that it was impossible to support the Theatre without it.
I am told that Christians do attend the
Theatres. Then I will tell them the story
of the Ancients. A holy monk reproached
the devil for stealing a young man who was
found at the Theatre. He promptly replied, " I found him on my premises, and
took him."
But, it is said, if Christians would take
Theatres in hand, instead of abandoning
them to loose men, they might become the
handmaids of religion.
The Church has had an intimate acquaintance with the Theatre for eighteen
hundred years. During that period, every
available agent for the diffusion of morality
has been earnestly tried. The Drama has
been tried. The result is, that familiarity
has bred contempt and abhorrence. If,
after so long and thorough an acquaintance,
the Church stands the mortal enemy of
Theatres, the testimony is conclusive. It
is the evidence of generations speaking by

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

the most sober, thinking, and honest men.
Let not this vagabond prostitute pollute
any longer the precincts of the Church, with
impudent proposals of alliance. When the
Church needs an alliance it will not look for
it in the kennel. Ah ! what a blissful scene
would that be—the Church and Theatre
imparadised in each other's arms ! What a
sweet conjunction would be made, could we
build our Churches so as to preach in the
morning, and play in them by night! And
how melting it would be, beyond the love
of David and Jonathan, to see minister and
actor in loving embrace; one slaying Satan
by direct thrusts of plain preaching, and
the other sucking his very life out by the
enchantment of the Drama ! To this millennial scene of Church and Theatre, I only
suggest a single improvement: that the
vestry be enlarged to a ring for a Circus,
when not wanted for prayer-meetings; that
the Sabbath-school room should be furnished with card-tables, and useful texts of
scripture might be printed on the cards, for
the pious meditations of gamblers during
the intervals of play and worship.
But if these places are put down, men will
go to worse ones. Where will they find
worse ones? Are those who go to the
Theatre, the Circus, the Race-course, the
men who abstain from worse places ? It is

242

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

notorious that the crowd of theatre-goers
are vomited upfront these worse places. It
is notorious that the Theatre is the door to
all the sinks of iniquity. It is through this
infamous place that the young learn to love
those vicious associates and practices to
which, else, they would have been strangers.
Half the victims of the gallows and of the
Penitentiary will tell you, that these schools
for morals were to them the gate of debauchery, the porch of pollution, the vestibule of the very house of Death.
The Drama makes one acquainted with
human life, and with nature. It is too
true. There is scarcely an evil incident to
human life, which may not be fully learned
at the Theatre.
Here flourishes every
variety of wit—-ridicule of sacred things,
burlesques of religion, and licentious doubleentendres. Nowhere can so much of this
lore be learned, in so short a time, as at the
Theatre. There one learns how pleasant a
thing is vice; amours are consecrated ;
license is prospered ; and the young come
away alive to the glorious liberty of conquest and lust. But the stage is not the
only place about the Drama where human
nature is learned. In the Boxes the young
may make the acquaintance of those who
abhor home and domestic quiet; of those
who glory in profusion and obtrusive dis-

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

p l a y ; of those who expend all, and more
than their earnings, upon gay clothes and
j e w e l r y ; of those w h o think it no harm to
borrow their money without leave from their
employer's till ; of those who despise vulgar
appetite, but affect polished and genteel
licentiousness. Or, he m a y go to the Pit,
and learn the whole round of villain-life from
masters in the art. H e may sit down a m o n g
thieves, blood-loving scoundrels, swindlers,
broken-down men of pleasure—the coarse,
the vulgar, the debauched, the inhuman, t h e
infernal. Or, if still more of h u m a n nature
is wished, he can learn yet m o r e ; for t h e
T h e a t r e epitomizes every degree of c o r r u p tion. Let the virtuous y o u n g scholar go t o
t h e Gallery, and learn there, decency, m o d esty, and refinement, a m o n g the quarrelling,
drunken, ogling, mincing, brutal women of
the b r o t h e l ! A h ! there is no place like
the T h e a t r e for learning human nature / A
y o u n g man can g a t h e r up more experimental knowledge here in a week, than elsewhere in half a year. But I wonder t h a t
t h e D r a m a should ever confess the fact;
and yet more, that it should lustily plead in
self-defence, that Theatres teach men so much
of human nature / H e r e are brilliant bars,
t o teach the y o u n g to d r i n k ; here are g a y
companions, to undo in half an h o u r t h e
scruples formed by an education of y e a r s ;

244

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

here are pimps of pleasure, to delude t h e
brain with bewildering sophisms of license ;
here is pleasure, all flushed in its gayest,
boldest, most fascinating forms; and few]
there be who can resist its wiles, and fewer •
'
yet who can yield to them and escape ruin.
If y o u would pervert the taste—go to the
Theatre. If you would imbibe false views
go to the Theatre. If you would efface as
speedily as possible all qualms of conscience
— g o to the Theatre. If you would put y o u r self irreconcilably against the spirit of virtue
and religion—go to the T h e a t r e . If you
would be infected with each particular vice
in the catalogue of D e p r a v i t y — g o to the
Theatre. L e t parents, who wish to m a k e
their children weary of h o m e and quiet
domestic enjoyments, take them to the
Theatre. If it be desirable for the y o u n g to
loathe industry and didactic reading, and
burn for fierce excitements, and seek them
by stealth or t h r o u g h pilferings, if need be
— t h e n send t h e m to t h e Theatre. It is
notorious that the bill of fare at these temples of pleasure is made up to the taste of
the lower appetites; that low comedy, and
lower farce, running into absolute obscenity,
are the only means of filling a house.
T h e a t r e s which should exhibit nothing b u t
the classic D r a m a , would exhibit it to empty
seats.
T h e y must be corrupt, to l i v e ;

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

and those who attend them will be corrupted.
< Let me turn your attention to several
reasons which should incline every young
man to forswear such criminal amusements.
I. The first reason is, their waste of time,
I do not mean that they waste only the
time consumed while you are within them;
but they make you waste your time afterwards. You will go once, and wish to go
again ; you will go twice, and seek it a third
time; you will go a third time,—a fourth;
and whenever the bill flames, you will be
seized with a restlessness and craving to go,
until the appetite will become a passion,
You will then waste your nights : your
mornings being heavy, melancholy,, and
stupid, you will waste them. Your day
will next be confused and crowded: your
duties poorly executed or deferred; habits
of arrant shiftlessness will ensue; and day
by day, industry will grow tiresome^ and
leisure sweeter, until you are a waster of
time—an idle man ; and if not a rogue, you
will be a fortunate exception.
II. You ought not to countenance these
things because they will waste your money,
Young gentlemen ! squandering is as shameful as hoarding. A fool can throw away,
and a fool can lock up ; but it is a wise man,
who, neither parsimonious nor profuse>

246

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

steers the middle course of generous econo m y and frugal liberality. A y o u n g man, at
first, thinks that all he spends at such places.
is the ticket-price of the Theatre, or the
small bet on the r a c e s ; and this h e k n o w s
is not much. But this is certainly not t h e
whole bill—nor half
First, you pay y o u r entrance. But there
are a thousand petty luxuries which one
must not neglect, or custom will call him
niggard. Y o u must b u y y o u r cigars, and
y o u r friend's. You must b u y your juleps,
and treat in your turn. Y o u must occasionally wait on your lady, and she must be
comforted with divers confections.
You
cannot go to such places in homely w o r k ing dress ; new and costlier clothes must b e
bought. All your companions have jewelry,
— y o u will want a ring, or a seal, or a gold
watch, or an ebony cane, a silver toothpick,
or quizzing glass. T h u s , item presses upon
item, and in the year a long bill runs up of
money spent for little trifles.
But if all this money could buy you off
from the yet worse effects, the bargain
would not be so dear. But compare, if you
please, this mode of expenditure with the
principle of your ordinary expense. In all
ordinary and business-transactions you get
an equivalent for y o u r money,—either food
for support, or clothes for comfort, or per-

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

nianent property. But when a y o u n g m a n
has spent one or two hundred dollars for
t h e Theatre, Circus, Races, Balls, and revelling, what has he to show for it at the end
of the year ? N o t h i n g at all good, and
much that is bad. Y o u sink )/our m o n e y
as really as if you threw it into the s e a ;
and you do it in such a way that you form
habits of careless expense.
You lose all
sense of the value of property ; and when a
man sees no value in property, he will see
no necessity for labor ; and when he is lazy,
and careless of property, both, he will b e
dishonest.
T h u s , a habit which seems innocent—the habit of trifling with p r o p e r t y —
often degenerates to worthlessness, indolence, and roguery.
I I I . Such pleasures are incompatible with
y o u r ordinary pursuits.
T h e very way to ruin an honest business
is to be ashamed of it^ or to p u t alongside
of it something which a man loves better.
T h e r e can be no industrial calling so exciting
as the Theatre, t h e Circus, and the Races.
If you wish to m a k e y o u r real business
very stupid and hateful, visit such places.
After the glare of the T h e a t r e has dazzled
y o u r eyes, y o u r blacksmith-shop will look
smuttier than ever it did before. After y o u
have seen stalwart heroes p o u n d i n g their
antagonists, you will find it a dull business

2AS

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

to pound iron; and a valiant apprentice
who has seen such gracious glances of love
and such rapturous kissing of hands, will
hate to dirty his heroic fingers with mortar,
or by rolling felt on the hatter's board. If
a man had a homely, but most useful wife
—patient, kind, intelligent, hopeful in
sorrow, and cheerful in prosperity, but yet
very plain, very homely,—would he be wise
to bring under his roof a fascinating and artful beauty? would the contrast, and her
wiles, make him love his own wife better ?
Young gentlemen, your wives are your industrial calling! These raree-shows are
artful jades, dressed up on purpose to purloin your affections. Let no man be led to
commit adultery with a Theatre, against
the rights of his own trade.
" IV. Another reason why you should let
alone these deceitful^ pleasures is, that they
will engage you in bad company. To the
Theatre, the Ball, the Circus, the Racecourse, the gaming-table, resort all the
idle, the dissipated, the rogues, the licentious, the epicures, the gluttons, the artful
jades, the immodest prudes, the joyous, the
worthless, the refuse. When you go, you
will not, at first, take introduction to them
all, but to those nearest like yourself; by
them the way will be open to others. And
a very great evil has befallen a young

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

m&f>, when wicked men feel t h a t t h e y
have a right to his acquaintance.
When
I see a gambler slapping a y o u n g m e chanic on the b a c k ; or a lecherous scoundrel suffusing a y o u n g man's cheek by a
story at which, despite his blushes, he yet
laughs ; I know the y o u t h has been guilty
of criminal indiscretion, or these men
could not approach him thus. T h a t is a
brave and strong heart that can stand up
pure in a c o m p a n y of artful wretches.
W h e n wicked men mean to seduce a
y o u n g man, so tremendous are the odds
in favor of practiced experience against
innocence, that there is not one chance
in a thousand, if the young man lets them
approach him.
L e t every y o u n g man remember that he carries, by nature, a
breast of passions just such as bad men
have. W i t h youth they s l u m b e r ; but
temptation can wake them, bad men can
influence them, they know the road, they
know how to serenade the h e a r t ; how to
raise the sash, and elope with each passion. T h e r e is but one resource for innocence a m o n g men or women ; and that
is, an embargo upon all commerce of bad
men. Bar the window!—bolt the d o o r !
— n o r answer their strain, if they charm
never so wisely! In no other way can
you be safe. So well am I assured cf

250

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

the power of bad men to seduce the err*
ing purity of man, that I pronounce it
next to impossible for man or woman to
escape, if they permit bad men to approach
and dady with them. Oh ! there is more
than magic in temptation, when it beams
down upon the heart of man, like the sun
upon a morass! At the noontide-hour
of purity, the mists shall rise and wreathe a
thousand fantastic forms of delusion ; and a
sudden freak of passion, a single gleam of
the imagination, one sudden rush of the
capricious heart, and the resistance of
years may be prostrated in a moment, the
heart entered by the besieging enemy, its
rooms sought out, and every lovely affection rude, ly seized by the invader's lust,
and given to ravishment and to ruin!
V. Putting together in one class, all gamblers, circus-riders, actors and racing-jockeys, I pro/iounce them to be men who live
off of society without returning any useful
equivalent for their support. At the most
lenient sentence, they are a band of gay
idlers. They do not throw one cent into the
stock of public good. They do not make
shoes, or hats, or houses, or harness, or anything else that is useful. A hostler is useful;
he performs a necessary office. A scullion is
useful; somebody must act his part. A
street-sweeper, a chimney-sweep, the seller

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

of old clothes, a scavenger, a tinker, a bootblack—-all these men are respectable; for
though their callings are very humble, they
are founded on the real wants of society.
The bread which such men eat, is the representation of what they have done for society ; not the bread of idleness, but of
usefulness. But what do pleasure-mongers
do for a living ?—what do they invent ?—
what do they make ?—what do they repair ?
—what do they for the mind, for the body,
for man, or child, or beast ? The dog that
gnaws a refuse bone, pays for it in barking
at a thief. The cat that purrs its gratitude
for a morsel of meat, will clear our house
of rats. But what do we get in return for
supporting whole loads of play-mongers,
and circus-clowns ? They eat, they drink,
they giggle, they grimace, they strut in
gairish clothes—and what else ? They
have not afforded even useful amusement;
they are professional laugh-makers; their
trade is comical or tragical buffoonery—the
trade of tickling men. We do not feel any
need of them, before they come ; and when
they leave, the only effects resulting from
their visits are, unruly boys, aping apprentices, and unsteady workmen.
Now, upon principles of mere political
v :onomy, is it wise to support a growing
c. iss of improvident idlers ? If at the top

252

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

of society, the government should erect a
class of favored citizens, and pamper their
idleness with fat pensions, the indignation
of the whole c o m m u n i t y would break out
against such privileged aristocrats. But we
have, at t h e b o t t o m of society, a set of wandering, jesting, dancing, fiddling aristocrats,
whom we support for the sake of their capers, grins, and caricatures upon life, and
no one seems to think this an evil.
V I . But even this is cheap and wise,
compared with the evil which I shall mention. If these morality-teachers
could
guarantee us against all evil from 'their
doings, we might pay their support and
think it a cheap bargain. T h e direct and
necessary effect of their pursuit, however, is
to demoralize men.
Those w h o defend Theatres would scorn
to admit actors into their society. It is
within the k n o w l e d g e of all, that men, who
t h u s cater for public pleasure, are excluded
from respectable society.
T h e general
fact is not altered b y the exceptions—
and honorable exceptions there are. But
where there is one Siddons, and one Ellen
T r e e , and one F a n n y Kemble, how m a n y
h u n d r e d actresses are there who dare not
venture within modest society ? W h e r e
there is one Garrick and Sheridan, how
m a n y thousand licentious wretches are

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

there, whose acting is but a means of sensual indulgence ? In the support of gamblers, circus-riders, actors, and racing-jockeys, a Christian and industrious people are
guilty of supporting mere mischief-makers
—men whose very heart is diseased, and
whose sores exhale contagion to all
around them. We pay moral assassins to
stab the purity of our children. We warn
our sons of temptation, and yet plant the
seeds which shall bristle with all the spikes
and thorns of the worst temptation. If to
this strong language, you answer, that
these men are generous and jovial, that
their very business is to please, that they do
not mean to do harm,—I reply, that I do not
charge them with trying to produce immorality, but with pursuing a course which
produces it, whether they try or not. An
evil example does harm by its own liberty,
without asking leave. Moral disease, like
the plague, is contagious, whether the patient wishes it or not. A vile man infects
his children in spite of himself. Criminals
make criminals, just as taint makes taint,
disease makes disease, plagues make
plagues. Those who run the gay round of
pleasure cannot help dazzling the young,
confounding their habits, and perverting
their morals—it is the very nature of their
employment.

254

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

T h e s e demoralizing professions could not
be sustained but by the patronage of moral
men. W h e r e do the clerks, the apprentices, the dissipated, get their m o n e y which
buys an e n t r a n c e ? F r o m w h o m is t h a t
m o n e y drained, always, in every land, which
supports vice ? Unquestionably from the
good, the laborious, the careful. T h e skill,
the enterprise, t h e labor, the good m o r a l s
of every nation, are always taxed for the expenses of vice. Jails are built out of honest
men's earnings. Courts are supported from
peaceful men's property. Penitentiaries are
built b y the toil of virtue. Crime never
pays its own way. Vice has no hands to
work, no head to calculate.
Its whole
faculty is to corrupt and to w a s t e ; and
good men, directly or indirectly, foot the
bill.
A t this time, when we are waiting in vain
for the return of that bread which we wastefully cast upon the waters ; when, all over
the sea, men are fishing up the wrecks of
those argosies, and full freighted fortunes,
which foundered in the sad storm of recent
times,—some question might be asked
about the economy of vice ; the economy
of paying for our sons' idleness; the econo m y of maintaining a whole lazy profession
of gambiers, racers, actresses, and actors,—
human, equine and belluine :—whose errand

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

is mischief, and luxury, and license, and
giggling folly. It ought to be asked of men
who groan at a tax to pay their honest
foreign debts, whether they can be taxed to
pay the bills of mountebanks ? *
It is astonishing how little the influence
of those professions has been considered,
which exert themselves mainly to delight
the sensual feelings of men. That whole
race of men, whose camp is the Theatre, the
Circus, the Turf, or the Gaming-table, is a
* W e cannot pay for honest loans, but we can pay Elssler hundreds of thousands for being an airy sylph ! America can p a y
vagabond-fiddlers, strumpet-dancers, fashionable actors, dancinghorses, and boxing-men ! Heaven forbid that these should w a n t ! —
but to pay honest debts,—indeed, indeed, we have honorable
scruples of conscience about t h a t ! !
Let our foreign creditors dismiss their fears, and forgive us the
commercial d e b t ; write no more drowsy letters about public
faith;
let them write spicy comedies, and send over fiddlers, and dancers,
and actors, and singers ;—they will soon collect the debt and keep us
good-natured ! After every extenuation—hard times, deficient currency, want of market, & c , there is a deeper reason than these at
the bottom of our inert indebtedness. Living among the body of
the people, and having nothing to lose or gain by my opinions, 1
must say plainly, that the community are not sensitive to the dis*
grace of flngrant public b a n k r u p t c y ; they do not seem to care
whether their public debt be paid or not
I perceive no
enthusiast
on that subject: it is not a topic for either party, nor of anxious
private conversation. A profound indebtedness, ruinous to out
credit and to our morals, is allowed to lie at the very bottom of the
abyss of dishonest indifference.
Men love to be taxed for their lusts ; there is an open exchequer
for licentiousness, and for giddy pleasure. W e grow suddenly saving, when benevolence asks alms, or justice duns for debts ; we dole
a pittance to suppliant creditors, to be rid of their clamor. But let
the divine Fanny, with evolutions extremely efficacious upon the
feelings, fire the enthusiasm of a whole Theatre of men, whose applauses rise—as she does ; let this courageous dancer, almrst literally true to nature, display her adventurous feats before a thousand
men, and the very miser will turn spendthrift; the land which will
not pay its honest creditors, will enrich a strolling danseuse, and
rain down upon the stage a stream of golden boxes, or golden coin,
wreaths a n d rosy billet-doux.

256

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

race whose instinct is destruction, w h o live
to corrupt, and live off of the corruption
which they make. F o r their support, we
sacrifice annual hecatombs of youthful victims. Even sober Christian men, look
smilingly upon the gairish outside of these
train-bands of destruction; and while we
see the results to be, uniformly, dissipation,
idleness, dishonesty, vice and crime, still
t h e y lull us with the lying lyric of "classic
drama"
and "human
life"
" morality"
"poetry" and "divine
comedy"
Disguise it as you will, these men of
pleasure are, the world over, CORRUPTERS OF
YOUTH. U p o n no principle of kindness can
we tolerate t h e m ; no excuse is bold
e n o u g h ; we can take bail from none of their
weaknesses—it is not safe to have them
abroad even upon excessive bail.
You
might as well take bail of lions, and allow
scorpions to breed in our streets for a suitable license ; or for a t a x indulge assassins.
Men whose life is given to evil pleasures are,
to ordinary criminals, what a universal pestilence is to a local disease. T h e y fill the air,
pervade the community, and bring around
every y o u t h au atmosphere of death. Corrupters of y o u t h have no mitigation of their
baseness. Their generosity avails nothing,
their knowledge nothing, their varied accomplishments nothing. T h e s e are only so

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

m a n y facilities for greater evil. Is a serpent
less deadly, because his burnished scales
s h i n e ? Shall a dove praise and court t h e
vulture, because he has such glossy plum a g e ? T h e more accomplishments a bad
man has, the more dangerous is h e ; — t h e y
are the garlands whicn cover up the knife
with which he will stab. T h e r e is no such
a thing as good corrupters. Y o u might as
well talk of a mild and pleasant murder, a
very lenient assassination, a grateful stench,
or a pious devil. W e denounce them ; for
it is our nature to loathe perfidious corruption. W e have no compunction to withhold us. W e mourn over a torn and bleeding lamb ; but who m o u r n s the wolf which
rent it ? W e weep for despoiled i n n o c e n c e ;
but who sheds a tear for the savage fiend w h o
plucks away the flower of virtue ? W e
s h u d d e r and pray for the shrieking victim
of the Inquisition; but who would spare t h e
hoary Inquisitor, before whose shriveled
form the piteous maid implores relietin vain?
Even thus, we palliate the sins of generous
youth ; and their downfall is our sorrow :
b u t for their destroyers, for the CORRUPTERS
O F YOUTH, who practise the infernal cliemistry of ruin, and dissolve the y o u n g heart in
vice—we have neither tears, nor pleas, nor
patience. W e lift our heart to H i m who
beareth the iron rod of vengeance, and pray
17

258

LECTURES

TO YOUNG MEN

for the appointed time of judgment. Ye
miscreants! think ye that ye are growing
tall, and walking safely, because God hath
forgotten ? The bolt shall yet smite you \
you shall be heard as the falling of an oak in
the silent forest—the vaster its growth, the
more terrible its resounding downfall! Oh I
t h o u CORRUPTER OF YOUTH !

I WOuld

not

take thy death, for all the pleasure of thy
guilty life, a thousand fold. Thou shalt
draw near to the shadow of death. To the
Christian, these shades are the golden haze
which heaven's light makes, when it meets
the earth and mingles with its shadows.
But to thee, these shall be shadows full of
phantom-shapes. Images of terror in the
Future shall dimly rise and beckon ;—the
ghastly deeds of the Past shall stretch out
their skinny hands to push thee forward }
Thou shalt not die unattended. Despair
shall mock thee. Agony shall tender to
thy parched lips her fiery cup. Remorse
shall feel for thy heart, and rend it open.
Good men shall breathe freer at thy death,
and utter thanksgiving when thou art gone.
Men shall place thy grave-stone as a monument and testimony that a plague is stayed ;
no tear shall wet it, no mourner linger
there! And, as borne on the blast thy
guilty spirit whistles toward the gate of hell,
the hideous shrieks of those whom thy

POPULAR

AMUSEMENTS

hand hath destroyed, shall pierce thee—
hell's first welcome. In the bosom of that
everlasting storm which rains perpetual
misery in hell, shalt thou, CORRUPTER OF
YOUTH ! be forever hidden from our view:
and may God wipe out the very thoughts
of thee from our memory.

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S C A R L E T L E T T E R , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e , w i t h
numerous original full-page and t e x t illustrations.
T H E H O U S E O F T H E S E V E N G A B L E S , by Nathaniel
H a w t h o r n e , w i t h numerous original full-page and
t e x t illustrations.
B A T T L E S O F T H E W A R F O R I N D E P E N D E N C E , by
P r e s c o t t Holmes, w i t h 70 illustrations.
B A T T L E S O F T H E W A R F O R T H E UNION, by Prescott Holmes, w i t h 80 illustrations.
T H E SONG OF H I A W A T H A , by H e n r y W . Longfellow,
With 100 illustrations.

H E N R Y A L T E M U S ' PUBLICATIONS.
ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLES' LIBRARY".
Price, 50 cents each.
ROBINSON CRUSOE: (Chiefly in words of one syllable). His life and strange, surprising adventures,
with 70 beautiful illustrations by Walter Paget.
ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND, with. 42
illustrations by John Tenniel. "The most delightful of children's stories. Elegant and delicious
nonsense."—Saturday Review.
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS AND WHAT
ALICE FOUND THERE; a companion to "Alice
in Wonderland," with 50 illustrations by John
Tenniel.
BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, with 50 full page
and text illustrations.
A CHILD'S STORY OF THE BIBLE, with 72 full page
illustrations.
A CHILD'S LIFE OF CHRIST, with 49 illustrations.
God has implanted in the infant heart a desire
to hear of Jesus, and children are early attracted
and sweetly riveted by the wonderful Story of the
Master from the Manger to the Throne.
SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON, with 50 illustrations. The
father of the family tells the tale of the vicissitudes through which he and his wife and children pass, the wonderful discoveries made and
dangers encountered. The book is full of interest
and instruction.
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS AND THE DISCOVERY
OF AMERICA, with 70 illustrations. Every
American boy and girl should be acquainted with
the story of the life of the great discoverer, with
its struggles, adventures, and trials.
THE STORY OF EXPLORATION AND DISCOVERY
IN AFRICA, with 80 illustrations.
Records
the experiences of adventures and discoveries in
developing the "Dark Continent," from the early
days of Bruce and Mungo Park down to Livingstone and Stanley, and the heroes of our own
times. No present can be more acceptable than
such a volume as this, where courage, intrepidity,
resource, and devotion are so admirably mingled.
THE FABLES OF JESOP. Compiled from the best accepted sources: With 62 illustrations. The fables
of ^ s o p are among the very earliest compositions
of this kind, and probably have never been surpassed for point and brevity.

H E N R Y A L T E M U S ' PUBLICATIONS.
Altemus' Young Peoples' Library—Continued.
Price, 50 cents each.
'GULLIVER'S TRAVELS. Adapted for young readers,
with 50 illustrations.
MOTHER GOOSE'S RHYMES, JINGLES AND FAIRY
TALES, with 234 illustrations.
LIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED
STATES, by Prescott Holmes. With portraits of
the Presidents and also of the unsuccessful candidates for the office; as well as the ablest of the
Cabinet officers. It is just the book for intelligent boys, and it will help to make them intelligent and patriotic citizens.
THE STORY OF ADVENTURE IN THE FROZEN
SEAS, with 70 illustrations. By Prescott Holmes.
We have here brought together the records of the
attempts to reach the North Pole. The book
shows how much can be accomplished by steady
perseverance and indomitable pluck.
ILLUSTRATED NATURAL HISTORY, by the Rev. J.
G. Wood, with 80 illustrations. This author has
done more to popularize the study of natural history than any other writer. The illustrations are
striking and life-like.
A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND, by Charles Dickens, with 50 illustrations. Tired of listening to
his children memorize the twaddle of old fashioned
English history the author covered the ground in
his own peculiar and happy style for his own
children's use. When the work was published its
success was instantaneous.
BLACK BEAUTY; THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A
HORSE, by Anna Sewell, with 50 illustrations.
A work sure to educate boys and girls to treat
with kindness all members of the animal kingdom. Recognized as the greatest story of animal
life extant.
THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS, with
130 illustrations. Contains the most favorably
known of the stories.
GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES. With 55 illustrations.
The Tales are a wonderful collection, as interesting, from a literary point of view, as they are
delightful as stories.
FLOWER FABLES. By Louisa May Alcott. With numerous illustrations, full page and text.
A series of very interesting fairy tales by the
most charming of American story-tellers.

H E N R Y A L T E M U S ' PUBLICATIONS.
Altemus' Young Peoples' Library—Continued.
Price, 50 cents each.
ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES. By Hang Christian Aa-*
dersen. With 77 illustrations.
The spirit of high moral teaching, and the delicacy of sentiment, feeling, and expression that
pervade these tales make these wonderful creations not only attractive to the young, but equally
acceptable to those of mature years, who are abie
to understand their real significance and appreciate the depth of their meaning.
GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR: A HISTORY FOR YOUTH.
By Nathaniel Hawthorne. With 60 illustrations.
The story of America from the landing of the
Puritans to the acknowledgment without reserve
of the Independence of the United States, told
with all the elegance, simplicity, grace, clearness,
and force for which Hawthorne is conspicuously
noted.
ALTEMUS' DEVOTIONAL SERIES.
Standard Religious Literature Appropriately Bound la
Handy Volume Size. Each Volume contains
Illuminated Title, Portrait of Author,
and Appropriate Illustrations.
White Vellum, Gold and Monotints, Boxed, each 50 cent«.
1 KEPT FOR THE MASTER'S USE, by Frances Ridley Havergal. ^Will perpetuate her name."
2 MY KING AND HIS SERVICE, OR DAILY
THOUGHTS FOR THE KING'S CHILDREN,
by Frances Ridley Havergal. ''Simple, tender,
gentle, and full of Christian love."
3 MY POINT OF VIEW. Selections from the works [
of Professor Henry Drummond.
*
4 OF THE IMITATION OF CHRIST, by Thomas
A'Kempis. "With the exception of the Bible it Is
probably the book most read in Christian literature."
5 ADDRESSES, by Professor Henry Drummond. "Intelligent sympathy with the Christian's need."

H E N R Y ALTEMUS' PUBLICATIONS.
Altemus' Devotional Series—Continued.
Price, 50 cents each.
<6 NATURAL LAW IN THE SPIRITUAL WORLD, by
Professor Henry Drummond. "A most notable
book which has earned for the author a worldwide reputation."
7 v ADDRESSES, by the Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks. "Has
exerted a marked influence over the rising generation."
8 ABIDE IN CHRIST. Thoughts on the Blessed Life
of Fellowship with the Son of God. By the Rev.
Andrew Murray. "It cannot fail to stimulate and
cheer. "Spurgeon.
9 LIKE CHRIST. Thoughts on the Blessed Life of
Conformity to the Son of God. By the Rev. Andrew Murray. A sequel to "Abide in Christ."
"May be read with comfort and edification by
all."
10 WITH CHRIST IN THE SCHOOL OF PRAYER,
by the Rev. Andrew Murray. "The best work on
prayer in the language."
11 HOLY IN CHRIST. Thoughts on the calling of God's
Children to be Holy as He is Holy. By the Rev.
Andrew Murray. "This sacred theme is treated
Scripturally and robustly without spurious sentimentalism."
12 THE MANLINESS OF CHRIST, by Thomas Hughes,
author of "Tom Brown's School Days," etc. "Evidences of the sublimest courage and manliness in
the boyhood, ministry, and in the last acts of
Christ's life."
13 ADDRESSES TO YOUNG MEN, by the Rev. Henry
Ward Beecher. Seven addresses on common vices
and iheir results.
14 THE PATHWAY OF SAFETY, by the Rt. Rev.
Ashton Oxenden, D. D. Some words of advice
and encouragement on the text "What Must I
do to be Saved."
15 THE CHRISTIAN LIFE, by the Rt. Rev. Ashton
Oxenden, D. D. A beautiful delineation of an
ideal life from the conversion to the final reward.
16 THE THRONE OF GRACE. Before which the burdened soul may cast itself on the bosom of infinite love and enjoy in prayer "a peace which
passeth all understanding."

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS,

A l t e m u s ' Devotional Series—Continued.
Price, 50 cents each.
17 T H E P A T H W A Y O F P R O M I S E , by t h e a u t h o r of
" T h e T h r o n e of G r a c e . " T h o u g h t s consolatory
and encouraging to t h e Christian pilgrim a s he
journeys onward to his heavenly home.
18 T H E I M P R E G N A B L E ROCK O F H O L Y S C R I P T U R E , by t h e Rt. Hon. William E w a r t Gladstone,
M. P . T h e most masterly defence of t h e t r u t h s
of t h e Bible e x t a n t . T h e a u t h o r s a y s : T h e Christ i a n F a i t h and t h e Holy Scriptures a r m us w i t h
t h e m e a n s of neutralizing t h e a s s a u l t s of evil in
•and from ourselves.
19 S T E P S I N T O T H E B L E S S E D L I F E , by t h e Rev. F .
B. Meyer, B . A. A powerful help t o w a r d s sanctification.
20 T H E MESSAGE O F P E A C E , by t h e Rev. Richard
W. Church, D. D. E i g h t excellent sermons on
t h e advent of t h e Babe of Bethlehem and his influence and effect on t h e world.
21 J O H N P L O U G H M A N ' S T A L K , by t h e Rev. Charles
H . Spurgeon.
\ 22 J O H N P L O U G H M A N ' S P I C T U R E S , by t h e Rev.
Charles H . Spurgeon.
23 T H E C H A N G E D CROSS; AND O T H E R R E L I G IOUS P O E M S .
24 GOLD D U S T . A collection of Golden Counsels for
t h e Sanctiflcation of Daily Life. E d i t e d by Charlotte M. Yonge.
25 D A I L Y FOOD F O R C H R I S T I A N S . Being a Promise and a n o t h e r Scriptural portion for every day
in t h e y e a r ; together w i t h the Verse of a H y m n .
26 P E E P O F DAY. Or a Series of t h e E a r l i e s t Religious I n s t r u c t i o n t h e I n f a n t Mind is Capable of
Receiving.
27 L I N E U P O N L I N E . Or a second Series of t h e Earliest Religious Instruction t h e I n f a n t Mind is Ca-.
pable of Receiving.
28 P R E C E P T U P O N P R E C E P T . By t h e a u t h o r of
" T h e P e e p of D a y , " " L i n e Upon L i n e , " " P r e cept Upon P r e c e p t , " etc.
29 T H E P R I N C E O F T H E H O U S E O F D A V I D , by t h e
Rev. J. H . I n g r a h a m .
30 J E S S I C A ' S F I R S T P R A Y E R AND
JESSICA'S
M O T H E R , by H e s b a S t r e t t o n .

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

ALT/EMUS 7 N E W I L L U S T R A T E D
SERIES.

VADEMECUM

Masterpieces of English and American Literature, H a n d y
Volume Size, Large T y p e Editions. E a c h Volume
Contains Illuminated Title Pages, and P o r t r a i t
of A u t h o r a n d N u m e r o u s E n g r a v i n g s .
F u l l cloth, ivory finish, ornamental inlaid sides and back,
boxed, 10 cents.
1 C R A N F O R D , by Mrs. Gaskell.
2 A W I N D O W IN T H R U M S , by J. M. Barrie.
3 RAB AND H I S F R I E N D S , M A R J O R I E F L E M I N G ,
ETC., by J o h n Brown, M. D.
4 T H E VICAR O F W A K E F I E L D , by Oliver Goldsmith.

5 T H E IDLE T H O U G H T S OF AN IDLE FELLOW,
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16

by J e r o m e K. J e r o m e . "A book for an idle holiday."
T A L E S FROM S H A K S P E A R E , by Charles and Mary
L a m b , with an introduction by t h e Rev. Alfred
Ainger, M. D.
SESAME AND L I L I E S , by J o h n Ruskin.
T h r e e Lectures—I. Of t h e K i n g ' s T r e a s u r e s . I I .
Of Queen's Garden. I I I . Of t h e Mystery of Life.
T H E E T H I C S O F T H E DUST, by J o h n Ruskin.
Ten lectures to little housewives on t h e elements
of crystalization.
T H E P L E A S U R E S O F L I F E , by Sir J o h n Lubbock.
Complete in one volume.
T H E S C A R L E T L E T T E R , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
T H E H O U S E O F T H E S E V E N G A B L E S , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE, by Nathaniel
Hawthorne.
T W I C E T O L D T A L E S , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
T H E ESSAYS O F F R A N C I S (LORD) BACON W I T H
MEMOIRS AND N O T E S .
ESSAYS, F i r s t Series, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
ESSAYS, Second Series, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

Alteraus* New Illustrated Yademecum Series—Continued.
Price, 40 cents each.
17 R E P R E S E N T A T I V E MEN, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Mental p o r t r a i t s each representing a class.
1. T h e Philosopher. 2. T h e Mystic. 3. T h e Skeptic. 4. T h e Poet. 5. T h e Man of t h e World. 6.
The Writer.

18 T H O U G H T S OF T H E E M P E R O R MARCUS AUREL I U S ANTONINUS, t r a n s l a t e d by George Long.
19 T H E D I S C O U R S E S O F E P I C T E T U S W I T H T H E
E N C H I R I D I O N , t r a n s l a t e d by George Long.
20 O F T H E I M I T A T I O N O F C H R I S T , by T h o m a s
A ' K e m p i s . F o u r books complete in one volume.
21 A D D R E S S E S , by Professor H e n r y D r u m m o n d . T h e
G r e a t e s t Thing in t h e World; P a x Vobiscum; T h e
Changed Life; H o w to L e a r n H o w ; Dealing W i t h
D o u b t ; P r e p a r a t i o n for L e a r n i n g ; W h a t is a
Christian; T h e Study of t h e Bible; A Talk on
Books.
22 L E T T E R S , S E N T E N C E S AND MAXIMS, by Lord
Chesterfield.
Masterpieces of good t a s t e , good
writing, and good sense.
23 R E V E R I E S O F A B A C H E L O R . A book of t h e
h e a r t . By Ik Marvel.
24 D R E A M L I F E , by Ik Marvel. A companion to "Reveries of a Bachelor."
25 SARTOR R E S A R T U S , by T h o m a s Carlyle.
26 H E R O E S AND H E R O W O R S H I P , by T h o m a s Carlyle.
27 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, by H a r r i e t Beecher Stowe.
28 ESSAYS O F E L I A , by Charles L a m b .
29 MY P O I N T O F V I E W . R e p r e s e n t a t i v e selections
from t h e works of Professor H e n r y D r u m m o n d
by William Shepard.
30 T H E S K E T C H BOOK, by W a s h i n g t o n Irving. Complete.
31 K E P T F O R T H E M A S T E R ' S USE, by F r a n c e s Ridley H a v e r g a l .
32 L U C I L E , by Owen Meredith.
33 L A L L A R O O K H , by Thomas Moore.
34 T H E LADY O F T H E L A K E , by Sir W a l t e r Scott.
S5 MARMION, by Sir W a l t e r Scott.

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

Altemus' New Illustrated Vademecum Series—Continued.
P r i c e , 40 cents each.
36 T H E P R I N C E S S ; AND MAUD, by Alfred (Lord)
Tennyson.
37 C H I L D E H A R O L D ' S P I L G R I M A G E , by Lord Byron.
38 I D Y L L S O F T H E K I N G , by Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
39 E V A N G E L I N E , by H e n r y W a d s w o r t h Longfellow.
40 VOICES O F T H E N I G H T AND O T H E R P O E M S ,
by H e n r y W a d s w o r t h Longfellow.

41 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS,
by H e n r y W a d s w o r t h Longfellow.
42 T H E Q U E E N O F T H E AIR, by J o h n Rnskin. A
study of t h e Greek m y t h s of cloud and storm.
43 P O E M S , Volume I, by J o h n Greenleaf W h i t t i e r .
44 P O E M S , Volume I I , by J o h n Greenleaf W h i t t i e r .
45 T H E R A V E N ; AND O T H E R P O E M S , by E d g a r Allan Poe.
46 T H A N A T O P S I S ; AND O T H E R P O E M S , by William
Cullen B r y a n t .
47 T H E LAST L E A F ; AND O T H E R P O E M S , by Oliver
Wendell Holmes.
48 T H E H E R O E S OR G R E E K F A I R Y T A L E S , by
Charles Kingsley.
49 A W O N D E R BOOK, by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
50 U N D I N E , by de L a Motte Fouque.
51 A D D R E S S E S , by t h e Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks.
52 BALZAC'S S H O R T E R S T O R I E S , by Honore de
Balzac.
53 T W O Y E A R S B E F O R E T H E MAST, by Richard
H. Dana, Jr.
54 B E N J A M I N F R A N K L I N . An autobiography.
55 T H E L A S T ESSAYS O F E L I A , by Charles L a m b .
56 TOM B R O W N ' S SCHOOL DAYS, by
Thomas
Hughes.
57 W E I R D T A L E S , by E d g a r Allen Poe.
58 T H E CROWN O F W I L D OLIVE, by J o h n Ruskin.
T h r e e lectures on Work, Traffic and W a r .
59 N A T U R A L L A W I N T E S P I R I T U A L W O R L D , by
Professor H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
60 A B B E CONSTANTIN, by Ludovic Halevy.
61 MANON LESCAUT, by Abbe Prevost.

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

Altemus' New Illustrated Vademecum Series—Continued.
Price, 40 cents each.

62 T H E R O M A N C E OF A POOR YOUNG MAN, by
63
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69
70
71
72
73
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77
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Octave Feuillet.
B L A C K BEAUTY, by Anna Sewell.
C A M I L L E , by Alexander D u m a s , J r .
T H E L I G H T O F ASIA, by Sir E d w i n Arnold.
T H E LAYS O F A N C I E N T ROME, by T h o m a s Babington Macaulay.
T H E C O N F E S S I O N S O F AN E N G L I S H OPIUME A T E R , by T h o m a s De Quincey.
T R E A S U R E ISLAND, by Robert L. Stevenson.
CARMEN, by P r o s p e r Merimee.
A S E N T I M E N T A L J O U R N E Y , by L a u r e n c e Sterne.
T H E B L I T H E D A L E ROMANCE, by N a t h a n i e l H a w thorne.
BAB B A L L A D S , AND SAVOY SONGS, by W. H .
Gilbert.
F A N C H O N , T H E C R I C K E T , by George Sand.
P O E M S , by J a m e s Russell Lowell.
J O H N P L O U G H M A N S T A L K , by t h e Rev. Charles
H . Spurgeon.
J O H N P L O U G H M A N ' S P I C T U R E S , by t h e Rev.
Charles H. Spurgeon.
T H E M A N L I N E S S O F C H R I S T , by T h o m a s H u g h e s . ,
A D D R E S S E S TO YOUNG MEN, by t h e Rev. H e n r y
W a r d Beecher.
T H E AUTOCRAT O F T H E B R E A K F A S T T A B L E ,
by Oliver Wendell Holmes.
MULVANEY S T O R I E S , by R u d y a r d Kipling.
BALLADS, by R u d y a r d Kipling.
MORNING T H O U G H T S , by F r a n c e s Ridley Havergal.
T E N N I G H T S IN A BAR ROOM, by T. S. A r t h u r .
E V E N I N G T H O U G H T S , by F r a n c e s Ridley Havergal.
I N MEMORIAM, by Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
COMING TO C H R I S T , by F r a n c e s Ridley H a v e r g a l .
H O U S E O F T H E W O L F , by Stanley W e y m a n .

HENRY

ALTEMUS'

PUBLICATIONS.

A l t e m u s ' New Illustrated Vademecum Series—Continued.
Price, 40 cents each.
88 T H E C H A N G E D CROSS AND O T H E R R E L I G I O U S
POEMS.
89 L A D D I E AND MISS TOOSEY'S MISSION.
90 GOLD D U S T .
91 D A I L Y FOOD F O R C H R I S T I A N S .
92 P L A I N T A L E S F R O M T H E H I L L S , by R u d y a r d
Kipling.
93 P H A N T O M R I C K S H A W , by Rudyard Kipling.
*94 J E S S I C A ' S F I R S T P R A Y E R AND
JESSICA'S
M O T H E R , by H e s b a Stretton.
95 T H E T H R O N E O F GRACE.
96 S T E P S I N T O T H E B L E S S E D L I F E , by Rev. F . B.
Meyer.
i
97 A D V E N T U R E S O F A B R O W N I E , by Miss Mulock.
98 T H E I M P R E G N A B L E ROCK O F H O L Y S C R I P T U R E , by Hon. W. E. Gladstone.
99 P A T H W A Y O F P R O M I S E .
100 P A T H W A Y O F S A F E T Y , by R t . Rev. Ashton Oxenden.
101 K I D N A P P E D , by Robert Louis Stevenson.
102 T H E P R I N C E O F T H E H O U S E O F DAVID, by
Rev. J . H . I n g r a h a m .
103 T H E C H R I S T I A N L I F E , by Rt. Rev. Ashton Oxenden.
104 T H E MESSAGE O F P E A C E , by Rev R. W. Church.
105 P E E P O F DAY. Or a Series of t h e Earliest Religious I n s t r u c t i o n t h e I n f a n t Mind is Capable of
Receiving.
106 L I N E U P O N L I N E . Or a Second Series of t h e Earliest Religious .Instruction t h e I n f a n t Mind is
Capable of Receiving.
107 P R E C E P T U P O N P R E C E P T . By t h e a u t h o r of
" T h e Peep of D a y , " " L i n e Upon L i n e , " " P r e cept Upon P r e c e p t , " etc.
108 T A N G L E W O O D T A L E S , by Nathaniel H a w t h o r n e .
109 T H E SONG O F H I A W A T H A , by H e n r y W a d s w o r t h
Longfellow,

ALTEMUS' ETERNAL LIFE SEMES.
Selections from the writings of well-known religious authors,
printed and daintily bound with original designs
in silver and ink.
Price, 25 cents per volume.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8

E T E R N A L L I F E , by Professor H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
L O R D , T E A C H US TO P R A Y , by Rev. A n d r e w M u r r a y .
G O D ' S W O R D A N D G O D ' S W O R K , by M a r t i n L u t h e r .
F A I T H , by T h o m a s Arnold.
T H E C R E A T I O N STORY, by H o n o r a b l e W i l l i a m E . Gladstone.
T H E M E S S A G E O F C O M F O R T , by R t . Rev. Ashton Oxenden.
T H E M E S S A G E O F P E A C E , by Rev. R W . C h u r c h .
T H E L O R D ' S P R A Y E R A N D T H E T E N COMMANDMENTS, by
D e a n Stanley.
9 T H E M E M O I R S O F J E S U S , by Rev. Robert F . H o r t o n .
10 H Y M N S O F P R A I S E A N D G L A D N E S S , by Elisabeth R. Scovil.
11 D I F F I C U L T I E S , by H a n n a h W h i t a l l S m i t h .
12 G A M B L E R S A N D G A M B L I N G , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d B e e c h e r .
13 H A V E F A I T H I N G O D , by R e v . A n d r e w M u r r a y .
14 T W E L V E C A U S E S O F D I S H O N E S T Y , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d
Beecher.
15 T H E C H R I S T I N W H O M C H R I S T I A N S B E L I E V E , by R t . Rev.
Phillips Brooks.
16 I N MY N A M E , by Rev. A n d r e w M u r r a y .
17 S I X W A R N I N G S , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d Beecher.
18 T H E D U TY O F T H E C H R I S T I A N B U S I N E S S M A N , by R t . Rev.
P h i l l i p s Brooks.
39 P O P U L A R A M U S E M E N T S , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d Beecher.
20 T R U E L I B E R T Y , by R t . Rev. Phillips Brooks.
21 I N D U S T R Y A N D I D L E N E S S , by Rev. H e n r y W a r d Beecher.
22 T H E B E A U T Y O F A L I F E O F S E R V I C E , by R t . Rev. Phillips
Brooks.
23 T H E S E C O N D C O M I N G O F O U R L O R D , b y Rev. A.T.Pierson, D . D .
24 T H O U G H T A N D A C T I O N , b y R t . Rev. Phillips B r o o k s .
25 T H E H E A V E N L Y V I S I O N , b y Rev. F . B . Meyer.
28 M O R N I N G S T R E N G T H , by Elisabeth R. Scovil.
27 F O R T H E Q U I E T H O U R , by E d i t h V. Bradc.
28 E V E N I N G C O M F O R r , by Elisabeth R. Scovil.
29 W O R D S O F H E L P F O R C H R I S T I A N G I R L S , by Rev. F . B . Meyer.
30 H O W TO S T U D Y T H E B I B L E , by Rev. D w i g h t L . Moody.
81 E X P E C T A T I O N C O R N E R , by E . S. Elliot.
32 J E S S I C A ' S F I R S T P R A Y E R , by Hesba S t r e t t o n .
33 J E S S I C A ' S M O T H E R , by Hesba S t r e t t o n .
34 T H E G R E A T E S T T H I N G I N T H E W O R L D , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
35 H O W TO L E A R N H O W , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
36 W H A T IS A C H R I S T I A N ? T H E S T U D Y O F T H E B I B L E : A
T A L K ON B O O K S , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .

ALTEMUS' ETERNAL LIFE SERIES—Continued.
37 P A X V O B I S C U M , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
88 T H E C H A N G E D L I F E , by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .
39 F I R S T 1 A T A L K W I T H BOYS, by H e n r y D r u m m o n d .

ALTEMUS' BELLES-LETTRES SERIES.
A collection of Essays and Addresses by Eminent English
and American Authors, beautifully printed
and daintily bound, with original
designs in silver inks,
Price, 25 cents per volume.
1
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I N D E P E N D E N C E D A Y , b y Rev. E d w a r d . E . Halo.
T H E S C H O L A R I N P O L I T I C S , b y H o n . R i c h a r d Olney.
T H E Y O U N G M A N I N B U S I N E S S , by E d w a r d W . B o k .
T H E Y O U N G M A N A N D T H E C H U R C H , by E d w a r d W . B o k .
T H E S P O I L S SYSTEM, by H o n . Carl S e h u r z .
C O N V E R S A T I O N , by T h o m a s D e Q u i n o e y .
S W E E T N E S S A N D L I G H T , by M a t t h e w A r n o l d .
W O R K , by J o h n R u s k i n .
N A T U R E A N D A R T , by Ralph W a l d o E m e r s o n .
T H E U S E A N D M I S U S E O F B O O K S , by F r e d e r i c H a r r i s o n .
T H E MONROE DOCTRINE : ITS ORIGIN, M E A N I N G A N D
A P P L I C A T I O N , by Prof. J o h n Bach McMaster (University of
Pennsylvania)
12 T H E D E S T I N Y O F M A N , b y S i r J o h n L u b b o c k .
IE L O V E A N D F R I E N D S H I P , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
14 R I P V A N W I N K L E , by W a s h i n g t o n I r v i n g .
15 A R T , P O E T R Y A N D MUSIC, by Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
16 T H E C H O I C E O F B O O K S , by Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
17 M A N N E R S , by Ralph W a l d o E m e r s o n .
18 C H A R A C T E R , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
19 T H E L E G E N D O F S L E E P Y H O L L O W , by W a s h i n g t o n I r v i n g .
20 T H E B E A U T I E S O F N A T U R E , by Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
21 S E L F R E L I A N C E , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
22 T H E D U T Y O F H A P P I N E S S , by Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
23 S P I R I T U A L L A W S , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
24 O L D C H R I S T M A S , by W a s h i n g t o n I r r i n g .
25 H E A L T H , W E A L T H A N D T H E B L E S S I N G O F F R I E N D S , b y
Sir J o h n L u b b o c k .
26 I N T E L L E C T , by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n .
27 W H Y A M E R I C A N S D i S L I K E E N G L A N D ? b y Prof. George B .
A d a m s (Yale).
28 T H E H I G H E R E D U C A T I O N AS A T R A I N I N G F O R B U S I N E S S ,
by Prof. H a r r y P r a t t J u d s o n (University of Chicago).
29 MISS T O O S E Y ' S M I S S I O N .
30 L A D D I E .
31 J . COLE, by E m m a G e l l i b r a n d .

This book is a preservation facsimile.
It is m a d e in compliance with copyright law
and produced on acid-free archival
60# book weight paper
which meets the requirements of
A N S I / N I S O Z39.48-1992 (permanence of paper)

Preservation facsimile printing and binding
by
Acme Bookbinding
Charlestown, Massachusetts

2005