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INTRODUCTION.
A
An excellent writer says "that the influence that
lifts the world upward is composed of the best thoughts
and prayers of earnest, aspiring minds." This thought
has given the leading to all our labor, and has been
the basis of our design in the compilation of the vol-
ume which we now humbly and most reverently dedi-
cate to the homes of our country.
There are three chief objects which we have striven
to attain, in this work. The first is to bring home-
subjects carefully before the minds of the people.
The importance of these themes is so great that they
are beginning to be more and more appreciated, especi-
ally in these times, when there are flocking to our shores
thousands and tens of thousands from other lands
where the home-influence, which has characterized
our country is unfelt, but where there has arisen that
socialistic spirit which strikes at the very heart of
home life, and with ruthless hand would destroy the
most hallowed influences and associations on the earth.
The facts here considered, have long been recognized
by thoughtful and intelligent minds as of the chiefest
interest to mankind. They are such as are proclaimed
from every Christian pulpit, as are inculcated with the
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INTRODUCTION.
greatest care by every true moralist, and such as every
real philanthropist is endeavoring in the most urgent
manner to bring constantly before the attention of the
public. As will be seen, these truths lie at the very
basis of good government, society, and religion itself.
The many volumes that have been written on the kin-
dred subjects here treated, the innumerable tracts, lec-
tures, and various addresses that have been ascribed
to the different members of the family, are all cumu-
lative proofs of the importance which is considered
due to this grand subject. While we have been un-
able to present anything that is really new and claim
nothing as original, we wish to say that our endeavor
has been to collect in the shortest space the very best
thoughts from the best writers-both from those
whose living words to-day come home to weary hearts
with reviving power, and from those whose bodies have
returned long since to dust, but whose immortal
thoughts survive the attacks of years and gather fresh
glory from every age.
The second aim has been to give to the young men
and women who are just entering life a grand impulse,
to direct their attention to the foundation principles
of character and true success, to infuse them with a
love for right and truth, and to hold up before them
warnings and examples for the life that is before
them. A former writer has truly said that "in the
onset of life, every young person needs a friendly ad-
viser, who should give some leading hints concerning
the line of conduct which should be adopted, in order
INTRODUCTION.
5
to insure success and respectability." How many
there are that will bear witness to the truth here ex-
pressed!
The chapters to young men and women are taken
chiefly from writers whose experience is rich, and
whose reputations are world-wide. It has been sought
to gather as much of the life of some who are held up
for example as could well be used to illustrate the
subject considered. The appeals are personal, and
are addressed earnestly to the reader that they may
take the firmer hold upon the mind. The great neces-
sity is held to be this: to give the proper bent to the
young intellect, to form correct tastes and judgments,
to stimulate ambition in the right direction, to fire the
heart with a deep love for the good, the beautiful,
and the true, and to implant within the breasts of
those who are to take our places, those high and holy
purposes which lead not only to success in this world
but to everlasting life and happiness in the world that
is to come.
The third object has been not only to counteract,
but to supplant, as far as possible, that literature
which is so pernicious in its moral tendency, and so
fatal in its result by its injuring the purity of our
homes. The young mind is frequently poisoned by
wild sensational ravings where crime and immorality
are illustrated in a way which often makes the sus-
ceptible reader not only willing to "endure," but
ready to embrace the hideous monster, vice. We
have endeavored to give a higher, sweeter, purer tone
ご
​6
INTRODUCTION.
to home life; have constantly kept a religious senti-
ment running through the pages; and have tried to
awaken loftier and nobler aspirations for doing good,
for unselfish action, and above all for pleasing the all-
wise and all-holy Being whom we worship as God.
The reader will find many important subjects treated
under general heads, as it has been impossible to give
every subject that relates to Home life a separate
chapter. But we have made it a family book, and
trust that parents will find in it an aid, the young a
guide, the old a comfort. We send it now on its
mission, hoping and trusting that the design may be
truly accomplished; and if it serves that end, the
satisfaction of being useful will be the richest reward,
and will fully compensate for the labor and time
expended.
W. T. G.
Jersey City.
C
CONTENTS.
I.
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
Home, home, sweet home!—The home of childhood-The beautiful re-
lationships of home-No word in the English language so full of
meaning-The character of one's birthplace and its influence on
after life-The oäsis in the moral desert-Its force in society and
morals-The first effort of Christian missionaries in heathen lands
is to establish the home-Napoleon's utterance-The character-
istic of New England-The garden of affection-The sanctuary of
a mother's love-The school of the strongest feelings and princ-
iples-Its power over wanderers-The scene in Paris-Home in-
cludes the sweetest thoughts of earth and heaven-The Moravian
poet's description of home
II.
PAGE
HOME INFLUENCE.
Who can measure it ?-Its power on reason and conscience-The true
home--The true ideal: Its influence greater than schools-The
nucleus of national character-The saying of Burke-The dan-
ger of a wrong conception-What the family circle ought to be-
How much depends upon it-No civilization equal to it-The
bond of sacred union-What observation teaches-What others
should do When the influence of home begins-The mother the
deity of infancy—The father the deity of childhood—The influ-
ence over mind and heart-The lawgivers of the children-The sem-
inary of infancy; its importance-The greatest institution furnished
23
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CONTENTS.
by Providence for the education of man-The longing of the
heart for home-The cheerlessness of the homeless soul-The do-
mestic sanctuary, the Eden of earth.....
III.
PAGE
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
A false idea of home-Home in its true sense-The poet's idea of
what home is not, and what home is-The Christian home-Not
dependent on riches-The enemies of home-What makes the
family-The Providential care-The family is the primary school
-The origin of this institution-Excision from home-Without a
home-The attraction of home relations-Domestic influence pen-
etrates the soul-The blessed retreat-The real constitution of
home-love...
V.
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
Retrospection's chain-The instinct which pervades all animated nature
-Her love is unappalled by danger and nnhindered by difficulty-
The beautiful picture-The foundation of maternal love-An in-
41
IV.
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
The most tender and endearing of all human appellations-The help-
meet of man-A mother's dignity-Distinguished mothers-The
great privilege of mothers-Immortality gives dignity to its sub-
jects, and hence the exalted honor of a mother-The gradations
from childhood to motherhood-A mother lives not for self-
Writing with a wand of love upon the printless tablet-When a
mother's influence begins-What wise men have said-Neglect
-A good mother-Madame de Stael's wise remark-The import-
ance of the early lessons-The responsibility of a mother illustra-
ted-George Washington's mother-Byron's mother-History of
John Newton-The diamond God has placed in a mother's hand.. 73
59
CONTENT'S.
9.
PAGE
stance of a mother's love-The bearings of a mother's love—A
mother's love rewarded-Why it is given―The great end-Why
it was implanted in woman's bosom.
VI.
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
When a mother's duties commence-An infant the most helpless of
living creatures-A mother's first ministration-A mother's sacri.
fices-George Herbert's saying-John Randolph-Oliver Crom-
well-Ary Scheffer's mother's advice-The mother's impulse-
Benjamin West and his mother's kiss-The first months of in-
fancy-The climax of happiness-The first duty of every mother
-A mother's instruction-Do not trust hirelings-The mother's
will-Deaf and dumb children-Kindness to animals-A good
story-Truth" My goodness grows weak."-"Tell her a story."
-The dialect of love-A mother's awful responsibility.
VII.
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
The first requisite-Madame Campan-The first seven years of life
The husbandman-Mothers should be the early instructors-Ten-
derness of conscience—Stated reasons of instruction—The happier
a child is, the better-The French lesson-Love of reading—The
school boy on vacation-Poetry-Songs in the nursery—The power
of vocal music-What a mother is training-What a mother can
do-Not one is lost-God knows all.
VIII.
A MOTHER'S JOY.
Parents apt to be dejected-The rapture only a mother knows-The
recompense day by day-The widow leaning on her son-The
reunion above-Not lost but gone before-A mother seeing herself
living again in her children-True reward-The last words of
Henry Clay-Mothers watch the developinent of your children—
What your fidelity may be by the blessing of God-Your voice
will sound when your lips are done....
93
103
127
143
10
CONTENTS.
IX.
THE FATHER, THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
Father, the prophet, priest and king-No father can shake off responsi-
bility-The officer who deserts his post-The natural right of
fathers-The example of the father-An old minister's wise re-
marks-St. Paul's advice-The principles of a true home like
those of Heaven-Father is the house-band-Father never free from
anxiety-No critics in the world like children-A father's con-
fession—The grand ideal of fatherhood-Whitfield's remark—
Your great charge-The awful picture of a wretched old man... 153
X.
A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY.
The nature of the relation-No release from duty-A clergyman's ex-
cuse-The four duties imposed by God-Why many hearts have
been blasted-Honor the mother of a household-Consider your
position-The creature on your knee-The great work-Where is
father? The great hope of reformation-Fathers lead the way... 169
W:
XI.
PAGE
FATHERS AT HOME.
A sad fact—Fathers away most of the time-The wickedness of leav-
ing wife and children alone when unnecessary-A most appropri-
ate exercise-Good husbands by intention but bad by practice-
Danger of preferring the bar-room, the lodge or club room to their
own families-A too familiar picture-The father who delights in
home-The joy that he experiences-The reward that he receives 177
XII.
BUDS OF PROMISE.
The dictate of our nature-Elliot's custom-To love children is a
graceful lineament in character-Madame de Maintenon's advice
to the young Dauphiness—Intercourse with infancy is improving
-Behold the construction of the infant's frame-Responsibility
when a child is born-It is a physical being-It is a rational being
CONTENTS.
11
-It is a moral being-It is an accountable being-It is an im-
mortal being-It is a sinful being-It possesses a social nature
The mythology of ancient Greeks-What will insure success and
happiness-The parents' responsibility-A babe is a mother's an-
chor—Maternal love-Be careful of your influence over children.. 191
XIII.
LIFE'S SEED TIME.
When the dawning intellect unfolds-By degrees the soil is prepared
-Much depends upon the start-Right principles should be then
inculcated-The design of the Creator-Suggestions to parents—
A mother's insane ambition-Sympathy with children-Parental
mistakes-Curiosity-The poet's description....
XIV.
PAGE
HOME EDUCATION.
The great high school-Education-Just as the twig is bent-A thirst
for knowledge, inherent-What a distinguished writer says-How
much parents can do-The mother's duty-The best teacher-
Good advice-I have too much to do, or the mother's excuse-
A story of a New England mother-What Mrs. Ramsay did—A
Christian mother's work-Out of the way-Sad stories.
XV.
XVI-
211
YOUNG MEN-THE GLORY OF BEING A YOUNG MAN.
A glorious sight-What will he be ?-Not a position, but that awaits
him ?—Not an office, but that will be filled by him?—The coming
man-Great destinies-Great responsibilities-The joyous thought
The call of the hour-What is committed to the care-The vener-
able fathers-For what God has formed you-The earnest question 239
STARTING RIGHT.
Every thing depends on the start-Every man must rely on himself
-At the bottom of the hill-The marksman-The lawyer-The
219
12
CONTENTS.
divine-The mechanic-The physician-How to attain success-
The obstinate law-The gourd of Jonah-God needs not many tall
cedars-There are but few needed like Moses, David, Newton, or
Luther-Every age demands its peculiar style of men- -The work
of preparation going on-What is needed-The earnest thought
Tht department of business little important-Men of will-Cour-
age-Power.
XVII.
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
PAGE
mp
The highest prize—Aim high—You may be whatever you resolve to be
—Alexander—Cæsar-Paul-Luther-Howard-Washington — I
will try-Energy-Faith in one's self-Self-reliance-Every man
made for something-The cause of failure-The fault not in the
stars, but in themselves-Where there's a will there's a way-
What men have done-Julius Cæsar-Suwarrow-Bulwer-Dis-
raeli-Webster-Francis Wayland-Pluck-Washington ...
•
XVIII.
CHARACTER.
Meaning of the word-A man's whole being-It must be earned—A
plant which every one should cultivate-Confined to no station
You are to blane if you are despised-Moulded by a thousand influ-
ences-The two principles-Do not sigh for a lofty station out of
reach-Great defects-A superiority of character-Satisfaction
of self-respect-Success in the world depends on character-Eter-
nal destiny hangs on character.
XIX.
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
Hard work-What work accomplishes-The poet's advice-Greatest
results attained by simple means-Fortune not as blind as men
are-Definitions of genius by Buffon, Foster, Newton-Industry
and perseverance-What John Hunter said of himself—The wid-
ow's regret for her son-Step by step progress-What Sir Joshua
Reynolds says-The great mistake-Sources of discouragement
Lady Montague's advice..
247
259
277
289
CONTENTS.
13
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XX.
LUCK.
Fortune favors fools-Courage-Adapting the right means to the right
end-The Poet's description-The place that luck holds in the
human existence-Signs-Professor Davy-Lucky aceidents—Dr.
Johnson's description of Sheridan-The abused word-Micawbers
of to-day-The weak man's complaint-Shakspeare's adage-The
doctrine of chances-The lucky sixpence-Warming pans to the
West Indies-The Edinburgh Review on success at the bar—
Rothschild's regard of luck-Man, the child of opportunity-Strike
while the iron is hot-Newton-Buffon-Cardinal Richelieu-Lord
Nelson-De Quincy-Byron's vice-Napoleon-How to rise supe-
rior to ill-fortune...
PAGE
XXII.
SEEKING A HELP-MEET.
One of Nature's laws-Great difference between men and brutes-A
kind provision of Providence-Source of domestic joys-The minds
of both sexes are formed to each other-The advantages and dis-
advantages of the married state-The dark and bright side-Care
and expenses-Tho objections-Where happiness dwells.
303
XXI.
MANNERS; THE IMPORTANCE OF MANNERS.
A man's bearing towards his fellows promotes or obstructs his ad-
vancement-Daily experience shows the power of civility-Emer-
son's saying-Hawthorne and Chesterfield-Manner marks inter-
nal impression-Account of a humorist-Story of the two Aboli-
tionists-Politeness defined-One of the Cardinal Laws-Dr.
Johnson-Sheridan-Not so often great acts as petty incivilities
that are treasured up-What is better than a beautiful face—One
great fault as a nation-The commentary of spittoons-What po-
liteness consists in-What pleasing manners do for lawyers,
doctors, merchants, and men in every walk of life-Dr. Mott's ad-
vice to his class-Examples of what good manners have done.... 321
339
14
CONTENTS.
XXIII.
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
How matrimony ought to be considered-What a man ought to con-
sult-Things to be considered-Education-Caution-Victims of
parental folly—Great mistakes-The reason of unhappiness of
wedded life-Some good advice-Sense and temper-A true help-
meet-Hasty engagements-Jeffrey's warning..
XXIV.
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
Instructions on the subject-Be not unequally yoked-Unity of pur-
pose-What a true wife desires-How this want of union is man-
ifested-Watt's two happy matches-The leading object in life
must be the same-Union of purpose not attained in after life—An
example-The result of this union of purpose-To obtain this
requisite it is necessary to study character-The grand idea-
Story of the late Premier of England.
XXV.
•
BE YOURSELF.
XXVI.
PAGE
•
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
How God made each human being-Men must not be imitators—Indi-
viduality-Selfhood - Alexander and Diogenes - Be what God
made you-Originality is honored everywhere-Dr. Brandreth-
Mason-Herring-Stuart-Bonner-Opie-The call of the hour-
Examples of success-Foolishness of depending on external ad-
vantages-The butterfly existence-The earnest soul-Persever-
ance-What biography teaches-Every man is the architect of his
own fortune-A wise instructor's advice....
369
347
YOUNG WOMEN ENTERING LIFE.
Different training of young ladies from that of young men-After her
schooling is over-The first important era-The habits of the school-
room are laid aside-How she must begin to think and act-She
359
CONTENTS.
15
finds at first little to do-Difference of a young man who finishes
his collegiate course and enters upon his profession-Her learn-
ing is like an armory in time of peace-Castle building-Woman's
love-High and holy-Her mission co-equal with man—The king
of Sparta-Females who seem to contradict the intention of God
-How little is known of sacrifices-Careful directions.........
XXVII.
PAGE
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
Youth the grand time-There seems to be often little to occupy the
time profitably-Our capacities-How hours are spent-How to
live-The effect of sorrow-Take your capital into the mart of the
world—A young lady's diary, showing how years are wasted—
A brief probation-Golden sands-The sacred trust-Fleeting
span-Words from Massillon..
42
XXVIII.
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME.
Opportunities-An example-Flowers in the sunshine-The monitress
Power of a sister at home-A sister's love-Not necessary to leave
home to be useful-How a daughter can show gratitude-A sub-
ordinate mode of doing good-The oldest daughter-The remark
of an admiring stranger-Examples.
383
XXIX.
THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.
A young lady's complaint-The bright side and the dark side-Ar-
achne and Melissa-Nothing more deserving of attention than the
art of happiness-The direction of good sense is to the bright
side-Cheerfulness is expetcted from the young-Cheerful de-
meanor is particularly expected from young ladies-How it is
gained-Objects of gratitude-Habit of discovering good qualities
-Thinking no evil....
399
415
427
16
CONTENTS.
XXX
SOCIETY.
Human family is formed for social life-Imitation-Society the great
nurse-Solomon and St. Paul-The claims of society-Society not
our circle-Benevolence and goodwill-Custom-Illustration of
what is called good society-What is the result—Individuality of•
character-Difference of opinion Mental masquerade Affa-
bility-Good sense-Good taste-Society's claims upon you and
your parse-Justice before pride-Society's claims for time-
What must not be sacrificed.
•
PAGE
XXXI.
POLITENESS.
The origin of true politeness-The first necessity-An example of im-
politeness-The criterion by which character is judged-First
impressions-Effect of good manners-Their importance-How
good manners are formed-Christian courtesy-The product of
a kind nature-Thoughtfulness and consideration for others—
The best guides-A loving disposition-Common sense.
XXXII.
DRESS.
•
Woman's vanity and love of dress-Dr. Watts-Vanity of vanities-
The desire for notice-The result of a proper education-The pas-
sion for praise-The origin of vanity-How incalculable mis-
chief has been wrought-Ladies eminent for mental acquirement
-The other extreme-Dress, a letter of recommendation-Direc-
tions-The loom of modesty-Woman's power of attraction lies not
in dress, but in herself-How children should be dressd-Plain-
ness and simplicity-The Frenchman's observation-The differ-
ence between Shakespeare and St. Paul's rule......
XXXIII.
THE COMPANY OF A GENTLMAN.
The two extremes-Reserve an embarrassment-Good looks and
good dress not a guarantee of good character-How to prevent
435
451
461
CONTENTS.
17
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unpleasant associates-What a young maiden is apt to forget-
How to act in company-Whom to shun-Sober-minded men-
The Arabian fable...
XXXIV.
MATRIMONIAL HINTS.
PAGE
The longing for friends-The momentous act-Account that Dr.
Johnson-Low motives-Position and money an example-The
right motive in entering the marriage state-The necessity of mu-
tual sacrifice-Danger of haste-Marry in haste and repent at lei-
sure-Qualities indispensable, and absolutely requisite—Considera-
tion for the wife-Personal merit-Elevated conditions-Reputable
standing-Fortune-Great riches...
XXXV.
WHOM NOT TO MARRY.
Warnings beforehand necessary-Do not marry a fop-Do not marry
a spendthrift-Story of a beautiful girl who married a man of
prodigal habits, who was brought to abject poverty, distress, and
want-Do not marry a miser-Cultivate a liberal spirit and unite
only to such-Circumstances that may be overlooked: such con-
nections are a violation of good taste-Contrary to the dictates of
nature-Habits-Bad effect of being without employment-En-
ergy-Do not marry a man of bad temper-Do not marry a skeptic
-Do not marry a man of questionable morality-Profanity—Gam-
bling-Intemperance-Do not marry any one who is not now what
you wish he was....
475
XXXVI.
THE YOUNG WIFE.
The great change produced by a few solemn words-The home of child-
hood—Her family name-Great cares and august responsibilities—
The most important era in a woman's life-The great desire of
every true woman is to know how to act with propriety-The pre-
paration of previous instruction-What both married and single
485
493
18
CONTENTS.
state demand-Some of the new duties-Duty not an appalling
word-The poet's advice-The helpmeet--Assistant-The Creator's
gift-Father Taylor's eulogium-Her first endeavor-The educa-
tor of her husband-The power of forming and reforming hu-
man character-The great future-Conduct and example-A good
wife is the greatest blessing—The constant, dearest, truest friend..503
#
XXXVII.
THE YOUNG HUSBAND.
Lack of right views, plans, and purposes in entering conjugal
life-The effect of circumstance-The trade, occupation, profes-
sion will likely determine his talents and character-No caste
here The possible ambition-The nobles and peasants of Ameri-
ca-The question and answer-Not indolence but exertion-For
what the Creator has formed men-The grand desideratum-
What can be lost and gained-Something that every young man
can do at the outset of matrimonial life-A man can be what he
desires to be-The first question after marriage-The opportun-
ity-First of all usefulness, not happiness-The predilections of
the wife not to be overlooked-Husband and wife one-Partners
in trade-Consulting the wife's advantages-Value of woman's
judgment-Something for the young husband to remember-The
monotony of household care-The temptation of busy men-The
division of the spheres-Communion of interest-Golden fruits...513
PAGE
XXXVIII.
FAMILY.
No subject of greater importance-Shown by the value of the interests
guarded by it-Dr. Dwight the theologian's saying-The affection-
ate memorials-Joyful experience-Bereaved families-Scenes in
Greenwood-More value than riches-The miseries flowing from
a violation of the family institution-Sad history of a family-
The widow's daughter-Awful consequences-Paley's wise re-
marks—The Bible and the voice of prayer in the family-Effect
of vice and skepticism-The serpent in the bosom like a friend
in the family who would pollute the fountain-The family is the
natural state of society-One of the most palpable duties of life-
Neglect A single individual but half an existence, merely-As the
Market
CONTENTS.
19
stars and flowers-Honorable exceptions-The Grecian gauntlet-
Tempting Providence-False standard--A millionaire-The reward
of labor-Family support...
XXXIX.
PAGE
FAMILY DUTIES.
A few special duties-How summed up in the Bible-Story of an Ori-
ental lady-Filial next to religious duty-Parents to be honored,
virtues brightened, and faults overlooked-The father of Archi-
bald Tillotson—He is my father-She is my mother-Mother of
Alexander-Honored by generous sacrifice-Example of Æneas—
Story of two brothers-The Chinese proverb-Washington's re-
gard for his mother's feelings-A Polish Prince-Fraternal duties
-Secular welfare of the family-The advantages of the patri-
archial institution—The injunctions to provide for one's household
-Duties of those not the head of the household-Make home an
institution of learning-Daniel Webster-The aim of each mem-
ber of this circle-A good nature-Genuine politeness-What it
does-Attraction at the fireside-Pleasures of home available to all
-If homes are happy the race cannot be miserable-An only sis-
ter-The domestic altar-Silent voices only gone before—“ Death
never separates."-The re-gathering...
XL.
OLD MAIDS.
One abused class of women-No poet to celebrate their praise—Sub-
ject of jest and unfeeling remark—Large class-Good reasons for
being old maids-The comparative leisure afforded-Great opportu-
nities for usefulness-Some women who have greatly blessed man-
kind-Hannah More-Elizabeth Carter-Elizabeth Smith-Catha-
rine Talbot-Jane Taylor-Maria Edgeworth-If Providence direct
you alone-Walk fearlessly, bravely, fear not Be not afraid of
title old maids-You can find plenty of enjoyment-Old age will not
be solitary-The single state no diminution of beauties and utilities
of female character-How much this class would be missed-The
class that is owed by nephews and nieces, friends and orphans—
Were every woman married, the effect-The class that supplies
523
531
20
CONTENTS.
PAGE
the most teachers, governesses, best assistants-The single woman.
an important element in social and private happiness-How she
can be all her life a most attractive personage-Her position in
society-How she loses her attraction--Extreme sensitiveness-
Fear of ridicule-Unmarried ladies and widows-What they have
done for others-Must have courage to do what is right-Never
let pleasure come before duty-Assist where you can-If you have
means, leisure and disposition, how much can be done-Change
in public opinion—A thousand times better than unhappy married
life-A million times, no-What to remember-Miss Muloch's
saying..
XLI.
OLD BACHELORS.
All honor to the old maid-We cannot say a great deal for the man who
refuses to marry-Some good reasons why some women do not mar-
ry-He has plenty of opportunities-He could have had a wife long
ago-What he might have to give up-Reasonable exception—
When justified-The moment his situation changes-Paul's advice
Young women in feeble health-Extreme poverty-Where the
parties are fully agreed―John Bunyan and his wife-Supposed sub-
stitutes—The Divine intention-Duty and pleasure-Nothing which
is not naturally inviting-Faults of old bachelors-Crustiness,
selfishness, penurious fidgety-Worse than a dozen old maids-The
desperate agony to keep young-The rebuke of grand old John—
Melancholy absurdity-An old bachelor's soliloquy—Another bach-
elor's declaration-How much happier had he a wife-What she
would do-The dreams of the bachelor-Good advice to the old
bachelor....
XLII.
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
Dignity in toil-All labor that tends to supply wants honestly is honor-
able—An admitted theory but repudiated practice-Many admit
in fact, but act as if indolence was a privilege-Restriction on dig-
nity to certain kind of labor-Toils obscure-Indolence oft is re-
garded as more respectable than some forms of industry-What
the fashionable world has forbidden-Real reasoning-Brilliant in-
541
553
CONTENTS.
21
justice- No depreciation of wealth-Labor the law of the universe
-The creator's law, necessity of life-What man must do-Nothing
is provided ready-First construct, plant, sow-Independent wealth
-Value of land dependent on labor-Gold and paper represent labor
-The entire dependence on toil-The foundation on which human
society rests-Consider the achievements of labor-Nothing too
great-Laughs at difficulties-Labor a mighty magician-Men of
toil-Love of liberty-The man who refuses to labor-True dig-
nity-All laborers noble and holy.....
PAGE
XLIII.
SUCCESS.
Floating on the current-The bulk of mankind-Different objects-
Getting on in the world-What some people think success is-The
predicament-Carlyle's saying—Hitching on to somebody or some-
thing-Who have the best chance in life--Worldly success the
only successful thing-What intrinsic superiority may not do—
Meanness of soul-The best guaranty for success-Galileo in the
dungeon-The higher life-The true and noble heroes-The upper
powers—The plaudits of the great world-How success is gener-
ally understood-What Longfellow says-The talent of success-
What some deny-Competition-The race of life-The objects we
pursue-How to estimate their value-The means not the ends
constitute happiness-The mistake of mediocre men-The object
desired, the pleasure and the torment of life-Success necessary to
happiness-Degrees of success-Great men analyze the causes of
excellence-Shelley-Mirabeau-Newton-The child of destiny—
The small actual, the great possible-Youth is a burning firebrand
or a stupefied emptiness-What every man feels-Unconsciousness
of capacity--What the wise, active and energetic may expect-
Mind a thing of progress-Success is making the possible actual
—Different kinds of success-The pearl of great price--A clear
conscience and a well-regulated mind.
1
XLIV.
THE EVENTIDE OF LIFE.
One remaining fact-The Spring and Summer past-Autumn advanced
-Privileges of age--Deprivation-Charms-Usefulness-The
561
577
22
CONTENTS.
temptations of age-The crown of glory-The bright and pleasing
side of old age-Cheerful hours-Reflection-The blessings and
promises of the gospel-Exhortation and example-The frequent
question--Which is the happiest season in life-The wise answer
of experience-The harvest is soon gathered-The cold bleak
winds-The beckoning of the stars-The night draws nigh—The
disposition of the aged-Evening thoughts-Exercises of devotion
-Spiritual conversation-The fruit of old age-Hidden life..... 609
A
XLV. CLOSING SCENES.
What to remember on entering life-At best, what life is-Not easy
to contemplate the end--The awful meaning-An irreparable sor-
-The law of moral connection and retribution-The bearing
on the future-Preparation-The inevitable rupture-What can-
not be forgotten-The touch of sadness-The wide gap-Death
through Christ, or Adam-Each man's work--Treasures of home-
life-One Home everywhere-The awful pallor steal-The assur-
ance-The dread of disembodiment-Hopes and fears--No disem-
bodied human spirit--Clothed upon-The victor of death-Before
the throne of God-Immortal fellowship-Who have no fear of
death-The triumphal song..
617
PAGB
Moment
fo
•

1
HOME.
:



Home based upon Christian marriage, is so evident an institution
of God, that a man must become profane before he can deny it.
Whenever it is pure and true to the Christian idea, there lives an
institution conservative of all the nobler instincts of society.
-N. Y. EVENING POST.

I.
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
"Home is the sacred refuge of our Life."
Dryden.
H
COME, home, sweet home." How like a peal
of sweetest music that one word falls upon
our ears! Home, the sacred place where our
infant eyes first opened to the light of this
weary, tear-stained world. Home, the spot
where first we felt the strong heart-beatings
of parental love. Home, the blessed refuge of our ear-
ly years, where life appeared the sweetest, where the
sun shone the clearest, where flowers were the fairest,
and where love, joy and peace were commingled in the
most perfect harmony that earth combines, and where
life was purest, where hopes were brightest, and earth
seemed nearest heaven.

The home of childhood,-what hallowed associations
cluster around it! How sacred to the memory and
dear to the heart that has felt its power! The place
is consecrated by parental and filial affection, and by
innocent sports and joys, which can never be repeated
in the after experience of life. The very name ex-
cites emotions which no language can describe.
25
26
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
If you desired to gather up all tender memories,
all lights and shadows of the heart, all banquetings
and reunions, all filial, fraternal, paternal, conjugal
affections, and had only just four letters with which
to spell out that height and depth and length and
breadth and magnitude and eternity of meaning, you
would write it all out with these four capital letters:
H-O-M-E.
Here is a world where no storms intrude-a haven
of safety against the tempests of life-a little world
of joy and love, of innocence and tranquillity. Sus-
picions are not there, nor jealousies, nor falsehood
with her double tongue; nor the venom of slander.
Peace embraceth it with outspread wings- plenty
broodeth there. When a man entereth it, he forget-
teth his sorrows, and cares and disappointments; he
openeth his heart to confidence, and to pleasures not
mingled with remorse.
Let what will be said of the pleasures of society,
there is after all "no place like Home."
no place like Home." How beau-
tiful are the relationships of Home! how exquisitely
touching to the feelings! All are linked to each other
by the most intimate and endearing ties; husband to
wife-wife to husband; parents to children-children
to parents; brothers and sisters to sisters and broth-
ers: a power like that of electricity seems to run
through the family group, so that one cannot enjoy
pleasure without the others participating therein, one
can not mourn, nor one be honored but all must share
the joy.
HOME, IT'S IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
27
There is no word in the English language so full of
thrilling and intense meaning as the word "home."
It is entwined around the tenderest chords of the
heart, and sweetest remembrances of life. We carry
through life the pictures of its quiet scenes, hung
around the chambers of the memory. We remem-
ber the bright faces that first greeted us; the win-
dows through which we first looked out upon the
world; the scenery that painted its bright colors upon
our vision; the trees, flowers, and the green fields
where we sported in our childhood. These images
not only follow us, but often soothe the mind when
agitated by life's cares and perplexities. They re-
lieve the dark shadow that the clouds of adversity
throw over our pathway.
1
Is it true that the character of one's birthplace, the
scenery around it, as well as the influences within,
have an effect upon the disposition and the happiness
of after life? If moral impressions are abiding and
salutary, the impressions made by a beautiful and
variegated landscape may be permanent, and may aid
in moulding the taste and feelings. How often, when
one looks upon a beautiful sunset, is he reminded of
the golden hues and delicate tints with which the sun-
sets of his childhood were painted! When we meet
with flowers, far from home, that were favorites with
us in a father's garden, they seem to recognize us,
and smile upon us. They tell us that the same kind
Being who made the flowers of our early years made
them; and that the same cmniscient eye that watched
28
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
over our infancy will watch over us to the end of life's
pilgrimage.
Home is one of the blessings that has escaped the
ruins of the fall. It is the oasis in the moral desert
that surrounds us. It is the morning star of the
dawning of our existence, and the evening star of our
declining years. It is the rainbow upon the storm-
cloud, that tells us of a quiet retreat from tempests of
misfortune and calamity. Its pleasures remain when
all other sources of worldly happiness are dried up.
Its love and sympathy continue, when all beside is
neglect or cold indifference.
How important beyond estimation is the home in
its relations to society and individuals. The home
relation is not only a source of pleasure and benefit to
the members of the household, but it is a force or
agency in society of immense power. It gives char-
acter to the public morals, and to the social institu-
tions of a nation. In a thousand ways it acts upon
the public taste, intelligence and virtue. In heathen
communities, where there are virtually no families, and
so no true home, where conjugal fidelity and paternal
affections are scarcely known, society is in a state of bar-
barism. There are no social organizations for mutual
protection and benefit, such as exist in civilized com-
munities. No general principles of humanity, justice
and integrity, are recognized. Property is insecure.
Human life is unprotected. Systems of education and
pure religion are unknown.
Christian missionaries can effect little towards en-
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
29
lightening and elevating such a people, until they have
established the family relation. They see clearly that
domestic virtue must precede and create public virtue,
-that mutual confidence, integrity and faithfulness,
must exist in the family, before they will appear as
elements in the national character. Hence, they aim
at restoring the dominion of the natural affections, and
abolishing those customs that lead to the destruction
of infants, the burning of widows, and the desertion
of aged parents. They impress parents with a sol-
emn sense of the duties they owe to their children ;
and one of the first lessons taught to children is obedi-
ence to the reasonable commands of their parents.
C
In more favored communities, where there is a de-
gree
of culture and refinement, the state of the family
stamps the national character. Napoleon never utter-
ed a more important truth than when he said, "What
France most needs is mothers;" the benign influence
of virtuous, Christian homes; and at this hour this is
the great want of the nations of Europe. They are
without a pure faith, without liberty, without many
of the advantages and blessings of life, because there
are no mothers to guide aright the rising generation.
France was under an iron despotism because her sons.
had none to instill into their minds the principles of true
freedom, and to teach them how to maintain their
rights. It is a significant fact that in the French
language there is no word corresponding to our word
"home." The name, even, does not exist. Russia
and Austria hold their power by brute force, because
30
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
1
brute passions control the masses of the people. Let
those people possess the strength, and moral and in-
tellectual force, that flow from enlightened Christian
families, and they would tear asunder their chains, as
so many gossamer threads. They would sweep ty-
rants from their thrones, and establish and maintain a
free government.
In New England the family lies at the basis of all
that is valuable in our public institutions. Home
government maintains the national government, and
the reverence for law which characterizes the commun-
ity. Home religion is the source of the church re-
ligion that prevails in New England. Parents and
children come up from the family altar to the sanctu-
ary of God.
The religious instruction of the nurs-
ery inclines our feet towards the temple of worship.
Abolish family religion, and these churches would
soon be vacant. Religion would degenerate into mere
outward forms. The Sabbath, with its rich privi-
leges and precious hopes, would pass away.
Our charitable and benevolent societies, too, depend
upon the family relation. They are the embodiment
of the kind feelings that are cherished in Christian
homes. They are fed from the ten thousand family
rivulets of affection and love. Those great enter-
prises that provide houses for the poor, asylums for
the unfortunate, hospitals for the sick,—that are se-
curing the printing of the Bible in various languages,
that send missionaries of the gospel to the destitute
portions of our land, and embrace within their far-
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
31
reaching charity the interests of distant islands and
continents, all rest upon Christian homes.
But it is the influence of the family upon its individ-
ual members which specially concerns us at the present
time. Home is the garden of the affections. The strong-
est attachments and warmest endearments of life are
found here. A kind father feels that his family are a
part of himself. He loves to provide for the wants of
his dependent offspring. He enters into their sorrows,
participates in their joys, makes their welfare identical
with his own. Sacrifice after sacrifice he is willing to
make for their benefit. It was indeed a wise remark
made by the late venerable Judge Daggett, in one of
his lectures upon law, before the students of Yale Col-
lege. He said that in the long course of his legal pro-
fession he had met with several sons who had, in
circumstances of difficulty, abandoned their fathers;
but he never met with a father who would not cheer-
fully part with his last shilling to save a son.
Home, too, is the sanctuary of a mother's love.
What ties that unite human hearts are so imperishable
as those that bind her to her children? How constant
her care, how deep her anxiety, how unwearied her
toil! With what interest does she watch the opening
faculties and dawning intelligence of her child. His
education, moral culture, and prospects for life, absorb
her thoughts. Is he sick,—her sleepless nights, unre-
mitting attentions, and personal sacrifices for his bene-
fit, bear testimony to her faithfulness and affection;
and when that son leaves his home, to seek business or
32
HOME, IT'S IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
prosecute his studies, her warm benedictions follow
him, her earnest prayers ascend to God that He would
watch over him, and keep him from surrounding temp-
tations and perils. Should he become unfortunate,
and clouds of sorrow gather about his pathway, and
those who had been friends in prosperity desert him,
there is the warm sanctuary of a mother's heart, to
which he can return. There is one voice that will cor-
dially welcome him; one countenance that will smile
upon him; one being who will calm his agitated spirit,
and soothe his aching heart.
If, too, a son shall break away from the restraints of
home, and plunge into vice, still will the yearnings of
a mother's heart follow him. Her happiness may give
way, but not her love. The prodigal is still her son,
a son around whose infancy she watched so tenderly,
and on whose career she has invested so many hopes.
He may forget her, may disregard her warning voice
and be unmoved by her tears and anguish; but she
cannot forget him. His name is engraved upon her
heart. His childhood is entwined around her fondest
recollections. She cannot think of her boy, about
whom so many bright visions of honor and usefulness
had floated in her imagination, as blighted by vice, as
mingling with hardened profligates and profane scoff-
The cup is too bitter. The anguish is too keen.
Would that son but return to the paths of virtue!
Would he but break away from the fascinations that
have enticed and deluded him; from the spell that
binds him; from the delirium that hurries him on in
ers.
C
A
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
33
his perilous career! As the thought flashes into her
heart that his immortal soul is in danger, the
agony is
too intense. She may think, O, that he had died when
the bloom of childhood was upon him; when at his
mother's side he offered to God his infant prayer;
when he spoke of Jesus, and asked about heaven, and
the angels, and his Father above! Sorrowful as would
have been that hour, melancholy as would have been
the sight of the little coffin, the shroud, the cold form,
silent, motionless, about to leave its home to return no
more, it would have been far more supportable, com-
pared with this.
And, should that son reform,—should he pause in
his career; should some thought of childhood scenes,
or a mother's prayers, guide him back to virtue, the
first and warmest welcome would gush from a mother's
heart. She would not only forgive, but forget the
past. She would strengthen, by every means in her
power, she would strengthen his good resolutions, and
with her dying breath commend him to that Father
who could keep him from falling, and enable him to
obtain the victory.
We may go still further, and follow a son through
a career of crime. He may violate the laws of his
country; he may become a murderer and be incarcerat-
ed in a gloomy dungeon; disgrace, infamy, and a fel-
on's death, may be his portion; yet there is one who
will not desert him,-one who will weep over him,—-
will, in her agony, plead with God to have mercy upon
him. Though the officers and spectators around may
34
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
regard him with indifference or aversion, her heart is
ready to burst with affection, solicitude and anguish.
Any sacrifices on her part would be cheerfully made,
could she but avert the terrible doom that hangs over
him; but, his fate being unalterable, as he dies her
hopes die. The spring of life breaks, dark shadows
fall around her, and her soul enters upon a night to
which there is no morn, a night without one star of
hope.
Home is also a school for the culture of the strongest
religious feelings and principles. The impressions
made by a parent's religious teaching, prayers and ex-
ample, are the deepest and most abiding that the mind
receives. No one can wander so far from a Christian
home as to be beyond the reach of its religious associ-
ations and influences. He
He may take up his residence
in a distant city, where new scenes and duties engage
his attention. It is possible that he may plunge into
the gayeties, and even dissipation, around him, but in
the midst of his revelry whispering voices will tell him
of his home,—of a pious father's anxiety, of a mother's
solicitude concerning him. As he hears the profane
oaths of his guilty companions, he cannot but think of
the many devout prayers that he has heard offered up
to the holy Being who is thus insulted. As he listens
to the licentious song, there will come up from the
depths of his memory the hymns which his mother
taught him when a child. As he takes the intoxicat-
ing cup, to drink the fiery fluid, the loving hand of his
mother, as though grasping his, will hold it back, and
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
35
A
the tones of her warning voice will thrill through his
soul. At every step in his downward career he must
sever some tie, or do violence to some tender associa-
tion, that binds him to his Christian home. Wherever
he may be, in whatever society or condition, these in-
fluences will follow him, as so many angel-messengers
thronging his pathway, and pointing back to his home.
He may drive them from him; but, faithful to their
mission, they will return again. In his hours of re-
tirement and meditation, in the quiet of night, they
will visit him, and urge the claims of virtue and the
duties of religion.
If a son of pious parents is out upon the broad ocean,
he will carry with him the remembrances of his Chris-
tian home. The Bible in his chest, placed there by a
mother's hand, will remind him of her tender care and
pious counsels. As the Sabbath returns, he will think
of the church in which he worshipped, the pew in
which he sat, the Sabbath-school with its hallowed
associations; the very tones of the church-bell, seem to
vibrate upon his ear. The voice of his pastor will be
heard, discoursing of the love of Jesus and the hazards
of eternity. In hours, too, of danger, when the fierce
winds howl around his ship, and the angry waves
threaten to sweep all before them, the sailor-boy will
think of his home, and of the warm interest that is felt
there in his welfare. I remember reading somewhere
an account of a terrible storm at sea, which came on
so suddenly, and with such violence, as to spread the
greatest consternation among the crew of a ship that
36
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
was exposed to its fury. The maddened winds, the
foaming surges, the heavy crashes of thunder, the
bending masts, the wild, melancholy music of the
shrouds and strained ropes, all seemed so many pre-
cursors of the approach of death. At the moment that
the tempest was at its height, a sailor-boy hastened to
the captain, and assured him that they would be saved.
"What reason have you for thinking so?" asked the
captain. "Sir," said he, "this is the hour for evening.
prayer at home; and I know that father is praying for
me. Nor was he disappointed. The storm abated.
The dark clouds broke away, and the bright stars shone
down upon them; and it was found subsequently, that
at that hour the family were engaged in evening prayer,
and that the absent son was fervently commended to
Him who controls the waves, and can hush the fury of
the storm.
""
At this hour how many youth there are in our cit-
ies, upon the broad ocean, and in foreign countries,
who are daily feeling the influences that flow from
early culture, none can tell. There come tender memo-
ries from the family altar around which they kneeled
in their morning and evening devotions; from the
church in which they worshipped; from the Sabbath-
school where their powers were developed amid sacred
influences and the voice of prayer and praise. These
chords of interest and love that bind them to the past
are so many telegraphic wires, along which they are
constantly receiving messages to remember the instruc-
tions of home, to avoid the paths of temptation and
&
•
37
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
*
vice, to obey God, love the Saviour, live to eternity!
How true are the poet's lines :
"That hallowed word is ne'er forgot,
No matter where we roam;
The purest feelings of the heart
Still cluster round the home."
There is music in the word home that is found no-
where else. To the old it brings a bewitching strain
from the harp of memory; to the young it is a re-
minder of all that is near and dear to them. Among
the many songs we are wont to listen to, there is not
one more cherished than the touching melody of
"Home, Sweet Home." Here is an illustration:
Go back with me a few years, and traverse in im-
agination the gay streets and gilded saloons of Paris,
that once bright center of the world's follies and pleas-
ures? Passing through its splendid thoroughfares is
one (an Englishman) who has left his home and na-
tive land to view the splendors and enjoy the pleas-
ures of a foreign country. He has beheld with de-
light its paintings, its sculptures, and the grand yet
graceful proportions of its buildings, and has yielded
to the spell of the sweetest muse. Yet, in the midst
of his keenest happiness, when he was rejoicing most
over the privileges he possessed, temptations assailed
him. Sin was presented to him in one of its most be-
witching garbs. He drank wildly and deeply of the
intoxicating cup, and his draught brought madness.
Reason was overwhelmed, and he rushed out, all his
scruples overcome, careless of what he did or how
38
HOME, IT'S IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
•
deeply he became immersed into the hitherto unknown
sea of guilt.
The cool night air lifted the damp locks from his
heated brow, and swept with soothing touch over his
flushed cheeks. Walking on, calmer, but no less de-
termined, strains of music from a distance met his ear.
Following in the direction the sound indicated, he at
length distinguished the words and air. The song
was well remembered. It was "Home, Sweet Home.”
Clear and sweet the voice of some English singer rose
and fell on the air, in the soft cadences of that beloved
melody.
Motionless, the wanderer listened till the last note
floated away and he could hear nothing.but the cease-
less murmur of a great city. Then he turned slowly,
with no feeling that his manhood was shamed by the
tear which fell as a bright evidence of the power of
song.
The demon that dwells in the wine had fled; and
reason once more asserted her right to control. As
the soft strains of "Sweet Home" had floated to his
ear, memory brought up before him his own "sweet
home." He saw his gentle mother, and heard her
speak, while honest pride beamed from her eye, of her
son, in whose nobleness and honor she could always
trust; and his heart smote him as he thought how
little he deserved such confidence. He remembered
her last words of love and counsel, and the tearful
farewell of all those dear ones who gladdened that far-
away home with their presence. Well he knew their
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
39
pride in his integrity, and the tide of remorse swept
over his spirit as he felt what their sorrow would be
could they have seen him an hour before. Subdued
and repentant, he retraced his steps, and with this
vow never to taste of the terrible draught that could
so excite him to madness was mingled a deep sense of
thankfulness for his escape from further degradation.
The influence of home had protected him, though the
sea rolled between.
None can tell how often the commission of crime is
prevented by such memories. If, then, the spell of
home is so powerful, how important it is to make it
pleasant and lovable! Many a time a cheerful home
and smiling face does more to make good men and
women, than all the learning and eloquence that can
be used. It has been said that the sweetest words
in our language are "Mother, Home and Heaven;"
and one might almost say the word home included
them all; for who can think of home without remem-
bering the gentle mother who sanctified it by her
presence? And is not home the dearest name for
heaven? We think of that better land as a home
where brightness will never end in night. Oh, then,
may our homes on earth be the centers of all our joys;
may they be as green spots in the desert, to which
we can retire when weary of the cares and perplexi-
ties of life, and drink the clear waters of a love which
we know to be sincere and always unfailing.
"
The song of the Moravian poet is so sweet, because
it is so true, as he sings from his soul:
40
HOME, ITS IMPORTANCE AND BLESSINGS.
There is a land of every land the pride,
Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,
Time-tortured age, and love exalted youth.
拯
​The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air;
In every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole;
For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest.
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside.
His sword and scepter, pageantry and pride,
While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life!
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man?—a patriot ?-look around;
Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam.
That land thy country, and that spot thy home.
II.
HOME INFLUENCE.
W
HO can measure the influence exerted at
home? Compared with this the school,
the college, the government, and general
society, sink into insignificance, as means of
spiritual life and growth. Indeed, they are of
little use, except as they help to qualify men and
women to make for themselves happy homes. They
work evil, and only evil, when they serve but to en-
tomb the natural and holy longing of the heart for
such a home in the gloomy sepulchers of Ambition,
Avarice, or Sensuality. In commercial, social, politi-
cal or religious life, conscience becomes seared, reason
obtuse, affection chilled, and the soul altogether be-
wildered by unnatural excitement in pursuit of that
which, if obtained, can give no rest. Only in a
true home can the soul attain its full development
in all directions. Here, alone, can reason be made
clear and vigorous, the conscience become a universe
of light to guide the soul onward and upward, and
affection be trained to delicacy, tenderness and fidel-
ity. The pure in heart, who alone are so blessed as
to see God, must be created and developed, not in the

41
42
HOME INFLUENCE.
market, nor the school, nor the church, nor in the
halls of legislation, but in the true home of freedom.
and of rest, where all the elements and functions of
soul and body can be called into healthful activity.
But what and where is that true home, the home
where children may be born in physical, intellectual
and spiritual health and beauty, and developed into
noble men and women, prepared by birth and edu-
cation to enter into all natural relations, and to assume
the responsibilities, and wisely to discharge the duties.
growing out of such relations? Society must see and
actually enjoy a nobler type of home, before it can
hope to be blessed by the presence of nobler types
of men and women. An ideal earthly home is ever
present to the heart. Each man and woman has that
ideal cherished deep in the soul, as the consummation
of their present existence. How sad, that through
bewildering ignorance, or impetuous passion, they
should, by unnatural social, political and religious
surroundings, render the actualization of their beau-
tiful ideal impossible!
V
In all attempts to present an improved type of
home, that home must first exist in the ideal, be ex-
amined and discussed in the ideal, before it can be
made an actuality. The past is made illustrious by
the names of those who have presented to the world
model means to promote the refinement and elevation
of man. Better had it been for the human family,
had a larger portion of the talent, money and enter-
prise, which have been expended to furnish and ad-
HOME INFLUENCE.
43
minister model schools, places of amusement and govern-
ments, been bestowed in giving to men and women
the ideal of a true home on earth, and in helping them
to actualize it. Those who help their fellow-beings to
a nobler ideal of home, and show them how they can
make it a living reality, are greater benefactors, and
deserving of greater honor, than the founders of liter-
ary, educational or governmental institutions.
For whatever may be the efficiency of schools, the
examples set in our homes must always be of vastly
greater influence in forming the characters of our fu-
ture men and women. The home is the crystal of
society-the nucleus of national character; and from
that source, be it pure or tainted, issue the habits,
principles, and maxims which govern public as well as
private life. The nation comes from the nursery.
Public opinion itself is for the most part the out-
growth of the home; and the best philanthropy
comes from the fireside. "To love the little platoon
we belong to in society," says Burke, "is the germ
of all public affections." From this little central
spot, the human sympathies may extend in an ever-
widening circle, until the world is embraced; for,
though true philanthropy, like charity, begins at
home, assuredly it does not end there.
It is here, within these sacred precincts, that the first
fruits of everything which is good and pure are brought
forth. The nations that disregard the sacredness of
this relation have no permanent forms of government,
and anything like common morality is nowhere to be
22
X
44
HOME INFLUENCE.
found among them. And it is also worthy of careful
note that just so far as any people depart from the
true form of the family tie, just in that same ratio do
they give evidence of it in their civility and morality.
It is therefore within the family circle that the star of
hope, of religion and civil rights is to be seen, and let
it go
down and all would be turned into the dismal dark-
ness of midnight without moon or star to guide the
weary pilgrim on his way. This spot is to be guarded
as the tree of life, with the flaming sword turning
either way, perpetually guarantying thus the most
sacred bond of union and strength and the only remain-
ing institution of man's primeval state.
The family circle may be-and surely ought to be
-the most charming and delightful place on earth,
the center of the purest affections and most desirable
associations as well as the most attractive and exalted
beauties to be found this side of paradise. Nothing
can exceed in beauty and sublimity the quietude, peace,
harmony, affection, and happiness of a well-ordered
family, where virtue is nurtured and every good prin-
ciple fostered and sustained. From the well-ordered
homes in this great, broad land of religious and civil
liberty not only are great and good statesmen to come,
and eminently pious and intelligent divines; but what
is equally important, from these homes must come the
more common populace of the land, upon whose intel-
ligence, patriotism, and purity depends the continuance
of the rich blessings which are now common to all. If
freedom is kept and sanctified by the people; if the
HOME INFLUENCE.
45
true spirit of Christianity is to be continued, in all its
sacred purity, on to our children's children, even to
the latest generations of men, they must be kept invio-
late in our families and impressed in our homes. They
are both dependent upon the family circle and the
training and order administered therein. Then they
who would attack the home, with all its hallowed and
binding influences, would overthrow everything that
is worth living for, and turn society into a bedlam of
confusion and moral degradation; for it is the chain
that binds the entire network of human society to-
gether, in all of its highest prospects, both for time and
eternity. There is no civilization equal to it; in fact,
there is none without it to the Christian, and there is
no Christian civilization without the sanctity of the
marriage relation; it is an exclusive trait of Christianity;
and Christianity is the only system in the world calcu-
lated to advance the interests of common humanity,
and insure to all equal rights, earthly bliss, and a sweet
home forever beyond the narrow limits of the quiet.
tomb.
What was said concerning Abraham may be said of
every true Christian father: "For I know him, that
he will command his children and his household after
him; and they shall keep the way of the Lord, to do
justice and judgment, that the Lord may bring upon
Abraham that which he hath spoken of him." Happy
is that nation whose children are brought up in families.
like this. There purity, virtue, and true manhood in
every principle of justice and mercy will be perma-
46
HOME INFLUENCE.
nently secured. What an important place, therefore,
does the family occupy in the social, moral, and polit-
ical worlds! Take this away, and the bond of sacred
union is forever dissolved, and the most distressing and
deplorable results must follow. Break asunder these
centers of holy affections of truth, honor, and purity,
and you will fill the land with every enormity, and de-
solation, the most far-reaching and dreadful, will fill
its entire breadth. It is highly important and neces-
sary not only to continue the validity of the marriage
rite, upon which the true idea of the family is based,
but great care should be exercised to make these homes
all that they can and should be made,—the most de-
lightful and enticing places on earth, where everything
that is good is encouraged, and everything evil pointed
out and discountenanced; for as children leave the par-
ental home they are, to a large extent, molded for life.
Order and correct morals should here receive the
pro-
per stamp upon the opening mind. Yes, everything
we wish our children to be, in time and eternity, should
here be taught and enforced. Then "all thy children
shall be taught of the Lord, and great shall be the
peace of thy children."
-
Observation plainly teaches that in a defective
home education lays the groundwork of much of the
evil that afflicts society. If the thoughts of parents
were more centered in their homes, and as earnestly
exercised in the division of ways and means for rightly
educating the moral and intellectual natures of their
children as in procuring food and raiment for the per-
HOME INFLUENCE.
47
ishing body, they would render a service to society
far greater than if they had built a city or founded a
nation. If mothers wisely developed the higher and
better sentiments of their sons, and cultivated in them,
as far as that were possible, gentleness and forbear-
ance towards others, there would be fewer unhappy
wives in the coming generation. Ah, how many for-
get woman's true mission! How many forget that
her hands are small and soft, and all unfitted to grap-
ple with the hard, iron man, yet full of a most won-
derful skill to mould the pliant material of childhood!
The world will never be made better through woman's
influence, as a lecturer, debater, or propagandist.
She has failed in her work, and will ever fail, in
seeking to sway opinion, and create a new public
sentiment through appeals to the matured understand-
ing. She may cause an ebullition in the elements
around her, and draw after her a few weak or self-
ishly interested followers; but so far she may go,
and no farther. As a pebble cast into the sea, she
will awaken on the surface a few light, circling waves;
but the waters will soon run smooth again, and leave
no sign that she has been.
How different the result when limiting her efforts
to the powers conferred and the materials given her
to work with! In the home circle she is all potent.
Her plastic hand is stretched forth, and, lo, forms of
beauty grow under it, instinct with celestial life.
Surrounded with young immortals, she is called to
the honorable and holy office of educating them for
48
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HOME }
a life of eternal usefulness. Alas, that so many are
insensible to the high mission in which they are called;
that so many let the fair garden given them, to lie
clothed with weeds, and every good plant to struggle
in a feeble or gnarled growth!
The influence of home is felt as soon as the infant
begins to discriminate between the objects around; it
soon discovers one countenance that ever smiles upon
it with peculiar benignity. When it wakes from its
sleep, there is one watchful form ever bent over its
cradle. If startled by some unhappy dream, a guar-
dian angel seems ever ready to soothe its fears. If
cold, that ministering spirit brings it warmth; if
hungry, she feeds it; if in pain, she relieves it; if
happy, she caresses it. In joy or sorrow, in weal
or woe, she is the first object of its thoughts. Her
presence is its heaven.
The mother is the DEITY
OF INFANCY!
Thus, in the budding spring of life, infancy is the
special charge, and subject to the special influence,
of the mother. But it soon advances to childhood.
Hitherto, it has been a creature of feeling; it now
becomes a being of thought. The intellectual eye
opens upon the world. It looks abroad, and imag-
ination spreads its fairy wing. Every thing is beauti-
ful, every thing is wonderful. Curiosity is perpetu-
ally alive, and questions come thick and fast to the
lisping lips. What is this? Who made it? How?
When? Wherefore ? These are the eager interro-
gations of childhood. At this period, the child usu-
HOME INFLUENCE.
49
ally becomes fond of the society of his father. He
can answer his questions. He can unfold the myster-
ies which excite the wonder of the childish intellect.
He can tell him tales of what he has seen, and lead the
child forth in the path of knowledge. The great
characteristic of this period of life, is an eager desire
to obtain new ideas. New ideas to a child are bright
as gold to the miser or gems to a fair lady. The
mind of childhood is constantly beset with hunger
and thirst for knowledge. It appeals to the father,
for he can gratify these burning desires.
How naturally does such a relation beget in the
child both affection and reverence! He sees love in
the eyes of the father, he hears it in the tones of his
voice; and the echo of the young heart gives back love
for love. He discovers, too, that his father has knowl-
edge, which to him is wonderful. He can tell why
the candle goes out, and though he may not be able
to satisfy the child where the beautiful flame is gone,
he can at least explain why it has vanished, and how
it
may
be recalled. He can tell why the fire burns,
why the stream flows, why the trees bow in the breeze.
He can tell where the rain comes from, and unfold the
mysteries of the clouds. He can explain the forked
lightning and the rolling thunder. He can unravel
the mighty mystery of the sun, the moon, and the stars.
He can point beyond to that Omnipotent Being who
in goodness and wisdom has made them all.
What a sentiment, compounded of love and reverence
towards the father, is thus engendered in the bosom of
M
50
HOME INFLUENCE.
the child! What a power to instruct, to cultivate, to
mould that gentle being is thus put into the hand of
this parent! How powerful is admonition from his
lips, how authoritative his example! The father is the
DEITY OF CHILDHOOD. The feeling of the child towards
the father is the beginning of that sentiment, which
expands with the expanding intellect, and, rising to
heaven on the wing of faith, bows in love and rever-
ence before the Great Parent of the universe.
Let us go forward to the period of youth. The
mother holds the reins of the soul; the father sways
the dominion of the intellect. I do not affirm that
there is an exact or complete division of empire be-
tween the parents. Both exert a powerful influence
over the mind and heart. I mean only to state gener-
ally that the natural power of the mother is exercised
rather over the affections, and that of the father over
the mind. It is a blended sway, and if exerted in
unison it has the force of destiny. There may be cases
in which children may seem to set parental authority
at defiance; but these instances, if they actually occur,
are rare, and may be regarded as exceptions, which are
said to prove the rule. Remember the impressible
character of youth, and consider its relation to the par-
ent. Is not the one like the fused metal, and has not
the other the power to impress upon it an image inef-
faceable as the die upon steel? Nay, is it not matter
of fact, attested by familiar observation, that children
come forth from the hands of their parents stamped
with a character that seldom deserts them in after life?
HOME INFLUENCE.
51
Are they not impressed with manners, tastes, habits
and opinions, which circumstances may modify, but
never efface? If the countenance of the child often
bears the semblance of the father or mother, do we not
more frequently discover in the offspring the moral im-
press of the parent?
Is it not true, then, that parents are the lawgivers
of their children? Does not a mother's counsel, does
not a father's example, cling to the memory, and haunt
us through life? Do we not often find ourselves sub-
ject to habitual trains of thought, and if we seek to
discover the origin of these, are we not insensibly led
back, by some beaten and familar track, to the paternal
threshold? Do we not often discover some home-
chiseled grooves in our minds, into which the intellec-
tual machinery seems to slide as by a sort of necessity?
Is it not, in short, a proverbial truth that the controlling
lessons of life are given beneath the parental roof? I
know, indeed, that wayward passions spring up in early
life, and, urging us to set authority at defiance, seek
to obtain the mastery of the heart. But, though strug-
gling for liberty and license, the child is shaped and
moulded by the parent. The stream that bursts from
the fountain, and seems to rush forward headlong and
self-willed, still turns hither and thither, according to
the shape of its mother earth over which it flows.
If an obstacle is thrown across its path, it gathers
strength, breaks away the barrier, and again bounds
forward. It turns, and winds, and proceeds on its
course, till it reaches its destiny in the sea. But in all
52
HOME INFLUENCE.
this, it has shaped its course and followed out its career,
from babbling infancy at the fountain to its termination
in the great reservoir of waters, according to the chan-
nel which its parent earth has provided. Such is the
influence of a parent over his child. It has within
itself a will, and at its bidding it goes forward; but
the parent marks out its track. He may not stop its
progress, but he may guide its course. He may not
throw a dam across its path, and say to it, hitherto
mayest thou
go, and no farther; but he may turn it
through safe, and gentle, and useful courses, or he may
leave it to plunge over wild cataracts, or lose itself in
some sandy desert, or collect its strength into a torrent,
but to spread ruin and desolation along its borders.
Such, then, is the home a seminary of infinite import-
ance. It is important because it is universal, and be-
cause the education it bestows, being woven in with
the woof of childhood, gives form and color to
the whole texture of life. There are few who can
receive the honors of a college, but all are graduates
of the hearth. The learning of the university may
fade from the recollection; its classic lore may
moulder in the halls of memory. But the simple les-
sons of home, enameled upon the heart of childhood,
defy the rust of years, and outlive the more mature
but less vivid pictures of after days. So deep, so last-
ing, indeed, are the impressions of early life, that you
often see a man in the imbecility of age, holding
fresh in his recollection the events of childhood, while
all the wide space between that and the present hour
1
•1
HOME INFLUENCE.
53
is a blasted and forgotten waste. You have per-
chance seen an old and half-obliterated portrait, and
in the attempt to have it cleaned and restored, you
may have seen it fade away, while a brighter and
more perfect picture, painted beneath, is revealed to
view. This portrait, first drawn upon the canvass,
is
no inapt illustration of youth; and though it may be
concealed by some after design, still the original traits
will shine through the outward picture, giving it tone
while fresh, and surviving it in decay.
man.
Such is the influence of home, the greatest insti-
tution furnished by providence for the education of
Having ordained that man should receive
his character from education, it was also ordained
that early instruction should exert a decisive in-
fluence on character, and that during this im-
portant period of existence, children should be sub-
ject to the charge of their parents. The sagacity
and benevolence displayed in this design affords a
striking manifestation of that wisdom and goodness
which we behold in all the works of God. It
ap-
pears that, in every stage of society, paternal educa-
tion adjusts itself to the wants of children. In the
savage state, where there is no division of property,
no complicated system of laws and relations, no reli-
gion, save the naked idea of a God who rewards the
good and punishes the wicked, education has a narrow
scope; but such as is needed is supplied. As society
advances into civilization, duties multiply and respon-
sibilities increase; there is then a demand for higher
54
HOME INFLUENCE.
moral and intellectual culture. Providence has fore-
seen and provided for this necessity.
;
In a state of society like ours, it involves a fearful
responsibility, but we cannot shrink from the fact
parents usually decide the character of their off-
spring. It is so ordained of heaven; children will
obey the lessons given them at the fireside. As the
stone hurled from the sling takes its direction and
finds its resting-place at the bidding of the arm that
wields it, so the child goes forward, and finds its
grave
in peace or sorrow, according to the impulse given
at home.
We have seen the influence of the home on society,
but now look at its influence on man himself. It is
well known that every man is happier when he has a
worthy object for which to toil, more industrious
when he sees some far-off good, that patient and per-
severing effort may render his. And what is so cal-
culated to call out the strongest energies of the soul,
as the praiseworthy desire of placing the objects of his
love in peace and affluence? This motive acts power-
fully on the mass of mankind. It is this principle that
impels men with the strongest impetus along the road
of industry. This is the reason of many a gigantic
labor, of many an honorable effort. So will it ever
be, that he who is alone will be led to circumscribe
his efforts, and withdraw his sympathies from his fel-
low-men; while he who feels that the happiness of
others is intrusted to him will be impelled onward
and onward in the road of high and arduous exertion.
HOME INFLUENCE.
55
The end is worthy, and for this will he toil on; for
this will he struggle with the world; for this will
he brave the terrors of the ocean. And when in the
strife of opposing interest he grows tired, and in the
hardships of life hardly treated, the reflection that it
is all for those he loves renders his spirit cheerful
and his hand diligent. Or, when on the rude ocean,
storms and tempests are around him, and he quails at
the war of elements, and his fortitude is unable to
meet the demands made upon it, he has but to call
back the remembrance of home, and a new strength
revives in his heart, and a firmer courage awakens
there, and toil and peril sink in the comparison to
things of nought. He is ready to meet them, he glo-
ries in vanquishing them, and he triumphs in the
thought of the bright smiles and the happy looks
that will afterwards greet him in the earthly paradise
of his heart, the sanctuary of his home. Home!
there is power in the very word to call out the warm-
est feelings of his nature, to enkindle the purest as-
pirations of his soul. How many are the ties that
endear his home to him! how will he recall them
all! and when he sits down in his quiet shelter again,
how will his affections twine themselves with renewed
force around the partner of his destiny, the children
of his hope! How will his heart greet again the un-
changed smile of the one, and dilate with rapture at
each improved grace of the other? He who is so
blessed enjoys a world of happiness, quiet and unob-
trusive in its nature, but not the less deeply felt
C
56
HOME INFLUENCE.
that it cannot bear to be talked of. All his joys are
shared, all his griefs soothed; nothing is reserved,
nothing concealed, all is participated. No enemy en-
ters into the circle round his fireside; kind and affec-
tionate hearts are there alone. Who would think
loneliness preferable to this existence? Who would
rather retire to the gloom and isolation of solitude,
than abide in the bright sunlight of domestic bliss,
and feel his heart expand under its sweet influence?
There is also an elevating power in an attachment to
a worthy object. It is this which has secured the
virtue and consequent happiness of thousands. How
often the ties from home have prevented many from
making shipwreck of themselves in every age. We
do not say that vice and misery have never entered
the sanctuary of domestic happiness. Where is the
temple into which they have not penetrated. But we
say that the motives which thrill on the heart of one
in this situation are more likely than any motives to
make him a virtuous and therefore happy man.
We
know that many profligates have been deaf to the holy
pleadings of affection, and scoffed at its influence;
but we believe that many more have by these plead-
ings been recalled, and by that influence reclaimed,
from wandering in the path of folly, and led to walk
in that of virtue. Nor indeed can it be doubted,
that on the mass of mankind this influence has al-
ways been beneficial.
We would throw no darker colors on a life of soli-
tude, where such is forced by necessity, than what are
HOME INFLUENCE.
57
B
actually there, neither is there any occasion for exag-
geration; but there is a closing scene to every life,
and who can view the solitary individual in declining
years, and not feel that his situation is desolate?
During his life he may have employed himself in the
gathering of wealth; but the question now intrudes
itself, who is to enjoy its fruits? His friends have
been dropping from around him: some have been
swept away by death; others, dissenting from his ex-
ample, have surrounded themselves with the ties of
domestic life, and, in the absorbing interests of their
new connection, nearly forgotten him; while the few
who remain firm are, like himself, sinking into the
feebleness, the querulousness of age. His strength
has passed from him, his head is blanched, but his
heart is uncheered. He is, in short, like the last
withered leaf, fluttering on the tree when the autumn
sky is cheerless, and the autumn wind is sweeping
past.
But let us now turn to the contemplation of an
opposite picture, and view the different situation of
him, who, going down the vale of life, has the way
smoothed and cheered to him by the kindness of a
devoted partner, the assiduities of affectionate chil-
dren. His head may be frosted o'er with age, but the
sunbeam of love still gilds it. Strength may have
passed from his enfeebled limbs, but the active exertions
of his children will supply to him the necessity of much
personal effort. The retrospect of his life will be
pleasant; and what is there like the holy enjoyment
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HOME INFLUENCE.
·
of his upright mind, when he looks on the circle who
have risen up around him, and reflects that, though
high the trust committed to him, he has acquitted
himself in a manner worthy of it? What joy is there
equal to that of the aged parent, who gazes on his
children, and feels that, though he may leave them
no stores of gold or silver, he has been the means of
giving them the rich heritage of principle-he leaves
them in possession of unsullied virtue? And what
equal to his participated rapture, when he turns to
the being who has shared this trust with him, and
with her rejoices as he reflects how the budding prom-
ise has ripened into the full blossom, and their most
fervent expectations been more than surpassed? How
rich a fund of happiness is contained for both in the
remembrance of the past! Together have they shared
the storm, together will they be glad in the sunshine,
while every recollection of their former life only makes
them more firmly resolved to go down the vale of life,
hand in hand, and with hearts attuned to harmony.
Let every individual, then, thank God for the asylum
of home, that scene where his best sympathies are
called into exercise, till they assume the form of pure
and holy principles of action, and the domestic sanc-
tuary becomes an Eden upon earth, and is surround-
ed with a bright halo of purity and happiness.
wi
III.
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
'Home is the sphere of harmony and peace,
The spot where angels find a resting place,
When bearing blessings they descend to earth.”
Hale.

W
HAT a false idea of home is that of many
who consider it a mere place of accommo-
dation. The place to eat and sleep. The
place to throw aside all thoughts of polite-
ness and to act in perfect indifference to every
body and every thing. The place where selfish-
ness and all that is low and evil can be unguarded
and unchecked. The place that is to be unhallowed
by license permitted no where else.
How little do such persons know of what really
constitutes a home.
A home, in its true sense, is the highest work of
Nature. When two congenial hearts are united by
love-that mighty experience of the soul, in which no
gross element of worldly policy or personal ambition
can mingle-marriage is the natural result. No sooner
is marriage consummated in the heart, than its first
demand is for a home; a spot consecrated to the most
*
59
60
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
sacred emotions of the soul; a sanctum wherein the
world has no right to intrude; where the heart may
freely expand in every possible manifestation to which
Nature prompts. Around that centre, every tender
yearning clings; to secure it, the will bends its most
persevering energies; and every personal sacrifice is
willingly made for this great satisfaction of the heart.
The ideal of home is always beautiful to those who
love. The poet beautifully says:
Home's not merely four square walls,
Though with pictures hung and gilded:
Home is where affection calls,
Filled with shrines the heart hath builded!
Home! go watch the faithful dove,
Sailing 'neath the heaven above us;
Home is where there's one to love!
Home is where there's one to love us!
Home's not merely roof and room,
It needs something to endear it ;
Home is where the heart can bloom,
Where there's some kind lip to cheer it!
What is home with none to meet,
None to welcome, none to greet us?
Home is sweet,—and only sweet—
When there's one we love to meet us!
The Christian home, implying marriage, mutual
affection, piety, gentleness, refinement, meekness, for-
bearance, is our ideal of earthly happiness-a beautiful
and impressive type of heaven.
It is more than a residence, a place of abode, how-

GRANDMA'S PORTRAIT.
E
0
OM
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
61
ever attractive in its surroundings, however richly
adorned with art and beauty.
It is where the heart is where the loved ones are-
husband, wife, father, mother brothers, sisters, all un-
ited in sympathy fellowship and worship. It may be
humble, unpretentious, exhibiting no signs of material
wealth; but there is the wealth of mutual affection,
which fire cannot consume and no commercial disaster
alienate or destroy, and this is home-the home of the
heart, the home of childhood, the elysium of riper
years, the refuge of age.
That we may the better appreciate the homes that
God has given us-the homes of comfort and refine-
ment, that rocked the cradle of our infancy-let us
consider, first, the vast multitudes of our fallen race
that really have no home; none in the Christian sense,
none that antedate heaven in peace, refinement and
mutual love. How many children are born to the
heritage of vice, poverty and crime, left to drift upon.
the tide of circumstances, to be buffeted in the wild
and angry storm, to be chilled on the desolate moor of
life-to wander amid the voids of human sympathy-
the solitude and estrangement of human society--the
children of dire misfortune-victims of vice and crime,
polluted and polluting from the first.
How many fall, like blossoms prematurely blown,
nipped by the lingering frosts of winter and sinking
into the shadowed stream, or the sobbing soil of earth
to be seen no more.
Digita
Think of the dwellings of hard-handed, wearied, ill-
B
:
62
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
requited labor, where ignorance and discontent reign
supreme,—where there is no recognition of God, who,
in his all-wise Sovereignty, raiseth up one and casteth
down another. Such homes, or rather places of abode,
there are all over the land, all over the dark and wide
realm of heathendom, the children of which must be
devoted to sacrifice to the horrors of the Ganges or the
Nile.
Look now to the other extreme of society, to the
habitations of the millionaires, adorned with all the
luxuries of wealth, the appliances of art, taste, beauty,
whose children are trained up to worship at the shrine
of Mammon, to exclude from their minds all thoughts
of God and the hereafter, to live only for this world,
to feel that there is no society worth cultivating except
that of the rich, the elite, the would-be fashionable;
that all enjoyments are material, sensuous, worldly
that the chief end of man is to eat, drink, and be merry.
Such households do not furnish the best schools in
which to educate children to wrestle with misfortune
and the great work of life. They are liable to grow
up effeminate, lacking executive strength, cold, proud,
misanthropic, alienated in sympathy from the toiling
masses.
What subject then can demand closer attention than
that of the home. The facility and extent of modern
intercourse tends to create a kind of cosmospolite feel-
ing in the world. Colonization, too, weakens the family
ties. Increasing luxury, the expensiveness of living-
one of the worst effects of our artificial civilization-is
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
63
unfriendly to marriage. Engrossing business, especi-
ally in cities, is drawing away the attention of many
from home and home culture. Withal, some of the
social reforms are directly proposing to substitute joint-
stock corporations for separate and independent house-
holds. Amidst these tendencies, let us see if we can find
what is the order of nature, and why it is established.
What, then, makes the family? What is it that
carries man beyond community, neighborhood, society,
friendship, to this inner circle of life? What makes
the family? It is an institution so established and
universal that few, perhaps, have ever asked themselves
the question; and yet it involves, as I conceive, some
of the profoundest views of the wisdom of Providence.
In the human relation of sex, then, is laid the found-
ation for home. In this, that is to say, is laid the
foundation for a peculiar and permanent attachment,
which leads the subjects of it to wish to dwell together,
and apart from others. Thus the great Master says,
that God made them male and female, that they two
should become one; that they should be united in an
interest that separates them from others. On this pur-
pose and intent of Heaven, He founded the sanctity of
marriage. Suppose the distinction of sex not to exist,
and that there was no such attachment as is now found-
ed upon it, and no such relation of two persons to cer-
tain other persons who are their children, as is now
established; and then it is evident that although there
might be social ties and temporary unions of friendship,
and even a common residence, there could be no family.
W
*
64
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
Men might be gregarious, but they could not be
domestic. They might live together, but they could not
be one in that almost mysterious tie of affinity and
kindred.
To strengthen the family bond, another provision is
made. Why does not the infant child, like the young
of animals, arrive in a few days or weeks at its ma-
turity, and the ability to take care of itself? I know
of no ultimate reason for this, but the purpose of Hea-
ven to "set the solitary in families." Children might
have been formed as well to come to maturity-cer-
tainly to physical maturity-in twenty weeks as in twen-
ty years. A twenty years' care of their offspring is
assigned to parents, in order to establish a school of
natural and moral influence. The school-houses of a
nation indicate its purpose to give its children a certain
technical education. The domestic abodes of the world
manifest a purpose of the overruling Providence, no
less clear and explicit. Youthful love and parental
affection, which are of God's creating and not ours,
lay every corner-stone in them, and raise every pro-
tecting wall. In idle unconsciousness may that love
between the sexes grow up; the theme of jesting com-
ment may it be, to those around; but such is its great.
mission; such is the solemn bond which it lays upon
the world. The problem of parental love and filial
subjection, may be wrought out with weariness and
sorrow, or with thoughtless, or with reflecting and
holy gladness; but such is the momentous solution of
that problem.
4
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
65
We have said that society is the great educator.
The family is the primary school of that education.
The pupils are children-delicate in frame, docile in
spirit, susceptible of influence. Nor is it easy, if indeed
it is possible, to conceive how the object could have
been effected without that relation. The only conceiv-
able beginning of existence for a rational being, is
infancy—a state, that is to say, of ignorance and desti-
tution; in which impressions, knowledge, virtue, holi-
ness are to be acquired; since those things are by
definition matters of experience and volition, and in-
capable of creation. Had man been full formed at
once, then-i. e., not in knowledge and virtue, but in
mere strength of body and mind, which is conceivable
had there been thus far a state of physical and men-
tal equality, the rigid fibre would have found its fellow
in the obstinate will, and neither would, nor could per-
haps, have yielded to the voice of instruction, nor to
the sway of discipline.
of discipline. But a child's docility, a child's
meekness-could we understand it is something hea
ven-sent, something, I had almost said, fearful to con-
template. The mingled veneration and love, with
which it looks up to a good parent; the mingled won-
der and fear, with which it looks up to a bad parent,
who has lost in vice or rage the government of himself;
what contrast on earth could be more touching! Alas!
in how many dwellings stands that poor stricken child,
gazing with awe and terror upon the frenzy of ine-
briety or the fury of anger, and parting not with its
meekness and submissiveness, amidst all its agonies
2
66
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
and wrongs. It is God's child, not man's; and might
well be the minister of God to the evil man-nay,
is so.
-nay, and
Scarcely less remarkable is the influence of the fam-
ily state upon its elder members. Marriage recalls
man from what would be otherwise his wild roving
through the world, and assigns to him a home. That
home becomes the natural centre of his affections, cares
and labors. But for this bond, life would be nomadic,
and its ties transient as the traveler's footstep. This
gives a sphere, a locality to human pursuit, makes of
it a regular, concentrated industry, makes frugality,
foresight, care, self-restraint necessary, calls sympathy
to the bedside of sickness and suffering, and turns
man's dwelling into a sanctuary of sorrow, a memorial
of death, and threshold of eternity. But I need not
dwell longer upon so familiar a theme as the good in-
fluence of home.
I only wish you distinctly to see what is the origin
of this institution. It is divine; and because it is di-
vine, it is universal. Amidst the wide wandering of
men upon earth, diversified by all the varieties of con-
dition and culture, there is one tie, drawing evermore
to one spot-one heart, drawing evermore to one mag-
netic centre; and if I were to put the question to the
whole human race-what is that?-the answer would
be, it is home. Before government, before society,
city, community existed, there was a home. It is no
human, no civil, no factitious institution. God made
it. It was rooted in the foundations of the world.
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
67
From the brooding darkness of primeval time, the first
objects that emerge to sight are homes-not nations,
but families. It was a home that floated upon the
waters of the great Deluge. The first altar built on
Ararat was the home-altar. It was the home-altar
that lighted the steps of men and generations in their
wide dispersion over the earth. It was
It was "the pillar of
cloud and fire;" and if that light had gone out, the
human race would have become extinct.
The first brand of misery upon the human brow,
and the darkest to-day, is excision from home. God
pity such an outcast! But how few such are there!
Outcast from every other tie a man may be ;--but find
the veriest wretch that roams the earth or the
sea; and
one spot there is to which he clings with a saving con-
fidence, if there be any saving for him : he knows-he
knows that there is one place on earth where the mem-
ory and care of him linger, and live, and can never die.
For a man without a home is without a center to his
life. He may, like the earth, revolve upon his own
axis; but his thoughts, affections, hopes, aims and as-
pirations, gather fondly and permanently around no
fixed center. They are all afloat, wandering and tem-
pest-tossed, aimless and bewildered. With no wife,
no child, no home, no rest, on earth, he looks to the
spiritland, and longs to be there, if, perchance, the de-
sire of his soul for a pure home in the bosom of love
may be fulfilled. To such a homeless wanderer, earth
is robbed of its sweetest fragrance, its most attractive
beauty, its highest glory, and its most refining and
68
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
✔
ennobling influence. To the true man, no flowers are
so beautiful and so fragrant as those that bloom in the
home of his love; no jewels so brilliant as the loved
ones around whom his heart twines in his home; no
crown of glory seems so resplendent as that which
encircles the brow of his wife and his child; no
smile is so eloquent, no voice so melodious, as those
that meet and welcome him on the threshold of his
home; there love finds free expression in fondest en-
dearments; there it gives and receives that joy which
is second only to that of the Redeemed above; there
it mounts
up in pure and holy flame the sweetest in-
cense on earth's most holy altar.
We e see that all the proprieties and laws of Nature
are reduced to particular relations and combinations
adapted to subserve her own beneficent economy.
Any disturbance of these relations produces com-
mensurate evils; while any new combination might
explode the earth to fragments, resolve its elements
into chaos, and roll the fired heavens up as a scroll.
In family circles and associations, all the social ele-
ments are reduced to their most auspicious and con-
servative relations. The virtue of each becomes the
interest of the whole, and all are armed against the
incursion of lawless passions and disorganizing vice,
as against the invasion of a dreaded foe, by an appeal
to their hearts, and fires, and altars, the pure and
blessed fellowship of their homes. Any other order
of alliances, therefore, superseding this, would as mani-
festly thwart the beneficent designs of Providence,
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
69
L
and jeopard the higher interests of mankind, as the
disorganization of churches, or the anarchy of States.
How sweetly are the united attractions of home re-
lations cherished in fond reminiscence and virtuous
affections till the closing hour of our earthly existence!
"I ne'er shall forget thee,
Blessed home of my heart!
Though like the various beneficent and potential
agencies of Nature, no passing account may be taken
of this silent, varied, and extensive influence of home
upon virtuous affections:-
"Yet like some sweet, beguiling melody,
So sweet we know not we are listening to it,
Thou the meanwhile art blending with my thoughts,
Yes, with my life, and life's own secret joy."
Domestic influences penetrate the soul, unfold and
cherish all its amiable virtues and lovely graces, as
the sunlight, bland air, and genial influences of the
morning open the rosebuds and early flowers. More
than any other influences, they win upon the way-
wardness and insubordination of youth, and restrain
from incipient steps, or reclaim from the advanced pro-
gress of vice. When tempted to seek some doubtful
amusement or companionship, their influences may dis-
solve the enchantment. When some act of adven-
turous depravity, some alliance of dissipation and
profligacy is actually resolved upon, they may break
the fatal infatuation and reassure conscience. All
dark thoughts that harass and soil the mind amid
C
70
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
the temptations of business and worldly associates, are
dissipated by the light of home.
Images of parental authority and kindness impressed
upon the mind by daily association, attend his path,
beset with temptations, as guardian angels.
guardian angels. The fond
mother watches over his path, encouraging and re-
warding every virtue with her complaisant and affec-
tionate smile, forgiving with incomparable charity
every deprecated evil, and with sad and regretful
look reproving every allowed fault. The wise father
observes with exulting admiration every mark of de-
veloping genius and virtue, or with intense solicitude
every unfavorable token of character; and with gen-
tleness, authority, and affection, imposes his hand upon
his head, and drops the warm tear on his brow, as he
administers counsel and reproof, or supplicates the
pardon and blessing of heaven.
Thus, virtue nestles and grows under the brooding
wing of parental care, till plumed to soar in lofty and
sustained flight. But tempted too soon abroad to essay
the rapid and precarious flight of life, and buffet its
storms, her unaccustomed wing falters with unequal
and remitted effort, and she sinks from her lofty aim
and native impulse to the degrading level and grovel-
ling pursuits of vice, and is seldom able to regain her
true elevation and resume her destined course.
Youth, embowered in the shady and genial retreat
of home, is sheltered from the unfriendly influences of
the world, as the graceful undergrowth of the forest
from sultry heats and blasts of the tempest by the
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
71
stately pines and broad-armed oaks. While the forest
above is withered and paled; ancient trees are strip-
ped of their giant branches, or rocked in their beds, and
precipitated from exposed summits; the pliant sap-
ling, still green and fresh, gently waving to the gale
that sweeps so fiercely above, loses not a branch, or
twig, or leaf-but striking its roots deeper, and
grasping with multiplying fibres an ampler extent of
soil, is preparing to rear its head against the storm
and defy the elements, when in the course of nature
the protection of the parent-forest is removed. So
youth, sheltered beneath the protection of home from
the withering heats and incursive blasts of temptation,
strikes the roots of virtue deeper, with gradual and
attempered trials, till in due course it is prepared to
endure the vicissitudes and exposures of life; and
premature removal from these protecting influences is
as unnatural and likely to be as fatal as to remove the
sapling from the shielding forest, and transplant it,
with mutilated roots and in an uncongenial soil, upon
an exposed hill-side.
We answer, then, the question which forms the sub-
ject of this chapter, in one word,-love. Without love
there can be a resting place, an eating place, a sleep-
ing place, but no home. The human heart, as we
have already seen, is so constituted that it craves
love, sympathy, affection; this leads the man to
seek out one to love an object of affection ; this
makes the woman turn with tender and refined
feelings toward the one whom she feels proud
72
WHAT CONSTITUTES A HOME.
A
to trust with the sweetest emotions of her soul.
This makes them both retreat from other eyes and,
secluded from the world, erect a shrine, sacred to love
and affection. This shrine, the holiest of holies here
on earth, is where they both can meet and drink in the
most blessed sweets of life. Here they can find a
retreat. The father from the anxious cares that vex
him in life's conflict, the mother can find the strong
support and love for which she longs, the tender chil-
dren that may come with blessings from above, will here
be guarded from the many beasts of prey that seek
their precious lives, and from those fiercer beasts that
seek their souls. Here their bodies will develop under
the beautiful influences of home, their minds expand
with good and useful knowledge, and their young
hearts be filled with truest, purest, noblest aspirations
that the most loving friends can give. The constitu-
tion, by-laws, and general government of home as it
should be, are all summed up in one word: Love!

MOTHER.


Hail woman! hail thou faithful wife and mother,
The latest, choicest part of Heaven's great plan,
None fills thy peerless place at home: no other
Helpmeet is found for laboring, suffering man.

IV.
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
My mother, at that holy name
Within my bosom there's a gush
Of feeling which no time can tame,
A feeling which, for years of fame,
I would not, could not crush.

OTHER!
The name which is associated in
every virtuous mind with all that is amiable
and delightful. "Mother!" Most tender,
M
endearing, and expressive of all human ap-
pellations! A title employed equally by the
royal prince, the sage philosopher, and the untu-
tored peasant, by the savage and the civilized in all
nations, and through all generations. A relation mer-
cifully founded in the constitution of our nature-uni-
versally felt, and uniformly acknowledged. And who
among all the children of men, except those who in early
infancy were bereaved of their anxious parents, has
not happily experienced the inexpressible influence of
its charming and delightful power; who, of all the
great and the mighty upon the earth, does not recog-
nize the unnumbered blessings which he has enjoyed
through this endeared relation?
75
76
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
His own infinite wisdom and boundless goodness
prompted the Almighty Creator to ordain this bene-
ficent relation, with all its sweet attractions and
happy endearments. Must he not, therefore, have
made it honorable, noble, and dignified? And ought
its elevation and importance to be forgotten and neg-
lected? Surely it demands our most intelligent con-
sideration and devout acknowledgement. But what
mind has ever possessed a capacity enlarged and ma-
tured to comprehend fully the true dignity of a
Mother?
Woman was formed by the glorious Creator as a
"help-meet for man:" whatever dignity, therefore,
attaches to him as a rational being, and the repre-
sentative on earth of his Maker, is shared by the part-
ner of his life, his other self. Woman is the equal
participator of all the honors which pertain to human
nature. But woman's highest dignity and her great-
est honors are found in contributing to the perfection
of the divine purpose of her Creator in her peculiar
character of mother.
A mother's dignity however, will, but imperfectly
appear unless she is considered as bringing into the
world a rational offspring, whose existence will affect
others, and will continue through eternal ages. Adam,
by intuitive wisdom imparted from God, perceived
this surpassing excellence, when, "he called his wife's
name Eve,” because she was the mother of all living;
thus recognizing her dignity on the very morning of crea
tion. Woman must be contemplated as giving birth to
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
77
those whose principles, characters, and labors will
deeply and permanently influence individuals in the
domestic circle, and which will be felt by large com-
munities, and in some instances, at least, by the whole
population of the world. Our blessed Lord acknowl-
edges this sentiment, expressed by the woman respect-
ing himself, when having seen his mighty works, and
heard his wise discourses, she exclaimed, "Blessed is
the womb that bare thee, and the paps which gave
thee suck." On this rational principle we cannot sep-
arate the greatness which distinguished the worthies
of ancient and modern times, from the characters of
their favored mothers. Watts, Doddridge, Wesley,
King Edward, King Alfred, and many others, have
immortalized their names by their personal virtues,
and by their imperishable works to benefit their coun-
try; but while we contemplate and enjoy the fruits
of their extraordinary labors, we cannot fail to reflect
upon the influence of their excellent mothers. We
cannot refrain from tendering to them the honor which
is their due, on account of their noble endeavor to dis-
charge their maternal obligations, rendering them pub-
lic blessings.
All mothers have the great priviledge of looking
for a glorious future for their offspring, and may yet
contemplate the influence which their children will
have upon society, and how their own honor will be
secured and prompted by laboring to turn their infant
minds to religion, to virtue, and to love of their
country.
78
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
Immortality especially gives dignity to its subjects:
and hence arises, in no inconceivable degree, the ex-
alted honor of a mother. By the sovereign ordination
of the Almighty, she gives birth, not only to a being
of a mere momentary existence, and whose life will
perish as that of the beasts of the field, but to an im-
mortal! Her sucking infant, feeble and helpless as
it may appear, possesses within its bosom a rational
soul—an intellectual power-a spirit which all-devour-
ing time cannot destroy-which can never die—but
which will outlive the splendors of the glorious sun,
and the burning brilliancy of all the material host of
heaven! Throughout the infinite ages of eternity,
when all these shall have answered the beneficent end
of their creation, and shall have been blotted out from
their positions in the immense regions of space, the
soul of the humblest child will shine and improve be-
fore the eternal throne, being filled with holy delight
and divine love, and ever active in the praises of its
blessed Creator.
Oh, what a blessed privilege has been bestowed on
you if, as it should be in becoming a mother, you
have reached the climax of your happiness, you have
also taken a higher place in the scale of being. A
most important part is allotted you, in the economy
of the great human family. Look at the many grada-
tions of your way onward; first your doll; then your
playmates; your lessons; perhaps to decorate a beau-
tiful person; to study the art of pleasing; to exult in
your own attractions; to feed on adulation; to wear the
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
79
garland of love; and, finally, to introduce into exist
ence a being never to die; and to feel your highest,
holiest energies enlisted to fit it for this world and
the next.
No longer will you now live for self; no longer be
noteless and unrecorded, passing away without name
or memorial among the people. It can no more be
reproachfully said of you, that "you lend all your
graces to the
to the grave, and keep no copy."
and keep no copy." "My cousin
Mary of Scotland hath a fair son born unto her, and
I am but a dead tree," said Queen Elizabeth, while
the scowl of discontent darkened her brow. In be-
queathing your own likeness to the world, you will
naturally be anxious to array it in that beauty of vir-
tue, which fades not at the touch of time. What a
scope for your exertions, to render your representa-
tive, an honor to its parentage, and a blessing to its
country.
You have gained an increase of power. The in-
fluence which is most truly valuable, is that of mind
over mind. How entire and perfect is this dominion,
over the unformed character of your infant.
infant. Write
what you will, upon that printless tablet, with your
wand of love. Hitherto, your influence over your
dearest friend, your most submissive servant, has
known bounds and obstructions. Now, you have
over a new-born immortal, almost that degree of
power which the mind exercises over the body, and
which Aristotle compares to the "sway of a
of a prince
over a bond-man." The period of this influence must
܀
80
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
indeed pass away; yes, will pass quickly; but while
it lasts, make good use of it.
Wise men have said, and the world begins to be-
lieve, that it is the great province of woman to teach.
You then, as a mother, are advanced to the head of
that profession. You hold that license which author-
izes you to teach always. You have attained that de-
gree in the College of Instruction, by which your
pupils are continually in your presence, and are ever
receiving lessons whether you intend it or not, and if
the voice of precept be silent, fashioning themselves
on the model of your example. You cannot escape
their imitation. You cannot prevent them from car-
rying into another generation, the stamp of those
habits which they inherit from you. If you are
thoughtless, or supine, an unborn race will be sum-
moned as witnesses of your neglect; but
"Meantime the mighty debt runs on,
The dread account proceeds,
And your not-doing is set down
Among your darkest deeds."
In ancient times, the theory that the mother was
designated by nature as an instructor, was sometimes
admitted and illustrated. The philosophor Aristippus
was the pupil of maternal precepts. Revered for his
wisdom, he delighted in the appellation of Metrodi-
dactos, the "taught of his mother," a title which has
attached to the greatest, noblest and best characters of
earth.
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
81
"We are indebted," says Quintilian, "for the elo-
quence of the Gracchi, to their mother Cornelia," who,
though qualified to give public lectures in philosophy
at Rome, did not forget to be the faithful teacher in
private, of those, whom she so justly styled "her
jewels." St. Jerome also bears similar testimony.
"The eloquence of the Gracchi derived its perfection
from the mother's elegance and purity of language."
(1
All seize upon
Should heathen mothers be permitted to be more
faithful in their duties, than those who are under
bonds to the life-giving Gospel? A good mother,"
says the eloquent L'Aime Martin,
her child's heart, as her special fiel of activity. To
be capable of this, is the great e of female educa-
tion. It is shown that no universal agent of civiliza-
tion exists, but through mothers. ure has placed
in their hands, our infancy and youth, and we find
that all careful philanthropists have been among the
first to declare the necessity of making them, by im-
proved education, capable of fullling their natural
mission. The love of God and man, is the basis of
this system. In proportion as prevails, national
enmities will disappear, prejudices become extin-
guished, civilization spread itself far and wide, one
great people cover the earth, and the reign of peace
and good-will be established. This is to be hastened,
by the watchful care of mothers over their offspring,
from the cradle upwards."
What an appeal to mothers! What an acknowl-
edgement of the dignity of their office! The aid of
•
82
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
the "weaker vessel," is now invoked by legislators
and sages. It has been discovered that there are
signs of disease in the body politic, which can be best
allayed, by the subordination taught in families, and
through her agency to whom is committed the
"moulding of the whole mass of mind in its first for-
mation."
The fact is already admitted by the wisest and best
of men that it is by the promulgation of sound morals
in the community, and more especially by the training
and instruction of the young, that woman performs
her part towards the preservation of a free government.
It is generally admitted that public liberty, the per-
petuity of a free constitution, rests on the virtue and
intelligence of the community which enjoys it. How
is that virtue to be inspired, and how is that intelli-
gence to be communicated? Bonaparte once asked
Madame de Stael in what manner he could most pro-
mote the happiness of France. Her reply is full of
political wisdom. She said, "Instruct the mothers of
the French people." Mothers are, indeed, the affec-
tionate and effective teachers of the human race. The
mother begins her process of training with the infant
in her arms. It is she who directs, so to speak, its
first mental and spiritual pulsations. She conducts it
along the impressible years of childhood and youth,
and hopes to deliver it to the rough contests and tu-
multuous scenes of life, armed by those good principles
her child has received from maternal care and love.
If we draw within the circle of our contemplation
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
83
the mothers of a civilized nation, what do we see?
We behold so many artificers working, not on frail
and perishable matter, but on the immortal mind,
moulding and fashioning beings who are to exist for-
ever. We applaud the artist whose skill and genius
present the mimic man upon the canvas; we admire
and respect the sculptor who works out that same im-
age in enduring marble; but how insignificant are these
achievements, though the highest and the fairest in all
the departments of art, in comparison with the great
vocation of human mothers! They work, not upon
canvas that shall fail, or the marble that shall crumble
into dust, but upon mind, upon spirit, which is to last
forever, and which is to bear, for good or evil, through-
out duration, the impress of a mother's plastic hand.
I have already expressed the opinion, which all allow
to be correct, that our security for the duration of the
free institutions which bless our country depends upon
the habits of virtue, and the prevalence of knowledge
and of education. Knowledge does not comprise all
which is contained in the larger term of education.
The feelings are to be disciplined; the passions are to
be restrained; the true and worthy motives are to be
inspired; a profound religious feeling is to be instilled
and pure morality inculcated under all circumstances.
All this is comprised in education. Mothers who are
faithful to this grand duty will tell their children that
neither in political nor in any other concerns of life can
man ever withdraw himself from the perpetual oblig-
ations of conscience and of duty; that in every act,
:
84
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
whether public or private, he incurs a just responsi-
bility; and that in no condition is he warranted in
trifling with important rights and obligations. They
will impress upon their children the truth, that the
exercise of the elective franchise is a social duty, of as
solemn a nature as man can be called to perform; that
a man may not innocently trifle with his vote; that
every free elector is a trustee, as well for others as
himself; and that every man and every measure he sup-
ports has an important bearing on the interests of others
as well as his own. It is in the inculcation of high and
pure morals, such as these, that in a free republic wo-
man performs her sacred duty, and fulfils her destiny.
The mother in her office holds the key
Of the soul; and she it is who stamps the coin
Of character, and makes the being who would be a savage,
But for her gentle care, a Christian man.
It is too evident to need illustration that the first
and deepest impressions are made on the minds of
children by mothers. It is under their maternal atten-
tion that the physical form is gently reared, the intel-
lectual faculties elicited, and the moral powers fostered
and directed. To discharge this three-fold office, what
knowledge, skill, kindness, fidelity, and perseverance
are requisite !
How important that the earliest lessons and impres-
sions should be those of wisdom, goodness, and piety;
and not of folly, ignorance and irreligion!
As is the mother, extensively and generally, so will
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
85
be the children. The child will, and must, from the
very necessity of things, be powerfully influenced by
the maternal character which presides over it.
It is a rare thing to meet with a dull and ignorant
child who has had the fostering care of an intelligent
mother; so that the province she occupies is one of the
most important and momentous, to the interests of
mind, in which a responsible being can possibly be
placed.
Now, it is of the highest import that mothers should
be awakened and duly instructed as to this responsi-
bility itself. A deep sense of these moral obligations.
would lead to an earnest desire to know by what
means the onerous duties could best be discharged.
Instruction would be diligently sought, examples
would be eagerly contemplated, and Divine aid would
be fervently implored.
The responsibility and influence of a mother is well
proven by the following circumstance:
A few years ago, some gentlemen who were asso-
ciated in preparing for the ministry, felt interested in
ascertaining what proportion of their number had
pious mothers. They were greatly surprised and de-
lighted in finding that out of one hundred and twen-
ty students, over a hundred had been borne by a
mother's prayers, and directed by a mother's counsels,
to the Saviour. Though some of these had broken
away from all the restraints of home, and, like the
prodigal, had wandered in sin and sorrow, yet they
could not forget the impressions of childhood, and
86
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
were eventually brought to a sense of their duty,
and to be a mother's joy and blessing. Many inter-
esting facts have, within a few years, drawn the atten-
tion of Christians to this subject. The efforts which
a mother makes for the improvement of her child in
knowledge and virtue, are necessarily retired and un-
obtrusive. The world knows not of them; and hence
the world has been slow to perceive how powerful
and extensive is this secret and silent influence. But
circumstances are now directing the eyes of the com-
munity to the nursery, and the truth is daily coming
more distinctly before the public, that the influence
which is exerted upon the mind during the first
eight or ten years of existence, in a great degree guides
the destinies of that mind for time and eternity. And
as the mother is the guardian and guide of the early
years of life, from her goes the most powerful influ-
ence in the formation of the character of man. And
why 'should it not be so? What impressions can be
more strong, and more lasting, than those received
upon the mind in the freshness and the susceptibility
of youth? What instructor can gain greater confi-
dence and respect than a mother? And where can
there be delight in acquiring knowledge, if not when
the little flock cluster around a mother's knee to hear
of God and heaven?
66
'A good boy generally makes a good man. Said
the mother of Washington, "George was always a
good boy." Here we see one secret of his greatness.
George Washington had a mother who made him a
22
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
87
good boy, and instilled into his heart those principles
which raised him to be the benefactor of his country,
and one of the brightest ornaments of the world.
The mother of Washington is entitled to a nation's
gratitude. She taught her boy the principles of
obedience, and moral courage, and virtue. She, in a
great measure, formed the character of the hero, and
the statesman. It was by her own fireside that she
taught her playful boy to govern himself; and thus
was he prepared for the brilliant career of usefulness
which he afterwards pursued. We are indebted to
God for the gift of Washington; but we are no less
indebted to him for the gift of his inestimable mother.
Had she been a weak, and indulgent, and unfaithful
parent, the unchecked energies of Washington might
have elevated him to the throne of a tyrant; or
youthful disobedience might have prepared the way
for a life of crime and a dishonored grave.
Byron had a mother just the reverse of lady Wash-
ington; and the character of the mother was trans-
ferred to the son. We cannot wonder, then, at his
character and conduct, for we see them to be the al-
most necessary consequence of the education he re-
ceived, and the scenes witnessed in his mother's
parlor. She would at one time allow him to disobey
with impunity; again, she would fly into a rage and
beat him. She thus taught him to defy all authority,
human and divine; to indulge, without restraint, in
sin; to give himself up to the power of every mad-
dening passion. It was the mother of Byron who
88
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
laid the foundation of his pre-eminence in guilt. She
taught him to plunge into that sea of profligacy and
wretchedness, upon whose agitated waves he was
tossed for life. If the crimes of the poet deserve the
execration of the world, the world cannot forget that
it was the mother who fostered in his youthful heart
those passions which made the son a curse to his fel-
low-men.
There are, it is true, innumerable causes incessantly
operating in the formation of character. A mother's
influence is by no means the only influence which is
exerted. Still, it may be the most powerful; for, by
an inherent law of our being, the mother has that
mighty power that, she is able to form in the youth-
ful mind the habits, and implant the principles, to
which other influences are to give permanency and
vigor.
A pious and faithful mother may have a dissolute
child. He may break away from all restraints, and
God may leave him to "eat the fruit of his own de-
vices." The parent thus afflicted and broken-hearted
can only bow before the sovereignty of her Maker,
who says,
"Be still, and know that I am God." But
there always remains the consciousness of having done
one's duty, and, also, there is the constant, well-
grounded hope that change and reformation will come.
This truly divests this affliction of much of its bitter-
⚫ness. And besides, such cases are rare. Profligate
children are generally the offspring of parents who
have neglected the moral and religious education of
:

Fainted by Amberg
MOTHER'S DARLING
Engenved & Printed
T
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
89
their family. Some parents are themselves profligate,
and thus not only allow their children to grow up un-
restrained, but by their example lure them to sin.
But there are others, who are very upright and vir-
tuous, and even pious themselves, who do, neverthe-
less, neglect the moral culture of their children; and, as
a consequence, they grow up in disobedience and sin. It
matters but little what the cause is which leads to this
neglect. The neglect itself will ordinarily be followed
by disobedience and self-will.
Hence the reason that children of eminent men, both
in church and state, are not unfrequently the disgrace
of their parents. If the mother is unaccustomed to
govern her children, if she look to the father to en-
force obedience and to control, when he is absent, all
family government is absent, and the children are
left to run wild; to learn lessons of disobedience;
to practise arts of deception; to build, upon the
foundation of contempt for a mother, a character of
insubordination and iniquity. But if the children are
under the efficient government of a judicious mother,
the reverse of this is almost invariably the case.
And since, in nearly every instance, the early years
of life are intrusted to a mother's care, it follows
that maternal influence, more than any thing else,
forms the future character.
The history of John Newton is often mentioned as
a proof of the deep and lasting impression which a
mother may produce upon the mind of her child. He
had a pious mother. She often retired to her closet,
90
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
and, placing her hand upon his youthful head, im-
plored God's blessing upon her boy. These prayers.
and instructions sunk deep into his heart. He could
not but revere that mother. He could not but feel
that there was a holiness in such a character, demand-
ing reverence and love. He could not tear from his
heart, in after-life, the impressions then produced.
Though he became a wicked wanderer, though he for-
sook friends and home and every virtue, the remem-
brance of a mother's prayers, like a guardian angel,
followed him wherever he went. He mingled in the
most dissipated and disgraceful scenes of a sailor's life,
and while surrounded with guilty associates, in mid-
night revelry, he would fancy he felt the soft hand of
his mother upon his head, pleading with God to for-
give and bless her boy. He went to the coast of
Africa, and became even more degraded than the sav-
ages upon her dreary shores; but the soft hand of his
mother was still upon his head, and the fervent pray-
ers of his mother still thrilled in his heart. And
this influence, after the lapse of many guilty years,
brought back the prodigal a penitent and a child of
God, elevated him to be one of the brightest orna-
ments of the Christian church, and to guide many
sons and daughters to glory. What a forcible com-
ment is this upon the power of maternal influence;
and what encouragement does this present to every
mother to be faithful in her efforts to train up her
child for God. Had Mrs. Newton neglected her duty,
had she even been as remiss as many Christian moth-
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
91
ers, her son, to all human view, might have continued.
in sin, and been an outcast from heaven. It was
through the influence of the mother that the son was
saved. Newton became afterwards a most successful
preacher of the gospel, and every soul which he was.
instrumental in saving, as he sings the song of re-
deeming mercy, will through eternity, bless God that
Newton had such a mother.
The influence thus exerted upon the mind in early
childhood, may, for many years, be apparently lost.
When a son leaves home, and enters upon the busy
world, many are the temptations which come crowding
upon him. If he leaves not his mother with establish-
ed principles of religion and self-control, he will most
assuredly fall before these temptations. He may in-
deed fall, even after all a mother has done, or can do;
and he may become deeply involved in guilt. But he
may apparently forget every lesson he learnt at home,
while the influence of a mother's instructions and a
mother's prayers is yet working powerfully and effect-
ually in his heart. He will think of a mother's tears
when remorse keeps him awake at midnight, or when
danger threatens him with speedy arraignment at the
bar of God. The thoughts of the sacredness of home
will often throw bitterness into his cup of guilty pleas-
ure, and compel him to sigh for the virtue and the
peace he has forsaken. Even though far away, in
abodes of infamy, degraded and abandoned, he must
occasionally think of a broken-hearted mother. Thus
may he, after many years, perhaps long after she has.
92
THE DIGNITY OF MOTHERHOOD.
gone down to the grave, be led by the remembrance
of her virtues to forsake his sins, and become what
his mother ever sought and prayed, an honest, noble
man.
The mother has something more to do than merely
feed her child when hungry; clothe it when naked;
care for it when sick, and fondle and play: or sympa-
thize and sorrow with it in its glad and gloomy hours.
To train the physical, direct the intellectual, and point
out the way the immortal aspirations of its higher na-
ture should ascend, is the grand, inimitable and sacred
work of the mother. No one can take her place: the
father even at the best can only be a helper. The char-
acters of the best and the worst, history shows, have
received their guiding principles from a mother.
Being conscious, then, of her great responsibilities,
every true mother is anxious to know how she may
rightly discharge them.
Should God place in your hand a diamond, and tell
you to inscribe on it a sentence which should be read
at the last day, and shown as an index of your own
thoughts and feelings, what care, what caution
would you exercise in the selection! This is what God
has done: he has placed before you immortal minds,
less perishable than the diamond, on which you are
about to inscribe every day, and every hour, by your
instructions, by your spirit, or by your example, some-
thing which will remain, and be exhibited for or against
you at the judgment-day
A
V.
941%
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
"Oh! if there be in retrospection's chain
One link that knits us with young dreams again—
One thought so sweet, we scarcely dare to muse
On all the hoarded raptures it reviews;
Which seems each instant, in its backward range,
The heart to soften and its ties to change,
And every spring untouched for years to move,
It is THE MEMORY OF A MOTHER'S LOVE!"

F the love of a mother be considered as an
instinct which pervades all animated nature,
it is not the less beautiful when exhibited
in the human character, for being diffused
throughout creation; because it proves that the
Author of our being, knew that the distinctive
attributes of humanity would be insufficient to support
the mother through her anxieties, vexations, and cares..
He knew that reason would be making distinctions
between the worthy and the unworthy, and prema-
turely consigning the supposed reprobate to ruin; that
fancy would make selections, and dote upon one while
it neglected another; that caprice would destroy the
bond of domestic union; and that intellectual pur-
suits would often take precedence of domestic duties.
And therefore he poured into woman's heart the same
♡
93
94
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
instinct which impels the timid bird to risk the last
extremity of danger for her helpless young. Nor let
any one think contemptuously of this peculiar capa-
bility of loving, because under the extinct it is shared
with the brute. It is not a sufficient recommendation
to our respect that it comes immediately from the hand
of our Creator-that we have no power to control or
subdue it—that it is "Strong as death"-and lastly,
that it imbues the mind of the mother with equal ten-
derness for her infirm, or wayward, or unlovely child,
as for him who gives early promise of personal as well
as mental beauty? But for this wonderful provision
in human nature, what would become of the cripple,
the diseased, the petulant or the perverse? Who
would be found to fulfil the hard duties of serving the
ungrateful, ministering to the dissatisfied, and watch-
ing over the hopeless? No. There is no instance in
which the providential care of our heavenly Father is
more beautifully exhibited than in that of a mother's
love. Winding its silken cords alike around every
natural object, whether worthy or unworthy, it creates
a bond which unkindness cannot break. It pursues
the wanderer without weariness, and supports the
feeble without fainting. Neither appalled by danger,
nor hindered by difficulty, it can labor without re-
ward, and persevere without hope. "Many waters
cannot quench" it; and when the glory has vanished
from the brow of the beloved one, when summer friends
have turned away, and guilt, and misery, and disgrace
have usurped their place, it steals into the soul of the
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
95
22
outcast like the sunbeams within the cell of the pris-
oner, lightening the darker dungeon of the polluted
heart, bringing along with it fond recollections of past
happiness, and wooing back to fresh participation in
the light and the gladness that still remain for the bro-
ken and contrite spirit.
are
If the situation of a wife brings woman to a right
understanding of her own character, that of a mother
leads to a strict knowledge of her own principles.
Scarcely is any one so depraved as to teach her child
what she conscientiously believes to be wrong.
And
yet teach it she must, for its "clear pure eyes
fixed upon hers to learn their meaning, and its infant
accents are inquiring out the first principles of good
and evil. How, with such a picture before her, would
any woman dare to teach what she did not implicitly,
as well as rationally, and from mature examination,
believe to be true. In a few days-hours-nay, mo-
ments, that child may be a cherub in the courts of
Heaven. What if a stain should have been upon its
wings, and that stain the impress of a mother's hand!
or if its earthly life should be prolonged, it is the found-
ation of the important future that the mother lays.
Other governors in after years may take upon them-
selves the tuition of her child, and lead him through
the paths of academic lore, but the early bias-the bent
of the moral character-the first principles of spiritual
life, will be hers, and hers the lasting glory or the last-
ing shame.
There is no scene throughout the whole range of our
96
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
observation, more strikingly illustrative of intellectual,
moral, and even physical beauty than that presented
by a domestic circle, where a mother holds her proper
place, as the source of tenderness, the center of affec-
tion, the bond of social union, the founder of each
salutary plan, the umpire in all contention, and the
general fountain of cheerfulness, hope, and consolation.
It is to clear up the unjust suspicion that such a mother
steps forward; to ward off the unmerited blow; to
defend the wounded spirit from the injury to which it
would sullenly submit; to encourage the hopeless,
when thrown back in the competition of talent; to
point out to those who have been defeated, other aims
in which they may yet succeed; to stand between the
timid and the danger they dread; and, on behalf of each,
and all, to make their peace with offended authority,
promising, hoping, and believing, that they will never
willingly commit the same fault again.
Even amongst her boys, those wayward libertines
of nature's commonwealth, the mother may, if she acts
judiciously, be both valuable and dear; for wild and
impetuous as they are when they first burst forth from
the restraints of childhood, and rush on regardless of
every impediment and wholesome check, as if to attain
in the shortest space of time, the greatest possible dis-
tance from dependence and puerility, they are apt to
meet with crosses and disappointments which plunge
them suddenly back into the weakness they have been
struggling to overcome, or rather to conceal; and it is
then that a mother's love supplies the balm which their
*
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
97
•
wounded feelings want, and provided they can mingle
respect with their affection they are not ashamed to
acknowledge their dependence upon it still.
But how feeble are all the varieties of love, which
childhood elicits, compared to that which exists in a
mother's breast. Examine, I pray you, its unique
nature, by contrast and comparison. We are wont
to place our affections where our virtues are appreci-
ated, or to fix our reliance where some benefit may be
conferred. But maternal love is founded on utter help-
lessness. A wailing cry, a foot too feeble to bear the
burdens of the body, an eye unable to distinguish
the friend who feeds it, a mind more obtuse than the
new-born lamb, which discerns its mother amid the
flock, or the duckling that hastens from its shell to the
stream, are among the elements of which it is com-
pounded.
•
It is able also to subsist without aliment. Other
love requires the interchange of words or smiles, some
beauty, or capability, or moral fitness, either existing,
or supposed to exist. It is wont, as it advances in
ardor, to exact a vow of preference, above all the
world beside, and if need be, to guard this its Magna
Charta, with the sting of reproach, or the fang of
jealousy. It is scarcely proof against long absence,
without frequent tokens of remembrance, and its most
passionate stage of existence may be checked by
caprice.
But I have seen a mother's love endure every test
unharmed, and come forth from the refiner's furnace,
*
98
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
5
purged from that dross of selfishness, which the heart
is wont to find among its purest gold. A widow ex-
pended on her only son, all the fullness of her affec-
tion, and the little gains of her industry. She denied
herself every superfluity, that he might receive the
benefits of education, and the indulgences that boy-
hood covets. She sat silently by her small fire, and
lighted her single candle, and regarded him with in-
tense delight, as he amused himself with his books,
or sought out the lessons for the following day. The
expenses of his school were discharged by the labor
of her hands, and glad and proud was she to bestow
on him, privileges, which her own youth had never
been permitted to share. She believed him to be dili-
gently acquiring the knowledge which she respected,
but was unable to comprehend. His teachers, and
his idle companions, knew otherwise. He, indeed,
learned to astonish his simple and admiring parent,
with high-sounding epithets, and technical terms, and
to despise her for not understanding them. When
she saw him discontented, at comparing his situation
with that of others, who were above him in rank, she
denied herself almost bread, that she might add a
luxury for his table, or a garment to his wardrobe.
She erred in judgment, and he in conduct; but her
changeless love surmounted all. Still, there was
little reciprocity, and every year diminished that lit-
tle, in his cold and selfish heart. He returned no
caress; his manners assumed a cast of defiance. She
strove not to perceive the alteration, or sadly solaced
"
-
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
99
herself with the reflection, that "it was the nature of
boys."
He grew boisterous and disobedient. His returns
to their humble cottage became irregular. She sat
up late for him, and when she heard his approaching
footstep, forgot her weariness, and welcomed him
kindly. But he might have seen reproach written on
the paleness of her loving brow, if he would have
read its language. During those long and lonely
evenings, she sometimes wept as she remembered him
in his early years, when he was so gentle, and to her
eye so beautiful.
"But this is the nature of young
men,” said her lame philosophy. So, she armed her-
self to bear.
At length, it was evident that darker vices were
making him their victim. The habit of intemperance
could no longer be concealed, even from a love that
blinded itself. The widowed mother remonstrated
with unwonted energy. She was answered in the dia-
lect of insolence and brutality.
He disappeared from her cottage. What she
dreaded had come upon her. In his anger, he had
gone to sea. And now, every night, when the tem-
pest howled, and the wind was high, she lay sleepless,
thinking of him. She saw him, in her imagination,
climbing the slippery shrouds, or doing the bidding
of rough, unfeeling men. Again, she fancied that he
was sick and suffering, with none to watch over him,
or have patience with his waywardness, and her head,
which silver hairs began to sprinkle, gushed forth, as
if it were a fountain of waters.
5
*
100
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
""
But hope of his return began to cheer her. When
the new moon looked with its slender crescent in at
her window, she said, "I think my boy will be here,
ere that moon is old." And when it waned and went
away, she sighed and said, " my boy will remember me.
Years fled, and there was no letter, no recognition.
Sometimes she gathered tidings from a comrade, that
he was on some far sea, or in some foreign land.
But no message for his mother. When he touched
at some port in his native country, it was not to seek
her cottage, but to spend his wages in revelry, and
re-embark on a new voyage.
Weary years, and no letter. Yet she had abridged
her comforts, that he might be taught to write, and
she used to exhibit his penmanship with such pride.
But she dismissed the reproachful thought. "It was
the nature of sailors.”
Amid all these years of neglect and cruelty, Love
lived on. When Hope refused nourishment, she
asked food of Memory. She was satisfied with the
crumbs from a table which must never be spread again.
Memory brought the broken bread which she had
gathered into her basket, when the feast of innocence
was over, and Love received it as a mendicant, and
fed upon it and
it and gave thanks.
thanks. She fed upon the cra-
dle-smile; upon the first caress of infancy; upon the
loving years of childhood, when, putting his cheek
to hers, he slumbered the live-long night, or when
teaching him to walk, he tottered with outstretched
arms to her bosom, as a new-fledged bird to its nest.
1
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
101
But religion found this lonely widow, and communed
with her at deep midnight, while the storm was rag-
ing without. It told her of a "name better than of
sons or of daughters," and she was comforted. It
bade her resign herself to the will of her Father in
Heaven, and she found peace.
It was a cold evening in winter, and the snow lay
deep upon the earth. The widow sat alone by her
little fireside. The marks of early age had settled
upon her. There was meekness on her brow, and in
her hand a book from whence that meekness came.
A heavy knock shook her door, and ere she could
open it, a man entered. He moved with pain, like one
crippled, and his red and downcast visage was par-
tially concealed by a torn hat. Among those who had
been familiar with his youthful countenance, only one,
save the Being who made him, could have recognized
him, through his disguise and misery. The mother,
looking deep into his eye, saw a faint tinge of that
fair blue, which had charmed her, when it unclosed
from the cradle-dream.
Had the prodigal returned by a late repentance, to
atone for years of ingratitude and sin? I will not
speak of the revels that shook the peaceful roof of his
widowed parent, or of the profanity that disturbed
her repose. The remainder of his history is brief.
The effects of vice had debilitated his constitution,
and once, as he was apparently recovering from a
long paroxysm of intemperance, apoplexy struck his
heated brain, and he lay a bloated and hideous carcase.
102
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
The poor mother faded away, and followed him.
She had watched over him, with a meek, nursing
patience, to the last. Her love had never turned
away from him, through years of neglect, brutality,
and revolting wickedness. "Bearing all things, be-
lieving all things, hoping all things, enduring all
things," was its motto.
Is not the same love in the hearts of all, who
are mothers?
And wherefore has it been placed
there, that deathless love? Sisters, why is it placed
there?
To expend itself in the physical care of our chil-
dren, in the indulgence of their appetites? A nurse,
or a servant, might do this, for money. To adorn
their persons? That is the milliner's province. To
secure showy accomplishments? A fashionable
teacher will do this better. To spend itself on aught
that earth can bestow? I pray you, not thus degrade
its essence or its mission.
The wisdom that never errs, attempers means to
ends. It proportions the strongest affections to the
greatest needs. It arms the timid, domestic bird, with
an eagle's courage, when its young are to be defended.
It has implanted in our bosoms a love, next in pa-
tience to that of a Redeemer, that we may perform the
ministry of an angel, and help to people with angels
the court of Heaven.
"
Farm Sc
VI.
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.

HE moment a child is born into the world, a
mother's duties commence; and of all those
which God has allotted to mortals, there are
none so important as those which devolve
upon a mother.
More feeble and helpless than anything else
of living creatures is an infant in the first days of its
existence―unable to minister to its own wants, unable
even to make those wants known: a feeble cry which
indicates suffering, but not what or where the pain is,
is all that it can utter.
But to meet this weakness and incapacity on the
part of the infant, God has implanted in the heart of
the mother a yearning affection to her offspring, so
that she feels this almost inanimate being to be a part
of herself, and every cry of pain acts as a dagger to her
own heart.
A mother's first ministration for her infant is to en-
ter, as it were, the valley of the shadow of death, and
win its life at the peril of her own. How different
must an affection thus founded, be from all others.
As if to deepen its power, a season of languor ensues,
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THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
when she is comparatively alone with her infant and
with Him who gave it, cultivating an acquaintance
with a new being, and, through a new channel, with
the greatest of all beings. Is she not also herself an
image of His goodness, while she cherishes in her bosom
the young life that He laid there? A love, whose root
is in death, whose fruit must be in Eternity, has taken
possession of her. No wonder that its effects are ob-
vious and great.
Has she been selfish? or rather, has the disposition
to become so been nourished by the indulgence of afflu-
ence, or the adulation offered to beauty? How soon
she sacrifices her own ease and convenience to that of
her babe. She wakens at its slightest cry, and in its
sickness forgets to take sleep.
"Night after night
She keepeth vigil, and when tardy morn
Breaks on her watching eye-lids, and she fain
Would lay her down to rest, its weak complaining
O'ercomes her weariness."
The most potent influence which humanity acknowl-
edges is that of women, and the most potent influence
in childhood is the mother's. We are, to a great ex-
tent, what our mothers make us. The lessons we learn
from their dear lips are the lessons which abide by us
to the grave. Therefore might George Herbert justly
"that one good mother was worth a hundred
schoolmasters." We cannot have a St. Augustine
without a Monica. Cromwell, Pitt, George Washing-
ton, Napoleon, Walter Scott, how much did they not
say,
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105
999
66
owe to their mothers! In each case the maternal im-
pression was all in all. The fruit grew out of seed
sown by the mother's hand. "I should have been an
atheist," writes John Randolph, the American states-
man, “if it had not been for one recollection, and that
was the memory of the time when my departed mother
used to take my little hand in hers, and cause me on
my knees to say, 'Our Father who art in heaven!
Mr. Foster describes the mother of Oliver Cromwell
as a woman possessed of the glorious faculty of self-
help when other assistance failed her; ready for the
demands of fortune in its extremest adverse turn; of
spirit and energy equal to her mildness and patience;
who, with the labor of her own hands, gave dowries
to five daughters, sufficient to marry them into families
as honorable but more wealthy than their own; whose
single pride was honesty, and whose passion was love;
who preserved in the gorgeous palace at Whitehall
the simple tastes that distinguished her in the old
brewery at Huntingdon; and whose only care, amidst
all her splendor, was for the safety of her own son in
his dangerous eminence." What wonder that the son
of such a mother became a great English worthy! A
life nurtured under such high influences could hardly
be other than heroic.
It was to the fostering care and wise guidance of
his mother that Ary Scheffer, the German artist, owed
the development of his intellect. Who can forget
the lessons of admirable counsel she addressed to
him when he was pursuing his studies at Paris?
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THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
"Work diligently; be, above all, modest and hum-
ble; and when you find yourself excelling others, then
compare what you have done with Nature itself, or
with the 'ideal' of your own mind, and you will be
secured, by the contrast which will be apparent,
against the effects of pride and presumption." The
mother of the great Napoleon was a woman of re-
markable energy of mind and force of character.
The late Lord Lytton ascribed his literary successes
to the early impulse given to his talents by the cultı-
vated taste of his accomplished mother. From his
mother the poet Burns derived much of his fervor of
imagination. Canning, the brilliant wit and success-
ful statesman, inherited his intellectual qualifications
from his mother. The father's influence must not be
wholly set aside; and if William Pitt was largely in-
debted to the energy and vigor of his mother, he also
owed not a little to the example and lessons of his
father, the great Earl of Chatham. The Romillys, the
Wilberforces, Sir Robert Peel, Matthew Arnold, are
all illustrations of the inheritance of ability and char-
acter on a father's side; but as the mother is nearer
to the child than the father, as her love is deeper and
more unselfish, so is her influence greater and more
enduring. A man's career in life is more frequently
fixed by the mother's impulse than by the father's;
and it is to be observed that a mother generally shows
a much subtler sympathy with the "natural instinct”
of her children, more correctly estimates their capa-
bilities and understands their tastes, than the father.
We
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
107
This truth was keenly felt and eloquently expressed
by Michelet. "I lost my mother thirty years ago,
when I was still a child," he writes; "nevertheless,
ever living in my memory, she follows me through
each stage of life. She suffered with me in my pov-
erty, and was not permitted to share my brighter for-
tune. When young, I frequently caused her pain,
and now I cannot console her. I know not even where
her bones lie; I was then too poor to buy earth for
her grave! And yet I owe her a large debt of grati-
tude. I feel deeply that I am the son of woman.
Every instant, in my ideas and language, not to speak
of
my features and gestures, I find again my mother
in myself. It is my mother's blood which gives me the
sympathy I cherish for ages past, and the tender re-
membrance of all those who are now no more." It
was in a like spirit that Benjamin West said, "A kiss
from my mother made me a painter;" and Curran, the
Irish orator, "The only inheritance I could boast of
from my father was the very scanty one of an unattrac-
tive face and person, like his own; and if the world
has ever attributed to me something more valuable
than face or person, or than earthly wealth, it was
that another and a dearer parent gave her child a
portion from the treasure of her mind." So, too,
Fowell Buxton wrote to his mother: "I constantly
feel, especially in action and exertion for others, the
effects of principles early implanted by you in my
mind."
Pope was never loth to acknowledge the
beauty of the example set before him by his mother..
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THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
And it was Goethe's mother who discerned and en-
couraged his literary tastes when his father was bent
on his following the law.
This shows what a mother can do if she only will.
And there is no mother who does not have the high-
est hopes for her children, and does not wish them to
be among
the best, as well as among the most famous
of the earth. Her anxiety is how this can be accom-
plished. We cannot enforce too emphatically this ad-
vice: Begin early to start your child on the course you
wish it to follow.
The first months of infancy are a spot of brightness
to a faithful and affectionate mother; a dream of
bliss, from which she wakes to more complicated
duties; a payment for past suffering, a preparation
for future toil. I heard a lady, who had brought up
a large family, say it was the "only period of a moth-
er's perfect enjoyment." At its expiration comes
dentition, with a host of physical ills. The character
begins to develope, and sometimes to take that tinge
which occasional pain of body or fretfulness of tem-
per impart. The alphabet of existence is learned.
We can perceive that its combinations are not always
in harmony. The little being takes hold upon this
life of trial. Soon, its ignorance must be dispelled,
its perceptions guided, its waywardness quelled, its
passions held in check, by one who often feels her-
self too infirm for the mighty task.
Yet, were I to define the climax of happiness which
a mother enjoys with her infant, I should by no means
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
109
limit it to the first three months. The whole season
while it is deriving nutriment from her, is one of pe-
culiar, inexpressible felicity. She has it in her power
so immediately to hush its moanings, to soothe its
sorrows, to alleviate its sicknesses, that she is to it as
a tutelary spirit.
Oh, mothers! be not anxious to abridge this
halcyon period. Do not willingly deprive your-
selves of any portion of the highest pleasure of which
woman's nature is capable. Devote yourselves to the
work. Have nothing to do with the fashionable evening
party, the crowded hall, the changes of dress that
put health in jeopardy. Be temperate in all things.
Receive no substance into the stomach that disorders
it; no stimulant that affects the head; indulge no
agitating passions. They change the aliment of your
child. They introduce poison into its veins, or kindle
fever in its blood. Experienced medical men will
assure you, that its constitution through life is modi-
fied by the nursing of the first year. One of the
most illustrious living physicians in Paris, while test-
ing the pathology of disease in the thronged wards of
the hospital in that metropolis, always questions the
new patient, "were you nursed at the breast of your
mother? and how long?"
The first of the parental duties which nature points
out to the mother is to be herself the nurse of her own
offspring. In some instances, however, the parent is
not endued with the powers of constitution requisite
for the discharge of it. In others the endeavor
}
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THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
I
would be attended with a risk to her own health great-
er than she ought to encounter when it can be avoided.
In every such case the general obligation ceases. The
disappointment which will be felt by maternal tender-
ness, ought to be borne without repining; and without
indulging apprehensions respecting the welfare of the
infant, which experience has proved to be needless.
But spontaneously to transfer to a stranger, as modern
example dictates, the office of nurturing your child,
when your health and strength are adequate to the
undertaking; to transfer it, that your indolence may
not be disturbed, or that your passion for amusement
may not be crippled in its exertions; is to evince a
most shameful degree of selfishness and unnatural in-
sensibility. When affection fails even in this first
trial, great reason have we to forbode the absence of
that disposition to submit to personal sacrifices, which
will be found indispensably necessary to the perform-
ance of the subsequent duties of a parent.
Whether a mother be or be not able to rear her off-
spring at her own breast, conscience and natural feelings
unite in directing her to exercise that general superin-
tendence over the conduct of all the inhabitants of the
nursery, which is requisite to preserve her infant from
suffering by neglect, by the prejudices of ignorance,
or by the immoderate officiousness of care.
When the dawning intellect begins to unfold itself,
the office of parental instruction commences. The dis-
positions of a child are susceptible of very early cul-
ture; and much trouble and much unhappiness may be
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
111
>
prevented by nipping in the bud the first shoots of
caprice, obstinacy, and passion, and by instilling and
cherishing amiable sentiments and habits. The twig,
however young and tender, may be bent and fashioned
by the hand of gentleness. The mind soon learns by
habit to expect discipline; and ere long begins to dis-
cipline itself. By degrees the young pupil acquires
the capacity of understanding the general reasons of
the parent's commands, denials, commendations, and
reproofs and they should be communicated in most
cases in which they can be comprehended.
During this first sacred year, trust not your treasure
too much to the charge of hirelings. Have it under
your superintendence, both night and day. When
necessarily engaged in other employments, let it hear
your cheering, protecting tone. Keep it ever within
the sensible atmosphere of maternal tenderness. Its
little heart will soon reach out the slender radicles of
love and trust. Nourish them with smiles and caresses,
the "small dew upon the tender grass.
"" When it
learns to distinguish you, by stretching its arms for
your embrace; when on its little tottering feet it essays
to run towards you; above all, when the first effort of
its untaught tongue is to form your name, mother,
there is neither speech nor language by which to ex-
press your joy! No, no, the poverty of words will
never be so unwise as to attempt it.
But let that holy, sacred name, imperfectly pro-
nounced by your infant's lips, awaken within you a sense
of the duties and responsibilities that devolve upon you.
2
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THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
Then, as you observe the gradual unfolding of its
intellect, watch for the time when your little one first
exhibits decided preferences, and aversions. The next
letter in the alphabet, is obedience. It is its first step
towards religion. The fear of God must be taught
by the parent, standing for a time in the place of
God, as ruler and director.
Establish your will, as the law. Do it early, for
docility is impaired by delay. It is the truest love,
to save the little stranger in this labyrinth of life, all
those conflicts of feeling, which must continue as long
as it remains doubtful who is to be its guide. As
the root and germ of piety, as a preparation for sub-
mission to the Eternal Father, as the subduing pro-
cess, which is to lead it in calmness through the storms
and
surges of time, teach obedience.
It is a simple precept in philosophy, that obedience
should be the most entire and unconditional, where
reason is the weakest. Its requisitions should be en-
forced, in proportion to the want of intelligence in the
subject. The parent is emphatically a light to those
who sit in darkness. The transition from the dreamy
existence of infancy, to the earliest activity of child-
hood, is a period when parental authority is eminently
needful, to repress evil, and to preserve happiness.
But it must have been established before, in order to
be in readiness then. Without this rudder, the little
voyager is liable to be thrown among the eddies of
its own passion, and wrecked like the bark canoe.
I hope that you will not suppose me the advocate
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
113
of austerity. As the substitution of your wisdom, in
the place of the wayward impulses of your child, is
the truest kindness, so is it a feature of that kind-
ness, to commence it when it may be done with the
greatest ease. Gentleness, combined with firmness,
will teach it to your infant. Wait a few months
and perhaps it may not be so. Obedience, to the
mind in its waxen state, is like the silken thread by
which the plant is drawn toward its prop; enforced
too late, it is like the lasso, with which the wild horse
is enchained, requiring dexterity to throw, and severity
to manage.
Deaf and dumb children, or those whose intellect
is weak, it is peculiarly cruel not to subjugate. With
them, the will of the parent must longer, and more
entirely operate. As reason develops, and the habits
become regulated, and the affections take their right
place, parental authority naturally relaxes its vigil-
ance. It loosens, and falls off, like the thorny sheath
of the chestnut, when the kernel ripens. But the
husk of the chestnut is opened by the frost, and the
sway of the parent yields to the sharper lessons of the
world; and of this teaching, the young probationer is
not always able to say that,
"When most severe and mustering all its wrath,
'Tis but the graver countenance of love."
With many of our most illustrious characters, the
obedience of earlier years was strongly enforced. We
know it was so in the case of Washington. Other
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examples might be easily adduced. Those who have
most wisely ruled others, have usually tested, by their
own experience, the nature of subordination, at its
proper season. Fabius Maximus, whose invincible
wisdom tamed the fierce spirits of Rome, was so dis-
tinguished by submission to his superiors, as to be
derided by the insubordinate, and called in his boy-
hood, "the little sheep."
Let the next lesson to your infant pupil, be kind-
ness all around. The rudiments are best taught by
the treatment of animals. If it seizes a kitten by the
back, or pulls its hair, show immediately by your
example, how it may be held properly, and soothed
into confidence. Draw back the little hand, lifted to
strike the dog. Perhaps it may not understand that
it thus inflicts pain. But be strenuous in confirming
an opposite habit. Do not permit it to kill flies or
to trouble harmless insects. Check the first buddings
of those Domitian tastes. Instruct it that the gift of
life, to the poor beetle, or the crawling worm, is
from the Great Father above, and not to be lightly
trodden out. A little boy, who early discovered pro-
pensities to cruelty, was so thoroughly weaned from
them, by his mother, that when attending to infantine
lessons in Natural History, long before he was able
to read, and hearing of a bird that was fond of catch-
ing flies, he lisped, with a kind of horror upon his
baby-face, "Oh! kill flies! will God forgive it?"
Another boy was observed never to deviate in his
kind treatment of dogs. And he remembered that
**
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115
with a heaving breast, and suffused eye, he had list-
ened when almost an infant, to the following simple
story.
"There was once a good dog. His master was al-
ways
kind to him. When he called him, he came;
when he went from home he followed him; when he
sat by the fire, he slept at his feet. But his master
grew sick and died. The dog watched where they
buried him. He went and stretched himself out on
the grave. The people from the house came to coax
him home again. They said, 'come! come! poor fel-
low! we will feed you; we will be kind to you.' He.
went with them, but he would not stay. He would
not lay down by the fire, and sleep where he used to
do. For his master was not there. He took only a
little food, and hurried back to the grave. There he
watched night and day. When he heard a footstep
among the tombs, he started up, and gazed earnestly
around. But when he saw that it was not his dear
master, he laid his head on the turf again, and moaned.
The storms beat on him, and the cold snows, but he
would not leave the grave. In the dark midnight, it
was sad to hear his voice among the dead, calling for
his master. But his barking grew fainter and fainter.
Pitying children brought him meat and bread. He
was too weak to eat, and he ceased to lick their
hands. He grew thin, and pined away. At last he
could no longer rise up on his feet; and so he died,
calling for his beloved master."
How soon such precepts of kindness, in the tender
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tones of a mother, may incorporate themselves with
the nature of an infant, we know not. But we do
know that those baleful dispositions, which desolate
human happiness, are often early developed. It was
Benedict Arnold, the traitor, who in his boyhood
loved to destroy insects, to mutilate toads, to steal the
eggs of the mourning bird, and torture quiet, domestic
animals, who eventually laid waste the shrinking, do-
mestic charities, and would have drained the life-
blood of his endangered country.
Let your third lesson be truth. Grant the little
learner all the aid in your power, for the growth of
this cardinal virtue. Do not be severe for little faults,
and especially for accidents. Do not set fear in array
against truth, in the breast of your child. It is
stronger and will prevail; for its moral code is yet
unsettled, but the passions, like Minerva, have sprung
armed into life. As your child becomes acquainted
with the import of words, accustom it to speak to you
freely of its faults. Explain to it, that it is an erring
being, that your discipline is intended to make it bet-
ter, more acceptable to God, happier when it grows
up,
and in the life to come. Assure it, that you should
be wanting in your duty, if you failed to reform its er-
rors, and therefore exhort it to tell you frankly when
it has erred, as the physician requires of the sick man
a full account of his symptoms, ere he proportions the
remedy. A child, thus instructed, was often led by
the nurse to his mother's room, when he had offended,
and left there, without any accusation, save his own
•
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
117
lisping voice; and it was invariably found on com-
paring his evidence with the facts, that he had pre-
served the beauty of truth inviolate. This result
would be more frequently seen, if we did not terrify
the infant delinquents. They are often puzzled with
the meaning of words, when questions are rapidly ad-
dressed to them; even their reliance on our justice
forsakes them, if they discern the lineaments of anger;
and self-preservation, the first law of nature, coming
into action, overthrows their infirm integrity.
66
My goodness grows weak," said a boy, of five years
old, running into his mother's arms: "help me to be
good." Doubtless we might longer continue as guard-
ian angels to our children, if we cultivated in them habits
of perfect confidence, and forbore to terrify them for
trivial delinquencies.
As an important ally of truth, we should protect
their simplicity. The whole structure of society is so
artificial, that to a child it is a perpetual mystery. A
little boy when taking his leave at night, to go to bed,
said to one of the circle, whom he kissed, "you have
not got a pretty face." Another, who sat near, ex-
pressed surprise at the remark, and to him also he
said, "I do not like your face, neither." His mother
inquired, "whose face do you like?" Pointing to
the handsomest of the group, he replied, "hers, my
grown-up sister's face." Now, what at first view seem-
ed rudeness, was simply an expression of the perception
of beauty. He wished to impart the new pleasure
that had entered into his infant heart, and he chose at
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THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
}
first to give the proposition a negative form. In a
mature, and educated person, this would have been a
breach of politeness. But the little one uttered only
the truth. He had not learned the adage, that "truth
is not to be spoken at all times." Nor could he, until
his judgment had acquired strength, or rather, until
he had become hackneyed in the world's policy. The
mother, who was prepared to reprove him, saw that he
ought not to be reproved. Still we cannot begin too
early to teach our children, to say nothing that will
wound the feelings of another. This precept must be
sedulously enforced, until it takes the form of habit,
and the root of principle. Those individuals, who are
the most strictly careful to speak no words that will
unnecessarily give pain, are usually the most ready to
acknowledge, that it is the fruit of education, or ex-
ample, more than of any inherent sympathy, or native
tenderness for their fellow-creatures. To respect truth,
yet to bear upon the tongue the "law of kindness," is
a branch of education which parents should impress
upon all who are under their control. The polite-
ness which springs from such a soil, is worthy of a
Christian.
Į
Yet, why need we compel our children to adopt the
conventional forms of society, when they subvert sim-
plicity? Why commence a warfare against Nature,
almost as soon as she develops herself? Why help
to root out that singleness of heart, which is the most
winning and remarkable flower in the garden of life?
We tell our young children that they must be polite.
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER
119
We force them to kiss strangers, and to say what they
do not feel, and to repress what they do feel, because
it is polite. Again, we tell them, in graver teachings,
that they must speak the truth. We throw their little
minds into a ferment of doubt, to discover what is truth,
and what is politeness, and to draw that line which no
casuist has yet ever drawn. And ere we are aware,
the fresh integrity of the soul escapes. We rebuke, we
punish them for insincerity. Are not the usages of
refined society, too much based upon it? Why then
force infancy into them before its time? Its social
feelings develop but slowly; why hasten to conform
them to those complex customs, and hollow courtesies,
which are but too often modifications of falsehood.
Rather, guard its simplicity, and plant deep in the
seclusion of the nursery, the root of truth, whose fruits
are for the kingdom of heaven.
In teaching the three primary lessons of obedience,
kindness, and truth, there are others, which naturally
interweave themselves, and claim importance in the
moral code of infancy. A mother's vigilant eye will
not overlook them, while laying the foundation for a
future superstructure of virtue. Among them, she
will surely be assiduous to foster delicacy. This seems
to me to be natural to young children, as far as I have
been acquainted with them, unless contaminated by
evil example. They shrink from exposure of their
persons. Let this feeling be respected where it ex-
ists, and implanted where it does not. Permit them to
hear neither stories or words, which create impure
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THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
associations, any more than you would, such as
are tinctured with profanity. For though they
may repeat them, without knowledge of their im-
port, still it is dangerous to load memory with defile-
ment, trusting that it will always remain inert. Per-
haps, these cautions may be deemed superfluous.
Yet as long as purity of thought and character,
are essential to excellence, even the slightest fence
around their first germinations, is worthy of being
strengthened.
I am confident that mothers are not sufficiently care-
ful, with regard to the conversation of domestics, or
other uneducated persons, who, in their absence, may
undertake to amuse their children. "If the little girl
cries, while I am gone," said a mother to a servant girl,
recently hired, "tell her a story, and she will be quiet,"
Ah! and what kind of a story? You will not be there
to hear it. But the tender intellect, already sufficient-
ly advanced to be soothed with stories, may imbibe
foolish, or vulgar, or frightful images, and take their
coloring, like soft wool, sinking in Tyrian purple.
“Tell her a story!" Why that is the
Why that is the very aliment
which her opening mind seizes with the greatest eager-
And you are ignorant whether that aliment may
not be mingled with corruption. It was a wise man,
who said he cared not who made the laws of a nation,
if he might only have the making of their songs.
With greater truth, may it be said of unfolding in-
fancy; any one who chooses may give it grave lessons,
but look out for its story-tellers. Thus it is, that un-
ness.
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121
fortunate babes are terrified, and made to dread a dark
room, or a lonely chamber, until the sleep that should
solace them, is but a communion with nameless mon-
sters, and they are frightened out of their sweet birth-
right, the fearlessness of innocence.
66
Let mothers mingle their teachings, with smiles,
and the dialect of love. It is surprising how soon
an infant learns to read the countenance, how it de-
cyphers the charm of a cheerful spirit, how it longs
to be loved.
Do you
love me well?" the musician
Mozart asked in his infancy, of all the servants of his
father, as one after the other, they passed him, in
their various employments. And if any among them,
to tease him, answered "no," he covered his baby-
face, and wept.
But do not let maternal love make you weak or
fail in your duties towards your children.
It is a great trial to have children undutiful when
young; but it is a tenfold greater affliction to have a
child grow up to maturity in disobedience, and become
a dissolute and abandoned man. How many parents
have passed days of sorrow and nights of sleeplessness
in consequence of the misconduct of their offspring.
How many have had their hearts broken, and their
gray
hairs brought down with sorrow to the grave,
solely in consequence of their own neglect to train up
their children in the nurture and admonition of the
Lord. Your future happiness is in the hands of your
children. They may throw gloom over all your pros-
pects, imbitter every enjoyment and make you so
O
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miserable, that your only prospect of relief will be in
death.
That little girl whom you now fondle upon your knee,
and who plays, so full of enjoyment, upon your floor,
has entered a world where temptations are thick around.
What is to enable her to resist these temptations, but
established principles of piety? And where is she to
obtain these principles, but from a mother's instructions.
and example? If, through your neglect now, she
should hereafter yield herself to temptation and sin,
what must become of your peace of mind? O, moth-
er, little are you aware of the wretchedness with
which your loved daughter may hereafter overwhelm
you.
Many illustrations of the most affecting nature might
be here introduced. It would be easy to appeal to a
vast number of living sufferers, in attestation of the
woe which the sin of the child has occasioned. You
may go, not only in imagination, but in reality, to the
darkened chamber where the mother sits weeping, and
refusing to be comforted, for a daughter is lost to vir-
tue and to heaven. Still, no person can imagine how
overwhelming the agony which must prey upon a
mother thus dishonored and broken-hearted. This is
a sorrow which can only be understood by one who has
tasted its bitterness and felt its weight. We may go
to the house of piety and prayer, and find the father
and mother with countenances emaciated with suffering;
not a smile plays upon their features, and the mournful
accents of their voice tell how deeply seated is their
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
123
sorrow. Shall we inquire into the cause of this heart-
rending grief? The mother would only reply with
tears and sobs. The father would summon all his for-
titude, and say, "My daughter"-and say no more.
The anguish of his spirit would prevent the further
utterance of his grief.
Is this exaggeration? No. Let your lovely daugh-
ter, now your pride and joy, be abandoned to infa-
my, be an outcast from society, and you must feel
what language cannot express.
This is a dreadful subject, but it is one which the
mother must feel and understand. There are facts
which might here be introduced, sufficient to make
every parent tremble. We might lead you to the
dwelling of the clergyman, and tell you that a daugh-
ter's sin has murdered the mother, and sent paleness.
to the cheek, and trembling to the frame, and agony
to the heart of the aged father. We might carry you
to the parlor of the rich man, and show you all
the elegance and the opulence with which he is
surrounded; and yet he would tell you that he
was one of the most unhappy of the sons of afflic-
tion, and that he would gladly give all his treas-
ures if he could purchase back a daughter's virtue;
and that he could gladly lie down to die, if he
could thus blot out the remembrance of a daughter's
infamy.
No matter what your situation in life may be, that
little child, now so innocent, whose playful endear-
ments and happy laugh awaken such thrilling emo-
X
124
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
tions in your heart, may cause you years of most un-
alleviated misery.
O, how hard it must be for a mother, after all her
pain and anxiety and watching, to find her son a de-
moniac spirit, instead of a guardian and friend! You
have watched over your child through all the months
of its helpless infancy. You have denied yourself,
that you might give it comfort. When it has been
sick, you have been unmindful of your own weari-
ness and your own weakness, and the livelong night
you have watched at its cradle, administering to all its
wants. When it has smiled, you have felt a joy
which none but a parent can feel, and have pressed
your much-loved treasure to your bosom, praying that
its future years of obedience and affection might be
your ample reward. And now, how dreadful a re-
quital, for that child to grow up to hate and abuse
you; to leave you friendless, in sickness and in pov-
erty; to squander all his earnings in haunts of iniq-
uity and degradation !
How entirely is your earthly happiness at the dis-
posal of your child.
child. His character is now, in an im-
portant sense, in your hands, and you are to form it
for good or for evil. If you are consistent in your
government, and faithful in the discharge of your
duties, your child will probably through life revere
you, and be the stay and solace of your declining
years. If, on the other hand, you cannot summon
resolution to punish your child when disobedient;
if you do not curb his passions; if you do not
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
125
curse.
bring him to entire and willing subjection to your
authority, you must expect that he will be your
In all probability, he will despise you for
your weakness. Unaccustomed to restraints at home,
he will break away from all restraints, and make
you wretched by his life, and disgraceful in his
death.
But few parents think of this as they ought. They
are not conscious of the tremendous consequences de-
pendent upon the efficient and decisive government of
their children. Thousands of parents now stand in
our land like oaks blighted and scathed by lightnings
and storms. Thousands have had every hope wrecked,
every prospect darkened, and have become the victims
of the most agonizing and heart-rending disappoint-
ment, solely in consequence of the misconduct of their
children. And yet thousands of others are going on
in the same way, preparing to experience the same
suffering, and are apparently unconscious of their
danger.
It is true that there are many mothers who feel
their responsibilities perhaps as deeply as it is best
they should feel them. But there are many others,
even of Christian mothers, who seem to forget that
their children will ever be less under their control
than they are while young. And they are training
them up, by indecision and indulgence, soon to tyr-
annize over their parents with a rod of iron, and to
pierce their hearts with many sorrows. If you are
unfaithful to your child when he is young, he will
8
126
THE DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
be unfaithful to you when he is old. If you indulge
him in all his foolish and unreasonable wishes when
he is a child, when he becomes a man he will indulge
himself; he will gratify every desire of his heart;
and your sufferings will be rendered the more poig-
nant by the reflection that it was your own un-
faithfulness which has caused your ruin.
If you
would be the happy mother of a happy child, give
your attention, and your efforts, and your prayers,
to the great duty of training him up for God and
heaven.
VII.
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
'Tis education forms the common mind,
Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclin'd.
Pope.

F you would train up your children in the
way they should go, it is necessary that you
diligently cultivate your own minds, imbu-
ing them with sound principles, and storing
them with useful knowledge. It may be said,
that this ought to have been done before you
occupied the position you do-and it is true. But it
will be acknowledged, we think, by almost all who
are capable of forming a judgment on the subject, that
generally speaking, it is not done before, and that in
nine-tenths, perhaps, of those cases in which the mind
has been fitted for the efficient discharge of a mother's
duties, its cultivation has been chiefly, if not entirely
effected, at a period subsequent to that allotted to
what is termed Education.
Napoleon once asked Madame Campan what the
French nation most needed, in order that her youth
might be properly educated. Her reply was com-
prised in one word that word was "Mother« ! ”
127
128
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
And it was a wise reply. Not the French nation only
-the world needs mothers,-Christian, intelligent,
well-trained mothers, to whom the destinies of the
rising generation may safely be entrusted.
Who can compute the value of the first seven years
of life? Who can tell the strength of impressions,
made ere the mind is pre-occupied, prejudiced, or per-
verted? Especially, if in its waxen state, it is soft-
ened by the breath of a mother, will not the seal which
she stamps there, resist the mutations of time, and be
read before the Throne of the Judge, when the light
of this sun and moon are quenched and extinct?
We are counselled on this point by the humblest an-
alogies. Does not he who would train a dog, or tame
a tiger, or exhibit an elephant for gain, begin his sys-
tem early, before time has rendered the muscles rigid,
or rooted ferocity in habit, or set bounds to sagacity
by impairing the docile spirit? And is animal nature
worthy of more earnest effort than intellectual? or can
motives of gain, be compared with the hallowed im-
pulses that move parents to seek the good of their off-
spring?
The husbandman wakes early, though the mother
sleeps. He scarcely waits for the breath of spring to
unbind the soil, ere he marks out his furrow. If he
neglected to prepare the ground, he might as well sow
his seed by the way-side, or upon the rock. If he de-
ferred the vernal toil, till the suns of summer were
high, what right would he have to expect the autumn-
harvest, or the winter-store? The florist mingles his
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
129
compost, he proportions warmth and moisture, he is
patient and watchful, observant of the atmosphere and
and of the seasons, else he knows that his richest bulbs
would be cast away. Should the teacher of the infant
heart be less diligent than the corn-planter, or the cul-
turer of a tulip?
The industry displayed in the various trades and
occupations, should be a stimulant to the mother, who
modifies a material more costly than all others, liable
to destruction by brief neglect. The hammer of the
early workman admonishes her not to wait till the
"burden and heat of the day." Is the manufacturer
of delicate fabrics inattentive to the nature of the
fleece which he purchases, or to the lineage of the flock
that produced it? Are not the most refined processes
of the loom affected by the character of the leaf on
which the silk-worm fed, or the fibre of the flax that
is broken like a malefactor upon the wheel? The art-
izan who is ambitious to spread the most snowy and
perfect sheet for the writer's pen, is he indifferent
whether the pulp be pure? if he would tinge it with
the cerulean or the rose-tint, does he neglect to infuse
the coloring matter with the elemental mass? Is the
builder of a lofty and magnificent edifice careless of its
foundations, and whether its columns are to rest upon
a quicksand, or a quagmire? And should the maternal
guardian of an immortal being, be less anxious, less
scrupulous, than the worker in wool and silk, in linen
and paper, or than the artificer in brick and stone?
Shall the imperishable gem of the soul, be less regarded
130
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
than the "wood, hay, and stubble," that moulder or
consume around it?
Mothers, take into your own hands the early instruc-
tion of your children. Commence with simple stories,
drawn perhaps from the Scriptures, from the varied
annal of history, or from your own observation of man-
kind. Let each illustrate some moral or religious
truth, adapted to convey instruction, reproof, or en-
couragement, according to your knowledge of the
character and disposition of your beloved student.
Care and study may be requisite to select, adapt, and
simplify. But can any do this so patiently as a moth-
er, who feels that her listening pupil is a part of her-
self?
Cultivate in your children, tenderness of conscience,
a deep sense of accountability to God, a conviction
that their conduct must be regulated by duty, and not
by impulse. Read to them books of instruction, se-
lected with discrimination, or make use of them as texts
for your own commentary. In your teachings of reli-
gion, avoid all points of sectarian difference, and found
the morality which you inculcate, on the Scriptures of
truth. Give one hour every morning, if possible, to
the instruction of your children, one undivided hour
to them alone. Ere they retire, secure, if it lies in
your power, another portion of equal length. Review
what has been learned throughout the day, recall its
deeds, its faults, its sorrows, its blessings, to deepen
the great lessons of God's goodness and forbearance,
or to soothe the little heart into sweet peace with Him,
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
131
and all the world, ere the eyes close in slumber. Let
the simple music of some evening hymn, and their ten-
der
prayer
of contrition and gratitude, close the daily
intercourse with your endeared pupils, and see if this
system does not render them doubly dear.
Do not deprive them of these stated seasons of in-
struction, without the most imperative necessity. Let
your youngest share in them as soon as it opens its
bright eyes wider at the words, "shall mother tell a
story?"
Then the little flower of mind is ready for a
dew-drop. Let it be small, and so fragrant, that
another will be desired at the morrow's dawn.
I may just here observe that at this period children
are particularly liable to fear. Almost any appear-
ance suffices to suggest images; and the repetition of
any image invariably, at any time or place, is in itself
terrifying to those of older nerves than the children
we are thinking of. Now is the time when portraits
seem to stare at the gazer, and to turn their eyes wher-
ever he moves. Now is the time when a crack in the
plaster of the wall, or an outline in a chintz pattern
or a paper-hanging, suggests the image of some monster,
and perhaps makes the child afraid of his room or his
bed, while his mother has no perception of the fact.
The mother should be on the watch, without any ap-
pearance of being so.
I have spoken of only the early stage of the activity
of the conceptive faculties. We see how it goes on in
the appetite for fiction which is common to all chil-
dren,---in the eagerness of boys for books of voyages
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CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
and travels, and for playing soldiers, and schoolmaster,
and making processions, while the girls are playing
schoolmistress, and dressing up, and pretending to be
the queen. The whole period is, or to ought be, very
precious to the parents; for it is the time for storing
their children's minds with images and ideas, which
are the materials for the exercise of the higher facul-
ties at a later time. The simple method of manage-
ment is to practise the old maxim, "Live and let
live." The mother's mind must be awake, to meet
the vivacious mind of the child; and she must see
that the child's is lively and natural, and be careful
neither to over-excite it by her anxiety to be always
teaching, nor to baulk and depress it by discouraging
too much its sometimes inconvenient loquacity and
curiosity. It is well that there should be times when
children of six and upwards should amuse themselves
and one another without troubling their elders; but
a vivacious child must talk and inquire a great deal
every day, or, if repressed, suffer from some undue ex-
ercise of its mental activity.
It should never be forgotten that the happier a
child is, the cleverer he will be. This is not only be-
cause, in a state of happiness, the mind is free, and at
liberty for the exercise of its faculties, instead of
spending its thoughts and energy in brooding over
troubles; but also because the action of the brain is
stronger when the frame is in a state of hilarity; the
ideas are more clear; impressions of outward objects
are more vivid; and the memory will not let them

Engindly 3.2.3
De Jonghe Pins.
PEEP!
ire
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
133
slip. This is reason enough for the mother to take
some care that she is the cheerful guide and com-
forter that her child needs. If she is anxious or fa-
tigued she will exercise some control over herself, and
speak cheerfully, and try to enter freely into the sub-
ject of the moment;-to meet the child's mind, in
short, instead of making his sink for want of com-
panionship. A rather low instance of the effect of
the stimulus of joy in quickening the powers occurred
within my knowledge; a rather low one, but illus-
trative enough. A little girl, the youngest of her
class at school, did her French lessons fairly; but,
as a matter of course, was always at or near the bot-
tom, while a tall girl, five years older, clever and in-
dustrious, was always, as a matter of course, at the
top. One day there happened to be a long word in
question in the vocabulary, which nobody knew but
the little girl; so she went to the top. There was
not much excitement of ambition in the case; she felt
it to be an accident merely, and the tall girl was very
kind to her;—there could hardly be less of the spirit
of rivalry in such a case than there was here. But
the joy of the child was great; and her surprise,—
both at the fact of her position, and at the power she
found in herself to keep it;-and keep it she did for
many weeks, though the tall girl never missed a word
in all that time. The dull French vocabulary sud-
denl ybecame to the child a book of living image-
ry. The very letters of the words impressed them-
selves like pictures upon her memory; and each word
$
134
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
becoming suddenly interesting of itself, called up
some imagery, which prevented its being forgotten.
All this was pleasant; and then there was the com-
fort and security about the lesson being perfect. The
child not only hoped every day that she should get
well through, but felt it impossible that she would
ever forget a word of it. When at last she failed, it
was through depression of spirits. While she was
learning her lesson at home, her baby-sister was ill,
and crying sadly. It was impossible to get any im-
pression out of the book:-the page turned into com-
mon French vocabulary again; and the next morning,
not only the tall girl stepped into her proper place,
but the little one rapidly passed down to her old stand
at the bottom.
Children who read from the love of reading, are
usually supremely happy over their book. A wise
parent will indulge the love of reading, not only from
kindness in permitting the child to do what it likes
best, but because what is read with enjoyment, has
intense effect upon the intellect. The practice of
reading for amusement must not begin too soon; and
it must be permitted by very slow degress, till the child
is so practised in the art of reading as to have its whole
mind at liberty for the subject, without having to
think about the lines or the subject. Till he is suf-
ficiently practised for this, he should be read to; and
it will then soon appear whether he is likely to be
moderate when he gets a book into his own hands.
My own opinion is, that it is better to leave him to
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
135
+
his natural tastes, to his instincts,-when that im-
portant period of his life arrives which makes him an
independent reader. Of course, his proper duty must
be done;-his lessons, or work of other kinds, and
daily exercise. But it seems to be better to abstain
from interfering with that kind of strong inclination
than to risk the evils of thwarting it. Perhaps
scarcely any person of mature years can conceive
what the appetite for reading is to a child. It goes
off, or becomes changed in mature years, to such a
degree as to make the facts of a reading childhood
scarcely credible in remembrance, or even when be-
fore our eyes. But it is all right; and the process
had better not be disturbed. The apprehension of a
child is so quick, his conceptive faculty is so raven-
ous for facts and pictures, or the merest suggestions,
and he is so entirely free from those philosophical
checks which retard in adults the process of reception
from books, that he can, at ten years old, read the
same book twice as fast as he can,-if he duly im-
proves meanwhile,-twenty years later. I have seen
a young girl read Moore's Lalla Rookh through, ex-
cept a very few pages, before breakfast-and not a
late breakfast; and not a passage of the poem was ever
forgotten. When she had done, the Arabian scenes
appeared to be the reality, and the breakfast table
and brothers and sisters the dream; but that was
sure to come right; and all the ideas of the thick vol-
ume were added to her store. I have seen a school-
boy of ten lay himself down, back uppermost, with
ܝ
136
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
the quarto edition of Thalaba before him, on the first
day of the Easter Holidays, and turn over the leaves,
notwithstanding his inconvenient position, as fast as if
he was looking for something, till, in a few hours, it
was done, and he was off with it to the public library,
bringing back the Curse of Kehama. Thus he went
on with all Southey's poems, and some others, through
his short holidays,-scarcely moving voluntarily all
those days except to run to the library. He came
out of the process so changed, that none of his fam-
ily could help being struck by it. The expression of
his
eye, the cast of his countenance, his use of words,
and his very gait was changed. In ten days, he had
advanced years in intelligence: and I have always
thought that this was the turning-point of his life.
His parents wisely and kindly left him alone,-aware
that school would presently put an end to all excess
in the new indulgence. I can speak from experience
of what children feel toward parents who mercifully
leave them to their own propensities,-forbearing all
reproach about the ill manners and the selfishness of
which the sinners are keenly conscious all the while.
Some children's greediness for books is like a drunk-
ard's for wine. They can no more keep their hands
off a beloved book than the tippler from the bottle
before him. The great difference as to the safety of
the case is that the child's greediness is sure to sub-
side into moderation in time, from the development of
new faculties, while the drunkard's is sure to go on
increasing till all is over with him. If parents would
i
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
137
regard the matter in this way, they would neither be
annoyed at the excess of the inconvenient propensity,
nor proud of any child who has it. It is no sign
yet of a superiority of intellect; much less of that
wisdom which in adults is commonly supposed to
arise from large book-knowledge. It is simply a natu-
ral appetite for that provision of ideas and images
which should, at this season be laid in for the exercise
of the higher faculties which have yet to come into
use. As I have said, I know from experience the
state of things which exists when a child cannot help
reading to an amount which the parents think exces-
sive, and yet are unwilling, for good reasons, to
prohibit.
The mother who is thus assiduous in the work of
early education, will find in poetry an assistant not
to be despised. Its melody is like a harp to the
infant ear, like a trumpet stirring up the new-born
intellect. It breaks the dream with which existence
began, as the clear chirping of the bird wakes
the morning sleeper. It seems to be the natural
dialect of those powers which are earliest developed.
Feeling and Fancy put forth their young shoots ere
they were expected, and Poetry bends a spray for
their feeblest tendrils, or rears a prop for their boldest
aspirings.
Even its first intercourse with the young mind, may
be for a higher purpose than amusement. Entering
the nursery, hand in hand with song, it need not con-
fine itself to unmeaning carols, or to useless echoes.
138
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
It may be the sun-beam to the broken soil. Quick-
ening perception, and giving pleasant food to memory,
it leads to that inquisitive research which, next to ap-
plication, ensures proficiency in the more severe sci-
ences, and higher departments of knowledge.
Still, its principal and best affinity is with the heart.
Its power of creating tender and indelible impres-
sions, has not always been fully appreciated. This
stamps it as an efficient co-adjutor in moral and relig
ious instruction. It comes forth as the usher, and ally
of the mother. It goes with her into the mental field,
in the freshness of the gray dawn, ere tares have
sprung up to trouble the good seed. It nurtures the
listening babe, with the "sweet words of sweetly
uttered knowledge." "It holdeth," said Sir Philip
Sydney, "little children from their play, and old men
from the chimney corner," Especially does it prompt
the cradle-sleeper to love the God and Father of us
all, and as he advances in stature, walks with him
amid the charms and harmonies of Nature, speaking
the language of a clime where beauty never fades,
and where melody is immortal.
Simple, vocal music, the mother will be desirous to
introduce into her system of early education. Its
softening, soothing, cheering influences, have been too
often tested to need additional evidence; and its affin-
ity with devotion has been felt by every one who has
heard a little group singing their sacred song, ere
they retired to rest, while even the infant on its
mother's knee, imitated her tones, its heart swelling
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
139
with the spirit of praise, ere the understanding was
able to comprehend its dialect.
Yet, it was not my intention, to have defined the
department of early education, but simply to urge
mothers to consider it their province.
I feel per-
suaded, that after they have for a few years, sup-
erintended daily and systematically the culture of
the beings entrusted to them, they would not be
willing to exchange it for the place, or the power,
or the fame of any created being. Yet amid this
happiness, who can refrain from trembling at the
thought, that every action, every word, even every
modification of voice or feature, may impress on the
mental tablet of the pupil, traces that shall exist
forever.
Other teachers may toil, perhaps in vain, to purify
the streams that have grown turbid, or to turn them
back from perverted channels. The dominion of the
mother is over the fountain, ere it has contracted a
stain. Let her not believe that the impressions which
she
may make in the first years of life, need be slight,
or readily effaced by the current of opposing events.
The mother of the Rev. John Newton, was assiduous
in her instructions at that early period. It was the
only season allotted her for intercourse with him.
When he was seven years old, death summoned her
from his side. Faithfully had she labored to implant
principles of piety. After he was withdrawn from her
guidance, strong temptation beset him. He yielded,
until he became exceedingly degraded. Many sorrows
140
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
were his portion ere his restitution to virtue. When
at length, he became a faithful and laborious divine,
he bore witness that the early precepts of his mother
had interposed between him and destruction. "To
the care of my mother," he says, "I owe that bias to-
wards religion, which, with the co-operating grace of
God, at length reclaimed, and brought me back to the
paths of peace.
A prudent and pious woman, in the
capacity of wife and mother, is a greater character
than any hero or philosopher, of either ancient or
modern times. The first impressions which children
receive in the nursery, under the mother's immediate
care, are seldom obliterated. Sooner or later, their in-
fluence conduces to form the future life. Though the
child trained up in the way he should go, may for a
season depart from it, there is always reason to hope
that he will be found in it, when he is old. The prin-
ciples instilled into the mind in infancy, may seem
dormant for a while, but the prayers with which the
mother watered what she planted there, are, as some
old writers say, "upon the Lord's file." Times of
trouble recall these principles to the mind, and the
child thus instructed, has something to recur to. Thus
it was with me. I was the only son of my mother.
She taught me. She prayed for me, and over me.
Had she lived to see the misery and wickedness into
which I afterwards plunged, I think it would have
broken her heart. But in the Lord's time, her prayers
were answered. Distress led me to recollect her early
So was I led to look the right way for help.
care.
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
141.
Happy and honored is the woman, who is thus quali
fied to instruct her children, and does it heartily, in
the spirit of faith and power."
Mothers! how soon it may be, that we shall be re-
moved from our stewardship? ere a stranger may be
seated where we have been wont to preside at the
table, and the hearthstone? How brief will be the
interval ere the infants that we now caress, shall be
rocking the cradle of their own infants, or treading
like us the threshold of that house of forgetfulness,
whence there is no return? Bound on this ceaseless,
unresting march in the footsteps of buried generations,
enlisted in that warfare whence there is no discharge,
let us, on whom such pressing responsibilities devolve,
take as our motto, “what thou doest, do quickly."
The dews of the morning are scarcely more fleeting
than the plastic period of the minds on which we oper-
ate. Every day removes them further from our juris-
diction. The companions with whom they are to asso-
ciate, the world in which they are to act, hasten onward
with opposing influences, and an indurating power.
Now, while the garden of the soul is ours, let us give
diligence to implant the germs of holy principle, of
unswerving goodness, of humble piety, of the fear of
sin, of faith in the Redeemer. "Now, while it is called
to-day."
God, in bestowing on us the privilege of being
christian mothers, has nothing higher in reserve for us,
till we take the nature and the harp of seraphs. Then,
as we stand adoring near the Throne, may the chorus.
142
CORRECT TRAINING BY MOTHERS.
of our joyful song be, "Lo, here are the children whom
thou hast graciously given thy servants. Not one is
lost."
Oh mothers, weary not at all the responsibilities
that are now pressing upon you, but remember God
under all circumstances of hope, or danger, joy, or
sorrow, and say:
God knows it all; His will is best;
I'll shield them now, and leave the rest
In his most righteous hand.
Sometimes souls He loves are riven
By tempests wild, and thus are driven
Nearer the better land.
If He should call me home before
The children go, on that blest shore,
Afar from care and sin,
I know that I shall watch and wait
Till He, the Keeper of the gate,
Lets all the children in.

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MOTORENT IN DER TANTA BAR
RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL.
011
VIII.
A MOTHER'S JOY.
"The joy that fills a mother's breast,
When her dear child is richly blest,
Is second only to that given
The angels in the Court of Heaven.”
G.

HERE have been many allusions made in
the preceding chapters, to the fatal conse-
quences which must attend the neglect of
duty. In view of this, some parents may
have been oppressed and dejected. It is most
surely true that the misconduct of children subjects
parents to the utmost intensity of suffering. But it
must be remembered, that when parental faithfulness
is attended with its usual blessing, joys nearer akin
to those of heaven than of earth are the result. The
human heart is not susceptible of more exquisite pleas-
ures than the parental relation affords. Is there no
joy when the mother first presses her infant to her
heart? Is there no delight in witnessing the first placid
smile which plays upon its cheek? Yes; the very
earliest infancy of the babe brings "rapture a mother
only knows." The very care is a delight. And when
your little son has passed through the dreamy exist-
143
144
A MOTHER'S JOY.
ence of infancy, and is buoyant with the activity and
animated with the intelligence of childhood, are not
new sources of pleasure opened to your mind? Are
there no thrilling emotions of enjoyment in hearing
the hearty laugh of your happy boy; in witnessing the
unfoldings of his active mind; in feeling his warm kiss
and ardent embrace? Is there no delight in seeing
your boy run to meet you, with his face full of smiles
and his heart full of love; and in hearing him, in lisp-
ing accents, call you mother? As you receive daily
new proofs of his affection and obedience, and see that
his little bosom is animated with a generous and a
noble spirit, you feel repaid a hundred-fold for all your
pain, anxiety, and toil. After a few
After a few years your chil-
dren arrive at maturity, and with that divine blessing
which we may expect to accompany our prayerful
efforts, they will be found with generous affections
and established principles of piety. With what emo-
tions do parents then look around upon their happy
and prosperous family. They are receiving the earthly
recompense of reward. What an affecting sight it is,
tc see an aged and widowed mother leaning upon the
firm arm of her son, as he accompanies her to the house
of God. And how many parents have had their de-
clining years cheered by the affectionate attentions of
a daughter. Who will so tenderly watch over you in
sickness as a daughter whose bosom is animated by
the principles of piety which you have inculcated?
Among the sweetest earthly joys to be experienced in
old
age, is the joy of looking around upon happy and
A MOTHER'S JOY.
145
grateful children. The marks of esteem and love you
receive from them, will daily be rewarding you for all
your toil. And when your children's children cluster
around you, giving unceasing tokens of respect and
affection, you will find in their caresses the renewal
of your youth. When all other earthly joys have faded,
you will find in the little prattlers of the fireside un-
tiring enjoyment.
But there is a scene of still brighter happiness. The
Christian family will meet again. Parents and children
will be associated in heaven. And when the whole
household are happily assembled there; when they sit
down together in the green pastures and by the still
waters; when they go in and out at the mansions
which God has prepared for them, then, and not till
then, will they experience the fulness of the enjoyment
with which God rewards parental fidelity. How full
of rapture is the thought, that the whole family may
meet again in the world of songs and everlasting joy,
where sorrow and sighing shall forever flee away. As
from that happy state of existence you look back upon
your pilgrimage on earth, you can never regret any
amount of labor have expended, any
you
sacrifices you
have made, any suffering you have undergone, to train
up your children to be with you the heirs of a glorious
immortality. O there is enough, abundantly enough
to encourage every parent to unwearied exertions. As
with the deep emotions of parental love, you look upon
the obedient and affectionate children who surround
your fireside, your thoughts may be carried away to
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A MOTHER'S JOY.
enjoyments infinitely richer, and for ever enduring, in
the world to come.
We may be called upon to follow our children to the
grave. And heart-rending is such an affliction. But
if we have reason to believe that they have gone to
the mansions which the Saviour has prepared, much of
the bitterness of the affliction is taken away. They
have gone home before us.
home before us. They are sheltered from
every storm. They are protected from every sorrow.
Soaring in angelic flights, and animated with celestial
joys, they are ready to welcome us when God in his
own good time shall give us entrance to those happy
worlds. A gentleman was once asked if he had lost
any of his children. "No," he replied; "I have two
in heaven, but have lost none." To a truly Christian
family, the death of any one of its members is but a
temporary absence, and not an eternal separation.
Mothers have as powerful an influence over the wel-
fare of future generations, as all other earthly causes
combined. Thus far the history of the world has
been composed of the narrations of oppression and blood.
War has scattered its unnumbered woes.
The cry
of the oppressed has unceasingly ascended to heaven.
Where are we to look for the influence which shall
change this scene, and fill the earth with the fruits of
peace and benevolence? It is to the power of divine
truth, to Christianity, as taught from a mother's lips.
In a vast majority of cases the first six or seven years
decide the character of the man. If the boy leave the
paternal root uncontrolled, turbulent, and vicious, he
A MOTHER'S JOY.
147
will, in all probability, rush on in the mad career of
self-indulgence. There are exceptions, but these ex-
ceptions are rare. If, on the other hand, your son
goes from home accustomed to control himself, he will
probably retain that habit through life. If he has been
taught to make sacrifices of his own enjoyment that
he may promote the happiness of those around him,
it may be expected that he will continue to practice
benevolence, and consequently will be respected, and
useful, and happy. If he has adopted firm resolutions
to be faithful in all the relations in life, he, in all prob-
ability, will be a virtuous man, an estimable citizen,
and a benefactor of his race.
When our land is filled with pious and patriotic
mothers, then will it be filled with virtuous and pa-
triotic men.
The world's redeeming influence, under
the blessing of the Holy Spirit, must come from a
mother's lips. She who was first in the transgression,
must be yet the principal earthly instrument in the
restoration. Other causes may greatly aid. Other
influences must be ready to receive the mind as it
comes from the mother's hand, and carry it onward in
its improvement. But the mothers of our race must
be the chief instruments in its redemption. This
sentiment will bear examining; and the more it is
examined, the more manifestly true will it appear.
It is alike the dictate of philosophy and experience.
The mother who is neglecting personal effort, and re-
lying upon other influences for the formation of vir-
tuous character in her children, will find, when it is
148
A MOTHER'S JOY.
ness.
too late, that she has fatally erred. The patriot, who
hopes that schools, and lyceums, and the general dif-
fusion of knowledge will promote the good order
and happiness of the community, while family gov-
ernment is neglected, will find that he is attempting
to purify the streams which are flowing from a cor-
rupt fountain. It is maternal influence, after all,
which must be the great agent, in the hands of God,
in bringing back our guilty race to duty and happi-
O that mothers could feel this responsibility as
they ought. Then would the world assume a differ-
ent aspect. Then should we less frequently behold
unhappy families and broken-hearted parents. A new
race of men would enter upon the busy scene of life,
and cruelty and crime would pass away. O, mothers,
reflect upon the power your Maker has placed in your
hands. There is no earthly influence to be compared
with yours. There is no combination of causes so
powerful in promoting the happiness or the misery of
our race, as the instructions of home. In
In a most pe-
culiar sense, God has constituted you
and the controllers of the human family.
the guardians
A mother's toil, however hard,
Can only find its true reward,
When children rise and high aspiring,
Accomplish what she's been desiring.
Oh, what joy can be greater than that of the moth-
er, who sees her work, her toil, her night of watch-
ing, and days of pain, finally rewarded by her sons
A MOTHER'S JOY.
149
and daughters becoming good and useful members of
society, honored and respected among men, who
are fulfilling good and noble missions in the church
and in the world. It is one of the sweetest joys this
side of Heaven, even this which is the reward of the
faithful mother. You will always be remembered,
always honored, and always praised by your children,
no matter how great or illustrious they may become.
"Mother! Mother! Mother!" were among the last
words of the great and lamented Henry Clay.
And oh, mothers, learn here a lesson. Look at
your sons and daughters, and realize this important
truth, that in the nursery is laid the foundation of
your child's future life. Instead of teaching them to
play the empty-headed coxcomb, and to tête-à-tête a
lifetime away in nonsense, teach them the path of true
greatness and usefulness. Who are the men who have
adorned human nature, and reflected a halo of glory
upon their country? They are, with few exceptions,
those who in infancy learned to clasp their tiny hands
and kneel at a mother's side, and dedicated their
hearts to the Father of Spirits.
*
A mother's hallowed influence never dies. The boy
never forgets his mother's love. Though he may wan-
der far from home, and engage in many vices, yet that
mother's voice, soft and tender, that fell upon his ear
in infancy, is borne upon many a passing breeze, and
whispers, "My son, my son, remember a mother's
love; how she has taught you to pray, and reverence
the God of mercy."
150
A MOTHER'S JOY.
Seventy-five long years have been numbered with the
past; scenes, political and national, warm and excit-
ing, have passed away; near fifty years had marked
the resting-place of that Christian woman, when her
noble son, upon a bed of death, is heard calling for
"my mother, mother, mother." Sweet words for the
lips of one who owed his greatness to the maternal
care of a mother's love.
Mothers, do you wish your sons to honor you in
the busy conflicts of life, to be ornaments to society,
to call you in the cold hour of death? Then act to
them a mother's part-teach them the way of virtue,
of morality and religion.
Our cities and country have too many young men
and boys destitute of the first principles of virtue,
who are strangers to good breeding, and know noth-
ing of the means of usefulness. They have been
brought up in idleness, the mother of vice; foolish
and silly mothers have instilled in their minds false
ideas of what constitutes a gentleman, and they are
taught to look with disdain upon their betters. Had
such characters met with a Franklin or a Clay, when
the former was a poor, honest apprentice at the print-
er's trade, or with the latter in the slashes of Han-
over, riding his father's horse to mill, they would have
curled the lip of contempt, and turned away from so
unsightly an object. To converse with such is im-
possible. Their words are as wind, their minds as
chaff, and their souls as vapor. They have no moral
nor intellectual form nor comeliness. Their views,
A MOTHER'S JOY.
151
if they have any, are of the lowest order. Why is
this? Is it owing to their natural incapacity? No;
but it is traceable to a defective early education. No
mother was there properly and duly qualified to take
charge of the infant mind. Instead of teaching them
the means of usefulness, that woman that gave them
birth would tell them of "their blood," which, if
honestly traced, had run through the veins of many
a culprit or penitentiary convict; or of their
riches, which, if truth were known, were obtained
by extortion and many other unlawful means. They
grow up with such impressions, and soon find a dis-
graceful end. Then the mother weeps over the
disgrace her son has brought upon the memory of the
family, and blames his associates for it, not thinking
that she, and only she, is to blame for the whole of it.
Mothers, the destinies of your children depend
upon you. Watch their infant minds, properly cul-
tivate their moral sensibilities, and walk yourselves
in the paths you would have them walk.
You, oh mothers, have immortal souls intrusted to
your keeping. Their destiny is in a great degree in
your hands. Your ignorance or unfaithfulness may
be the means of sinking them to the world of woe.
Your fidelity, by the blessing of God, may elevate
them to the mansions of heaven. You and your
children may soon be ranging with angel wings
the realms of blessed spirits, if here you are faithful
in prayer and effort to train them up for heaven.
Even there your voice will still sound, when your lips
152
A MOTHER'S JOY.
are cold and silent, your influence will still live on,
fresh and undying, to bless generations yet unborn.
Here is what one of the sweet singers of the world
sang long years after his mother's body had returned
to dust.
My mother's voice! How often creeps
Its cadence on my lonely hours,
Like healing on the wings of sleep,
Or dew on the unconscious flowers!
I might forget her melting prayer,
While wildering leisures madly fly;
But in the still, unbroken air,
Her gentle tones come stealing by,
And years of sin and manhood flee,
And leave me at my mother's knee.
I have been out at eventide,
Beneath a moonlit sky of spring,
When earth was garnished like a bride,
And night had on her silver wing;
When bursting buds and dewy grass,
And waters leaping to the light,
And all that makes the pulses pass
With wilder fleetness thronged the night;
When all was beauty, then have I
With friends on whom my love is flung,
Like myrrh on winds of Araby,
Gazed on where evening's lamp is hung.
And when the beauteous spirit there
Flung over all its golden chain,
My mother's voice came on the air,
Like the light dropping of the rain;
And resting on some silver star,
The spirit of a bended knee,
I've poured a deep and fervent prayer
That our eternity might be—
To rise in heaven, like stars by night,
And tread a living path of light.

FATHER.


What is there like a father to a son? A father, quick in love,
wakeful in care, tenacious of his trust, proof in experience, severe in
honor, perfect in example, stamped with authority!
-SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

IX.
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
"Fathers alone a father's heart can know,
What secret tides of sweet enjoyment flow,
When brothers love! But if then hate succeeds,
They wage the war, but 'tis the Father bleeds.”
Young.

ROM the very position that the father holds,
founded upon the laws of nature, and de-
clared in the inspired word, we see that is
evident, that the design of the Almighty
is, that the father should be the prophet, priest,
and king of the family. In temporal matters
most men assert these prerogatives. They resent
every intrusion of women into their spheres, and re-
mand them to the subordinate place assigned them
by the laws of God and man. But in religion this
scriptural order is generally reversed. Most men re-
nounce their spiritual prerogatives and retire silently
into the ranks, advancing their wives to the prophetic
and priestly offices. All honor is due to the noble
women who occupy the posts deserted by their recre-
ant lords. God has honored their ministry, and "thou-
sands shall rise up and call them blessed." But what
shall be said of the fathers who desert their posts and
155
156
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
leave their wives to wrestle alone against the world,
the flesh, and the devil, by which their sons are sur-
rounded and beset?
If the officer who deserts his post in the face of the
enemy
is branded as a traitor and even forfeits his life,
what shall be the doom of the unnatural father who
betrays the high trust confided to him by the great
Creator in commiting this charge to his keeping? So
many handsome things have been said and written about
the influence of mothers in forming the characters of
their children for time and eternity, that the world
has come to think that this is peculiarly the office of
the mother. But no mother can take a father's place,
or do the work that belongs to a father. It is a mere
prescription, owing its authority to long use, and is
but another example of the influence of the "higher
law" in changing the laws of Nature. It is to fathers,
specially and eminently, that God has given this great
commission. And it is the neglect of this duty by so
many fathers which is another and prolific cause why
so few of our sons, in comparison of our daughters, are
Christians. Our daughters follow the example of
their mothers, and our sons follow the example of their
fathers. It is only in infancy that the son is subject
to the mother, who often succeeds in depositing in the
virgin soil of his young heart seeds which germinate
and bear fruit in after-years. But so soon as the son
is old enough to realize that he is a man in miniature,
his highest ambition is to be a full-grown man, and in
the mean time to be treated as such. He resents as
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
157
an insult every insinuation that there is any thing girl-
ish or feminine about him. His father, or some other
man, becomes the beau ideal to which he aspires to
conform his dress, his language, his sentiments, and
his habits. The father is the chief educator of the
son, whether he will or not. It has been well said
that, during the minority of the reason, imitation is
the regent of the soul, and they who are least swayed
by argument are most governed by example. The
father's example will educate his sons; his conversation,
his business, his opinions, his home, his associates, will
educate them. The education of circumstances, insen-
sible eduation, like insensible perspiration, is of more
constant and powerful effect than that which is direct
and apparent. It goes on at every instant of time.
It goes on like time. You can neither stop it nor turn
its course.
The example which the father sets his son, and the
circumstances with which he surrounds him, will, in
all probability, determine his fate. This is the general
rule. The exceptions which can be pointed out do
not nullify the rule. In some cases other influences
prevail over the father's example, and occasionally the
grace of God snatches a "brand from the burning."
A venerable minister mentions the following case,
which I cite in illustration of the principle for which I
am contending. "I remember," he says, once con-
versing with a man eminent for station, talents, and
piety, who said to me, 'I owe every thing, under
God, to the consistent piety of my father. When I
66
158
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
was a young man, though I was not vicious, I was
worldly; and, in order to get rid of all interference
with my pursuits from religion, I wished to think it
all mere profession and hypocrisy. For this purpose,
I narrowly watched the conduct of my father; for
such was the height on which he stood as a professor
of religion, I very naturally concluded that, if I could
convict him of such inconsistency as amounted to a
proof of hypocrisy, (and a very little thing would at
that time have sufficed for the purpose,) I should have
gained my end and have concluded that all piety was
but a name and a delusion. But so thoroughly con-
sistant was he that I found nothing at variance with
his character as a Christian. This kept its hold upon
me. I said to myself, there must be a reality here,
and I must try to understand and feel it. For I have
seen such meekness in a temper naturally irritable,
such comfort in the greatest agonies, and all this sup-
ported by such uniform devotion, that I must try and
catch his spirit.'
Now, although this young man would have reasoned
very illogically if he had concluded that Christianity
was false because his father was a hypocrite, yet the
case is a striking instance of the power of a father's
example. It is a very serious thought, that we who
profess and call ourselves Christians are mirrors from
which Christianity is reflected upon our worldly asso-
ciates. And it is fearful to think that our children
may be studying the evidences of Christianity in our
examples. Oh, there was meaning, there was feeling,
ggg
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
159
in the precept, "Fathers, bring up your children in
the nurture and admonition of the Lord." We see
how great a weight of responsibility is laid upon the
shoulders of the father, in the word of God: the care,
training, the development of the mental and spiritual
faculties rests upon fathers first and mothers after-
wards, and no true father can shirk it or throw it aside.
The principles of a true home are like those of
heaven. Its affections are as interlaced and inter-
twined. Its education has the same purpose and the
same methods. Its discipline is subject to the same
love and the same law. But the central responsibility
is in the father; as it will be in the heavenly home,
so it is in the believer's spiritual home among men.
In the symbol, as in the reality, it is the father's ad-
ministration that makes the home. It bears his name;
it submits its authority to his, depending upon his
will. No man has a right to say, "I have no home,"
for he can make a home if he will have one. It is
the father's power and presence which give coher-
ence. He is the house-band--the husband-of the
home. We have this truth presented to us constantly
in the scriptures, and the utmost stress is laid upon
the relation of the family as a means of grace, and
the responsibility of the father in the fulfillment of
his office. I shall not cite passages-they are innum-
crable--but will ask you to receive the assertion as
proved. A promise which has a pertinency in some
homes, long before death removes the head of the
house, is presented in very plain words. The father-
160
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
*
less come under a special care and providence. They
are commanded to look unto God. A sad house is
that in which the father's seat is vacant; a sadder
house is that in which the father has vacated his in-
fluence and left the children fatherless even whilst he
lives. He is an infidel and worse if he does not care
for his own household. He must labor with his brain
and with the brawn, with his head and with his hands,
that he may feed the mouths of the hungry and pro-
vide comforts for those to whom he has given being.
They are constant subjects of his concern. Never is
his mind free from anxieties for those, who have been
committed to him as his responsibility. He studies
their characters; he is asking himself constantly how
he may open their future. Their faults he would
flank rather than correct. His whole scheme of dis-
cipline, is to represent a providing fatherhood in the
family, of which he is at the head. Such a father de-
velops a sense of
a sense of personal responsibility. In the
demand for growth in personal benevolence and good-
ness, he measures up more and more toward his ideal
of a providing God in the covenant promises of the
gospel. It is very plain that when a man gains this
notion of fatherhood, he will find in the circle of his
children, a different manner and mode of government
from that which controlled, when he had no other
notion except that he was the cause and origin of
their being. There are no critics in the world so quick
as children. There is no book they study so closely
as the father's face. Instantly do they receive the
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
161
thought which is in his mind, and return, in their own
simplicity of rest and their confidence of trust, his
care, his constancy and consecration. The other day,
in one of our meetings, a man who had been a drunk-
ard for years and had been reclaimed, gave a descrip-
tion of his home, and it has dwelt in my memory ever
since. He told of the night when, with the stum-
blings of intoxication, he made his way up the stair-
case of the tenement house and into the room of deso-
lation, which he called his home. The children, so
soon as they heard their father's footfall, hid them-
selves behind their mother's skirts, or in the closet,
as their refuge, for they feared his coming, excited
with drink. He saw them not, nor realized the awful
perversion of his relation to his family; but when
God's grace recalled him from his wanderings and
converted him from the error of his ways, he recog-
nized the contrast. "Now," he said, "when I go to
my home, the children are looking over the banisters
and I am saluted with a smile as soon as I am seen
coming. Now there are tiny arms twined about my
neck, and there is song in the house when I have
come home." Quickly do children perceive the
change, and if any man will ascend from a mere no-
tion of his fatherhood, as the giver and begetter of
life in his children, to this personal, providential care,
he shall see the change in a new sentiment and spirit
throughout the circle of his children. How solemn is
that charge which the apostle gives as he says:
66
Fathers, provoke not your children to anger." He
T
162
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD,
bases the appeal upon this one common experience.
If you know God in His gracious fatherhood, then it
will be impossible for you to be other than gracious,
and tender in your administration and discipline.
How soon is this change perceived in the home. I
venture to say, that if any reader, who has not, up to
this hour, recognized the full meaning of God's father-
hood, shall now receive it, shall now enter into its
depth and breadth and height and glory, it will be
known in every child's heart and in every little one's
face before to-morrow's sun shall set. The child
comes with a very provoking, tantalizing fault. Up
to this time, the father has been ready with an out-
burst of passion to correct it on the spot, but now he
thinks, "My Heavenly Father bears with me, and I
must bear with my child." There comes a need of
punishment. Heretofore the apostle says, such par-
ents have inflicted it for their own pleasure, and now
the chastisement comes from love. And I fancy I
speak the experience of a good many fathers here,
when I tell my own. I would rather take the chas-
tisement myself than administer it. The father for-
bears, and when the trial of correction comes, it wrings
his heart to be compelled to chide. The influence in
the family is immediate. The children look up now
with a true tenderness toward one who is tender in
his treatment of them. They fear no roughness, they
dread no misconstruction. The father is at home and
all is safe.
Under such an association of ideas it becomes very
+
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
163
difficult for a child to divide the earthly from the
heavenly fatherhood, and it is a very precious thing
for any of you men to stand in your families as repre-
sentatives to your children of the great God, telling
out in your treatment the spiritual relation of the
heavenly Father. A man said, sometime since, that
he had forgotten his father's appearance; he had for-
gotten every fact in his early life save one, and that
had been with him as a constant suggestion and inspi-
ration. On one day of recreation, he was with his
father in a work-shop, and he took up a piece of wood
and with his knife whittled it into the shape of a cross
and then handed it to his boy and said, "My boy, that
is the symbol of a Saviour's love. He died for you,
He died for me. I love Him. Will you love Him?"
and though all else had passed from that man's mind,
yet this remained, and would go with him through
life. Here we see, then, an illustration of the power
of a father's example. Here we see, too, a glimpse
of that terrible responsibility which a father assumes
who is placed in the center of a home to represent
the great Father, and who succeeds in imprinting upon
the memory of his children only a caricature of God!
Take for example the best of such an one.
He may,
indeed, begin the day with prayer and the language of
devotion, but his child perceives that all the after
hours are spent in the most egotistical, self-indulgent
schemes of living. The little one is quick to read the
father's envy of those who are above him, and his
imperiousness to those below him.
Or it
Or it may be that
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THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
there is an insolence, a vanity, an indifference to every-
thing that is high, and holy, and noble. The child is
studying every line of the life. At midday he has
forgotten the morning prayer, and he is looking at
the noon exhibition that the father makes of father-
hood, and gradually there comes into his conviction a
notion of hypocrisy, of falsehood, that God professes
to be one thing and is another, and the very root of
that damning sin of unbelief is laid in the child's char-
acter. Having learned to disbelieve his own father,
he inevitably doubts the great Father's word and
action. Remember, oh brother, if the children inherit
the sins of the father by tradition, still more will
fathers be held responsible for the sins of the chil-
dren in whose minds, either by neglect, or of purpose,
they have instilled false conceptions of the great God.
It is an awful peril, which each of us should recog-
nize, and before which we should tremble.
What other defects there may be in our life, what-
ever failures in our consistency, let us ever be striving
toward that ideal of fatherhood, which we recognize
in God, and be praying for conformity to Him who is
unselfishness itself, who loveth without limit, and
whose heart delighteth in doing good.
Whitfield said, in answer to some one, who asked
him whether such and such a man was a Christian, "I
never lived with him; how do I know?" One cannot
tell much about men as one meets them in the mart of
life. You cannot tell much about them as you hear them
reciting their creed, or as you see them in positions of
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
165
recognized authority and business responsibility; but
let me ask their children and I will tell you who and
what they are.
Those who live with them know how
much of God and truth there is in them.
The neglect of the fatherly influence can never be
fully compensated by motherly care. The father and
the mother address totally different features of char-
acter, and are developing different sides of the soul.
The mother may be as faithful as was Hannah, or
Mary, blessed above women, but there cannot be a
rounded development of soul and life if the other cor-
related influence be defective. It needs the education
of both; and that is the sadness of some homes, when
the man dies, and the widow has to fulfil the respon-
sibilities of both parents. That is a hard, almost im-
possible lot, and yet marvellously does the promise of
God, in their experience, qualify them for the trust.
Remember that you owe something to posterity, and
that debt is only to be discharged by attention to the
education of your children. You owe something to
present society, and that obligation can only be fulfilled
as you restrain and develop the childhood that is under
your hand. You owe something to your own name,
and I fear that the names of some of us will be handed
down to infamy by those that are about us. One of
the saddest things in this generation is to recognize
the multitude of dwarfs among the young men, who
are absolutely deficient as to one side of their character.
They resemble trees which have grown only toward
the west, and are leafless and branchless toward the
166
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
east. They need a good tussle with the northeaster
in their growth. They need education on the positive
and the power side of their nature to bring out the
fulness of their possibilities. Young men about us
witness to this neglect of fatherhood. There is no lack
of tenderness, even to sentimentality. There is no lack
of affection, even to folly. There is plenty of woman-
ish manhood in the world to-day, but the lack of the
father element testifies the neglect of the father's in-
fluence. If you would make your children what you
have planned for them, give them some time with you.
Let them understand your interest in them, let them
feel the influence of your personality, inspire them by
a communication of your thought, make them from
their youthful days your associates. It is a pleasure
go into a family in which the children are treated
by the father as brothers, for thus a higher standard
of character is educated unconsciously to the child.
Dear friends, this is a deficiency, and it is dwarfing
and warping the education of youth. Mr. Moody
tells a story of a man who wandered into a field, and
rested under a tree. His child was with him, and
constantly picked little flowers and brought them to
him, and said, "Pretty, pretty." The father responded
until sleep overcame him, and he forgot the child. The
little one had played about, and then wandered off
from the father. Suddenly he awoke, and his first
thought was for the safety of his child. He looked
about, but found no trace until, beneath a rock which
formed a precipice many feet high, he found his little
to
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
167
one lying dead upon the stones. Whilst he had slept
his child had been destroyed. This is the picture of
parentage in many homes. Where is your son to-night,
father? Where does he spend his evenings? What
are his habits? Have you led him to a knowledge of
the gospel of Christ? Have you taught him that it is
a manly, aye, a right noble thing to be a Christian, by
your own example? Have you been asleep? Is your
boy ruined? Your soul must bear the responsibility.
God keep you back from such self-indulgence and
neglect in future.
Oh, fathers, neglect not those who have been en-
trusted to your keeping. Remember that they are
immortals, to be trained up for immortality. Let your
fervent prayer, your constant endeavor, your great de-
sire, be to set before your children such an example
as they can truly follow in after life, and bear in
mind this thought that, we are all storing up against
the time of age. We are all accumulating and seek-
ing to provide for those days when we shall not have
the same power and the same influence and ability that
now we possess. Even policy suggests this, not only
with material but with imperishable things. And if
in our families, we are to have a compensation for the
infirmities of age, now is the time to prepare for it.
If, when the times draw very near that the darkness
of death shall gather about you, you would have a ten-
der love that is untiring in ministry; if you would
have a reverence that delights itself in your presence,
now is the time to educate it. That moment is wasted
2
168
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
which is spent in personal pleasure, and stolen from
parental duty. Can I draw a more awful picture for
you than that of a deserted old man-a man who has
spent his life in greed, who has gained everything of
wealth, who has attained all that he has hoped for,
who has kept his children in awe and dread of his
presence; and now that he has come to the time when
he needs their tenderness, he is left in the great chair
to nod into a solitary sleep. In the helplessness of age
his only reflection is, that all the family are counting
the days when he shall die, and the patrimony be
divided; that they wish him well out of the world.
His presence is an annoyance, his death would be a
deliverance. To me, that is one of the most awful
anticipations which can be held up in this life. Rather
would I so live, and strive, and devote effort, that the
children may gather close about the old man's chair
and live in his words of wisdom, of experience, and of
tenderness; bear with his infirmities, tire themselves
in their ministry to his wants. That is worth working
for. That is worth the consecration of a life. For
their sakes, and for your own sake, be fatherly now,
be fatherly now.
Y
J
X.
A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY.
ROM the very nature of the relation which
he sustains, no father can be excusable for
releasing himself from a full share of the
responsibility. A father will often make
many excuses to release himself from his duty;
but alas, he cannot release his children from the
ruin, or himself from the woe, which his neglect occa-
sions. It will be a poor solace to him, as he goes in
shame and sorrow to the grave, to reflect that he was
busily engaged in other employments while leaving
his children to mature for ignominy and disgrace.
What duties can be paramount to those we owe our
children?

A clergyman sometimes says that he has so much to
do, his time is so fully occupied, that he is compelled
to neglect his children. And who has the first claim
upon his attention, his congregation or his children?
God has placed him over a congregation, and has also
made him the father of a family, and which duty does
God regard as the most imperative? And yet not a
few instances might be pointed out, in which clergy-
men of devoted piety and extensive usefulness have
169
170
A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY.
given their whole attention to the labors of the study
and public duties, and have left their unhappy chil-
dren to grow up unchecked and vicious. No one can
enjoy the privilege of being a father, without having
duties to perform which will require time and care.
And can any time be more usefully employed than
that which is passed in training up a family of chil-
dren, who shall remain to do good in the world long
after we are silent in the grave? Can we have any
influence equal to that of pious sons and daughters?
Can we bequeath the world a richer legacy than the
fervent piety and active usefulness of a numerous off-
spring? O there is no sin which reaches so far, and
extends such wide-spreading desolation, as parental
neglect. No father can be guiltless in retiring from
these responsibilities. The first duty enjoined upon
us, is to keep our own hearts with diligence; the sec-
ond, to lead our families to God; the third, to consult
for the spiritual welfare of our neighbors; the fourth,
to do all in our power to evangelize the world. And
yet, how many fathers there are who have paralyzed
their influence, destroyed their peace of mind, and
broken their hearts, by neglecting the duties they owe
their children.
Many of the most eminent statesmen are thus af-
flicted and dishonored. And the affliction must be
aggravated by the consciousness that they are reaping
as they have sown. I would not willingly inflict a
pang upon the heart of any parent who reads these
pages, but I cannot refrain from raising a warning
A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY.
171
voice, in view of the destruction which has gone forth,
from the cause we are now contemplating. The temp-
tation is very great for men who are engaged in lit-
erary pursuits, and overwhelmed with public cares, to
neglect their domestic duties. But how ruinous is
this to usefulness and happiness. It is better to be a
poor man, and it is better to be an humble man, than
to be disgraced in life by the profligacy of those who
call us father, and to have a dying pillow planted
with thorns by our children's hands. Every man,
whatever be his situation in life, is bound to regard
the duties he owes his children as among the most
sacred he has to discharge. If he neglect them, he
must reap the bitter consequences.
A father should always endeavor to teach his chil-
dren to honor their mother. If the father does not
do this, the difficulties of the mother will be vastly
increased. But where harmony of design is seen to
exist between the parents, authority is strengthened.
There is something in loving and revering a mother,
which exerts a delightful influence upon the heart; it
refines and elevates the character, and is a strong safe-
guard against degrading vice. Boys in particular
will not long respect a mother, if they see that their
father does not treat her with attention. You can
hardly find a dissolute young man, who has been ac-
customed from infancy to look to his mother with re-
spect and love. It is in disobedience to a mother that
the career of crime generally commences. The way is
thus prepared for the disregard of all parental author-
172
A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY.
ity. And then the progress is rapid to the boldest
defiance of all the laws of God and man. Many an
unhappy criminal has, from the gallows, traced back
his early course of guilt to the early periods of child-
hood, when he commenced with disobedience to a
mother's commands; and he has felt and acknowl-
edged that had he then been habituated to obey, his
whole succeeding course had probably been different.
It is, therefore, of the first importance that nothing
should be omitted tending to give the mother great
and unceasing influence over the minds of her children.
But reflect a moment upon the great responsibility
resting on you. You have a child on your knee.
Listen a moment. Do you know what that child is?
It is an immortal being; destined to live forever!
It is destined to be happy or miserable! And who
is to make it happy or miserable? You are its
father! Its character is yet undecided; its destiny is
placed in your hands. What shall it be? That child
may be a liar. You can prevent it. It may be a
drunkard. You can prevent it. It may be a thief.
You can prevent it. It may be a murderer. You can
prevent it. It may be an atheist. You can prevent
it. It may live a life of misery to itself and mischief
to others. You can prevent it. It may descend into
the grave with an evil memory behind and dread be-
fore. You can prevent it. Yes, you, the father, can
prevent all these things. Will you, or will you not?
Look at the innocent! Tell me again, will you save
it? Will you watch over it, will you teach it, warn
►
A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY
173
it, discipline it, subdue it, pray for it? Or will you
in the vain search of pleasure, or in gayety, or fashion
or folly, or in the chase of some other bauble, or even
for business cares, neglect the soul of your child, and
leave the little immortal to take wing alone, exposed
to evil, to temptation, to ruin? Look again at the
infant! Place your hand on its little heart! Shall
that heart be deserted by its father, to beat perchance
in sorrow, disappointment, wretchedness and despair?
Place your ear on its side and hear that heart beat!
*How rapid and vigorous the strokes! How the blood
is thrown through the little veins! Think of it; that
heart in its vigor now, is the emblem of a spirit that
will work with ceaseless pulsation for sorrow or joy,
forever.
Oh, father, do not try to throw aside, and place on
the mother, that which belongs to you. You have a
far greater work than she to do. You would despise
the man who placed upon woman a heavier burden
than he would carry: then be man enough to do well
that which has fallen upon you. I know that for a
short time the tender mother exerts a mighty moral
influence over her little sons. She teaches them to
believe, to pray, to bend their little knees and clasp
their little hands each morning and evening, and they
humbly fall down by her side in the temple. But how
long does this last, unless the father kneel down be-
side the mother and child? Ah! how the boy imitates
the man! Scarcely does he with his head overtop
the pew, than we find him standing or sitting and
174
A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY.
looking all around him. And wherefore this? His
father is sitting or standing; and shall he rebuke his
father? Is he not taught to honor him and follow
his example? Can my father do wrong? How nat-
ural such a thought in the heart of the child! Would
that this were all! On too many a Sabbath, where
is the father? In the temple? No. And where the
mother's darling son? By her side? No: he is at
home, in the streets, on a party of pleasure. And
why not, as the father set him the example? The
poor mother entreated, warned, all in vain: perhaps
she was laughed at by her own son, as she had often
been by his father. And perhaps, soon after, she
hears those dear lips which she had taught to say,
"Our Father which art in heaven," uttering horrid
oaths which he learned from his father on earth; and
ere long he becomes the free-thinker, the scoffer, and
the libertine. As is the father, so is the son; and
who shall say to how many generations this shall de-
scend, according to the just judgment of that God
who visits the sins of the fathers upon the children
unto the third and fourth generation?
Again what a different world would this be if
the men, to whom are committed so much wealth,
talent, strength, and power, were disciples of Christ!
How would our Sabbaths be hallowed, our temples
crowded, our pulpits filled with zeal and talent, and
millions be poured into the treasury of the Lord!
How many young men would be preserved from vice
and sin, and how many females encouraged to more
A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY.
175
zeal, instead of being hindered and forbidden! Oh,
what a change would soon be in the world if men only
did as much more as now they do less than the
weaker sex!
There are those who say, the very fact you state
that but few of the men, and especially of the honor-
able and wealthy, are religious, is an argument against
it. If religion were certainly true and so excellent,
the men the lords of creation-would be foremost
to embrace it. To this I reply that women are not
so inferior in learning to the general mass of men as
some suppose. They read more on the subject of re-
ligion, and are far better acquainted with the Scrip-
tures, than men. Indeed, it is lamentable to think
of the neglect of the religious element in the educa-
tion of young men in our schools and colleges.
Oh, the tremendous responsibility that rests on
man, and the account he will have to render at the
last day! If the glorious gospel is not speedily
preached throughout, it is because the men do not
choose to put forth the exertions necessary to that
end.
And is there no hope of a reformation? Is this
dreadful habit of irreligion fastened upon the men,
and especially upon the rich and educated, forever ?
And must it descend hereafter, as in times past, from
father to son as an inheritance forever? Are we to
lie down in despair, or calmly look on and expect
nothing else, as if it were fixed as fate, firm as the de-
crees of Heaven?
1
176
A FATHER'S RESPONSIBILITY.
Oh, if the dreadful habit could once be broken,-
if we could see only one generation of pious fathers,
-then we might expect the promise of mercy to the
thousands of generations which should descend from
those of pious fathers.
O fathers, lead the way, I beseech you. Your sons
will follow. Have pity upon your
Have pity upon your dear sons, and do
not lead them into perdition. Do not teach them to
curse you in a dying hour, and perhaps load you
with bitter execrations in the regions of despair.

Com
A MOTHER'S DEFENCE.
XI.
FATHERS AT HOME.
"Father is coming, he is now at the door,
Who'll get the first kiss, Bena had it before;
The children make haste, and running they come,
With smiles and with kisses to welcome him home.”
G.
!

T is sad indeed to find so many fathers ready
to absent themselves from home during the
evening. I speak now more particularly of
the long evenings of autumn and winter.
During the greater part of these seasons, the
last meal will probably, be taken by six o'clock;
and as there is little active business done afterward,
what will become of the time?
Some fathers are occupied, during all or a part of
these hours, at their shops or places of labor. The
number of these, however, is small. Most men, in this
country, are at liberty to remain at home, if they will.
But how few there are who will do so! What mul-
titudes are away from their families?
But whence the cause of such strange conduct? If
we have, at home, a beloved wife and children, is it
not-ought it not to be, at least-a source of the pur-
est pleasure to be with them as much as possible?
177
178
FATHERS AT HOME.
Granting that there is nothing for the husband to do;
granting that the mistress of the family has help-still,
is his society nothing to her? Is it nothing to the
children?
Perhaps the children are small and in tender years,
perhaps the wife is all alone with them. Is not the
case, then, the more urgent? What meant that part of
the Jewish law which exempted a husband from going
to war the first year after marriage? Was it not that
the husband's society was especially important? Was
it not for the very reason that is given-to cheer her
up? Has a female, by marriage, lost all her friends
but her husband, and must she lose him, too?
I am more than astonished-I am shocked—at the
thoughtlessness, not to say indifference, of many who
have become fathers, on this whole subject. I have
seen so many who absent themselves unnecessarily
from home during the evening, even of those who
seemed to me not wanting in affection for it, that I
have sometimes been ready to complain of human nat-
ure. But is it the fault of our nature, as it comes from
the hands of God? Is it not the fault of a perverted
nature, rather-perverted by the customs and habits
of society, and by personal inattention to self-education
and moral progress?
Some go abroad, and leave their wives and children,
the very moment they have a leisure hour, from mere
habit. The error in this case is not, however, their
own, so much as that of the parents and the society
which educated them. There is a fearful responsibility
FATHERS AT HOME.
179
resting on those parents who so train their sons that
they regard it as doing penance to remain at home
during the evening. Would to Heaven that Christian
parents could be brought to look at this subject in its
true light, and see its fearful consequences.
After the labors and studies of the day are ended,
nothing can be more appropriate, or delightful, than
one, or two, or three hours of conversation—the length
of the time to be determined, of course, by the length
of the evening-around the domestic fireside; the
whole family, whether larger or smaller, being together.
The damp air of the evening seems to admonish us;
the darkness admonishes us; the danger-to health
and to morals-admonishes us; why will we not heed
the admonition?
I have said that the young man, who is so educated
that he goes abroad from mere habit, more than from
a want of affection for his companion, is not so much
to blame as they who educated him. But I do not
mean to exculpate him entirely from blame. Very far
from that. If he has common sense-and if not, he
ought never to have enlisted the affections of a female
-he can break any bad habit, and form any new one,
he pleases. Will he not, therefore, do it?
Some of the best, and in the main the kindest-the
kindest, I mean, as to general intention-of husbands
I have ever known, were almost always absent from
their families. Had it been their design to have as
little to do with home as possible, without loss of gen-
eral reputation, I see not how they could have better
accomplished their purpose.
180
FATHERS AT HOME.
How many fathers prefer the society of a club-room,
a lodge, a bar-room, to that of their own families, and
how many fathers are, by their example, training up
children who bring their gray hair in sorrow to the
grave. Marriage vows are forgotten, a father's duties
neglected, the influence at home lost because the father
is unmindful of his home.
Here is an illustration of what many homes are. At
yonder cottage, there sits a handsome and lovely young
woman, at twenty-five. She is knitting and mending
for her husband-brute that he is, not to know it-
and her babes, one of whom she has already put to
bed, and the other she is endeavoring to keep awake
till its father returns, for the sake of its society. Not
that she is actually afraid of any thing, but she is
alone, and she was made for society; and once, she
had it. But a lover came. He spoke fine things. He
promised, at least indirectly, fine times.
In short,
born, as she was, to be wooed, she was won. She left
her native circle, and all its pleasant associations, partly
at the voice of God speaking through her own consti-
tution, and partly because she loved, and hoped to
improve her condition. It is not in woman not to
dream of future bliss. There may be infidels who are
called women; but women I am sure they cannot be
in reality.
The clock strikes eight. "Tired nature's sweet re-
storer, balmy sleep," has at length visited the elder
child, in spite of his mother's efforts, and he is quietly
resigned to the arms of Morpheus. But there is a long
FATHERS AT HOME.
181
էր
·
hour to pass, ere those steps will be heard at the thresh-
old. Does she suspect her husband to be spending
his money or his health on drams, or at cards, or in
other female company? Far from it. She knows him
too well. She knows where he is, perfectly well, and
that he "touches not" and "tastes not," except by
setting a bad example. She sometimes ventures to
drop a modest hint in his ear, and to request him gently
not to "stay at the store" so long; and whenever she
mentions it, he always confesses his folly and his guilt.
But he is as much enslaved to this foolish habit as the
drunkard is to his cups, or the epicure to his high-sea-
soned meats; and on the same principle. The drunk-
ard, unsatisfied with plain drink, demands something
which will excite his nervous system; the epicure, dis-
contented with plain food, seeks excitement also; and
what is congenial to their tastes, long habit not only
renders still more so, but confines them to.
So it is with too many husbands and fathers, as the
reader will see. The plain mental food, which is af-
forded in the family, is tame and unsatisfying; and he
seeks that which is more savory. And the more he
allows its use, the more will his diseased appetite ap-
pear to demand it, and the firmer will the chains of his
servitude become. She has told him all this in a
proper manner, again and again, but, as I said before,
to no purpose.
If this solitude-this worse than widowhood-were
to have an end; if the wife could look forward to its
termination ten, twenty, or thirty years hence, her case
182
FATHERS AT HOME.
would be comparatively tolerable. And if the wife of
my friend Ludlow were the only individual in the
wide world who was suffering from this species of
neglect on the part of husbands, I would not so loudly
complain. But I have known many instances not un-
like this. I have known hundreds of husbands, in
short, who seemed, by their conduct, more happy every
where else than at home. I have even seen some
kind-hearted, and, in the main, excellent husbands,
who could not-rather would not-stay at home even
of a Sunday night. That blessed eve, too, must be
desecrated. There was some place of general rendez-
vous for the neighborhood of indifferent husbands-a
store, a shop, a bar-room, a post-office, or a reading-
room-where they could while away the evening hours,
and escape the monotony of their homes! Nor were
all wives as fortunate as this one, in believing that
every thing was right in their husbands' habits. Some
there were who met, not merely to amuse themselves,
and unawares to have the keen edge of their moral
sensibility taken off by becoming accustomed to the
loud laugh, the coarse jest, or, peradventure, the ob-
scene song,
but to join in some mad revel or debauch,
introduced by cards dice billiards. and ending in im-
morality.
One of the greatest sins which the husband can com-
mit, says a foreign but judicious writer, is that of
making it a practice to stay out late at night, which,
though not reckoned among the usual catalogue of
crimes against social life, is one of those most worthy
FATHERS AT HOME.
183
of reprobation. The mental anguish endured by many
excellent wives from this infamous practice, no one can
picture, unless they have witnessed it. There, by the
lonely hearth-the fire sunk to a cinder and a mass of
ashes—the candle verging to its close in the socket-
the dingy, silent apartment strewed with the toys and
furniture of the children, sent, hours since, to bed-
there, in the midst of this domestic wilderness, sits the
drooping, desponding, almost broken-hearted wife,
counting the hours, and conning over, in her wearied
mind, the numbers of times she has been so deserted,
and foreseeing the still greater misery which awaits
her, by such a course of profligacy in her husband.
And for what, may we ask, has the master of the
household thus deserted his house? The company of
hollow friends, idle acquaintances, perhaps drunkards
or gamblers, whose witless jocularity forms the temp-
tation to abandon a good name, fortune, worldly res-
pectability, and self-esteem. None but the wife who
has endured trials of this nature can properly under-
stand the horrors resulting from such a life of folly and
dissipation.
When I have contemplated this whole subject; when
I have considered the solemnity of the marriage obli-
gation; when I have thought how much is compre-
hended in the promise to "nourish and cherish "-for
such a promise always exists, either tacitly or by direct
engagement and when I have seen how soon it is
forgotten or disregarded by the unkind-I should say
cruel-husband, how has my whole soul revolted!
184
FATHERS AT HOME.
How can it be, I say to myself, that sensible men, who
love their wives, who profess to have a father's affec-
tion for their children will thus show, from day to day,
their preference of every other place, and all other
forms of society, to home and its inmates, and especially
to the individual who graces and inspirits that home?
I wonder not that woman sometimes becomes
petulant, that her brow becomes knit, her once prom-
inent eyes sunk, her once smiling countenance over-
cast with clouds, and the angles of her mouth perma
nently depressed; the wonder is, that such distortion
of the features-indicative as it is, of the soul-torture
which has so long been endured-does not occur
oftener, and that the distortion is not greater. Nay,
still more, I wonder often that she does not become
absolutely desperate, and that the soul "raves not,"
though it be in vain, round the walls of her dark,
clayey tenement," a miserable and hopeless wreck of
what was, and of what, but for her unwise and cruel
lord, might still have been.
66
This picture may be deemed, by many, exaggerated.
But as the Scripture assures us that the law was not
made for the obedient and the holy, so may I say of
these suggestions. I write them not for the husband
who is what he should be, but for him who, with
common sense, and reason, and general discretion in
all other matters, acts on this subject-one of al-
most immeasurable importance-like the veriest
simpleton in the universe. For it is not only the
wife and those whom she is to influence by her tem-
FATHERS AT HOME.
185
per,
her feelings, and her conduct, that are injured;
his own mind and feelings are contracted, and his own
soul dwarfed and stinted, instead of being enlarged,
and improved, and lifted heavenward.
Is it any wonder, that the son who follows his
father's example, will soon try to find some other
place of amusement, besides home? Is it any won-
der that the ties of home and love are so loosely
twined that the parting is made without an effort?
Is it any wonder with such fathers that the family
soon becomes broken up and scattered, the sons wild
and roving, the daughters excessively fond of society
that is baneful, and so the influence of home des-
stroyed!
I see objects of pity wherever I go, in a world
like this, but none which strike me as do wives who
are widows; nay, worse than widows, who are mar-
ried, and have a group of children around them, and
yet have no husband, nor the children any father.
What is to be thought of the father, who is silent and
absorbed, or, peradventure, unhappy, when there is
nothing to excite his attention but home, wife, and
family, but whose eye at once brightens, and whose
tongue loosens, when a neighbor comes in; and who
is still more cheerful, and happy, and talkative, and
instructive, when he gets among his companions, and
sits in the midst of his wonted club of associates-
men, perhaps, of coarse minds, and still coarser man-
ners? Where is panting for progress in such indi-
viduals? Where is any "holy hope of nobler time
*
186
FATHERS AT HOME.
ני
to come?"
ribution ?
Where are the thoughts of a future ret-
Where, the expectation of hearing the
glad sentence of, "Come, ye blessed?"
Would that such husbands-husbands I call them
still, though they scarcely deserve the name-could
see what I have seen, and see it with right tempers.
I know that, at present, real domestic felicity does not
interest them; and that it even sometimes disgusts
them. There are not a few who would turn aside
from the picture I am going to present, as Milton's
Satan did from the felicity which caught his eye
in
Eden, not with envy, but with absolute disgust.
But I have seen, in a few instances, something like do-
mestic felicity, this side of Eden. I have seen bliss be-
gun below. I have seen the dawn of heaven in this
fallen world. I have seen, if not angels, at least an-
gelic beings, even in the humble cottages of New Eng-
land. True, like angelic visits, they are few and far
between; but so long as one exists, it is but fair that
I should describe it. What man has done, man may
do. What one father has been, all may be, at least
to a much greater extent than many stupid, enslaved
beings, who bear the sacred name, have ever yet sup-
posed.
I have known'a husband who regarded home, not
as a prison-a place of irksome restraint and its in-
mates fellow prisoners; but as a scene of the highest
delight. He rose early in the morning, because happi-
ness was before him; he planned for the day, because
he rejoiced to communicate good to those whom he
}
FATHERS AT HOME.
187
loved; his heart was buoyant, because he was con-
tented and happy-and his eye was brightest, his coun-
tenance most smiling, his tongue most voluble, and his
step quickest, not when a friend or a neighbor came
in, but when he was doing most for his family, and
had most of them around him. Or, if his wife was
the only member of his family, he was most happy
in her society. I do not mean that he slighted, or
disregarded, or even undervalued, the society of friends
and neighbors; but his warmest feelings, his quick-
est thoughts, his sweetest smiles, his kindest words,
his quickest steps, were for his wife and his household.
The season for partaking of meals was a peculiarly
happy one; and was spent not in bolting down a
quantity of food, and then running-but in eating
slowly, and enjoying both the food and the conversa-
tion. And when obliged to leave home for the sake
of daily labor, or for business, it was done, not with
the quickest step, and the most gladsome heart, but
oftentimes with pain.
To such a husband the hours of absence from his
family pass slow. It is not at home that he looks,
ever and anon, at the time-piece, wondering why time
gets along so slowly, and anxious to go-but when
he is in the field, or in his shop, or abroad. It is
then that he is liable to look demure, to sigh occa-
sionally, and to think the hours long, and the com-
pany uninteresting and insipid. It is there, if any
where, that he says little, or seems absent-minded. It
is there, in short, if any where, that life seems to be
a burden.
188
FATHERS AT HOME.
But see the sun declining, and the shades of even
ing approaching. Though somewhat fatigued, his
cheerfulness is not diminished; it is even increased.
He makes every reasonable exertion to bring the la-
bors of the day to the earliest possible close. When
completed, he does not go homeward like the ox to
the slaughter. He goes with alacrity and vigor; or,
forgetful, perhaps, of his fatigue, and of the forms of
society, he runs rather than walks.
Arrived at home, he meets again with joy, his little
family group, assembled in his earthly paradise. Sup-
per being over, the fireside felicities commence. They
may be study; they may be conversation; they may
be light work; they may be reading; they may be
story-telling. No matter what, at least this is but a
secondary consideration,—no matter to the wife, no
matter to the children-so the father is present—so
he presides in giving direction and life to the circle,
as it is his bounden duty, and his highest happiness
to do.
To such a husband, and such a family, the pres-
ence of a neighbor, or a friend, or a newspaper,
or a novel, or stimulating drinks, or fruits, or
nuts, or songs, are by no means indispensable, how-
ever valuable some of these are in themselves consid-
ered. I repeat it, if the husband or the father—he
who is truly so-is present, it is enough.
Such a husband may, indeed, occasionally go abroad
in the evening, both with and without his family, but
it will always be with regret. He will prefer, were
FATHERS AT HOME.
189
it equally for the general good, to remain at home.
Home, I say again, is not only his castle, but his fa-
vorite place-his Eden. Here he prepares himself
and others, by the discharge of the duties which de-
volve upon him, either as a husband or a father, for
the great future-for the heaven of heavens, his final
habitation. Nay, more; here he begins to enjoy, if
such joy ever fall to his lot, a little foretaste of that
blessed abode.
Every reader must be delighted with the beautiful
excuse, which among others, Sir Thomas More makes,
why he did not publish his Utopia sooner. It shows
us how important that great man considered an atten-
tive performance of the minor duties of life to be.
66
Seeing that almost the whole day is devoted to busi-
ness abroad," says he, " and the remainder of my time
to domestic duties, there is none left to myself; that
is, for my studies. For, on returning home, I have
to talk with my wife, prattle with my children, and
converse with my servants-all which things I number
among the duties of life; since, if a man would not
be a stranger in his own house, he must, by every.
means in his power, strive to render himself agree-
able to those companions of his life whom nature
hath provided, chance thrown in his way, or that he
has himself chosen."
Oh fathers, think how many estates have been
ruined and characters blasted, how much good influ-
ence has been paralyzed, how many lives lost, and
how many governments overthrown, simply from the
190
FATHERS AT HOME.
lack of proper culture, and from the misdirection of
mental power!
The end of teaching is to fit our children to achieve
the highest success in life. No father can be indiffer-
ent to this result; and hence the wisest means should
be employed, and the greatest care taken, to secure it.
A thorough practical education implies the cultiva-
tion of the habit of fixed attention, and the father
must see to it at home. This is not only a condition
of success, but the result of successful mental disci-
pline. The habit of perseverence in the midst of
trials and disappointments, and of patience to endure
the hardships of life, are acquired also in this rigid
school of discipline. The taste, imagination, memory,
and judgment are cultivated in the very process of dis-
ciplinary training; and the conscience, developed
under the influence of divine truth, is made the ruling
power of the mind and heart. With such an educa-
tion, our children would be thoroughly furnished for
their life-work: without it, we can leave them no in-
heritance that will secure their future success and
usefulness.

BUDS OF PROMISE.

09

Infants recall us from much that engenders and encourages selfish-
ness, that freezes the affections, roughens the manners, indurates the
heart: they brighten the home, deepen love, invigorate exertion, in-
fuse courage, and vivify and sustain the charities of life.
-BINNEY.

XII.
BUDS OF PROMISE.
"It lay upon its mother's breast, a thing
Brought as a dew-drop when it first descends,
Or as the plumage of an angel's wing,
Where every tint of rainbow beauty blends."

O love children, is the dictate of our nature.
Apart from the promptings of kindred
blood, it is a spontaneous tribute to their
helplessness, their innocence, or their beauty.
The total absence of this love induces a sus-
picion that the heart is not right. "Beware,"
said Lavater, "of him who hates the laugh of a child."
"I love God, and every little child," was the simple,
yet sublime sentiment of Richter.
66
The man of the world pauses in his absorbing career,
and claps his hands, to gain an infant's smile. The
victim of vice gazes wishfully on the pure, open fore-
head of childhood, and retraces those blissful years
that were free from guile. The man of piety loves
that docility and singleness of heart, which drew from
his Saviour's lips the blessed words, "of such is the
kingdom of heaven.”
193
194
BUDS OF PROMISE.
Elliot, the apostle of the Indians, amid his laborious
ministry, and rude companionship, shewed in all places
the most marked attention to young children. In ex-
treme age, when his head was white as the Alpine
snows, he felt his heart warm at their approach. Many
a pastor, whom he had assisted to consecrate, bore
witness to the pathos of his appeal, the solemnity of
his intonation, when he inquired, "Brother, lovest
thou our Lord Jesus Christ? Then feed these lambs."
The love of children, in man is a virtue: in woman,
an element of nature. It is a feature of her constitu-
tion, a proof of His wisdom, who, having entrusted to
her the burden of the early nurture of a whole race,
gave that sustaining power which produces harmony,
between her dispositions, and her allotted tasks.
To love children, is a graceful lineament in the char-
acter of all persons in every age and style of life, but
especially should it be the disposition of young ladies.
Anxious as they usually are, to acquire the art of
pleasing, they are not always aware what an attraction
it imparts to their manners. It heightens the influence
of beauty, and often produces a strong effect, where
beauty is wanting.
"Love children," said Madame de Maintenon, in
her advice to the young dauphiness; "whether for a
prince or a peasant, it is the most amiable accomplish-
ment." It was this very trait in her own character,
that won the heart of Louis the Great. When she
was governess of his children, and past the bloom of
life, he surprised her one morning in the royal nursery,
BUDS OF PROMISE.
195
sustaining with one arm, the oldest son, then feeble
from the effects of protracted fever, and rocking a sleep-
ing infant with the other.
Intercourse with infancy is improving, as well as
delightful. It subdues pride, and deepens piety.
Obdurate natures are softened by its sweet smile, and
the picture of its sleeping innocence. Its entire help-
lessness, its perfect trust, dissolve the soul. The bold
wanderer in the world's crooked ways, gazes, and
recalls the time when he was himself unstained. Ten-
der remembrances take him captive, and ere he is
aware, the tear trickles down his cheeks in fond regret,
perhaps in healthful penitence.
The construction of the infant's frame; the little
beating heart, sending life-blood through its thousand
thread-like channels; the lungs, fastening with delight
on the gift of the pure air; the countless absorbents,
busied in their invisible work-shops; the net-work of
nerves, minute as the filaments of thought, quickening
with sensation; the tender brain, beginning its myster-
ious agency;
the silken fringe of the eyes, opening
wider as some brilliant color strikes the dazzled retina;
the slender fingers unfolding themselves, as some new
sound winds its way through the ear's untrodden laby-
rinth, giving its key-tone to the wondering mind; all
the mystery and beauty of this miniature temple,
where the etherial spirit is a lodger, lead the observer
to an Almighty Architect, and constrain him to adore.
But especially is the care of infancy salutary to the
character. It inspires the gentle, pitying, and hallowed
196
BUDS OF PROMISE.
affections. Parents, the blessing of this ministry is
ours. Let us study night and day, the science that
promotes the welfare of our infant.
Who can estimate the responsibility placed upon
parents, when a child is born? What an important
trust is committed to their keeping. Consider, your
charge is nothing less than a physical, rational, account-
able, immortal, sinful and social being.
It is a physical being. The babe that the fond moth-
er embraces is a curious piece of the divine workman-
ship. Its little frame bears the stamp of infinite wis-
dom and goodness. It is exactly fitted to answer the
purpose for which it is designed, is wanting in noth-
ing, is superfluous in nothing. But yet it is only the
germ of a man or a woman, destined, if it lives, to a
natural process of expansion. That body is, indeed,
nothing but finely-organized clay, and there does not
essentially belong to it either the principle of immor-
tality, or the principle of thought; but it is designed
to be the organ of the soul's operations, and is to exert
no unimportant influence upon the soul's character
and destiny. If the body dies, the soul will still live;
but if the faculties of the body are not suitably de-
veloped, the mind that inhabits it will find itself pro-
portionably cramped, and contracted in its operations.
Let no one say, "it matters not for the physical na-
ture, if the higher nature be provided for," so long as
the one is the medium through which the other acts.
God hath joined them together in the economy of his
creating wisdom; and man must have respect to the

Engraved by Illman Brothers, from the
1
Original Painting by Carl Reup in the Bailey Collection
THE SUN SHOWER.
P
BUDS OF PROMISE.
197
connection, as he would accomplish the end of his ex-
istence.
The child also is a rational being. True, indeed,
you see nothing in its earliest infancy to indicate that
it possesses any higher faculties than the lamb, or
the lark, or any other of the animal creation. But,
helpless as it seems, unconscious as it seems, there is
glorious principle of intelligence belonging to it,
which time will ere long reveal, and which, if right-
fully developed and directed, may render it a fit
companion for an angel. Where all seems blank and
dark, the light will ere long shine, and a mind that
can discriminate, that can reason, that can feel, will
be seen coming up in its strength and glory. Who
knows but that it may be the mind of a Newton-
who shall measure the heights and fathom the depths
of the material creation? Who knows but that it
may be the mind of a Locke, that shall bring out the
mysteries of thought, and reveal to man the secret
springs of his own conduct? Who knows but that
it may be the mind of a Milton, attuned to heavenly
melodies, and touched with a seraph's fire? What
the particular character of her infant's mind is to be-
whether of high degree or of low degree, the mother
knows not cannot know-enough that she knows it
is a spiritual, thinking, active principle, destined, by
the decree of Heaven, to an infinite expansion.
prodaja).
S
But to the power of thought is also joined the sus-
ceptibility of feeling; the infant is born with a moral,
as well as rational nature. In it are the elements of
198
BUDS OF PROMISE.
passions and affections, of desires and aversions, in
which its happiness or unhappiness will chiefly be
found, and which must decide, in a great degree, the
complexion and destiny of the soul. Here, too, is
concealed that noble principle of conscience, which,
perhaps more than any other, bespeaks the dignity of
human nature, which is destined to occupy the judg-
inent-seat in the soul, and to bring peace and joy, or
remorse and terror, according to the decisions which it
renders. In the earliest periods of infancy, there
may be no higher happiness, or, at least, none appar-
ent, than freedom from bodily pain; and there may be
no other suffering than what consists in bodily pain;
but there is a hidden nature there susceptible of en-
joyment or suffering, that outruns all human compre-
hension. There is that which may kindle into a
consuming fire, and show itself great in wrath, in
desolation, in self-torture; or which may glow with a
genial fervor, diffusing serenity within, and shedding
light and joy over the whole field of its influence.
And this leads me to say that here also is an ac-
countable being. I do not mean to say, nor do I
believe, that it is a moral agent from the beginning;
nor would I venture to mark the point of intellectual
development, when moral agency commences, believ-
ing, as I do, that that is one of the secret things
which the Creator has retained in his own keeping;
-I only mean, that, as the infant is constituted with
a rational and moral nature, and is placed under the
government of God, so unaccountableness is an essen-
BUDS OF PROMISE.
199
tial attribute of that nature; and that before the un-
accountableness can cease, the power of distinguishing
and choosing between good and evil must cease.
What a reflection to a mother, that the unconscious
babe in her arms is constituted in such a way, that
its actions shall ere long sustain a moral character ;
and that the whole history of its life shall be reviewed
as a ground of approbation or of condemnation at the
bar of the Eternal Judge!
This charge, too, is immortal. The body will, in-
deed, last but a few short years; now she folds it in
her arms, and dandles it upon her knee; but soon it
will have expanded to the measure of a youth; and
at a period a little more distant, it will have reached
its mature growth; and a little later, if, indeed, it
has not been earlier, it will return to the dust whence
it came. But the spirit that gives the babe its chief
interest, the soul that thinks, and speaks, and burns
with celestial fire, is rendered imperishable, if not by
the necessity of its nature, at least by its Creator's de-
cree. The arms that enfold your babe will become
clods, the sun that shines upon your babe will be ex-
tinguished, and the skies that attract its infant gaze
will be rolled up as a burning vesture, and yet, all
that is great and spiritual in that babe shall survive,
not only in unimpaired, but constantly increasing en-
ergy. And for aught we know, other suns and worlds
may take the place of these which we now behold,
and, having fulfilled their end, may pass away as a
midnight dream; and others still may come up at the
200
BUDS OF PROMISE.
Creator's bidding to replenish immensity, and in
obedience to a like decree, these may retire and be
lost in the abyss of annihilation, and yet that infant
mind, whose operations are now so feeble that you
can scarcely detect them, will live through all this
wreck of worlds, and even then will feel that this ex-
istence is only begun. When the Christian mother
resigns her bade to the tomb in the budding season of
its faculties, let her not look despairingly at the nar-
row house, as if her infant had perished there; but
let her rather think of the grave as the temporary
dwelling-place of the corruptible, and be thankful
that God has permitted her to make such a contribu-
tion to the immortal population of heaven.
But remember that this charge is a sinful being.
What! that smiling, unconscious babe, whose eyes
have so lately been opened upon the light, a sinner!
Not an actual transgressor of God's law-for of that
we cannot suppose that its faculties render it capable—
but a sinner in precisely the same sense that it is a
rational being there is that within it that will by-
and-by kindle up and show itself a sinful disposition.
I will not refer to God's Word now for the only satis-
factory explanation of this fact; but the fact itself is
proved by universal experience. Show me, if you
can, an instance, in the world's history, save that of
the immaculate child Jesus, in which what has seemed
innocent infancy did not prove itself the germ of sin-
ning childhood. And, besides, if no hereditary stain
have reached an infant's mind-in other words if the
BUDS OF PROMISE.
201
infant be regarded as holy under the government of
God, let us have the explanation of that bodily suffer-
ing under which it shrinks, and writhes, and some-
times even dies. Yes, mothers, talk as much as you
will of your innocent babes, every one of them is
the heir of an unholy nature, which will as certainly
develop itself in unholy action, as that it develops it-
self at all. The new-born leopard may seem beauti-
ful and harmless, and you fear not to take it up in
your hands, or press it to your bosom; but wait a
while, and you dare not look at it except some bar-
rier intervene to protect you; for it has shown itself
possessed of a nature the promptings of which would
be to tear you to pieces. There was an infant born
between thirty and forty years ago that, doubtless,
smiled upon its mother with the same apparent inno-
cence with which other infants are wont to smile;
and, possibly, some advocate for the original purity
of human nature may have drawn an argument from
what it seemed to be in its helpless, unconscious
state, to disprove that severe creed which recognizes
infants as inheriting a moral taint from Adam; but
that infant had not lived long before he began to give
proof that the orthodox creed was sound. In his boy-
hood he was revengeful and wicked; in his man-
hood he was a murderer; and the other day, when it
was expected that the sun would have gone down
upon his body hanging in ignominy between earth and
heaven, it went down upon his body self-bathed in his
own blood. Your children may not, we trust will
202
BUDS OF PROMISE.
not, prove like him; but you deceive yourselves if
you imagine that, with all their loveliness, they have
not the same sinful nature which made him a mur-
derer.
This innocent creature possesses also a social na-
ture. As it is not destined to exist in a state of soli-
tude, so it is endowed with a social propensity-with
a disposition to mingle with other beings, to whom it
will impart more or less of its own character. No
man lives for himself alone. As he is bound to so-
ciety by various ties, so every relation that he sustains
is a channel of influence for good or evil, that is
operating constantly upon his fellow-men.
It is a
most serious thought that the infant in your arms, if
it lives but a few years, will be an active member of
society, and will not only be himself forming a char-
acter for eternity, but will be contributing an influ-
ence that will tell on the destinies of other minds
through the whole period of their existence.
Such is your charge; and where is the parent who
can contemplate it without being ready to sink under
the burden of responsibility which it imposes?
The mythology of the ancient Greeks taught the
existence of a goddess, who exerted a powerful influ-
ence over mankind; she was esteemed the arbitress of
success, and her name was Fortune. She was repre-
sented as holding two rudders, with one of which she
guided the ship of prosperity, with the other, that of
adversity. These emblems indicated her power over
good and evil; but this seems generally to have been
BUDS OF PROMISE.
203
exercised in a benignant manner. The same religion
also taught the existence of those inexorable sisters
called Fates. They are represented as goddesses of
human destiny and individual fortune, both in life and
death. The Mahometans believe that all events are
determined beforehand, and come to pass according to
necessity, which they call Destiny.
Now, parents are to their children, fortune, fate and
destiny. They possess and exercise over their offspring
an influence almost equivalent to that fancied to belong
to these heathen powers. It should be remembered
that this influence is for good or ill; that it must result
in promoting the happiness or misery of those who are
subjected to its action. The affection of parents for
their children would seem to be a sufficient motive for
using their power wisely. But it is easy to present
other motives, and those which must come with em-
phasis, to every parent's heart. The fact that God has
made the human race to be educated, to receive their
bias for life from early impressions, and has placed
children, during this period, under the special charge
of parents, is sufficient proof that he designed to lay
upon these the serious responsibility of deciding the
character of their children, of determining their fortune,
of spinning for them the thread of fate, of planning
out their destiny.
If any one is disposed to think that I state the point
too strongly, let me ask him to consider what those
things are which will generally ensure success in life
and happiness hereafter. I think these may be briefly
204
BUDS OF PROMISE.
stated as follows: First, a good constitution; second,
good moral principles, with a love of truth and justice;
third, religious principles; fourth, good intellectual
culture; fifth, good habits; sixth, pure tastes; seventh,
good manners. Now let me ask, is there any thing here
which the parent may not, in ordinary cases, secure to
his child? It may be supposed that a good constitution
is not at the command of the parent. But let him
devote his attention to this as a point of duty, as a
thing of high interest; let him pursue it with the sa-
gacity, practical good sense, and energy with which he
pursues his ordinary business; and in nine cases out
of ten he will secure his object. The truth is, that
feeble constitutions are in most cases the result of
neglect or mismanagement. The parent, therefore,
may usually decide the physical character of his child
for life. And may he not, if he will use the proper
means, decide his moral and intellectual character also?
Is there any thing in the catalogue we have just given,
of things necessary to win happiness here and here-
after, that the parent may not ensure to his child?
How strong, then, is the obligation of the parent, to
seek out and earnestly employ those means, which
may thus favorably determine the destiny of those
whom God has given him!
There is another reason on this point which may not
be without its influence. In the earlier portion of
maturity, we are apt to think almost entirely of our-
selves; but as life advances, and children cluster around
us, we transfer our hearts to them, and they become
BUDS OF PROMISE.
205
the centers of almost all our hopes and fears. It is
for them we rise early and sit up late; it is for them
we watch and pray. They become our second selves,
and we look forward to their prospects with an interest
as keen and anxious as if these prospects were our
own. Will not the parent perceive that if he would
cherish the happiness, or forestall the misery, that may
come from the success or failure of his child, he must
use the influence wisely which he possesses over his
body, his intellect, and his soul?
The bringing up of children, then, is a matter of
serious responsibility to the parent, and it may be sup-
posed that all who sustain the parental relation will
be anxious to inform themselves of the best means of
training up their offspring in the way in which they
should go.
It has been truly said that the child is the mirror of
the parent. Men learn their own nature by watching
the development of children. We deem children the
poetry of the world the fresh flowers of our hearts
and homes; little conjurors, with their "natural magic,"
evoking by their spells what delights and enriches all
ranks, and equalizes the different classes of society.
Often as they bring with them anxieties and cares, and
live to occasion sorrow and grief, we should get on very
badly without them. Only think, if there was never
anything anywhere to be seen but great grown-up men
and women, how we should long for a sight of a little
child! Every infant comes into the world like a de-
generated prophet, the harbinger and herald of good
A
206
BUDS OF PROMISE.
tidings, whose office it is to turn "the hearts of the
fathers to the children," and to draw "the disobedient
to the wisdom of the just." A child softens and pur-
ifies the heart, warming and melting it by its gentle
presence; it enriches the soul with new feelings, and
awakens within it what is favorable to virtue. It is
a beam of light, a fountain of love, a teacher whose
lessons few can resist. Infants recall us from much
that engenders and encourages selfishness, that freezes
the affections, roughens the manners and indurates the
heart; they brighten the home, deepen love, invigorate
exertion, infuse courage, and vivify and sustain the
charities of life.
Christ, in blessing the little ones of Judea, blessed
all children, and meant that we should reverence them
as the hope of the world. How, when life grows
dark before us—when its woes oppress, and its crime
appeals, we turn instinctively to little children, with
their brave sunny faces of faith and good cheer—their
eyes of unconscious prophecy, and drink from the full
fountain of their fresh young natures courage and
comfort, and deep draughts of divine love and con-
stancy! How a child's sweet smile falls like oil on
the waters of thought, vexed by worldly care, and
smooths them into peace!
How holy is the influence that is unconsciously given
by a little child. How many lessons of innocence,
purity and love, we can drink in while gazing upon
the helpless creature that is placed upon our care.
How it draws around it the closest affections of a par-
:
BUDS OF PROMISE.
207
ent's heart, and makes the very care and anxiety that
it gives a source of blessing and comfort. There is no
true parent who can resist the loving spell that a child
will throw over him; its cry appeals to the heart
quicker than any other voice on earth, and will find an
answer in a mother's love.
A babe is a mother's anchor. She cannot go far
from her moorings. And yet a true mother never lives
so little in the present as when by the side of the
cradle. Her thoughts follow the imagined future of
her child. That babe is the boldest of pilots, and
guides her fearless thoughts down through scenes of
coming years. The old ark never made such a voyage
as the cradle daily makes. Maternity is the perfecting,
not only of womanhood, but humanity. And to the
first baby, has God given the sacred power to complete
the circle of human sympathies, to waken the conscious
solidarity of human interests. Every mother that is
a mother, pictures the whole troop of loves, joys, and
sorrows hovering around "the first baby." She lays
every mother's baby in the cradle which held her own
first baby, and listens to the songs that gush forth, or
as they are softly murmured in the mother-heart. To
a mother's heart, every mother's baby is the represen-
tative of inestimable treasure; it is an estate held in
"fee simple; " a little sub-soiler that leaves no affec-
tions fallow, no sympathies isolated from the claims of
a common humanity. The first baby!—why, it brings
treasure with it! True its little hand is empty; but
then it brings to light and activity unrevealed capaci-
208
BUDS OF PROMISE.
m
ties, looses the sealed fountains, and assays the un-
wrought treasure of the human soul. It is not all joy
—that baby gift ;—if it were it could not be a joy
forever. It is not all sorrow; if it were, the fountains
of the heart it stirs, could not grow pure to reflect the
heaven above; would not flow down the stream of
time, bearing rich freight for unknown and unborn
posterity. But see, it lays its tiny hand on the heart,
and it forgets to beat for self. It pillows its soft cheek
on the bosom that, hitherto, had looked out upon the
struggling world-all unlinked to its wants, all un-
moved by its destiny-and henceforth that bosom is the
asylum of the orphan, the refuge of the oppressed, the
sanctuary which invites a world lying in wretchedness
to the banquet of love, to the smiles of a common
Father. And why?—Ah, that baby is the medium
through which the helplessness, the wants and the
promise of humanity have appealed to the woman. In
behalf of the race, it has whispered mother! and look-
ing into its trusting, worshipping eyes, she accepts the
consecration, answers the appeal with a deep, an eter-
nity echoed-my child.
Not without design has God implanted in the mater-
nal breast that strong love of their children which is
felt everywhere. This lays deep and broad the foun-
dation for the child's future education from parental
hands. Nor without designs has Christ commanded,
"Feed my lambs," meaning to inculcate upon his
Church the duty of caring for the children of the
Church and the world at the earliest possible period.
BUDS OF PROMISE.
209
Nor can parents and all well-wishers to humanity be
too earnest and careful to fulfill the promptings of
their very nature and the command of Christ in this
matter. Influence is as quiet and imperceptible on
the child's mind as the falling of snow flakes on the
meadow. One cannot tell the hour when the human
mind is not in the condition of receiving impressions
from exterior moral forces. In innumerable instances,
the most secret and unnoticed influences have been in
operation for months and even years to break down
the strongest barriers of the human heart, and work
out its moral ruin, while yet the fondest parents and
friends have been unaware of the working of such un-
seen agents of evil. Not all at once does any heart
become utterly bad. The error is in this: that parents
are not conscious how early the seeds of vice are sown
and take root. It is as the Gospel declares, "While
men slept, the enemy came and sowed tares, and went
his way." If this then is the error, how shall it be
corrected, and what is the antidote to be applied!
Why this if we have "slept" over the early suscepti-
bility of children's minds to the formation of character,
we must wake up from our sleep, and acknowledge
our error. And the antidote and remedy is simple and
plain-we must preoccupy the soil; sow in the soil of
these minds and hearts the seeds of knowledge and
virtue, before the enemy shall sow there the tares of
vice and crime. This is the true doctrine of our duty
to the children around our tables and in our streets.
Up, then, ye workers, and sow your seed in the morn
210
BUDS OF PROMISE.
of childhood. Withhold not the hand from earnest
culture and honest toil. No labor here shall be in
vain.
Bishop Eale truly says: "A child is man in a
small letter, yet the best copy of Adam, before he
tasted of Eve or the apple; and he is happy whose
small practice in the world can only write his charac-
ter. His soul is yet a white paper unscribbled with
observations of the world, wherewith, at length, it
becomes a blurred note-book. He is purely happy,
because he knows no evil, nor hath made means by
sin to be acquainted with misery. He arrives not at
the mischief of being wise, nor endures evils to come,
by foreseeing them. He kisses and loves all, and,
when the smart of the rod is past, smiles on his beater.
The elder he grows, he is a stair lower from God. He
is the Christian's example, and the old man's relapse;
the one imitates his pureness, and the other falls into
his simplicity. Could he put off his body with his
little coat, he had got eternity without a burden, and
exchanged but one heaven for another."
1
XIII.
LIFE'S SEED TIME.
"In the morning sow thy seed."
Solomon.

W
HEN the dawning intellect begins to unfold
itself, the office of parental instruction
commences. The dispositions of a child
are susceptible of very early culture; and
much trouble and much unhappiness may be
prevented by nipping in the bud the first shoots
of caprice, obstinacy, and passion, and by instilling
and cherishing amiable sentiments and habits. The
twig, however young and tender, may be bent and
fashioned by the hand of gentleness. The mind soon
learns by habit to expect discipline; and ere long be-
gins to discipline itself. By degrees the young pu-
pil acquires the capacity of understanding the general
reasons of the parent's commands, denials, commenda-
tions, and reproofs; and they should be communicated
in most cases in which they can be comprehended.
Among these reasons, obedience to God, the love of
him, and a desire to please him, together with other
motives derived from Christianity, should hold the
pre-eminence which they deserve; and should be
211
212
LIFE'S SEED TIME.
early presented to the infant mind in strong and at-
tractive colors. Religion is thus engrafted through
the divine co-operation into the nature of children
soon after their original passions begin to work; and
may be expected to become a more vigorous plant,
and to arrive at a more fruitful maturity, than could
have been hoped if the commencement of its growth
had been delayed to a later period. Thus a child is
trained up from the first "in the way in which he
should go." And by a continuance of the same care,
still in humble dependence on the blessing of God,
there is the fairest prospect that "he will keep in it
unto the end." To make a right impression on the
opening mind, Religion should appear, according to
her real character, with an awful and an amiable as-
pect: liberal of the most precious gifts, and delighted
to confer them; yet resolute to punish, if her offers
be slighted and her commands disobeyed. Let par-
ents beware of partial and unfair representations of
the will and counsel of God in order to obtain some
immediate end. Perhaps we may always discern, that
most good is effected by unfolding the entire and un-
sophisticated truth. But if parents imagine otherwise,
God is wiser than man. And they may be certain
that the Revelation, which he has vouchsafed for the
instruction and salvation of mankind, is far more
likely to accomplish the intended object when laid be-
fore old and young, rich and poor, in its true colors;
than when disguised by man, the better, as he con-
ceives, to answer a present purpose. Kindness to
1
LIFE'S SEED TIME
213
bear with slow and feeble apprehension, freedom from
irritability and capriciousness, care to shun invol-
untary absence of thought, patience not weary of at-
tending to minute objects, and minute opportunities,
and steadiness never to be won by mere entreaty,
nor to be teased by importunity, from its original
determination, are among the qualifications at all
periods, and especially at the period of which we
now speak, essential to the parent.
As childhood advances, the opening faculties are
employed under maternal direction on the rudiments
of knowledge. The parent in these days possesses, in
the variety of elementary tracts of modern date, ad-
vantages of which, when she herself was a child, her
preceptress was destitute. The first principles of
religion are inculcated in a mode adapted to interest
the attention; and information on many other sub-
jects is couched under the form of dialogue and
narrative suited to the comprehension and amusing to
the imagination of the pupil. A proper selection
from the multitude of little publications, differing
materially as to intrinsic worth, requires no large
amount of time and trouble.
As children are, therefore, made for happiness, let
parents consider the duty of following out this design
of the Creator. In this matter, God has set them
an example, and will they not follow it? I know,
indeed, that childhood and youth are the periods in
which knowledge is to be acquired, the temper to be
disciplined, habits of industry and perseverance to be
214
LIFE'S SEED TIME.
"
established, principles of truth and duty inculcated.
And I know that the duty of parents in this respect
will often make it necessary to demand onerous exer-
tion and painful self-denial of children. I know, too,
that the condition of many parents is such that they
need the labor of their children to assist in sustaining
the family. But all this is, by no means, incompat-
ible with the happiness of children. Bodily and men-
tal labor, suited to the age and capacity of youth, is
a source of immediate happiness, and after pleasure.
Lessons of self-denial, wisely and kindly enforced,
though the heart be pained for the time, are sources
of future satisfaction. As the crushed rose gives
forth the sweetest fragrance, so the chastened heart
exhibits and enjoys the purest pleasure. Parents are,
therefore, by no means to sacrifice the proper edu-
cation of their children, under the idea of interfering
with their enjoyment.
But I wish distinctly to present to the reader's at-
tention the fact that children remain under parental
guardianship for twenty-one years, and that this with
the majority, is more than half the period of human
existence. Let parents, then, do what they can con-
sistently, with a sound regard to controlling points of
duty, to make that large portion of life happy which
is subjected to their special influence. Let them not,
under an idea of government, over-govern; let them
not, under the notion of educating, over-educate; let
them not, under the idea of training them to labor,
overtask their children. Let it be understood that
LIFE'S SEED 11ME.
215
the child has a right to be happy so long as he re-
mains under parental tutelage; and let it be remem-
bered that if the parent interfere with this right,
beyond what is demanded by a due regard to the
child's future prosperity, he uses the power of a des-
pot, with the spirit of a tyrant.
I will venture to make some suggestions to parents,
which are the more important from the fact that self-
ishness sometimes puts on the guise of virtue, and de-
ceives even those who are concerned in the trick.
There are parents, who from the ambition to have
their children shine, stimulate them by base excite-
ments to exertion, thus sacrificing the purity of the
heart, and often the health of the body. There are
parents, who, from a frivolous vanity, dress their
children in an extravagant manner; thus tarnishing
the youthful spirit with the same paltry vice which
sways themselves. There are some people who are
flattered if their children appear precocious, and these
usually attempt to make them prodigies.
I once knew a mother who was possessed with this
insane ambition in respect to an only child. This
was a little boy, of bright intellect, but feeble con-
stitution. There was, by nature, a tendency to a pre-
mature development of the mental faculties, and this
dangerous predisposition was seconded by all the art
and influence of the mother. The consequence was,
that while the boy's head grew rapidly, and at last
became enormous, his limbs became shrunken and al-
most useless. His mind too advanced, and at the
216
LIFE'S SEED TIME.
age of eight years he was indeed a prodigy. At ten,
he died, and his mother, who was a literary lady, per-
formed the task of writing and publishing his biog
raphy. In all this, she seemed to imagine that she
was actuated by benevolent motives, and never ap-
peared to suspect the truth, plain and obvious to others,
that this child was as truly sacrificed by a mother's
selfishness to the demon of vanity, as the Hindoo in-
fant, given by its mother to the god of the Ganges,
is immolated on the altar of superstition. Let par-
ents beware, then, how they permit their own selfish-
ness, their own vanity or ambition, to lead them into
the sacrifice of their children's happiness. Let it be re-
membered that premature fruit never ripens well, and
that precocious children are usually inferior men or
women. Parents, therefore, should be afraid of pro-
digies. Nothing is in worse taste than for parents
to show off their children as remarkably witty, or as
remarkable indeed for anything. Good breeding
teaches every one to avoid display, and well-bred par-
ents will never offend, by making puppets of their
children, in gratification of their own vanity.
There are other mistakes into which parents are
led by selfishness which assumes the semblance of dis-
interestedness. Thus, in the choice of a profession,
and in marking out the plan of life for a child, a par-
ent frequently consults rather his own ambition than
the real interest of his offspring.
If we notice the outward forms of children, we
shall observe great diversities of size, shape, complex-
LIFE'S SEED TIME.
217
ion, and expression. Some are tall; others short.
Some are graceful; others awkward. Some have
blue eyes and fair hair; others have dark eyes and
raven hair. And these peculiarities of nature in re-
spect to the outward form are but symbols of those
which mark the spirit within. But, notwithstanding
this diversity, it will be perceived that all have essen-
tially the same features and the same powers. The
only difference that exists is, as to some of the quali-
ties or attributes that characterize them. While it is nec-
essary, therefore, for all those who have to deal with
children to take into consideration their various pecu-
liarities, and learn the art of adapting government
and instruction to them, it is still more important to
become acquainted with those universal traits of char-
acter which belong to children.
One of the first of these characteristics which is
displayed is the sympathy of child with child. This
is manifested very early. One of the first objects
which an infant notices is another child. There
seems to be a spell in a young face which charms an
infant. This principle is manifested in the universal
love of dolls. When the infant has arrived at child-
hood, he finds an excitement in the society of chil-
dren, which that of grown-up people does not afford.
His faculties are stimulated by this principle, so that
powers are developed which would otherwise remain
dormant. You place a child that has no natural tal-
ent for music among children who possess this gift,
and under their tutelage he will soon learn to sing.
218
LIFE'S SEED TIME.
This fact has been fully substantiated in several of the
European schools.
Parents may turn this principle to good account,
particularly where there are several children in the
family. By training one child, they may make that
an example to the rest. When one is instructed, it
may become a monitor to others. In schools, the
system of mutual instruction, founded upon this prin-
ciple of sympathy between children, may be rendered
very useful. It needs, however, the constant vigi-
lance of the teacher.
Curiosity is a remarkable and interesting trait of
childhood, and, though possessed in various degrees
of activity, is common to all children. It is first
manifested in the infant's stare at the lighted candle;
it is afterwards displayed in the eagerness with which
he asks various puzzling questions. The poet has
beautifully described the first unfolding of this prin-
ciple.
CC
See its power expand
When first the coral fills the infant's hand.
Throned in its mother's lap, it dries each tear,
As her sweet legend falls upon his ear;
Next it assails him in his top's strange hum,
Breathes in his whistle, echoes in his drum.
Each gilded toy that doting love bestows
He longs to break, and every spring expose.
Placed by your hearth, with what delight he pores
O'er the bright pages of the pictured stores;
How oft he steals upon your graver task,
Of this to tell you, and of that to ask.
And when the warning hour to bedward bids,
Though gentle sleep sits waiting on his lids,
How winningly he pleads to gain you o'er,
That he may read one little story more.

HOME EDUCATION.


The fireside is a seminary of infinite importance. Few can re-
ceive the honors of a college but all are graduates of the home. The
learning of the university may fade from the recollection: its classic
lore may moulder in the halls of memory: but the simple lessons of
home, enamelled upon the heart of childhood defy the rust of years,
and outlive the more mature but less vivid pictures of after years.
-GOODRICH

XIV.
T
HOME EDUCATION.
"There's one high school 'neath Heaven's dome,
And this sole one is found at home.
This is a school most sacred, where
Each child is taught with anxious care,
And each dear pupil here is taught,
In constant lesssons, life's chief thought."
G.

T is entirely unnecessary, for us to point out
the many reasons why children ought to be
educated, in this time of enlightenment and
culture; when schooling lies within the
power of the children of the laborer just as well
as that of the millionaire; when the gift of knowl-
edge has been brought within the reach of every one
who will grasp it; when intelligence is no longer shut
up to be enjoyed only by the favored few, but is scat-
tered broad-cast over the land in our free schools and
colleges; in the open libraries where without. money
and without price the thirst for knowledge can be
quenched by as deep and long draughts from the
Prerian spring as any one desires; and in the count-
less books and papers that find their way into every
household.
221
222
HOME EDUCATION.
But while the schools of our Republic are doing a
grand and noble work, I wish to say that those parents
make a grave mistake who rely solely upon the public
school for the mental training of their children. This
discipline should begin early at home, and under the
most careful supervision. As soon as the child opens
his eyes and puts forth his little hands, as soon as his
senses come in contact with the material world, the
mind begins to drink in knowledge, and expand by
means of its own activity. The foundations of the
man's education are laid mainly in the home of his
childhood, and before he has reached the proper school-
age. Faithful early home-training is, therefore, of the
utmost importance.
"Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined.”
Neglect or improper instruction in childhood may
result in waste and failure in riper years. The "twig"
must be properly "bent," that the tree may be devel-
oped in symmetrical and stately proportions. The
growth of the tree results from its own vitality; but
the shape and direction of its trunk and limbs depend
upon its trimming and training. So also in education.
Self-culture is the only means of sound mental devel-
opment; but this must be inspired, directed, and con-
trolled, during childhood, by parental fidelity and
wisdom.
And first of all, and mainly, home-training should
consist in the discipline of the observing faculties.
Books are little needed at this period, except so far as
HOME EDUCATION.
223
}
they may aid in directing attention to the real objects
by which the child is surrounded, and in explaining
their qualities and uses.
The mind of the child opens
upon a world of objects, and his education must im-
part mainly object-lessons.
A thirst for knowledge is inherent in every human
mind, and is early manifested. The child observes,
and soon learns to distinguish his friends and bene-
factors from strangers. He watches with intense in-
terest every motion that comes within range of his
vision; he grasps every solid object placed within his
reach,—the watch, the pencil, the knife, the toy,—and
bears it to his mouth, seemingly to make more sure
the knowledge of its peculiar properties by the aid of
two senses at once; and, as soon as this child has gained
the power of locomotion, he goes in search of objects
to the extreme limit of his little dominion. When the
power of speech is gained, he hastens to call every
thing by its proper name, and to ask endless questions
as to its nature and utility.
Here, then, is the parent's opportunity to commence
the work of education. First, it is the instructor's
duty to remove from reach and sight, as far as possible,
all objects which the child may not handle; secondly,
to select such toys for the child's use as are proper
and the most interesting; and, finally, to be ready to
answer all inquiries, and to impart such instruction as
` each subject will admit. Another important thought
in this connection, the child should have the earnest
sympathy of the parent in all his efforts to gratify
224
HOME EDUCATION.
curiosity and gain knowledge, in all his sports and
games. The parent should give attention when the
child delighted holds up its new-found treasure, he
should smile upon his expressed enthusiasm, and en-
courage his search for truth. Kind looks and gentle
words have a magic power over the mind of childhood
under such circumstances.
I am
One of our most distinguished writers says:
not without hope of persuading mothers to take charge
of the entire education of their children, during the
earlier years of life. After devoting daily a stated
period, morning and evening, to their moral and relig-
ious training, I cannot but trust that the pleasure of
the communion will lead to a more extended system
of domestic culture. Indeed, it is not possible to con-
vey instruction to the heart, without acting as a pioneer
for the intellect. The docility, the application, the
retentive energy, which the mother awakens in her
child, while she teaches it the principles of justice, and
the love of truth, and the reverence of the Creator, lead
her continually, though it may be unconsciously, into
the province of scholastic education.
"Whoever educates his children well," says Xeno-
phon, in his letter to Crito, "gives them much, even
though he should leave them little." If parents felt
that by spending three hours daily, they might secure
for each of their offspring an ample fortune, not to be
alienated, but made sure to them through life, would
they grudge the sacrifice? Let the mother try, if by
an equal expenditure of time, she may not purchase
HOME EDUCATION.
225
for them a patrimony, which rust cannot corrode, or
the robber rifle, or the elements that sweep away per-
ishable wealth, have power to destroy. If she feels it
impossible to dispense with their attending school, let
her at least teach them herself to read, ere she sends
them there. I once heard an aged and intelligent gen-
tleman speak with delight of the circumstance, that he
learned to read from maternal instruction. He
He gave
it as one reason why knowledge was pleasant to his
soul, that its rudiments entered there with the associa-
tion of gentle tones, patient explanations, and tender
4000
caresses.
The correct reading of our copious language is not
a branch of such simplicity, that it may be well taught
by careless, or slightly educated instructors. The per-
fect enunciation which is so important to public speak-
ers, is best acquired when the organs of articulation
are most flexible, and ere vicious intonations are con-
firmed by habit. One of the most accomplished orators
that I have ever heard, used to take pleasure in refer-
ring his style of elocution to his mother, who taught
him early to read, and devoted much attention to his
distinct utterance, and right understanding of the sub-
jects that he rendered vocal. "A principle of equity,"
said a lady to her child, "should lead you to a clear
and careful articulation, for what right have you to
rob a single letter of its sound? Still less right have
you to cheat those friends of their time, who are listen-
ing to you." "Speaking so as not to be understood,
and writing so as not to be read, are among the minor
immoralities," said the excellent Mrs. H. More.
226
HOME EDUCATION.
A mother, who succeeds in teaching her child to
read, and partakes the delight of perceiving new ideas
enrich and expand its intellect, will be very apt to
wish to conduct its education still further. And if it
is in her power to do so, why does she send it to school
at all, during its most susceptible years? Who can
be so deeply interested in its improvement as herself?
Why then does she entrust it to the management of
strangers? Why expose it to the influence of evil
example, ere its principles are sufficiently strong to
withstand temptation! Why yield it to the excitement
of promiscuous association, when it has a parental
home, where its innocence may be shielded, and its
intellect aided to expand?
"I have no time," replies the mother. How much
time will it require? Two or three hours in a day, is
a greater proportion than any teacher of a school
would devote exclusively to them. Even if they could
receive such an amount of instruction in school, the
division of their own attention among their companions
would diminish its value to them.
Let their lessons be short, but thoroughly committed.
While they study, it ought not to be necessary for
you to watch and superintend them. The presence of
a judicious nurse, or of even the oldest child, should
be sufficient to preserve order, while you reserve your
more precious time for recitation, explanation, and
illustration. I am bold to say, if three hours a day
were wisely proportioned, and systematically set apart
for this purpose, it would be all that the first eight or

Engraved & Printed by man Brothers.
ALPINE TOURISTS THE RAVINE.
HOME EDUCATION.
227
ten years of life would need, and more than they
usually obtain. The intellect of quite young children
should be sparingly taxed. Physical dangers of a
formidable nature, are connected with their close con-
finement, or long enforced application. If you have
a rural spot, where they can have pure air and exer-
cise, consider it a blessing; and let the play, and mus-
cular activity, which nature points out, be a part of
your daily system of education.
I imagine another mother saying in the depth of
her humility, "I am not qualified." Profound eru-
dition is not demanded. Yet if it were, who ought to
have a stronger motive to attain it, than a mother, for
her children's sake?
"I have too much to do in my family," says a care-
ful matron, "to attend to the instruction of my chil-
dren." Do not be too ambitious a housekeeper. Is
it not better that there should be some deficiency in
the luxurious vanity, or elegant arrangement of a
table, than the hearts and minds of your children?
But why need there be deficiency any where? En-
ergy, and adherence to system, will accomplish wonders.
The mistress of a large household, in New Eng-
land, was exceedingly attentive to all the minutiæ of
housekeeping. Her brass and silver, and mahogany,
bore the finest polish. She excelled in rich culinary
compounds, and her table had in the neighborhood no
competitor. She was so situated, that much of her
own personal exertion was necessary to produce these
results. Her ambition was solaced to know that she
228
HOME EDUCATION.
maintained among nice housekeepers, the highest
place. The dresses of her many children evinced
care, and attention to the reigning modes. But she
did not feel that she had any time to bestow on
their minds. They attended school when it was con-
venient, but their progress having no paternal super-
vision, was exceedingly desultory. Their moral and
religious culture also suffered, though she was by
profession and in reality a Christian. A wasting
sickness, impeding all activity, forced her into habits
of deep reflection, and she felt that in her scale of
duty, she had permitted the least important to usurp
the highest place. With affecting regret she said, as
death approached, "I have led a laborious life, scarcely
allowing myself time for thought. It seems princi-
pally to have been spent in preparing food and cloth-
ing for the family. I can recollect but little else.
And now I feel that I have 'spent my money for that
which is not bread, and my labor for that which satis-
fieth not.'"
"I have so many children," says another, "that I
cannot think of doing more than seeing that they are
sent to school." How many had Mrs. Ramsay, of
South Carolina, when she took charge of their whole
education, and prepared her sons for college? Does
not her biographer mention that she was the mother
of eleven children, during the first sixteen years after
her marriage? Beside the charge of a large and well-
ordered household, and assisting her husband in the
literary labors which he combined with his medical
HOME EDUCATION.
229
profession, she gave the most indefatigable attention
to the physical, religious and intellectual education of
her children. From the very beginning she continued
her instructions with regularity, and conducted her
daughter at home through the studies and accomplish-
ments taught at boarding schools; and her sons
through a course that fitted them thoroughly for col-
lege; and in order to do this she had to acquire
specially a knowledge of the Greek and Latin Clas-
sics. This shows how much a mother can do if she
will. But another says, "I do not feel prepared to
give up all society and turn myself into a care-worn
school-teacher." This would indeed be undesirable.
Whoever forsakes social intercourse, deadens the im-
pulse to generous sympathy and active benevolence,
which, like the noble energy in the physical constitu-
tion, quickens the remotest extremities of the frame,
and impels to harmonious and efficient exertion. Mrs.
Ramsay, the striking example which we have just
quoted, preserved her social feelings in healthful activ-
ity, though she seldom visited during the day. Eve-
nings, when the stated instruction of her beloved
pupils was closed, she was ready and cheerful, for
the intercourse of friendship. That a routine of cere-
monious visiting, involving late hours, high dress,
luxurious entertainment, and much expense of time
and thought, is not consistent with the faithful in-
struction of children, is admitted. Will any
Will any Chris-
tian mother hesitate which she ought to renounce?
I am most happy to have a case in point. A young
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HOME EDUCATION.
lady, whose beauty, wealth, accomplishments, and
European travel, rendered her an object of admira-
tion among the fashionable circles of our most fash-
ionable metropolis, after her marriage, undertook the
domestic education of her three little ones, and writes,
"I find more heartfelt pleasure, more agreeable retro-
spection, in one hour spent in endeavoring to elicit
thought and feeling from my children than in any
other pursuit, or amusement." A precious suffrage
from one perfectly qualified to judge, and an encour-
agement to such mothers as shrink at the threshold
of their higher duties.
Methinks, I hear the voice of some fair skeptic ex-
claiming, "I doubt whether it would be as well for
my children to be educated at home. They require
the stimulus to exertion, which is found in schools."
Are you quite sure of it? Is not the emulation which
you quote, often but another name for "envying and
strife?" May not an ambitious mind be so incited by
it, as to make exertions which would be destructive
of health? There are many who have wrecked health
and overtaxed the intellect in straining to please am-
bitious parents. We think such instances are not
uncommon.
But will not the duty of obedience, the desire of
pleasing you, or the satisfaction of knowledge, impel
your children to the brief lessons which you appoint?
Do they all require the external prompting to which
you allude? Is not one capable of higher motives?
If so, select that one as an example, and let your
HOME EDUCATION.
231
2
approbation, bearing decidedly upon that one, "pro-
voke the others to good works." If all are frequently
torpid, there are methods by which all may be aroused.
I knew a mother who kept two blank books, one
bound in red, the other in black. For every well-
committed lesson, or proof of improvement, a mark
of credit was entered in the red book. Indolence,
and other faults, gained a mark in the sad-colored
one. At the close of every week or month, the
father, with some seriousness of ceremony, inspected
these records, and earnestly aided by his praise or
blame the arduous task of the maternal teacher.
Another mother used only the red book for her chil-
dren, allowing them for a certain number of marks, a
stipulated sum, paid at the end of every month, and
to be devoted to their charities. Some allege that
this introduces a too mercantile feature into educa-
tion. Is it not better than indolence ? Various
other modes may be devised to give impulse to do-
mestic culture, for why need a mother be less ingeni-
ous, or less fruitful in expedients, than a school-
mistress? Yet let her be careful not to urge too
much the progress of her younger pupils, lest health
suffer, or the temper gather asperity from competi-
tion.
Possibly, there may be some mother frank enough
to say, "My children must go to school; it is such a
relief to have them sometimes out of the way." So
a mother thought, who took her little girl from
the nursery, and bade her scarce older brother lead
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HOME EDUCATION.
her with him to school. There she sat upon the
hard bench, her tiny feet swinging above the floor, till
the feebly-strung muscles were weary and in pain.
She looked, in her wondering innocence, upon the
ways of naughty children, and imbibed more of the
evil, than of the goodness which rebuked it. She
opened her ears wide at the sound of improper words,
and adapted their use, without knowing their mean-
ing. So she, who was sent from home because of the
noise of her lively play, or the interruptions of her
curious questioning, brought a deeper care, by becom-
ing a subject of moral discipline.
She was once proceeding homeward, more demure-
ly than when she first attended school, for the con-
sciousness of wrong conduct had found its way to
her heart, and quelled its buoyant happiness. It
was touching to see a little one so sad. Her brother
left her for a moment, to slide down an ice-covered
hill. He charged her to wait for him in the spot
where he placed her. But soon she attempted to run
to him. A pair of gay horses threw her down, and
a loaded sleigh passing over her, literally divided her
breast. She was taken up breathless, a crushed and
broken flower. She was out of the way.
A mother, in one of our smaller country-towns, had
a large family of daughters. She thought it would
be a relief to her, if but one of them were out of the
way. So she selected the wildest to be sent to board-
ing-school. She had been accustomed to rural sports
and employments, and free exercise about her father's
HOME EDUCATION.
233
grounds. The impure atmosphere of a crowded city
in summer, the close stoves in winter, the compara-
tive and enervating stillness of the whole year induced
a change of habits, and declension of health. Long
sitting at the piano, and the rigid compression of cor-
sets, troubled the seat of life. When she returned
on vacations, it was exultingly remarked by the par-
ents, how lady-like she had grown, and how much
more delicate than her ruddy sisters. Indeed, she
was pale as a lily, and inactive to a remarkable de-
gree. It was not long ere spinal disease revealed it-
self; and muscular energy,
and pure
pure animal spirits,
were lost. She indeed existed, but the wreck of her
former self. Debility and confinement cut her off
from society, and from the joys of life.
She was
out of the way.
There is yet another form of putting children out
of the way, which, though by no means common in
our country, is still visible, with certain modifications,
in fashionable life. It consists in consigning their in-
fancy too exclusively to the charge of hirelings, and
to the bounds of the nursery. A young mother
complained that her children were so numerous, and
so near of age, that she had neither repose or com-
fort. She found it impossible to nurse them. Her
husband also thought it would hurt her form, and
make her old before her time. By this philosophy,
she reserved to herself all the suffering of intro-
ducing infancy into the world, and excluded that
heartfelt and hallowed intercourse, which gives to
pain "an over-payment of delight.”
*
234
HOME EDUCATION.
She placed her nursery in the highest story of her
lofty house, that she need not be disturbed by its
noise. She said she went there "as often as possible,
though it was excessively fatiguing to climb those
endless stairs." But she always procured an ample
number of nurses, without reference to expense, and
was satisfied that they had the most excellent care.
One day she was informed that her youngest was
sick. She went to it, but thought the nurse was un-
necessarily alarmed. She stayed with it as long as
was in her power, considering she was engaged to a
ball that evening. After she was entirely dressed,
she took pains to come up and inquire after it. The
nurse told her it was no better. She was sure the
nurse was unreasonably timid. It had but a slight
cough. Still she did not remain at the ball as late as
usual, or dance with her usual spirit. She said to
her husband, that such was her anxiety for the little
one, that she should not have gone at all, had she
not felt under the strongest obligations to attend the
first entertainment of her most particular friend. At
her return, she hastened to the nursery. The hopeless
stage of croup had seized the agonizing victim. An-
other also betrayed the same fatal indications. The
skill of the physician, and the frantic grief of the
mother were alike vain. With the fearful sudden-
ness which often marks the termination of the diseases
of infancy, two beautiful beings soon lay like sculp-
tured marble. With the assiduous care of the mother,
the result might indeed have been the same, and yet
HOME EDUCATION.
235
it was a touching and mournful thought at this time
of sorrow, that it had been a principal object, ever
since their birth, to have them kept out of the way.
And now they had gone-to return no more.
One striking advantage of a system of education
conducted at home, is, that it may be adapted to the
different dispositions of its subjects. In a school, this
is almost impossible. Had the teacher the tact to
discover the nameless idiosyncracies of those under his
care, the very nature of his office would preclude him
from thoroughly availing himself of that knowledge.
His code of laws cannot bend to the differing taste,
and construction of his pupils. How can he turn
aside from the labors of scholastic culture, to study
the endless variety of character, and to inquire whose
feeble virtue needs a prop, or whose timid intellect,
encouragement.
This knowledge of the varying nature of her children,
is almost intuitive to a discerning mother. Those who
have reared large families, assert that there are no two
alike. The self-confidence of one requires restraint,
and the diffidence of another seeks a sheltering kind-
ness; one is controlled through the affections, another,
by arguments addressed to the understanding; to one,
the reproof of the eye brings tears; another must have
the induction of particulars, and the poignancy of re-
monstrance, or of suffering, to produce contrition.
The evil of subjecting all to the same discipline, must
be obvious. Yet, where they are cultivated in masses,
it seems inevitable. Some are so utterly confounded
236
HOME EDUCATION.
by the presence of superiors, as never to do themselves
justice; others with a reckless hardihood pass on, dis-
guising both superficial attainment and defective prin-
ciple. Some Cowper may shrink and agonize, unpitied;
some Benedict Arnold wear his traitor's mask unde-
tected; some Buonaparte enact on a miniature scale,
schemes of latent ambition, or of petty tyranny.
These elements of character, the mother has the
means of discovering, and should attempt the task to
rectify. She would blame the folly of the gardener,
who should plunge the amaryllis in dry sand, or
shelter the arctic pine in his green-house : let her avoid
similar errors in the nurture of plants that are to exist
forever.
But intellectual culture at home should not partake
of the form and necessary strictness of school discipline.
This would defeat the very object in view. Children
will not bear such confinement; and would, by formal
and constant requirements, acquire a distaste for the
instruction to be imparted. Home-lessons should be
made agreeable and attractive: and, to this end, they
should be made, in a measure, optional; to be sought
rather than enforced. By skilful management on the
part of parents, the curiosity and interest of children
may be excited, and all the desirable results secured,
on the voluntary principle.
The conversation of the breakfast-table, at dinner,
and at tea, should be conducted with a view to secure
the improvement of our children. Little ears are
always open to listen, and little minds always active
HOME EDUCATION.
237
to digest ideas upon interesting topics so presented.
The taste is thus cultivated, the intellect expanded,
and directed into the right channel of thought.
Another suggestion in this connection: When
practicable, the parent should take his child with him
on short excursions, and even on a journey. Nothing
is better calculated to open and expand the mind than
the constantly-varying scenery and circumstances
which such excursions afford.
We entreat parents to take this important matter
under their own charge. Do not weary at its duties,
for they will soon be over.. The children will soon be
grown-up. The time is near when they will be no
longer all under the same roof. One may be in the
distant town; another in a far country; a third in the
next street, but seen only on Sundays: but still they
are one Household company, living in full confidence
and sympathy, though their eyes may seldom meet,
and a clasp of the hand may be a rare luxury. The
mother who once received discipline from her child
when he was a wailing infant, keeping her from her
rest at midnight, receives another discipline from him
now when she sees him in earnest pursuit of some high
and holy aim whose nobleness had become somewhat
clouded to her through the cares of the world, and her
very solicitude for him. The father who had suffered
perhaps too keenly for some gross faults of his thought-
less boys in their season of turbulence, receives from
them now a new discipline-a rebuke full of sweetness,
-in the proof they offer that he had distrusted Nature,
*
238
HOME EDUCATION.
-had failed in faith that she would do her work well,
if only the way was duly kept open for her. There
is a new discipline for them in the gradual contraction
of the family circle, in the deepening quietness of the
house, and in the loss of the little hourly services
which the elderly people now think they hardly valued
enough while they had them every hour. We can
never say that any part of the discipline of life is over
for any one of us; and that of domestic life is certainly
not over for affectionate parents whose children are
called away from their side, however unquestionable
the call may be.
As for the youngest generation of the household,—
their education by their parents never ceases while the
parents live: and the less assertion the parents make
of this, the deeper are the lessons they impress. The
deepest impressions received in life are supposed to be
those imparted to the sensitive and tenacious mind of
childhood; but the mature reverence and affection of
a manly mind are excited more efficaciously than the
emotions of childhood can ever be when the active men
and women who were once the children of a household
see their gray-haired parents in the midst of them look-
ing up to Nature, and reaching after Truth and Right
with the humble trust and earnest docility which spread
the sweetest charm of youth over the countenance of
age. However many and however rich are the lessons
they have learned from their parents, assuredly, in such
a case, the richest is the last.

YOUNG MEN.


1
Young men ! let the nobleness of your mind impel you to its im-
provement. You are too strong to be defeated save by yourselves.
Refuse to live merely to eat and sleep. Brutes can do these, but you
are men. Act the part of men.
Resolve to rise. You have but to
resolve. Nothing can hinder your success if you determine to suc-
ceed.
-HOWARD.

XV.
THE GLORY OF BEING A YOUNG MAN.
'Promise of youth; fair as the form
Of Heaven's benign and golden bow,
Thy smiling arch begirds the storm,
And sheds a light on every woe.
""
Brooks.

W
HAT a glorious sight is a young man start-
ing on the highway of life. There is a
hidden potency concealed within his breast
which charms and thrills me. I silently
ask, what will that youth accomplish in the after-
time of his life? Will he take rank with the
benefactors or with the scourges of his race? Will
he, erewhile, exhibit the patriotic virtue of Hampden
and Washington, or the selfish craftiness of Benedict
Arnold? If he have genius, will he consecrate it, like
Milton and Montgomery, to humanity and religion;
or, like Moore and Byron, to the polluted altars of
passion? If he have mercantile skill, will he employ
it, like Astor or Girard, to gratify his lust of wealth;
or to elevate and bless humanity, like some of our
living merchant princes? If the gift of eloquence be
hidden in his undeveloped soul, will he use it, like
Summerfield, in favor of religion; or like Patrick
241
242
THE GLORY OF BEING A YOUNG MAN.
Henry and Adams, in battling for human rights; or,
will he for mammon's sake, prostitute that gift to the
use of tyranny and infidelity.
There is not a position of honor, trust, and influ-
ence in the whole country, but that is waiting to be
filled by him. There is not a station in the social
circle, in the domestic sphere, or in the field of intelli-
gence, but is waiting for him to give to it its future
tone and character.
There is not a sacred office, that is now filled with
high and holy men, who have been stars to shine out
in the darkness of their generation, the beams of truth
and righteousness but of which he will be the future
imcumbent.
All await with solemn expectation and lofty hopes
the coming man.
We wait the Coming Man! Away
Beyond the twilight of to-day,
Beyond the mountain summits gray,
Beyond Life's feeble, false derision ;
But speed the day, oh, laggard Time!
When manhood, grown to golden prime,
And in his glory all sublime,
On every hand shall meet our vision!
That you have reached the period of manhood is,
therefore, for you, a very serious fact. "Great des-
tinies lie shrouded" in your swiftly passing hours.
Great responsibilities stand in the passages of every-
day life. Great dangers lie hidden in the by-paths of
life's great highway; and syrens, whose song is as charm-
G
THE GLORY OF BEING A YOUNG MAN.
243
ing as the voice of Calypso, are there to allure you to
destruction. Great uncertainty hangs over your fu-
ture history. God has given you existence, with full
power and opportunity to improve it, and be happy.
He has given you equal power to despise the gift,
and be wretched. Which you will do, is the grand
problem to be solved by your choice and conduct.
It is, without doubt, a very joyous thought that
you have become a young man.
Manhood has long
been the fairy land of your boyhood's reveries. Your
full heart swells, as you exclaim:
"Time on my brow hath set his seal ;
I start to find myself a man."
Your spirits flow in rich currents of feeling, and
your lively imagination paints the most inviting pic-
tures of the future. To you, life is as the lovely vale
of Arno, with its enchanting scenery of groves and
gardens, grottoes, palaces and towers; its transparent
lakes, delicious air, and sunny skies. And to add to
these high hopes let me say, there never has been an
hour in the world's history, nor any land beneath the
sun, in which a man of ordinary mental and moral
powers could achieve so much for himself, for the na-
tion, and for God!
And what is wanted in this hour of crisis and re-
volution? What is needed now to meet the demands of
the age? Political integrity? Yes, and something
Yes, and something
A free church, and a true pulpit? Yes, and
more!
An untrammeled press?
more?
244 THE GLORY OF BEING A YOUNG MAN.
something more! A stable government, and a strong
executive? Yes, and something more! The great
want of this nation is manhood, enlightened, edu-
cated, inspired Christian character! Who is it that must
direct the energies of the present age; control the surg-
ing waves of mind; settle the elements of public com-
motion; confer on humanity its just rights; dispute
the advance of antichrist; sweep back the floods of
infidelity and crime;-who, under God, is to do all
this? Will the warrior, with garments rolled in blood?
No, the true man! The politician, with his petty
schemes of personal aggrandizement? No, the real
patriot will! The merchant, swollen with the riches
of every clime? No, but the philanthropist will! The
scholar, bending beneath the adornments of classic
literature and intellectual culture? No, the true philos-
opher will! The diplomat with his musty compro-
mises, and impracticable treaties? No, the earnest
man! Above every thing else, we need manly char-
acter, which implies all that party, school, and church
can give us. The age and the hour want everything
that God included in man.
Young men, see how much there is committed to
your care, and how great are the responsibilities resting
on you. They grow out of those indissoluble relations
which you sustain to society; and those invaluable
interests, social, civil, and religious, which have come
down to us, a most precious inheritance, from our
fathers, and which, with all the duties and responsi-
bilities connected with them, are soon to be transferred
THE GLORY OF BEING A YOUNG MAN.
245
to your hands and to your keeping. I look forward a
few short years, and see the aspect of society entirely
changed. The venerable fathers, who have borne the
heat and burden of the day, are dropping, one after
another, into the grave, and soon they will all be gone.
Of those, too, who are now the acting members of
society, some have passed the meridian of life, others
are passing it, and all will soon be going down its de-
cline to mingle with the generations who have dis-
appeared before them, from this transcient scene of
action. To a mind, seriously contemplating this
mournful fact, it is an inquiry of deep and tender
interest: who are to rise up and fill their places?
To whom are to be committed the invaluable interests
of this community? Who are to sustain its responsi-
bilities and discharge its duties? You anticipate the
answer. It is to you, young men, that these interests
are to be committed and these responsibilities trans-
ferred. You are soon to occupy the houses, and own
the property, and fill the offices, and possess the
power, and direct the influence that are now in other
hands. All that constitutes society, and goes to make
life useful and happy, are to be in your hands, and
under your control.
You cannot take a just view of your state and pros-
pects, without feeling that you are placed in circum-
stances of deep and solemn interest. Your Creator
has placed you here in the midst of a shifting and
transient scene, to sojourn, a little while, as actors on
life's drama, and then to pass from the stage and be
246
THE GLORY OF BEING A YOUNG MAN.
here no more.
He has formed you for society, for
duty, and happiness; and has so connected you with
the living beings around you, that they, as well as
yourselves, are to feel the good or ill-effects of your
conduct, long after you shall have gone to render up
your account at his bar. How imperious, to beings
in such a state, is the duty of consideration! How
wise, how all-important to inquire,—What am I, and
what is my destination in this and the future world?
For what end was I created, and for what purpose
placed here in the midst of beings like myself? What
are the relations which I sustain to those beings and
to society? What are the duties which I owe to
them? How can I be best prepared to perform those
duties, and how accomplish the great end for which
my Creator gave me existence, and placed me in this
world of earnestness and action? The man who
thinks lightly of such inquiries, or who never brings
them home to his own bosom, as matters of direct,
personal concern, violates every principle of reason
and common prudence. Let me press them upon you,
young men, as demanding your first and chief atten-
tion. They are indeed grave inquiries; and light,
trifling minds, may reject them because they are so.
But they are suggested by the reality of things; and
never, without a due consideration of them, can you
be qualified for the duties of life, or sustain the
responsibilities now come upon you as member of
society.
XVI.
STARTING RIGHT.
"Thy hopes, are they steadfast, and holy, and high?
Are they built on a rock? Are they raised to the sky?
Thy deep secret yearnings,—O, whither point they?
To the triumphs of earth, to the toys of a day?”

S we gaze upon the brow of youth, meet the
glance of his eye, and seek to scan his
thoughts and penetrate his destiny, our in-
terest deepens to thoughtfulness-sometimes
to sadness. He is a mariner, taking the parting
view of the shores of his native land, and enter-
ing a rough and treacherous sea, to perform a long
and hazardous voyage. And while his snow-white
sails are spread to the inviting winds, and his gay
streamers floating in the air, and his bark, like a thing
of life, is bounding over the hither wave, the ocean,
in its far off regions, may be nursing the whirlwind
and the storm, which shall baffle his seamanship and
courage, and drive his gallant bark a wreck; or may
be opening safe roads, and gathering favoring breezes,
to waft him to his destined haven.
He is an immortal being, approaching, or uncon-
sciously standing, upon the threshold of his destiny.
247
248
STARTING RIGHT.
He is a pilgrim, lingering at the gate of life, to gain
glorious attention there, or to be banished thence to
the shades of an unending night.
to a
That upon which the young man fixes his eye with
so much eagerness and confidence, is SUCCESS: by which
he means, all that is needful to gratify his personal
desires, and to obtain an influence among men,—or,
the power to influence men. Whatever attainments
the young man may have made-whatever of respect-
ability of parentage he may boast, he soon finds, on
entering life, that he must rely upon his own char-
acter.
He must set out at the bottom of the hill.
But a new phenomenon now meets him. He listens
"great oration," to "a great sermon," or he
reads a "masterly review," as these are called, and
wonders at the small effects produced. He wonders
that the results are not in proportion to the calibre of
the gun, or the quantity of powder burned; and here
he finds that one of those great laws of Heaven comes
in-laws which meet him all the way through life:
and that is, that character and influence cannot be
gained by any one effort, however gigantic. For
that same reason it is that I cannot nourish my body
by eating one great meal. It is by a succession of
impulses and stimulants that we are to be kept alive
and invigorated. Hence it is that a single effort by
a public teacher, however brilliant, seldom does more
real good than any ordinary discourse. This is a law
of our being; and this is the reason why, if I wish
to acquire influence and have my character impressed
$
STARTING RIGHT.
249
on others, it cannot be done by a single effort, though
gigantic, but by repeated efforts. It is not so in all
cases with matter. You can often split off the rock
in proportion to the quantity of power employed, and
you can shake the earth in proportion to the size of
your cannon; but in dealing with mind and heart,
you must rely upon repeated impressions and efforts.
You cannot acquire success in a day or in a year.
A marksman makes a wonderful shot, and is known
and talked about;—a young lawyer makes an eloquent
plea, and by seizing a strong point of law which has
been overlooked, he carries the jury with him, and his
effort is talked about. A mechanic does a single job
of work with great despatch and skill, and he is talked
about; the young farmer raises one great crop and it
is a wonder; and the young divine throws off a sermon
which is greatly admired, and is much talked of;
but this is not reputation or character,—it is mere-
ly a short-lived notoriety. The physician cures in
one remarkable case, and he acquires this notoriety
of an hour. But that marksman has got to be a good
shot whenever he raises the rifle, to be allowed to be
a good shot; that young lawyer has got to take the
strong points of the law, and the weak ones too,
many times, and with them carry the jury with him,
ere he has acquired the character of a sound lawyer:
that young mechanic and that young farmer have yet
to show perseverance and skill and success many
times before they can acquire character: that young
divine has yet to think out many an eloquent pas-
250
STARTING RIGHT.
sage,
and seize many a figure of speech, and produce
many masterly strokes at reasoning, before he can be
called a great preacher: and the young physician has
yet to hang over more than one desperate case and
study the deranged body of more than one poor suf-
ferer, and bring up from the borders of the grave
more than one patient, ere he can claim the name of
a great physician.
I know that young men frequently want to quarrel
with this law, and feel that it is too hard that minds
as gifted, as accomplished, and as wise as theirs,
cannot at once receive the homage which is paid to
character that has cost many years of persevering
toil and well-doing to acquire. And this, too, is the
philosophy of the failure of so many young men, who
are willing to make a few powerful efforts, and then
stop discouraged. This obstinate law lies at the
foundation of all success, and quarreling with it will
do no good. You would be sorely disappointed should
you suppose that any amount of genius, or any great-
ness of mind, could take the rough block of marble,
and by a single stroke of the mallet upon the cold
chisel, could strike out the beautiful statue; even a
Phidias must strike thousands and thousands of little
blows, ere he can bring out the form that almost
breathes. It is in consequence of the stern necessity
of obeying this law, that a powerful mind, however
coveted or desired, is not. necessary to your success.
Few things are valuable which are not of slow growth;
and of nothing is this more emphatically true than
STARTING RIGHT.
251
of character. The gourd of Jonah springs up in a
single night; but a single worm in another night cuts
it down. In a single season the willow can grow to
something of a tree, while the oak on the hill requires
a century in order to become great; but it is the oak
and not the willow when once grown. The young
men in our country are apt to feel that because they
are early admitted to the rights of men, that there-
fore they are mature men at an early age. And
hence, long before a man was considered old enough
to enter the Senate in Rome, we consider him almost
superannuated. By setting your mark to become ma-
ture early, you commit a great mistake, inasmuch as
you attempt to force the laws which God has estab-
lished. Medicines even which are slowest in their
operations, are for the most part most valuable. If
then you find that your reputation acquired under
your father's roof, or in your school days, does not
carry you far, do not feel discouraged. Persevere. It
is by lifting the calf every day, that you are able to
carry the ox by and by.
It is natural for you to feel that if you were only
laboring in some conspicuous field, occupying some
distinguished position-doing some great work-you
should not only be willing to labor, but to labor most
intensely. But did you ever reflect that it is a matter
of joy that God does not need many tall cedars among
his forests? When He has some great work to be
done, he calls forth the instrumentality; but the very
existence of these remarkable men, presupposes some
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great calamity, or some great darkness. Would you
have the church sink into slavery for four and a half
centuries, that you might be the Moses who should
lead her out;—or would you have her hedged in and
surrounded by nations bent on her extermination, that
you might be the David to lead forth her armies and
scatter her enemies? Or would you have the world
thrown back into darkness,-"nature and nature's
laws lie hid in night," till God says "let Newton rise,
and all is light ”—that you might be that Newton ?
Would you have the glorious reputation of Martin
Luther, if you must purchase it at the expense of having
a night of a thousand years settle down over the Chris-
tian world? If every young man who aspires to dis-
tinction were to become some mighty reformer, some
immortal leader of armies, some renowned legislator,
how immense must be the evils which must fill the
earth, and to remove which, God must raise up so
many wonderful instruments? When such instru-
ments are needed, you will be none the less likely to
be called that your condition is lowly. He chose such
an instrument from the cottage of the slave on the
banks of the Nile,-from the sheep-cote on the hills
of Bethlehem, and from the mines in Germany.
Every age of the world demands its own peculiar
style of men. Children and youth pass through very
different kinds of training in different conditions of
society. Sometimes it is indispensible that the dis-
cipline of the young should be almost exclusively
physical; they must be able to endure great bodily
STARTING RIGHT.
253
hardships, to brave the winds and the snows, to sleep
on the open sod under the frosty star-light, or with
the rain drenching their turfy pillow; they must have
a keen, sure eye, and a sinewy arm, to send the swift
arrow to its mark; have the skill and the strength to
hurl the javelin into the leopard's skull; they, must be
able to live long without food, to run quickly, to leap
fearlessly, and to stand without quivering on the top-
most crag of the highest mountain.
In another stage of society men must be trained to
systematic self-denial, to habitual sacrifice; holding all
worldly comforts and possessions so loosely that they
may be relinquished at a moment's warning; the fibre
of the soul must be made so strong that the laceration
of the flesh shall be unheeded; and the individual keep
himself in constant readiness for martyrdom. This
may be demanded by the political or the religious
necessities of the times.
And then, again, in other periods of history, the
child is merely called to tread in the footsteps of his
father; the same processes of life and thought are
repeated for successive generations; no special emer-
gencies arise, no new experiences occur; the clock
strikes the hours, the earth rolls round, man goes forth
to his labor until the evening, and every day is only a
transcript of yesterday.
Ca
The generation which is coming on to the field of
action will live in stirring times. During their day
there will probably be wrought out a more general
and vital change in the condition of society, than has
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STARTING RIGHT.
been accomplished in any one epoch since the light
first went forth from Jerusalem. A work of
A work of prepar-
ation has been going on, for the last thirty or forty
years, in theoretical science, in practical art, in com-
merce, in travel, in the circulation of intelligence, in
political principles, in criticism, and in philosophy, the
results of which remain to be elaborated. The rays
may possibly converge to a focus during the lifetime
of those who are now coming on the stage of action.
It is a great thing to live at such a period as this; in
some respects, it is a great privilege,-in other respects,
it involves great peril.
For, as might be expected at such a crisis, there is
a strange conjunction of the mightiest elements of
both good and evil. It needs a wise judgment to dis-
criminate between the two; for the counterfeit coin
comes to us, silvered and stamped, to look like genu-
ine money; while the genuine is so bruised and bent
in its passage from hand to hand, that it would hardly
be taken for money at all. The glittering falsehood
and the dulled truth lie together on every side. So
that we have a singular mingling of influences; muddy
rivulets empty themselves into the clear river of truth,
and claim affinity with its waters; phosphorescent
meteors, born of corruption, glisten among the eternal
stars; mock suns gleam forth at midnight, lighting up
the horizon with a wild, fictitious glare; lying won-
ders and spurious revelations throw discredit upon
the real utterances of inspiration; men call themselves
after the name of Christ, who falsify his spirit and his
S
STARTING RIGHT.
255
doctrine, while others profess to do the work of Christ,
who deny his name. These are strange times; full of
peril, full of hope. In one quarter of the firmament
there is blue sky and glorious sunlight; in another
quarter there is a black drapery of cloud, marked by
red and jagged fires, and hoarse with thunders.
The first practical thought suggested by all this,
directly applicable to young men who are now to
take the direction of society, is very obvious and very
important. It is necessary
It is necessary that you should be able to
combine strong individual force with a clear individ-
ual discernment. You should neither rush heedless
and headlong into the strife; neither should you turn
aside from the contest because you are bewildered and
doubtful. You should learn to judge between good
and evil; and then be ready to strike manfully for
the right. And, in order to do this, it is indispensa-
ble that you should put yourselves under a wholesome
and thorough discipline in youth.
Unless you do this, you cannot find out what is
your proper place in society. Now, whatever may
be your vocation, by careful discipline, you may qual-
ify yourself to become a center of extensive influence.
It is getting to be of comparatively little importance
in what particular department of business a young
man commences life; if he will only cultivate his fac-
ulties, he may rise to the head of his profession, and if
that profession be unworthy of his powers, he will at
last escape from it altogether. The secret of success is
found in improving to the best advantage such oppor-
256
STARTING RIGHT.
tunities as lie around us. It is not by changing their
position that men acquire influence; the good work-
man on the bench, who determines first that the article
which he manufactures shall be as perfect as he can
make it, and then, when his hammering or stitching
for the day is over, goes to work with another set of
tools to quicken and inform his mind, is more respect-
able, and, in the end, will become more influential,
than the soporific proser in the pulpit, or the blunder-
ing advocate at the bar.
The time has been when this general mental culture
would have been both impossible and useless. Posts
of honor and authority were reserved for such as were
born to them, gratia Dei; but, by the grace of God,
it is so no longer. Look into your city councils, your
scientific conventions; read over the list of our popu
lar poets, and journalists, and authors; consider who
they are, and what they were, that now give tone to
public opinion and control society. Are they gener-
ally such as were born to wealth, born to station, and
bred in universities? There are some who have in-
herited distinction; but the great majority are such
as have made the most of limited advantages, have
struggled against objections, and forced their way up-
ward by their own interior strength.
But it is not so much with a view to position and
outward success that the young man should cultivate
his mental powers. There are better things than po-
sition and outward success. He is bound to find out
what there is in him,-of what he is capable; bound
STARTING RIGHT.
257
to develop himself, not so much for the sake of secur-
ing honors and titles, and being elected to office, as
from simple regard as to what is due to his own na-
ture. And when I speak of a man's finding out his
own proper place, what he was made for, and to what
he may reasonably aspire, that is what I mean, rather
than outward rank or official station. The real in-
fluence which men exert does not depend so much as
it once did upon external position. He who utters
his own thoughts is the one who now awakens
the echoes. The opinions of most men are, at
best, only echoes; what we need in this gener-
ation is, that each voice should have its own sig-
nification. One of the great evils of American society
is a tyrannical public opinion,-manufactured some-
times out of strange material, the work of ambitious
demagogues and one-ideaed reformers, and angular
bigots, and subscriber-seeking journalists,-which can-
not be resisted without the risk of social martyrdom.
Now, we want men who feel that they are strong
enough and intelligent enough to sit in judgment upon
public opinion; and, if an idol be erected in the land,
even though it be seventy cubits high, and gilded from
top to toe, and labeled with the most sacred name,
have the courage to declare it an idol, and the manli-
ness to stand erect when the sackbut, and the dulci-
mer, and the psaltery call upon the multitude to bow
down and worship. We want men who will tell the
crowned Nebuchadnezzar that he is only fit to eat
grass with the oxen. We want men who can walk
A
258
STARTING RIGHT.
•
quietly into the lion's den of popular wrath, rather
than be disloyal to the God of truth. We want young
men who can even face the fiery furnace of popular
indignation, though seven times heated, confident that
they are right, rather than yield to the wrong.
We
want men who can afford to be poor, rather than
violate their conscience; to be accounted liars, rather
than be untrue to their convictions; to be defamed
for the time, rather than lose their hold upon the
generations that are to follow; and such men must
commence aright; they must learn to bear the yoke
in their youth; they must undergo a thorough and
earnest discipline, and having started in the right,
continue on. steadfast, unmovable, firm, and true to
the end.
XVII.
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
"Aim at the highest prize; If there thou fail,
Thou 'It haply reach to one not far below.
Strive first the goal to compass; if too slow
Thy speed, the attempt may neʼertheless avail,
The next best post to conquer. Let not quail,
Eye, heart, or limb, but still right onward go."
Mant.

H
E who only aims at little, will accomplish
but little. Expect great things, and attempt
great things. A neglect of this rule pro-
duces more of the difference in the character,
conduct, and success of men, than is commonly
supposed. Some start in life without any lead-
ing object at all; some with a low one; and some aim
high-and just in proportion to the elevation at
which they aim, will be their progress and success.
It is an old proverb that he who aims at the sun, will
not reach it, to be sure; but his arrow will fly higher
than if he aims at an object on a level with himself.
Exactly so is it, in the formation of character, except
in one point. To reach the sun with an arrow is an
impossibility, but a young man may aim high without
attempting impossibilities.
259
260
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
Let me repeat the assurance that, as a general rule,
you may be whatever you resolve to be. Determine
that you will be useful in the world, and you shall
be. Young men seem to be utterly unconscious of
what they are capable of being and doing. Their
efforts are often few and feeble, because they are not
awake to a full conviction that any thing great or
distinguished is in their power.
But whence came an Alexander, a Cæsar, a Charles
XII, or a Napoleon? Or whence the better order of
spirits,―a Paul, an Alfred, a Luther, a Howard, a
Penn, a Washington? Were not these men once
like yourselves? What but self-exertion, aided by
the blessing of Heaven, rendered these men so con-
spicuous for usefulness? Rely upon it,-whatever
these men once were, you may be. Or at the least,
you may make a nearer approach to them than you
are ready to believe. Resolution is almost omnipo-
tent. Those little words, try, and begin, are some-
times great in their results. "I can't," never accom-
plished anything;-"I will try," has achieved wonders.
In fulfilling, with honor and success, the great mis-
sion of life, it is of high importance that the youth
possess determination and energy of character. Other
qualities, however valuable, can be of little service
without these. One may possess talents, imagination,
a fine taste; he may have admirable moral qualities,—
conscientiousness, integrity, benevolence; but the
propelling-power of his being must be energy. These
other qualities are indeed essential to success; but
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
261
there must be executive force in the soul to render
them operative. There must be fire within, to quicken
them into fire, and to give them a glow that will
cause them to shed their radiance upon others.
Many youth, endowed with excellent mental and
moral qualities, fail of success in life for the want of
this single principle. Their plans are constantly fluc-
tuating. They cannot fix upon any definite course of
action. A purpose formed to-day is abandoned to-
morrow. A slight difficulty, an unexpected obstacle,
the advice of a friend, or taunt of an enemy, is suffi-
cient to break up a plan, which had been formed
under a glow of enthusiasm, and with the most con-
fident expectation that it would be successfully prose-
cuted. Even the different moods in which the mind
is thrown from day to day, or at different periods of
the same day, may exert a controlling influence over
the purposes of life. While the mind is indulging in
a revery, the future may seem filled with lasting joys
and unfading honors. Bright castles float in the air,
and adorn the vision upon which the mental eye is
fixed the prizes of ambition appear to be almost
within the grasp; the ascent up Mount Parnassus
seems easy, and the gold of Ophir sparkles amid the
brilliancy that overspreads the scene. But soon the
mists set in, and gradually obscure the vision. The
ardor of the mind abates. The castles fade away;
dark shadows fall thick and fast; and all looks dreary
and hopeless. But the reality has not changed. The
objects are as fixed under one view, or state of mind,
50
262
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
as
another. A city with its streets, habitations,
churches and towers, is as real in the darkness of
midnight as when under the blazing light of a merid-
ian sun. Though we may not see it, this does not
affect the fact of its existence. Its business, too, may
be suspended without being destroyed. And he who,
with the return of each morning's light, improves the
opportunities that the day affords, is as sure to make
progress as though the light was continuous, and the
day uninterrupted. So with the young man in prose-
cuting the great work of life. Let him at all times,
and under all circumstances, have faith in the reality
and value of the prizes that are before him, let him,
amid darkness and storms, as well as in sunshine and
prosperity, be under the control of an inflexible energy
of purpose, and he cannot fail of success.
Among the constituent elements that enter into de-
cision of character, we would specify, in the . first
place, a strong self-reliance. By this we do not mean
an undue estimate of one's powers or attainments, or
a dogged adherence to our own opinions, simply be-
cause we have formed them. We would not have a
person confound energy with obstinacy, or resolution
of purpose with an irrational self-will; for the pres-
ence of the latter qualities is as fatal to success as the
absence of the former. They shut the door to improve-
ment, obstruct the progress of a healthful mental and
moral culture, and excite disgust in those who might
befriend the youth. But we mean, by this element,
a just confidence in one's ability to do the work which
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
263
the Creator has assigned to him; an abiding con-
sciousness that the active, thinking, energizing prin-
ciple within him has not been made in vain; a deep
conviction that he has not only an important mission
to accomplish, but that he has faculties and powers
adequate to the task. He need not flatter himself
that he is a genius, or that his talents are of a supe-
rior order, or that there are any special reasons why
he should succeed while others fail. It is enough for
him to feel that an infinite God made him, and that an
infinite God has made nothing in vain. There are
the marks of a divine workmanship upon his soul;
and into that soul may have fallen a spark of ethereal
fire, which, if kindled, may shed light upon the
world.
The reason why so many fail in life and amount to
nothing whatever, is that they have no purpose, no
object, no grand and noble aim to which their life is
given.
Look around the most of life to-day, and you will
see that thousands of young men are drifting help-
lessly about on the ocean of life, vainly hoping that
ere long some favorable breeze will spring up and
drive their vessel into some safe harbor. Where that
safe harbor is they have no idea; because they have
no definite object in view. They have never decided
upon any course of life, but permitted their actions to
be shaped and moulded by the circumstances of the
hour. Is it any wonder that disasters follow each
other? More men are ruined through indecision than
264
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
from a wrong decision. Few men will deliberately
lay out and pursue a plan of life that will ultimately
work their ruin. Most young men of the present day
enter the great battle of life without any well defined
system of warfare, and consequently spend their best
days in aimless pursuits. Indecision is the bane of
our existence. Could we look into the world of
spirits, we would find but few souls in the dark region
of woe that had resolved to reach that goal; nearly all
who are there, and those who are hastening there,
are in their present conditions simply because they
never decided whither they would go, and their in-
decision has been their ruin.
The fault lies not in stars of fortune under which
they were born, but in themselves, and here is the
reason.
come.
One of the oft-quoted maxims in our language, and
there is none finer, or more replete with sterling truth,
is this: Where there is a will, there is a way. No
doubt there are limits to human capability in all human
affairs; in every sphere of activity men may meet with
obstacles which even the utmost energy cannot over-
Almost every man is more or less the victim
of circumstances, which sometimes operate so power-
fully that it is impossible to crush his way through
them. But the frequency with which such occasions
occur is greatly overestimated; and the fact that
mountains so often dwindle into molehills when we
once resolutely determine to cross them, shows that,
after every allowance for extraordinary cases, the old
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
265
Saxon saw is still true generally, and that he who in-
tensely wills to do a thing will find a way. An intense
desire itself transforms possibility into reality. Our
wishes are but prophecies of the things we are capable
of performing; while on the other hand, the timid,
feeble-willed man finds everything impossible because
he believes it to be so. As Virgil says of his boatmen,
men are able because they think they are able, —poss-
unt quia posse videntur; to resolve upon attainment is
often attainment itself. All are aware of the fact that
the roads which we incline not to travel are all sadly
beset by specimens of the feline tribe; and, when a
gentleman is asked for money by a neighbor often in
need of it, he is extremely apt to have a large and
exhausting payment to make at the end of the week.
But when one is really determined to push his way
along the road, opposing lions have usually little terror
for him; and, if he is anxious to oblige his friend, he
will almost certainly be able to do so without breaking
any
of his own engagements.
It is, indeed, wonderful, at times, to see what mar-
vels are accomplished by men acting under the impulse
of a powerful determination. A remarkable example
of this is furnished by the captured Texans of the
Santa Fe Expedition, who, after having marched until
they were nearly dead with fatigue and exhaustion, yet,
being told that any who should prove unable to walk
would be shot, contrived to pluck up, and set off at a
round pace, which they kept up all day. So Quintin
Matsys, the famous Dutch painter, in his youth, de-
266
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
spaired of being ever able to paint, till his master told
him that only by producing a picture of merit within
six months could he have his daughter's hand; and
then he set vigorously to work and brought forth
"The Misers," a masterpiece of art, which connoisseurs
have admired for ages. It is also related of a young
French officer that he used to walk about his apart-
ment exclaiming, "I will be marshal of France and a
great general;" and his burning desire proved a pre-
sentiment of his success. There is a story of an English
carpenter who was observed one day planing a magis-
trate's bench, which he was repairing, with more than
usual carefulness; and, when asked the reason, replied,
"Because I wish to make it easy against the time when
I come to sit upon it myself." Singularly enough, the
man actually lived to sit upon that very bench as a
magistrate.
We find that nearly all great men-those who have
towered high above their fellows-have been remark-
able above all things else for their energy of will.
Of Julius Cæsar it was said by a contemporary, "Quic-
quid vult, valde vult"; it was his activity and giant
determination, rather than his military skill, that won
his victories. Hannibal's life shows that a resolute
will was the leading quality of that commander, though
less conspicuous, perhaps, in him than in others, be-
cause of the exact proportion in which all the military
qualities were united in him, rendering him, by the
common consent of soldiers as well as historians, the
greatest captain the world has seen. His resolution
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
267
to brave the whole power of Rome by provoking a
war; the invasion of Italy by a route which was a
march of discovery as much as a military operation; his
passage of the Rhone and the Alps; his long continu-
ance in Italy, though unsupported by Carthage; and,
when at last defeated and driven from the country,
the zeal with which he sought throughout the world
to raise up enemies against Rome, at an age when time
and toil would have chilled most men's ardor,—are
examples of the rarest determination. His stubbornness
of will is only rivalled by that of his enemies, the
Romans, of whom he learned, by a captive,-after he
had defeated every army they had sent against him,
had arrived within three miles of the city, and was
momentarily expecting an offer of surrender, that the
very ground on which his army was encamped had
just been sold in the Forum at as high a price as in
times of peace.
And so, too, with the great captains of modern times;
the strength of Suwarrow's character lay in his power
of willing, and he "preached it up as a system.'
"You can only half will," he would say to persons
who failed. And every one knows that it was one of
Napoleon's principal characteristics to regard nothing
as impossible. His marvellous successes were due not
more to his vast military genius than to his almost
superhuman strength of will. He toiled terribly, half
killing his secretaries, and threw his whole force of
brain and hand upon his work. "Impossible," said
he, "is a word found only in the dictionaries of fools."
268
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
66
It is very true, indeed, that many persons have to
begin the voyage of life against both wind and tide;
and it seems that as if they were doomed to wage
with fortune an eternal war." But who ever heard
of a man's failing to succeed at last in any business
which he had stuck to faithfully for ten years to-
gether? Look at Bulwer. His whole life has been a
series of temporary failures, crowned with ultimate tri-
umphs. His first novel was a failure; his first drama
was a failure; his first poems were failures; and so
were his first speeches. But he fought his way to
eminence,-fought it through defeat and ridicule, till
now he has his own enchanted circle, where "none
durst walk but he," and stands on one of the summits
of the three-peaked hill, the compeer of Dickens and
Thackeray. Look at Disraeli. From his birth the
odds were against him. The child of a hated and
branded race, he made himself a power in the most
conventional country in the world. Without a liberal
education, he won the honors of literary skill and
scholarship; without aristocratic connections, he be-
came a star of fashion in the most exclusive society in
Europe. Coughed and hissed down on his first essay
in Parliament, he told the House that the time would
come when they would hear him, and he persevered
until they under whose laughter he had writhed were
made to writhe in their turn under his terrible sar-
casm. Look at Brougham. Ranging during sixty
years over the fields, not only of law and politics, but
of science and literature, he triumphed in all; and
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
269
such was his love of excellence, so indefatigable his
perseverance, that it has been said that, if he had be-
gun life as a shoeblack, he would never have rested
content till he had become the best shoeblack in
England.
In further illustration of the same point, we might
cite the case of Savonarola, who broke down in his
first sermon, and was humiliated beyond expression.
Resolved, however, to succeed, he kept on, preaching
to peasants and children, and in the solitude of his
own chamber, till at last he acquired a facility of
utterance and a command of striking language which
made him the prophet of his age and the first orator
in Italy. Robespierre, contending with the disadvan-
tages of a harsh voice, an ugly face, and a hesitating
tongue, failed in his first essays at speaking so egregi-
ously that not one man in a thousand, under the cir-
cumstances, could have helped being disheartened;
yet by ceaseless effort he succeeded in leading the
National Assembly of France. Mr. Cobden's first
speech was a humilitating failure. He was nervous,
confused, and finally broke down; yet he did not re-
tire to a corner, and mope and whine, but persevered,
till at last he became one of the most powerful speak-
ers of the Anti-Corn Law League, and extorted the
praise of the accomplished Robert Peel.
When Daniel Webster attended an academy in his
boyhood, though he was proficient in the other
branches of education, there was one thing he tells us,
he could not do, he could not declaim before the
270
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
school. "The kind and excellent Buckminster espe-
cially sought to persuade me to perform the exercise
of declamation like the other boys, but I could not
do it. Many a piece did I commit to memory, and re-
hearse it in my own room over and over again; but when
the day came, when the school collected, when my
name was called, and I saw all eyes turned upon my
seat, I could not raise myself from it. Sometimes the
masters frowned, sometimes they smiled. Mr. Buck-
minster always pressed and entreated with the most
winning kindness that I would only venture once; but
I could not command sufficient resolution, and when
the occasion was over I went home and wept bitter
tears of mortification."
What an example is Francis Wayland, who began
his ministerial career under many discouragements.
They would have crushed a weak man, but they only
stimulated him to greater efforts. Son of an English
currier who had abandoned a profitable trade to be-
come a Baptist preacher, he gave up the profession
for which he had partially prepared himself, and fol-
lowed the example of his father. A single year at
Andover, when he was so poor that he had once to
choose between a coat and a copy of Schleusner's lex-
icon, summed up his study of theology; yet he had so
faithfully improved this slender opportunity, that he
was called to the pastorate of the First Baptist Church
in Boston. On a cold, rainy night in October, 1823,
he preached before the Baptist Foreign Missionary So-
ciety a sermon on Missions. There were only about
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
271
:
fifty persons present; the discourse kindled no enthu-
siasm; and with keen chagrin the preacher next morn-
ing flung himself upon a lounge in the study of a
friend, exclaiming, "It was a complete failure; it fell
perfectly dead." Luckily, among the hearers was a
shrewd printer, a deacon in the church, who insisted
that the sermon should be published. Against his
own will, the author consented. The discourse-the
memorable one on "The Moral Dignity of the Mis-
sionary Enterprise "-ran through several editions
both in this country and in England, called forth the
warmest enconiums of the press without distinction of
sect, and kindled a new enthusiasm in behalf of mis-
sions throughout the Christian world. Robert Hall,
on reading it, predicted a still greater distinction for
the preacher; and only three years later the author,
hitherto an obscure man, was elected to the Presi-
dency of Brown University almost by acclamation.
To these examples might be added those of Talma,
the greatest of French actors; Sheridan, the orator
who broke down in his first speech; and many others
who failed at first as public speakers, and who finally
succeeded only because they knew the eloquence was
in them, and determined that it "should come out."
Thomas Erskine, who Lord Campbell pronounces the
greatest advocate and most consummate forensic orator
that ever lived, began his legal career under many dis-
couragements. Though he had a sublime self-confi-
dence, which was itself almost a sure prophecy of suc-
cess, yet he fought the battle of life for many years
272
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
•
up hill and against many obstacles. His father's
means having been exhausted in educating his two
elder brothers, he was obliged to start in life with but
little training and a scanty stock of classical learning.
While pursuing his law studies he found it hard, even
with the strictest economy, to keep the wolf from the
door. For several years he lived on cow beef, because
he could not afford to buy better, and was declared by
Jeremy Bentham to be "so shabbily dressed as was
quite remarkable." Conscious, all the time, of powers
that fitted him to adorn a larger sphere, he chafed
against the iron circumstances that hemmed him in,
like an eagle against the bars of his cage. A chance
conversation led to his being employed as counsel in
an important case. The effect produced by his speech
was prodigious. He won a verdict for his client, and
by a single giant bound, overleaping all barriers,
passed from want to abundance, from the castle of
Giant Despair to the Delectable Mountains. Enter-
ing Westminster Hall that morning a pauper, he left
it a rich man. As he marched along the hall after
the judges had risen, the attorneys flocked around
him with their briefs, and retainer fees rained upon
him. From this time his business rapidly increased,
until his annual income amounted to £12,000.
Even the most successful poets who are born, not
made, have failed more or less in their early produc-
tions. Byron's first effort was severely censured by
the critics. Keat's first poem was a failure; but
though damned by the critics, he did not feel dis-
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
273
heartened, for he felt that the genius of poetry must
work out its own salvation, and that by leaping head-
long into the sea, as he did in Endymion, he had be-
come better acquainted with the soundings, the rocks,
and the quicksands, than if he had stayed upon the
green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea and
comfortable advice. "I was never afraid of failure,"
said he, "for I would sooner fail than not be among
the greatest."
It is this pluck, this bull-dog tenacity of purpose
and stubbornness of perseverance, that wins the bat-
tles of life, whether fought in the field, in the mart,
or in the forum. "It is the half a neck nearer that
shows the blood and wins the race; the one march
more that wins the campaign; the five minutes more
of unyielding courage that wins the fight." History
abounds with instances of doubtful battles or unex-
pected reverses transformed by one man's stubborn-
ness into eleventh-hour triumphs. It is opinion, as
De Maistre truly says, that wins battles, and it is
opinion that loses them. The battle of Marengo went
against the French during the first half of the day,
and they were expecting an order to retreat, when
Dessaix, consulted by Napoleon, looked at his watch,
and said, "The battle is completely lost; but it is only
two o'clock, and we shall have time to gain another."
He then made his famous cavalry charge, and won
the field. Blucher, the famous Prussian general, was
by no means a lucky leader. He was beaten in nine
battles out of ten; but in a marvelously brief time he
274
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
as ever.
had rallied his routed army, and was as formidable
He had his disappointments, but turned
them, as the oyster does the sand which annoys it,
into a pearl.
Washington lost more battles than he won, but he
organized victory out of defeat, and triumphed in the
end. It was because they appreciated this quality of
pluck, that, when the battle of Canna was lost, and
Hannibal was measuring by bushels the rings of Ro-
man knights who had perished in the strife, the Sen-
ate of Rome voted thanks to the defeated general,
Consul Terentius Varro, for not having despaired of
the republic. In the vocabulary of such men there is
no such word as "fail." Impossibilities, so called, they
laugh to scorn. "Impossible!" exclaimed Mirabeau,
on a certain occasion; "talk not to me of that block-
head of a word!" "Impossible!" echoed the elder
Pitt, afterwards Lord Chatham, in reply to a colleague
in office who told him that a certain thing could not
be done; "I trample upon impossibilities!" Before
such men mountains dwindle into molehills, and ob-
stacles that seem unconquerable are not only triumphed
over, but converted into helps and instruments of suc-
cess by their overwhelming will.
There was never, probably, a time in the world's
history when high success in any profession demanded
harder or more incessant labor than now. Men can
no longer go at one leap into eminent position. The
world, as Emerson says, is no longer clay, but rather
iron, in the hands of its workers, and men have got
?
AIMS AND PURPOSES.
275
to hammer out a place for themselves by steady and
rugged blows. Above all, a deep and burning en-
thusiasm is wanted in every one who would achieve
great ends. No great thing is, or can be, done with-
out it. It is a quality that is seen wherever there are
earnest and determined workers,-in the silence of the
study, and amid the roar of cannon; in the painting
of a picture, and in the carving of a statue. Ability,
learning, accomplishment, opportunity, are all well;
but they do not, of themselves, insure success.
Thousands have all these, and live and die without
benefiting themselves or others. Men, on the other
hand, of mediocre talents, often scale the dizzy steeps
of excellence and fame because they have firm faith
and high resolve. It is this solid faith in one's mis-
sion,—the rooted belief that it is the one thing to
which he has been called, this enthusiam, attracting
an Agassiz to the Alps or the Amazon, impelling a
Pliny to explore the volcano in which he is to lose his
life, and nerving a Vernet, when tossing in a fierce
tempest, to sketch the waste of waters, and even the
wave that is leaping up to devour him,-that marks
the heroic spirit; and, wherever it is found, success,
sooner or later, is almost inevitable.
It is most important to success in life that you early
form a distinct idea of what it is, what is meant by it.
For how can you expect to succeed in any undertaking,
unless you know what object you wish to accomplish?
An artist can never produce a portrait or a statue till
he has in his mind a distinct idea or image of what he
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AIMS AND PURPOSES.
means to produce. So in your case, it is essential, at
your setting out in life, that you consider well what
that success is which you wish to attain. What must
you be, what must you do in order to reach the true
end of your being, or accomplish the object for which
the Creator made you and placed you in this world?
For, in deciding the question, what is real success in
life, you must obviously have reference to your relations
to God and to your existence in a future state. True
success is not to be measured by a day, or month, or
year, but by the whole of life, by eternity.
The influences that are now operating without you,
and the principles that are germinating and fixing
themselves within you, are shaping and moulding your
character and destiny for both worlds. Soon the
deep, indelible impression will be made, and whether
for good or for evil, for heaven or for hell, there it
will remain eternal ages after this ball of earth on
which you lived and acted has
lived and acted has passed away.
XVIII.
CHARACTER.
"Good name in man or woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls."
Shakespeare.
HE primary meaning of the word character
is a mark made by cutting or engraving on
any substance, as wood, stone, or metal.
Hence, as applied to man, it signifies the
marks or impressions made upon the mind. The
instruments in producing these impressions are
the thoughts, words, and deeds. Every thought that
enters the mind, every purpose that is formed, as well
as every external action, leaves its mark. Besides a
variety of influences and circumstances contribute to
the formation of the character. The natural endow-
ments of the intellect, the susceptibilities and passions
of the soul, the circumstances of birth, education, so-
cial position, all help to form the character. It is the
product of many forces, some of which act upon us
from without, and others from within.

Character is, in one sense, the whole of a man's
being. It is all that is really vital, that possesses
genuine worth. As the grandeur of character opens
277
278
CHARACTER.
+
before us, we see that it is the most valuable thing im
the universe. And character cannot be obtained by
demanding it, nor by seeking it. It must be earned.
You may acquire wealth to any amount, but you want
character that can be confided in. You may have
skill in any profession or a genius that can surmount
any difficulties, or an eloquence that may enrapture
men, yet if you have not a character worthy of the
respect and confidence of your generation, they will
not bestow it. In this country, of all others, is char-
acter valuable. I believe that there is not a spot on
the globe where professional men have to possess so
much character as in this country; and as a general
thing, there is none on which they are so willingly
paid for it. From the work-shops of our mechanics,
and from the cottage of the poor widow, come the
men who have the greatest influence in their day;
and the reason is that character is all that we want;
and we are willing to commit any trusts and any
honors to such as will convince us that they possess
it. It is a plant which every one may cultivate; but
it is of slow growth and requires great pains-taking.
It must be systematical, conscientious and honest,
self-commanding and benevolent. If a man tells you
that you are a liar, you may knock him down, and
very possibly shut his mouth, but have you altered
his opinion of you? Can you beat into him respect
for your character by blows, or shoot it into him with
a pistol? Men often quarrel with the world because
they have not that respect and influence and honor
CHARACTER.
279
D
which they demand, but this will do no good. You
must have character, and then the world cannot help
respecting you.
This great principle is confided to no station, or
rank in life, to no age, and to no world. It is a law
which holds good through all the universe of God,
that the only being in the universe who can hurt you,
is-yourself! that a man is injured only by what he
himself does! This is true of any station-from that
of the slave, to that of the monarch on the throne.
Human government may guarantee to you life, lib-
erty, and the unmolested pursuit of happiness, and you
may praise those who bequeath to you a legacy so rich;
but the Almighty lawgiver has bestowed something
beyond all this, when He wrote a law, not on paper
nor on parchment, but on the living heart of his in-
telligent creatures, that they shall honor and respect
a virtuous character, and despise the opposite. It is
with all men as it was with Cain; if they do well
they shall be accepted; but if they sin, the sin lies at
their own door, and no one will carry it away or bury
it out of sight. I know that it is in human nature
to feel that it is owing to envy, or to some obliquity
in our fellow men, if we have less of respect or in-
fluence than we demand; when the truth is, however
humiliating and painful it may be, men are not to
blame. It is out of the power of men to withhold
respect where it is really deserved. What encourage-
ment for the young man who is coming forward in
life, to study to deserve influence! You need make
280
CHARACTER.
no demand; for if you deserve it the boon will fall
to you by an unchanging law of God. Honor and re-
spect delight to crown him who has earned their
wreath. It is not to George Washington, the Ameri-
can General, nor to George Washington the President,
that the world pays its homage; but it is to the
character which that name embodies, and which will
be admired in all future ages. It is not our form of
government that gives you this glorious principle;
but it was given by the great Ruler of men when He
made the human soul, and when He put it out of the
power of man to bestow the same meed of praise on
the Priest and the Levite who left the wounded man
to perish, that he does on the Samaritan who showed
compassion.
Lest I be misunderstood, let me say that under a
free government, the man who deserves the best, will
not receive the highest honors and offices, of course.
You cannot expect that party feeling and party politics
will be so overcome by this beautiful law, that honors
and offices will always fall where most deserved; nor
am I saying that a man will receive all that he may
think he deserves; but I am saying, that in their
hearts men respect or despise you according to your
real character. You are to blame, then, if you are
despised.
So we see that human character is moulded by a
thousand subtle influences; by example and precept;
by life and literature; by friends and neighbors; by
the world we live in as well as by the spirits of our
CHARACTER.
281
forefathers, whose legacy of good words and deeds
we inherit. But great, unquestionably, though these
influences are acknowledged to be, it is nevertheless
equally clear that men must necessarily be the active
agents of their own well-being and well-doing; and
that, however much the wise and the good may owe
to others, they themselves must in the very nature of
things be their own best helpers.
There are two principles to be kept constantly be-
fore the mind, on which we are called to act: the one
is, individuality of character, and individual responsi-
bility; the other, is, having our influence combined
and united with that of the millions who compose
our generation. On these two principles we are all
to act. The one calls, not for what you actually are,
and what you actually accomplish, but for what you
might do. It demands the actual and the possible.
And there are thousands of opportunities constantly
occurring, in which your individual character will be
weighed, and when it will have all the influence of its
weight. And then, again, God has so arranged mat-
ters, that each one is to accomplish much by being
combined with others. A single man on this princi-
ple does not seem to count much; and yet of such
units is the community and the nation made up, and
each one gives a hue to the character of the nation or
the age in which he lives. The rain-drops cannot
claim that each one is a great affair, and yet on their
combined influence depends the beauty of the land-
scape, the stream that gladdens the valley, and the food
282
CHARACTER.
of man and of beast. Be it so, that you are never
called to tread the halls of legislation, that you are
never called to walk on the high places of the earth,
and that your chief influence in the world is that of
combination are the dew-drops any the less precious
because one alone is not of much worth, while the
combined influence of all covers the landscape with
diamonds?
"The dews come down unseen at eventide,
To teach mankind unostentatious charity."
What though you may think you dwell in a valley
that is small and humble: you may feel assured that
there is no more in that valley than the proudest
philosopher has yet been able to explore, or to explain.
That humble vale has enough of sorrow which you can
alleviate,―enough of darkness which you can aid in
dispelling, enough to whom you can become a bene-
factor. Do not feel that responsibility does not rest
upon you because the eye of the public is not fixed
upon you. Do not feel that there is a spot in this
wide world so obscure or so lonely that you cannot
use all your powers upon it to the very best advan-
tage. Do not sigh for some lofty station in which
you would do great and good things if you could only
occupy that; but keep a pure light burning, even
though it be small, rather than spend your strength
in striking brilliant sparks from flint and steel.
Almost the whole amount of our smarting through
life, arises from defects in our personal character. In
Đây
CHARACTER.
283
all the circle of your acquaintance, can you
look upon
one who has not striking defects of character? Now
can you rationally suppose that you are free from these
defects, though you cannot point them out? I want
you should become a real self-observer, and be so
determined to possess a valuable character of your
own, that you are willing to receive hints from any
source, and that you will cheerfully bear beating, if
wisdom may be beaten into you. It is said that the
great men in ancient times who used to keep fools
about them, learned more truth from them than from
all the rest of the world.
A very few years of contact with the world, and of
observation, will teach you how infinitely character is
superior to everything else. You may be poor, you
may be unfortunate, you may be a cripple, your lot
may be among the lowly; but if you possess moral
character, you will never be overlooked by God or
man. "Never is a man undone who has not lost his
character; but when that is lost, for all moral and
useful purposes, he is ruined. Envy and calumny
will follow a man's success like his shadow, but if he
is true to himself they will be powerless. Virtues
may be misrepresented, but they are virtues still. In
vain will an industrious man be called an idler,—a
sensible man a fool,-a prudent man a spendthrift,
an honest man a knave. A good character is inherent.
Its possessor may ruin it, no one else can." More
than once have I known a man who had earned a
character, assailed, and that too by a bitterness which
284
CHARACTER.
none but the most malignant heart could pour out, and
for a time it seemed as if that man must be crushed.
It was supposed he was destroyed. But such a man
will not stay destroyed. The sword may go through
and through, but like that of Æneas when he was
cutting down the ghosts in the world of spirits, it
does no hurt. The wounds will most assuredly heal
of themselves. "Every thinking man," says the
great writer last quoted, "will look round him when
he reflects on his situation in the world, and will ask,
"What will meet my case? What is it that I want?
What will satisfy me?'"
There is nothing equal to the very great satisfaction
of self-respect, connected with a good character. There
is nothing earthly more delightful than the full, sweet
music of an approving conscience. There is a sublim-
ity in conscious rectitude; a pleasure in the approba-
tion of one's own mind, in comparison with which, the
treasures of earth are not worth naming.
The peace and happiness arising from this source
are above all change, and beyond all decay. Disap-
pointments and trials do but improve them. They go
with us into all places; and attend us through every
changing scene of life. They sustain and delight alike,
at home and abroad; by day and by night; in soli-
tude and society; in sickness and in health; in life
and in death; in time and eternity. The pleasures
of an approving mind never fail. They are like the
tree of life, whose leaf never withers, and whose fruit
shall refresh us during eternal ages.
CHARACTER.
285
In addition to this, there is the high satisfaction
arising from the esteem and respect of all good men.
This is the loving favor, which, in the text, is com-
mended as better than silver and gold. And who does
not feel that the commendation is just? What more
fills the heart with joy,—what affords higher, or more
permanent happiness, than the good-will, the friendly
regards, the unsuspecting confidence and cordial ap-
probation of the worthy and the excellent among our
fellow men? And all this is sure to be awarded to
him who sustains a fair and irreproachable character.
Indeed, my friends, if you possess such a character,
all men, whether good or bad, will be constrained to
yield you the homage of their respect. This is the
tribute which vice is always compelled to pay to vir-
tue. You will have a testimony in your favor, en-
graven upon every heart,-compelling reluctant
approbation, even from those who have not principle
to imitate your virtues, or copy your example. And
while a good name will secure for you the esteem and
the confidence of your fellow-men, how will it increase
your capacity, and extend your sphere of usefulness?
Who are the men whose advice is most highly valued ;
whose opinions have the greatest weight; whose pat-
ronage is most eagerly sought; and whose influence is
most extensively felt in the community? Are they
not the men of principle; the men of known worth and
established reputation? Character is power; charac-
ter is influence; and he who has character, though he
may have nothing else, has the means of being emi-
T
286
CHARACTER.
nently useful, not only to his immediate friends, but
to society, to the church of God, and to the world.
On the other hand, when a man's character is gone,
all is gone. All peace of mind, all complacency in
himself, are fled for ever. He despises himself; he is
despised by his fellow men. Within is shame and
remorse; without, neglect and reproach. He is of
necessity a miserable and useless man; and he is so,
even though he be clothed in purple and fine linen,
and fare sumptuously every day. It is better to be
poor; it is better to be reduced to beggary; it is better
to be cast into prison, or condemned to perpetual
slavery; than to be destitute of a good name, or endure
the pains and the evils of a conscious worthlessness of
character.
Consider, next, the importance of a good character
to your success in the world. If a young man com-
pletes the time of his apprenticeship, or clerkship, with
good principles and a fair character, he is made for
life. His reputation is better to him than the richest
capital. It makes friends; it creates funds; it draws
around him patronage and support; and opens for him
a sure and easy way to wealth, to honor and happiness.
There are in this, and there are in every community,
men of property and influence, who always stand
ready to encourage and assist young men of enterprise
and merit. The way is always open for such to es-
tablish themselves in business, and to rise in their
calling, whatever it be.
You perceive, then, that so far as success in life is
1
CHARACTER.
287
concerned, all depends on a few years,-and those,
the years that are now passing over you. If you
wisely improve this seed-time of life; this most pre-
cious period of your existence; if you now adopt correct
principles, and form correct habits, and come forward
upon the stage, with a fair unsullied reputation, your
fortunes are made. The field of successful enterprise
will be open to you; friends and patrons will rise up
to encourage your efforts and advance your interests;
and the whole community will award to you its con-
fidence and support.
But on the contrary, if you misimprove the oppor-
tunity which you now enjoy of establishing a character;
if you neglect your minds and hearts; acquire bad
habits and a bad reputation; you raise a barrier in the
way of your success in life, which you will probably
never be able to surmount.
We see, then, that the crown and glory of life is
Character. It is the noblest possession of a man, con-
stituting a rank in itself, and an estate in the general
good-will; dignifying every station, and exalting every
position in society. It exercises a greater power than
wealth, and secures all the honor without the jealousies
of fame. It carries with it an influence which always
tells; for it is the result of proved honor, rectitude,
and consistency-qualities which, perhaps more than
any other, command the general confidence and respect
of mankind.
That you may feel more deeply the weight of these
considerations, just reverse the picture, and think of
**
288
CHARACTER.
the direful evils of a ruined character. It will expose
you to a thousand painful suspicions and blasting re-
ports; it will deprive you of all self-respect and peace
of mind; it will exclude you from the confidence and
esteem of your fellow men, and bring upon you their
neglect and contempt; it will cut you off from all
means of usefulness, and render you, either a mere
cipher, or a nuisance in society; it will prove an insur-
mountable barrier to your success in life; it will be
bitterness and sorrow to your friends, and all with
whom you may be connected in the world; it will be
the means of perpetuating bad principles and a bad
character, in your own families, and to future gener-
ations, and thus be the occasion of eternal ruin to many
immortal souls.
Do you now ask for other motives? I have one
more to offer.-On the character you are now forming
hangs your own eternal destiny. Those dispositions
and habits, which you now acquire, you will be likely
to retain through life, and carry with you into another
world. "They are the dying dress of the soul,-the
vestments in which it must come forth to meet the
sentence of an impartial judge.'
impartial judge." If filthy, they will
be filthy still,—if holy, they will be holy still. Yes,
my friends, the character you are now forming, is that,
probably, in which you will appear before the judg
ment-seat of God; and by which your condition for
eternity is to be decided. O, then, be careful that you
acquire a character of meetness for the society of just
men made perfect in heaven; and not for the society
mells the world
C:"
A
<<
XIX.
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
Genius, the Pythian of the beautiful,
Leaves the large truths a riddle to the dull-
From eyes profane a veil the Iris screens,
And fools on fools still ask-what Hamlet means.'
Bulwer.

HE secret of true genius is hard work. Work
upon a block of lifeless marble, transforms
it into a piece of exquisite sculpture; work
bestowed upon the blank, rough, rugged-
edged canvas, will breathe into it a Madonna's
saintly beauty; work laid out on acres of rough,
stony, barren land, will clothe the stone with flowers
and hang the hedges with luscious fruit; work put
into the pits of clay and quarries of stone and forests
of oak, will convert them into gorgeous palaces, grand
cathedrals, mammoth warehouses, and costly dwel
lings. Even the bell that calls us every Sabbath day
to the house of God, with its silvery tones was once
a lump of useless metal in the bosom of the earth.
The parts of which the great organ of Fryberg is com-
posed, were once nothing more than bits of wood and
lead. The brilliant gas-jets, by which cities are il
luminated, and darkness is burned into light, are dug
289
290
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
out of the earth in hard black coal; work expended
on human nature is what makes men. It was work
and not Dartmouth College that made Daniel Webster.
It was hard work and not the stone quarries of Cro-
morty that raised Hugh Miller to his high position.
And so we see the truth of the poet's words as he says:
"Rich are the diligent who can command
Time, nature's stock? and could his hour-glass fall,
Would, as for seed of stars, stoop for the sand,
And, by incessant labor, gather all."
The greatest results in life are usually attained by
simple means, and the exercise of ordinary qualities.
The common life of every day, with its cares, neces-
sities, duties, affords ample opportunities for acquiring
experience of the best kind; and its most beaten paths
provide the true worker with abundant scope for ef-
fort and room for self-improvement. The road of hu-
man welfare lies along the old highway of steadfast
well-doing; and they who are the most persistent,
and work in the truest spirit, will usually be the most
successful.
3
Fortune has often been blamed for her blindness;
but fortune is not so blind as men are. Those who
look into practical life will find that fortune is usually
on the side of the industrious, as the winds and waves
are on the side of the best navigators. In the pursuit
of even the highest branches of human inquiry, the
commoner qualities are found the most useful-such
as common sense, attention, application, and perse-
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
291
verance. Genius may not be necessary, though even
genius of the highest sort does not disdain the use of
these ordinary qualities. The very greatest men have
been among the least believers in the power of genius,
and as worldly wise and persevering as successful men
of the commoner sort. Some have even defined genius
to be only common sense intensified. A distinguished
teacher and president of a college spoke of it as the
power of making efforts. John Foster held it to be
the power of lighting one's own fire. Buffon said of
genius, "It is patience."
Newton's was unquestionably a mind of the very
highest order, and yet, when asked by what means he
had worked out his extraordinary discoveries, he mod-
estly answered, "By always thinking unto them." At
another time he thus expressed his method of study:
"I keep the subject continually before me and wait
till the first dawnings open slowly by little and little
into a full and clear light." It was in Newton's case
as in every other, only by diligent application and per-
severance that his great reputation was achieved.
Even his recreation consisted in change of study, lay-
ing down one subject to take up another. To Dr.
Bentley, he said: "If I have done the public any serv-
ice, it is due to nothing but industry and patient
thought." So Kepler, another great philosopher,
speaking of his studies and his progress, said: "As
in Virgil, Fama mobilitate viget, vires acquirit eun-
do,' so it was with me, that the diligent thought on
these things was the occasion of still further think-
6
292
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
ing; until at last I brooded with the whole energy of
my mind upon the subject."
The extraordinary results effected by dint of sheer
industry and perseverance, have led many distinguished
men to doubt whether the gift of genius be so excep-
tional an endowment as it is usually supposed to be.
Thus Voltaire held that it is only a very slight line of
separation that divides the man of genius from the
man of ordinary mold. Beccaria was even of opin-
ion that all men might be poets and orators, and
Reynolds that they might be painters and sculptors.
If this were really so, that stolid Englishman might
not have been so very far wrong after all, who on
Canova's death, inquired of his brother, whether it
was "his intention to carry on the business!" Locke,
Helvetius, and Diderot believed that all men have an
equal aptitude for genius, and that what some are able
to effect, under the laws which regulate the operations
of the intellect, must also be within the reach of others
who, under like circumstances, apply themselves to
like pursuits. But while admitting to the fullest ex-
tent the wonderful achievements of labor, and recog-
nizing the fact that men of the most distinguished
genius have invariably been found the most indefatiga-
ble workers, it must nevertheless be sufficiently ob-
vious that, without the original endowment of heart
and brain, no amount of labor, however well applied,
could have produced a Shakespeare, a Newton, a
Beethoven, or a Michael Angelo.
g
Dalton, the chemist, repudiated the notion of his
12
•
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
293
being "a genius," attributing everything which he
had accomplished to simple industry and accumulation.
John Hunter said of himself: "My mind is like a bee-
hive; but full as it is of buzz and apparent confusion,
it is yet full of order and regularity, and food col-
lected with incessant industry from the choicest stores
of nature." We have, indeed, but to glance at the
biographies of great men to find that the most dis-
tinguished inventors, artists, thinkers, and workers of
all kinds, owe their success, in a great measure, to
their indefatigable industry and application. They
were men who turned all things to gold-even time
itself. Disraeli the elder held that the secret of suc-
cess consisted in being master of your subject, such
mastery being attainable only through continuous ap-
plication and study. Hence it happens that the men
who most moved the world, have not been so much
men of genius, strictly so called, as men of intense
mediocre abilities, and untiring perseverance; not so
often the gifted, of naturally bright and shining
qualities, as those who have applied themselves dili-
gently to their work, in whatsoever line that might
lie. "Alas!" said a widow, speaking of her brilliant
yet careless son, "he has not the gift of continu-
ance." Wanting in perseverance, such volatile na-
tures are outstripped in that race of life by the
diligent and even the dull. " Cha va piano, va
longano, e va lontano," says the Italian proverb: Who
goes slowly, goes long, and goes far.
Hence, a great point to be aimed at is to get the
294
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
working qualities well trained. When that is done,
the race will be found comparatively easy. We must
repeat and again repeat: facility will come with la-
bor. Not even the simplest art can be accomplished
without it; and what difficulties it is found capable
of achieving! It was by early discipline and repe-
tition that the late Sir Robert Peel cultivated those
remarkable, though still mediocre powers, which ren-
dered him so illustrious an ornament of the British
Senate. When a boy at Drayton Manor, his father
was accustomed to set him up at table to practice
speaking extempore; and he early accustomed him to
repeat as much of Sunday's sermon as he could re-
member. Little progress was made at first, but by
steady perseverance the habit of attention became
powerful, and the sermon was at length repeated al-
most verbatim. When afterwards replying in succes-
sion to the arguments of his parliamentary opponents-
an art in which he was perhaps unrivalled-it was
little surmised that the extraordinary power of accu-
rate remembrance which he displayed on such occasions
had been originally trained under the discipline of his
father in the parish church of Drayton.
A man starts on his career with a tacit understand-
ing with himself that he is to rise. It is a step-by-
step progress. He probably has no distinct aim. It
is only in books that he resolves from the first dawn-
ing of ambition to become owner of such an estate
or bishop of such a see. But he means to get
on, and devotes all his powers to that end. He
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
295
1
fixes his thought beyond immediate self-indulgence,
chooses his friends as they will help the main
design, falls in love on the same principle, and,
habitually deferring to a vague but glowing future,
learns to work towards it, and for its sake to be self-
denying and long-sighted. His instincts quicken; he
puts forth feelers, which men who take their pleasure
from hand to mouth have no use for; he lives in
habitual caution, with an eye always to the main
chance. Thus he refines and enhances that natural
discretion which doubles the weight and value of
every other gift, and yet keeps them on an unobtru-
sive level, leaving itself the most notable quality, till
he is universally pronounced the man made to get on,
by people who do not know that it is a steady will
that has made and kept him what he is."
The truth is, men differ from birth in mind as they
differ in body, though in each case the difference may
be modified to a certain degree by training, regimen,
and so forth. But is there anything in this truth to
discourage the young man who is anxious to get on in
the world? By no means. No man knows what are
his powers, whether he is capable of great or only of
little things, till he has tested himself by actual trial.
Let every beginner in life put forth his whole strength,
without troubling himself with the question whether
he has genius or not; then, as Sir Joshua Reynolds
says, "if he has great talents, industry will improve
them; but if he has but moderate abilities, industry
will supply their deficiency." The more limited your
296
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
66
powers, the greater need of effort; the smaller the re-
sults of your efforts, the greater need that they should
be repeated. The mediocre capacity must be eked
out by brave resolve and persistent effort. The Spar-
tan youth who complained to his mother that his
sword was too short, was told to add a step to it;
and so must your scant capacity be increased by
redoubled diligence and a more earnest determination.
If it be not true that, as Sir Joshua Reynolds says,
nothing is denied to well-directed labor," it is cer-
tain that, as he further says, "nothing is to be obtained
without it." To a large extent, as William Penn de-
clares, "industry supplies the want of parts; patience
and diligence, like faith, remove mountains."
"There
lives not a man on earth, out of a lunatic asylum,
says Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, and the words should
ring in every young man's ears, "who has not the
power to do good. What can writers, haranguers, or
speculators do more than that? Have you ever en-
tered a cottage, ever traveled in a coach, ever talked
with a peasant in the field, or loitered with a mechanic
at the loom, and not found that each of those men had
a talent you had not, knew some things you knew
not? The most useless creature that ever yawned at
a club, or counted the vermin on his rags, under the
suns of Calabria, has no excuse for want of intellect.
What men want is, not talent, it is purpose; in other
words, not the power to achieve, but the will to
labor."
There is, perhaps, no mistake of the young more
99
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
297
common than that of supposing that, in the pursuits of
life, extraordinary talents are necessary to one who
would achieve more than ordinary success. To minds
that lack energy, it seems impossible to believe that
those persons who have made themselves a place in
history by their connection with striking events, and
whose influence has been felt through ages in the
changes they have produced in the destinies of nations,
have been men of ordinary intellectual calibre, and
not possessed of that comprehensive grasp of the
wholeness of things which embrace all their bearings
and relations, and places a man in advance of the phi-
losophy of his age. But the experience of the world
is not so discouraging to its mediocre men.
The spec-
tacle of triumphant mediocrity is exhibited daily; and
every man of great intellectual capacity, who has made
the observation of his fellow-creatures his business
during an extended career, must have had frequent
occasion to be forcibly struck by the successes of emi-
nent persons whose abilities, in comparison with his
own, appeared to striking advantage. The wants of
society raise thousands to distinction who are not
possessed of uncommon endowments. The utility
of actions to mankind is the standard by which
they are measured, and not the intellectual su-
premacy which is established by their performance.
But very ordinary abilities will suffice to make a man
eminently useful; and surpassing talents have fre-
quently been unserviceable in proportion as they were
objects of admiration. Nor has it escaped the notice
•
298
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
of any close observer of human affairs, that in numer-
ous instances men are pushed forward by events over
which they have no control. It often happens that
schemes work out their own execution, and that be-
nignant fortune obviates astounding deficiencies and
extravagant blunders. Besides, worldly success de-
pends less on the general superiority of one's intellec-
tual powers, than on their peculiar adaptation to the
work in hand. A moderate talent well applied will
achieve more useful results, and impose more on man-
kind, than minds of the highest order, whose temper
is too fine for the mechanical parts of a profession.
The astounding variety of talents which some men
display is purchased at the dear price of comparative
feebleness in every part. The highest reputation in
every department of human exertion is reserved for
minds of one faculty, where no rival powers divide
the empire of the soul, and where there is no variety
of pursuits to distract and perplex the energies.
The life of Sir Francis Horner strikingly illustrates
the truth we have tried to enforce. "The valuable
and peculiar light in which Horner stands out," says
Cockburn in his Memorials of this eminent Scotch-
man, "the light in which his history is calculated to
inspire every right-minded youth, is this: he died at
the age of thirty-eight, possessed of greater public in-
fluence than any other private man, and admired, be-
loved, trusted, and deplored by all except the heart-
less or the base. No greater homage was ever paid
in Parliament to any deceased member.
Now, let
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
299
rank?
every young man ask, How was this attained? By
He was the son of an Edinburgh merchant.
By wealth? Neither he nor any of his relatives ever
had a superfluous sixpence. By office? He held but
one, and only for a few years, of no influence, and
with very little pay. By talents? His were not
splendid, and he had no genius; cautious and slow,
his only ambition was to be right. By eloquence?
He spoke in calm good taste, without any of the
oratory that either terrifies or seduces. By any fas-
cination of manner? His was only correct and agree-
able. By what, then, was it? Merely by sense,
industry, good principles, and a good heart,-qualities
which no well-constituted mind need ever despair of
attaining. It was the force of his character that
raised him, and this character not impressed upon him
by nature, but formed out of no peculiarly fine ele-
ments by himself. Horner was born to show what
moderate powers, unaided by any thing whatever ex-
cept culture and goodness, may achieve, even when
these powers are displayed amidst the competition and
jealousy of public life.”
It is indeed wonderful with what slender qualifica-
tions one may, under favorable circumstances, attain
success, and even fill a large space in society. The
high reputation of many persons is acquired in a great
measure by mere dexterity and cunning, by siding with
prevailing opinions, or by flattering the prejudices of
a powerful party. Besides, there is a discretion more
valuable than the most extensive knowledge or the
8
300
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
highest intellectual endowments. There are some men
who give excellent advice touching the affairs of others,
but who, from some inexplicable reason, show a total
want of judgment in directing their own. They are
useful when under able guidance, but, if left alone,
plunge into some quagmire, and render useless the
services they have already performed. We see other
men, who, with comparatively slender talents, are the
instruments of achieving more important results than
are effected by men of far greater endowments. They
know precisely the extent of their faculties, and never
aim at objects beyond their reach. They carefully
survey their means of success, and never fix their at-
tention so strongly upon one point as to overlook
others equally important. Never struggling obsti-
nately against the stream, they are constantly ready, as
the aspect of things changes, to vary their plans or
remit their exertions, yet in all their variations they
keep one object steadily in view. Preferring to play
a small game rather than stand out, and content with
petty advances when a more rapid progress is impos-
sible, they quicken their pace and enlarge their schemes
as fortune favors, and, though unnoticed by the world,
exert a more important influence over the destinies
than many who have filled a larger space in the eye of
mankind.
A still greater source of discouragement than the
consciousness of mediocre abilities, to many beginners,
is the feeling that there is no place for them in the
great beehive of society. Looking about in the world
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
301
they see, or fancy they see, every place filled,-a com-
plement of hands in every department of the great
workshop, and, even if a vacant place for them could
be found, a skillful workman has anticipated their best
efforts; so, like the rustic who waited for the river to
run by, they hesitate to embark in any business, or
embark without spirit or hope. Had they lived a
little earlier or a little later in the world's history, they
could have "got on" without difficulty, but not at
this epoch. They could have won fame or a fortune
half a century ago; could win it, perhaps, half a century
later, but not at this unlucky time. Success, always
a coy maiden, is now, when crowds of wooers have
made her saucy, harder than ever to win. The would-
be poet, it is said, is always laboring under this dis-
order. He always somehow falls on evil days. The
good time is either past or to come; it is never now.
The truth is, however, that there is no occasion for
these croakings, nor ever was at any period of the
world's history. The world is a hard world, but in
the long run it is an eminently just one. It is always
groping about for men of ability and integrity to fill
its places of responsibility, and those who have these
qualifications, if they do not hide them from shyness,
are almost sure to find employment. It always has
been, and always will be, more difficult to find talents
for the places than places for the talents. Human
selfishness, were there no other agencies at work, will
not suffer men of ability to languish in idleness.
Do not despair, then, because to win the prizes of
302
FALSE IDEAS OF GENIUS.
life you must struggle against many competitors.
Dryden says that no man ever need fear refusal from any
lady, if he only give his heart to getting her; and the
same is true of success. As Lady Mary Montagu used
to say,
"If you wish to get on, you must do as you
would to get in through a crowd to a gate all are
equally anxious to reach. Hold your ground and push
hard. To stand still is to give up your hope." Give
your energies to "the highest employment of which
your nature is capable; " be alive; be patient; work
hard; watch opportunities; be rigidly honest; hope
for the best; and if you fail to reach the goal of your
wishes, which is possible in spite of the utmost efforts,
you will die with the consciousness of having done
your best, which is, after all, the truest success to which
man can aspire.
XX.
LUCK.
"Fortune is for the most part but a galaxy or milky way, as it were, of
certain obscure virtues without a name.
Verulam.
""

ORTUNE favors fools." This proverb ad-
mits of various explanations, according to
the mood of mind in which it is used. It
may arise from pity, and the soothing per-
suasion that Providence is eminently watchful
over the helpless, and extends an especial care to
those who are not capable of caring for themselves.
So used, it breathes the same feeling as "God tempers
the wind to the shorn lamb"-or, the more sportive
adage, that “the fairies take care of children and tipsy
folk." The persuasion itself, in addition to the general
religious feeling of mankind, and the scarcely less
general love of the marvelous, may be accounted for
from our tendency to exaggerate all effects that seem
disproportionate to their visible cause, and all circum-
stances that are in any way strongly contrasted with
our notions of the persons under them. It arises from
the safety and success which an ignorance of danger
and difficulty sometimes actually assists in procuring;
303
304
LUCK.
inasmuch as it precludes the despondence, which
might have kept the more foresighted from undertak-
ing the enterprise, the depression which would retard
its progress, and those overwhelming influences of ter-
ror in cases where the vivid perception of the danger
constitutes the greater part of the danger itself. Thus
men are said to have swooned and even died at the
sight of a narrow bridge, over which they had rode,
the night before, in perfect safety; or at tracing the
footmarks along the edge of a precipice which the
darkness had concealed from them. A more obscure
cause, yet not wholly to be omitted, is afforded by the
undoubted fact, that the exertion of the reasoning
faculties tends to extinguish or bedim those mysterious
instincts of skill, which, though for the most part la-
tent, we nevertheless possess in common with other
animals.
Or the proverb may be used invidiously: and folly
in the vocabulary of envy or baseness may signify
courage and magnanimity. Hardihood and fool-hard-
iness are indeed as different as green and yellow, yet
will appear the same to the jaundiced eye. Courage
multiplies the chances of success by sometimes making
opportunities, and always availing itself of them: and
in this sense fortune may be said to favor fools by
those, who, however prudent in their own opinion,
are deficient in valor and enterprise. Again: an emi-
nently good and wise man, for whom the praises of the
judicious have procured a high reputation even with
the world at large, proposes to himself certain objects,
LUCK.
305
and, adapting the right means to the right end, at-
tains them: but his objects not being what the world
·
· calls fortune, neither money nor artificial rank, his ad-
mitted inferiors in moral and intellectual worth, but
more prosperous in their worldly concerns, are said to
have been favored by fortune and he slighted: although
the fools did the same in their line as the wise man in
his: they adapted the appropriate means to the desired
end, and so succeeded. In this sense the proverb is
current by a misuse, or a catachresis at least, of both
the words, fortune and fools.
How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits
Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains!
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits,
If
any man obtain that which he merits,
Or any merit that which he obtains.
REPLY.
For shame dear, friend! renounce this canting strain
What would'st thou have a good great man obtain?
Place? titles? salary? a gilded chain?
Or throne of corses which his sword hath slain?
Greatness and goodness are not means but ends!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends?
The good great man? three treasures, LOVE and LIGHT,
And CALM THOUGHTS regular as infant's breath :
And three firm friends, more sure than day and night,
HIMSELF, his MAKER, and the angel DEATH.
But there is, doubtless, a true meaning attached to
fortune, distinct both from prudence and from cour-
age; and distinct, too, from that absence of depressing
306
LUCK.
or bewildering passions, which (according to my fa-
vorite proverb, "extremes meet,") the fool not sel-
dom obtains in as great perfection by his ignorance,
as the wise man by the highest energies of thought
and self-discipline. LUCK has a real existence in hu-
man affairs from the infinite number of powers that
are in action at the same time, and from the co-ex-
istence of things contingent and accidental (such as to
us at least are accidental) with the regular appearances
and general laws of nature. A familiar instance will
make these words intelligible. The moon waxes and
wanes according to a necessary law. The clouds like-
wise, and all the manifold appearances connected with
them, are governed by certain laws no less than the
phases of the moon. But the laws which determine
the latter, are known and calculable: while those of
the former are hidden from us. At all events, the
number and variety of their effects baffle our powers
of calculation: and that the sky is clear or obscured at
any particular time, we speak of, in common language,
as a matter of accident. Well! at the time of full
moon, but when the sky is completely covered with
black clouds, I am walking on in the dark, aware of
no particular danger: a sudden gust of wind rends
the cloud for a moment, and the moon emerging dis-
closes to me a chasm or precipice, to the very brink of
which I had advanced my foot. This is what is meant
by luck, and according to the more or less serious mood
or habit of our mind we exclaim, how lucky! or, how
providential! The co-presence of numberless phe-
A
LUCK.
307
nomena, which from the complexity or subtlety of their
determining causes are called contingencies, and the
co-existence of these with any regular or necessary
phenomenon (as the clouds and the moon for in-
stance) occasion coincidences, which, when they are at-
tended by any advantage or injury, and are at the
same time incapable of being calculated or foreseen
by human prudence, form good or ill luck. On a hot
sunshiny afternoon came on a sudden storm and spoiled
the farmer's hay: and this is called ill luck. We will
suppose the event to take place, when meteorology
shall have been perfected into a science, provided with
unerring instruments; but which the farmer has ne-
glected to examine. This is no longer ill luck, but
imprudence. Now apply this to your proverb. Un-
foreseen coincidences may have greatly helped a man,
yet if they have done for him only what possibly
from his own abilities he might have effected for him-
self, his good luck will excite less attention and the
instances be less remembered. That clever men should
attain their objects seems natural, and we neglect the
circumstances that perhaps produced that success of
themselves without the intervention of skill or fore-
sight; but we dwell on the fact and remember it, as
something strange, when the same happens to a weak
or ignorant man. So, too, though the latter should
fail in his undertakings from concurrences that might
have been expected and accounted for from his folly,
it lays no hold on our attention, but fleets away from
the other undistinguished waves in which the stream
308
LUCK.
of ordinary life murmurs by us, and is forgotten. Had
it been as true as it was notoriously false, that those
all-embracing discoveries, which have shed a dawn of
science on the art of chemistry, and given no obscure
promise of some one great constitutive law, in the
light of which dwell dominion and the power of
prophecy; if these discoveries, instead of having been
as they really were preconcerted by meditation, and
evolved out of his own intellect, had occurred by a set
of lucky accidents to the illustrious father and founder
of philosophic alchemy; if they had presented them-
selves to Professor DAVY exclusively in consequence
of his luck in possessing a particular galvanic battery;
if this battery, as far as DAVY was concerned, had it-
self been an accident, and not (as in point of fact it
was) desired and obtained by him for the purpose of
ensuring the testimony of experience to his principles,
and in order to bind down material nature under the
inquisition of reason, and force from her, as by torture,
unequivocal answer, to prepared and pre-conceived
questions—yet still they would not have been talked
of or described, as instances of luck, but as the natural
results of his admitted genius and known skill. But
should an accident have disclosed similar discoveries to
a mechanic at Birmingham or Sheffield, and if the man
should grow rich in consequence, and partly by the
envy of his neighbors, and partly with good reason,
be considered by them as a man below
par
in the gen-
eral powers of his understanding; then, "O what a
lucky fellow !-Well, Fortune does favor fools-that's
LUCK.
309
for certain!—It is always so!"-And forthwith the
exclaimer relates half a dozen similar instances. Thus
accumulating the one sort of facts and never collecting
the other, we do, as poets in their diction, and quacks
of all denominations do in their reasoning, put a part
for the whole, and at once soothe our envy and gratify
our love of the marvellous, by the sweeping proverb,
"FORTUNE FAVORS FOOLS."
But there are some persons who are always making
failures. No matter what they turn their hands to or
how successful others have been in the same pursuit, no
sooner do they undertake to follow it than their trouble
and disaster begins at once. They seem to have per-
fected by the closest study, caution and consideration
the surest way to ruin and failure. As Dr. Johnson
graphically describes these persons in the account he
gives of the conversation with Elder Sheridan. He
says: "Sir Sherry is dull, naturally dull; but it must
have taken a great deal of pains to become what we
see him now." Such persons as these are always say-
ing such is their luck; always blaming circumstances,
fate, or the rascality of men or the perverseness of hu-
manity. One thing is evident, they themselves are not
to blame; everybody and everything is wrong and out
of harmony and they alone are right, but the wretched
victims of a cruel fate, the forlorn creatures, ill starred
and cursed forever with bad luck.
Indeed, there is hardly a word in the vocabulary
which is more cruelly abused than the word "luck."
To all the faults and failures of men, their positive
310
LUCK.
sins and their less culpable short-comings, it is made
to stand a godfather and sponser. We are all Micaw-
bers at heart, fancying that "something" will one day
"turn up" for our good, for which we have never
striven. Go talk with the bankrupt man of business,
who has swamped his fortune by wild speculation, ex-
travagance of living, or lack of energy, and you will
find that he vindicates his wounded self-love by con-
founding the steps which he took indiscreetly with
those to which he was forced by "circumstances," and
complacently regarded himself as the victim of ill-luck.
Go visit the incarcerated criminal, who has imbrued
his hands in the blood of his fellow-man, or who is
guilty of less heinous crimes, and you will find that,
slumping the temptations which were easy to avoid
with those which were comparatively irresistible, he
has hurriedly patched up a treaty with conscience, and
stifles its compunctious visitings by persuading him-
self that, from first to last, he was the victim of cir-
cumstances. Go talk with the mediocre in talents and
attainments, the weak-spirited man who, from lack of
energy and application, has made but little headway
in the world, being outstripped in the race of life by
those whom he had despised as his inferiors, and you
will find that he, too, acknowledges the all-potent
power of luck, and soothes his humbled pride by deem-
ing himself the victim of ill-fortune. In short, from
the venial offence to the most flagrant, there is hardly
any wrong act or neglect to which this too fatally con-
venient word is not applied as a palliation. It has
LUCK.
311
been truly said that there is a fine generality in the
expression,—a power of any meaning or no meaning,
which fits it for all purposes alike. It is the great per-
manent, non-papal, and the self-granted indulgence of
all mankind.
Now that there is such a thing as luck-meaning by
it the occasional operation of causes over which we
have no control, though their influence is greatly exag-
gerated-is not to be denied. True as it may be gen-
erally that, as Shakespeare says,
"It is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings,"
yet, it is equally true, as the same great moralist has
qualified the sentiment, that
“There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will."
*
A De Moivre may calculate, with mathematical
nicety, what he calls the "doctrine of chances;" but
experience will falsify the calculation in perhaps five
cases out of ten. The profound mathematician tells
you that, if you throw the dice, it is thirty to one
against your turning up a particular number, and a
hundred to one against your repeating the same throw
three times running; and so on, in an augmenting ra-
tio. You take the box and throw. At the first cast
up comes the unlucky number, that beggars you, if a
gambler; and you repeat it ten times running. An
unskillful commander sometimes wins a victory; and
again a famous warrior finds himself, "after a hundred
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LUCK.
•
victories, foiled." Some of the skillfullest sea-captains
lose every ship they sail in; others, less experienced,
never lose a spar. Some men's houses take fire an hour
after the insurance expires; others never insure, and
never are burned out. Some of the shrewdest men,
with indefatigable industry and the closest economy,
fail to make money; others, with apparently none of
the qualities that insure success, are continually blun-
dering into speculations, and, Midas-like, touch noth-
ing but it turns to gold. Beau Brummell, with his
lucky sixpence in his pocket, wins at every gaming-
table, and bags £40,000 in the clubs of London and
Newmarket; he loses his magic talisman and with it
his luck, is plucked of his fortune, and obliged to fly
to the Continent. The experience of a character in
one of Cumberland's plays hardly burlesques an actual
truth. "It is not upon slight grounds," says he, "that
I despair. I have tried each walk, and am likely to
starve at last. There is not a point to which the art
and faculty of man can turn, that I have not set mine
to, but in vain. I am beat through every quarter of
the compass.
I have blustered for prerogative; I have
bellowed for freedom; I have offered to serve my
country; I have engaged to betray it. Why, I have
talked treason, writ treason; and if a man can't
live by that, he can't live by anything. Here I set up
as a bookseller, and people immediately leave off read-
ing. If I were to turn butcher, I believe, o' my con-
science, they 'd leave off eating." On the other hand,
the crazy-headed Lord Timothy Dexter sends a cargo
LUCK.
313
t
of warming pans to the West Indies, and lo! while
everybody is laughing at him, it proves a brilliant ad-
venture.
A writer in the Edinburgh Review, in speaking of
success at the bar, says, with much truth, that, when
there is not legal business enough for all the profes-
sion, some must starve. An overstocked profession
is like a crew trying to save themselves upon a raft
scarcely large enough to carry half of them; or like
the inmates of the Black Hole at Calcutta, where all
who could not get near the aperture in the wall were
suffocated, the survivors owing their safety as much
to position and selfishness as to strength. Erskine once
declared in Parliament that success oftener depended
upon accident and certain physical advantages, than
upon the most brilliant talent and the most profound
erudition. A high-spirited and popular leader lately
illustrated the matter thus: "When I look round up-
on my competitors, and consider my own qualifications,
the wonder to me is, how I ever got the place I now
occupy. I can only account for it by comparing the
forensic career to one of the crossings in our great
thoroughfares. You arrive just when it is clear, and
you get over at once; another finds it blocked
up, is
kept waiting, and he arrives too late at his destination,
though the better pedestrian of the two.
So powerful does fortune appear to sway the desti-
nies of men, putting a silver spoon into one man's
mouth, and a wooden one into another's, that some of
the most sagacious of men, as Cardinal Mazarin and
314
LUCK.
Rothschild, seem to have been inclined to regard luck
as the first element of worldly success; experience,
sagacity, energy, and enterprise as nothing, if linked
to an unlucky star. Whittington, and his cat that
proved such a source of riches; the man who, worn
out by a painful disorder, attempted suicide, and was
cured by opening an internal imposthume; the Per-
sian, condemned to lose his tongue, on whom the
operation was so bunglingly performed that it merely
removed an impediment in his speech; the painter
who produced an effect he had long toiled after in
vain, by throwing his brush at the picture in a fit of
rage and despair; the musical composer, who, having
exhausted his patience in attempts to imitate on the
piano a storm at sea, accomplished the precise result
by angrily extending his hands to the two extremities
of the keys, and bringing them rapidly together,—all
these seem to many fit types of the freaks of Fortune
by which some men are enriched or made famous by
their blunders, while others, with ten times the capac-
ity and knowledge, are kept at the bottom of her
wheel. Hence we see thousands fold their arms and
look with indifference on the great play of life, keep-
ing aloof from its finest and therefore most arduous
struggles, because they believe that success is a matter
of accident, and that they may spend their heart's
choicest blood and affection on noble ends, yet be
balked of victory, cheated of any just returns.
There is one curious fact noticeable in regard to this
thing called "luck," which is, that while it is made
LUCK.
315
responsible for any turn of affairs that we feel to be
discreditable to us, it rarely has credit for an opposite
state of things; but, like most other faithful allies in
victory, comes poorly off. Every good deed we do,
every triumph we achieve, either in the battle-field of
the world or of our own hearts, is due to ourselves
alone. Stoutly as we may affirm that our disasters
and vices are chargeable to luck, we never dream of
ascribing our meritorious deeds, in the slightest degree,
to its agency. In such cases we quite unconsciously
blink out of sight the magic power of the latter prin-
ciple, so wondrous and all-controlling in its influence
at other times, and coolly appropriate to ourselves not
merely the lion's share, but the whole glory of our
position. We would, in fact, persuade the world,
that, throughout, all the circumstances were actually
against us, but that by our own stern resolve and
heroic energy we crushed our way through them. In
cases like this, we act very much like the English sailor
in Joe Miller. Falling from the ship's topmast upon
deck without injury, he instantly jumped up, and,
springing to the side of the vessel, called out to the
crew of a Dutch vessel near by, one of whom had per-
formed some wonderful feats in leaping, "Can any of
you lubbers do anything like that?"
The sum of the whole matter is this. Man is, to a
considerable extent, the child of opportunity. Esti-
mate as highly as we may the power of the individual
in the achievement of success, there is yet another
factor in the product, the power of circumstances,
316
LUCK.
which we cannot wholly ignore. It has been re-
marked that the same tree that is soft and spongy in a
fat swamp, with its heavy air, grows hard and noble
on the hillside. Spitzbergen forests are breast high,
and Nova Scotia hemlocks mourn their cold wet sky
in long weird shrouds of white moss. As the acute
French writer, Mr. Taine, says: "Nature, being a
sower of men, and constantly putting her hand in the
same sack, distributes over the soil regularly and in
turn about the same proportionate quantity and qual-
ity of seed. But in the handfuls she scatters as she
strides over time and space, not all germinate. A
certain moral temperature is necessary to develop cer-
tain talents; if this is wanting, these prove abortive.
Consequently, as the temperature changes, so will the
species of talent change; if it turn in an opposite
direction, talent follows; so that, in general, we may
conceive moral temperature as making a selection
among different species of talent, allowing only this
or that species to develop itself, to the more or less
complete exclusion of others."
It is not enough, however, to seize opportunity when
it comes. We must not be content with waiting for
"something to turn up; " we must try to make some-
thing turn up. "We must not only strike the iron
while it is hot, but strike it till it is made hot.'
22
It is a popular idea that great inventions are the
result of what is called "lucky hits," that chance has
more to do with them than head-work. It is true that
the very greatest inventions are the simplest, and that
LUCK.
317
the truths on which they are founded seem obvious.
But familiar and commonplace as they may appear, we
must remember that the veil, flimsy and transparent
as it may now seem when a school-boy's hand can lift
it, was yet sufficient to conceal these truths for centu-
ries. As Professor Whewell has truly said, "No man
who fairly considers the real nature of great discoveries,
and the intellectual processes which they involve, can
seriously hold the opinion of their being the effect of
accident. Such accidents never happen to common
men. Thousands of men, even the most inquiring and
speculative, had seen bodies fall; but who, except
Newton, ever followed the accident to such conse-
quences?" Buffon, another competent authority, tells
us that invention, so far from being accidental, depends
on patience. "Contemplate your subject long. It
will gradually unfold itself, till a sort of electric spark
convulses the brain for a moment, and sends a glow
of irritation to the heart. Then comes the luxury of
genius."
Cardinal Richelieu was not glaringly wrong, there-
fore, in the opinion that an unfortunate and an impru-
dent person are synonymous terms. Every man is
placed, in some degree, under the influence of events
and of other men; but it is for himself to decide
whether he will rule, or be ruled by them. They may
operate powerfully against him at times; but rarely so
as to overwhelm him, if he bears up manfully, and
with a stout, dogged will. In the battle of life we
may be drawn as conscripts, but our courage or our
318
LUCK.
134
cowardice, our gentleness or our cruelty, depends upon
ourselves. "The Admiralty," wrote Nelson, when
expecting to command the finest fleet in the world,
"may order me a cock-boat, but I will do my duty."
It is now admitted that the English were not lucky in
the Russian war, simply because they hesitated. A
gunboat with a will behind it, according to high mili-
tary authority, would at one time have settled the
matter; England has a fleet, but not a will.
"In one
respect," said the French Admiral Coligni, "I may
claim superiority over Alexander, over Scipio, over
Cæsar. They won great battles, it is true; I have lost
four great battles, and yet I show to the enemy a more
formidable front than ever." The man who shows
this spirit will triumph over fortune in the end. Like
cork, he may be submerged for a while, but he cannot
be kept down. De Quincey justly remarks of Cæsar,
that the superb character of his intellect throws a co-
lossal shadow, as of predestination, over the most trivial
incidents of his career. But it was simply through
the perfection of his preparations, arrayed against all
conceivable contingencies, and which make him appear
like some incarnate providence, veiled in a human form,
ranging through the ranks of the legions, that he was
enabled to triumph over Pompey, who Cicero had pro-
nounced "semper felix,"—always lucky,-when he
recommended him to the Roman Senate as the best
man to crush the pirates.
No doubt that, as Byron said, sometimes
"Men are the sport of circumstances, when
The circumstances seem the sport of men."
LUCK.
319
"l
Favor, opportunity, the death of others, and occasion
fitting virtue," have often been, as Bacon says, stepping-
stones to success. Sulla thought it better to be lucky
than great. Really "lucky fellows" there have always
been in the world; but in a great majority of cases
they who are called such will be found on examination
to be those keen-sighted men who have surveyed the
world with a scrutinizing eye, and who to clear and
exact ideas of what is necessary to be done unite the
skill necessary to execute their well-approved plans.
If now and then a crazy-headed man, as in the instance
already mentioned, sends a cargo of warming-pans to
the West Indies, which, while everybody is laughing
at his folly, proves a brilliant venture, the very fact
that such a freak of fortune excites remark proves its
infrequency. It is an interesting fact that Wellington,
who never lost a battle, never spoke of luck, though
no man guarded more carefully against all possible
accidents, or was prompter to turn to account the ill-
fortune of an adversary. Napoleon, on the other hand,
believed in his star. He was the Man of Destiny, the
picked, the chosen. "People talk of my crimes," said
he; "but men of my mark do not commit crimes.
What I did was a necessity; I was the child of des-
tiny!" But who can doubt that it was for that very
reason, that, when once the tide of fortune turned
against him, a few years of trouble sufficed to kill him,
where such a man as Wellington would have melted
St. Helena rather than have given up the ghost with
a full stomach?
320
LUCK.
Let no one, then, repine because the fates are some-
times against him, but, when he trips or falls, let him,
like Cæsar when he stumbled on the shore, stumble
forward, and, by escaping the omen, change its nature
and meaning. Remembering that those very circum-
stances which are apt to be abused as the palliative
of failure are the true test of merit, let him gird up
his loins for whatever in the mysterious economy of
the world may await him. Thus will he gradually
rise superior to ill-fortune, and, becoming more and
more impassive to its attacks, will learn to force his
way
in spite of it, till at last he will be able to fashion
his luck to his will. "Life is too short," says a shrewd
thinker, "for us to waste its moments in deploring
bad luck; we must go after success, since it will not
come to us, and we have no time to spare."
66
Do not then stand idly waiting
For some greater work to do.
Fortune is a lazy goddess,
She will never come to you."
XXI.
MANNERS.
The courtesies of a small and trivial character are the ones which strike
deepest to the grateful and appreciating heart. It is the picayune compli-
ments which are the most appreciated; far more than the double ones
which we sometimes pay.
Henry Clay.
MONG the qualities of mind and heart which
conduce to worldly success, there is no one
the importance of which is more real, yet
which is so generally underrated at this day
by the young, as courtesy,-that feeling of
kindness, of love for our fellows, which expresses
itself in pleasing manners. Owing to that spirit of
self-reliance and self-assertion, and that contempt for
the forms and conventionalities of life, which our
young men are trained to cherish, they are too apt to
despise those delicate attentions, those nameless and
exquisite tendernesses of thought and manner, that
mark the true gentleman. Yet history is crowded
with examples showing that, as in literature, it is the
delicate, indefinable charm of style, not the thought,
which makes a work immortal,-as a dull actor makes
Shakespeare's grandest passages flat and unprofitable,
while a Kean enables you to read them "by flashes of
1

321
322
MANNERS.
lightning," so it is the bearing of a man toward his
fellows which oftentimes, more than any other circum-
stance, promotes or obstructs his advancement in life.
We may complain, if we will, that our fellow-men care
more for form than substance, for the superficies than
the solid contents of a man; but the fact remains, and
it is the clew to many of the seeming anomalies and
freaks of fortune which surprise us in the matter of
worldly prosperity.
No doubt there are a few men who look beyond the
husk or shell of a fellow-being-his angularities, awk-
wardness, or eccentricity-to the hidden qualities with-
in; who can discern the diamond, however incrusted;
but the majority are neither so sharp-eyed nor so tol-
erant, and judge a person by his appearance and de-
meanor more than by his substantial character. Daily
experience shows that civility is not only an essen-
tial of high success, but that it is almost a fortune of
itself, and that he who has this quality in perfection,
though a blockhead, is almost sure to get on where,
without it, even men of high ability fail.
"Give a
boy address and accomplishments," says Emerson,
"and you give him the mastery of palaces and fortunes
wherever he goes; he has not the trouble of earning
or owning them; they solicit him to enter and pos-
sess." Among strangers a good manner is the best
letter of recommendation; for a great deal depends
upon first impressions, and these are favorable or un-
favorable according to a man's bearing, as he is polite
or awkward, shy or self-possessed. While coarseness
MANNERS.
323
and gruffness lock doors and close hearts, courtesy, re-
finement, and gentleness are an open sesame" at
which bolts fly back and doors swing open. The rude,
boorish man, even though well meaning, is avoided by
all. Even virtue itself is offensive when coupled with
an offensive manner. Hawthorne, himself a shy man,
used to say: "God may forgive sins, but awkward-
ness has no forgiveness in heaven or earth." Manners,
in fact, are minor morals, and a rude man is generally
assumed to be a bad man. "You had better," wrote
Chesterfield to his son, "return a dropped fan genteelly
than give a thousand pounds awkwardly; and you
had
better refuse a favor gracefully than grant it clumsily.
All your Greek can never advance you from secretary
to envoy, or from envoy to ambassador; but your ad-
dress, your air, your manner, if good, may." You are
seen as well as heard.
66
What a man says or does is often an uncertain test
of what he is. It is the way in which he says or does
it that furnishes the best index of his character. It is
by the incidental expression given to his thoughts and
feelings by his looks, tones, and gestures, rather than
by his deeds or words, that we prefer to judge him,
for the simple reason that the former are involuntary.
One may do certain deeds from design, or repeat cer-
tain professions by rote; honeyed words may mask
feelings of hate, and kindly acts may be performed ex-
pressly to veil sinister ends; but the "manner of the
man" is not so easily controlled. The mode in which
a kindness is done often affects us more than the deed
X
324
MANNERS.
itself. The act itself may have been prompted by one
of many questionable motives, as vanity, pride, or in-
terest; the warmth or coldness with which the person
who has done it asks you how you do, or grasps your
hand, is less likely to deceive. The manner of doing
anything, it has been truly said, is "that which marks
the degree and force of our internal impression; it
emanates most directly from our immediate or habitu-
al feelings; it is that which stamps its life and char-
acter on any action; the rest may be performed by the
automaton." A favor may be conferred so grudgingly
as to prevent any feeling of obligation, or it may be
refused so courteously as to awaken more kindly feel-
ings than if it had been ungraciously granted.
Hazlitt observes truly that an author's style is not
less a criterion of his understanding than his senti-
ments. "The same story told by two different per-
sons shall, from the difference of the manner, either set
the table in a roar, or not relax a feature in the whole
company.
One of the most pleasant and least
tiresome of our acquaintance is a humorist, who has
three or four quaint witticisms and proverbial phrases,
which he always repeats over and over, so that you
feel the same amusement with less effort than if he
had startled his hearers with a succession of original
conceits. Another, who never fails to give vent to one
or two real jeux-d'esprit every time you meet him,
from the pain with which he is delivered of them, and
the uneasiness he seems to suffer all the rest of the
time, makes a much more interesting than comfortable
MANNERS.
325
companion. If you see a person in pain for himself,
it naturally puts you in pain for him. The art of
pleasing consists in being pleased. To be amiable is
to be satisfied with one's self and others."
The same principle is vividly illustrated by an an-
ecdote told by a distinguished speaker in a recent lec-
ture. In the early Abolition days two men went out
preaching, one an old Quaker and another a young man
full of fire. When the Quaker lectured, everything
ran along very smoothly, and he carried the audience
with him. When the young man lectured, there was
a row, and stones, and eggs. It became so noticeable,
that the young man spoke to the Quaker about it. He
said, “Friend, you and I are on the same mission, and
preach the same things; how is it that while you are
received cordially, I get nothing but abuse?" The
Quaker replied, "I will tell thee. Thee
Thee says, 'If
do so and so, you shall be punished,' and I say, 'My
friends, if you will not do so and so, you shall not be
punished." They both said the same thing, but there
was a great difference in the way they said it.
you
Politeness has been defined as benevolence in small
things. A true gentleman is recognized by his regard
for the rights and feelings of others, even in matters
the most trivial. He respects the individuality of
others, just as he wishes others to respect his own. In
society he is quiet, easy, unobtrusive; putting on no
airs, nor hinting by word or manner that he deems
himself better, wiser, or richer than any one about
him. He is never "stuck up," nor looks down upon
326
MANNERS.
others because they have not titles, honors, or social
position equal to his own. He never boasts of his
achievements, or angles for compliments by affecting to
underrate what he has done. He prefers to act, rather
than to seem; and, all above things, is distinguished by
his deep insight and sympathy, his quick perception
of, and prompt attention to, those little and apparent-
ly insignificant things that may cause pleasure or
pain to others. In giving his opinions he does not
dogmatize; he listens patiently to other men, and, if
compelled to dissent from their opinions, acknowledges
his fallibility and asserts his own views in such a man-
ner as to command the respect of all who hear him.
Frankness and cordiality mark all his intercourse with
his fellows, and, however high his station, the hum-
blest man feels instantly at ease in his presence.
Wordsworth has well expressed one of the cardinal
laws of politeness in the admonition,-
“Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow to the meanest thing that feels."
One of the ways in which this rule is most frequently
violated is by saying witty things at others' expense.
Many a man sacrifices his worldly success to his love
of jesting. There are persons who would rather lose
a life-long friend than their joke. But friends are not
so plentiful that any man can afford to lose one for a
moment's gratification, nor even for a whole day of
conversational triumphs. It has been wisely said that
spite and ill-nature are among the most expensive lux-
MANNERS.
327
uries in life. Dr. Johnson-who, unfortunately,
violated his own precept, and to whom one is tempted
to say, with Sir Thomas Browne, "Since thou so hotly
disclaimest the Devil, be not thyself guilty of diabol-
ism "-said on a certain occasion: "Sir, a man has
no more right to say an uncivil thing than to act one;
no more right to say a rude thing to another than to
knock him down." One of the redeeming points in
Sheridan's character was that, though thriftless and
intemperate, he wounded no man's feelings by his
jests:-
"His wit in the combat, as gentle as bright,
Never carried a heart-stain away on its blade."
X
It is easy to depreciate these gentlemanly qualities
as trifles; but trifles, it must be remembered, make up
the aggregate of human life. It is not so often the
great acts of others that we treasure up and remem-
ber, as the petty incivilities, slight neglects, micro-
scopic rudenesses, of which men are guilty without
thought, or from lack of insight or sympathy. "A
beautiful form," says the shrewdest of American
essayists, "is better than a beautiful face, and a
beautiful behavior is better than a beautiful form; it
gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures; it is
the finest of the fine arts." There is no society where
smiles, pleasant looks, animal spirits, are not welcomed;
where they are not of more importance than sallies of
wit or refinements of understanding. The little
courtesies which form the small change of life may
328
MANNERS.
appear, separately, of little moment, but, like the
spare minutes, or the penny a day, which amount to
such enormous sums in a lifetime, they owe their impor-
tance to repetition and accumulation. The man who
thrives in any calling is not always the shrewdest or
most laborious man, but he is almost invariably one
who has shown a willingness to please and to be
pleased, who has responded to the advances of others,
not now and then, with conscious effort, but heartily,
through nature and habit, while his rival has sniffed
and frowned and snubbed away every helping hand.
As a nation, we are apt to overlook too much the
proprieties of conduct, and have earned the name of
being unmanly. We do not pay attention enough to
little things.
What a commentary it is upon our manners that,
the State is obliged to provide spittoons for its legis-
lative halls, to accommodate honorable Senators in a
slovenly habit scarcely known in the higher circles of
England or the Continent. The directors of railroads
and proprietors of steamboats find it necessary to print
on placards the request to passengers to use the spit-
toons and not the floor, and not to put their feet on
the seats. The carpets and furniture of hotels, and
even of private residences, are liable to be soiled by
filthy tobacco juice, or scarified by the feet thrust
upon satin or damask cushions, or scraped upon
mahogany or rosewood veneerings. Hence, we have
been described by foreigners as a "spitting people,"
a “lounging nation," a "people of outlandish speech
MANNERS.
329
and attitude.” Do not in your conduct contribute to
perpetuate these national barbarisms; cultivate genu-
ine good breeding, gentle manners, ease, modesty, and
propriety of bearing. A bow instead of a surly nod,
a polite apology instead of an indifferent hurrying
away from anyone whom you have accidentally jostled
down, a civil request instead of a gruff demand, would
take no more time, trouble, or money, yet they would
tend vastly to the comfort and harmony of society.
Politeness does not consist in wearing a white silk
glove, and in gracefully lifting your hat as you meet
an acquaintance-it does not consist in artificial smiles
and flattering speech, but in sincere and honest
endeavors to promote the happiness of those around
you. The man who speaks in the language of kind-
ness, and who studies those little attentions which
gratify the heart, is a polite man, though he may wear
a home-spun coat, and make a very ungraceful bow.
And many a fashionable, who dresses genteelly, and
enters the most crowded apartments with assurance
and ease, is a perfect compound of rudeness and
incivility.
Says Chalmers: "There is a set of people whom I
cannot bear the pinks of fashionable propriety—
whose every word is precise, and whose every move-
ment is unexceptionable; but who, though versed in
all the categories of polite behavior, have not a par-
ticle of soul or of cordiality about them. We know
that their manners may be abundantly correct. There
may be elegance in every gesture, and gracefulness in
330
MANNERS.
every position; not a smile out of place, and not a step
that would not bear the severest scrutiny. This is all
very fine, but what I want is the heart, and the gaiety
of social intercourse-the frankness that spreads ease
and animation around it-the eye that speaks affability
to all, that chases timidity from every bosom, and tells
every man in the company to be confident and happy.
This is what I conceive to be the virtue of the text,
and not the sickening formality of those who walk by
rule, and would reduce the whole of human life to a
wire-bound system of misery and constraint.”
Almost every man can recall scores of cases within his
knowledge where pleasing manners have made the
fortunes of lawyers, doctors, divines, merchants, and,
in short, men in every walk of life. Raleigh, as we
have already remarked, flung down his laced coat into
the mud for Elizabeth to walk on, and got for his
reward a proud queen's favor. The politician who
has this advantage easily distances all rival candidates,
for every voter he speaks with becomes instantly his
friend. The very tones in which he asks for a pinch
of snuff are often more potent than the logic of a
Webster or a Clay. Polished manners have often
made scoundrels successful, while the best of men by
their hardness and coldness have done themselves in-
calculable injury, the shell being so rough that the
world could not believe there was a precious kernel
within. Civility is to a man what beauty is to a
woman. It creates an instantaneous impression in his
behalf, while the opposite quality excites as quick a
•
MANNERS.
331
prejudice against him. It is a real ornament,-the
most beautiful dress that man or woman can wear,-
and worth more as a means of winning favor than the
finest clothes and jewels ever worn. The gruffest
man loves to be appreciated; and it is oftener the
sweet smile of a woman, which we think intended for
us alone, than a pair of Juno-like eyes, or "lips that
seem on roses fed," that bewitches our heart, and lays
us low at the feet of her whom we afterwards marry.
It is a common mistake to suppose that persons who
are distinguished by their sweetness and tenderness
of disposition must lack force. Some of the examples
of courtesy we have already given sufficiently refute
this, and Faraday, the great English physicist, was
another striking proof of the contrary., He was one
of the gentlest of men, yet underneath his sweetness
and gentleness was the heat of a volcano. Naturally
he was excitable and fiery; but "through high self-
discipline," says Tyndall, "he had converted his fire
into a central glow and motive power of life, instead of
permitting it to waste itself in useless passion." It is
such men that form the motive forces of the world,—
persons who, though they quickly flame, and burn to
a white heat when angry, yet rule their own spirits,
and utilize all their fire by directing it into profes-
sional channels. On the other hand, satirical writers
and talkers are not half so clever as they think them-
selves, or as they are thought to be. "They do win-
now the corn," 'tis true, but 'tis to feed upon the
chaff. It requires some talent and some generosity to
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MANNERS.
find out talent and generosity in others; though noth-
ing but self-conceit and malice are needed to imagine
fault.
It is true that it costs some men a much greater ef-
fort to be polite than others. It was said with bitter
spleen of an English statesman, "Canning can never
be a gentleman for more than three hours at a time.”
It is true, too, that there are times in every man's life
when to be even coldly courteous makes an exhaust-
ing draught on one's patience; but silently to devour
the many chagrins of life, and to maintain a respectful
bearing towards others, even under circumstances of
vexation and trial, is not only a Christian duty, but
worldly policy. Dr. Valentine Mott said wisely to a
graduating class: "Young gentlemen, have two pock-
ets made,—a large one to hold the insults, and a small
one to hold the fees." Hundreds of men have owed
their start in life wholly to their winning address.
"Thank you, my dear," said Lundy Foote to the little
beggar-girl who bought a pennyworth of snuff. "Thank
you, my dear, please call again," made Lundy Foote a
millionaire. Some years ago a dry-goods salesman in
a London shop had acquired such a reputation for
courtesy and exhaustless patience that it was said to
be impossible to provoke from him any expression of
irritability or the smallest symptom of vexation. A
lady of rank, hearing of his wondrous equanimity, de-
termined to put it to the test by all the annoyances
with which a veteran shop-visitor knows how to tease
a shopman. She failed in the attempt, and thereupon
MANNERS.
333
set him up
in business. He rose to eminence in the
haberdashery trade, and the mainspring of his later as
of his early career was politeness. It is related of the
late Mr. Butler, of Providence, Rhode Island, that he
was so obliging as to reopen his store one night solely
to supply a little girl with a spool of thread which she
wanted. The incident took wind, brought him a large
run of custom, and he died a millionaire, after sub-
scribing $40,000 toward founding a hospital for the
the insane,—a sum which he was persuaded to give by
Miss Dix, whom he was too polite to shake off, though
almost as penurious as she was persevering.
Chesterfield does not exaggerate in saying that the
art of pleasing is, in truth, the art of rising, of distin-
guishing one's self, of making a figure and a fortune
in the world. It is said that some years ago in Eng-
land a curate of narrow income but kindly disposition
perceived two elderly spinsters, in old-fashioned cos-
tume, beset with jeers and jibes by a mob of men and
boys lounging round the church porch while the bell
was ringing for service. Forcing his way through the
crowd, he gave one lady his right arm and the other
his left, led them both into church, and escorted them
politely up the middle aisle to a convenient pew, re-
gardless of the stares and titters of the congregation.
Some years afterward the needy curate was agreeably
surprised by the announcement that the two old ladies,
having lately died, had bequeathed him a handsome
fortune in recognition of his well-timed courtesy.
Now, if manner has such consequences, is it not
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MANNERS.
""
folly to aespise or neglect it? Should not the culti-
vation of it be an important part of every man's edu-
cation? We have dwelt at length upon it, because
upon no other point are young men so apt to make a
serious mistake as upon this. They think that if they
only have the substance, the form is of little moment.
But manners are more than mere form; they are "a
compound of form and spirit,-spirit acted into form.'
With business tact and energy, with learning and pro-
fessional skill, the neophyte flatters himself he is sure
to succeed. He can push his way through by main
force. And no doubt a man may have abilities and
force of character so extaordinary as to compel all
obstacles to give way before him. But advancement
so gained is gained by a great waste of power. The
same abilities accompanied with prepossessing man-
ners would have achieved far more brilliant results.
No doubt, by the use of mere brute force one may
make a certain amount of impression; and so, too,
may a soldier hew down his foes with an old-fash-
ioned battle-axe or a scythe, but would he be wise
in preferring such a weapon to the keen Damascus
blade?
Even Christian men sometimes fail in courtesy,
deeming it a mark of weakness and effeminacy, or
neglecting it from mere thoughtlessness. Yet, if we
note the men who by their forceful qualities have
most powerfully influenced their fellows, we shall find
them to have added this to their others virtues, and
that it was by this that they got access to the hearts
MANNERS.
335
they moved. An old English poet reverently styles
our Saviour "the first true gentleman that ever
breathed." Nobody will accuse Paul or Peter of ef-
feminacy; yet, though they never hesitated to declare
"the whole counsel of God," and often thundered into
unwilling ears the most disagreeable truths, their
epistles are as full of gentleness and graceful court-
esy as of logic and invective. A great many good
men would double their influence if they could con-
trive to be less stiff and inelastic,-if they would but
put a hinge into their necks and keep it well oiled.
Gentleness in society, it has been truly said, "is like
the silent influence of light, which gives color to all
nature; it is far more powerful than loudness or force,
and far more fruitful. It pushes its way silently and
persistently, like the tiniest daffodil in spring, which
raises the clod, and thrusts it aside by the simple per-
sistence of growing."
It is sometimes said that civility costs nothing; and
it is true, if by it is meant a mere external varnish, a
thin wash, made up of grimaces and bows. But the
civility we mean is not a mere superficial, skin-deep
politeness, “a candy'd deal of courtesy," the indis-
criminate fawning of a spaniel, the grimaces of an unc-
tuous impostor, but a hearty wish to make others
happy at our own cost, a manly deference, without
hypocrisy or obtrusion. The first law of good man-
ners, which epitomizes all the rest is, "Thou shalt
love thy neighbor as thyself." True courtesy is sim-
ply the application of this golden rule to all our
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MANNERS.
social conduct; or, as Dr. Witherspoon so happily de-
fined it, it is "real kindness, kindly expressed." It
may be met in the hut of the Arab, in the court-yard
of the Turk, in the hovel of the freedman, in the cot-
tage of the Irishman, but it is very rare in the houses
of the nouveaux riches or in ball-rooms. That neither
morality, nor genius, nor both combined, will insure
its manifestation, is evident from the examples of
Dr. Johnson and Carlyle. The former, the despot of
the "Literary Club," was so rude and gruff in man-
ners as to acquire the nickname of "Ursa Major;"
and though Goldsmith pleaded with truth in his be-
half, "No man alive has a more tender heart, he has
nothing of the bear about him but his skin," yet we
cannot call a man polite who ate like an Esquimaux,
and with whom "You don't understand the question,
sir," and "You lie, sir," were the extremes of his
method in arguing with scholars on his own level.
Johnson had an abundance of nobleness, courage,
and kindness of heart; but neither of these without
kindness of manner is politeness. Nor can Carlyle,
with his many noble qualities, be deemed polite, if,
as a leading London journal asserts, his supreme con-
tempt for the persons who disagreed with him exas-
perated even those who had the highest respect for
his integrity and insight. Washington, on the other
hand, was polite when he promptly returned the sa-
lute of a colored man; Arnold was polite when the
poor woman felt that he treated her as if she were a
lady; Chalmers was polite when every old woman in
MANNERS.
337
Morningside was elated and delighted with his cour-
teous salute; and so was Robert Burns when he rec-
ognized an honest farmer in the street of Edinburgh,
declaring to one who rebuked him that it was "not
the great-coat, the scone bonnet, and the Saunders
boot-hose" that he spoke to, "but the man that was
in them."
Such politeness can never be acquired by studying
artificial rules in books of "Etiquette." The effect of
all such efforts is to make one think of himself rather
than of others; whereas thinking of others, rather than
of one's self, is the very essence of all courtesy. "Few
young people," it has been truthfully said, "can lay
themselves out to please after the Chesterfieldian
method, without making themselves offensive or ridic-
ulous to persons of any discernment; but a frank com-
mittal of one's self into benevolent hands, a trust in
good intentions, a graceful self-adaptation, some remains
of that confiding temper of infancy which opens its
mouth and shuts its eyes, confident that something
sweet, some untried good, will reward the trust,-
such a disposition, allied to ordinary talent and dis-
cretion, is a fortune in itself. Society does not, in
fact, want the abstract best man,—which means some-
body who would be best if many things in him were
different from and opposite to what they are, but
the man who can work best with others, who can
bring out and be brought out, and with whom it can
most pleasantly get along."
It has been well remarked that whoever imagines
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MANNERS.
legitimate manners can be taken up and laid aside,
put on and off for the moment, has missed their
deepest law. They must be easy, and habitual. They
cannot be donned and doffed, as readily as Goldsmith's
Chinese philosopher said an English fine lady could
put on and off her company face, made up of patches,
paint, and smiles. Like a fine dress, fine manners, to
be pleasing, must not occupy constantly the thoughts,
but must be borne about unconsciously, as if "part
and parcel" of the owner.
"A noble and attractive
every-day bearing comes of goodness, of sincerity, of
refinement. And these are bred in years, not
moments. The principle that rules your life is the
sure posture-master. Sir Philip Sidney was the pat-
tern to all England of a perfect gentleman; but then
he was the hero that, on the field of Zutphen, pushed
away the
cup of cold water from his own fevered
and parched lips, and held it out to the dying soldier
at his side!" Such civility implies self-sacrifice, and
it has reached maturity after many struggles and con-
flicts. It is an art and a tact, rather than an instinct
or an inspiration. It is the last touch, the crowning
perfection, of a noble character; it has been truly
described as the gold on the spire, the sunlight on the
cornfield, the smile on the lip of the noble knight low-
ering his sword-point to his lady-love; and it results
only from the truest balance and harmony of soul.
Savage.
T is one of the laws of Nature, and so of God,
that when man arrives to a certain age, he
becomes sensible of a peculiar sympathy and
tenderness towards the other sex; the charms
of beauty engage his attention, and call forth
new and softer dispositions than he has yet felt.
The many amiable qualities exhibited by a fair out-
side, or by the mild allurement of female manners, or
which the prejudiced spectator without much reason
supposes those to include, with several other circum-
stances both natural and accidental, point his view and
affection to a particular object, and of course contract
that general rambling regard, which was lost and use-
less among the undistinguished crowd, into a peculiar
and permanent attachment to one woman which ordi-
narily terminates in the most important, venerable,
and delightful connection in life.
The state of the brute creation is very different from
that of human creatures: the former are clothed and
Jesu
XXII.
SEEKING A HELPMEET.
"A wife becomes the truest-tenderest friend,
The balm of comfort, and the source of joy,
Through every various turn of life the same."

2
339
340
SEEKING A HELPMEET.
generally armed by their structure, easily find what
is necessary to their subsistence, and soon attain their
vigor and maturity; so that they need the care and
attention of their parents but a short while; and
therefore we see that nature has assigned to them va-
grant and transient amours. The connection being
purely natural, and formed merely for propagating and
rearing their offspring, no sooner is that end answered
than the connection dissolves of course. But the hu-
man race are of a more tender and defenseless consti-
tution: their infancy and non-age continue longer;
they advance slowly to strength of body and maturity
of reason; they need constant attention, and a long
series of cares and labors, to train them up to decency,
virtue, and the various arts of life. Nature has there-
fore provided them with the most affectionate and anx-
ious tutors, to aid their weakness, to supply their
wants, and to accomplish them in those necessary arts;
even their own parents, on whom she has devolved
this mighty charge, rendered agreeable by the most
alluring and powerful of all ties, parental affection.
But unless both concur in this grateful task, and con-
tinue their joint labors, till they have reared up and
planted out their young colony, it must become a prey
to every rude invader, and the purpose of nature, in
the original union of the human pair must be defeated.
Therefore our structure as well as condition is an evident
indication that the human sexes are destined for a more
intimate, for a moral and lasting union. It appears, like-
wise, that the principal end of marriage is not to prop-
A
SEEKING A HELPMEET.
341
agate and nurse up an offspring, but to educate and
form minds for the great duties and extensive destina-
tions of life. Society must be supplied from this orig-
inal nursery with useful members, and its fairest orna-
ments and supports. But how shall the young plants
be guarded against the inclemencies of the air and sea-
sons, cultivated and raised to maturity, if men, like
brutes, indulge in vagrant and promiscuous amours?
The mind is apt to be dissipated in its views, and
its acts of friendship and humanity; unless the former
be directed to a particular object, and the latter em-
ployed in a particular province. When men once give
way to this dissipation, there is no stopping their ca-
reer; they grow insensible to moral attractions, and
by obstructing or impairing the decent and regular ex-
ercise of the tender and generous feelings of the human
heart, they in time become unqualified for, or averse
from, the forming a moral union of souls, which is the
cement of society and the source of the purest domestic
joys: whereas a rational, undepraved love, and its fair
companion marriage, collect a man's views, guide his
heart to its proper object, and by confining his affection
to that object, do really enlarge its influence and use.
Besides, it is but too evident from the conduct of man-
kind, that the common ties of humanity are too feeble
to engage and interest the passions of the generality,
in the affairs of society. The connections of neighbor-
hood, acquaintance, and general intercourse, are too
wide a field of action for many; and those of a public
or community are so for more; and in which they
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342
SEEKING A HELPMEET.
either care not or know not now to exert themselves.
Therefore nature, ever wise and benevolent, by im-
planting that strong sympathy, which reigns between
the individuals of each sex, and by urging them to form
a particular moral connection, and the spring of many
domestic endearments, has measured out to each pair
a particular sphere of action, proportioned to their
views, and adapted to their respective capacities. Be-
sides, by interesting them deeply in the concerns of
their own little circle, she has connected them more
closely with society, which is composed of particular
families, and bound them down to their good behavior,
in that particular community to which they belong.
This moral connection is marriage, and this sphere of
action is a family.
The minds of both sexes are as much formed one
for the other, by a temperament peculiar to each, as
their persons. The strength, firmness, courage, grav-
ity, and dignity of the man, tally to the softness, del-
icacy, tenderness of passion, elegance of taste, and
decency of conversation, of the woman. The male
mind is formed to defend, deliberate, foresee, contrive,
and advise; the female one to confide, imagine, ap-
prehend, comply, and execute; therefore the proper
temperament of these different sexes of minds, makes
a fine moral union; and the well proportioned oppo-
sition of different or contrary qualities, like a due
mixture of discords in a composition of music, swells
the harmony of society more than if they were all
unisons to each other. And this union of moral sexes,

Painted by Robert Bayachis
MACY PAN
RM
He
Engraved & Printed by illman Brothers
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.
SEEKING A HELPMEET.
343
if we may express it so, is evidently more conducive
to the improvement of each, than if they lived apart:
for the man not only protects and advises, but com-
municates vigor and resolution to, the woman. She
in her turn softens, refines, and polishes him; in her
society he finds repose from action and care; in her
friendship, the ferment into which his passions were
wrought by the hurry and distraction of public life,
subsides and settles into a calm; and a thousand name-
less graces and decencies, that flow from her words
and actions, form him for a more mild and elegant
deportment. His conversation and example, on the
other hand, enlarge her views, raise her sentiments,
sustain her resolutions, and free her from a thousand
fears and inquietudes, to which her more feeble con-
stitution subjects her.
For human nature is formed to feel, and to be influ-
enced by its sensations. The more perverse are affected,
in some degree, by the kind attentions of others. In
this way only can the meek and innocent wife control
the ferocious husband, or reduce him to the path of
virtue. Thus only can the unprotected domestic re-
form or mollify the unruly passions of a tyrannical
superior. Love, benevolence, is the divine instrument,
by which the weak must govern the strong, the virtu-
ous the wicked. Its charms influence all minds; and
the person whom it does not soften or reclaim, is lost
forever. In any event, the good shall not lose their
reward; the conscious endeavor to make others wise,
virtuous, and happy, will instill its balm into the be-
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344
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SEEKING A HELPMEET.
!
nevolent mind, and repay its labor by the secret charm
of self-approbation. Such is the constitution of the
human mind, by the beneficent appointment of
Heaven.
With respect to the advantages and disadvantages
of the married state, they merit our deliberate atten-
tion, ere we enter into it, to know where the balance
will fall.
There is a dark and bright side, or in other words
some portion of shade, to every thing in human life.
That which is most luminous on the whole, claims our
choice. In order to form a just estimate of the means
of happiness, we must study the constitution of nature
and of man; for no plan will succeed, which is op-
posed by this constitution. Taking this for the first
principle, then, observe the subsequent diamond
maxim, which is more precious than rubies:
"Let the best course of life your choice invite,
And custom soon will turn it to delight.”
What some call the dark side, or tax of matrimony,
is, the cares and expenses of a family-multiplying
one's self into many marks for misfortune, sickness, and
death-loss of liberty, by increasing one's ties-hazard
of ill temper, or want of excellence in the person with
whom we form the indissoluble union; and the like
risk in offspring. All these certainly have their
weight in the scale: therefore, to act rationally, they
must be outweighed by prospects of happiness, before
we make the experiment of the conjugal life.
SEEKING A HELPMEET.
345
As to cares and expenses, they increase the exertion
of our faculties, and thus more often enlarge than di-
minish our pleasure. We were made for action, not
for indolence; and from pursuits, which have for their
object the interest of those we love, the most refined
enjoyment results. This constitutes a sublime portion
of human felicity, without which life would be a bar-
ren existence.
The second objection is unsupported by reason and
experience; because without such a multiplication of
friends, we cannot increase our dearest delights. No
one objects to riches, because they add to his cares, and
his chances for loss. The absence of evil will not satis-
fy any one: all want positive good; and for the en-
joyment of it, we cheerfully take the risk of losing it.
As to loss of liberty by increasing one's ties-we al-
ways intend, and very frequently gain by the loss. It
is only an exchange, as in a pure republic, we give
part of our rights to the control of others, for the same
power over their rights.
With respect to the fourth objection, it is to be re-
membered that we cannot take one step in life, which
promises good, free from the possibility of evil. If
the chances be in favor of a pursuit, it is deemed wise.
In this, as in every other case, we reason, and follow
where happiness seems to lie. When persons arrive
at the period of life for important action, and look
around the world for happiness, hazard and uncertain-
ty attend every object, and darkness rests on all things
future. Taking, then, reason and virtue for their guides,
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SEEKING A HELPMEET.
they should select those objects which afford the fair-
est probability of success. Hope, the cordial of exis-
tence, animates the various pursuits through the whole
journey of life, and often strews with flowers the un-
trodden path. Marriage enlarges the field of hope; it
seems to insure a kind of immortality. In offspring
our morning-star arises, before our evening sun de-
clines. This prevents a total eclipse, and enlightens
our whole existence.
To imitate the Parent of the Universe, by communi-
cating felicity, gives back the most divine pleasure which
the human mind can feel; and to communicate it to
those we love, is the sublime of existence.
Happy, thrice happy, are the citizens of this repub-
lic, whose free government and fertile regions invite
to marriage, and promise the full reward of love.
Here the corrupt maxims of the old world are little
known. Here love is the loan for love; and the pure
principle of personal esteem forms the union between
the sexes. Here mutual affection rises superior to for-
tune,
and gives domestic felicity, unknown where av-
arice, ambition, or vicious pleasure rule the heart.
Here industry, crowned by the blessing of benignant
Heaven, supplies the wants of all; and the blooming
youth are seen in every dwelling, smiling around their
parents, like blossoms on a fruitful tree. Health
glows on the cheek, innocence and contentment sparkle
in the eye, and the voice of nature tells the traveler,
"HAPPINESS DWELLS HERE."
i
XXIII.
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
The point to which our sweetest passions move,
Is to be truly loved, and fondly love.
This is the charm that smooths the troubled breast,
Friend to our health, and author of our rest;
This bids each gloomy, vexing passion fly,
And tunes each jarring string to harmony.
Lyttleton.
ATRIMONY ought to be considered as the
most important step a man can take in pri-
vate life, as it is that upon which his fortune,
his credit, and his peace must depend. A
happy marriage is the source of every kind of
felicity, and on the other hand an unhappy mar-
riage is of all others the greatest misfortune. A man
who lives cheerfully in his family, who loves and is
beloved by his wife, who sees his children with the
fondness of a parent, and conducts his domestic affairs.
with the wisdom of a legislator, beholds a well regu-
lated state in his own house, of which himself is the
head. But where discord and dissension reign, where
economy is wanting, and union is no more, the hus-
band and the wife are alike unhappy; their private follies
soon become public, their errors are the prattle of the
}

347
348
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
day, and their miscarriages the topic of every conversa-
tion. An evil more grievous than this neither is in
the power of chance, nor can be feigned by imagina-
tion.
In the choice of a wife, a man ought to consult his
reason always, and never his passions; not that I mean
to exclude love, or more properly affection, without
which it is impossible that any marriage should be
happy; but I would have this tenderness arise from
reflection, and not from accident; for beauty, that
commonly gives rise to hasty inclination, is a very
small ingredient among the numerous qualities that
enter into the composition of a good wife. Among
these I reckon modesty in countenance and carriage, a
great fund of good sense, a sweetness of temper, equal-
ly removed from giddiness and languor, a sincere dis-
position to make the happiness of her husband her
principal study, the management of her family her
constant business, and the education of her children
her constant delight.
A young woman of good family, commonly speak-
ing, appears what she ought to be; and therefore to
know what she really is, is an affair that requires time
and attention; everything is to be considered, her
looks, her constitution, her dress, in a word the most
trivial of her actions, are to be scanned, in order to
form a right idea of her mind. To facilitate this dis-
covery two points are to be observed; the first is, the
character of the parents, and the next, the lady's edu-
cation. Example of every kind is a powerful thing,
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
349
but that of parents is much more so: if a father or
mother are full of pride, vanity, or fondness for pleas-
ure, if they are remarkable for inconstancy of mind or
corruption of manners, it must be an admirable genius
indeed that can enable a young woman to escape the in-
fection. Education is also a thing of very great con-
sequence, and what cannot be looked after with too
much caution. To read, to write, to sing, to dance,
and to work a little with the needle, is the common
road of female education. What wonder then that a
person thus brought up, should be so unfit for the con-
versation of a man of sense, for the partner of his joys
and cares, or to share with him in the government of
his family?
But these remarks are to be made in time: to enter
into such inquiries, and make a right use of them,
with regard to her inclinations, a great deal of reason
and good sense are requisite; yet after all, perfection
is not to be expected; she has the most of it who has
the fewest faults. These two are to be inquired after
before marriage, that they may be borne with patience
afterwards. In respect of these, man must judge for
himself, according to the qualities of his own mind,
and that degree of command which he has over his own
passions. Instead of this delay, this caution, most
people rush hastily into the state, and discover none of
its inconveniences, till they are forced to it by experi-
ence: then they grow uneasy, fretful, impatient, and give
a loose rein to their resentment; they are perpetually
reproving, chiding, and giving marks of their displeas-
350
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
ure.
Such methods seldom are, indeed hardly can be,
attended with success; they forget that mildness, in-
dulgence, and complaisance, though they are virtues
that make no great show, are virtues. nevertheless,
and peculiarily necessary to the marriage state, which
is seldom happier than where both parties strictly ad-
here to decency and decorum.
There are, however, a number of unhappy marriages
in which the parties have no share, but are mere vic-
tims to the folly of their parents. The bargain per-
haps was struck before they saw each other. What
an indignity is this to human nature! The first con-
sideration in such cases is the fortune, and in this a few
thousands, more or less, bring people together or keep
them asunder. Whilst parents love money so much,
they ought not to wonder if after marriage their child-
ren love one another so little. But so it is, that luxury
has obtained a universal empire, and money is thought
necessary to maintain it. Yet this too is a mistake,
for luxury is a gulf that will swallow the riches of
Peru. But suppose it was not so, is not a middle state,
with honor, credit, and peace, better than immense
riches, with disorder, discord, and disquiet? Will
money cure the maladies either of body or mind, or is
it possible to enjoy riches, if peace be wanting? Let
a woman bring ever so great a fortune, if she bring ill
humors too, she will make a man miserable; and if she
is extravagant she will make him poor. These are
things we see every day, but we never find a day to
consider them.
-
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
351
1
It is this luxury, this vanity, this divinity, which all
the world adores, that exacts from a new married
couple the most senseless offerings. To keep up a
foolish custom, people are made unhappy for their
lives. This divinity is ingenious in seducing; she be-
stows upon these offerings the specious names of de-
cency, generosity, marks of love and respect for the
fair bride but I, who make no secret of my impiety
towards this goodness, say plainly, that they are high-
ly extravagant. The superfluous expenses, and lux-
ury in general, frequently hinder persons of both sex-
es from entering into a state which nature inspires,
reason demands, and religion authorizes.
The great reason why there are so many unhappy
marriages is because this step is not considered care-
fully enough. "The young persons meet a few times,
then they are in love, and perhaps get married before
they get thoroughly acquainted.
you set
Were you engaged to make a voyage round the
world, on the condition of sharing a cabin with an un-
known messmate, how solicituous would you be, to
discover his character and disposition before
sail! If, on inquiry, he should prove to be a person
of good sense and cultivated manners, and especially
of a temper inclined to please and be pleased, how
fortunate would you think yourself! But if, in ad-
dition to this, his tastes, studies, and opinions, should
be found conformable to yours, your satisfaction would
be complete. You could not doubt that the circum-
stance which brought you together, would lay the
352
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
foundation of an intimate and delightful friendship.
On the other hand, if he were represented by those
who thoroughly knew him, as weak, ignorant, obsti-
nate, and quarrelsome, of manners and dispositions
totally opposite to your own, you would probably
rather give up your project, than submit to live so
many months confined with such an associate.
Apply this comparison to the domestic companion
of the voyage of life-the intimate of all hours—
the partaker of all fortunes-the sharer in pain
and in pleasure-the mother and instructress of
your offspring. Are you not struck with a sense
of the infinite consequence it must be to you,
what are the qualities of the heart and under-
standing of one who stands in this relation; and of
the comparative insignificance of external charms and
ornamental accomplishments? But as it is scarcely
probable that all you would wish in these particulars
can be obtained, it is of importance to ascertain,
which qualities are the most essential, that you may
make the best compromise in your power. Now tastes,
manners, and opinions, being things not original, but
acquired, cannot be of so much consequence as the
fundamental properties of good sense and good tem-
per.
Possessed of these, a wife, who loves her husband,
will fashion herself in the others, according to what
she perceives to be his inclination; and if, after all,
a considerable diversity remain between them in
such points, this is not incompatible with domestic
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
353
comfort. But sense and temper can never be dis-
pensed with in the companion for life: they form the
basis on which the whole edifice of happiness is to be
raised. As both are absolutely essential, it is needless to
inquire which is in the highest degree. Fortunately they
are oftener met with together, than separate; for the
just and reasonable estimation of things which true good
sense inspires, almost necessarily produces that equa-
nimity and moderation of spirit, in which good temper
properly consists. There is, indeed, a kind of thought-
less good nature, which is not unfrequently coupled
with weakness of understanding; but having no power
of self-direction, its operations are capricious, and no
reliance can be placed on it in pronouncing solid felic-
ity. When, however, this easy humor appears with
the attractions of youth and beauty, there is some
danger lest even men of sense should overlook the
defects of a shallow capacity, especially if they have
entertained the too common notion, that women are no
better than playthings, designed rather for the amuse-
ment of their lords and masters than for the more
serious purposes of life. But no man ever married a
fool without severely repenting it; for though the
petty trifler may have served well enough for an hour
of dalliance and gayety, yet when folly assumes the
reins of domestic, and especially of parental control,
she will give a perpetual heart-ache to a considerate
partner.
On the other hand, there are to be met with in-
stances of considerable powers of the understanding,
354
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
combined with waywardness of temper, sufficient to
destroy all the comfort of life. Malignity is sometimes
joined with wit, haughtiness and caprice with talents,
sourness and suspicion with sagacity, and cold reserve
with judgment. But all those being in themselves
unamiable qualities, it is less necessary to guard against
the possessors of them. They generally render even
beauty unattractive; and no charm but that of fortune
is able to overcome the repugnance they excite. How
much more fatal than even folly they are to all domes-
tic felicity, you have probably already seen enough of
the matrimonial state to judge.
Many of the qualities, which fit a woman for a
companion, also adapt her for the office. of a helper ;
but many additional ones are requisite. The original
purpose for which this sex was created, is said, you
know, to have been, providing man with a help-mate;
yet it is, perhaps, that notion of a wife which least
occupies the imagination in the season of courtship.
Be assured, however, that as an office for life, its im-
portance stands extremely high to one, whose situa-
tion does not place him above the want of such aid;
and fitness for it should make a leading consideration
in his choice. Romantic ideas of domestic felicity
will infallibly in time give way to that true state of
things which will show that a large part of it must
arise from well ordered affairs, and an accumulation
of petty comforts and conveniences. A clean and
quiet fire-side, regular and agreeable meals, decent
apparel, a house managed with order and economy,
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
355
ready for the reception of a friend or the accommoda-
tion of a stranger, a skillful as well as affectionate
nurse in time of sickness-all these things compose a
very considerable part of what the nuptial state was
designed to afford us; and without them no charms
of person or understanding will long continue to be-
stow delight. The arts of housewifery should be re-
garded as professional to the woman who intends to
become a wife; and to select one for that station who
is destitute of them, or disinclined to exercise them,
however otherwise accomplished, is as absurd, as it
would be to choose for your lawyer, or physician, a
man who excelled in everything rather than in law, or
physic.
Let me remark, too, that knowledge and good-will
are not the only requisites for the office of a helper.
It demands a certain energy both of body and mind
which is less frequently met with among the females
of the present age that might be wished. How much
soever infirm and delicate health may interest the feel-
ings, it is certainly an undesirable attendant on a con-
nection for life. Nothing can be more contrary to the
qualification of a help-mate, than a condition which
constantly requires that assistance which it never can
impart. It is the farthest thing from my intention,
to harden your heart against impressions of pity, or
slacken those services of affectionate kindness, by
which you may soften the calamitous lot of the most
amiable and deserving of the species. But a matri-
monial choice is a choice for your own benefit, by
356
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
which you are to obtain additional sources of happi-
ness; and it would be mere folly, in their stead vol-
untarily to take upon you new incumbrances and dis-
tresses. Akin to an unnerved frame of body, is that
shrinking timidity of mind, and excessive nicety of
feeling, which is too much encouraged under the no-
tion of female delicacy. That this is carried beyond
all reasonable bounds in modern education, can scarcely
be doubted by one, who considers what exertions of
fortitude and self-command are continually required
in the course of female duty. One who views society
closely, in its interior as well as exterior, will know
that occasions of alarm, suffering, and disgust, come
much more frequently in the way of women than of
To them belong all the offices about the weak,
the sick, and the dying. When the house becomes a
scene of wretchedness from any cause, the man often
runs abroad; the woman must stay at home, and face
the worst. All this takes place in cultivated society,
and in classes of life raised above the common level.
In the savage state, and in the lower conditions, women
are compelled to undergo even the most laborious, as
well as the most disagreeable tasks. If nature, then,
has made them so weak in temper and constitution as
many suppose, she has not suited means to ends with
the foresight we generally discover in her plans.
men.
I confess myself decidedly of the opinion of those
who would rather form the two sexes to a resemblance
of character, than contrast them. Virtue, wisdom,
presence of mind, patience, vigor, capacity, application,
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
357
are not sexual qualities; they belong to mankind-to
all who have duties to perform and evils to endure.
It is surely a most degrading idea of the female sex,
that they must owe their influence to trick and finesse,
to counterfeit or real weakness. They are too essen-
tial to our happiness to need such arts; too much of
the pleasure and the business of the world depend
upon them, to give reason for apprehension that we
shall cease to join partnership with them. Let them
aim at excelling in the qualities peculiarly adapted to
the parts they have to act, and they may be excused
from affected languor and coquetry. We shall not
think them less amiable for being our best helpers.
In offering advice, it may be the wisest plan to dis-
suade you from your hasty engagements, because, in
making them, a person of any resolution is not to be
regarded as merely passive. Though the head has
lost its rule over the heart, it may retain its command
of the hand. And surely if we are to pause before
any action, it should be before one on which "all the
color of remaining life" depends. Your reason must
be convinced, that to form a solid judgment of so
many qualities as are requisite in the conjugal union,
is no affair of days and weeks, of casual visits and pub-
lic exhibitions. Study your object at home-see her
tried in her proper department. Let the progress be,
liking, approving, loving, and lastly, declaring; and
may you, after the experience of many years, be con-
vinced, that a choice so formed is not likely to deceive.
Remember the poet's warning:-
358
THE IMPORTANT STEP.
"By titles dazzled, or by wealth misled,
Minds ill-agreeing shame the nuptial bed;
The fair obnoxious to a sire's command
When forced without her heart to yield her hand,
Beholds the guilty priest with weeping eyes,
Like Iphigenia drest for sacrifice.
·
Or grant a pair by mutual vows combined
And Cupid's torch with that of Hymen joined;
Desire that blindly courts the married state
Is far unable to support the weight ;
The fabric tottering on its scanty base
Sinks on the ruins of a beauteous face.
Or beauty, though it lasts, in time may cloy,
Or that capricious foe to mortal joy,
That nameless something may its taste destroy.
But where the judgment is allow'd its part,
And the clear head directs the beating heart,
The god of love attends the matchless pair,
For choice and merit fix the rover there."-JEFFREYS.
XXIV.
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
HE instructions on the subject of matrimony,
all the way from the Bible pages down to
those of the most evanescent and catchpenny
pamphlets of the day, more than imply that
the husband and wife should be alike in general
character. The doctrines of revelation and of
reason, of theory and of experience, of sobriety and of
levity, have been alike emphatic on this main point,
"Be not unequally yoked."
Some few there are who have carried their notions,
in this matter, so far as to believe-from hasty obser-
vation, no doubt that nature generally takes care to
secure this point. They even tell us that there is, for
the most part, in married life, not only a similarity of
character, but even of feature. Others, however, have
rushed to the opposite extreme, and not only insisted
that the parties to married life are, as a general rule,
unlike each other, but that it should be so. By bring
ing into union two persons of very different character,
we thus form, they say, a perfect and harmonious
whole. The phrenologists, if not the physiologists,
have been charged with entertaining this latter opinion.

359
360
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
Now it appears, on a close examination of this sub-
ject, that there is not a little of truth in both these
opinions. Nay, more: it is most certain that, within
certain assignable limits, they are both wholly true.
In physical character-in temperament and hereditary
tendencies a difference in many particulars, as we
shall see hereafter, is not only desirable, but indispen-
sable. A difference, greater or less, in some few moral
and intellectual characteristics, may also be admissable;
perhaps even desirable. But, in general, and especi
ally in a moral point of view, the resemblance can
hardly be too perfect; and hence the force, perhaps,—
at least in part,-of the general Scriptural injunction,
already more than alluded to, not to be yoked with
unbelievers.
Now we begin to see the necessity of a great leading
purpose of life, and that a unity of purpose must ex-
ist. Here, if nowhere else, the parties should be
equally yoked, as the apostle terms it; and our mistakes
here become irretrievably fatal. And yet, no mistakes
which can be named are in fashionable life—if indeed
in any civic condition-more frequent. How common
it is, for example, to find the husband pursuing wealth
as his chief end and aim,—the great purpose of his
life, while the wife cares little, if anything at all,
about it, except as far as she regards it as an instru-
ment or means of display or pleasure. In a few in-
stances-but, Heaven be praised, in a few only-the
reverse may be true.
Then, again, in our modern, though pseudo-repub-
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
361
C
lican governments, it is no very uncommon thing to
find the husband all engrossed with the fond desire of
political distinction; while the wife's ambition, if am-
bition it can be called, is a social or moral one. She
wishes, above all things else, to train well-for God
and for humanity--a family of children. She has risen
above the common level of her sex to the remembrance
that our children are not our own, but are bought
with a price which no Rothschild can command, if in-
deed compute. She has drunk deep of that unworld-
ly spirit which seeks to train up in the nurture and
admonition of the Lord, rather than suffer to grow up,
merely. But how can she do this, if her yoke-fellow
takes no interest at all in the matter, but is wholly
given "to low ambition and pride of kings?" For,
in our modern governments, which so carefully abjure
the name of king, all who are deemed men of spirit
aim to be kings, in the essentials.
But the kinds or modes of disagreement in which a
want of union of purpose, in married life, is manifest-
ed, are numerous, and I might almost say endless.
And, when we cast our eyes along the social ranks,
and view things as they truly are, the disagreements
of which I am speaking are clearly seen to be produc-
tive of just such results as every wise parent would
deprecate, and as most would be glad to prevent if
they knew how to do so, and were not already commit-
ted to some favorite scheme or enslaved by some mas-
ter passion. No man or woman would be willing-so
it appears to me-to sacrifice every reasonable prospect
362
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
of happiness for the whole future of half a century of
existence here below, saying nothing just now of the
world above, to an over-fondness for a pretty face, or
an honorable alliance, or a heavy purse. It would not
be so, I mean, while the subject was fairly and clearly
before the mind's eye, in all its magnitude and deform-
ity. There is, therefore, philosophy, no less than
piety, in the sage counsels of the man of Tarsus,—so
often quoted already,-Be not unequally yoked to-
gether with unbelievers.
The great absorbing aims of the believer and un-
believer are diametrically opposed to each other, at
least practically, as can well be imagined. But when
I say this, I speak of the believer who is truly unsel-
fish, and who really lives for others. For, though
such opposition of character, in the great aims and ends
of human life, should not lead to any open and fierce
conduct, or even to angry words, yet life could hardly
be otherwise, in such cases, than a useless attempt to
mingle water and oil. Or, worse still, perhaps, as
Watts has well said in his Two Happy Matches:
"Samson's young foxes might as well
In bands of cheerful wedlock dwell,
With fire-brands tied between."
I would certainly be among the last to encourage
the young of either sex, whether within the pale of
matrimonial life or quite beyond its precincts, in the
pursuit of low or unworthy objects; above all, as the
great end or purpose of life. And yet, of such vast
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
363
importance do I consider unity of purpose to useful-
ness and happiness in the married state, that I should
almost be willing to recommend to a young man the
pursuit of inglorious ends, rather than any half-hearted
attempt to follow, as "his being's end and aim," that
in which his companion takes no sort of interest, or,
above all, for which she has a determined and deadly
hatred. For, if the leading object of the husband be,
for example, the acquisition of wealth, it would seem
to be an almost indispensible preliminary to connubial
happiness that the wife, too, should worship the
money-god. If the husband aim at the gubernatorial
or presidential chair, or at any Alps, greater or smaller,
of the world political, let her even sustain his hands,
as did Aaron and Hur those of Moses in the wilder-
ness; and thus be his helpmeet in his ascent thither.
It is certainly desirable that, whatever be the object
of supreme affection, the husband and wife should bow
before the same God, and worship at the same temple.
And yet, my whole heart misgives, and my whole
soul recoils, while I make these concessions. Fain
would I be spared the painful task. Can there, in-
deed, be any real necessity for it? Must the family
state—the great school of preparation for the greater
school above, the little heaven below-be degraded to
ends and aims so selfish, so ambitious, and so
unhallowed?
Some have supposed that, though the parties to
matrimony should set out with a difference as regards
the great leading purpose of life, a union of purpose
364
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
might, by slow degrees, be afterward attained. It is
said that a good wife, with noble aims, sometimes
effects the reformation of a worthless or inefficient
husband. Still farther, even, and with still more of
confidence as we approach the extremes of this opinion,
-it is said that a reformed rake makes the best hus-
band. But the great practical fallacy in the latter
case is, that the rake is seldom if ever reformed. It is
right, however, that, in the discussion of this subject,
I should make every concession the strictest truth will
admit. I have occasionally seen good and industrious
wives, by a holy and persevering example, prove the
instruments of partial reformation to indolent or shift-
less husbands.
Here is an example: Fannie and William once sus-
tained this relationship to each other. William
deserved little respect, except from those who could
make a good bow, and dance well. Fannie was the
opposite of all this. And yet, in an ill-starred hour,
she had imbibed the fashionable idea,-devoid as it
is of any basis in human nature, that a reformed
rake makes the best husband, and had married him.
And, I must also say, to her great credit, that she
succeeded, in the end, in restoring him to the path of
industry, and to a motive to action, better perhaps
than none, the desire of amassing property. But
she was never able to bring him up to her own more
elevated standard,-to the desire of making a rising
family healthy, intelligent, virtuous, and religious.
Of course, he did not desire their unhappiness, but he
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
365
had no thoughts to spare to prevent it. "Sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof," was his maxim; and
was quoted as frequently as it was impiously; and as
little to its original intent and purpose as a thousand
other maxims are, both sacred and profane. For any-
thing more truly elevated than mere money-making,
he never seemed to care, at least, beforehand; and
Fannie and he had the misfortune to pass together a
life of fifty years and more, with nearly as little unity
of purpose as Samson's young foxes, already men-
tined.
The truth is, that, if married life is commenced with
sufficient union of purpose, there will still be room
enough for divergency afterward. As a couple of
balls,-to use a homely comparison,-in setting out.
together to roll down an inclined plane, and procced-
ing, at first, in apparently the same direction, are apt
to diverge from each other sooner or later; and as a
very small departure at the beginning makes quite a
considerable difference in the end, so the parties to
marriage, though they set out without the slightest
known disagreement of opinion or purpose, so far as
the main intention or object of life is concerned, are,
nevertheless, sufficiently liable to depart from each
other in the progress of their journey. Let us not,
then, deceive ourselves with expectations that are not
well grounded in, and fortified by, good sense and
experience.
Let us, in the study of human character, at home
or abroad, with reference I mean to our future mat-
366
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
1
rimonial life,-make it our aim, above all else, to as-
certain whether the object of our growing or contem-
plated attachment has, or has not, the same great
leading purpose of life that we ourselves have. Of
this we are to judge, of course, in various ways,-by
the countenance, the words, and the actions,-in short,
by the general tenor of the life. No one, who makes
mere display her beings' end and aim will fail to
manifest it, when engaged in free and unrestrained
conversation. They who are devoted for life to the
money-game cannot long hide themselves, even if they
would. Nor will they, if they can, in the familiar
circles of which I am now speaking.
It is, indeed, a great misfortune that the marriage
state, which, in its own nature is adapted to give us
the completest happiness this life is capable of, should
be so uncomfortable a one to so many as it daily
proves. But the mischief generally proceeds from the
unwise choice people make for themselves, and an ex-
pectation of happiness from things not capable of giv-
ing it. Nothing but the good qualities of the person
beloved can be a foundation for a love of judgment
and discretion; and whoever expects happiness from
any thing but virtue, wisdom, good humor, and simil-
itude of manners, will find themselves widely mis-
taken. But how few are there who seek after these
things, and do not rather make riches their chief, if
not only aim? How rare is it for a man, when he en-
gages himself in the thoughts of marriage, to place his
hopes of having in such a woman a constant agreeable
7
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
367
companion?
One who will divide his cares, and
double his joys? Who will manage that share of his
estate he intrusts to her conduct with prudence and
frugality, govern his house with economy and discre-
tion, and be an ornament to himself and family?
Where shall we find the man who looks out for one
who places her chief happiness in the practice of vir-
tue, and makes her duty her continual pleasure? No:
men rather seek for money as the complement of all
their desires; and regardless of what kind of wives
they take, they think riches will be a minister to all
kinds of pleasure; to drink, feast, and game with their
companions, pay their debts contracted by former ex-
travagances, or some such vile and unworthy end;
and indulge themselves in pleasures which are a shame
and scandal to human nature. Now as for women;
how few of them are there, who place the happiness
of their marriage in the having a wise and virtuous
friend? One who will be faithful and just to all, and
constant and loving to them? Who with care and
diligence, will look after and improve the estate, and
without grudging allow whatever is prudent and con-
venient? Rather, how few are there, who do not
place their happiness in outshining others in pomp and
show? and that do not think within themselves when
they have married such a rich person, that none of
their acquaintance shall appear so fine in their equi-
page, so adorned in their persons, or so magnificent in
their furniture as themselves? Thus their heads are
filled with vain ideas; and I heartily wish I could say
368
THE GREAT REQUISITE IN A WIFE.
that equipage and show were not the chief good of so
many women as I fear it is.
After this manner do both sexes deceive themselves,
and bring reflections and disgrace upon the most hap-
py and most honorable state of life; whereas, if they
would but correct their depraved taste, moderate their
ambition, and place their happiness upon proper ob-
jects, we should not find felicity in the marriage-state
such a wonder in the world as it now is.
All this unhappiness and misery would be almost
entirely, if not completely, lost sight of, if the hearts
of both beat in harmony; if both were united in aim
and purpose.
Without this there will be continual
jarring and discord. A story is told of the wife
of the late Premier of England: that she, as was
her custom, went with him to the Legislator Hall
where he was to make one of his most famous speech-
es. As they entered the carriage the door was shut
on the first two fingers of her left hand, crushing them
badly; but instead of showing any sign of fear that
might distract his attention she let her fingers stay
there until the Chamber was reached, and winding
them in her handkerchief took her accustomed place
in the gallery and applauded her husband, and cheered
him by her presence during a long and, to her, most
painful two hour's speech, and though she fainted as
soon as she left the house, she had her reward in the
success of her husband.
XXV.
BE YOURSELF.

O not try to be somebody else. Many young
men forget that God made each human being
different from any other human being, and
so have false ideas of their own individuality.
Every one who studies to know himself or her
self, must also study to be himself or herself;
every child must be taught to realize that IT is a per-
sonal individuality-an independent self-an indepen-
dent human being whose highest and most successful
development depends upon being itself. Away with
this false and foolish idea of any young man trying to
be somebody else, and forever like a parrot trying to
imitate the incomprehensible sounds that the giddy
and thoughtless utter in the byways and streets of the
cities!
Let no young man, whether he be student or fool,
try to imitate the village minister, doctor, lawyer, and
clown, with the expectation of bettering his condition
before the public, for he can not. His only hope is in
being truly and righteously HIMSELF. There may be
those who think it very easy and simple to be them-
selves, but no matter; let each one be impressed with
369
370
BE YOURSELF
the importance of attaining this highest idea of INDI-
VIDUALITY—self-hood. It is better to be one's self
than to be any one else that ever lived. It is said that
the great Napoleon on one occasion, while indulging
in one of his ambitious reveries, remarked that if he
were not Napoleon he would be Cæsar or Charlemagne;
this was the fitful expression of a disordered ambition,
even though the original self is uppermost.
A more fitting example is found in the expression
of the "cynic of the tub;" when asked by Alexander
what he could do for him, replied, "Get out of my
sunshine." This was the expression of one of the most
remarkable men in personality. Alexander's reply was
worthy of both: "If I were not Alexander, I would
be Diogenes. '
Then, young man, remember to be yourself. If
your name is John Smith, then be John Smith, and
don't try to be John Wesley or Daniel Webster, for
you will do much better by being yourself than by
trying to be anybody else.
Then be yourself,—cultivate individualism; it will
impress you with the nobleness of your existence and
the sublime mission of life; take your own chance in
the world, and depend upon yourself for success.
Originality is what is honored to-day in every branch
of life. Look at some of the examples: Alexandre,
of Paris, made "kid" gloves his specialty, and now
his trade-mark imparts to manufactured ratskins a
value incommunicable by any other talisman. Wil-
liam and Robert Chambers devoted their energies to
BE YOURSELF.
371
the production of cheap books and periodicals, and
their wealth is counted by millions. Faber has fab-
ricated pencils till he has literally made his mark in
every land, and proved the truth of the aphorism,
"Quisque suæ fortunæ faber." The genius of the
great Dr. Brandreth ran to pills and internal improve-
ments, and now his name and fame are as intimately
and immortally connected with the alimentary canal
as Clinton's with the Erie. Mason gave his whole '
soul to the invention of good blacking, and now his
name shines like a pair of boots to which it has been
applied. Herring has salamandered himself into ce-
lebrity, and Tobias has ticked his way to fame and
fortune. Stewart has made bales of dry-goods his
stepping-stones to the proud position of a millionaire,
-becoming at once the Croesus and Colossus of the
trade; and Bonner, advertising by the acre, and
tracking genius where Everett goes, has discovered a
new way of reaping golden harvests from the over-
worked soil of journalism.
The extent to which originality-a little thinking-
may enable one who has a specialty to coin money in
his business, was strikingly illustrated some years ago
in the brass-clock business. One of the oldest and
most noted manufacturers, wishing to keep his name
perpetually before the public, contrived to do so by a
succession of improvements,—many of them exceed-
ingly slight, which he invariably made known
through the newspapers. Sometimes he added a new
cog, or wheel or two, or altered the arrangement of
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BE YOURSELF.
the old ones; sometimes the case was slightly re-
modeled. Now, the face was painted in a very strik-
ing manner; and, next, an added hammer was made
to strike. This month his clocks were made to run
eight days; the next, fifteen; then, thirty-one, or only
four-and-twenty hours. No matter how trifling the
change, it was invariably blazoned in all the leading
public prints. By this artifice he created a ready
market for all his manufactures, and became the most
celebrated clock-maker in the land, though all the
while scarcely a step was taken in the invention of a
new principle or even in the improvement of an old
one.
Mix brains, then, with your business, if
you would
succeed, as Opie, the painter, did with his colors.
Throw open the window of your mind to new ideas,
and keep, at least, abreast of the times,-if possible,
ahead of them. Nothing is more fatal to self-advance-
ment than a stupid conservatism, or servile imitation.
In these days of intense competition, if you would
achieve a high success you must think for yourself,
and, above all, cultivate pliableness and versatility.
The days when a man could get rich by plodding on,
without enterprise and without taxing his brains, have
gone by. Mere industry and economy are not enough;
there must be intelligence and original thought. Quick-
witted Jacks always get ahead of the slow-witted
giants. Whatever your calling, inventiveness, adapta-
bility, promptness of decision, must direct and utilize
your force; and if you cannot find markets, you must
BE YOURSELF.
373
make them.
In business, you need not know many
books, but you must know your trade and men; you
may be slow at logic, but you must dart at a chance
like a robin at a worm. You may stick to your groove
in politics and religion; but in your business you must
switch into new tracks, and shape yourself to every
exigency. We emphasize this matter, because in no
country is the red-tapist so out of place as here. Every
calling is filled with the bold, keen, subtle-witted men,
fertile in expedients and devices, who are perpetually
inventing new ways of buying cheaply, underselling,
or attracting custom; and the man who sticks dogged-
ly to the old-fashioned methods—who runs in a per-
petual rut-will find himself outstripped in the race
of life, if he is not stranded on the sands of popular
indifference. Keep, then, your eyes open and your
wits about
distance all competitors;
you, and
you may
but ignore all new methods, and you will find yourself
like a lugger contending with an ocean racer.
Although the Americans are famous the world over
for their inventiveness, yet there is no people on whose
cranium the organ of imitation is so prominent as on
ours. We are not the only people who "run every-
thing into the ground;" but we certainly do it more
generally, and with greater rapidity, than any other
nation on the globe. No matter what branch of busi-
ness is started,-from the manufacture of pills or
matches to that of sewing machines or watches, from
the ice trade to the traffic in guano or Japanese goods
-the moment any business is discovered to be profit-
374
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1
able, it is rushed into by thousands and tens of thous
ands, till a reaction follows, and it is ruined. How
many times have we seen the lumbering business, both
East and West, from a state of ordinary activity,
which yielded a handsome profit to those engaged in
it, swelled to enormous proportions,—prices raised,—
lands changing owners at fast rising rates,-thousands
plunging into it who hardly knew hemlock from pine,
-new sawmills going up on every mill site, and old
ones running day and night,—the market glutted,—
when suddenly the bubble burst, bankrupting all con-
cerned ! How many times have we seen the ship-
building business swell and collapse with the same
suddenness and disaster! Men who did not know
halyards from shrouds, or a jibboom from a tiller, have
again and again taken up their investments in stocks
and mortgages, even borrowed money on accommoda-
tion paper, in their mad haste to share in the fabulous
profits made by navigation. So with other branches
of business; at one time the tide sets toward the rais-
ing of morus multicaulis,-at another, the heads of the
entire community are turned by reports of wood or
oil. To-day some shrewd Yankee starts a "gift" book-
store, and immediately all the newspapers in the land
are flooded with advertisements of gift enterprises..
To-morrow another sharp Yankee conceives the idea
of a "dollar store;" and, the hit proving a lucky one,
there is instantly a stampede from all the other branches
of trade to the "dollar store" business, till it is so over-
done as to be worthless.
"
BE YOURSELF.
375
The great mistake of many a youth is, in depending
upon external advantages, rather than internal force.
One prides himself upon the high respectability of his
family; another, upon his father's wealth; another,
upon having been educated within the walls of a dis-
tinguished college; another, upon having traveled in
foreign lands, and visited places and scenes connected
with eminent heroes, poets or philosophers. Now,
either or all of these, if relied upon without accom-
panying inward force, will prove to be but broken
reeds. A claim to regard or distinction based upon
aristocratic relations is, in this republican land at least,
calculated to excite intense and universal disgust. Aris-
tocracy, indeed, is a relic of barbarism, that is at war
with the best interests and highest culture of society.
It has as much to do with a man's real worth as the
shape or quality of his coat has to do with his charac-
ter. And, in most instances, with those who depend
upon this circumstance, all that is vital in the race be-
came long since extinct, in the death of their ances-
tors. The only real glory that remains is found around
tomb-stones. I have seen specimens of this class,
whose destitution of every other quality was calculated
to excite one's pity; specimens that might appropri-
ately be deposited in a museum, in the department as-
signed to fossil remains.
A youth who inherits the virtues of his ancestors—
their stern integrity, patriotism or philanthopy—is in-
deed deserving of regard. But, to claim respect on
the ground of their services, is to present drafts to the
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BE YOURSELF.
American people which they will not be likely to
honor.
Neither can the youth rely upon the wealth of his
family; for this may prove to him more of a curse
than a blessing. It may weaken more than it
strengthens him. Money will furnish his table,
but it will not furnish and discipline his mind.
will enable him to conform to the usages of fashion-
able society, to live in splendid apartments, to enter-
tain his friends with costly luxuries, but it will not
elevate and ennoble his soul.
It
It is humiliating to observe what multitudes in
wealthy and fashionable circles live a mere butterfly
existence, sporting from flower to flower, and chasing
one shadow after another, with no adequate views of
the responsibilities and duties of life. Their greatest
excitement is derived from the most trivial sources.
The changes in the weather, the last novel, a new
fashion, afford them the highest mental stimulus.
Their most important principles are the laws of eti-
quette. They are more anxious to enter a drawing
room with grace than they are to enter heaven,-more
concerned about the violation of some arbitrary rule,
or conventional custom, than about the violation of
the laws of God. Wealth, therefore, may impoverish
rather than enrich the soul; and may, in seasons of
trial, like the gold about a drowning man, sink its
possessor deeper, and make his destruction more cer-
tain.
To an earnest soul, bent upon self-culture, wealth
abotatzan
BE YOURSELF.
377
may be of service in securing the means for improv-
ing the intellect, refining the taste, and exercising the
noblest feelings of the heart. But, to rely upon it as
something that is to take the place of personal effort,
virtue or resolution, is to fall into a fatal delusion.
And the same is true of any external advantage; it
cannot be substituted for self-reliance. The force of
one's being—if it has any force-must come from
within. The fire must proceed from the deep recesses
of the soul, if it would dissipate the surrounding
darkness, and shed light upon the world. One may
suppose that he can safely imitate another; that, by
following in the footsteps of a favorite hero, he can
gain distinction or enjoy prosperity. But, at best, he
can only be successful in his imitation; and surely in
such a career there can be nothing effective. The shot
from a cannon does not come with the echo, but with
the original report. Nor is there any more vitality in
a servile imitator than in the object that produces the
echo.
Perseverance is another constituent element of an
energetic character. There may be self-confidence
without perseverance. The former
The former may be fitful and
inconstant; it may be under the control of feeling,
rather than strong, steady principle. It may expend
its force, too, upon a variety of objects.
Now, self-reliance must obviously be continuous in
order to produce any great results. The business of
life having been carefully selected, it must be perse-
vered in, whatever difficulties or obstacles may be en-
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BE YOURSELF.
countered. The eye must be steadily fastened upon
the object before it, resolutely resisting the tempta-
tions to turn to the allurements that would draw off
and absorb its attention. The flower by the way-side
may be beautiful, the scenery may be enchanting, the
music of the gay and frivolous may entice the ear;
but the earnest soul is willing to toil now that it may
accomplish its mission; and, in the future, enjoy
flowers that never fade, scenery of greater brilliancy
and music of more exquisite melody than the world
can afford.
This steadiness of purpose, this unwavering decision,
this willingness to labor on amid darkness or in sun-
shine, in storms or when all is serene, in adversity or
prosperity, is indispensible to success. To those who
would dissuade one from pursuing his object he should
say, "I am doing a great work, and cannot come down.
I am engaged in promoting the good of mankind, and
the honor of my Master; and the work demands all
my energies and all my time. Life is too short and
valuable to allow of the waste of its hours upon trivial
objects."
It is true that the embarrassments and obstacles
that the youth must encounter are often of a most dis-
couraging character. It is true that there are periods
in almost every young man's history, who is thrown
out upon the world to battle with its selfishness and
hardships, when his heart sinks within him, and he
feels as though he must give up the contest. After
struggling long and manfully, he asks himself to what
BE YOURSELF.
379
purpose is all this toil, this effort to maintain integrity
and virtue, these endeavors to rise to wealth, or dis-
tinction, or extended usefulness, when every door is
shut against me?
With some, the dark cloud may be pecuniary em-
barrassments; with others, infirm health. Others
may be suffering from the dishonesty or cold-hearted
selfishness of those whom they have for years faith-
fully served. Could the history of many youth in
our cities be accurately known, their trials and dis-
couragements would awaken the deepest sympathy.
But, although fortune may frown, and serious diffi-
culties beset one's path, yet, let him cling to his faith
and resolution, and his final triumph is not doubtful.
These very trials may prove to have been real bless-
ings in disguise. They may bring our mental quali-
ties and a force of soul that could have been brought
out in no other way. They may teach lessons of wis-
dom the benefits of which will be experienced through
life. Oftentimes these seasons of perplexity and gloom
are the turning-points in one's career, the test-conflicts,
the Waterloo battles, that decide great interests, and
fix a man's destiny. And he who, in such an hour,
conquers, will, ere long, see the dark clouds breaking
away, and the stars of hope shining down upon him.
Circumstances will bend and yield to the energy of his
iron will. Their force will acknowledge the presence
of a superior force, against which it is in vain to
struggle.
Indeed, such is the power of the human will, that it
380
BE YOURSELF.
may make even apparently adverse circumstances con-
tribute to its ends. A ship, in crossing the ocean, may
encounter storms and head winds; but the faithful
captain will keep his vessel constantly directed towards
his destined port, and, by the proper adjustment of
his sails, and management of the helm, will make even
the storms and head winds bear him onward in his
course, and bring him safely into port.
By consulting the biographies of distinguished men,
we find that, in most cases, they had in early life some
severe trials to contend against, and that their indom-
itable energy in overcoming difficulties, and persever-
ing in spite of the most formidable obstacles, laid the
foundation of their eminence, and constituted their
glory. Had they yielded to despondency, and felt
that these adverse circumstances were too formidable
to be resisted, how different would have been their
career, and the history of civilization and of the
world!
The principle of perseverance is impaired, in many
minds, by an undue desire to grasp at once the full
benefits of industry, or study, or rigid virtue. The
youth is unwilling to wait the slow movements and
developments of time. He wishes often to pluck
the fruit before it is ripe, or seize the prize before he
has reached the goal.
What can be more absurd than for a man to hope
to rank as a thundering Jupiter, when he borrows all
his thunder? How can you expect the world to hon-
or you, when you despise yourself? The great I is
BE YOURSELF.
381
the first element of an Idol. Be true to yourself, if
you would have the world be true to you. Your own
gift you can exhibit every moment with the cumula-
tive force of a whole life's cultivation, but of the bor-
rowed talent of another you have only a temporary
half-possession. Do not be frightened because your
idiosyncrasies stick out, and provoke criticism; it is
only by these that you can be identified. If
If you are
knock-kneed and hump-backed; if you are squint-
eyed, and look two ways at once, so much the better;
you can't be confounded with the commonplace, ster-
eotyped bipeds who make up that "numerous piece of
monstrosity," the public. If your hair is red, let it be
red; to be called red-headed Smith or Brown will dis-
tinguish you from other Smiths or Browns.
If a writer is conscious of inward emptiness, let him
be dumb, remembering that "ex nihilo nihil fit;" but
if he has any native pith and substance, -any of the
genuine stuff of thought, within him, he can hardly
be too fearless in thrusting himself before the public.
It is not your herd of imitators, the servile pecus,
who are always looking abroad for models, who are
forever trying to catch the tone, air, gait, or periwig
of this or that great original,-that gain celebrity as
authors. A man's nature can only squeak out, when
subjected to such discipline. "Shakespeare," says
Emerson, "never will be made by the study of Shakes-
peare. The Scipionism of Scipio is precisely that part
he could not borrow." Let the young author be what
Andrew Jackson Allen, the eccentric New York cos-
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tumer, used to proclaim himself in his advertisements,
"himself alone;" let him grapple firmly and fearlessly
with his own ideas, and wreak his own thoughts upon
expression in his own way, if he would win the praise
of immortality.
A wise instructer closed a course of lectures to young
men with these words:
Young men, you are the architects of your own for-
tunes. Rely upon your own strength of body and
soul. Take for your motive, self-reliance, honesty
and industry; for your star, faith, perseverence and
pluck, and inscribe on your banner, "Be just and
fear not." Don't take too much advice; keep at the
helm and steer your own ship. Strike out. Think
well of yourself. Fire above the mark you intend to
hit. Assume your position. Don't practice excessive
humility; you can't get above your level, as water
don't run up hill-haul potatoes in a cart over a rough
road, and the small potatoes will go to the bottom.
Energy, invincible determination, with a right motive,
are the levers that rule the world. Don't drink;
don't swear; don't gamble; don't steal; don't de-
ceive; don't tattle. Be polite; be generous; be kind.
Study hard; play hard. Be in earnest.
Be in earnest. Be self-reli-
ant. Read good books. Love your fellow-men as
your God; love your country, and obey the laws;
love virtue; love truth. Always do what your con-
science tells you to be a duty, and leave the conse-
quences with God.
S

YOUNG WOMEN.


S
A beautiful and chaste woman is the perfect workmanship of God.
The true glory of angels, the rare miracle of earth, and the sole won-
der of the world.
-HERMES.

XXVI.
ENTERING LIFE.
"She was a phantom of delight,
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament."
Wordsworth.

HE first important era in the life of a young
maiden is when she finally leaves school.
This is the time when she begins to think
for herself, and is left in more than ordinary
freedom to act for herself. Up to this period,
she has lived in obedience to her parents, guardians,
or teachers, in all things. She has gone to school, and
persued her studies there under the entire direction of
others, submitting her will and her judgment to the
will and judgment of others, as older and wiser than
herself. For years, her mind has been fully occupied
with the various branches of knowledge which it has
been deemed by others right that she should acquire.
But now, books of instruction are laid aside; the strict
rules of the seminary are no longer observed; the mind
that has been for a long time active in the pursuits of
knowledge sinks into repose.
385
386
ENTERING LIFE.
This, which we have called the first important era
in a woman's life, may, with justice, be rather called
the most important era in her life; for her whole fu-
ture life will be affected by whatever is right or wrong
in her conduct, and mode of thinking and living, at
this period. The habits of order and study which
existed while at school were not properly her own, for
they were merely the result of obedience to laws pre-
scribed by others; but now, acting in freedom, what-
ever she does is from herself, and stamps itself per-
manently upon the impressible substance of her form-
ing character. If she, from natural indolence, sink
into idleness and self-indulgence, she will be in dan-
ger of forming a habit that will go with her through
life; but if, from a sense of duty to herself and others,
she still occupy all her time, and all the powers of her
mind, in doing or acquiring something, she will grad-
ually gain strength and force of character, as her mind
expands, and take, as a woman, in a few years, a
woman's true position of active use in her appropriate
sphere.
Up to the time of her leaving school, a young girl
may be excused for acting from either impulse or obe-
dience. But now she must begin to think, and her
wisest thoughts will be on the subject of life and its
requirements. If she do not think now, and act from
an enlightened reason, let her be well assured that
the time will come when she will be compelled to
think; but alas! when thoughts will avail but little
in correcting some fatal error committed for want of
ENTERING LIFE.
387
thought, the effects of which will run parallel with
her whole life.
On leaving school, where all has been order, prompt-
ness, and industry, a young lady will find herself, as
we have said, in great danger of sinking into indolence
and inactivity. She will find, at first, little or noth-
ing to do. Her mother has been so long in the reg-
ular routine of domestic duties, that she does not think
of assigning any portion of them to her daughter.
She continues to rise early and sit up late, while her
daughter remains late in bed, and, wearied with a day
of tiresome inactivity, retires early at night. It too
often happens, in cases of this kind, that the daughter
is either too indolent, or indifferent towards her
mother, to step forward and lighten her care and labor
by taking a portion of it upon herself.
that her neglect to do so arises from want of proper
reflection. Her duty, however, is a very plain one,
and needs only to be hinted at, to cause every right-
feeling daughter not only to see it but at once to enter
upon its due performance.
Or it
Or it may be
When a young man has finished his collegiate course
of education, he enters immediately upon the study of
the profession, or into the business, which he is to pur-
sue. He looks forward with eager anticipation to the
time when his name shall be honored among his fellow-
men, or his coffers overflow with wealth, or when he
shall be the messenger of mercy, and win
mercy, and win many from
His course of study is still
does not waste time in the
the error of their ways.
plainly marked out. He
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ENTERING LIFE.
choice of pursuit, for his natural talents, the habitual
bias of his mind, or the wishes of friends, have already
decided the question.
Not so with a young lady. Having passed through
the usual studies at school, in a desultory manner,—
generally too desultory to produce a disciplined, well-
balanced mind, she considers her education finished,
or continues it without any special object in view.
Perhaps you have been absent for years from the
home of your childhood; its gayer visions have flitted
away; life begins to assume a sober reality. Casting
a mournful glance of retrospection, you inquire,—Of
what value is the little knowledge acquired, if I go
no farther? Like an armory in time of peace, ar-
ranged with much attempt at display, it seems brilliant
and useless. You have, indeed, been collecting the
weapons for life's warfare; their temper is not yet
tried, but the strife has already begun.
This is the season for castle-building. How fasci-
nating the rainbow visions, that flit before a vivid im-
agination, yet how dangerous the indulgence! Ex-
hausted with these wanderings wild, lassitudes and
ennui succeed.
"Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart,
And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight;
To joy each heightening charm it can impart,
But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night."
As the only resource, many young ladies in town
rush with eagerness into society, drowning reflection
ENTERING LIFE.
389
in the all-absorbing career of fashionable gayety, filling
up its brief intervals with novel-reading. They whose
home is in the country are disgusted with this "work-
ing-day world," and its plain, good folks. Their
refined education has unfitted them for cordial com-
panionship with their friends and neighbors, whose
useful common sense they cannot appreciate, and whose
virtues, unadorned by the graces of polished life, they
cannot admire. Too often, making no effort to settle
themselves to the employments that should now
devolve upon them, they live in a world of their own
creation, or find one equally well fitted to their taste
in the contents of the nearest circulating library.
Instead of wasting this precious period in fascinat-
ing dreams of future happiness, in enervating idleness,
or unsatisfying gayety, let me urge upon you, my kind
readers, the importance of the present golden moments.
Sheltered beneath the paternal roof, guarded from
outward evil by the vigilance of love, the perplexing
cares and overwhelming anxieties of life are not yet
yours. You now enjoy the best possible opportunity
to gain a knowledge of yourself, your disposition, hab-
its, prejudices, purposes, acquirements, deficiencies,
principles. Much may have been done for you by
parents and teachers; the strength of the foundation
they have laid will be tested by the superstructure,
which must be built by yourself. Cheerfully, then,
commence that self-education, without which all other
education is comparatively useless. Shrink not from
your high responsibilities; He who has encompassed
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ENTERING LIFE.
you with them will give you strength for their fulfill-
ment. Has He not showered benefits upon you with
unsparing hand? Your country, is it not a blessed
one? Parents, kindred, friends, talents, and the means
for improving them,-competence, wealth,—does not
your heart overflow with gratitude to the Giver?
Even now, he grants you that quiet home, where you
may prepare yourself for another, with more tender
affections and more solemn responsibilities, and for
another still beyond, and not very far distant, a
home in heaven.
Woman's lot may be deemed a lowly one, by those
who look not into the deeper mysteries of human life;
who know not the silent, resistless influences that
mould the intellectual and moral character of man-
kind. Woman's lot is a high and holy one; and
she "who fulfils the conditions required by conscience,
takes the surest way of answering the purposes of
Providence." Conscientiously and cheerfully, then,
go on with your own education, mental, physical, and
moral, and try to be of some use in your day and gen-
eration, that in coming time there may one day arise
those who shall call you blessed and weave around
your memory precious garlands to keep alive and ever
fresh your noble deeds.
Remember that your mission is co-equal with that
of young men. They are your brothers. Your birth
and existence are alike wonderful, and your destiny
alike eternal. Once born, you can not escape life;
you must therefore study to realize its importance,
ENTERING LIFE.
391
and do well in spite of its vicissitudes. Though you
are not master over your life, it abounds with oppor-
tunities, most of which are within your reach, and
rarely are any of you long without means to improve
yourselves. An obligation rests upon each of you for
self-improvement. This obligation in its binding force
will run parallel with your existence, through all the
succeeding years of the future; then forget not that
God will continually require you to improve, to cul-
tivate yourselves, an obligation which He has imposed
upon all His children.
If I remember correctly it was a king of Sparta,
who counseled that the young should learn, what they
would have most occasion to practice, when they
reached maturity. We praise his wisdom; yet recede
from its guidance. Especially, is female education
deficient in its adaptation of means to ends. And yet,
our province is so eminently practical, that to disjoin
acquisition from utility, seems both a greater mistake
and a more irreparable misfortune, than for the other
sex to adopt a desultory system.
Man lives in the eye of the world. He seeks much
of his solace from its applause. If unsuccessful in one
profession, he enters another. If his efforts are frus-
trated in his native land, he becomes the citizen of a
foreign clime. He makes his home on the tossing
wave, or traverses the earth from pole to pole. His
varieties of situation, give scope for varieties of knowl-
edge, and call into action, energies and attainments,
which might long have lain dormant, or been consid-
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ENTERING. LIFE.
ered of little value. It is not thus with woman. Her
sphere of quiet duty requires a more quiet training.
Its scenery has few changes, and no audience to ap-
plaud. It asks the aid of fixed principles, patiently
drawn out into their natural, unostentatious results.
There was in past times, much discussion respecting
the comparative intellect of the sexes. It seems to
have been useless. To strike the balance, is scarcely
practicable, until both shall have been subjected to the
same method of culture. Man might be initiated into
the varieties and mysteries of needlework, taught to
have patience with the feebleness and waywardness
of infancy, or to steal with noiseless step around the
chamber of the sick; and woman might be instigated
to contend for the palm of science, to pour forth elo-
quence in senates, or to "wade through fields of
slaughter, to a throne." Yet revoltings of the soul
would attend this violence to nature, this abuse of
physical and intellectual energy, while the beauty of
social order would be defaced, and the fountains of
earth's felicity broken up. The sexes are manifestly
intended for different spheres, and constructed in con-
formity to their respective destinations, by Him who
bids the oak brave the fury of the tempest, and the
Alpine flower lean its cheek on the bosom of eternal
snows. But disparity need not imply inferiority; and
she of the weak hand and the strong heart, is as deep-
ly accountable, for what she has received, as clearly
within the cognizance of the "Great Task-Master's
eye," as though the high places of the earth, with all
ENTERING LIFE.
393
"
their pomp and glory, awaited her ambition, or strewed
their trophies at her feet.
Females, who turn their existence to no good ac-
count, contradict the intention of their Creator. They
frustrate both his bounty and their felicity. Public
opinion has not been sufficiently distinct, in its reproofs
of their aimless life. It has been held derogatory to the
dignity of those who are in the possession of wealth, to
understand the more humble departments of domestic
industry. Hence, their exceeding helplessness, when
by the fluctuations of fortune, or the common accidents
of life, they are thrown upon their own resources.
Their miserable imbecility, in times of trial, has brought
that odium upon education itself, which only belongs
to ill-directed education, or to a sentiment of false
shame, which should be early rooted out. Useful oc-
cupations ought not to be discouraged by the contempt
of those who are not obliged to pursue them for a
livelihood. In the ancient republics, the diligence of
our sex was honorable. Franklin had probably in his
mind, some model depicted by the historians and poets
of another age, when he said, "I would much rather
see a spinning-wheel, than a piano-a shuttle than a
parasol—a knitting-needle, than a visiting-card." Per-
haps, he detected, even in his own times of greater
simplicity, a love of indolence, or display, lurking in
the hearts of his fair countrywomen. Perhaps he
reasoned, as a political economist, for the good of his
country. In either case, the opinion of so shrewd a
philosopher is worthy of some regard. Those employ-
394
ENTERING LIFE.
ments which tend, evidently, to the comforts or neces-
sities of existence are least encumbered with the prin-
ciples of vanity.
How few daughters are fully aware of the sacrifices
made for them by their parents! Your father, it may
be, year after year has toiled, for that wealth which en-
ables him to give you the luxuries and elegances of life.
Day and night has his anxious mind been exercised
for
your welfare.
welfare. He has spared you from home and
its duties, and given up the pleasure of your society
and
your assistance, to fit you for life.
Or, if you
have been so happy as to remain beneath the paren-
tal roof, you have probably been so occupied with
your intellectual education as to have had little time
to devote to him. Now, that you have more leisure,
inquire how you shall contribute to your father's com-
fort and enjoyment. Have you acquired accomplish-
ments? Consider it the highest gratification they can
afford you to exercise them for his amusement.
Let
the voice which he has been the means of cultivating
yield its sweetest notes for his pleasure; let his praise
be more welcome to your ear than the applause of
thousands. Is he fond of reading? Select your favor-
ite passages, and read them to him when he has leisure
to listen. Madame de Stael's strong attachment to
her father, M. Necker, was one of the most striking
and pleasing traits in her character. In her "Ten
Years' Exile," she thus mentions him:-"His mind
had so much vivacity and penetration, that one was
excited to think by the pleasure of talking to him; I
ENTERING LIFE.
395
made observations to report to him,-I listened to re-
peat to him. Ever since I have lost him, I see and
feel only half what I did, when I had the object in
view of giving him pleasure by the picture of
pressions."
my im-
How elevating, how ennobling, is such a confiding
friendship between father and daughter! Where it
is possible, cultivate most carefully such confidential
intercourse. Seek that advice which a father's superi-
or knowledge of the world renders invaluable to the
timid novice, ever needing a guiding hand.
Yield to your father that ready obedience which
the sacred relationship demands. Increasing years and
knowledge on your part, will not free you from this
obligation. One of the wisest and best men of our
country, the late President Dwight, remarked, that in
the course of a long experience he had observed that
"there were two sins which were almost invariably
punished in this life, disobedience to parents, and
falsity in love.”
The melancholy lives of many of-
fending daughters bear witness to the truth of this
remark. How can it be expected that they who prac-
tise habitual dereliction of duty in one relation, would
do honor to any other?
The respect due to a father is often violated by
those who have received a better mental education
than their parents. And have you been thus elevated in
mind for no better purpose than to despise him who
has toiled for you, and sacrificed his own pleasure to
give you this very elevation? If so, your intellect has
396
ENTERING LIFE.
been cultivated at the expense of your heart,-an
odious defect in a woman. With what agony of grief
might your father exclaim,-"How sharper than a
serpent's tooth it is, to have a thankless child!” A
delicate sensibility will lead to the greatest caution
where this mental disparity exists, and the most assi-
duous efforts to repay, by respectful attention and
kindness, the immense obligation thus incurred. The
noble sentiment of the Theban general, Epaminondas,
has been universally admired. After his famous vic-
tory at Leuctra, while the thrilling applause of Greece
was sounding in his ears, he exclaimed,-"My joy
arises from my sense of that which the news of my
victory will give my father and my mother." How-
ever high the elevation to which you, in the providence
of God, may be raised above your parents, they, by
an immutable law of the same providence, must remain
in some respects your superiors.
Can you not find some way of making youself use-
ful to your father? In a large manufactory, not many
leagues from Paris, the daughters of the wealthy owner
are the only clerks for the large establishment. They
keep the books, and, with very little assistance from
their father, write all the letters of a most extensive
foreign correspondence. In the evening they have
leisure, and elegant leisure; but until three o'clock in
the afternoon they are entirely devoted to their em-
ployment. In this country such a thing would be an
anomaly. The delicate daughters of America shrink
from the idea of industrious occupation, as if it were
ENTERING LIFE.
397
disgrace. Better would it be for them if they were
prepared for the vicissitudes which they may encoun-
ter, by some knowledge of business, and habits of in-
dustry. True, custom does not sanction their sitting
at the high desks of the counting-room, but they
may receive from their fathers that insight into the
mysteries of book-keeping "by double or single entry,"
which may qualify them to keep family accounts, or
manage their affairs if left alone in life. If your father
is a professional man, my young friend, perhaps you
hold "the pen of a ready writer," and can lighten his
labors. You, who have scarcely known weariness
except by name, cannot imagine the wearing,
distracting nature of his employment. Study to
be useful to him, so far as your ability will per-
mit; when his brow is contracted with thought,
and the multiplicity of his cares and duties almost
drives him mad, aid him, if he will permit you to do
so, and soothe him by your kind attentions.
Here at home, you must also keep in view, as the
prime work of your lives, the cultivation of your
minds; such a discipline and improvement of your-
selves as will give you polish in your manners, and
show you to be intelligent in society and among your
friends; the good man and the wise man will prize
your knowledge more than your fine jewels and costly
robes. Cultivate selfhood and individuality, and make
your life-practice command the highest respect among
the good people who know you. To your sex belong
a long line of ancestral women who stand side by side,
398
ENTERING LIFE.
:
in heroism, in genius, in learning, in song, in art, and
philosophy with the great men of the world.
Let every young lady remember that, to be useful
is the highest achievement of our lives, and the only
certain means of becoming happy. If every young
woman could be made to comprehend this vital truth,
there would be far less of doubt hanging over her fu
ture. Fewer disappointments, and more of life's bless-
ings, would be in store for her. If, instead of seeking
for pleasure, as the chief object in view, she would
seek to be useful in her sphere of life, she would lay
in her mind the basis of a true character, that active
virtue would build up into a beautiful, harmonious,
and ever-to-be-loved and admired superstructure of
moral excellence and beauty. Wherever her path
through the world might lead her, blessings would
attend her way; and, in blessing others, she would
herself be doubly blessed. As Wordsworth truly says:
"A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller betwixt life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill.
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command:
And yet a spirit still, and bright,
With something of an angel's light."
4.
:
:
You
XXVII.
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
"Is there nothing to study, and nothing to learn,
No object to care for, no credit to earn,
No wisdom worth seeking, no aim to fulfill,
No hope to encourage, no motive for will,
No field unexplored, no pathway to aught,
That is worthy a being of reason, and thought?"
Anon.
OUTH is the time in which character is
shaped. Then the habits are formed, and
the principles fixed. Then good habits are
easily acquired, and bad ones abandoned.
Then the passions should be controlled, and self-
government acquired. Then should endeavors
be made to secure a well-balanced mind, and good
moral character, for youth will decide the misery, or
happiness, of old age.
&
The first ten years after leaving school are gener-
ally, with a young lady, the turning-point in her des-
tiny. She leaves school with a warm heart, an ac-
tive mind, and high hopes; but it may be, she
´finds nothing to fully occupy them. She becomes
listless, inactive, selfish. Her sympathies and ener-
gies are not brought into play, and so she passes on
เ

399
400
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
the dull, "even tenor of her way." She occupies her
waking hours in reading novels, practicing the ac-
complishments, and entertaining gay, thoughtless
companions.
server,
We have often thought how little, to a casual ob-
there seems to be, to occupy the time profitably
of young ladies, in cities, whose circumstances are easy.
It is sad that when there is so much work to do in
the world, there should be so many young ladies wast-
ing their hours in idleness, sad there should be so
many in bad health from the want of bodily exercise,
and mental activity, when thousands are perishing for
want of the attention they might give. Surely in
this world of sin, misery, and poverty, they might find
something to do, or their friends might find it for
them. I fear that many of our sex, on their death-
beds, will look back with bitter regret to the early
years of womanhood, when idleness and listlessness,
or thoughtlessness and dissipation, swept many hours
into that great abyss from which they can never return.
And yet, we know they were not so much to blame
as the parents, who opened not to their daughters use-
ful fields of employment, nor instilled into them high
and worthy purposes.
Our capacities for enjoyment are great. If the
affections take a right direction, they bring joy and
happiness; if a wrong direction, sorrow and misery.
Many young ladies have sentimental ideas of friend-
ship and love, but they often find the experience mere
lip service. If young ladies would refuse to accept
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
401
the attentions of men that are immoral, it would be
better for themselves, and society. It would work a
glorious revolution. If women had more force of
character, and sought the approbation of their God with
more zeal, methinks there would not be such a lack of
resolution when they are called on to express their
opinions of fashionable immoralities.
In seeing a young lady, hour after hour, in the ap-
pliances of toilet mysteries, when she should be enrich-
ing her mind, to see her by little tricks of coquetry
endeavoring to gain admiration, or, by envious words,
increasing the disparity between herself and those of
inferior claims, it makes in some plainer persons, hon-
est simplicity, self-denial, and sacrifices, shine forth
with increased lustre. It makes sincerity rank as a
gem of the first water.
Young ladies-you, who revel in luxurious ease,
and are decked with queenly robes, and costly orna-
ments—you, that fritter away your precious hours,
and languidly dream away your time, in the easy ele-
gance of drawing-room life, turn for a few moments,
and lend a listening ear. Consider the old adage,
"It is better to wear out than to rust out." Better
in activity try to accomplish something, even though
fail. No labor is lost, for the very energy ac-
you
quired thereby is valuable. Life is too short to
spend a third, or thereabouts, in preparation at school,
and then waste years in deciding what plan to pursue
through life—what aim to keep in view to make your-
self useful. If you undertake anything useful, do it
\
402
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
with resolution and courage. On your road you may
find success. 'Tis true you may tread on thorns and
thistles now and then. Yet tell me the road where
you will not. You cannot expect a path hedged in
by roses, and strewed with beautiful flowers. Be
prepared, then, for your journey. Active, untiring
industry, perseverance, and self-reliance, are necessary
for success. Fixedness of purpose, too, is essential.
The uncertainty of life, and everything else, renders it
desirable that the fulfillment of every intention, the
performance of every duty, be attended to without
delay. You must give an account to God for all your
time—every month, week, day, hour. For doing good
all have some ability, natural or acquired. One can
give of their substance, another can wait on the sick,
another visit the poor, another teach the ignorant, and
another furnish a home to the orphan. These are
blessed missions of woman.
So live that you may surrender with joy, and not
with trembling, the talents committed to your care.
"What you truly and earnestly aspire to be, that in
some sense you are. The mere aspiration, by chang-
ing the frame of the mind, for the moment, realizes
itself."
be a
Two or three years might be profitably spent, after
leaving school, in fitting yourselves for occupations.
They will engage your time and talents, and may
valuable resource in times of trial. Defer it not while
time and opportunity are given. "Persevere in well
doing, for in due season, you shall reap your reward,
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
403
if you fail not."
fail not." We would not have you live as the
epicure, for present pleasure only, nor as the cynic,
shunning society, nor as the stoic, lauding insensibility
as a virtue, but in exercising the intellectual faculties,
and preparing them for a higher and loftier sphere of
action. Live for something better, and nobler, than
the mere gratification of bodily wants, and pleasures.
So live that when called away you may feel the world
is better for your having lived in it.
In youth, real sorrow, if not too long continued,
softens and subdues the feelings, yet strengthens and
matures the character. But let not melancholy brood
over your spirits. It saddens, it crushes every im-
pulse, every energy. Use such opportunities as you
have for social enjoyment; but work diligently. Cut
your cable and sail out from the shores of indolence.
Summon energy and industry to your rescue.
If
your vessel lies long in a calm, it will become unfit to
bear the storms likely to come upon it. Its timbers
will become so decayed, its sails so tender, its ropes
so spliced, that it will be broken away, and wrecked,
or dashed in a thousand pieces. Look to the Pilot
that can direct you through this sea of vague uncer-
tainty, and at last, after an active, useful life, safely
moor you in the haven of eternal rest.
Do not suppose, as too many do, that marriage is
essential for happiness. If you see much of human
life, you will learn that there is probably as much
misery in married life as out of it.
Take such capital as nature and education have fur-
404
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
C
nished you, and turn it to the best account.
If you
are beautiful, improve your mind to correspond with
your person. We would not decry beauty. It is a
gift from the Almighty. We admire it, and love to
see it becomingly cherished; but with humility.
Cultivate the beauty of the heart, then of the mind,
then of the person. Pure and noble aims, high and
holy purposes, are more beautiful than the most per-
fect symmetry of features and form. Women are too
much flattered for their personal beauty-just as a pet
fawn, a lamb, a rabbit, or bird would be. The soul,
that noblest part of woman, is rarely taken into con-
sideration. Her mind is overlooked as though she was
not expected to possess any. And even her qualities
of heart sink below beauty of face and form. And
so woman is degraded. And her anxiety to please
men will often lead her to feel, and think, that the
most desirable thing to possess is personal beauty.
She sees not that woman is thereby likely to be kept.
in ignorance, and a corresponding degradation, for
knowledge guided by judgment is wisdom, and wisdom
is power. She sees not that woman is flattered for
what she deserves no credit, inasmuch as her beauty
is an accidental property, while the learning she has
acquired, the good she has done, are the fruits of in-
dustry and application. Miss Hannah More says,
"Those blessed with beauty should have something
to take up when beauty has to be laid down." Of
all other beauties, the most lasting, the most exalted,
is moral beauty. No other can compare with it. It
•
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
405
is seen under every circumstance, in every condition of
life. It glows in poverty as in wealth, in affliction as
in happiness, in misfortune as in prosperity. It shines
forth from the hovel as from the palace. It is not
limited to time or place. It is not so much a gift of
Nature as the result of training, and self-culture.
Then "work while it is day, for the night cometh
wherein none can work." You are hastening to the
grave, in which "there is no work, nor device, nor
knowledge, nor wisdom."
Perhaps there are some who think that this chapter
is unnecessary to convince them and to show how ter-
ribly time and talents are misused. We take the follow-
ing from the diary of a fashionable young lady of the
period; and, be it said, with sorrow, it does not ex-
aggerate and hardly even portrays the indolence and
worthlessness of the many whose only care is to keep
in the fashion, whose only aim is not to be bored.
Here is proof in her own words as she gives us the
regular routine of her life.
Monday. Heard the morning bell ring, but felt too
sleepy to mind it; turned over and tried to resume
the thread of a delightful dream, where it had been
broken off by the vexatious jangling. Could not
sleep again, but continued the dream in a sweet rev-
erie. Enjoyed it so long, that there was no time to
dress for breakfast. Slipped on my dressing-gown,
and rang for Fanfan. Good creature, she brought me
delicious hot coffee, an egg, and toast, and, while I
discussed my breakfast, I revelled over Bulwer's last,
G
406
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
fresh from the press. Don't believe Geraldine M
has seen it yet. So delighted with its gorgeous pic-
tures of human life, that I nearly forgot an engage-
ment to go out shopping, and paying half a dozen
morning visits. Dressed in a hurry; looked blowzy
as a milkmaid, in consequence. Mem.-Must give
myself more time to arrange my toilet. Hurry discom-
poses the countenance, and gives one a sort of conscious-
ness that is decidedly vulgar. These morning visits
are a horrid bore. Mrs. M has new furnished
her drawing room! Salmon and brown! odious! Ot-
tomans, chairs, lounges, and cushions, all embroidered
by the girls. Salmon groundwork, and patterns of
oak-leaves and acorns. Horridly natural! And this
is the taste they brought from Paris, after a two year's
residence there. Praised everything to the skies ;
poor Mrs. M
most exquisitely delighted. Geral-
dine looked a little suspicious. Had company to
dine, some of papa's "sensible men;" couldn't bear
their prosing; left them to come and dress for Mrs.
B's ball. Find it a good time to write journal,
while Fanfan dresses my hair. I can now and then
take a peep in the mirror, and am not so over-anxious
and impatient as when I watch all her movements.
Ordered the carriage to be at the door at half-past
nine; hate to be too early.
Tuesday. Awoke at ten o'clock, so exhausted that
I could not rise. Breakfasted in bed. The glare of
light, and the crowded, suffocating rooms, gave me an
intolerable headache. Could scarcely open my eyes.
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
407
Made Fanfan bring me a mirror. How pale and ugly
I looked,―eyes inflamed, lips dry and feverish.
Obliged to get up at one, to dress for Mrs. M's
dinner-party. Was glad enough that they dine at de-
cent hours. Should have made a sorry figure in broad
daylight. Splendid porcelain, glass, and plate; but
still that odious salmon and brown everywhere. They
must have ordered their porcelain from Sevres, them-
selves, for nobody else ever had such a want of taste.
Thought I should have died with suppressed laughter
to hear poor Mrs. M - ask Monsieur Brouillard, in
her Yankee French, "Admirez-vous mes filles
ouvrage?" Unlucky man! he bowed, and "Pardon-
nez moi, pardonnez," was all he could utter, for not a
word could he understand. How ridiculous for her
to attempt to speak French! I never try, for my four
years' study has taught me that I know nothing about
it. Geraldine looked as if she would flirt with W—
if she durst; but her father's eyes were seldom turned
away from her long. Papa says he is a shocking
roue; but then he is so elegant,-talks such brilliant
nonsense,—and makes everybody so superlatively ri-
diculous, that he is delightful. Handed us to the car-
riage, and then, with most imperturbable impudence,
jumped in, right in the face of Aunt Susan's civil
"Good evening, Sir," and her significant farewell bow,
and rode home with us. I verily believe he would
have walked in and made a call, even at that late hour,
if aunty had but paid him the compliment of inviting
him.
408
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
Wednesday. Rainy. Went down to breakfast, and
for my pains got a horrid scolding from papa, for let-
ting W
attend me home. He says Aunt Susan
will never do for a chaperon, if she can't keep such
silly sparks away. Insisted that I should cut his ac-
quaintance. Can't possibly just now, as I have made
an engagement to go with him to look at some new
prints at C's in
Half sorry, but can't break
my
word. Papa scolded me, too, for not practising
more; so, to get into favor again, sat two hours at the
piano and two at the harp. Papa says, if I don't read
and speak French, I shall have a master. Horrid!
when I pass for accomplished; what a disclosure that
would be! Told Fanfan to give the word "not at
home" to the waiter, for all day. Was vexed half to
death when I found W's card among those that
had been left. Geraldine M's, too; wonder if
they came together. A tete-a-tete dinner with papa.
Lectured me constantly about my awkwardness; first,
I spilled half a drop of soup; then, because I laid my
fork upon the table-cloth; then, because I did not
say what part of the bird I would have that he was
carving. Mimicked me in the most ridiculous manner,
—“It is immaterial, Sir." Then I was vexed, and
cried, and at length was obliged to leave the table be-
fore dessert; threw myself upon the bed and bawled
outright. I am wretched. I wish papa was not so
dreadfully particular. He really could not have been
more severe upon me for some very great fault than
he was for my gaucheries. Then, to add to all his
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
409
other severities, he would not let me go to Mrs.
G's to-night. I know why; she is W's
aunt, and my wise papa says she is an intriguing, ma-
noeuvring woman. Thank my stars, I can manœuvre
for myself.
Thursday. Awoke early, refreshed with a long
night's sleep. A kind message from papa, hoping
I had recovered from my headache. Went down all
smiles and good-humor. The good man was quite de-
lighted; filled my purse nobly. Went into
street
at twelve. Met W and walked with him for an
hour. He is a delightful creature; his remarks upon
everybody so piquant. How he ridiculed poor Mrs.
Zebediah K and her fat daughters; and, more
than all, my favorite aversion, Mrs. M Bought
four splendid prints for my portfolio, because W
admired them. Came home and dressed for dinner.
Some of papa's "sensible men" to dine with him.
Tried to talk to a traveler, but found I had quite for-
gotten my geography; can't imagine where Apulia is.
Made some egregious blunder in talking to Dr. R-
about English literature. Papa looked mortified and
vexed. Wonder if he thinks I ought to know every-
thing. Promised to take me to the theatre to-night;
a great privilege, for he will not allow me to go often,
because it is not genteel.
Friday. Exquisitely entertained.
's perform-
ance was magnificent. She well deserves her reputa-
tion, and is, sans doute, the leading star. I am glad I
saw her in her crack character. I can't see why papa
410
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
Pa-
is so rigid about the theatre. He says three times in
a season is enough for a young lady; it is not in good
taste to go oftener. Do not know what to do with
myself till it is time to dress for dinner. Dull, formal
dinner at Mrs. F's; nobody ever there but clergy-
men and doctors. Wish I could get resolution to take
up a book from that immense pile, for the improve-
ment of my
mind. Fanfan carefully dusts them every
day, and that is all the handling they have yet had.
O, I can't touch them now, for I must practise!
pa intends I shall play at Mrs. R 's this evening;
a select party; not more than a hundred.
Let me
see, what shall I play? Di tanti palpiti? It is as old
as the hills, and voted passe; but W
admires it,
and if I play it, he will thank me so expressively!
does turn over a music-book
more gracefully than any other living being. All the
world allows he has uncommonly fine taste in music.
He said I played divinely last evening. How jealous
somebody looked. Going to leave my card at a dozen
places where I know they are out. All gone to the
raffle this morning. It is a shame that I could not
have a ticket; only twenty dollars apiece, and but
fifty tickets, and such a splendid diamond snuff-box!
It really was given by Napoleon to one of his gener-
als. It would have made such a splendid addition to
my bijouterie. I hope Geraldine M
I hope Geraldine M— will not get
it. Her pearls are finer than mine. Poor Mrs. M
says they were "bought in Paris; and it stands to rea-
son, that they should be le mieux." These MS
Saturday. W
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
411
am eaten up
Must go to
How many
are not genteel after all their fuss; yet I
with envy and hatred towards them.
Madame 's and try on my bonnet.
hours' reflection it has cost me! and now I am anx-
ious about it. If it should not be becoming, O, dear,
dear! what should I do? I must wear it to-morrow.
!
Sunday. Hoped it would rain, because I had a
pimple on my nose; but no, it is bright and clear as
possible. Must begin to dress. My bonnet is perfect.
Sunday Evening. What a sermon from Dr.
While I listened, the tears actually came into my eyes.
It was upon the uncertainty of life. But I am yet so
young; life is bright before me; how could I deny
myself delightful balls and parties? Yet, if what
Dr.
says, is true, I am made for something
better. When he described" the self-pleaser,” I am
sure he looked at me; his dark eyes seemed to pierce
to my very heart. Papa said, coming home, that I
had shown uncommon taste in the choice of my bon-
net, and W bowed to me as I passed him, with
such empressement! Well, I will read a chapter in
the Bible to-night, for I mean, some time or other, to
be good.
-
Can it be, that an immortal creature thus spends
years of a brief probation? How precious is the treas-
ure whose golden sands are thus treacherously wasting
away! The question comes home to every conscience,
-How shall I perform the duties that I owe to my
Creator, my fellow-beings, and myself? "As he that
lives longest," says a great moralist, "lives but a little
412
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
while, every man may be certain that he has no time to
waste. The duties of life are commensurate to its du-
ration, and every day brings its task, which, if neg-
lected, is doubled on the morrow. But he that has
already trifled away those months and years in which
he should have labored, must remember that he has
now only a part of that of which the whole is little ;
and that since the few moments remaining are to be
considered as the last trust of Heaven, not one is to be
lost."
Remember that time is a sacred trust consigned to
us by the Creator of the universe. To use it well is
a lesson, which duty and interest concur to suggest.
The duration of the period to be confided to our man-
agement, though predetermined from the beginning
in the counsels of Omniscience, is undisclosed to the
individual concerned, and is placed beyond the reach
of every principle of calculation, that ignorance and
uncertainty respecting the future may operate as a
continual and powerful admonition wisely to employ
the present hour. The passing moment, incapable of
being recalled, and if once wasted, wasted for ever,
reiterates the admonition. Would you perceive, even
now, in their true colors the ingratitude and the folly
of squandering so precious a deposit? Reflect on the
gracious purposes, for the accomplishment of which it
is committed to you. Reflect how plainly incompati-
ble a habit of squandering it is, with the frame of
mind which is the fruit of Christianity. Reflect on
the infinite importance which you will hereafter attach
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
413
to time past, when the consequences flowing from the
right or the wrong use of it will be discerned and felt
by you in their full extent.
Upon the right employment of time depends our
happiness or misery through the endless ages of eter-
nity; therefore how important is it that none should
be wasted in idleness or unprofitably employed!
What an account it would be to give hereafter, to say
that life was spent in a state of listlessness and inac
tivity—that the mind was never employed in gather-
ing knowledge, or the hands in industry, but that days
were allowed to fly away in a state of dreamy inaction
little better than torpor! What an account to give,
to say that life passed away in vanity, in dress and
display, without a serious thought, without a worthy
action!—an account such as Addison imagines to have
been given at the tribunal of Rhadamanthus. A
young female of twenty-five is placed at the judge's
bar, and this is her account of the manner in which
she employed her time:-" I have endeavored," said
she, "ever since I came into the world, to make my-
self lovely and to gain admirers; in order to do it, I
passed my time in boiling up May-dew, inventing
white-washes, mixing colors, cutting out patches, con-
sulting my glass, suiting my complexion." Truly a
laudable set of occupations for any one to be engaged
in!
Yet the fact cannot be denied, that many hundreds
pass their lives in a state of inactivity, or employ their
time in such actions as those above enumerated. But,
414
EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
happily for the glory of our land and the happiness of
our homes, many employ their lives far differently.
They regard time as the best boon God has given to
mortals, and they employ that time in his service, or
in ways pleasing to him. Every hour is well spent,
because spent usefully; and whatever their duties,
whatever their station, they perform those duties and
the requirements of that station as in the fear of God.
Oh! if life be this fleeting span, let us make the
best use of it in our power. To those only who lead
a pious and useful life does the remembrance remain,
those who have wrought no good to their fellow-mor-
tals are forgotten when they die. But the amiable
and excellent, on the contrary, though they perish from
the sight, continue long to remain in the memories of
those among whom they dwelt.
"Great God!" says the eloquent Massillon, "for
what purpose dost thou leave us here on earth, but to
render ourselves worthy of thine eternal inheritance!
Everything that we do for the world shall perish with
it, whatsoever we do for thee shall be immortal. And
what shall we say to thee, on the bed of death, when
thou shalt enter into judgment with us, and demand
an account of the time which thou didst grant to be
employed in glorifying and serving thee? Shall we
say, we have had friends to boast of on earth, but
have acquired none to ourselvss in heaven; we have
made
every exertion to please men, and none to please
the Almighty? And shall it be written upon our
lives-time lost for eternity."
XXVIII.
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?

ANY a young lady in her father's house,
who has caught in some degree the spirit of
doing good, sighs deeply for what she calls
opportunities. "What can I do here at
home," she seems to vainly ask! If I could be
a missionary to China or South Africa or to the
Islands of Japan or to the Sandwich Islands, or even
if I could be a teacher, I could, perhaps, do something.
But as it is, I must remain a mere cypher in the world.
I would do good, but I have no opportunities."
She who says this, is undoubtedly sincere. She is,
however, greatly mistaken. Her opportunities for do-
ing good-for exerting an influence to bless her race
"are neither few nor small." There is, indeed, a
difference, a very great difference, in human conditions
and circumstances; and yet I am persuaded, no female
is so secluded as not to be able to fulfil, towards her
race, a most important mission.
Here is an example of an excellent young woman
who is often heard lamenting her want of opportunity
for usefulness. She has the spirit of doing good as
she supposes and as I fully believe. And yet she is
415
416
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
miserable-she makes herself so-by repining contin-
ually at her want of ability to perform the good works
which her heart meditates. She would rejoice to de-
vote herself to the elevation of her race. She would
gladly go to India, or the South Seas, if her age and
uncultivated intellect did not exclude her from being
a candidate. Now, without saying a word in dispar-
agement of foreign missions-truth compels me to say
of this female, that I am by no means sure she could
do more for humanity, or more, in fact, for the cause
of Christ, by a foreign mission, than she is now doing
by a domestic one.
Her work, though it is not seen, enables a great
work of usefulness to be performed, which she could
not increase were she where her ambition would lead her.
Daughters and sisters should be like flowers and
sunshine in a house. They have not yet, in ordinary
circumstances, grave responsibilities, nor onerous du-
ties. They have a right to be, to a certain extent, or-
namental; and their light-heartedness should diffuse
cheerfulness and joy throughout the whole house. They
should try, also, to make it attractive by all sorts of
tasteful arrangements and simple decorations such as
may be gathered from gardens and the woods. Their
voices should be as the sound of music, and their
pres-
ence full of all "sweet influences," like the seven sis-
ters of the heavens. They should watch for occasions
of giving pleasure in a thousand little ways, by un-
looked-for tokens of love and remembrance, or by
agreeable surprises.
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WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
417
4
Surrounded by those of nearly an equal age with
herself, though her kindness may be great, and the
most amiable feelings have a lodgement in her breast,
she must expect contempt to be sometimes thrown up-
on her gentlest remonstrances, and laughter occasion-
ally to follow her well-meant efforts to improve her
brothers and sisters. The intimacy of their association
with her tends to weaken her power, since every little
speck or failing in her character is detected and mag-
nified into a fault, that when weighed together in the
balance with her own, theirs may seem less heavy.
But while we thus present the difficulties of her
po-
sition, we are far from saying that a sister has no in-
fluence. She is a monitress milder than a mother, and
while she loses power from the nearness of ages and
the sameness of station with her brothers and sisters,
she acquires a love less restrained. And there is some-
thing holy and pure in the love of a sister which com-
mends itself even to youthful minds. In all those
trivial acts which constitute the pleasures, as well as
those which form the troubles of youth, she is ever
ready to partake; her smile in joy and her tear in woe
are always freely given, so that she mingles in all the
hopes and fears of the younger members of her family;
and having thus won their esteem, she has obtained an
influence over them, by which she may convey counsel
and advice, the solitude she has evinced disarming it
of reproof, even when it does not array it in the garb
of love. It is then that she may breathe words of peace
and truth, striving to infuse those sentiments which
1
418
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
give to humanity all its dignity, and to destroy those
spots which tarnish its brightness.
But whatever her circumstances, a sister has always
the power of influencing by example. There is a les-
son taught to her brothers and her sisters by every ac-
tion which is performed. They are softened by her
kindness-they are instructed in piety by her virtue;
for while a good action conveys a reproof to an evil
one, it at the same time stimulates to the performance
of similar virtuous deeds. And we think that such
effects are very rarely thrown away. Her influence
has gone far to soften down the rugged and boisterous
spirits of youth, and to teach patience, forbearance and
love. It has been through her mild reasonings that
passions have been conquered and pride subdued—
through her gentle solicitations that the side of virtue
was embraced, kindness performed, generosity prac-
tised, and her brothers and sisters brought to entertain
love toward one another, and good-will to mankind.
Oh! not more surely is the influence of the sunlight
felt upon this earth, than the influence of a virtuous
and amiable sister is felt in a family.
The mantle of night is thrown over all, and nature
appears wrapped in sad and solemn garb. There is no
beauty in the landscape, and no melody in the air.
The owl and the bat alone wing their flight around,
like death roaming over the ruins of desolation.
And thus it is with a family who have never felt
the influence of a sister's love. All to them is night
a dark and rayless season, with nothing of beauty
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
419
and nothing of melody; dark passions and sombre
thoughts alone have full play, giving sadness to the
aspect and sternness to the scene. There has been
nothing to call good thoughts and bright actions into
being, and they sleep like flowers in the night amidst
darkness and gloom. But let the bright beams of a
sister's love shine upon that household, and a change
is wrought as vast as that effected on creation when,
at the summons of the morning, the sun "cometh forth
from his chamber" and maketh all life and light.
Bright thoughts, amiable feelings and glorious hopes
are excited, beautiful and enchanting as flowers when
kissed by the sunlight of a bright and joyous morn-
ing.
Here then is the opportunity. You need not leave
your home for the abode of strangers. Your delicacy
will not be distressed by exposure, nor your pride, if
you acknowledge such a guest, wounded by a change
of station. Here are your scholars, bone of your bone,
and flesh of your flesh, gathered under the same shel-
ter, seated around the same board. Whatever you
have to teach them, impart it kindly, and diligently,
in the fear of the Lord. Doubt not he will give you
a reward, in the heightened affection of those
whom you
serve-in the
the deeper root, and
fairer harvest of that knowledge, whose fruits you
divide with them. Shaking the superflux to them,
you increase your own mental wealth. If you cannot
assume the whole charge of their education, take but
a part. Labor in a single department. Hold your-
420
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
self responsible for their proficiency, in the branch that
you undertake to teach. Whatever advances you
have made in knowledge, you cannot but be most
happy to share their benefits with those so dear.
Consider your own education as quite incomplete, un-
til self-education is added; and there is no better mode
of facilitating this, than the instruction of others. It
furnishes the strongest motive to fashion your own
example on that model of purity and excellence, which
you urge them to pursue. "For their sakes,” said the
apostle, speaking of those who had listened to his in-
structions—“For their sakes I sanctify myself."
By what method can a daughter more fully evince
her gratitude to her parents, than by aiding their
children in the search of knowledge, and of goodness.
How amiable, how praise-worthy, is that disposition,
which prompts a young and beautiful creature to come
forth as the ally of a mother, in that most overwhelm-
ing of all anxieties, so to train her little ones, as to
form at last, an unbroken family in heaven. No bet-
ter apprenticeship for future duty could be devised,
and no firmer hostage given to God or man, for its
faithful performance.
Permit me to point out a subordinate mode of doing
good, in which the young ladies of a family, might
happily co-operate. Fortunately, the ancient custom of
receiving into the household, some child of poverty, and
rearing it as an assistant in domestic toils, until quali-
fied to earn a subsistence, has not yet fallen into en-
tire disuse. A strong additional reason, for receiving
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
421
and extending it, is now found in the increasing diffi-
culty of obtaining servants. Housekeepers, who thus
rescue but a single being from ignorance or vice, to be
trained for usefulness and virtue, confer no trifling
benefit on the community.
In a service of this nature, mothers might safely and
successfully associate their daughters. Could they
not depute the intellectual culture of their humble
protege to those young instructers ?-Would it not
be to them a profitable exercise? By making them
in a measure accountable for the intelligence, and cor-
rect deportment of their pupil, would not kind and
generous dispositions be cherished on one side, and
gratitude take root on the other?
Might not the young ladies of a family, in the at-
tentions bestowed on a female of this class, sometimes
adopt as an ultimate object, the preparation of an as-
sistant to mothers, in the physical care of their little
children?
It must surely be a pleasure to inculcate the neat-
ness, patience, tenderness, purity of thought, and
piety, which are essential to that interesting and im-
portant station. Besides these requisites, the young
teachers should cultivate in their pupil, a taste for
useful books, and improving conversation-the accom-
plishment of telling pleasant stories, and of singing
soothing and simple melodies. A class of nurses thus
endowed, and possessing the correct deportment which
accompanies good sense, and good temper, would be
invaluable, and deserve to be treated with respect and
:
422
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
·
regard, by all whom they should serve. Let the
young ladies of our land take pains to educate such
individuals whenever it shall be in their power. They
will win the warm thanks of that multitude of moth-
ers, who are often so overburdened with the physical
care of their offspring, as to be forced to neglect their
moral training, and who continue to bear this burden,
from inability to find those who might divide it, with-
out exposing the opening mind to the contamination
of ignorance, vulgarity, or immoral example.
Those young ladies, who may be willing to add to
their bright class of sisterly virtues, the instruction of
the younger members of their beloved family-circle,
should endeavor to teach agreeably. As far as possi-
ble they should secure the affections of their pupils,
and represent knowledge to them, as another name
for happiness. A sisterly instructer must not rest sat-
isfied to teach only by the hearing of lessons, or the
repetition of precepts; but by gentle deportment,
cheering smiles, tender tones, and the whole armory
of love.
Most of our incitements to sisterly effort, will apply
with peculiar force to the oldest daughter of the fam-
ily. The right of primogeniture, though not acknowl-
edged under our form of government, still exists un-
der certain limitations, in almost every household. It
does not, indeed, as in some other countries, transmit
a double portion of the paternal inheritance, or a sound-
ing title, or a royal prerogative; since with us, there
are neither entailed estates, nor orders of nobility, nor
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
423
monarchical succession. But Nature herself, gives
pre-eminence to the first-born, who promotes the
parent, at once, to the climax of enjoyment and of
duty, and wakes those springs of unutterable effection,
which nothing but the ice of death can seal. The
voice, which first told the young man, he was a father,
will never be forgotten-though that voice was but
the wail of the feeblest infant. The little hand, whose
touch first kindled in a mother's heart, an emotion not
to be defined by language, an aspiration of ecstasy,
never before breathed or imagined, will be leaned on
in adversity or widow-hood with peculiar trust—and
the balm-cup which it offers, will be taken with
complacency, even to hoary hairs. There will often
be found lingering in the parental bosom, some mix-
ture of that partial tenderness, with which a dying
patriarch styled his first-born, notwithstanding his
prominent faults, the "excellency of dignity, and the
excellency of power."
Admitting, therefore, that priority of birth implies
some degree of precedence, not in power, or wealth,
but in influence over the affections of the domestic
circle, it should be the earnest inquiry of all thus situ-
ated, how they may accomplish the greatest amount
of good. The station of the eldest sister, has always
appeared to me, so peculiarly important, that the
privileges which it involves, assume almost a sacred
character. The natural adjunct and ally of the
mother, she comes forth among the younger children,
both as a monitress, and an example. She readily
!
424
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
wins their confidence, from a conviction, that more
freshly than even the parent, she is "touched with
the feeling of their infirmities." She will sometimes
be empowered to act as an ambassador to the higher
powers, while the indulgence that she obtains, or the
penalty that she mitigates, go down into the vale of
years, among sweet and cherished remembrances. In
proportion to her interest in their affections, will be
her power to improve their characters, and to allure
them by the bright example of her own more finished
excellence. Her influence upon brothers, is often em-
inently happy. Of a young man, who evinced high
moral principle, with rich and refined sensibilities, un-
usually developed, it was once said by an admiring
stranger, "I will venture to predict that he had a good
sister, and that she was older than himself.”
It has been my lot, to know more than one elder
sister, of surpassing excellence. I have seen them as-
suming the office of teacher, and faithfully imparting
to those whose understandings were but feebly en-
lightened, the advantages of their own more complete
education. I have seen them softening and modifying
the character of brothers, breathing until it melted,
upon obduracy which no authority could subdue.
I have seen one, in the early bloom of youth, and
amid the temptations of affluence, so aiding, cheering
and influencing a large circle of brothers and sisters,
that the lisping student came to her, to be helped in
its lesson-and the wild one from its sports, brought
the torn garment, trustingly, to her needle-and the
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
425
erring one sought her advice or meditation-and the
delighted infant stretched its arms to hear her bird-
like song-and the cheek of the mother, leaning on so
sweet a substitute, forgot to fade.
I knew another, on whose bosom, the head of a sick
brother rested, whose nursing-kindness failed not,
night or day, from whom the most bitter medicine was
submissively taken, and who grasping the thin cold
hand in hers, when death came, saw the last glance of
the sufferer's gratitude, divided between her, and the
mother who bore him.
I have seen another, when the last remaining parent
was taken to God, come forth in her place, the guide
and comforter of the orphans. She believed that to
her who was now in heaven, the most acceptable
mourning would be to follow her injunctions, and to
fulfil her unfinished designs. Her motto was the
poet's maxim:-
"He mourns the dead, who live as they desire."
As if the glance of that pure, ascended spirit was con-
stantly upon her, she entered into her unfinished la-
bors. To the poor, she was the same messenger of
mercy, she bore the same crosses with a meek and pa-
tient mind. But especially to her younger sisters and
brothers, she poured out, as it were, the very essence
of her being. She cheered their sorrows, she shared
and exalted their pleasures, she studied their traits of
character, that she might adapt the best methods both
to their infirmities and virtues. To the germ of every
426
WHAT CAN I DO AT HOME?
good disposition, she was a faithful florist-to` their
waywardness, she opposed a mild firmness, until she
prevailed.
象
​She laid the infant sister, on her own pillow, she
bore it in her arms, and rejoiced in its growth, and
health and beauty. And when it hasted on its totter-
ing feet to her, as to a mother, for it had known no
other, the smile on that young brow, and the tear
that chastened it, were more radiant than any sem-
blance of joy, which glitters in the halls of fashion.
The little ones grew up around her, and blessed her,
and God gave her the reward of her labors, in their
affection and goodness. Thus she walked day by
day, with her eye to her sainted mother, and her heart
upheld by the happiness which she diffused-and as
I looked upon her, I thought that she was but a "lit-
tle lower than the angels."
XXIX.
THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.

T is very frequently the case that we hear
young ladies especially when in their father's
house complain most bitterly of their un-
happy lot of being wretched and melancholy,
of being out of harmony with everybody and
everything. It should be remembered that we
carry within ourselves the elements either of happiness
or misery.
It is true that almost every object that attracts our
notice has its bright and its dark side. She who
habituates herself to look at the displeasing side, will
sour her disposition, and consequently impair her hap-
piness; while she, who constantly beholds it on the
bright side, insensibly meliorates her temper, and, in
consequence of it, improves her own happiness, and
the happiness of all about her. Take for example
Arachne and Melissa who are two friends.
They are, both of them, women in years, and alike
in birth, fortune, education and accomplishments.
They were originally alike in temper too; but, by dif-
ferent management, are grown the reverse of each
other. Arachne has accustomed herself to look only
427
428
THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.
on the dark side of every object. If a new poem or
play makes its appearance, with a thousand brilliances,
and but one or two blemishes, she slightly skims over
the passages that should give her pleasure, and dwells
upon those only that fill her with dislike.-If you shew
her a very excellent portrait, she looks at some part of
the drapery which has been neglected, or to a hand or
finger which has been left unfinished. Her garden is
a very beautiful one, and kept with great neatness and
elegancy; but if you take a walk with her in it, she
talks to you of nothing but blights and storms, of
snails, and caterpillars, and how impossible it is to
keep it from the litter of falling leaves and worm-casts.
If
you sit down in one of her temples, to enjoy a de-
lightful prospect, she observes to you, that there is too
much wood, or too little water; that the day is too
sunny, or too gloomy; that it is sultry, or windy; and
finishes with a long harangue upon the wretchedness
of our climate. When you return with her to the
company, in hope of a little cheerful conversation, she
casts a gloom over all, by giving you the history of her
own bad health, or of some melancholy accident that
has befallen one of her near relatives. Thus she in-
sensibly sinks her own spirits, and the spirits of all
around her; and, at last, discovers, she knows not
why, that her friends are grave.
Melissa is the reverse of all this. By constantly
habituating herself to look only on the bright side of
objects, she preserves a perpetual cheerfulness in her-
self, which, by a kind of happy contagion, she com-
THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.
429
municates to all about her. If any misfortune has be-
fallen her, she considers it might have been worse, and
is thankful to Providence for an escape. She rejoices
in solitude, as it gives her an opportunity of knowing
herself; and in society, because she can communicate
the happiness she enjoys. She opposes every man's
virtue to his failings, and can find out something to
cherish and applaud in the very worst of her acquain-
tance. She opens every book with a desire to be en-
tertained or instructed, and therefore seldom misses
what she looks for. Walk with her, though it be on
a heath or a common, and she will discover numberless
beauties, unobserved before, in the hills, the dales, the
familiar landscapes, and the variegated flowers of weeds
and poppies. She enjoys every change of weather and
of season, as bringing with it something of health
or convenience. In conversation, it is a rule with her,
never to start a subject that leads to anything gloomy
or disagreeable. You therefore never hear her repeat-
ing her own grievances or those of her neighbors; or
(what is worst of all) their faults and imperfections.
If anything of the latter kind be mentioned in her
hearing, she has the address to turn it into entertain-
tainment, by changing the most odious railing into a
pleasant raillery. Thus, Melissa, like the bee, gathers
honey from every weed; while Arachne, like the spi-
der, sucks poison from the fairest flowers. The con-
sequence is, that, of two tempers once very nearly al-
lied, the one is ever sour and dissatisfied, the other al-
ways gay and cheerful; the one spreads an universal
gloom, the other a continual sunshine.
430
THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.
There is nothing more worthy of our attention, than
this art of happiness. In conversation as well as life,
happiness very often depends upon the slightest inci-
dents. The taking notice of the badness of the weath-
er, a north-east wind, the approach of winter, or any
trifling circumstance of the disagreeable kind, shall in-
sensibly rob a whole company of its good humor, and
fling every member of it into the vapors. If, there-
fore, we would be happy in ourselves, and are desirous
of communicating that happiness to all about us, these
minutiae of conversation ought carefully to be attended
to. The brightness of the sky, the lengthening of the
day, the increasing verdure of the spring, the arrival
of any little piece of good news, or whatever carries
with it the most distant glimpse of joy, shall frequent-
ly be the parent of a social and happy conversation.
Good manners exact from us this regard to our com-
pany. The clown may repine at the sunshine that ri-
pens the harvest, because his turnips are burnt up by
it; but the man of refinement will extract pleasure
from the thunder-storm to which he is exposed, by re-
marking on the plenty and refreshment which may be
expected from the succeeding shower.
Thus does politeness, as well as good sense, direct
us to look at every object on the bright side; and, by
thus acting, we cherish and improve both. By this
practice it is that Melissa is becoming one of the wisest,
best-bred, and most beloved of women; and by this
practice, may every young lady arrive at that agree-
ableness of temper, of which the natural and never-
failing fruit is happiness.
THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.
431
Among the ingredients of happiness, few are more
important than a habit of cheerfulness. Its lineaments
are always beautiful. They have a tendency to re-
produce themselves. The calm smile often images
itself on the brow of another, and the sweet tone, if
it fail to call forth one equally sweet, still soothes the
ear and lulls the soul with its melody. A melancholy
countenance, and a plaintive voice are contagious. “I
have always," said the good Vicar of Wakefield, "been
an admirer of happy human faces." The sentiment is
universal. The pleasure thus derived compensates for
the absence of beauty, and supplies the deficiency of
symmetry and grace.
Cheerfulness is expected from the young. It is the
natural temperament of life's brightest season. We
are disappointed when we see a frown or gloom upon
those features, which we persuade ourselves should be
ever cloudless. It is as if in gathering spring's early
violets, we found them thorny, or divested of fra-
grance. The open, clear glance, the unsuspicious as-
pect, the smile hovering around the lips of the gentle
speaker, and interpreting more perfectly than words,
the harmony that dwells within, are inexpressibly
cheering to those whom care has depressed, or age
furrowed, or suffering taught distrust.
The young, in cultivating those habits which pro-
mote cheerfulness, should remember that they are
meeting the just demands of the community, paying
an appropriate rent for their lodge among the flowers.
That the happiness of others, may be thus promoted,
2
432
THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.
1
will be a strong motive to the amiable and kind, to
study those rules on which so valuable a science de-
pends.
A cheerful demeanor is particularly expected of
young ladies. In their case, its absence is an especial
fault. For if, among woman's household duties, it is
numbered that she makes others happy and if, in order
to do this successfully, she must in some degree be
happy herself, cheerfulness should be early confirmed
into habit, and deeply founded in principle.
A contented and grateful disposition is one of the
elements of cheerfulness. Keeping our more minute
blessings steadily in view, will be found a salutary ex-
ercise. Little kindnesses from those around us, should
be reciprocated, and returned in the spirit of kindness.
Forgetfulness of favors, or any tendency to ingratitude
on our part, should be guarded against as an inroad
upon justice, and a sure omen of incorrect and unhap-
py moral tendencies. Recognition of the daily gifts
of our unwearied Benefactor, promotes cheerfulness
and peace of mind. Contrast will aid us in their esti-
mation. The pure water, which from its very abundance
we cease to value, would be fully appreciated by the
traveler parching amid African deserts, and by the
camel of the caravan. The healthful air, which
invigorates every nerve, and for which we fail to thank
God, would be hailed by the suffering inmates of some
crowded hospital, or the pale prisoner in his loath-
some dungeon.
By remembering those whom disease has immove-
H
THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.
433
ably chained, or those whose eye and ear, light and
sound have been forsaken, we better learn to estimate
the luxury of motion, and the value of those senses by
which we hold communion with nature and with mind.
The mansion that affords us shelter, the food that sus-
tains us and with whose reception the beneficent Cre-
ator has connected satisfaction, the apparel fashioned
to the comfort of the ever-varying seasons, remind
many tender hearts of the children of poverty, quick-
ening both liberality to them, and love to the Father
of all. The history of despotic governments, of the
horrors of war, and the miseries of ignorance and hea-
thenism, should aid in impressing a sense of our own
great indebtedness, and in shedding over the face and
demeanor the clear sunshine of cheerful gratitude. But
as it is impossible to recount those mercies which are
new every morning and fresh every moment," our
whole existence should be pervaded by the spirit which
moved the pious poet to exclaim-
66
<<
Almighty Friend, henceforth to Thee,
A hymn of praise my life shall be.”
The habit of discovering good qualities in others, is
a source of diffusible happiness. Though a knowledge
of human nature teaches that the best characters have
a mixture of infirmity; it still admits that in the worst,
there are some redeeming virtues. The telescope that re-
veals the brightness of the most opaque and remote plan-.
ets, is more valuable than the microscope that detects
motes in the sunbeam, and deformed insects feeding even
2
434
THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.
upon the rose's heart. A disposition to dwell on the
bright side of character, is like gold to the possessor.
One of the principal ingredients in the happiness of
childhood, is freedom from suspicion, and kind and
loving thoughts toward all. Why might not that
sweet disposition be combined with a more extensive
intercourse with mankind?
A tendency to slander, destroys innocent cheerful-
ness, and marks even the countenance with malevo-
lence. The satisfaction which it brings is morbid, and
betokens internal disease. To imagine more evil than
meets the eye, betrays affinity for it, and to delight to
deepen that which forces itself on our observation,
marks a fearful degree of moral disease, and contrib-
utes to disseminate it.
ન
ness.
A good conscience is essential to consistent happi-
"Were thy conscience pure," says the excel-
lent Thomas a Kempis, "thou wouldest be content-
ed in every condition. Thou wouldest be undisturbed
by the opinions and reports of men concerning thee;
for their commendations can add nothing to thy
goodness, nor their censures take away from it;-what
thou art, thou art:-nor can the praise of the whole
world make thee happier or greater in the sight of God.
Thou wilt enjoy tranquility, if thy heart condemn thee
not. Therefore, do not hope to rejoice, but when thou
hast done well,"
XXX.
SOCIETY.
T

ORMED as the human family are for social
life, so that they seem to be bound by one
great chain, the choice of companions can
form no barren or unprofitable topic.
If we consider how strong a disposition there
is in every heart to imitation, so that persons are
almost sure to become like those with whom they
associate, like them in disposition, in manners, in feel-
ings, it will, at once, be obvious how important a
thing it is to choose for companions those who have
good actions and noble sentiments, and virtuous feel-
ings to recommend them.
Society is the great nurse of feeling and intellect.
Words spoken in hours of relaxation or idleness never
die; they fall upon the heart when all is calm and
unruffled, and sink down into its lowest recesses.
They may seem to have been forgotten, seem to have
made no impression; but they soon germinate in that
soil, and as quickly bring forth fruit.
Teachers, in all ages, have been eloquent on the
power of Society; knowing well that upon it depended
whether the instructions they had been giving to the
435
436
SOCIETY.
young mind would be of any avail or not. And, with
equal force, the inspired penman has registered the
same truth.
"He that walketh with wise men shall
be wise," says Solomon; and with equal truth the great
champion of Christianity writes, "Be not deceived:
evil communications corrupt good manners.' Each,
then, distinctly states, that a person will assimilate or
grow like to those with whom they form a friendship,
both in disposition and feeling. There can not be a
good understanding between persons who hold opin-
ions and principles exactly opposite.: there will be felt
in the mind a sort of uneasiness lest utterance should
be given to sentiments with which it is known your
companions disagree. Then there will arise the wish
to stand well with them; and this can never be done
until those opinions which they dislike are got rid of
or abandoned.
Feeling, therefore, how important it is for the
young
female to have proper companions, we shall enter
somewhat more into particulars than our limits ordi-
narily allow us, and state at full length characters
which should be shunned, and those whose good will
and friendship you should be assiduous to obtain.
Now, we suppose the readers of this chapter to be
young-just entering upon life, with full powers and
capacities, but before habits have wound round them
any heavy chain. The force of companionship tells in
a much greater degree on woman than on man: with
the latter, occupied as he is in this busy world, events
crowd so quickly on his mind, that few make a very
SOCIETY.
437
*
lasting impression, and it is only from the constant
companionship with the irreligious and immoral that
he becomes tainted with their viciousness; and, on the
other hand, the friction of the world soon obliterates
the fine line which the virtuous and moral may have
endeavored to trace on the mind of one reckless and
indifferent. But with woman it is not so. Dwelling
in retirement-left in solitude for hours together, with
no exterior circumstances to call off her attention, it
has to feed upon itself. How soon then may not dis-
positions be formed by companions, when their most
common sayings are continually presenting themselves
to the imagination, and pressing upon the heart!
I ask of you now to consider what are called the
claims of society.
If a claim be made upon the purse or the real estate
of
any one, immediately the questions are asked, What
right has the person to make this claim? What is the
extent of it? It must be defined precisely, and estab-
lished legally, before it will be allowed. "The claims
of society" is a phrase that is iterated and reiterated,
and everybody acknowledges that is has a great deal
of meaning, excepting only the misanthrope and the
anchorite; while it is extremely difficult to decide the
extent of those claims, differing, as they do, in almost
every individual case.
Then what do we mean by society? Not our own
family-circle, the very heart's core,-nor the next cir-
cle, consisting of kindred and intimate friends,-nor
still the next, which may be termed the circle of be-
•
438
SOCIETY.
F
nevolence,—but the outer circle, widening and still
widening till lost in the vanishing distance. And this,
at first sight, seems terra incognita; yet its geography
and topography are tolerably well understood, although
the boundary-lines are not quite settled, and remain,
as did our north-eastern, the subject of contention and
animosity. Every town and village is thus divided into
sets, determined chiefly by the station, intelligence,
wealth, gentility, and fashion of their members; and
my lady-reader will doubtless think it quite superflu-
ous to have taken all this pains to come at the simple
fact, that "the claims of society" are the rightful de-
mands of the set to which she belongs, and the strang-
ers who may be introduced to that set. Beside gen-
eral benevolence and good-will, she does not acknowl-
edge any claims from other sets or coteries. In town,
what are the claims of the set or circle denominated
society? Bowing in the street and at public places,
making ceremonious calls, giving and attending dinner
and evening parties. In the country they are much
the same; for every little village apes, to the full extent
of its ability, the manners and customs of the town.
It has often been said, that the character of a nation
can be determined by its amusements; by this criterion
individual character can be ascertained with satisfac-
tory precision. Custom reconciles to the greatest ab-
surdities, and even the most revolting cruelties. By
way of amusement, the Roman women could watch
with intense interest the sanguine gladiatorial exhibi-
tion, and behold the infuriated wild beast let loose up-
SOCIETY.
439
on the miserable captive, and tear in pieces the holy
martyr. The ladies of Christian Europe, in the boast-
ed days of chivalry, could look with joyous delight up-
on the tournament, where the gallant knight-errant
was not alone exposed to hard blows, wounds, and
overthrow, but to death itself; for the interest of the
scene was of course enhanced, when in defence of the
boasted charms of their ladie-loves, the wise and val-
iant knights challenged each other to mortal combat.
The dark-eyed daughters of Spain grace with their
dignified presence the horrid bull-fights; and the fair
dames of England often become as excited as the gen-
tlemen, by the pleasures of a horse-race; and (par-
don the propinquity) the lady-squaws of the American
Indians are delighted spectators of the savage war.
dance. Custom must have amazing power, thus to
change the very nature of woman.
If the amusements of our own country are disgraced
by no such revolting features, yet there may be some,
which if custom did not cast upon them the favoring
smile, they would look absurdly grotesque or fright-
fully ugly.
Let me give an illustration that is drawn from the
ranks of what is called good society. The elegant
mansion is blazing in the full effulgence of gas-light.
Its anxious mistress takes a last survey of the splen-
didly decorated apartments, and then a last look at
herself in a mirror, before which a giantess might have
arranged her paraphernalia, from top-knot to shoe-tie.
The foot falls soft upon the luxurious carpet, whose
440
SOCIETY.
flowers seem scattered fresh from Flora's munificent
hand. The rich and beautiful hangings of blue da-
mask might have been thrown by the Graces over
those golden arrows; a Sybarite would have luxuri-
ated upon the velvet-covered divan, and a sultana have
coveted the embroidered cushions for her harem-throne.
Flowers, whose parent buds dipped their pure petals
in the Nile, whose fragrance floated upon the breezes
of Japan, or were wasted upon the dull sense of the
Chinese, fill the air with mingled perfume. Oranges
hang amid their dark leaves in exuberant profusion,
tempting to the eye, but as unsatisfying to the taste,
as bitter as the "grapes of Gomorrah," presenting to
the lady of the mansion an apposite emblem. These
splendid preparations were to have astonished some of
her most fashionable acquaintances, who, instead of
giving eclat to her brilliant assembly, have pleaded
"a previous engagement," and grace a rival party in
an adjoining street. The very, very persons who, of
all the world, she had exerted herself most to please
and to win, have deserted her in this her hour of antici-
pated triumph. With a heavy heart she chooses the most
becoming attitude and eligible position for the recep-
tion of those accepting guests whom she felt con-
strained to invite, but does not feel exceedingly desir-
ous to see.
The rooms are filled, crammed like a drum of figs,—
the heat intolerable,-dresses are crumpled and torn,
or cannot be seen to any advantage. "Is it not
strange the So and So's are not here?" "Mrs. B-
C
SOCIETY.
441
is 'at home' to-night." "O, I understand. Well,
there are the Flingos and the Flareups; who would
have expected to meet them here? I declare, there is
not a creature of my acquaintance in the rooms but
yourself."
Music and compliments. Then a push for the dan-
cing-room,-floor beautifully chalked, but "so small
you might as well get up a set of quadrilles in a bath-
ing-tub." A rush and a crush for the supper-room.
To the table, loaded with its splendid garniture of
plate, porcelain, and glass, every clime has contributed
its delicacies, and the purple vintage from many a
sunny hill supplied the sparkling and glowing wines.
"Can you see anything?" "Nothing but the top of
a pyramid, which I am no more likely to reach at
this moment than the pyramid of Cheops." "Pray
take something." Thank you, I never taste any thing
in a party." "One grape only?" "Not for the world?"
"Chicken-salad or lobster-salad, Sir, or do you prefer
a bit of the pate de foie gras?"
Everybody has tried to see and be seen, and neither
wonder nor admire, and made their most graceful
conge. The sound of the last carriage has died away,
and the lady of the mansion retires to her own cham-
ber. With the aid of Asmodeus we will enter,-or
perhaps Mephistopheles would give more efficient
aid in revealing the lady's secret communings with
her own heart. "I have discharged the claims of so-
ciety to their full satisfaction. How much have I pro-
moted the happiness of our circle? I have been the
型
​442
SOCIETY.
1
means of increasing their kindly feelings towards each
other,—of allaying the envy and jealousy with which
they have hitherto been tormented. By discussing
their plans of usefulness, they have caught new ardor
from the electric spark of sympathy. They will be
cheered by these healthsome hours of recreation for
the duties of the morrow. How sweet, how refresh-
ing, will be my conscience-satisfied sleep!" Ha! did
we hear aright? Mephistopheles must have played
us false; for look at that care-worn, regretful coun-
tenance, as she lays aside her costly ornaments before
the faithful mirror; such is not the expression of "per-
fect peace."
And you, fair reader, what are your reflections, as
you rattle over the pavement on your way homeward?
"I have been amused and instructed by the conversa-
tion of the evening. I was so happy to meet dear
friends and pleasant acquaintances, and hold with them
that kind, cordial intercourse, that makes the heart
glow with benevolence and complacency. How ex-
tremely kind it was for Mrs. to bring her friends
together for an evening of unalloyed enjoyment, at
such an expense of time and money! What fine
taste and generous hospitality! How perfectly well
she can afford it. How invigorating to body and
mind is the healthful exercise of the dancing-room!
How cheerfully shall I lay my head upon my pillow,
with this delightful consciousness of a well-spent even-
ing!" Has Mephistopheles played us false again?
It is frequently the case that men who are wearied
SOCIETY.
443
¡
with the racking toil of business, or the wear and tear
of a profession, or the discord of political life, or the
intense application of the scholar, need, occasionally,
a rarer atmosphere for the lighter play of thought; a
fresh field where mind may be diverted awhile from
those deep-worn channels through which it rushes so
impetuously. They seek it in the society of "the
gentler sex," where the weightier matters of life are
not to be brought upon the carpet. Thus seeking re-
freshment and renewal of strength, they require sub-
jects for conversation in society not altogether desti-
tute of material for intellectual exercise; and in their
companions, something better than dull inanity or flip-
pant insipidity.
If some men seek society for relaxation from
severe mental application, there are others who con-
sider it as only one mode of that amusement, which is
the occupation of their lives. These prefer that friv-
olity and nonsense should reign with undisputed sway
in ladies' society. That in the giddy whirl, not only
sober thought, but the very semblance of thought,
should be annihilated. They are contented with the
whip, and care not for the cream, of conversation,
which, in conscience, is light enough; and it must be
confessed, that many young ladies show a very accom-
modating spirit in yielding to their taste.
Because pedantry is odious, and blues are voted ri-
diculous, there is no reason why modest learning and
real intelligence should be proscribed. Women often
mingle in society, to escape for a while from petty
444
SOCIETY.
cares, and merely mechanical employments, which would
otherwise be so monopolizing, that by constant devo-
tion to them they would be rendered selfish and nar-
row-minded. After giving up their studies, when
school-education is completed, they have but little leis-
ure for gaining knowledge, while men of education find
no resting-place. It is too late in the day to revive
the time-worn, hackneyed dispute about the mental
equality of the sexes; let it rest in the tomb of the Cap-
ulets. In mixed society, they may meet on terms of
equality; they do not come together to make invidi-
ous comparisons; they expect no admirable Crichton,
nor astonishing Maria Agnesi, to contend for an intel-
lectual prize, to be borne off in triumph.
But neither should the ultra-refinement of society
destroy that individuality of character which gives
zest to human life. It is this refining and polishing
process, reducing all natures to a seeming resemblance
to a fashionable standard, that renders society dull,
vapid, and unprofitable. The whole works of crea-
tion may, by some peculiar characteristics, be ranked
in classes; yet no two of any species are in all respects
similar. So it is with the lords of all created things,
upon this well-ordered earth; there are peculiarities
and associations of qualities, which mark the individ-
ual character of each human being. He who comes
to the warfare of life armed by his own suspicious na-
ture against all deceit will never be thrown off his
guard; whilst the confiding and unsuspecting, though
experience may have obliged them to don the armor
SOCIETY..
445
of prudence, will still leave crevices through which
the arrows of the designing may pierce to the very
heart. Upon the thorn-bush blossoms the rose in its
native simplicity; cultivation may vary its size and
beauty, ad infinitum, but still it is a rose; the dahlia
by its side may rival it in brilliancy, but not in deli-
cate texture and delicious perfume. Thus modest
sensibility and warmth of heart may stand in society
side by side with keen wit and sparkling vivacity
The collision of different characters will bring out dif
ference of opinion, without destroying the harmony
of society. Here, as in the economy of the material
universe, there is a centripetal and centrifugal force.
The man of cool temperament checks his passionate
friend; the charitable repairs the evil done by the
censorious; the timid and diffident are encouraged by
the bold and daring; the man of persevering com-
mon sense puts into execution the plans devised by
the less patient man of genius. Each should avoid
the affectation of characteristics which he does not pos-
sess. As the counteracting muscles of the arm, by
acting different ways, perfect their usefulness, so
these varities of character give energy and power to
society.
If all go into society, as to a mental masquerade,
where each is acting a studied part, how much both
of utility and pleasure must be lost! We should lose
the agreeable surprise arising from the discovery of a
vein of golden ore, where we had only seen common
clay; of striking out a latent spark of genius, which
8
446
SOCIETY.
i
seclusion had hidden even from its possessor; of see-
ing the warm tear of benevolence in the earnest eye
of one deemed cold and calculating. No man's self-
love would permit him to view his exact counterpart
with good feelings; for though we love to see our
opinions reflected by our friends, who could bear to
be mirrored forth by thousands to whom he was in-
different?
Preserving, then, that individuality of character
which gives delightful variety to society, all should
bring to it affability, good-sense, good taste, and kind
feeling.
The literature of the day, improvement in the arts,
discoveries in science, the important events that are
taking place in the world, the efforts being made for
the diffusion of knowledge and religion, these and a
thousand other interesting topics, men might talk
about in the society of ladies, without lowering their
own minds, or elevating beyond their capacity those
of their auditors, or rather colloquists; for it is as-
sumed, that here they meet on terms of perfect equal-
ity. If it be said, that by courtesy it is left for the
ladies to take the lead, then they are to blame if they
find no higher themes for entertainment than fashions,
beauty, dress, manners, flattery, and scandal. Mak-
ing large allowance for their fondness for these topics,
candor must acknowledge, that modesty in many in-
stances, and the fear of ridicule in others, deter them
from bringing forward other less trifling subjects, in
which they are deeply interested. Cicero says of si-
SOCIETY.
447
lence,-"There is not only an art, but an eloquence
in it;" let then your silence be eloquent, whenever
frivolous or unsuitable subjects are introduced; it is
often the only delicate way in which you can mani-
fest disapprobation.
Acknowledging that society has claims, and that
you are to maintain kind and friendly relations with
the circle to which you belong; yet neither these
claims, nor your love of display, nor your fondness for
amusement, should lead you to the sacrifice of per-
sonal happiness and of principle.
The frequent demands upon the purse, from young
ladies who wish to make a splendid appearance in so-
ciety, are often reluctantly answered by the purse-
bearer, and should, if justice were heeded, not sel-
dom, be denied. While debts are unpaid, and the
hire of the laborer is withheld, conscience should not
let any one remain at ease and self-satisfied in magnifi-
cent apparel. The old fable of the daw in peacock's
feathers might, in such a case, be admirably exempli-
fied, were the milliner, mantua-maker, and jeweller
each to claim their own share of a fashionable belle's
gay adornings. And the fine horses and splendid
equipage, which a fond father, to gratify a daughter's
pride, has raised by the magic wand of credit, might,
if touched by the sword of justice, be transformed like
Cinderella's, into rags, mice, and a pumpkin-shell. It
is urged in defence of the luxuries of the rich, that
they are the support of the poor. Some political econ-
omists deny this. Be that as it may,-no one can
448
SOCIETY.
deny that the extravagancy of the reputed rich greatly
increases the misery and suffering of the poor.
The
pale semptress or mantuamaker, who has toiled all
day for you, goes, perhaps, like Kate Nickleby, to the
home of indigence and sorrow unpaid, to weep over
the woes she cannot relieve by her untiring industry;
while you, fair reader, array yourself, with a light
heart and gay smile, in that dress which her skill has
wrought into its graceful elegance. Could
you wear
it cheerfully, if you knew her to be suffering for the
reward of her labor? Certainly not; yet you, and
thousands of others, forget that every dollar is usually
wanted immediately, by those who thus earn their
daily subsistence.
It may be said in self-defence, that a young lady
seldom knows the extent of her father's pecuniary re-
sources. That may be; yet, if she receive a regular
allowance, she can be certain that no one suffers di-
rectly through her; and if not, she should never
employ work-women without knowing positively, be-
torehand, that she can pay them as soon as their work
is done. Justice should be satisfied before pride.
Benevolence must not be set aside for more vocifer-
ous but less worthy claimants. Vanity may some-
times be denied an additional flower or feather with-
out disparagement; fashion be boldly confronted, in a
dress un peu passe, worn for charity's sake; and
pleasure's frown need not be dreaded, if, instead of
wreathing her roses around your own brow, you some-
times extract from them the balm of consolation.
SOCIETY.
449
Does society claim an exorbitant share of time?
This sacrifice is often yielded as if demanded by that
"necessity that knows no law." The hours spent in
society are but a small proportion of the time thus
yielded; previous preparation for these hours makes
a far more exorbitant demand. Tasteful embroidery
and fine needlework afford pleasant occupation to
young ladies; but when employed solely for the dec-
oration of the person, they may be treacherous mo-
nopolizers. One young lady has been known to spend
two months upon the trimming to a ball-dress; and
another, a half year upon an embroidered satin dress.
Patient, persevering industry, which, applied to bet-
ter purposes than the gratification of vanity and self-
ishness, would deserve high encomium; and, perhaps,
after all this pains-taking, society would have been as
well pleased without the trimming and embroidery.
The choice of a dress for a single evening often costs
many hours of meditation, and distracting doubts
between rival colors, many more. The toilet demands
much time; to all these, add the time spent abroad in
shopping, and the time in society, they make up a
large amount, leaving but a meagre modicum for
home and its duties.
G
Do you sacrifice health to the claims of society?
We have, in a former chapter, alluded to the danger
of exposure after standing or dancing for hours in
heated rooms. If all the young and lovely who have
thus been hurried to their graves could be summoned
to bear testimony to those who still expose themselves
2
450
SOCIETY.
in this manner, the cloud of witnesses would strike
terror and dismay to many a gay and thoughtless
heart. Dancing may be a healthsome and delightful
exercise at home, or where there is ample verge and
pure free air; but in the cramped confines of the draw-
ing-room and the crowded ball-room, where the ex-
hausted atmosphere renders respiration difficult and
laborious, such exercise cannot be beneficial. No
wonder the Chinese, on seeing the efforts of English
gentlemen and ladies under these circumstances, ex-
claimed with exultation,-" We hire our dancing done
in China."
Late hours at night, continued for a length of time,
give a sallowness to the complexion, indicating that
health is on the wane. The restorative virtues of
morning air seldom lend their aid to freshen the de-
parting bloom; the fatigue and exhaustion of a night
of gayety are frequent preludes to a morning head-
ache and a train of attendant evil sprites.
"Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul,
In each fine sense so exquisitely keen,
On the dull couch of luxury to loll,
Stung with disease, and stupefied with spleen?
"O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields!
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of Heaven!
O, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?"
XXXI.
POLITENESS.
"Madame de Stael well observes there is nothing so difficult to learn, as
the kind of politeness which is neither ceremonious nor familiar; it seems
a trifle, but it requires a foundation in ourselves, for no one acquires it, if
it is not inspired by early habit or elevation of mind."

RUE politeness has its origin in the heart;
but the external expression of it is what is
commonly called good-manners. Who has
not acknowledged its charm, and yielded to
its influence ?
First of all, it is necessary to understand the
customs of the place where you are, to avoid any de-
parture from conventional good-manners. In going
into company, a young lady should learn the mode of
entree. In most places in our country, it is customary
to take a gentleman's arm, to walk up to the lady of
the house and drop a courtesy,-very gracefully, of
course. If this is the custom, she should take his left
arm here, and in walking, riding, entering church,
and at the hymeneal altar the left side,-thus leaving
his right arm free.
arm free. These things seem trifling; but by
understanding them, much embarrassment may be
escaped. At a dinner-party, be sure to know before
451
452
POLITENESS.
you leave the drawing-room, whether the first seat at
the table belongs of right to yourself; if so, never
decline it; if it does not, you will find yourself very
awkwardly situated, if some gentleman, not knowing
his own place, interfere with the arrangements of
the lady of the house, and place you at her right hand.
A quick and observant eye will soon give you a
knowledge of any local pecularities in etiquette, to
which you can readily conform. A truly well-bred
lady is such everywhere; she would handle an ivory
chop-stick in China as gracefully as a silver fork at
home, or a steel one, if she happened where they used
no other. Even if it should have but two prongs,
and incommode her not a little, she would take no
notice of it; for true politeness avoids giving pain.
We have seen young ladies assume such airs,-on oc-
casions where they have met with things different
from what they have been accustomed to see at
home, such airs as made them quite ridiculous. The
spectators probably would reason in this way :—
"You may have eaten with a silver fork at home, but
you are no lady."
P
A young lady, who stopped at a country tavern to
dine, perplexed the clumsy waiter by calling for a finger-
glass, and annoyed her party by bitter complaints
about the vulgarity of a place where they had never
heard of such an article. She might have been told
of a gentleman,-an elegant gentleman, too,-of the
old school, who, when offered the finger-glasses at a
friend's table, very innocently took one, and drank off
POLITENESS.
453
the contents; the lady of the house immediately per-
ceiving it, called the waiter, as if for some other duty,
and ordered him not to pass them around, knowing
that her guests would dispense with the ceremony,
rather than give pain to an extremely polite gentle-
man.
There are multitudes who will have no other crite-
rion than is hereby furnished, by which to judge of
your character. In the varied intercourse of society,
you meet many persons, perhaps only for a single
time in the course of your life. They almost of course
form some opinion of you; and that opinion is built
upon what they witness of your general appearance.
With good manners you may leave an impression
upon a stranger from a casual meeting with him,
which may cause him to hold you in grateful remem-
brance through life. With manners of an opposite
character, you would either be passed unnoticed, or
perhaps remembered only as a glaring specimen of
affectation or rudeness.
It deserves also to be borne in mind, that in nearly
every case the first impressions of the character are
gathered from the manners; and every one knows that
first impressions are not easily eradicated. Instances
are not uncommon in which an individual, on the first
introduction to another, has been struck with some
apparent defect of disposition, as indicated by the
manners; and though he may have been subsequently
convinced that the impression was a mistaken one,
has found it next to impossible to forget it in the esti-
!
454
POLITENESS.
mate he forms of the character. If your manners are
as they should be, it will give you this great advan-
tage in respect to every acquaintance you form
—that the individual, from the beginning, will be
prepossessed in your favor. If otherwise, the best
you can hope is, that in finding your way ultimately
into the favorable regards of other people, you will
have to encounter a mass of prejudice.
But leaving first impressions out of view, there is
something in the very constitution of human nature
which inclines us to form a judgment of character from
manners. It is always taken for granted, unless there
is decisive evidence to the contrary, that the manners
are the genuine expression of the feelings; and even
where such evidence exists, that is, where we have
every reason to believe that the external appearance
does injustice to the moral dispositions, or, on the
other hand, where the heart is too favorably rep-
resented by the manners, there is still a delusion prac-
tised upon the mind by what passes under the eye,
which it is not easy to resist. You may take two in-
dividuals of precisely the same degree of intellectual
and moral worth, and let the manners of the one be
bland and attractive, and those of the other distant
or awkward, and you will find that the former will
pass through life with far more ease and comfort than
the latter; for, though good manners will never effec-
tually conceal a bad heart, and are in no case, any
atonement for it, yet, taken in connection with amiable
and virtuous dispositions, they naturally and neces-
POLITENESS.
455
sarily gain upon the respect and good will of man-
kind.
You will instantly perceive, that it is not only your
interest to cultivate good manners, as you hereby re-
commend yourself to the favorable regards of others,
but also
your duty, as it increases, in no small degree,
your means of usefulness. It will give you access to
many persons, and give you an influence over them,
whom you could otherwise never approach, much less
whose feelings and purposes you could never hope, in
any measure, to control.
I do not think that people in general are aware of
the importance of pleasing, agreeable manners. The
difference between two households, in the one of which
they are found and in the other not, is as that between
two gardens, in one of which the flowers have no
odor, while in the other, fragrance is everywhere dif-
fused; or, as between a gloomy, silent cavern, and a
bower of evergeen made. joyous by singing birds.
They are therefore a means of happiness. As a means
of influence, too, they should receive direct culture,
which, in this view indeed, becomes of moral obliga-
tion. I believe that, in the long run, they have more
influence than beauty, or anything else merely per-
sonal. That the wicked have often made a mask of
them, as, for instance, was said to be the case with
one of the worst men that ever lived (Cæsar Borgia),
does not abate from their desirableness. Has not
every precious thing its counterfeit, and is not the
danger of false imitations increased in proportion to its
intrinsic value?
456
POLITENESS.
How important then the question: How are good
manners to be formed? I do not mean conventional
manners, for of these every country has a different
code, and what is comme il faut in one, is condemned
in another. And the code attaches, often, so much
importance to mere trivialities, as whether an egg
should be eaten from the shell, or from a cup; whether
it is proper for one at a dinner to challenge another
in a glass of wine, etc., that I wonder how people of
wide observation, and extended knowledge of men
and things, can regard any one of its provisions as
more than a lex loci. You will easily distinguish be-
tween these and other rules that have their basis in
reason—and therefore are of natural obligation; as for
instance, not to speak with one's mouth full, or drink
before wiping the mouth, or make a noise upon the
plate with one's knife and fork or spoon, or take
any liquid from cup or spoon audibly. The operation
of eating is in itself a little gross, and should be re-
fined as much as possible. Yet it is quite common,
I believe, for every traveller to judge the manners of
a foreign people by the standard of etiquette estab-
lished in his own country, and condemn every depart-
ure from it as a proof of barbarism.
No doubt, in all countries certain customs arise
from what convenience and refinement require, and
are essentially right and proper on that account; but
this is true only of a portion of them, as the differ-
ent observances of different countries prove-and
with all these diversities, there will probably be found
POLITENESS.
457
some general agreement on what is most truly essen-
tial-as is true in systems of religion. The core, the
root, the living principle, the essence of good man-
ners, such as are not dependent on any code, as of
every thing else good, must be found in the heart;
and their most comprehensive definition is, in a na-
tion of Christians, Christian courtesy. The best are
the natural, genuine expression of a heart filled to
overflowing with love and good-will towards the whole
human race, with a desire to avoid giving pain, and
to add in every way to the stock of human happiness.
A person possessed with this desire will manifest it in
the tone of his voice, in the gracious beaming of his
eye, in the friendly grasp of his hand. He can never
omit the thousand little attentions to the comfort and
pleasure of others that he may have an opportunity to
bestow. He will be in no danger of encroaching
upon them in any way unreasonably, of making any
undue claims on them, of infringing any of their
rights, of seeking his own advantage to their loss or
inconvenience. He will be always considerate, always
kind-always delicate and unobtrusive. It is this
kind of courtesy that may be always sincere. It be-
ing once asked in a party, where the "uncle" was,
some one replied, "Ascertain who is the dullest and
most uninteresting woman in the room, and
you will
find him at her side." In devoting himself to those
whom he was sure others would neglect, he was guilty
of no insincerity. A motive of true kindness brought
him to them. And if such a motive were always a
458
POLITENESS.
governing principle in the intercourse of society, the
vexed question, how truth is always to be reconciled
with courtesy, would be forever settled. One might
honestly profess a willingness and pleasure in doing
that which otherwise would be tedious and disagree-
able, and make use of expressions which would other-
wise be untrue. We may be glad to see visitors for
their sakes, whom we should not much desire on our
own account. At the same time, lest we may fall into
the habit, naturally and easily adopted, of using strong
expressions, such as convey more feeling than exists
at all, or certainly more than is habitual, whatever the
enthusiasm of the moment may be, it is well to guard
against them, even in our honest intercourse with our
fellow-men; and form the habit of expressing our-
selves more by action than by profession.
If our Christian gentleman receives ill-treatment or
insult from others, he shows himself the true Christian
gentleman still not bringing himself to their level by
quarrelling or railing, according to the old barbarous
system of "eye for eye," and "tooth for tooth." He
cannot, under any circumstances be a heathen.
This motive of self-respect for abstaining, under
provocation, from the indulgence of high temper, and
angry words, I have found useful, when a higher one
failed, to enforce upon young people; and upon the ignor-
ant, and therefore narrow-minded, such as constitute
a large majority of servants and laboring people, and
not a very small proportion of the so-called cultivated
classes.
POLITENESS.
459
Manners, in a few instances, are the direct product
of nature, perfect in kind, and needing no improve-
ment. Generally, however, like every other high
attainment, they need direct cultivation, and a child
cannot be too carefully trained in this respect. I do
not mean by a dancing-master, though he may be a
valuable assistant in one way, viz., in making the
limbs supple and skilful to obey gracefully the com-
mands of the will. His office bears the same relation to
the mother's, in this instance, as that of the tuner of the
instrument, to his who draws music from it. The
silent music of sweet and gentle manners requires,
first of all, the cultivation of reverence—a beautiful
sentiment, essential to the uplifting of man above a
low, grovelling condition.
Next to reverence, cultivate thoughtfulness or con-
sideration for others. Many in whom good manners
are not a spontaneous growth, would acquire them
by this means alone, who, from a want of it, are per-
fectly unconscious how many opportunities they lose,
daily, hourly, almost momently, of making themselves
acceptable and agreeable to those with whom they
associate-and in how many ways they give offence,
and render themselves disagreeable. To be well-
mannered, one must be unselfish-so that, on this ac-
count, as well as because they are a means of influ-
ence, the cultivation of good manners is a moral duty.
It is a very charming mode, applicable even to a very
young child, of beginning the life-long process essen-
tial to our proper growth, development, and progress,
460
POLITENESS.
viz., living out of ourselves, and for others. This
consideration must be enforced by kindness. The
law of love must be inculcated-" line upon line "
and "precept upon precept "-until it becomes writ
ten on the heart, and dwells ever upon the lips. Occa-
sionally, instances are met with, of a great want of
correspondence between the manners and the charac-
ter, so that the former are not at all a proper expres-
sion of the latter. For instance, warm and kind-
hearted people have sometimes what are termed cold
manners, so that you must know them intimately in
order to ascertain that they have a warm heart.
The best guides to true politeness, are, first of all, a
loving disposition, that does not wish to hurt another's
feelings, and, in the second place, good, common sense.
With these two requisites, one cannot fail to be po-
lite. Remember, true politeness requires humility as
well as good sense and benevolence. To think more
highly of ourselves than we ought to think, destroys
its quickening principle. Its first effort is to subdue and
extirpate selfishness; its next is to acquire that knowl-
edge of human nature which will enable it wisely to
regulate itself by the sympathies of those around;
last feature reveals alliance with a higher family of
graces. Forming a bright link between the accom-
plishments and the virtues, it claims affinity with that
Heaven-born spirit which on the plains of Bethlehem
breathed in melody from the harps of angels "Peace
on earth; good will to men."
its
XXXII.
DRESS.
"Say, what conclusion's to be drawn
Are we to fancy or to feel,
To live awake, or in a yawn,
To be consistent, or genteel?
Soon the election may be made-
C
Let's square our lives by reason's rules;
So far be fashion's modes observed,
But let us not be Fashion's Fools."

HE satirists of every age have considered
woman's vanity and love of dress legitimate
subjects for their keenest strokes. The en-
ormous hoops, crape cushioned head-dresses,
furbelows, powder, and patches of the days of
Addison and Goldsmith only gave place to other
fantastic modes, which have in turn called forth the
ridicule of lesser wits down to the present day.
Whether all their poignant witticisms ever lessened
the number of patches, made "top-knots come down,"
or reduced the size of a sleeve, is somewhat doubtful.
Fashion is a goddess who will not be laughed out of
countenance. Her frown is terrific; her votaries pro-
claim from her high places,-"It is better to be out of
the world than out of the fashion."
461
462
DRESS.
And Dr. Watts truly observes in the oft quoted
lines:
"How proud we are, how fond to shew
Our clothes, and call them rich and new,
When the poor sheep and silk-worm wore
That very clothing long before!"
Of all vanities, the most foolish is that derived
from a fondness for dress. A little mind is never so
much shown as in this particular; and the reason is,
that in no sense is a richness of dress dependant upon
ourselves. Neither merit nor goodness is employed
in procuring it, and whoever has a well-furnished
purse may make a display in dress and finery. The
vanity which is derived from beauty is hollow and
vain, for as we, as individuals, do not make our own
features, we have but little reason to be vain in that
a symmetry of features has been bestowed upon us,
which has been denied to others; and then the fleet-
ness of beauty, liable to be defaced by sickness, and
certain to be worn out in a few fleeting years, might
well make the possessor regard it as a light matter,
and not as one which set her at an immeasurable dis-
tance from most others of her sex. But forasmuch as
beauty is a rare gift of nature, and, by its rareness, no
less than by its loveliness, attracts vast notice and con-
siderable homage, the mind has some little excuse for
being inflated with vanity. The attention which is
paid to beauty, the homage which it exacts from all,
may make the possessor regard herself as formed of
finer clay than the rest of the world, and imagine
DRESS.
463
1
herself as raised far above the level of the generality
of her sex.
But if we make this allowance in favor of beauty of
person, (though we are far from saying that loveliness
of features is an apology for vanity, yet, as we are but
frail at best, we should not think hardly or harshly of
any one who prided herself a little upon the loveliness
of her face), we can not do so in regard to those who
rate themselves highly because they have fine clothes,
or are adorned with costly jewels; for this latter
vanity is so empty and contemptible, that those who
indulge in it display the greatest narrowness of soul.
But if this be an evil, how is it to be remedied? We
reply, store the mind with real and useful knowledge,
and the passion for dress will very soon be extin-
guished. There is in every heart an ambitious pant-
ing, a wish for notice and applause, and this feeling is,
in its right direction, a high and noble one; but if it
takes an improper turn, it becomes low and despicable.
We assume, then, that this feeling has full play in
the minds of females-that they have a wish for no-
toriety and applause, and that they eagerly pant to be
noticed and to be applauded. But in what way was
it possible for them, at least in other days, to obtain
these so-much-coveted plaudits? There was no way
which we can discover, except by beauty or by dress.
They could not hope to shine by mental acquirements,
for these they scarcely possessed. The art of conver-
sation they scarcely knew, for the passing topics of
the day were all they were acquainted with; there-
५
464
DRESS.
fore, if they would shine, they had no alternative but
that of resorting to the beauties of person or of dress.
It requires, therefore, but that the female mind
should be expanded, and the foolish pride of dress
would soon become obliterated. They would then
seek for applause for real acquirements, in place of the
follies arising from the display of finery; for no one
displays tinsel who can exhibit gold, nor does any one
wear paste who possesses diamonds. If the female
mind were properly educated, women would then be
as desirous of winning praise for real acquirements,
as they are now for the follies of finery. It is this
lack of knowledge which makes the mind stoop to the
follies of dress, for they well know that this is the
readiest way to win applause, and the passion for
praise is inherent in our nature.
If we take a group of men, though they may all be
dressd in a uniform black, we instantly detect the
great from the ignoble, the learned from the ignorant.
There is a difference in manner, in conversation, and
in gesture, which bespeaks a man's station; and where
one is found who prides himself upon the fashionable
style of his dress, or the nicety with which his person
is adorned, we, as an axiom, set that man down as
possessed of a little mind-and the rule is so true that
it hardly ever meets with an exception, for a great
man to be a fop would be almost a marvellous occur-
And the reason of the opinion is very obvious.
The passion for praise is a dominant feature in the
human heart; and, when it cannot be procured by
rence.
DRESS.
465
that which is lofty and noble, it is striven to be ob-
tained by that which is comparatively abject and
paltry.
And so we believe would it be with women, if they
were educated aright. They would seek for a loftier
display than that of finery; their passion for praise
would be so exalted, that they would regard those
plaudits only as worth receiving which resounded for
generous qualities, amiable feelings, or greatness of
mind.
For even while seeking for show, women must feel
that it is so empty and hollow, that little satisfaction
can be gathered from the notice taken of a display of
jewelry or a richness of dress.
Let but a woman neatly and plainly attired enter
into society-one who has the art of pleasing by con-
versation, and who is possessed of considerable talents
whether natural or acquired. How soon will she
gather round her a company of auditors; and how
soon will those who have only the richness of clothes
to recommend them be passed by, or only followed by
those who have not minds enough to enter into, or be
pleased with, a conversation which has for its subjects
themes of high import or great worth! Then, if the
choice were offered, would not those richly dressed
ladies gladly exchange their finery for the power of
conversation? We can hardly doubt it, for they must
feel that they meet with no homage but from the ig-
norant, and the homage of such is likely to bring more
disgust than pleasure.
X
466
DRESS.
i
There has always been a great outcry raised about
the folly of female vanity; and homily after homily
has been delivered upon the absurdity of courting ap-
plause by dressing gorgeously. But little good was
ever effected by such sermons-vanity remained as
powerful as ever, and dress and fashion had as many
votaries. The only way to get rid of this species of
vanity is, to raise the feelings to their proper ends.
Vanity originates in a passion for praise; if the praise
were made to depend upon mental adornment, in place
of personal, the folly of dress would soon be done
away with; and in place of, as now, being solicitous
about dress, woman would be anxious to display men-
tal beauty. The vanity would remain the same, but
it would be raised and dignified; the feeling would
be restored to its proper position, and women, in place
of striving to eclipse one another in richness of ap-
parel and costliness of gems, would try to clothe their
minds with virtue, and to adorn them with virtue and
goodness, far richer and rarer jewels than the dia-
mond or the ruby.
If this reasoning be correct, the education of the
mind would at once put an end to the folly of dres-
sing after the fancies of every new fashion. We
should not then see practices resorted to, which, for
the sake of display, work a vast injury upon the con-
stitution, bringing deformity, ill health, and other
numerous trains of evils. We should not then see
hours wasted in learning the newest fashions, or the
most approved mode of adorning the person; but,
DRESS.
467
satisfied with the apparel becoming the station of life
she occupied, a woman would be content with neat-
ness and simplicity, and would think more of the cul-
tivation of the mind and less of the adornment of the
person.
Incalculable mischief has been wrought by the pas-
sion for vanity, and fondness for dress. From the
higher ranks it soon descended to the lower, and ser-
vants quickly learned to be as vain as their mistresses,
and as fond of display; so that in place of the neat-
ness and modesty of apparel which once characterized
the domestics of this land, they have become prover-
bial for their fondness of display and ill-judged finery.
And, by this foolish vanity, they expose themselves
to numberless evils and temptations; and many a
young woman, who would have gone through life
innocently and happily, has, by dress and display,
thrown herself into the seducer's power, and ended
her days wretchedly and guiltily. Neither is this re-
mark to be confined to servants-to mistresses as well
is it applicable. Is it not a temptation thrown out to
the libertine, for a female to be adorned in the extreme
of fashion? fashion being generally absurd, and oft-
times indelicate; for ere a woman can do so she must
have lost the delicate modesty of her sex, and this
having departed, a libertine will not be over-scrupulous
in his advances or his speeches.
It has generally been observed, that ladies eminent
for their mental acquirements have been extremely
negligent about their dress. This conduct still dis-
468
DRESS.
plays vanity—it is the vanity of wishing to be thought
not vain. They see the foolish vanity of display
which is everywhere around them, and perhaps think
that to be at the widest distance from it is the best:
but the reverse of wrong is not always right, and
in this particular instance it most certainly is not.
To run from vanity to negligence is going out of one
bad quality into another, and thus getting engulfed
in Charybdis to avoid being stranded upon Scylla,
for there is frequently as much vanity displayed
in keeping from a fashion as in being one of the
first who embraced it: in either case, it is the love
of being thought singular, and the love of singu-
larity is vanity. We should not, therefore, exempt
from a charge of vanity a lady who, because pos-
sessed of considerable mental attainments, manifested
an extreme negligence with regard to dress and
person; this very carelessness would be a proof of
vanity, and that too in a great degree: for the negli-
gence in this instance would arise from a wish to be
noticed, and to have her conduct commented on.
We should, on the contrary, regard her as least open
to the charge of vanity, who, though possessed of learn-
ing and talent, at the same time showed herself
careful that her dress should be neat and becoming.
Equally reprehensible with the fondness for finery
is slovenliness and negligence with regard to dress.
Those who are negligent of their own persons are
generally of untidy habits—and these are among the
worst of bad qualities. A disposition is perhaps no-
DRESS.
469
where more completely displayed than in the choice
and arrangement of dress; so that by encouraging
neatness, economy, and simplicity, in this particular, a
great step is taken toward bringing the disposition to
love and practise other virtues.
We would, therefore, particularly recommend all
to pay a due regard to dress: for a neatly-dressed
person always meets with a respect which a slovenly
one fails to command.
Dress is, as it were, a letter of recommendation
which all carry about with them; and in many, if not
most instances, the mind forms a liking or takes a dis-
like to a stranger on the first appearance. It would
take a long time to wear off the bad impression which
would be left by the presence of a stranger in a
slovenly or untidy dress, as it is generally imagined
that the same carelessness runs through all actions,
and therefore that the disposition must be one of
which carelessness and negligence form a considerable
portion.
There is, perhaps, little fear of these habits being
displayed in society, though they are frequently
practised at home. A wife thinks it but a slight
matter that her husband should see her moving
through his house dressed in so disorderly and negli-
gent a manner, that she would be ashamed to be
seen so by any of her friends. She will perhaps
say, that "she is in her own home, and has a right
to dress as she pleases." She may have the power
of doing so, but hardly, we think the right; for
470
DRESS.
carelessness and indolence have no right to be prac-
tised. But, independently of that reason, she has no
right to present herself to her husband in a dress she
would instantly take off were a friend to favor her
with a call; for her husband should be regarded as
the best and most worthy of friends, to whom she is
bound to show both decorum and respect; and if it
would be regarded as an insult to a friend to be seen
thus dressed, so should it be to a husband. By dress-
ing slovenly when her husband is present, a wife
tacitly offers an insult; for by her conduct she de-
clares that he is of so little importance in her estima-
tion, that it matters nothing how she dresses. And it
is quite idle to say that a man takes no concern in his
wife's dress, and that it makes but little difference
whether she display neatness or negligence. We are
quite sure that the reverse holds good, and that a man
is as much pleased to see his wife dressed with neat-
ness, as he is grieved to see her practise negligence in
her attire.
The same holds good with regards to daugh-
ters. It is an insult to parents for a young female
to show that she thinks any dress good enough for
them, when at the same time she evinces much
concern about her appearance if she have to go from
home.
It is only in these and such-like instances that
women display such negligence and disregard; for
the power of vanity is so great, that they are very
careful in their apparel when mixing with society.
DRESS.
471
They seem to think that they shall meet with no re-
spect unless they dress finely and showily; but we
think that if the experiment were tried, it would be
found that if the mental qualifications were thought
of more, a modest and neat dress would win a far
greater degree both of respect and of attention.
The dresses which women should be most anxious
to wear are those which are woven in the loom of Vir-
tue by the hands of Modesty and Simplicity, and trim-
med and adorned by Delicacy.
Let it not be thought that woman has only power
of attracting when the flower-wreath encircles her
brow, and she is robed in costly silks spangled with
bright gems. She may weave for her brow a brighter
wreath than that of flowers, composed of virtue, gen-
tleness, kindness, amiable feelings, and love. Brighter
jewels than any dug from the mine, or dived from the
pearly strand, are knowledge, wisdom, and talents;
while richer and more glorious than the costliest silks
that ever India saw, is the robe of modesty.
But dress should always be appropriate. There is
a natural fondness in the young for gay colors. And
why should they not admire what has been made so
beautiful? Earth wears her robe of pleasant green,
-the sky melts into its lovely blue, or glows with
crimson, purple, and gold,-the flowers blush with deli-
catę hues, or are sprinkled with gorgeous dyes,-the
gems of ocean shine with dazzling lustre, and our Maker
has deeply implanted a love of the beautiful in every
human heart. The utilitarian may deny this, but,
X
472
DRESS.
with all the splendors of creation around us, we have
but to open our eyes, and his arguments are forgotten.
Youth, buoyant with hope, and radiant with gladness,
-why should it be shrouded in sombre hues? Have
we not here the teachings of nature? Should not
life's spring-time and summer be clad like their proto-
types, and old age wear the sombre livery of winter?
Goldsmith compares the style of dress appropriate to
different periods of life to the three orders of Grecian
architecture. The elaborate and beautiful Corinthian,
for youth; the graceful, but less ornamented Ionic,
for middle life; and the chaste, simple Doric, for ven-
erable age.
Children love the gayest colors; but, as the mind
expands, and the taste refines, more delicate hues are
preferred. Colors, in dress, that do not harmonize or
contrast agreeably, pain the eye, as discords in music
do the ear. Light blue and pink, purple and blue,
green and blue, yellow and pink, worn as contrasts,
are unpleasant to almost every eye; while purple and
yellow or orange, blue and brown, salmon and blue,
green and pink, lilac and green, are pleasing contrasts.
This is not a factitious taste, but is, as the painter well
knows, derived from observation of the harmonies of
nature. Fashion may reconcile us for a time to al-
most any absurdity; but good taste, being founded in
natural sensibility to beauty, will not yield entirely to
her caprices.
It is much to be desired, that the young ladies of
our country would dress with more plainness and sim-
DRESS.
473
plicity in the street and at church. A Frenchman
who had just arrived in one of our larger cities, the
first morning after his landing walked through the
favorite street for promenading; on returning to his
hotel, he inquired of a lady,-"Madam, where is the
ball this morning?" "The ball! what ball?" "I
don't know what ball, but you Americans have one
very strange custom; the ladies all go to the ball be-
fore dinner; some ride, more walk, all dressed for the
ball; ha! ha! ha! republican vulgarity.”
In no other civilized country do reputable women
walk or ride out in full dress. In Europe, ladies do
not go to church to display their finery; they have
other public places where their vanity may be grati-
fied. Almost the only arena for display in many places
in this country, unfortunately, is the holy sanctuary;
the place for humiliation and self-abasement. Gay as
a parterre of tulips and hyacinths at one season, and
waving with plumes, like a regiment of soldiers, at
another. Is this a Christian assembly, met to wor-
ship God? Not that such an assembly should be
clothed in sackcloth, or any other peculiar and homely
garb; but surely a simple and unostentatious style of
dress would be far more appropriate.
On a journey, a plain dress is most becoming. We
form an opinion of strangers from their appearance;
it
is the only index. When a young lady carries her
light silks, her embroidery and jewelry, upon her per-
son, in stage-coach, car, and steamboat, through the
length and breadth of the land, we conclude that they
·
DRESS.
474
are her only letter of recommendation, and there may
be those to whom it is sufficient.
Dress should correspond in some degree with the
wealth of the wearer. There should be moderation
and sobriety, however, arising from principle. The
extravagance of wives and daughters has doubtless in-
creased men's desire to be rich, and led them in many
instances to those rash endeavors and wild specula-
tions, that lately threatened destruction to our coun-
try. Is the present comparative calm a proof that
they have become more considerate, more economical?
Are there none who still encroach upon a father's fond
indulgence to gratify vanity, or who are only increas-
ing the load of care and anxiety of a husband, and re-
ducing his means in a manner that will inevitably
bring ruin and disaster down upon him, simply to
gratify an inordinate love of display? If you follow
Shakspeare's rule, "Costly as your purse can buy,'
how will you be able to obey a charge coming from
higher authority,-" to do good, to be rich in good
works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate?
"2
!
XXXIII.
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.

HERE are two extremes which we constantly
see among young women on first going into
company, and coming into the society of
men. The one is a simpering bashfulness,
that looks and is very silly, while the other is
exhibited in a bold, free air, that is even more
offensive to good sense and propriety. A little more
confidence will correct the one, and a little more mod-
esty the other. Both are exceedingly unpleasant to
meet with, though the former is much more tolerable
to men of true feeling and discernment than the latter.
These latter will always find plenty of young men
ready to gossip, and flirt, and take liberties of speech
with them, that the self-respect of any modest girl
would cause her at once to repel; but the crowd they
gather around them is far from being a crowd of real
admirers; or, if weak enough to admire, they are far
from being such admirers as a true woman would wish
to have. They are mostly silly boys, or men who have
lost all true respect for woman.
On first going into company, a pure-minded, truly
modest, inexperienced girl, will naturally feel a degree
475
476
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.
of reserve and embarrassment, especially on meeting
with and being introduced to strange young men.
This feeling of reserve she should not seek to throw
off, unless the men have received their introduction
to her through her father or brother, or some partic
ular friend of the family, in whom her parents evi-
dently place great confidence. When this is the case
politeness requires that she should endeavor to make
herself agreeable and entertaining to the person so
introduced, by joining in conversation with him upon
some general topic, instead of merely replying in
monosyllables to every remark he may offer a cus-
tom that is very annoying to a person who is politely
endeavoring to entertain another. Don't say that you
cannot do it—that you don't know what to say.
Compose your mind, and think, and thought will soon
dictate what you ought to say. If, however, the per-
son who is seeking your acquaintance, has been in-
troduced, without your consent, by some other than
your father, brother, or your parents' particular friend,
you cannot be too reserved towards him. You have no
guaranty for his character or his principles, and there-
fore you should not let him be upon easy and fami-
liar terms with you.
In regard to her acquaintances of the other sex, a
young lady cannot be too particular. It is no proof
that a young man is worthy to be numbered among
her friends, because he is well dressed, good-looking,
converses intelligently, and visits at the house, or at-
tends the parties given by this, that, or the other re-

HOW THEY CAUCHT FISH.
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.
477
I
"
spectable person. The error of believing this is a too
common, but a very dangerous one. Unfortunately,
such evidences are no proofs of true respectability and
virtue. As society is now constituted, the worst class
of young men, as well as the best, are equally free
to mingle in fashionable circles: all that is needed to
give them access are family, education, and good man-
ners. The most depraved, alike with the most virtu-
ous, may possess these external advantages. How
often is it the case that we see a young man, whose
habits are as bad as a depraved heart can make them,
in close and friendly conversation, and, it may be, im-
piously venturing to touch the hand of a pure-minded,
innocent girl, who, if the quality of his mind could be
made apparent to her, would shrink from him with hor-
ror! It is, we regret to say, an almost every-day oc-
currence. To prevent this as far as possible, a young
lady should decline all proposed introductions, unless
made by her nearest and best friends-those whom
she knows to be discriminating, and who have deeply
at heart her welfare. If introductions are forced upon
her without her consent, she can do no less than treat
the person so introduced with politeness; but she
should limit the acquaintance to the particular occa-
sion. Afterwards she should be careful to treat the
individual as a stranger. If he, however, taking ad-
vantage of his introduction, should force himself upon
her, she should not treat him with rudeness,—no lady
will do that-but with a degree of coldness that will
sooner or later cause him to feel that his acquaintance
is not agreeable.
478
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.
Reserve like this is absolutely necessary to the pro-
tection of a pure-hearted maiden, in a society consti-
tuted as ours at present is. The semblances of all
that is honorable and noble-minded are so perfect,
that even age, with all its penetration, cannot some-
times see through the veil that hides corruption and
moral deformity, much less the eyes of a young and
inexperienced girl.
Treated by the other sex as a woman, a maiden of
seventeen, eighteen, or even twenty, is apt to forget
that she knows little or nothing of the world, and
that her knowledge of character is very limited. All
around her, it seems as if a book were laid open, and
she had but to read and obtain the fullest information
on whatever appertains to life. But she has yet to
learn that she sees only the appearances of things,
and that realities are hidden beneath them, and can-
not be seen by her except through the eyes of those
who are older and more experienced. If she will be-
lieve this, it will make her modest and reserved;
modesty and reserve will make her thoughtful; think-
ing is the mind's seeing power, and by it, and it alone,
will a young lady be able to see for herself what is
right, and form her own judgment of the world into
which she has been introduced, and where she has an
important part to act as a woman. The men with
whom she comes in contact are often from two to
three, and sometimes from six to seven, years older than
herself. They have seen more and thought more than
she has. The first deceitful appearances of life have
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.
479
癯
​passed away with them, and they can see beneath the
surface. When in company with men, therefore, a
young lady should seek rather to follow than lead in
the conversation; for, by doing this, she will gain
much useful information and many desirable hints in
regard to manners, character, social usages, books, and
various other matters useful to be known. If, as will
not unfrequently be the case, young men begin some
trifling chit-chat or idle gossip about fashion, or call
attention to some peculiarity of dress, person, or man-
ner in individuals present, a young lady should as
adroitly as possible change the subject, and endeavor
to lead her companion into a conversation on topics
of more interest and importance. If she fail in do-
ing this, she should maintain a rigid silence on the
subjects introduced; they are unworthy of her, and
their introduction should be regarded not very com-
plimentary to say the least.
Shun then the companionship of an idle man or
woman. Fever is not half so catching as idleness, and
idleness is the ground in which every evil may find
root. To become idle is to let the ground lie fallow,
and the enemy may then sow what seeds he will, with
the certainty of reaping an abundant harvest.
Make no friendship with the tattier or the tale-
bearer; those who relate to you others' secrets will
not be over-scrupulous in keeping yours. Persons
possessing such a disposition as this ought to have no
reliance placed upon them; they make friendships
and form associations for the pleasure of worming out
480
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.
1
secrets, and then relating them with malicious addi-
tions and insinuations of their own, to the hurt and
injury of those whom they may concern.
And those
who perform such actions are as guilty as though they
had employed the hand in robbery or in murder; they
are robbers, in that they have filched others' secrets-
they are murderers, in that, by their insinuations and
tales, they may have destroyed fair characters and
blasted high reputations.
Avoid as you would a plague-spot the companionship
of the scoffer at religion. Those who can make the
Bible a jest-book, and use Scripture as a butt for their
witticisms, are the most dangerous companions. We
should prefer the openly dissolute to the scoffer at re-
ligion: the assassin who enters boldly with the dag-
ger in his hand, is not more to be guarded against than
the man who glides in stealthily and poisons the food.
A man who laughs at the Bible has no morality; he
may think himself too proud to commit crime, but
pride soon falls before desire.
When you make a jest-book of the Bible, you lose
all reverence for its Author; and from losing rever-
ence, soon begin to disobey. The serpent puts doubt
into the mind, and from doubting we are soon taught
to rebel.
A proud man or woman is an unsuitable companion
-humility and gentleness should characterize the
female sex. Indeed, pride, in no sense, becomes hu-
manity. Pride lost heaven; humility—the humility
of God himself-regained it for mankind.
*
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.
481
Withdraw from forming an intimacy with the cen-
sorious. Those who are habitually finding faults in their
friends, are generally worse in disposition than those
they condemn; those whose whole time is busied in
picking holes in others' garments, can find but few
moments to mend their own. Besides, the censorious
are always dissatisfied. Earth, though so fair, has no
pleasure for them, and they fret and repine at the
thoughts of others enjoying happiness, which they
fancy is beyond their own reach.
Avoid associating with persons of a revengeful dis-
position. Those who will nurse the recollection of an
offence or an injury must have hearts of gall, and
words flowing from such a fountain can be little bet-
ter than poison.
With the revengeful may be classed the envious.
Envy is revenge ere it has grown to maturity. It is
a dagger with which the envious wound their own
breasts, because fear prevents them from turning it
against the bosoms of their rivals.
Take heed not to join with the prodigal or the
spendthrift. Riches were given for use-not for
abuse; and to squander them away idly and uselessly,
is like throwing grain to the wind.
Withhold the hand of friendship from any of your
own sex who are given to levity. These tempt the
libertine to a trial of their virtue; and if they fall,
suspicion will glance at your innocence. Scandal and
slander soon invent tales, and there are busy-bodies
ever ready to spread them. If it be known that you
482
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.
1
were a friend of such a one, it will be ground enough
for scandal to work upon; and there have fallen many
blistering tears from female eyes which have been
caused to flow through scandal having given to her
part of the wrong-doings of a companion.
Shun the having as your companions gay and pro-
fligate young men-men of fashion, as they are called.
You are encouraging vice by countenancing them,
and at the same time tempt them to make another
conquest. We would speak with all earnestness upon
this point, though at the same time aware that the
subject requires the most delicate handling-for there
is nothing half so dangerous to a young female as the
homage of such as these.
We know very well that we shall be met with the
answers, that they are far more agreeable companions
than "sober-minded men," as the opposite class are
called in ridicule, and that the brilliant wit, the quick
and sparkling repartee, the amusing anecdote, the good
taste, all belong to them. This, however, is not the
case: the sober-minded men could be as amusing,
though they have too nice a sense of decorum to make
an attempt inimical to virtue-and it is, after all, but a
poor wit which borders on the indelicate or the licen-
tious. But if it were so, what then?-would you
rush into the flames because they were fed with spices,
or drink poison because hidden in nectar?
Mothers! mothers! you who have watched over the
infancy and have tended the youth of your daughters!
will you suffer such men as these to enter your draw-
1
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.
483
ing-rooms at any time as your friends?
friends? Rather repel
them from your presence with indignation and con-
tempt: for if one of your own sex is in your eyes
so highly criminal, much more so should be those of
the other—and then would it be that men would at
least affect virtue, in place of, as now, triumphing in
vice.
Daughters! daughters! you upon whom life is open-
ing fairly and beautifully, and who are just entering
upon the world, and upon whom pleasure like a star
is shedding a thousand bright and glorious beams, but
upon whom the world has not fastened the spells of
its fascination, and taught to regard "evil good, and
good evil!"-beware of the companionship of such
men. They may be witty, and clever, and amusing;
but their hearts are shut against everything which
adorns humanity. They will have homage for your
beauties, and flatteries ever ready to cheat you of lofty.
purposes, and noble resolutions. Trust not that you
will be proof against their attacks: no garrison is so
soon taken as that which slumbers in perfect security.
It is the most dangerous of all things for a woman,
and especially a young woman, to form association
with men such as those we speak of. Woman are
naturally disposed to seek for admiration from the
other sex,
and the gay world is regarded as the theatre
for their charms to be displayed; pleasure, too, has
a luring voice, enticing them to mix with the gay and
the mirthful; but when once a woman has given her-
self up to flattery, or can listen unmoved to the ribald
484
COMPANY OF GENTLEMEN.
jest, or the witticism with its double meaning, which
is the more surely poisoning from its import being hid-
den, she is lost—nothing of after-amendment will avail
her anything. In the Arabian Fables, a mountain of
attraction is represented as having had the power of
drawing all the fastenings from ships which approached
it, so that in an instant they went to pieces; and, at
the same time, the current at the foot of this moun-
tain ran so strongly, that when a ship approached
near, it was drawn onward without the possibility of
return. Such is the world: pleasure is like that fa-
bled mountain, and the thoughts and desires are a
strong current rushing wildly at its base. Heed should
be taken to steer away from this dangerous sea, lest,
in a moment of unguardedness, any one be hurried
down to this attractive mountain. Then will little
avail good resolutions and virtuous intentions; then
of no use will be a mother's admonitions and a broth-
er's prayers; the spell of the sorcerer is upon the vic-
tim, and as she is drawn onward, these fly away like
the nails from the ship, and leave her at length a
wreck upon the waters. And many a noble bark,
laden with rich and beautiful things-with beauty,
talent, amiableness, and goodness-has, by trusting to
this dangerous strand, been shattered and rent-a
thing for the waves which have brought her there to
sport with her ruin, and the winds to pass over and
laugh at her shame.
XXXIV.
MATRIMONIAL HINTS.

NE of the wants of our being is society; we
long for friends; there is a social instinct
within us that make solitude miserable and
that can be satisfied only with the society of
our fellows. But what each soul longs for par-
ticularly is companionship.
But we need a companionship that is not depend-
ent upon accident; that is as certain to us as the sun
by day, and the moon and stars by night. Every one
knows how inferior in pleasure and benefit is solitary
travelling, to that made in chosen company; and the
same is still more true; of travelling on the journey
of life. God has made the human soul, as he has
made everything else endowed with any principle of
vitality, both diffusive and receptive; and, to be in
its.best estate, it must impart a portion of what it re-
ceives. Thus action and reaction, between two souls
closely united, becomes the source of their best and
truest life. It is not confined, of course, to those
bound together by the marriage tie; but it is more
complete and perfect in their case-if they are what
they should be to one another.
485
486
MATRIMONIAL HINTS.
Thus, you perceive that while one great and im-
portant result of marriage is the perpetuation of the
human race; its highest object is the growth and de-
velopment of character, or, in other words, progress
in the divine life, which is the Heaven-ordained course
for men and women; and, by-and-bye, it will be made
evident to you, that the duties and responsibilities con-
nected with the rearing of children, tend to the same
end.
The choosing, then, of a wife, or a husband, is a
momentous act, and yet, how lightly and thought-
lessly is the election often made; and, often, how im-
piously. I use the latter term advisedly, for marriage
is a sacred institution, and the ark of its covenant
should not be desecrated by unholy uses.
In every other human contract, the attention is care-
fully turned upon all the ends to be gained by it, and the
best means of securing those ends. If it be but for
the purchase of lands or houses, or stock for a farm,
it is not entered upon and concluded without a most
careful examination of the property to be bought, with
reference to ascertaining its true value, and its fitness
for the purposes it is to answer. But in this infin-
itely most important of all, in, perhaps, a majority of
cases, no such care is taken. The account that Doc-
tor Johnson gives of the way in which many mar-
riages occur, does not convey an exaggerated idea of
the heedlessness with which the destiny of young men
and women is often sealed; and this accounts for a
part of the misery which is found in married life. He
MATRIMONIAL HINTS.
487
says, "A youth and maiden meeting, by chance, or
brought together by artifice, exchange glances, recip-
rocate civilities, go home and dream of one another.
Having little to diversify thought, they find them-
selves uneasy when they are apart, and therefore con-
clude that they shall be happy together. They marry,
and discover what nothing but voluntary blindness had
before concealed. They wear out life with alterca-
tions, and charge nature with cruelty."
Many, deliberately and intentionally, base their
choice upon the lowest motives. Men marry for
beauty or wealth, or both; and women for wealth ';
and so-called position. These offend no human law;
but, in the eye of Heaven, there can, in such cases,
be no true marriage. No purely material bond can
truly unite beings who have souls as well as bodies.
The folly of marrying for beauty might be best illustra-
ted by a man who should vest his all in a perishing
flower; marrying for money, by him who makes an
image of precious metal, which, though, it has eyes,
sees not; and ears, hears not; and then bows down be-
fore it, and fancies he can receive from it that for which
humanity cries out to the Infinite. Women who marry
for position, may "gain the whole fashionable world,"
but they will surely lose their own souls, which must
be fed with something else than glare and glitter.
And what is this coveted "position," in the artificial
world of shams? To have it, is to be at the head of
an expensive establishment, to have an immense visit-
ing circle, to give large entertainments, which shall be
488
MATRIMONIAL HINTS.
"honored" with the presence of the "haut ton." In
our country, whoever has money enough, whether re-
fined or vulgar, learned or unlearned, can attain to all
this; therefore, it is hardly a distinction to be cov-
eted, even if it were worth more in itself.
When this "position" is unquestioned, and com-
mands all that can possibly be yielded to it, it gives
very litttle satisfaction because it answers to the
wants of a very small part, and that the lowest, of
our nature. When it is a little doubtful, or not fully
acknowledged, its rights are granted upon such debas-
ing terms, as must either bring with them a sense of
deep humiliation, or rouse all manner of evil passions.
This is man's world. In God's world the badges of
distinction are very different, and worth is measured
by other scales. Friends often give to those whom
they really love very wrong ideas of marriage. Here
is an example: a young lady announced the engage-
ment of another young lady, her friend. After some
questions in reply, about the young man whom she
was to marry, it was asked, "But is he worth any-
thing, Louise?" "Oh, yes, I believe he is a very good
young man, indeed.”
"But, I mean has he any money?"
"Oh, Auntie !" was the reply, in a tone betokening
great wonder and reproach that such a question could
be asked.
Remember that the only position worth seeking, is
that created by high attainments in character, in knowl-
edge, in goodness. These constitute man's true
MATRIMONIAL HINTS.
489
多
​nobility; that which husbands and wives snould be
able to help each other to attain. They must each
bring to the other something for the common stock,
and both do their best to increase it. It has been
more pithily than daintily said, that one great impedi-
ment to the progress of the world consists in un-
fit marriages, and that people marry together who are
no more fit for each other than "hell for a powder-
house." Alas! that the house should ever be a "pow-
der-house" instead of the green bower of content,
which it may and should be made.
There are very few cases, probably, even when mar-
riage is entered into, in the right spirit, from right
motives, when it is not to a certain degree an experi-
ment of doubtful issue, so far as happiness is con-
cerned. The relation between lovers is very different
from that which unites husbands and wives, and to a cer-
tain degree, is a poor preparation for it. The one bears
the same relation to the other, as the easy, graceful
prelude to the long, complicated, difficult composition
that follows it; as the holiday to a working day,
as a quiet sail on some lovely stream, at dawn or sun-
set, when the heavens, as well as the inward world,
are "couleur de rose," to a long and exposed voyage
over a stormy sea. But it is only the intricate com-
position, the working day, the difficult voyage, that
worthily tax and develope the faculties they are re-
spectively to exercise. Two young hearts are put in per-
fect tune by Love's skilful hand, and nothing probably
occurs to disturb their harmony. Afterwards, in life's
490
MATRIMONIAL HINTS.
jarring conflict, discords are almost inevitably caused,
and unless the tuning is repeated, these musical hearts
may become "like sweet bells jangled." It is said
that the reason why lovers are so happy, is because
love, then, is perfectly unselfish. It has all that it
asks for, and gives without effort all that is demanded
of it. But this cannot always be so. When the re-
lation becomes of a more intimate nature, collisions of
feeling, of tastes, and inclinations must perpetually
occur; for there are no two human beings that agree
perfectly in all these: and it seems moreover to be
one of God's arrangements that people attract each
other most, who are most unlike; and therefore this
diversity is particularly striking, often, in the mar-
ried.
99
Then comes the necessity for mutual sacrifices.
These are probably harder, at first, for the wife, be-
cause her lover was her worshipper, and "to receive
only, is the part of the idol. From this dream, the
sooner she wakes the better. If the altar remains,
she must herself supply the frankincense and the
myrrh.
And right here let me say, be careful about being
in too great haste. Remember that there is some-
thing in the old proverb: "Marry in haste, and re-
pent at leisure;" and thousands and tens of thousands
of broken-hearted, sorrowing women give their testi-
mony in tears as they bear witness to its truth.
I would have you then on your guard against tak-
ing a rash step in relation to this important matter.
MATRIMONIAL HINTS.
491
Bear in mind that the decision which you form on this
subject is to affect vitally your interests for life; and
not only yours but at least those of one other individ-
ual. The consequences of an erroneous decision you
will not be able to avoid; they will meet you, and
follow you, and attend you, through the whole of the
rugged path which conducts you to the grave.
Another point of great importance, connected with
this subject, is the character of the man with whom
you are to be united. There are some qualities which
may be desirable enough, but are not indispensable:
there are others which should be regarded as abso-
lutely requisite; and the opposites of which as abso-
lutely disqualifying for this connection.
It may be a pleasant circumstance, though it cer-
tainly ought not to be considered indispensable, that
the individual with whom you are to be connected
should belong to an influential family. This might
secure to you a more valuable circle of acquaintance,
and actually bring within your reach more extended
means, both of improvement and of usefulness, than
you could reasonably expect under different circum-
stances. It is an important consideration that in mar-
riage the wife rises or sinks to the level of the hus-
band; and this is a reason why at least a respectable
circle of connections on his side, is with her a just de-
sideratum; for if there be any blot on the character
of his family which even remotely extends to him, as
soon as her destinies are united with his, she comes in,
almost of course, for her share of the odium; at least
492
MATRIMONIAL HINTS.
it has an influence in determining the rank she is to
hold in society. There are cases, indeed, in which an
extraordinary degree of personal merit completely re-
deems the character of an individual from the deepest
family disgrace, and in such cases a lady would have
nothing to fear from public opinion in giving her hand
in marriage; but in any other circumstances it were
certainly desirable that she should not throw herself
into a circle of connections of a rank greatly inferior
to those with whom she has been accustomed to min-
gle. If Providence should place you by marriage in
a more elevated condition than that to which you have
been accustomed, you may regard it as a favor that
demands your gratitude, and as a means put into your
hands for getting and doing good. But I repeat,
never consider this indispensable. Be satisfied if the
new circle of connections hold a fair and reputable
standing.
I regard fortune, as it stands related to the marriage
of a young lady, in nearly the same light as family.
Great riches are desirable only as a means of doing
good: as a means of enjoyment independently of the
opportunity they furnish for the exercise of a benevo-
lent spirit, they are really worth very little; and are
in no respect to be preferred to a fair competence.
XXXV.
UNT
WHOM NOT TO MARRY.
"But if no radiant star of love,
Oh, Hymen! smile upon thy rite,
Thy charm a wretched weight shall prove,
Thy lamp a sad sepulchral light."
Langhorne.

T is necessary that every young lady receiving
attentions from gentlemen should be warned
beforehand and know where there is danger.
In warning ladies against some of the oppo-
site sex, I would begin by saying: Do not
marry a fop. There is in such a character noth-
ing of true dignity; nothing that commands respect,
or ensures even a decent standing in the community.
There is a mark upon him, an affected elegance of
manner, a studied particularity of dress, and usually a
singular inanity of mind, by which he is known in
every circle in which he moves. His very attitude
and gait tell the stranger who he is, though he only
passes him silently in the street. To unite your des-
tiny with such a man, I hardly need say, would be to
impress the seal of disgrace upon your character, and
the seal of wretchedness upon your doom.
493
494
WHOM NOT TO MARRY.
Do not marry a spendthrift. No, not if he have
ever so extensive a fortune; for no degree of wealth
can secure such a man from the degradation of poverty.
I have in my eye at this moment an accomplished
female, (and it were easy to adduce a thousand similar
cases,) who married a man of vast wealth, but of pro-
digal habits; and years have passed away since that
immense fortune has gone to the winds; and the last
remains of it were squandered amidst the tears, and in
spite of the tender and earnest expostulations of a
suffering family. And now if I should look for that
once rejoicing and apparently fortunate bride, I should
go to an obscure cabin of wretchedness, and should
find her laboring with her own hands to provide bread
for her more than orphan children, and she would tell
me a tale of woe, which however familiar to me, would
make me sit down and weep. This same man, who
has plunged her and her little ones into so much
wretchedness, possesses many naturally amiable qual-
ities, and is gifted with enviable powers of mind; but
unhappily in early life he became a spendthrift, and
on this rock the fortunes of himself and of his family
were wrecked. If you should ever give yourself to a
man of similar character, you need not be disappointed
you should experience a similar destiny.
if
Do not marry a miser. Such a man may be rich,
very rich, but you could expect that his riches would
yield you little else than misery. It is not improb-
able that you might have the mortification of being
compelled not only to refuse every call of charity, but
WHOM NOT TO MARRY.
495
to abridge, in a great degree, your own personal com-
forts, and of knowing at the same time that there
were ample means within your reach which yet you
were forbidden to appropriate.
If you must marry a
miser, I would say, better marry one who is poor than
one who is rich; for in the former case, to whatever
inconvenience you might be exposed, you would be
saved the disheartening reflection, that you were poor
in the midst of abundance. As I would have
you al-
ways cultivate a noble and liberal spirit, I beg you will
never for a moment think of forming a connection, that
shall subject you in this respect to the least embar-
rassment.
Do not marry a man whose age is greatly dispro-
portioned to your own. I will not say that circum-
stances never exist which justify a deviation from this
rule; or that there are no cases in which it is viola-
ted, that result favorably to the happiness of both
parties. But I am constrained to say that such con-
nexions present, at least to my own eye, a violation
of good taste, and seem contrary to the dictates of
nature. Besides it is an exceedingly awkward thing
for a young girl to be going round with a man of
triple her own age as a husband, and puzzling all
who see them together to decide whether she is the
grand-daughter or the wife. And a greater evil still
is, that there must needs be in many respects an en-
tire lack of congeniality between them. He has the
habits and feelings of age, she the vivacity and buoy-
ancy of youth; and it were impossible that this wide
496
WHOM NOT TO MARRY.
difference should not sooner or later be painfully felt.
And she may reasonably expect that some of her best
days will be spent, not in sustaining the infirmities of
an aged father, but in ministering to the necessities
of a superannuated husband; and it would not be
strange if the burden should be increased by her being
compelled to encounter the spirit of complaint and
petulance, by which old age is often attended. I
confess that, whenever I see a respectable female, in
the meridian of life in these circumstances, I regard
her with pity; and though I venerate her for the af-
fectionate and faithful attentions which she renders to
the man whom she has accepted as her husband, I
cannot but wish, for the sake of her own dignity
and happiness, that those attentions had devolved
upon some other individual.
Do not marry a man who is not industrious in some
honorable vocation. It is bad for any individual to be
without some set employment: the effect of it is very
apt to be, that he abuses his talents, perverts his time
to unworthy purposes, and contracts a habit of living
to little purpose but that of self-gratification. A
man without property, and yet without business, no
girl could ever think of marrying, unless she had
made up her mind to sell herself to the lowest bidder.
A rich man may have retired from active business,
after accumulating an estate, and yet may find employ-
ment enough in the supervision and management of
it; but if a man has become rich by inheritance, and
has never acquired a habit of industry, and has been
WHOM NOT TO MARRY.
497
brought up in abundance to live only as a drone, I
would say that it were scarcely more safe to marry
him than if he were actually poor; for this indolent
habit is a pledge of the speedy dissipation of his prop-
erty. A habit of industry once formed is not likely
to be ever lost. Place the individual in whatever cir-
cumstances you will, and he will not be satisfied un-
less he can be active. Moreover, it will impart to his
character an energy and efficiency, and I may add, dig-
nity, which can hardly fail to render him an object of
respect. I should regard your prospects for life, as
far better, if you should marry a man of very limited
property, or even no property at all, with an honest
vocation and a habit of industry, than if I were to see
you united to one of extensive wealth, who had never
been taught to exercise his own powers, and had sunk
into the sensual gratification of himself.
Do not marry a man of an irritable, violent, or over-
bearing temper. There is nothing with which domes-
tic enjoyment is more intimately connected, than a
naturally amiable and affectionate disposition; and the
absence of this is sure to render a delicate and sensi-
tive female, in no small degree, unhappy. To be
compelled to witness frequent ebullitions of angry
passion—to hear her well intended actions often com-
plained of, and her purest motives bitterly impeached
-to feel that the stern hand of power is stretched
over, rather than the soft arm of kindness laid beneath
her-this is a lot from which it would seem the gen-
tleness of female character ought to claim an exemp-
498
WHOM NOT TO MARRY.
tion. I say then, as you value your comfort, venture
not to form this connection with a man of an unamiable
temper. The only exception to be made from this re-
mark is the case of the man, in whom the principle of
religion has gained such an ascendancy, as to remedy
the obliquities of a perverse constitution. But this is
one of the highest and holiest triumphs of religion
itself; and you ought to gain good evidence that it
has accomplished this noble work, before you venture
to stake your happiness upon it.
Do not marry a man who is deficient in understand-
ing, or in mental acquisitions. I do not mean that
you should look for an intellect of the highest order,
or that you should consider yourself entitled to it;
but I mean that a woman of decent intelligence can
never be happy with a fool. If you were united to a
man of inferior endowments, you would not only lose
the advantage which might result from an unreserved
intercourse with one of a different character, but you
would also be subject to a thousand painful mortifica-
tions from the awkward mistakes and ridiculous opin-
ions which would result from his ignorance. There is
scarcely anything more painful than to observe a lady
and her husband in society, when every one feels the
superiority of the former to the latter; and when the
wife herself is manifestly so much impressed with his
inferiority, that the opening of his lips is the signal
for the dropping of her head, or for a blush to diffuse
itself over her countenance. It were certainly a mark
of imprudence for any lady to marry a man, whom
WHOM NOT TO MARRY.
499
she would be ashamed to introduce into any circle to
which she would have access.
Do not marry a man who is skeptical in his princi-
ples. If he be an avowed infidel, or if he hold any
fundamental error in religion, and yet have every
other quality which you could desire, it would be an
act of infatuation in you to consent to become his
wife. You cannot, upon any principles of reason,
calculate that, if you do this, you will escape injury.
I know an instance in which a young female, who
had had a religious education, married an infidel—a
thorough-going disciple of that female monster, who
has recently gone through this country on the most
malignant of all errands-to corrupt its youth; and
the consequence of this connection has been, that she
has plunged with her husband into the gulf of infidelity,
and now openly reviles the Saviour, and ridicules the
most sacred and awful truths of religion. And I
doubt not that these instances furnish a fair illustra-
tion of the influence of such a connection on the female
character. You may rest assured that you cannot be
the constant companion of an infidel, without breath-
ing an atmosphere that is strongly impregnated with
moral corruption; and it were little short of a miracle
if you should breathe such an atmosphere, without in-
haling the elements of death. If I were to see you
in these circumstances, though I would still commend
you to a God of mercy, I could scarcely forbear to
weep over your lot, as if your ruin were actually ac-
complished.
500
WHOM NOT TO MARRY.
Do not marry a man of questionable morality.
However correct may be his moral and religious opin-
ions, if he be addicted to only a single species of vice,
you have no security that he will not sink into the
vortex of profligacy. If he be a profane man, he cer-
tainly cannot have the fear of God before his eyes,
and of course cannot be under the controlling influ-
ence of moral obligation. If he suffer himself to be
only occasionally found at the gaming table, or if he be
addicted in the slightest degree to intemperance, there
is a melancholy probability that he will, ere long, be-
come a desperate gambler, and a shameless sot; and
think what it would be to be obliged to recognize
such a man as your nearest friend;—a man whose
character is rendered odious by the very loathsome-
ness of depravity. I say then, if there be a single ex-
ceptionable point in the moral character of the man
who offers himself to you, reject his proposals with-
out hesitation; to accept them would in all probabil-
ity be to prepare for yourself a cup of unmingled
bitterness, and possibly to exile yourself from the so-
ciety of your own friends.
-
Do not marry any man who is not now, what you
might wish he was in regard to character, morality,
and religion, and hope to reform him after marriage.
Let the experience of the many who have failed keep
you from making this fatal mistake.
量
​
X)
YOUNG WIFE.


A good wife is heaven's last best gift to man; his angel of mercy,
minister of graces innumerable; his gem of many virtues. Her
economy his safest steward, her lips his faithful counselors, and her
prayers the ablest advocates of heaven's blessings on his head.
-JEREMY TAYLOR-

XXXVI.
THE YOUNG WIFE.

COW great is the change which is instantly
effected in the situation of a woman, by the
few solemn words pronounced at the altar!
She, who the moment before was, without
authority or responsibility, a happy, perhaps a
careless, member of one family, finds herself, as
if by magic, at the head of another, and involved in
duties of the highest importance.
The home of her childhood will only know her now
as an irregular visitor instead of a constant inmate.
The familiar name by which she has heretofore been
called by her associates, and which has been to her a
source of pride is changed now, for that of a stranger.
In short, she has by these quickly-spoken vows, been
lifted up from that careless world of thoughtless free-
dom, into a new world, where the gravest cares of
wife, mother and household-manager will rest upon
her young shoulders, a burden which, if she is a true
woman, she will not shirk or turn aside.
This event marks a most important era in the life
of a young female. It introdnces her to some new
and most interesting relations. It devolves upon her
503
504
THE YOUNG WIFE.
a set of cares, and duties, and responsibilities, to which
she has hitherto been unaccustomed. It usually lays
the foundation for increased happiness, or for bitter
and enduring, but unavailing regrets.
The great desire of every true woman in this posi-
tion will be, to act with propriety in her new sphere.
Many, no doubt, by previous judicious instruction,
assisted by their own observations, are well prepared
to sustain their part with judgment and temper; but
some there are whose situations, or whose dispositions,
have led them into other pursuits; and who, conse-
quently, find themselves, as soon as they are married,
without that information and those principles of ac-
tion by which their future conduct ought to be gov-
erned. For the guidance of these the following pages
are intended.
The married and single state equally demand the
exercise and improvement of the best qualities of the
heart and the mind. Sincerity, discretion, a well-
governed temper, forgetfulness of self, charitable al-
lowance for the frailty of human nature, are all re-
quisite in both conditions. But the single woman
being, in general, responsible for her own conduct
solely, is chiefly required to cultivate passive qualities.
To fall easily into the domestic current of regulations
and habits; to guard with care against those attacks
of caprice and ill-humor which might disturb its course;
to assist, rather than to take the lead, in all family
arrangements, are among her duties; while the mar-
ried woman, in whose hands are the happiness and
11.
HOTTTUTO
WHEN
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THE YOUNG WIFE.
505
welfare of others, is called upon to lead, to regulate,
and to command. She has to examine every point in
the new situation into which she is transplanted; to
cultivate in herself, and to encourage in her husband,
rational and domestic tastes, which may prove sources
of amusement in every stage of their lives, and par-
ticularly at the latter period of life when time has
blocked up the outward avenues of sense, and the en-
feebled powers find greatest joy in living over the
happy memories of the past.
No woman should allow herself to be placed at the
head of a family without feeling the importance of
the character which she has to sustain. Her example
alone may afford better instruction than either precepts
or admonitions, both to her children and servants.
By a "daily beauty" in her life, she may present a
model by which all around her will insensibly mould
themselves. "Knowledge is power" only when it
fits us for the station in which we find ourselves
placed; then it gives decision to character; and every
varying circumstance of life is met with calmness, for the
principle to act upon is at hand; then we are prepared
either to add our share to the amusement and interest of
general society, or to lend our strength, on the demand of
our nearest ties, to support, comfort, or instruct.
Duty will not be an appalling word to those whose
minds are properly framed. Indeed, they who have
made it the rule of their lives, have found it also the
source of their happiness; while, in others, the con-
sciousness of having neglected its precepts, has cor-
roded every power of enjoyment.
506
THE YOUNG WIFE.
Think not, the husband gained, that all is done,
The prize of happiness must still be won;
And oft the careless find it to their cost,
The lover in the husband may be lost:
The graces might alone his heart allure,
They and the virtues meeting must secure.
Let e'en your prudence wear the pleasing dress
Of care for him and anxious tenderness.
From kind concern about his weal or woe,
Let each domestic duty seem to flow.
Endearing thus the common acts of life,
The mistress still shall charm him in the wife.
She is to be, in one word, "a help-meet" to her
husband. She is to assist him-co-operate with him
-in the work of self-education.
There was a time, in the history of our world, when
woman did not exist. Man was not only alone—
without a companion-but destitute of a "help-meet"
-an assistant. In these circumstances, almighty
Power called forth, and, as it would seem, for this
very purpose, that modified, and in some respects im-
proved form of humanity, to which was afterwards
given the name of woman, and presented her to man.
She was to be man's assistant. This is woman's great
work. The strong man "bowed," often finds in fee-
ble woman a firm support-the tremulous man, a de-
fence the timid man, courage and reassurance—the
despairing man, hope the helpless man, strength—
the suffering man, balm-the sorrowing man, comfort
-the perplexed and troubled man, that which clears
up his doubts and gives him tranquillity. I have
THE YOUNG WIFE.
507
}
sometimes beheld, with great admiration, a quiet, un-
pretending woman, laying no claim to superiority of
any sort, not expressing herself much in conversation,
but showing character in everything-who was to her
family as the center to the wheel-itself noiseless, but
all that made a noise, revolving round it.
I once had the gratification of hearing Father Tay-
lor pass an eulogium on woman, which I like to re-
peat. He was reading in the pulpit, from a chapter
in one of Paul's Epistles, where she is spoken of as
the "weaker vessel." He stopped, put back his spec-
tacles, and said: "I don't know about that; the word
is not translated right—finer, finer, not weaker." He
then went on thus: "I don't want a woman to go
out of her proper sphere. I don't want her to go to
the polls, or to meddle with politics; but, take a
woman, a true woman, put her in her own sphere, and
let her perform the duties of that sphere well, and I
would like to know where you'll find a more tremen-
dous machine than that!"
Her first endeavor should be to help the man with
whom her lot is cast, up to some higher sphere of use-
fulness and influence; she must remember that every
day educates us for every day which follows it, and
indeed for every subsequent period of our existence, be-
cause all the various events, and circumstances, and
employments of each day contribute to form the fu-
⚫ture character. Just in proportion, then, as the wife
can modify or control these circumstances, events and
employments in her family, just in the same propor-
508
THE YOUNG WIFE.
tion is she an educator of her husband. This edu-
cation may, indeed, be either good or bad, according
to the spirit and manner in which it is conducted; but
educate at some rate or other, the wife always must,
in all she says or does in the presence of others—I
had almost said, in all she thinks and feels. She is
moreover the most efficient of all the educators of
her husband, because her influence is so constant. It
also happens that in no way can she so rapidly pro-
mote her own improvement, as in promoting that of
her husband; since the light and influence which she
sheds on him is necessarily reflected upon herself.
-
The power of persons, places, events and circum-
stances, to form or reform human character, is in ex-
actly an inverse porportion, other things being equal,
to our age. The younger the parties are, when they en-
ter into wedlock, the more they can do, mutually, in the
great work of self-improvement. But something can
be done, as long as life lasts. There is no age at
which the work of human education ceases. Char-
acter is forming for the great future, till we pass
the bounds of time and space, and enter a world
where retribution predominates rather than trial—
a world where character remains fixed-a world of
universal and never ending manhood.
Let it not be hastily supposed that I expect the
wife to do much by means of set lessons, or in any
of the more direct forms of what is commonly called
education; though she is not to remain wholly in-
efficient, even in this respect, as will be seen in an-
C
•
THE YOUNG WIFE.
509
other place. But it is by conduct and example that
she is to effect most, in the education of her husband.
It is by indirect means-silent, gentle, and often un-
perceived, but always operative, just as the growth of
the vegetable world is not so much effected by the
bright meridian glare of heaven's resplendent lumin-
ary, and by the violent rain and the tempest, as by
the milder light of morning and evening, the gentler
breezes, the soft descending showers, and the still more
softly distilling dew. In like manner is it the
prov-
ince of woman to accomplish most for human advance-
ment, and above all in her own family, by indirect if
not by silent efforts. She is to teach, at least in no
small degree, as though she taught not. She is to
perform the duties of her office, not like the king of
day, but rather like the paler empress of night, in so un-
perceived a manner as to leave it doubtful whether
she has any influence or not, except by the general law
of attraction.
A woman's first care ought to be to win the heart
of her husband, and the second to preserve it. She
should study his character, taste, and defects, and con-
form to his will in all reasonable things. If she should
be under a necessity of thinking and acting different
from him, let her not too violently oppose his inclin-
ation, but mildly demonstrate to him, that his resolu-
tions are liable to some inconvenciences, giving at the
same time a few hints of other means to satisfy them:
in short, let her, if possible, make him fix on those
very means, that he may think he follows his own
will whilst he is directed by hers.
+
510
THE YOUNG WIFE.
This conduct seldom fails of being attended with
success, and yet most women neglect it; for being ac-
customed to the assiduity and complaisance of a man
during his courtship, they persuade themselves that
the quality of a husband will lessen nothing of that
attention so flattering to their self-love. They affect, in
the very beginning of their union, to observe no other
rule for their actions but their whims and caprices,
of which they would make their husbands the slaves,
in order to preserve a sovereignty, which they have
too often pushed even to despotism.
A good wife is the greatest blessing and the most
valuable possession that Heaven in this life, can be-
stow she makes the cares of the world sit easy, and
adds a sweetness to its pleasures: she is a man's best
companion in prosperity, and his only friend in ad-
versity; the carefullest preserver of his health, and
the kindest attendant on his sickness; a faithful ad-
viser in distress, a comforter in affliction, and a pru-
dent manager of all his domestic affairs.

YOUNG HUSBAND.


1
Marriage is the best state for man in general; and every man is
a worse man in proportion as he is unfit for the married state.
--JOHNSON.

XXXVII.
THE YOUNG HUSBAND.
T is true though an unpleasant consideration
that few young men, enter into conjugal life
with a view to double their usefulness; or,
indeed, with any very definite or fixed plans,
in regard to future life. The circumstances in
which they are placed seem to have settled all,
for them. The young husband has a trade, an occu-
pation, a profession, which, as a general rule, he will
be likely to follow; and this, in most cases, as the
world is, now will determine his fortune, his talents, his
character, and his happiness. It is, indeed, true, that
there may be far less of caste in our own country than
in
any other.
other. No
No one, who has ambition enough to
look so high, can be certain that his efforts might not,
sooner or later, raise him to the presidential chair.
But it is also true that, of a hundred individuals, who
enter into matrimonial life at twenty to thirty years
of age with an equal number of the other sex, it would
not be very difficult for a person to foretell, with con-
siderable certainty, what would be the future char-
acter and standing of at least ninety.

thre
x
513
514
THE YOUNG HUSBAND.
Not that it need be so, but so it usually is. With
all our superiority, in this respect, to many other tribes
and nations of men, we have, in effect, our ranks or
castes. We, too, have our nobles and peasants, our
patricians and plebeians, our lords and tenants. And
it is seldom, after all, even in republican America, that
we quit our rank, or dare to do so. The immense ma-
jority, I repeat it, have their destiny determined for
them; not merely at marriage, or by marriage, but
much earlier.
But, if such are the facts, in relation to this subject,
-and that such are the facts will not be doubted,-
if education and circumstances, almost with the cer-
tainty of fate, do decide for us, what is the use, it will
be asked, of attempting to exercise our own free agen-
cy? Why not as well yield ourselves to the current,
and follow whithersoever that may happen to carry
us ?
But, instead of furnishing an apology for indolence,
every consideration of this kind should have the effect
to rouse us to exertion. It is, indeed, better that cir-
cumstances should determine for us, than that there
should be no determination at all. Better by far that
an individual should be born to the health, the tal-
ents, the occupation, and the character, of those around
him, as a general rule, than that he should not be born
at all; or that, being born, he should grow up with-
out health, character, or occupation. It would be bet-
ter still, however, if all mankind could be trained to
that measure of health, kind and quality of talent,
THE YOUNG HUSBAND.
515
and mode of life, for which they are best adapted, as
they come from the hands of the Creator, and of those
who are his vicegerents.
The grand desideratum in education, both in the
family and elsewhere, seems to me to be the power of
taking the gifts of God at his hands, and making the
most of them. One individual is best adapted to this
mode of training, and to that occupation; another is
created for a far different destination. When we are
wise enough to begin to consider duly what are the
tendencies of body, mind, and soul, as soon as body,
mind, and soul come together, and benevolent and
powerful enough to bring every influence, external
and internal, to co-operate in carrying out those ten-
dencies, and fulfilling the destinies of the Creator,
then, as it seems to me-and perhaps not till then-
will the work of human education be fairly com-
menced.
But, because we cannot do everything at once, shall
we therefore do nothing? Because it is fashionable
to merge our individuality in one monotonous line,
and form the human race in every civilized country,
as nearly as we can, according to a single model, must
we therefore, of necessity, follow the fashion? Be-
cause most persons have their characters, in a good
degree, measured out to them by circumstances which
they could not control, shall it always be so? But,
if something may be done, at every age, especially in
early infancy, to carry out and perfect human individ
uality, is it not of the utmost importance that it should
܀
516
THE YOUNG HUSBAND.
be known and urged as a duty? And on whom should
it be urged more than on the young husband? He
has time to think on the subject, and prepare himself
for the future.
He may not, indeed, be able to do much to change
his own destination or character; but may he not still
do something, nay, a great deal, to determine the des-
tiny and character of others? The very conviction
that he can do but little for himself, should be the
very consideration which should urge him to do every
thing for those whose education may, in time, be com-
mitted to his charge.
Nor is this all. Thousands-that is, in the aggre-
gate-have been known to change their first destina-
tion-the destination of habit, education and circum-
stances-even after marriage. Caste, at least in this
country, may be both lost and gained. This is, of it-
self, a blessed privilege; and, if what we call civil
liberty had gained nothing more to our race, it would
be a boon of incalculable value.
Every young man may do something, at setting out
in matrimonial life, in the way of returning to the path
which God and nature have indicated. I acknowledge
the difficulties; and to many they seem insurmount-
able. But they are seldom so. I will not, indeed,
undertake to say, that the advantages to be derived
are, in every instance, worth the trouble of surmount-
ing them; that is quite another question. I only
claim for man a kind of omnipotence, whenever it is
desirable that such an omnipotence should be exer-
THE YOUNG HUSBAND.
517
cised. Man can, as a general rule, become what he
desires to be, even somewhat late in life. There are
some employments in which almost all men may be
successful, healthful, reputable and happy. Such, for
example, are agriculture, and several of the out-of-
door mechanical employments. If a young man finds
himself well trained to any of these, and happy in his
employment, why should he leave it? Would he gain
enough to compensate him for undergoing the trouble
and difficulty of making the exchange?
I have gone thus far on the supposition that the
young man will remain thoughtless on the subject of
an employment for life, till he is fairly within the
pale of matrimony; and that then, for the first time,
he will begin to think seriously on the subject. And
such is human nature, that this will probably be, for
the most part, the case. It will be, as I suppose, the
general rule; to which, as to other general rules, we
shall find some exceptions.
}
Not so, however, with her who is to be his partner
-the sharer of his sorrows and his joys. She, more
wary on this point than, probably, he has been, may
have formed her opinion, in regard to his probable
destination in life, and may have governed herself, in
some good measure, at least in reference to it. She has
taken for granted, that such or such will be his оссира-
tion, such the sphere in which he will move, and such
his standing and reputation. If he has thought lit-
tle or nothing about it, she, and her friends for her,
have probably thought a great deal.
518
THE YOUNG HUSBAND.
It may, indeed, happen once in ten times, that all
this ground has been thoroughly canvassed by the
parties, at their frequent meetings. There is wisdom
in this world, though it be rare; and there are some
who, without gray hairs, have found it. I write,
however, in this instance, chiefly for the mass who err,
and not for the few who have not transgressed.
But, soon after matrimony, one of the first ques-
tions, even with the most stupid, is, What shall be
done? If the occupation is so determined by educa-
tion, habit, circumstances, and the expectations of a
companion, that it is thought best to go on, and pur-
sue the routine circumstances seem to have marked
out, be it so. But, if a young husband feels the in-
quiry, what he shall do for a livelihood, to be a press-
ing one, and his duty somewhat doubtful, then let
him betake himself to reflection. An opportunity for
this now presents, and it may be the last. It certainly
is the last which is at all favorable. Men have, in-
deed, been known to change their occupation much
later in life than twenty or twenty-five, nay, even after
they had large families; but such late changes are as
rare as they are undesirable.
The first consideration should be that of usefulness,
not that of happiness. A useful life will of course,
or almost of course, be a happy one. The question
is, in what way, considering all circumstances, can I
be most useful?
There is a great variety of valuable human occupa-
tion. There are many employments-and some,
THE YOUNG HUSBAND.
519
even, which a foolish world regard as not quite so
respectable-in which a man who loves God and his
neighbor can serve both to advantage. For which am
I best fitted?
The character, and ability, and predilections, of the
wife are not to be wholly overlooked.
I regard the husband and wife as in one point of
view-but in one only-as partners in trade. They
make a joint investment of stock, and are to share in
the profits or loss. I will not say their share of stock,
or of profit or loss, is equal in every instance, or
indeed in any instance; but still they are partners; and
in so far as they are so, what is for the benefit of
one is for the benefit of both.
Out of this condition of things arises, then, an in-
dispensable, or next to indispensable, necessity, that
the wife should be consulted. I do not say that her
opinion should have the same weight with that of her
husband, for it usually happens (such is female educa-
tion, and such, for aught I know, in this matter, it
should be) that no wife is so well situated to view the
whole case as the husband. On the contrary, with-
out entering at present upon the question of superior-
ity, physical or moral, I may say that, whenever a
difference of opinion arises, which sometimes happens,
as there is no umpire, and as it must belong to one
or the other to make a final decision, it is proper the
husband should give the casting vote.
The value of woman's judgment, though always
valuable, is in proportion to the wisdom which you
520
THE YOUNG HUSBAND.
have shown in the selection of a companion for life's
journey. If you have foregone every valuable quali-
fication, and taken to your bosom, for some trifling
consideration or other, a half idiot, you cannot expect
any thing from her. She is indeed a partner still,
and you cannot dissolve the relation if you would;
you must therefore make the best you can of it.
It should also be remembered by the young hus-
band, that there is a certain monotony in the house-
hold cares, of which the men, whose work calls them
abroad, should never be unmindful; the joyful break
in that monotony should be their entrance into the
home, which needs their presence to crown its life.
Busy, energetic, men are sadly tempted to think of the
hign-minded women who have a vision of what the
home-life might be, as dreamers; and to treat their
vivid sense of the spiritual as a graceful, womanly
weakness, with which they have no need to concern
themselves, their life lying in a quite different sphere.
It is this division of the spheres which is so detri-
mental, so fatal. Communion of interest, belief, pur-
suit, is the very life-blood of the home. Unless the
husband has the grace to honor in his heart the ideal
which his wife is aiming at, to watch her endeavor
with tender reverence, and lend a brave hand to carry
it up to success, the home will lose its sunlight, the
children their noblest nurture, and life its most golden
fruits.

FAMILY.


A family is a little world within doors, the miniature resemblance
of the great world without.

་
XXXVIII.
THE FAMILY.
"But the hearth of home has a constant flame,
And pure as vestal fire;
'T will burn, 't will burn, forever the same,
For nature feeds the pyre."
Hale.

EXT in order to the duties we owe our-
selves, are domestic or social obligations.
The family is the primary, and by far the
most important, institution of society. It
is the scope of the most imperative duties, ten-
derest affections, and most happy and enno-
bling experiences of mankind. Even the State and the
Church, the only other forms of association recognized
in the Scriptures, might almost be superceded in the per-
fection of the family institution. The family might
embrace within itself the institution of social worship,
recognizing the patriarch as the priest; and its dis-
cipline and government might anticipate the beneficent
influences of civil law and order.
The first obligation arising from the family insti-
tution, is to form a just estimate of its beneficence,
and to guard its purity. The importance of the fam-
ily appears from its early origin, the particular legis-
523
524
THE FAMILY.
lation and fearful sanctions by which it is guarded.
It was instituted by our Creator, in the Garden. Its
law is reiterated in the decalogue, and in the Jewish
ritual it was enforced by the severest punishments.
There is no subject more prominent in the records of
divine legislation, and none upon which the instruc-
tions of the divine will are more clearly given in the
laws of the human coustitution. The law of Sinai is re-
iterated from the constitution of man, from every pe-
riod of human history, and from the happiness or
misery resulting from its observance or violation.
The importance of the family law also appears from
the value of the interests guarded by it. Contem-
plate the mutual affections and sympathies of united
parents; the honorable birth-right and pure society
of brothers and sisters; the moralizing influences of
domestic education; the exalted happiness of the fam-
ily circle; the endearing and hallowed associations of
home; constituting the strongest bonds of social and
civil society.
Says the renowned theologian, Dr. Dwight: "There
is nothing in 'he world so venerable as the character
of parents; nothing so intimate and endearing as the
relation of husband and wife; nothing so tender as
that of children; nothing so lovely as that of broth-
ers." For what would companion part with compan-
ion long endeared in fervent affection? For what
would a fond parent part with an idolized son or
daughter, caressed in infancy, and watched in sick-
ness and in health? For what would a brother part

THE EMPTY CRADLE.
THE FAMILY.
525
with the affection and companionship of a sister, who
has been the sun-light of his happiest days, or the
sister part with the confidence, protection, and affec-
tion of a brother, on whose arm she often leaned,
and whose joys so often participated? Trace the me-
morials of these tenderest affections in the joyful ex-
perience of ten thousand happy homes, in the frantic
grief, or deep-toned or silent sorrow of ten thousand
bereaved families. Trace them in symbols of affec-
tion and grief inscribed on the humble slab, the shaft,
or marble temple in a cemetery.
In visiting Greenwood, which is one of the most culti-
vated and beautiful of the cities of the dead, we were
touched by these mementos. A costly shaft rises
over a grave bearing the inscription, "In memory
of
erected by their children, as a grateful testi-
monial of their virtue and piety." Over another grave,
a small obelisk, with the inscription, "Erected by
in memory of a beloved mother." Over an-
other, a tall slab with the inscription, "Erected
by in memory of his wife and his children."
Over a cluster of graves rose another monument,
bearing as an expressive device, a rose-bush. The
buds more or less unfolded, were severed and lying
on the ground, and the branch partly severed from
the united stalk, and beneath these emblematical rep-
resentations of blasted beauty and scattered joys, were
these words, "To my wife and children." Grave-yards
and cemeteries are memorials of the beautiful affec-
tions and virtues of domestic life.
"
526
THE FAMILY.
These affections and virtues treasured up in the
family are of more value than riches. The rights
of property, sacred as they are, are subordinate to
these. They are dearer than liberty, and can only
be compared to life itself, often valueless without
them. The law against burglary, incendiarism, for-
gery, and murder even, guard not interests more pre-
cious. The great importance of the family institu-
tion appears from the indescribable miseries flowing
from its violation. Were this law annulled or im-
paired, alliances, sensual, selfish, fluctuating, and de-
basing, would tend to destroy all the purity, faith,
and charity of rational society. Unfaithfulness to
this institution unsettles the repose of domestic con-
fidence, and poisons the fountain of domestic happi-
ness.
—
Along the banks of the Susquehanna lived a happy
pair. They were wedded, the only son and only
daughter of the most respectable families in that re-
gion, and wealth had lavished upon them its advan-
tages, and nature spread around them its most en-
chanting beauties. Their children were growing up
around them to call them blessed. The passing trav-
eler paused to admire or envy their lot. The step of
the libertine is traced to that dwelling. It is as Satan's
invasion of the garden of Eden, banishing confidence,
peace, fellowship, dividing the family, involving rela-
tions in uncompromising feud, and implicating the
children in lasting disgrace.
The violation of this law in all the lower walks of
THE FAMILY.
527
life involves the same evils, though from the obscurity
of the sufferers, not calling forth so public expression
of sympathy. In their respective classes, reputation,
innocence, faith, and peace are equally valuable to all.
The daughter of a widow was persuaded from
home. The mother sought her, traveling at different
times from New York to Albany, Buffalo, and Phila-
delphia, paying her expenses by hardest menial ser-
vices. She exclaimed with tears, "I could have buried
her and my three remaining children without murmur-
ing, but to yield my daughter to the infamy and suf-
fering of a living death, is more than I can bear."
Thus thousands of widow's hearts are wrung with an-
guish, a thousand brothers covered with shame, and
a thousand families plunged in misery and disgrace.
All the violations of the family law, all the attacks
upon female delicacy, all lawless alliances of the
sexes, however guarded and palliated, lead to such
consequences. "Upon the whole," says Paley, "if
we pursue the effects of this vice in all the complicat-
ed misery it occasions, and if it be right to estimate
crimes by the miseries which they knowingly produce,
it will appear something more than invective, to assert
that not one half the crimes for which man suffers
death by the laws of England, are so flagitious as this.
It takes advantage of dependence pleading for pro-
tection, and betrays confidence unsuspecting. Where
it becomes a habit, the natural stimulus to industry
and frugality is gone; visions of the honorable hus-
band, father, and citizen, have disappeared; disaffec-
528
THE FAMILY.
tion to religious duties follows, closing the Bible,
silencing the voice of prayer, and making the Sab-
bath irksome, engendering scepticism, and completing
the greatest wreck of humanity ever seen in the
world." To this single debasing influence of the vice,
waiving other more general views, the Scottish Bard
leads us,
"Och! it hardens all within,
And petrifies the feelin'."
No character should be more shunned or abhorred
by woman, than the known trifler with the family law.
Avoid him as you would a loathsome reptile, a prow-
ling fiend. The coiled serpent in the bosom is a friend
compared to the indiviual who would pollute the
fountains of social life and destroy in you the charm
of chastity, who would pluck the rose, displaying
beauty and exhaling fragrance, and leave the un-
adorned bush and lacerating thorn.
As the family is the natural state of society, it
should be anticipated and discreetly provided for by
all, except persons of ill health, physical deformity,
great perversity of disposition, or eccentricity of char-
acter. While neglecting one of the most palpable
duties of life, foregoing its most ennobling pleasures
and its highest incentives to virtuous pursuits, he is
leaving one who might have made him a happy and
useful companion to pine in maidenhood of heart,
through the weary day of life, less useful and happy
than she might have been, had he performed his duty
THE FAMILY.
529
++
to himself and her. A single individual is but half an
existence or unity. The social principle is universal.
As the stars glide forth in companies, the flowers
bloom in clustering beauty, the birds sing in their na-
tive bowers in responsive melodies, and the eagle cuts
the cloud in his flight to his mate, or screams to him
from the cleft of the rock;-so the human race are
formed in pairs, and like complemental parts they
meet in the family union.
With honorable excep-
tions, those refraining from the true social position of
man are entitled to less of the confidence and esteem
of mankind. There is an authentic or fabulous ac-
count in early Grecian history, of a custom which re-
quired all the bachelors of a certain age, annually to
run a gauntlet, and all the mothers and maids of the
tribe applied green whips to their backs as they passed.
It would perhaps be well if the scorpion lash of pub-
lic sentiment could whip this numerous class of our
fellow citizens into harmony with their own being,
with society and the divine providence.
Be not precipitate in forming this alliance. "Marry
not without means, for so shouldst thou tempt Provi-
dence. But wait not for more than enough, for mar-
riage is the duty, aye, the privilege of most men.
Unnecessary delay is fraught with evil consequences.
،،
22
They that love early become like-minded, and the
tempter toucheth them not. They grow up leaning
on each other as the olive and the vine."
There is a false standard as to the scale upon which
a family had better commence life. The sons are anx-
*
530
THE FAMILY.
ious to begin where their fathers left off. A million-
aire of New York told us he commenced keeping
house in one room; the second year he was able to
rent a second, and after that a third, until he was able
to occupy a half, and then all of a house. And never
did he and his frugal consort enjoy life better than in
gradually improving their fortunes, adding article
after article of furniture to their apartments, and lux-
ury after luxury to their table. False views of the
proper economy of early married life, delay thousands
from entering that state, and entail manifold evils.
Society, trades, and professions owe to industrious and
frugal men a competency to support life in its ap-
pointed and conservative relations. And the reward
of labor and skill should be graduated upon the scale
of the expenses of the appointed modes of life; and
the competition of single men, in an abnormal state,
to lower wages, should be frowned down as unnatural,
and if necessary, be guarded against by association.
But the comparative expensiveness of single and
married life is greatly misapprehended. Thousands
of young men, deferring matrimonial alliances on the
ground of not possessing an income to support a com-
panion, are spending annually in fashionable dress,
high boarding, and social entertainments, more than
would suffice for the frugal support of a family.
XXXIX.
FAMILY DUTIES.

S we have separate chapters, given specially
to Father and Mother, under this head it will
only devolve upon us to consider a few
special duties, and the first of these are the
filial obligations.
These are summed up in the Scriptures in the
single obligation to honor parents. They should be
honored, or preferred in affection. An oriental lady
was about starting on a long journey, and requested
her sons to present her with mementos of affection
which she might bear with her. One of them pre-
sented her a marble tablet, on which her name was
beautifully inscribed; another presented her a rich gar-
land of fragrant flowers; but the third addressing her
said: "Mother, though I have no marble tablet, or
fragrant nosegay, I have a heart: here your name is
engraved―here your memory is precious, and this
heart, full of affection, will follow you wherever you
travel, and remain with you wherever you resort."
You cannot discharge filial obligations by mere courtly
attentions, by splendid presents, and ceremonial re-
spect. The heart must glow with filial gratitude, af
Q
531
532
FAMILY DUTIES.
fection, and admiration, displayed in nameless daily
attentions and kindness. Filial is placed next to re-
ligious devotion, by a gifted young poetess:-
"And all not offered at His shrine,
Dear mother, I will place on thine."
Parents should be honored by the most charitable
interpretation of their conduct, and concealment of
their thoughts. Partiality toward them is natural and
innocent. Their virtues should appear brighter in
the eyes of their children than in those of the unin-
terested world. Their faults should be more charita-
bly judged than by censorious strangers. We honor
the child who adheres to father or mother in humble
circumstances, or even disgrace. The father of Arch-
bishop Tillotson, a plain man, enquired before the
Deanery for John Tillotson. While the affected ser-
vants were about rudely to drive him from the door,
on account of his rough exterior, the titled son, hear-
ing his voice, rushed to the door, fell upon his neck,
and kissed him, in the presence of fashion and pomp,
and led him into his princely apartments. Adher-
ence to a parent in disgrace, and even crime, can only
be recommended. Can a parent commit a crime which
a child cannot forgive? "He is my father," "She is
my mother," is reason for deference, forgiveness and
kindness which the whole world besides withholds.
"The fondest, the purest, the truest that met,
Have still found the need to forgive and forget."
FAMILY DUTIES.
533
When the mother of Alexander was complained of
by one of his deputies, in a letter, as deserving the
royal censure, the sovereign replied: "Knowest thou
not that one tear of my mother's will blot out a thou-
sand such letters ?"
Parents should be honored by generous sacrifice to
lighten the cares and enhance the happiness of de-
clining years. The example of pious Æneas bearing
his aged sire upon his shoulders from the gates of
burning Troy, has been celebrated by the Poet, and
admired by succeeding generations. And it has been
related of the siege of another ancient city, that two
brothers, who had on a former occasion laid the con-
queror under obligation, being permitted to bear away
any treasures they could carry about their person, ap-
peared before the gates, bearing, the one his father,
and the other his mother, leaving all their countless
treasures to the flames.
The young should cherish a generous self-sacrifice
in ministering to the happiness of their parents. An-
ticipate every want, and make the descent of old age
to the grave easy and peaceful. The Chinese pro
verb says:
"In the morning when you rise enquire
after your parents' health; at mid-day be not from
them; in the evening comfort them when they go to
rest—thus it is to be a pious son.
27
Parents should be honored by a deferential regard
for their wishes. Any pertness, or affected independ-
ence in urging one's measures or opinions against the
advice of parents, even when correct, is censurable.
534
FAMILY DUTIES.
Always differ from them reluctantly, and aim to have
their acquiescence in your plans, to the end of life.
It will be a grateful tribute to them, and creditable
to yourself.
When Washington was quite young he was intent
upon going to sea. He had engaged himself as mid-
shipman. The small boat had been sent ashore for
him, and his trunk sent to the beach, when, waiting
upon his mother with his farewell, and observing her
continued remonstrance with falling tears and repeated
sighs, suddenly recalling his paramount obligations to
her wishes, he reversed his plan, and ordered the re-
turn of his trunk, declaring that he would not leave
home if it gave his mother so much sorrow.
A Polish prince always wore the picture of his fa-
ther in his bosom, and on any occasion of special im-
portance, a crisis of difficulty or temptation, would
take it out and implore, "May I act worthy of such a
father." Thus bear the image of venerated parents
engraven upon your hearts; and remember their
wishes for your success and honor in life, and deport
yourself so as to deserve the approbation of their guar-
dian angels. Thus "honor thy father and thy mother,
that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord
thy God giveth thee."
Next in order are the fraternal duties. You will
honor your filial and fraternal relations by feeling
yourself charged to promote the secular welfare of the
family. Each family should be a mutual insurance
company, and the loss and gains of its members dis-
FAMILY DUTIES.
535
tributed and equalized. Thus the advantages of the
patriarchal institutions might be retained, without the
paralyzing influence upon society of interdicting pri-
vate enterprise and the distribution of property. And
the highest moral effects would be attained in the
closer affiliation of kindred, by the delicate bestow-
ment and grateful reception of assistance. The injunc
tion to provide for one's household, binds all the
members of the family to co-operate in such provis-
ion. If the head of the family, over-looking this
duty, is worse than an infidel; the other members, dis-
claiming the obligation, are not free from sin. Never
enjoy luxury or wealth and leave a deserving parent,
brother, or sister in want and discomfort. If in afflu-
ence, be ashamed to allow even a distant relation to
live upon the charity of strangers. The use of poor-
houses and asylums would be almost superceded by
the revival of patriarchal charity. It were an honor
to rise in the world with your rising kindred. It may
be a disgrace to rise while they are left in the vale of
obscurity and want, and further family education
should be provided for.
Make home an institution of learning. Provide
books for the center-table and library of the family.
See that all the younger children attend the best
schools, and interest yourself in their studies. If they
have the taste for thorough cultivation, but not the
means to pursue it, if possible provide for a higher
education. Daniel Webster taught at the intervals of
his College course, to aid an elder brother in the
pur-
536
FAMILY DUTIES.
suit of a classical education, and a volume of his
works is dedicated to the daughters of that brother,
who, early, closed a brilliant career. Feel that an ig-
norant brother or sister will be a disgrace to your
family; and trust not the prevention of such a re-
proach to the casual influence of the press, existing
institutions, and the kind offices of strangers. If the
family becomes, as it may be, an institution of learn-
ing, the whole land will be educated.
1
It should be the grand aim of each member of this
circle, to cultivate good nature and amiable manners
in the family. A good nature is one of the sweetest
gifts of Providence. Like the pure sunshine, it glad-
dens, enlivens, and cheers. It dissipates the misty
clouds of hate, revenge, sorrow, and despair. Some
men always look at the dark side of events and char-
acters, and they are always in trouble; every thing
goes wrong; a frown is on the brow from morning
till night, in their places of business and in their
houses.
Let it never be forgotten that genuine politeness is
a great foster of family love; it allays accidental ir-
ritation by preventing harsh retorts and rude contra-
dictions; it softens the boisterous, stimulates the in-
solent, suppresses selfishness, and by forming a habit of
consideration for others, harmonizes the whole. Po-
liteness begets politeness, and brothers may be easily
won by it to leave off the rude ways they bring from
school or college. Sisters ought never to receive any
little attentions without thanking them for it, never
FAMILY DUTIES.
537
to ask a favor of them but in courteous terms, never to
reply to their question in monosyllables, and they will
soon be ashamed to do such things themselves. Be
near a brother or sister in festive scenes, and forsake
them not in sickness or misfortune. Make the family
a scene of improving recreations and social gayety.
Let no other place have for brothers and sisters the
attractions of your own parlor and fireside. Let no
pleasures or friends rival those enjoyed beneath the
paternal roof. The pleasures of home are available
to all-most ennobling, and most conservative. If
homes are made happy, the race cannot be miserable.
Let there be light in our dwellings, and the land can-
not be dark. Encourage the etiquette of morning and
evening salutations and caresses; of respectful re-
quest and suitable acknowledgement for favors. The
perfume of such amiable manners does not depart
from the character or the home; as the aroma of flow-
ers never evaporates from the crystal vase in which
they have been preserved.
An only sister is as dear as an only brother. What
can be purer than her caresses, what more heavenly
than her smile. The memory of her kindness and
the consciousness of her affections cheer us in sickness,
sorrow, and absence, and are a balm to the wounded
heart, and beacons of hope and happiness. Nor do
the tenderness and power of the poet's appeal depend
upon the limited number of the family circle. The
golden links which bind the family in unity and fel-
lowship, are equally precious, few or many.
<
538
FAMILY DUTIES.
Every true family becomes in itself a school of vir
tue. The domestic altar is the last and most sacred
retreat of virtue on earth. But its guardianship is
not confined to parental authority and influence. It
finds sure defenses in fraternal sympathy and example.
As we advance in our associated journey, voice
after voice may be hushed, form after form vanish
from our side, and our shadow fall almost solitary on
the hillside of life. But our kindred in Christ have
almost wholly gone from us. They are only a little
in advance of us, and we see across the river of earth
in the blue distance the standard moving over the line
of their march, or the smoke of their encampment
curling up toward heaven.
"Death never separates; the golden wire,
That trembled to their names before,
Shall vibrate still, though every form expire,
And those we love we look upon no more."
As the misery of the lost will be aggravated by the
companionship of kindred, so the happiness of the re-
deemed will be enhanced by the association of the
remembered and the loved. The family preserves for
the heavenly state most of earth that is worth cher-
ishing. Endeared families now dread bereavement,
banishment from each other's presence. How much
more dreadful eternal separation. How dear the re-
gathering and temporal association of dispersed kin-
dred; more delightful will be the final re-gathering
and unending association in heaven.

OLD MAIDS.


There is no more respectable character on this earth than an un-
married woman, who makes her own way through life quietly and
perseveringly; who retains in her possession a fortitude to support
inevitable pains, sympathy with the sufferings of others, and a will-
ingness to relieve want as far as her means extend.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE.

XL.
OLD MAIDS.

HERE is one much abused class of women,
and that by no means a small one, whose
position is in many respects different from
the rest of their sex. I am aware of no poet
having celebrated their praises-or of a novelist
having selected from among them his heroine ;-
while the flippant and coarse-minded of the male sex,
have made them the constant subject of idle jest, and
unfeeling and rude remarks; and the young and
thoughtless of their own, have deprecated their situ-
ation as unenviable and uninteresting. You will
readily perceive that I allude to that large class of
women, who having passed through early life unmar-
ried, from various reasons-sometimes from their own
choice, more frequently involuntarily,-have finally
settled down into the quiet habits of confirmed single
life. Though the thoughtless and the flippant may
load them as a body, with ridicule and contumely,
and affect to consider them as the most useless and
unimportant part of the community, yet when we
have recourse to facts, we shall find these aspersions
disproved.
541
542
OLD MAIDS.
The comparative leisure which single life affords,
and its exemption from the duties incident to the con-
jugal and maternal relations, give such of this class as
are desirous of availing themselves of the opportunity,
ample room and scope for mental improvement and
literary occupation, as well as leisure for benevolent
exertions, with their time, their fortunes, or their
pens.
If we recall to mind the names of those women who
by their lives and writings, have most blessed, in-
structed and benefitted, as well as those who have
most entertained mankind, we shall find the far larger
proportion of them confined to the pale of single life.
As long as the English language remains the medium
for diffusing intellectual enjoyment, so long will the
names of Hannah More, Elizabeth Carter, Elizabeth
Smith, Catharine Talbot, Jane Taylor, Maria Jewsbury,
and Maria Edgeworth, continue to be cherished in
affectionate remembrance, as names conspicuous in the
ranks of literature, as well as distinguished examples
of such as have adorned single life, and redeemed it
from the unjust imputations cast upon it, by the
thoughtless and illiberal.
If you find that Providence has so directed your
life, that you are to pass along its highway alone,
that there is to be no help-meet for you. Then re-
solve to bear it nobly, to walk fearlessly, and to accom-
plish your mission, single-handed though it be. And
if he appoints married life as your sphere of exertion,
you will then be fitted to enter on it, in a way that will
promise happiness to yourself and all connected with

ENGRAVEL BY AB WALTER
FRIENDS IN ADVERSITY.
OLD MAIDS.
543
you; if on the contrary, your lot should lie in single
life, you will not make a peevish, censorious, envious,
or gossiping old maid, but will find your enjoyment
in adding to a brother's comforts, or in sharing a sis
ter's toils; you will not turn away from the joys, or
refuse to minister to the sorrows of children, but you
will take to your heart with fond affection, the off-
spring of your beloved brothers and sisters, and in
their sweet caresses and tender love, experience a
happiness only second to a mother's. Old
age if
reached, will not be a solitary season, for your young
relatives will rise up in affectionate reverence of your
hoary hairs, and when consigned to the tomb, they
will follow you with tears of tender regret.
In the single state there is no diminution of the
beauties and utilities of the female character; on the
contrary, our present life would lose many of the com-
forts, and much likewise of what is absolutely essen-
tial to the well-being of every part of society, and
even of the private home, without the unmarried fe-
male. To how many a father-a mother a brother,
and not less a sister, is she both a necessity and a
blessing! How many orphans have to look up with
gratitude to her care and kindness! How many
young nephews and nieces owe their young felicities
and improvement to her! Were every woman mar-
ried, the parental home would often in declining life
be a solitary abode, when affectionate attentions are
most precious, and, but from such a source, unattainable.
It is the single class of women, which supplies most
544
OLD MAIDS.
of our teachers and governesses, and in the lower
ranks, nearly all the domestic assistants of our house-
holds. What vast changes, not promotive of the gen-
eral happiness, would ensue in every station of life,
if every female married, as soon as she was fully
grown! Certainly life would, in that case, have a
different aspect, and must be regulated on a new
principle, and would lead to consequences which can-
not now be calculated.
The single woman is therefore as important an ele-
ment of social and private happiness as the mar-
ried one.
The utilities of each are different, but both
are necessary; and it is vulgar nonsense, unworthy of
manly reason, and discreditable to every just feeling,
for any one to depreciate the unmarried condition.
If from what is beneficial we turn our glance to
what is interesting, the single lady is in this respect
not surpassed by the wedded matron. For no small
portion of her life, I think for the whole of it, with
judicious conduct, she is indeed the most attractive
personage. The wife resigns, or ought always to re-
sign her claims to general attention; and to concen-
trate and confine her regards and wishes and objects
to her chosen companion, and domestic claims and
scenes. She has quitted the public stage; she seeks
no more the general gaze; she has become part of a
distinct and separate proprietary. But the unmarried
lady still remains a candidate for every honorable no-
tice, and injures no one by receiving it. Those of the
male sex who are in the same condition, are at as full
OLD MAIDS.
545
liberty to pay her their proper attentions, as she is
to receive them. Being in this position to society at
large, she is always interesting wherever she goes;
and if she preserve her good temper, her steady con-
duct, and her modest reputation undiminished, and
cultivate her amiable, her intellectual, and her truly
feminine qualities, she cannot go anywhere, in any
station of life, without being an object of interest
and pleasurable feeling, to all those of her own cir-
cle, with whom she may chance to be acquainted.
It is only by displaying undue solicitude for changing
her condition, or disappointment at the change not
occurring, or a peevishness which is imputed to such
feelings, or unbecoming attempts to obtain or extort
admiration, that she lessens her natural attractive-
ness.
It is for us all never to regret or covet, what we
do not and cannot obtain; and never to repine that
others have, what we do not possess. It is for us all,
to use, and value, and cultivate the happiness which
we are possessing, and not to sigh or crave for that
which does not come to us.
The extreme sensitiveness of youth, the fear of ridi-
cule, the timidity that makes women shrink from ob-
servation, all tend to make them backward in every
enterprise, however well calculated it may be to im-
prove the condition of themselves, and of their sex.
Women lose much of this as they grow older. They
are therefore better fitted to be pioneers in new chan-
nels of employment. Many unmarried ladies and
546
OLD MAIDS.
widows have time to reflect, and awaken thought in
others, and assist in the promotion of schemes for the
amelioration of their race. We will venture to as-
sert that there are very few who have made them-
selves more useful in the world than single women.
Their efficiency cannot be denied. They are an
important part of society, and, in the raising of chil-
dren, we do not see how they could be dispensed with.
How many have supplied the place of careless, busy,
or sickly mothers, and indifferent servants! Often
are the arms of little ones twined about auntie's neck.
And often is she called upon to take part in their
childish sports. In all the diseases incident to child-
hood, who so ready and willing as the kind aunt?
When the mother is sick, who so well able to take her
place, if there be not a grown daughter? And in
after years, how respectfully she is looked up to as a
second mother! But if the aunt is not a good wo-
man, she must not expect to be loved, and respected,
by her nieces and nephews when they are grown. If
she is a woman of a bad disposition, or incorrect prin-
ciples, her presence had better be dispensed with in
the family, for the children's disposition will be formed
to a great extent by her, and the impress she will
make upon their young minds will be, not only for
time, but for eternity. It is well for single women to
cultivate those graces that will render them agreeable,
and attractive, when the bloom and freshness of youth
are gone.
Woman must have courage to do what is right, let
}
OLD MAIDS.
547
tate.
fashion and custom say what they will. She must
have courage to act independently of the opinions of
her fellow-beings when they conflict with the appro-
bation of God. Whatever can be done for amelior-
ating the condition of the poor, ignorant, and degraded,
should be one of woman's studies. The next thing
should be to execute what thought and judgment dic-
Combine with others if you can-if not, work
alone. Never let pleasure come before duty, nor feel-
ing before judgment. Let the rich treasures of your
heart be given to the desolate, the homeless, the
orphan, the widow-let your time be given to instruct
the ignorant, to attend the sick, to cheer the sad.
Your freedom from family cares gives you time for
the performance of such duties. Assist in building
up and aiding benevolent institutions. If you are
in connection with a church, your pastor will be able
to point out to you fields of labor. If you have some
worthy friend, who is a physician, he can tell you of
sick and needy ones that require attention. If you
have either means, or leisure, you can find enough to
do. If you have leisure, and no means, perhaps, by
devoting your energies to some branch of business,
you may be enabled to assist young brothers, or sis-
ters, to acquire an education, or fit them for business,
or aid an aged parent. If you have means, and no
leisure, I can only say, I hope your wealth is profit-
ably employed, as you would wish when you go to
render a final account of property, and talents, and
opportunities. Act wisely and faithfully in the rela-
548
OLD MAIDS.
tion
you
sustain to your neighbors, your fellow-beings,
and your God.
"It requires less courage to live single now than it
did twenty years age," remarked an old lady to me.
Public opinion has changed semewhat. No unmar-
ried woman need feel that she is useless, and there-
fore be discontented. Work will open to her if she
strives to learn her duties. If a woman defers to fit
herself for any pursuit or occupation in life until
every prospect of marriage is gone, it may be too late
in life before she realizes her position for her to fit
herself efficiently for what she could have done with
ease when younger.
We advise every young lady starting in life not to
live as if the chief aim of womanhood was to get a
husband. There are ten thousand persons who are
sneeringly called "old maids," who are leading hap-
pier, better and more useful lives than many, many
married sisters, who have wretched husbands, and
only a name for a home. A thousand times better
walk through life singly than have your life blasted
by a drunken husband, who instead of love, gives you
abuse, and instead of honor brings upon you disgrace.
Better never marry than unite to yourself by the
most sacred ties, a man who is given to what is low,
vicious, and degrading: one from whom your soul
can't help but turn in disgust, and one who will be a
heavy weight upon your heart, sinking you down con-
stantly into sorrow and despair.
No! a million times no! before you accept a life-
OLD MAIDS.
549
companion, who will only be a source of grief and
tears; who will be part owner with you of immortal
beings, who shall inherit, as a father's legacy, degrad-
ing appetites, wrecked constitutions, and unspeakable
vices. How much better then for every woman to
start in life, with a prospect of supporting herself, of
being useful in some good way; and there are ten
thousand ways open to every woman who will; and
of making her own mark, and accomplishing a noble
mission.
If she starts thus and an offer of marriage is made
which will be for her advantage to accept; she will
be none the less fitted to accept it; and if she find
it best to walk alone down life's highway, she will do
so with a more contented spirit and accomplish a bet-
ter work in the world.
But let her always remember that God in his wis-
dom has made even the lonely female, without home
ties, to fulfill some end, to perform some work, to
achieve some labor, that may glorify him, and bene-
fit her fellow-creatures.
"All the means of action,
The shapeless masses-the materials,
Lie everywhere about us.
What we need is,
The celestial fire, to change the flint
Into transparent crystal, bright and clear."
So numerous are the cares and duties of mothers of
families, that single women and widows need not fear
competition with them, in business. Besides, the af-
550
OLD MAIDS.
fection so natural to a mother would lead her to de-
vote herself to the wants and comforts of her chil-
dren before all other claims. I think the time of most
married women is as much occupied as that of busi-
ness men, and also the time of single women depend-
ent on their own efforts for a livelihood.
Miss Muloch says, "The absolute power that a
single woman of wealth possesses over her time and
property, gives an extensive range to her patriotic
and charitable exertions. Ladies who are thus cir-
cumstanced are the most proper patrons of public under-
takings; they are the natural protectors of the friend-
less, and the proprietors of those funds to which gen-
ius and indigence have a right to apply. Destitute
of nearer ties, and unfettered by primary obligations,
the whole world of benevolence affords a sphere for
their actions, and the whole circle of science offers to
adorn their minds. It seems, indeed, difficult to por-
tray a more enviable being, than a single woman pos-
sessed of affluence, who has passed through the tem-
pest of youthful passions, with unstained character,
unvitiated temper, and unfettered heart. Let us allow
her an active mind, sound judgment, good principles,
and bodily acivity; and we must rank her with those
orders of superior beings, who, though they neither
marry nor are given in marriage, are ever employed
in executing the will and studying the works of
God."

OLD BACHELORS.


Marriage has in it less of beauty, but more of safety, than single
life; it hath not more ease, but less of danger; it is more merry
and more sad; it lies under more burdens but is supported by all the
strengths of love and charity; and those burdens are delightful.
TAYLOR.

XLI.
OLD BACHELORS.

LL honor to the old maid who rather than join
her life with that of a man who would only
add sorrow and misery without measure to
her lot, has preferred to walk life's path-
way alone.
alone. But what can we say of a man
who has such low, narrow, selfish motives in
life, that he does not as a most famous writer says,
"have enough manhood about him to take unto him-
self that better half which he still needs to complete
his being." This statement may be considered pretty
hard upon those whom it fairly and squarely hits, and
we mean it to do so. And the reason is this, there
are few men who are bachelors for good and manly
reasons.
If a woman is alone and unmarried at the age of
forty or fifty, it is generally because, either she has
never been sought in marriage, or she felt that the
offers she did receive were unworthy of her, or be-
cause the object of her affections has withered and
dried, and left her alone just at the time she expected
to be united to him. But the man who has never
been married at that age has different reasons. He
553
554
OLD BACHELORS.
has been too selfish to think of taking any one to
share life with him, he has been afraid he might get
the worst of the bargain. He has had plenty of op-
portunities, and there were plenty of fine, amiable
virtuous young ladies, but there were none quite good
enough for him. He could have had a wife long years
ago
if he had asked, but to be sure he might have
had to work a little harder to support two than one.
He might not always be able to make as good an ap-
pearance with a family as he now does alone. He
may be called upon to yield his opinion too, once in a
while, and make some sacrifices, which he can avoid
by being a bachelor. Now there are exceptions to all
rules.
When a young man neglects or refuses to marry,
because he expects to be a soldier, or a missionary of
the cross, or to be placed for a season in circumstances
of exposure to severe and protracted trials or perils,
-perhaps to cruel persecutions, he may be justified
in postponing matrimony, but only while the circum-
stances in which he is placed remain as they now are.
He does not despise the Divine decree; on the con-
trary, in his heart he honors it, and only delays to
comply with it for a period which he expects will be
limited. The moment his peculiar situation changes,
he hastens to comply with the heavenly injunction, as
Paul would probably have advised the Corinthian
converts to do, at any other time than one of particu-
lar peril and persecution.
A young woman, in feeble health, may sometimes
OLD BACHELORS.
555
very properly delay or postpone matrimony, and yet
be guiltless; but may she postpone it forever? We
might gladly excuse her, or at least, desire to do so,
when we duly consider her natural reserve and deli-
cacy, and her strong filial affection; but will she-can
she be-by Him who has declared the solitary state
to be unfavorable and wrong?
Extreme poverty may also sometimes render delay
justifiable; nay, it may even render such delay for a
time-at least, occasionally-quite unavoidable. I do
not, however, mean to admit that mere poverty where
this is the only difficulty, always requires delay or
postponement. Where the parties are fully agreed,
the most extreme poverty is sometimes compatible
with a large share of connubial happiness as the re-
sult. It is related by the celebrated John Bunyan,
that his wife and he came together in matrimony,
without so much household stuff as a single knife and
fork; and the late Sidney Smith informs us that his
wife, at marriage, had nothing but a set of teaspoons;
while, for himself, he had not so much as that. And yet
the results, in both these cases, were peculiarly happy.
The parties were not only agreed, but perfectly con-
tent with their lot; and what Heaven and themselves
had joined together, poverty could not-and I think
should not-keep asunder.
-
I will not pause, here, to comment on any real or
supposed substitutes, which have been proposed for
the ancient forms of matrimony, but which, having
emanated either from the ingenuity or the depravity
556
OLD BACHELORS.
of man, are to say the least, of doubtful tendency.
They all appear to me to come quite short of the Di-
vine intention. Marriage, in order to subserve any
permanent or important purpose, must be regarded
and attended to as a plain and simple duty; and no
evasion, by him who wishes to obey God or serve
mankind, should, for a moment, be either tolerated or
encouraged.
*#*.
The subject, thus viewed, like many others in the
world which commend themselves to our attention,
becomes a serious one. It has even its shades as well
as its lights. But, though it is not divested wholly
of the former, the latter greatly predominate. Why
should it not be so, when we consider well the source
from which it emanated? The Creator has kindly an-
nexed pleasure to duty, everywhere else; why should
it not be so here?
If we bring to the consideration of this subject the
same candor and good sense which we are wont to
apply in the investigation of other matters, I have
not a doubt that we shall be guided to the right con-
clusions, and to the proper discharge of our respec-
tive duties concerning it. There is nothing about it
which is naturally uninviting. Should there be found
connected with it any law of repulsion, of one thing
we may be certain, that it has some other than a Di-
vine source. Heaven's law concerning it, as we may
be well assured, is the law of attraction and cohesion,
and not of repulsion.
There are other faults that belong to the old bach-
OLD BACHELORS.
557
elor besides crustiness, selfishness, and narrowness,
which have already passed into a proverb as his ne-
cessary accompaniments. He is penurious as a general
thing, fidgety beyond expression, and more particular
and nervous than a dozen old maids. He loses more
than half of the sweets of life, and so naturally be-
comes soured in temper and disposition, and by-and-
bye, after everybody else has found it out, he real-
izes that he is no longer young, no longer fresh and
youthful, that he is considered more of a bore than a
beau. Then it is that the desperate agony of trying
to keep young when he can't, begins. His affecta-
tions of youth are sublime failures. He plies inno-
cent young ladies with pretty compliments and the
soft nonsense that was in vogue twenty years ago.
This aged spoony's soft nothings seem more out of
date than a two-year old bonnet. They make you
think, somehow, of that time-honored frog-story, where-
in is set forth the discovery of galvanic electricity.
When you see his old-fashioned young antics-his
galvanic gallantry, so to speak, and hear the speeches
he makes to girls in their teens, when he ought to be
talking to them like a father, you involuntarily call
him an old idiot, and long to remind him of that
quaint rebuke of grand old John:-"Thou talkest
like one upon whose head the shell is to this very
day." That is how he seems. He is old enough to
have been almost full-fledged before you were born,
and here he is trying to make believe that he is still
in the days of his gosling-green, with the shell stick-
558
OLD BACHELORS.
ing on his head to this day! It is a melancholy ab-
surdity. One can't be young unless one is young.
Only once is it given to us to be untried and soft, and
gushing and superlative, and when the time comes for
it all to go, no sort of effort can hold back the fleet-
ing days.
"I wish that I had married thirty years ago," soli-
loquised an old bachelor. "Oh! I wish a wife and
half a score of children would start up around
me, and bring along with them all that affection which
we should have had for each other by being early ac-
quainted. But as it is, in my present state, there is
not a person in the world I care a straw for; and the
world is pretty even with me, for I don't believe there
is a person in it who cares a straw for me." A bach-
elor editor says: "We never cared a farthing about
getting married until we attended an old bachelor's
funeral. God grant that our latter end may not be
like his."
How much happier and better every old bachelor
would be if he only had a wife. All toil would be
torn from mind-labor, if but another heart grew into
this present, soul quickening it, warming it, cheering
it, bidding it ever God speed. Her face would make
a halo rich as a rainbow atop of all such noisome
things as we lonely souls call trouble. Her smile
would illuminate the blackest of crowded cares; and
darkness that now seats you despondent in your soli-
tary chair, for days together, weaving bitter fancies,
dreaming bitter dreams, would grow light and thin

Engraved & Printed by lman Brothers
THE DISTRESSED BACHELOR.
OLD BACHELORS.
559
and spread and float away chased by that beloved
smile. Your friend, poor fellow, dies-never mind;
that gentle clasp of her fingers, as she steals behind
you telling you not to weep-is worth ten friends.
Your sister, sweet one, is dead-buried. The earth
covers all her fairness. How it makes you think
earth nothing but a spot to dig graves upon. It is
more. She says she will be a sister; and the waving
curls, as she leans upon your shoulder, touch your
cheek, and your wet eye turns to meet those other
eyes. God has sent his angel surely! Your mother
Skat
-alas for it!—she's gone! Is there any bitterness
to a youth alone and homeless like this? You are
not alone. She is there-her tears softening yours,
her grief killing yours, and you live again to assuage
that kind sorrow of hers. Then these children, rosy,
fair-haired; no, they do not disturb you with prattle
now. They are yours. Toss away there on the green
sward. Never mind the hyacinths, the snow-drops,
the violets, if so be they are there. The perfume of
their beautiful lips is worth all the flowers of the
world. And she, the mother, sweetest and fairest
of all, watching, tending, caressing, loving till your
own heart grows pained with jealousy. You have
no need now of a cold lecture to teach thankfulness;
your heart is full of it-no need now, as once, of
bursting blossoms, of trees taking leaf and greenness,
to turn thought kindly and thankfully; for ever be-
side you there is bloom, and ever beside you there
is fruit for which eye, heart, and soul are full of
560
OLD BACHELORS.
unknown, unspoken, because unspeakable, thank-
offerings.
A good wife is a being selected by a Benign Provi-
dence, to scatter the roses of contentment and strew
the dark and serpentine paths of life with the choic-
est, the most fadeless flowers; and is truly the “last
best gift of God to man." Formed to charm, to al-
lure and fascinate the whole soul of an affectionate
husband, she can at any time transfuse a portion of
her own spirit into his, and by the powerful magic of
a smile change in a moment the bitter draughts of his
existence, to streams of the most delicious nectar.
Friend, does thy heart pant for glory, and thy brow
steep with the victories of battle, or desire the blood-
stained laurels of the conqueror? Banish the pue-
rile dream, and let sober reason chase the delusive
vision from thy soul. A wife will soften the asperity
of thy temper, and smooth thy brow clouded with
sadness. She will kindly watch over thy bed of sick-
ness, and whisper in softest accents, the language of
consolation to thy drooping heart. She will form thy
mind to generous exertions, and make thee nobly
emulous of real greatness, and when the last faint
flashes of life's expiring lamp, have quivered out their
little moment, her tears will moisten the clay-cold
form; and her prayers ascending for thy final happi-
ness, will gently waft thy disembodied spirit to the
gardens of the Paradise of God.
The man who can resist her smile
With brutes alone should live ;
Nor taste those joys which care beguile,
Those joys her virtues give.
XLII.
DIGNITY OF LABOR.

THERE is dignity in toil-in toil of the
hand as well as toil of head-in toil
to provide for the bodily wants of an indi-
vidual life, as well as in toil to promote
some enterprise of world-wide fame. All la-
bor that tends to supply man's wants, to increase
man's happiness, to elevate man's nature—in a word,
all labor that is honest, is honorable too.
This may be thought a truth so obvious as to
render argument unnecessary; so trite as to make
further comment tedious. Yet, though admitted
in theory, it is often repudiated in practice. Too
many persons are always to be found who, while by
no means indifferent to other honorable distinctions,
evidently shrink from all claims to this; and who,
while verbally assenting to our theme, act as if indo-
lence were the principal privilege and charm of life.
Still more numerous is the class of those who restrict
dignity to certain kinds of labor on which the stamp
of nobility is too prominently fixed, not to command
universal homage, while for labor itself, for "toils ob-
scure," they have little respect. Some occupations
561
562
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
may be acknowledged to be more honorable than ab-
solute indolence, and yet indolence itself is often re-
garded as more respectable than some descriptions of
industry. Many persons may be found who would
consider themselves and their friends far less degrad-
ed by a sluggard's life, or one of even entire inde-
pendence, than by any connection with employments
to which the fashionable world has refused the priv-
ilege of its entree. It can not be denied, that to be
the mere consumer is often esteemed a higher distinc-
tion than to be the producer, to eat the corn than to
grow it, to wear the raiment than to weave it, to
dwell in the house than to build it.
If some families are rightly considered to be "good,
which can boast of great achievements, are not others
to be found for which this distinction is claimed,
not on account of any services rendered to society,
but solely, because, through many generations, their
escutcheon has not been touched by the soiled finger
of trade and toil? Brilliant injustice at the base of
the ancestral column may pass unchallenged, but if
the first founder of the fortunes of his house has won
distinction by honest labor, working his way upward
from the toiling multitude to be the owner of large
estates, is not he, and is not his origin, often over-
looked in the superior glory of the son who perhaps
inherited, not his father's industry, but only his fa-
ther's gold? I do not depreciate wealth; I say not one
word to distract from the special honor due to those
who with gold inherit goodness, enabling them rightly
27.
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
563
to dispense it; but is it not a fact that, apart from
any personal excellence, the mere possession of wealth
is often thought a higher honor than the ability to
produce it? Thus, the man who lives on an estate
won by the push and brain of an industrious ancestor,
is often courted and honored, while the one who
started with nothing but the God-given faculties, com-
mon sense and a mind to labor, and accumulates large
wealth, is often little thought of and even neglected.
Labor is the great law of the universe. Every atom
and every world alike proclaim it. It is whispered
by every breeze, and reflected from every star. "Day
unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night show-
eth knowledge." Below, around, above, all things
are in motion. The swarming insects of an hour's
sunshine murmur in their mazy flight what the bright
seraphim before God's throne proclaim in their un-
wearied worship. The Creator's law is made a ne-
cessity of man's life. We are so formed that labor is
essential to our existence in a far greater degree than
it is to irrational animals. Man needs raiment; but,
whereas the sheep and the horse are clothed by nature,
he is left to provide his own dress, adapted to the
varying climates in which he may dwell. Man needs
food every few hours; but, whereas this is produced
already prepared for the birds of the air and the beasts
of the field, man must starve unless he toil. He must
plow and sow, he must reap and store up in barns,
he must subject the produce itself to various processes
to render it wholesome food. Of all living beings on
564
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
the earth, he would be the most forlorn and destitute
but for labor. Nothing is provided ready to his
hand. The very tools he needs wherewith to till the
ground, he must first construct. It is a law of his
being, that he can have nothing for which he does
not work. Though it is God who satisfies the wants
of every living being, he satisfies the necessities of
man by enabling him to labor, and only in connection
with his own exertions. True it is that the Creator
66
giveth us rain and fruitful seasons," and causeth
"the herb to grow for the service of man," but it is
equally true that only "he who tilleth his land shall
be satisfied with bread," while "the sluggard shall beg
in harvest, and the idle soul shall suffer hunger."
Those who possess wealth acquired by the toil of
others, and who are thus designated "independent,"
as being under no necessity to work for their own
living, must not suppose that for an instant their
riches can make them independent of the humble toils
they may be tempted to despise. Where would be
ease.
the value of their broad acres if left without culture?
It is the toil of the peasant which makes them pro-
ductive, and which wrings from the soil those am-
ple revenues which sustain the proprietor in luxurious
And of what benefit to any one would be those
pieces of silver, gold or paper, which we call cash,
were not indefatigable industry at work to produce
the necessaries and comforts that money buys? Would
dollars and cents satisfy the cravings of hunger?
Would bank-notes, mortgages, and scrip shield the
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
565
back from the cold, and ward off the pelting of
the storm? Must not the painter lay down his brush,
and poet his pen; must not the philosopher suspend
his experiments, and the voice of the orator be dumb;
would not the jeweled crown become a worthless bauble,
the most stately palace a region of desolation, but for
the labor of the agriculturist and the craftsman? The
monarch and the mechanic, the peer and the peasant,
the sage and the simple, depend for each day's existence
upon toil. Labor is the foundation on which the
mighty fabric of human society rests, and none but
the foolish and the proud will look down with con-
tempt from the higher rank in which Providence has
placed them, as though they were under no obliga
tion to the poor. A reciprocity of advantage binds
all classes together in mutual obligation. If the man
of toil is indebted for much of the comfort of social
order and intellectual elevation to the man of rank
and leisure, the man of leisure is dependent on the
man of toil for existence itself. If the strong and
graceful arch could not stand without the keystone
which binds its parts together, neither could that
keystone be upheld in its elevation without the mas-
sive piers on either side.
The dignity of labor! Consider its achievements!
Dismayed by no difficulty, shrinking from no exer-
tion, exhausted by no struggle, ever eager for re-
newed efforts in its persevering promotion of human
happiness, "clamorous labor knocks with its hundred
hands at the golden gate of the morning," obtain-
▸
566
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
ing each day, through succeeding centuries, fresh
benefactions for the world!
Labor clears the forest, and drains the morass, and
makes the wilderness rejoice and blossom as the rose.
Labor drives the plow, and scatters the seed, and
reaps the harvest, and grinds the corn, and converts
it into bread, the staff of life. Labor, tending the
pastures and sweeping the waters, as well as cultivat-
ing the soil, provides with daily sustenance the nine
hundred millions of the family of man.
Labor gath-
ers the gossamer web of the caterpillar, the cotton
from the field, and the fleece from the flock, and
weaves it into raiment, soft, and warm, and beautiful
-the purple robe of the prince, and the gray gown
of the peasant, being alike its handiwork. Labor
molds the brick, and splits the slate, and quarries the
stone, and shapes the column, and rears, not only the
humble cottage, but the gorgeous palace, and the
tapering spire, and the stately dome. Labor, diving
deep into the solid earth, brings up its long-hidden
stores of coal, to feed ten thousand furnaces, and in
millions of habitations to defy the winter's cold. La-
bor explores the rich veins of deeply buried rocks,
extracting the gold, the silver, the copper, and the
tin. Labor smelts the iron, and molds it into a thou-
sand shapes for use and ornament, from the massive
pillar to the tiniest needle-from the ponderous an-
chor to the wire-gauze-from the mighty fly-wheel of
the steam-engine to the polished purse-ring or the
glittering bead. Labor hews down the gnarled oak,
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
567
and shapes the timber, and builds the ship, and guides
it over the deep, plunging through the billows, and
wrestling with the tempest, to bear to our shores the
produce of every clime. Labor brings us French wines
and Irish linens; African ivory and Greenland oil;
fruits from sunny Spain, and furs from frozen
Russia; tea from China, and coffee from Brazil;
carrying in exchange to every land the products of
American industry and American skill. Labor, by the
universally-spread ramifications of trade, distributes
its own treasures from country to country, from city
to city, from house to house, conveying to the doors
of all the necessaries and luxuries of life; and by the
pulsations of an untrammeled commerce, maintaining
healthy life in the great social system. Labor, fusing
opaque particles of rock, produces transparent glass,
which it molds, and polishes, and combines so wond-
rously, that sight is restored to the blind; while
worlds, before invisible from distance, are brought so
near as to be weighed and measured with an unerring
exactness; and atoms, which had escaped all detection
from minuteness, reveal a world of wonder and beauty
in themselves. Labor, possessing a secret far more
important than the philosopher's stone, transmutes the
most worthless substances into the most precious;
and, placing in the crucible of its potent chemistry
the putrid refuse of the sea and land, extracts fragrant
essences and healing medicines, and materials of price-
less importance in the arts. Labor, laughing at diffi-
culties, spans majestic rivers, carries viaducts over
568
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
·
marshy swamps, suspends aerial bridges above deep
ravines, pierces the solid mountain with its dark un-
deviating tunnel, blasting rocks and filling hollows;
and while linking together with its iron but loving
grasp all nations of the earth, verifies, in a literal
sense, the ancient prophecy-"Every valley shall be
exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be brought
low." Labor draws forth its delicate iron thread,
and, stretching it from city to city, from province to
province, through mountains, and beneath the sea, re-
alizes more than fancy ever fabled, while it constructs
a chariot on which speech may outstrip the wind,
compete with the lightning, and fly as rapidly as
thought itself. Labor seizes the thoughts of genius,
the discoveries of science, the admonitions of piety,
and, with its magic types impressing the vacant page,
renders it pregnant with life and power, perpetuating
truth to distant ages, and diffusing it to all mankind.
Labor sits enthroned in palaces of crystal, whose high
arched roofs proudly sparkle in the sunshine which
delighteth to honor it, and whose ample courts are
crowded with the trophies of its victories in every
country and in every age. Labor, a mighty magician,
walks forth into a region uninhabited and waste; he
looks earnestly at the scene, so quiet in its desolation;
then, waving his wonder-working wand, those dreary
valleys smile with golden harvests; those barren moun-
tain slopes are clothed with foliage; the furnace blazes;
the anvil rings; the busy wheels whirl round; the
town appears; the mart of commerce, the hall of
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
569
science, the temple of religion, rear high their lofty
fronts; a forest of masts, gay with varied pennons,
rises from the harbor; the quays are crowded with
commercial spoils the peaceful spoils which enrich
both him who receives and him who yields; represen-
tatives of far-off regions make it their resort; science
enlists the elements of earth and heaven in its service ;
art, awaking, clothes its strength with beauty; liter-
ature, new-born, redoubles and perpetuates its praise;
civilization smiles; liberty is glad; humanity rejoices;
pity exults for the voice of industry and gladness
is heard on every hand. And who, contemplating
such achievements, will deny that there is dignity in
labor?
The dignity of labor! Judge of it by its effects
on the laborer. Does it debase the spirit, blunt the
feelings, pervert the conscience, deaden the natural
susceptibilities to what is true, and noble, and gener-
ous, and kind? The very contrary. If laborious
poverty has its evils, it has its moral advantages too.
"The strawberry grows underneath the nettle." The
necessity for industry saves from the peculiar perils of
the indolence which wealth permits. If it is denied
the luxuries of leisure, it is spared its temptations too.
The continual struggle with difficulties for the supply
of the body is favorable to developing strength and
steadfastness in the soul. They who live by the
labor of their own hands find it more easy to offer
from the heart the prayer, "Give us this day our
daily bread," than those who can say, "Soul, thou
570
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
hast much goods laid up for many years." If well-
stored coffers diminish the danger of discontentment
at our lot, the toils, privations, ar d anxieties of in-
dustrious poverty render a man less likely to set his
affections inordinately on things below, and dispose
him the more readily to listen to the announcement of
those glad tidings to which the poor are as welcome
as the rich, and to the promise of a world in which
the weary shall be at rest, not in idleness, but where
labor, with all its dignity fully developed, shall be
the repose of the perfected soul. Thus, while our
Savior said, “How hardly shall they that have riches
enter into the kingdom of heaven," one of his apos-
tles wrote, "Hath not God chosen the poor in this
world, rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom?" And
while there have been always illustrious examples of
distinguished piety among the noble and the wealthy,
piety often the more illustrious in proportion to the
difficulties it has overcome, and the lofty position it
adorns, yet who that has ever labored in the Gospel
vineyard but acknowledges that, as a general rule, re-
ligion finds its healthiest soil and purest development
among the industrious poor?
“Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head."
The men of toil, though not enjoying so much lib-
erty of action as the men of wealthy leisure, have in
many respects more liberty of thought. The more
1
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
571
they are dependent on labor, the less are they depend-
ent on opinion. I admit that there are tyrannies of
fashion even in the lowest ranks, and yet, on the
whole, I consider the sons and daughters of labor less
under the bondage of prevailing tastes in politics and
religion than their fellow-men, and more ready to lis-
ten to the voice of truth and liberty, when that voice
is opposed to prevailing prejudices. Who first hailed
that Gospel which the rulers and the scribes rejected
with scorn? It was the working classes of Judea!
Who first welcomed the Reformation, and crowded
round Luther with enthusiastic plaudits? Among
them were scholars and men of rank-and all honor
be to such; but his great strength lay in the working-
classes of Germany! In days of English persecution
and tyranny, men of gentle birth were prompt to shed
their blood for liberty and truth, and their noble
names will ever be enshrined in the memory of a
grateful country; but the multitude who were ready
to fight, to bleed, to burn, for freedom and for God,
were chiefly composed of the industrious poor! It
was the mighty voice of the free laborers of America
that gave power and efficacy to the leaders of negro
emancipation, and made self-interest blush, and long-
established wickedness tremble, the people teaching
their senators wisdom, till the chains were struck from
the captive, and the standard of the Union, wherever
it was unfurled, waved only for the protection of the
free. But from the fear of invading that wise neu-
trality which is here maintained on all subjects of a
572
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
political character, I might refer to other great changes
which were due in the first instance to the sons of
toil, they being the first to acknowledge and to urge
the adoption of opinions which have since become es-
tablished principles and consolidated laws. And
when I look on the various developments of misery
and crime at the present day, and, after every renewed
investigation, fortified by the concurrent testimony of
men best able, from their official positions, to give a
true opinion, am forced to the conclusion that a great
fundamental source of the mischief is the prevailing
intemperance which is our national disgrace; and
when I ask, who are those that throughout the coun-
try are setting themselves, not merely to the cure, but
to the prevention of wretchedness, and by personal
sacrifice, by daring to be singular, by earnest advocacy,
are toiling year by year among the masses of our de-
graded and drunken fellow-countrymen, to destroy
if possible the monster tyrant of our land, that con-
centration of the elements of mischief whose name is
legion, while I find some few in the ranks of wealth,
and fashion, and leisure, esteeming it an honor and a
joy to be leaders in this benevolent crusade, yet no one
will for a moment question the truth of my assertion
when I say, that this great enterprise, second to none
of the philanthropies of our day, because inclusive of
them all, is urged forward by the sympathies, the sac-
rifices, the prayers of the working classes
The roll of history is inscribed with the names of
heroes, whose conspicuous achievements have obtained
}
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
573
an immortal renown; but is it only among the
wealthy, the noble, the learned, that heroes of pa-
tience and philanthropy are to be found? In how
many of the obscure abodes of poverty deeds of noble
endurance are daily performed, which, on a more
elevated stage, and with wider bearings on society,
would place the actors of them in the foremost ranks
of greatness! As a class, I must say that the work-
people that I have seen appear remarkably truthful,
patient, and generous; indeed, every day teaches me
that their virtues are wholly unknown to the world.
If labor is honorable; if hard, honest work only
ennobles and refines the one who performs it, then
let us give to those who work their honest dues; let
us honor toil by not overtasking it in a heartless com-
petition; by an inordinate craving after wealth on
the part of the employer, after cheapness on that of
the purchaser. There is a limit of time and strength,
beyond which service becomes slavery. Let us, then,
as far as the welfare of the community admits, abbre-
viate the hours of toil, and furnish opportunity for
recreation and repose. God, the great Master of this
busy world, has given all working men a weekly
holiday, the rest of the Sabbath! Honor labor, by
maintaining inviolable that royal boon. Add to it
rather than diminish from it; and that this day may
be devoted to the highest of all recreation, that of the
soul, remit some portion of the weekly task for recre-
ating the other faculties of the laborer. Yes; honor
labor, by remembering that man has other faculties
574
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
than those which qualify him for manual toil. He
has a head as well as a hand. He has an immortal
principle, and was not made merely for drudgery on
earth. Honor labor, then, by promoting in every way
the happiness and welfare of the laborer.
And to those whose toils have been our theme here-
in, let us say, "Walk worthy of the vocation where-
with ye are called." Be sure that ye yourselves honor
labor. Honor those departments of it which are more
elevated than your own. Charity requires that we
should all hope the best of our fellow-men; honor
wealth, dignity, leisure, learning, not for themselves
alone, but for the profitable purposes to which they
are applied, for the great advantages which you your-
selves derive from them.
Walk worthy of your vocation. You have a noble
escutcheon; disgrace it not by wickedness. There is
nothing truly mean and low but sin. Stoop not from
your lofty throne to defile yourselves by contamina-
tion with intemperance, licentiousness, or any form of
evil. Labor allied with virtue may look up to heaven
and not blush, while all worldly dignities, prostituted
to vice, will leave their owner without a corner of the
universe in which to hide his shame. You will most
successfully prove the honorableness of toil by illus-
trating in your own persons its alliance with a sober,
righteous, and godly life.
Yes; in the search after true dignity, you may
point me to the sceptered prince, ruling over mighty
empires; to the claimant of ancestral titles which
¿
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
575
raise him above the common herd of men; to the lord
of broad acres teeming with fertility, or the owner of
coffers bursting with gold; you may tell me of the
man of learning, of the historian or the philosopher,
of the poet or the artist; you may remind me of the
man of science extracting from nature her invaluable
secrets, or of the philanthropist, to whom the
eyes of
admiring multitudes may be turned; and while prompt
to render to such men all the honor which, in vary-
ing degrees, may be their due, I would emphatically
declare that neither power, nor nobility, nor wealth,
nor learning, nor genius, nor benevolence, nor all com-
bined, have a monopoly of dignity. I would take
you to the dingy office, where day by day the pen plies
its weary task, or to the retail store, where, from early
morning till half the world have sunk to sleep, toil-
some attendance, with scarce an interval for food, and
none for thought, is given to distribute the necessi-
ties and luxuries of life-I would descend further, I
would take you to the plowman plodding along his
furrows; to the mechanic throwing the swift shuttle,
or tending the busy wheels; to the miner groping his
darksome way in the deep caverns of the earth; to the
man of the needle or the trowel, the hammer or the
forge; and if, while he diligently prosecutes his hum-
ble toil, he looks up with a submissive, grateful, lov-
ing eye to heaven; if, in what he does, he recognizes
his Master, in the eternal God, and expects his wages
from on high; if, while thus laboring on earth, antici-
pating the rest of heaven, he can say, as did a poor
576
DIGNITY OF LABOR.
man, who, when commiserated on account of his hum-
ble lot, said, taking off his hat, "Sir, I am the son of
a king; I am a child of God; and when I die, angels
will carry me from this Union Workhouse direct to
the court of heaven"-O, when I have shown you
such a spectacle, I will ask, Is there not also dignity
in toil?
Labor is life-'tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ;
Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth;
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
Labor is glory—the flying cloud lightens ;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens ;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens-
Play the sweet keys would'st thou keep them in tune.
Labor is worship! the robin is singing;
Labor is worship! the wild bee is ringing;
Listen! that eloquent whisper upspringing,
Speaks to thy soul from out nature's heart.
Work! and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow-
Work! thou shalt ride over care's coming billow.
Lie not down wearied 'neath woe's weeping willow-
Work with a stout heart and resolute will!
Work for some good, be it ever so slowly,
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly,
Labor! ALL LABOR IS NOBLE AND HOLY!
XLIII.
SUCCESS.
N

HERE are but few persons who have not
some object in life. There are, indeed, some
persons that appear to float so aimlessly on
the current of time, that you can scarcely
say they have any object. They seem to be
stirred by no stronger impulse than a sleepy lik-
ing for a lazy good time. Such persons I leave out of
account now. The bulk of mankind, I take it, have
something they aim at. Whatever difference there
may be in the particular objects that different per-
sons aim at, there is mostly something they desire to
succeed in. What the most part
What the most part of persons are most
strongly bent upon is probably their own personal
advantage, in one way or another, according to each
one's taste or preference. Some strive for money,
some work for fame, some for present distinction, pub-
lic position, office, dignities, honors, whatever may
give them eminence and general consideration. In
short, what we call worldly success is what most per-
sons more or less eagerly pursue.
It is spoken of under a variety of figures of speech,
as getting on in life, getting up in the world, feather-
577
578
SUCCESS.
ing one's nest, etc. The philosophical Augustus
Tomlinson calls it "buttering one's bread." He lays
it down that "knowledge of the world is to know how
to butter bread, and knowledge of mankind is to
know which side your bread is buttered on." From
which it would seem that to get one's bread buttered
on one side is all that the sage Augustus thought it
worth while for a philosopher to aim at; though I
dare say we have all heard persons spoken of as
being in such luck as to have their "bread buttered
on both sides," and we have therefore a right to infer
that some, at least, like it to be so, and may perhaps
(unphilosophically) make it an object to get it so.
Be this as it may, it is clear that when the philo-
sophical bandit laid it down that knowledge of man-
kind is the knowing which side your bread is buttered
on, he meant that getting your bread buttered is only
accomplished, or best accomplished, by getting other
people to butter it for you, and that you must know
what persons you can use for this service, and how to
get them to do it.
And herein it must be owned that the sage was
wise, after the fashion of worldly wisdom. The world
will
very seldom butter your bread merely because
you deserve to have it done for you. You must use
other arts. Merit may possibly have its bread secured,
independently of the world, or be able to get it in
spite of the world. But the dispensation of butter—
like kissing goes by favor. And he who lacks the
skill to win the favor of the butter dispensers, or is
SUCCESS.
579
too proud to try, must be content with dry bread; for
mostly your butter dispensers have a dislike to those
who do not obsequiously seek it at their hands; and
if any one tries to get it without their help, the odds
are they will make it hard for him to get even dry
bread, he had best not presume they will not try.
Sometimes it happens that men of predominant ability
make themselves so formidable that the dispensers of
butter are fain to stop their mouths by buttering, and
double buttering, their bread on both sides,-where-
from have come some remarkable conversions among
opposition patriots. Not all patriots, however, are
butterable. Louis Napoleon could do nothing with
Beranger. The sturdy old song-singer refused all his
offers-preferring dry bread and independent song-
singing in his garret to the largest dispensation of
imperial butter.
Mostly, it is by obsequious arts that bread gets
buttered. And that "knowledge of mankind," in
which the philosophical Augustus placed the practical
part of worldly wisdom-that knowing how to get
other people to butter our bread for us-is possessed
in very different degrees. Some persons have a great
deal of it, some very little, some nothing of this neces-
sary knowledge. Some have enough of it, but lack
prudence to turn it steadily to account; they let op-
portunities go by, or fail to make the most of them.
Some cannot keep what they get, but are always in
the predicament lamented in the ballad:
580
SUCCESS.
"I never had a piece of buttered bread,
Particularly large and wide,
But it was sure to fall upon the sanded floor,
And always on the buttered side."
and so they never attain what they call success.
But there are others who differ decidedly from this
view of success. By them it is considered of the first
importance, as Mr. Carlyle says, "to unite yourself
with some one and with some what." This in other
words simply means-to hitch yourself on to some-
body or something. The art of getting up in the
world, would accordingly be the art of hitching on.
But you must take care what you hitch on to. You
may as well hitch on to a post as to a man who has no
impulse or power to rise or climb. You must hitch
on to such as can lift you up along with themselves.
And herein lies a twofold art, or skill: to discern who
are the persons it is best to hitch on to, and to make
them fain to take you up with themselves. A mis-
take on either point would be disastrous. You may
hitch on to persons who are willing enough to have
you do so, but who lack the power to raise you up.
Or you may hitch on to such as can very easily take
you up, but who, though allowing you to hitch on,
may capriciously cut you loose in mid-air, or kick you
off when perhaps you are nearing the topmost round
of the ladder. A frightful thing this, and, it may be,
altogether destructive. The art of rising in life has,
you see, its perils. But granted you have art and skill
to fasten on to such as are able to carry you up, the
SUCCESS.
581
your
best security you can have against being cast off is to
make yourself as necessary to them as they are to
you. For it is not your worth or merit in yourself,
but serviceableness to them that makes sure your
hold. Herein, also, lies much scope for wisdom and
skill. Some hangers-on have it in a wonderful degree.
I have in my time seen one hitch himself on to three
successive generations of official coat-tails of the high-
est dignity and power-dropping the defunct ones,
and catching, with admirable dexterity, just in the
nick of time, at those that replaced them. He has,
too, the skill to grasp not only the coat-tails of the
highest degree, but all the minor ones of serviceable
importance to him. His art and skill are unrivalled,
and it is wonderful to see how he has got up in life.
He could never have risen so high but for his incom-
parable talent for hitching on. At the same time, I
am obliged to confess I cannot think it a talent of the
highest and noblest order.
(
Indeed, it has ever seemed that those who have
had the greatest success in rising by hitching on, are
far from being of the highest style of ability or the
noblest magnanimity of soul. Mostly so far as my
observation has extended, they appear to be persons
of a very moderate endowment of intellect, with a
certain instinct for divining, and a certain cunning in
turning to their own account the foibles of those they
fasten on to, together with a pliant suppleness of
spirit, to me not altogether pleasant to contemplate.
Here is one, who is somewhat cynical as well as
582
SUCCESS.
sharp, insists that mediocrities, sycophants, and tools,
have by far the best chance of getting up in the world,
because those who are in the high places of position
and have the power to raise others, prefer to be sur-
rounded by mediocrity rather than by high ability, by
servility rather than by magnanimous loyalty, by
tools rather than by coadjutors. Then, too, for the
most part, it is the hitchers on that come in turn to
take the places of those they fastened on to, as time
makes those places vacant. And this, he says, is the
reason why the highest places of the world are by no
means filled by the ablest minds and noblest spirits
in the world.
To all which I reply, that to whatever extent there
may be truth in what he says, it is by no means un-
iversally true. Out of joint as the moral order of
things no doubt very greatly is, yet servile hitching
on is not the only way to rise in the world. There
are great and magnanimous men, who, disdaining to
sink their manhood to arts of mean subserviency, have
made their way to the top of things by their own
power and force, by the favor of God, and the con-
currence of the noble and magnanimous. And such
men are wise enough and of large soul enough to
gather around them and carry up with them men of
like stamp with themselves—willing and glad to be
their helpers, though scorning to owe any position to
unmanly arts. Wherein lies some hope for the
world.
And here let me say, that even if it were true that
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mean, unmanly hitching on is the established law of
getting up in the world, those who refuse to submit
to the law are the last persons in the world to utter
any complaint when they see meaner souls advanced
over their heads. Perhaps, unhappily, it is true that
with the bulk of mankind worldly success and the
outward stamp, badge, or ticket of it is the only cri-
terion of merit, and that if one lacks this he is nobody
in the eyes of the multitude. There are, indeed,
many men like little Malvin Mallow, who is one of the
gentlest types of this way of estimating men, is en-
tirely unconscious how incapable he is of recognizing
superior merit apart from what he calls "success in
life." With him worldly success is the only success-
ful thing. He has a genuine respect for it. There is
nothing of envy or jealousy in him. He illustrates
the truth of the Bible saying that "men will praise
thee when thou doest well to thyself." To hear him,
you would imagine he thinks that doing well to one's
self is altogether the most praiseworthy thing one
can do.
True, it must be conceded, that intrinsic superiority,
apart from worldly success, does not obtain the pop-
ular consideration it deserves. But then I ask, how
can it be expected it should. It would be strange if
it did. And why should the wise man complain?
Not to obtain it is far from being the greatest calam-
ity in the world. Meanness of soul, though ever so suc-
cessful in getting up, is a much greater calamity.
And the consciousness of an honorable spirit, and the
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respect of such as know how to respect it, is a greater
success and more to be desired than the highest eleva-
tion gained by mean hitching on.
It is something well for all to be reminded of, and
something to be noted by all, that worldly getting up
is by no means the highest of ends, and he who makes
it his chief aim is by no means actuated by the loftiest
and noblest spirit. Successful self-aggrandizement is
not the greatest success in life. The truest success is
achieved by those into whose aims in life no element
of self-seeking, no regard of mere personal or worldly
advantage enters.
There are those who devote themselves to the pur-
suit of Truth, or to the production of the Beautiful,
with a pure interest-from love of truth and beauty
for their own sake alone. This very spirit is the best
guaranty for their success in the search of the true
and in the creation of the beautiful. And to succeed
in this is a high order of success, however unre-
garded by their contemporaries, unrewarded by ma-
terial advantages, or even subjected to obloquy and
persecution from those in place and power the votaries
of truth and beauty may be. Galileo, in the dun-
geons of the Inquisition, was a more successful man
than those who put him there.
But there is a still higher life than even one un-
selfishly devoted to truth and beauty, and a still
higher success in life than success in the pursuit of
truth, or the production of beauty.
There are those who live to do all the good they
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can to the bodies and to the souls of their fellowmen,
to spread comfort and goodness and happiness around
them, or, in a wider sphere, to promote the social, in-
tellectual, moral and spiritual advancement of the
human race.
These are the elect, the true and noble
heroes among men, who have entered into the inmost
spirit of the Son of Man; have eaten His flesh and
drank His blood; have imbibed from Him and become
penetrated with that sublime enthusiasm of humanity,
of which the Son of Man is the only perfect historical
example.
Blessed are such; and great is their success in life,
wherever they work or die. Their works and their
names may be unknown and unsung by the great
world. This matters not. None the less is their
success.
It is not for name and fame they live, but to
do what good they can. This aim is itself success.
The Malvin Mallows of the world may hold them of
no account. Not so the Upper Powers. Not so a con-
siderable number of the better order of finite spirits.
Or, on the other hand, it may be that public honor
befalls them,—not of their own seeking, but as an in-
cident of their work. The great world sometimes
blows its trumpet in honor of the unselfishly good,
and makes their praise a fashion. Then even all the
narrow and small ones of the world are inspired with
respect, and hasten to join in the homage; for, as with
them, the value of godliness lies in its gain, so the
humble, unselfish doers of good become respectable
when they have ceased to be obscure. But the plaud-
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its of the great world constitute no part of the true
essential success of the good. Not even how much
good they do, but the spirit that actuates them, makes
and measures their success. Let us be glad and
thankful it is a spirit which the Son of Man can and
will (if we so will) make us all sharers in,-a spirit like
His, even His very spirit.
But success, as generally understood, is getting on
in this world, accomplishing perfectly the task that is
undertaken. The "talent of success," says the noted
poet Longfellow, "is nothing more than doing what
you can do well;" and it is true that there is much hap-
piness attending success, and it is also true that there
are those who deny that success is pre-eminently de-
sirable, or that it is by any means identical with hap-
piness. No doubt there are many enjoyments outside
of worldly success. After all, it is pleasant to lie in
bed till eight o'clock in the morning, instead of turn-
ing out at five; it is pleasant to hug the chimney cor-
ner, instead of breasting the pitiless storm; it is
pleasant to pass one's evenings in the bosom of a fam-
ily; pleasant, too, to taste the difference between
winter and spring, fine sunsets and storms, town and
country. The path of success, never "a primrose
path of dalliance," is steeper and more thorny to-
day than ever before. Never before in the world's
history was competition in every calling and pursuit
so fierce as now; never did success, in more than a
moderate degree, demand for its attainment such a
union of physical and intellectual qualities,-of alert-
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587
ness, activity, prudence, persistence, boldness, and de-
cision,-as in this latter half of the nineteenth cent-
ury. Carlyle truly says that "the race of life has
become intense; the runners are treading upon
each other's heels; woe be to him who stops to tie
his shoe-strings!" This fact alone is sufficient to show
the absurdity of the opinion sometimes advanced, that
success is not, as a general thing, a test of merit. In
spite of the occasional triumphs of mediocre men and
charlatans, the rule still holds, that the men who
make their way to the front, becoming rich or famous
by force of their personal characters, must have some-
thing more in them than impudence, and even the
Hudsons and Fisks could not have won their positions
without some sterling qualities, however alloyed with
their opposites.
Again, it must be confessed that success does not al-
ways yield the happiness expected; that the prizes of
life, like the apples of Sodom, often turn to ashes in the
grasp. Of every subject of human pursuit, however
dazzling in the distance, it may be said as the poet has
said of woman,—
"The lovely toy, so fiercely sought,
Hath lost its charm by being caught."
*
But persons who reason thus concerning human hap-
piness forget its true nature. They forget that it does
not consist in the gratification of the desires, nor in
that freedom from care, that imaginary state of repose,
to which most men look so anxiously forward, and
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SUCCESS.
with the prospect of which their labors are lightened,
but which is more languid, irksome, and insupportable
than all the toils of active life. True, the objects
we pursue with so much ardor are insignificant in
themselves, and never fulfill our extravagant expec-
tations; but this by no means proves them unworthy
of pursuit. Properly to estimate their value, we must
take into view all the pleasurable emotions they
awaken prior to attainment.
"Man never is, but always to be, blest,"
says the poet. That is, his true happiness consists in
the means, and not in the end; in acquisition, and
not in possession. The principle and source of it is
not the gratification of the desires, nor does its amount
depend on the frequency of such gratifications. He
who cultivates a tree derives far more satifaction
from the care he bestows upon it than from the fruit.
Give the huntsman his game, and the gambler the
money that is staked, that they both may enjoy, with-
out care or perplexity, the objects they pursue, and
they will smile at your folly.
But whatever the views we may take of this sub-
ject, one thing is quite certain, and that is, that if
happiness is not found in success, it is not found in
failure. It is a sad thing to feel, even when we have
done our best,—when the stinging sense of time and
talents wasted is absent,-that we have foundered in
our earthly voyage; to feel that we have ingloriously
stranded, while those who set sail with us pass by
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with streamers flying and swelling sail. Mediocre
men often mistake aspiration for inspiration; they
have first-class ambition along with third-rate powers;
and these coming together make a most ill-matched
pair of legs, which bear a person along awkwardly in
his path of life, and expose him to endless mortifica-
tions. Philosophy or religion may take the sting out
of disappointment; but generally the impossibility of
connecting the ideas of felicity and failure is so great,
that though examples abound to show that success is
not happiness, it is yet clear that it is essential to it.
The moments in a man's life when, Alexander like,
he feels that the world has no more prizes to be
coveted, are few indeed. It has been truly said that
an object to be desired is at once the pleasure and the
torment of life; sometimes a great object to be steadily
pursued, all else being made subservient to it; or,
more commonly, a succession of minor objects, rising,
one after another, in endless succession. If Keats
did somewhat exaggerate when he declared that
"there is no fiercer hell than the failure in a great
attempt," yet it must be admitted that the pleasure
of a long-sought, ardently desired success, dreamed of
by night and toiled for by day, is, probably, as com-
plete as anything this side of heaven; and it is uni-
versally felt to be a compensation for all toil or
hardship; it is well, if not for any sin.
Again, while success is necessary to happiness, it
must be remembered that the term is a relative one;
in other words, that there are many degrees of success,
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SUCCESS.
among which the highest are neither attainable by all,
nor essential to felicity. A man may be a very suc
cessful lawyer, though he should fail of becoming
Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United
States; a successful physician, though far inferior in
skill to a Brodie or Magendie; a successful merchant,
though he may never accumulate a tithe of the wealth
of a Stewart, a Girard, or an Astor. All this we are
aware, is obvious enough; and we should not think
of repeating such truisms, were not the contrary so
often explicitly or implicitly taught in so many
"Young Men's Own Books," "Student's Manuals,"
and articles in popular newspapers. As if restless-
ness, dissatisfaction with its lot, contempt for reason-
able and attainable successes, were altogether wanting
in Young America, our youth are hardly out of their
jackets ere they are urged by a certain class of writers
and lecturers to look with scorn upon, and to struggle
out of, the sphere or place in life to which, if a lowly
one, Providence has assigned them, and to become
"great men," that is, governors, members of Congress,
foreign ministers, major-generals, railroad kings, et id
omne, which they are told they may become, if they
only will to do it. Forgetting that all callings are
alike honorable, if pursued with an honorable spirit;
that it is the heart only which degrades, the intention
carried into the work, and not the work a man does;
that the most despised calling may be made honor-
able by the honor of its professors; that a blacksmith
may be a man of polished manners, and a millionnaire
"
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a clown; that a shoemaker may put genius and taste
into his work, while a lawyer may cobble;-these
writers are continually pointing to the Herschels and
the Stevensons, the Astors and the Angelos, and tell-
ing the
young that they, too, may shine as stars in the
firmament of art, science, or mammon, provided that
they will scorn delights, "outwatch the bear," con-
centrate their energies, and convert their intellectual
diamond dust into a diamond.
From the general spirit of these appeals, one would
suppose the writers to believe that every human be-
ing at birth is potentially a Shakespeare or a New-
ton, and that, provided he is educated properly, and
labors long and hard enough, he may astonish the
world with "Hamlets" and "Principias." Genius
these writers are fond of defining with Buffon as "pa-
tience," and they will quote to you with gusto the
saying of Newton, that, if he differed from other men,
it was only by "patient thought." A great orator,
like Clay or Chatham; a wondrous musical composer,
like Handel or Rossini; a great architect of build-
ings, like Wren, or a more marvellous architect of
periods, like De Quincey,-all the great lights of
physical science, the superior intelligences of art and
literature, have attained to eminence by steps easily
traceable by themselves, and which all other men may
follow, if they will but concentrate their efforts upon
one point, and not fritter away their resources in a
variety of pursuits. Let us, it is said, but search into
and analyze the causes of that excellence which in its
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intensity has dazzled and confounded us,-let us but
trace it through the various minor stages through
which it has passed to its present summit of power,-
and we shall find that to labor unceasing does it owe
its splendor, and that under similar circumstances,
with equal advantages of culture, equal incentives,
and as firm a will, there are few persons who could
not present the same result. Shelley, we may infer,
hardly exaggerated, when he said that the Almighty
had given men arms long enough to reach the stars, if
they would only put them out. If the young man
will but exert himself to the utmost, say these writers,
there is no height of greatness to which he may not
soar. Ah! but how immense is that "if!" It is the
castle in which these possible Mirabeaus, unlike the
thunderer of the French tribune, are always confined.
"If my aunt had been a man, she would have been my
uncle!" They forget, who talk thus, that the power
of patient labor was the very essence of Newton's
genius; that continuity and concentration of thought
are in exact proportion to the size and vitality of the
thinking principle. What a man does is the real test
of what a man is; and to talk of what great things
one would accomplish, if he had more activity of mind,
is to say how strong a man would be if he only had
more strength; or how swiftly a steamer would cut
the waves, if she had only a bigger boiler, or could
generate steam fast enough!
It is easy to theorize as to what men might become,
if they were something different from what they are.
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Give a man the mental energy, the spiritual force of
Newton, and he may unquestionably do as great
things as Newton. Give a dog the muscular strength,
the physical qualities of the lion, and he will be as,
terrible as the monarch of the forest; or, vice versa,
make the lion cease to be carnivorous in his instincts,
and he will be a pleasant playfellow for your dogs
and children.
All experience shows that it is the nature of genius
to labor patiently, and hence it is easy to leap to the
conclusion that genius is but patient labor. But
though genius is essentially active, and will labor,
though not always by square, rule and compass, it is
the falsest of notions that will can do the work of in-
tellect, that effort can supply genius, and that mere
intensity of desire can give intensity of power. As
well might the tortoise hope, by intense striving, to
run as fast as the greyhound, the truck-horse to rival
Dexter in fleetness, or the monkey to acquire the
strength of the elephant. It is perhaps doubtful
whether any great intellectual thing was ever done by
great effort; a great thing can be done only by a great
man, and he does it without effort. Hazlitt goes so
far as to say that "an improving actor never becomes
a great one. I have known such in my time, who
were always advancing by slow and sure steps to the
height of their profession; but in the mean time some
man of genius rose, and, passing them, at once seized
on the topmost round of ambition's ladder, so that
they still remained in the second class." As the same
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SUCCESS.
acute writer further adds, a volcano does not give
warning when it will break out, nor a thunderbolt
send word of its approach. Kean stamped himself
the first night in Shylock: he never did it any better.
A man of genius is sui generis; to be known, he
needs only to be seen; you can no more dispute
whether he is one, than you can dispute whether it is
a panther that is shown you in a cage.
We lay down as a rule in life that every man should
act as in the sight of the highest possibilities. No
man has been successful till he has accomplished all
that was possible for him to do. He should never
stop with that which he actually has done but should
ever aspire to that which is possibly and probably
within his reach.
The Actual and the Possible of things are wide
apart. They bear not the faintest resemblance to
each other. The prophecies that lie hid in the Ac-
tual no man may read; and when read, no man may
wisely deny them. It is not safe to say what may
not be. It is wiser rather to reverently conclude that
all things are Possible with God. What he will
bring forth conservative man may not predict.
What Possibilities are in a drop of water, a mag-
net, an accident, a word, a truth, an event, a life, a
soul; no man knoweth. The future is hid. The Pos-
sible is God's secret. The Actual is all we may
know at the time of its existence. The history of
the outcomings of past Actualities should teach us to
have a reverent faith in all things, to expect much of
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595
little, to look for power out of weakness, wisdom out
of folly, holiness out of sin, glory out of darkness,
and death out of life. If history teaches us any
thing, it is to be believing, hoping, to have a rever-
ent looking for something great and good.
There is a fearful danger hanging over many Act-
ualities. Events that seem happy in the Actual are
sometimes pregnant with death. There is an out-
come to every thing. What it is we may not know
till it appears. Yet events are not a little in our
hands. The possible of our lives is somewhat within
our control. Our Possible destiny is much of our
own molding. "The child of destiny," as Napoleon
was called, was rather the child of his own will. The
Actual Napoleon, in childhood, could he have been
seen as he was, would have predicted the Napoleon
of manhood.
Childhood is a prophecy of manhood; just as an
acorn is a prophecy of an oak. Parents hold their
Possible child not a little at their will. The springs
that move every power in his soul lie in them. They
do much to mark his possibilities. Genius is made
before birth. It is a bright parental gift. Mysteri-
ously grand is the parent power. Who can tell how
the mother's awakened soul, how a lofty mood of
mind a trance of love, a glow of faith, a vision of
beauty, a resolute purpose, a flash of wit, may mark
the mind of her embryotic child? What Possibilities
sleep in the Actual power of maternity! It is a
grand but fearful power. Could Joan of Arc have
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SUCCESS.
brought forth a child from the fresh, high inspirings
of her soul, in its period of power and beauty, who can
tell what Possibilities would have slept in its young
soul? We undervalue maternity. It is the grand-
est gift of God to mortals. It embosoms richer Pos-
sibilities than any other. The short period of
maternity has ages of Possibilities in it. Mothers
should know it, and harmonize their souls for the
exercise of their marvelous gifts. The mother-mind
should be a model of what the child-mind should be.
Thus her Actual mind will be the ripened seed of
what its Possibilities will be.
Estates are not all that go by hereditary descent to
children. The parents themselves go. They live
again in their children. Not only their forms, com-
plexions, and features go to their children, but their
powers and states of mind, their mental conditions;
not, perhaps, in full force, but in part, at least. The
parent is the Actual; the child is the Possible, grow-
ing legitimately from it. Men know not yet what
Possibilities lie in the parent power.
After this parent power there comes the education-
al power-the Archimedean lever by which the soul
is moved. And here the Possible stretches far away
from the Actual. The Actual man is small by the side
of the Possible man. The Actual child but faintly
resembles the Possible youth. Let the child's activi
ties be brought into harmonious growth, let every
power of body and thought be brought out to its
Possible harmonious extent and how fair would ap-
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597
pear the youth. His body, round, fresh, healthy, and
fair, would be beautiful to look upon-a tower of
strength, a temple of mind. His intellect, quick,
penetrating, strong, would read its way through the
dark passages and problems of life, as a rich scholar
reads a well-written book. His conscience, sensitive,
active, vigorous, would lay hold of the right with
joy, point duty's way with ease, and sanction right-
eous actions with a priestly benediction. His affec-
tions, rich as Venus' love, yet high and pure, would
shed a sunshine through his soul, breathing spring in
its beauty among all its powers. This, then becom-
ing the Actual youth, the Possible man may be beauty
and strength of body and mind harmonized.
Youth, as we have it, is a burning fire-brand or a
stupefied emptiness. It is all out of proportion, and
put together as a cobbler's work. It is flabby, coarse,
weak, indecisive, puerile, mawkish, not half what it
ought to be, and might be. Actual manhood is
equally below its right and Possible standard. The
high-breathing soul and the warm-beating heart are
not in it-are not as they should be, and might be.
Men rest in the Actual, and think they must. They
aim not nor strive for the Possible. The parent ac-
cepts the Actual child that accidentally comes into his
arms. He educates it the Actual youth of fortuitous
circumstances; and the youth grows into Actual man-
hood, as a potato grows, just as it happens to. In
all this course the question of the Possible is perhaps
never asked. The parent does not ask, "What may
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SUCCESS.
I make my child?" The youth asks not, "What may
I make myself?" nor the man, "What may I become?"
We are all less than we ought to be.
We have not sufficient confidence in the Possible.
Poets, scholars, philosophers, statesmen, saints, good
Samaritans, are all about us. Every school has its
embryotic excellences, and might make a senate, a
synod, or an academy of arts. The Actual blacksmith
was the Possible Elihu Burritt. He rested not in the
Actual. His soul yearned toward the Possible. So
does every one's soul. He obeyed the yearning. He
listened to the God-voice within him. All do not so.
There is a voice in every soul crying for the Possible.
The sinner weeps when he hears it calling him to be
a saint. The sluggard is restless when it urges him
to action. The ignorant is disquieted when from the
hills of knowledge he hears the cry "Come up."
There is a great unrest all through the heart of hu-
manity, because the spirit saith "Come," and men
obey not. There is no peace to the undutiful.
Every man feels that he is not what he ought to
be, and might have been. He is not the master of
his own inward domain. He rules not his own spirit.
All along through life he has failed to hearken to the
voice of the Possible. Little by little the false life
has encroached upon the true. He has let slip many
opportunities; he has wasted many hours; he has
yielded to many evil suggestions; and amid the re-
membrance of all these failures, the voice still cries,
Come." And its cry is retributive. It is a partial
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SUCCESS.
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punishment for neglect. Weak manhood trembles
under it; age weeps and warns youth, while youth
hears the cry and the warning, and still pays folly its
daily visits. But youth is not easy. It is desponding
and anxious. It hears the voice of the Possible, and
wants to go up, up to honor, to usefulness, to har-
mony and happiness; but it doubts its capacities,
doubts its own constancy, and fears the labor neces
sary to the attainment of the goal of its aspirations.
Little rest has youth, little rest has humanity. It
never can rest till it heeds the voice of the Possible.
When a man feels that he is not what he ought to
be, and might be, he cannot be at peace. A wasted
life is a bitter death. And in proportion as it has
been wasted, it has bitterness. Few men are so self-
complacent as to believe themselves all they ought to
be. The spirit of good leaves not any soul. It may
sometimes lie still; but it never leaves. And that
spirit avenges in part the neglect and sinfulness of our
lives. This human sea is ever rolling, beating against
its shores, and chafing its bottom, and ever will
while the Actual of human life is so much below its
Possible. Our only hope is in this restlessness. If
we found peace in this low life, we should not aspire
to a higher; if the false satisfied us, we should not
desire the true; if the actual met our wants, we
should not crave the Possible. But how low is the
actual life of humanity! Take our own civilized so-
ciety. How few possess the current knowledge of our
literature and sciences! How few of our people
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possess any thing more than a scanty, stingy culture!
How few resist the open temptations to evil! How
few base firmly their lives on great principles, live by
great moral truth, and walk in the ascending paths of
wisdom! How few are anything more than a shadow
of what they might be! Some attain a noble intel-
lectual strength, but this is often so marred and weak-
ened by immoralities as to prove an evil rather than a
blessing. It is the unrestrained power of a steam-
engine.
One cause of this low life is men's unconsciousness
of their capacities. They know not the possibilities
that are in them; they dream not what they might
be. When men do develop themselves, they astonish
themselves more than anybody else. Men often have
less confidence in their own powers than others have
in them. The majority of us are self-distrusting. We
lack moral courage and persistent energy. If we
could reach our desires to-day we would do it; but
we tire at the thought of a year's labor, and are actu-
ally dismayed when a life of effort is contemplated.
We are not hopeful enough. The Possible life does
not stand bright enough before us. Our faculties
need inspiring with brighter visions.
We ought to believe that we can be what we wish
to be. Our faith should be a mighty power within
us. Doubt and fear should be thrown to the winds.
Not by what we are should we judge what we may
be. Time and toil win all prizes. Is knowledge de-
sired? A life of study, of continued accumulation
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will lay up vast stores where moth and rust do not
corrupt. All sciences will come and lay their treas-
ures at the foot of the student. Their mines yield
liberally to the searcher after their gold. Is mental
culture an object of desire? It is not difficult of at-
tainment; it is no recluse hid in some enchanted cave,
to which unseen spirits lead the ambitious searcher.
The wise, active and energetic exercise of the mental
powers will give it. Every youth. be he farmer or
mechanic, rich or poor, a genius or a dull common-
sense stripling, may obtain both knowledge and cul-
ture. They are hid from none; nor are they so very
difficult of attainment. A few years of faithful effort
will confer the boons. And glorious boons they are,
revealing to their possessors the vast possibilities of
their souls. Is virtue the coveted treasure? How
ready of attainment! Everywhere in life may virtue
be cultivated. Any virtue that a man really desires,
he may possess. The highest order of virtues are the
Christian graces. They lie within the reach of all.
Christ's life may be re-lived. The diamonds of his
character may be set in every soul. The life of moral
heroes, philanthropists, philosophers, and Christians,
may be re-lived by all of fair endowments. The true
life is not above the mass of men. The riches of the
divine kingdom are open to all. Common men and
women may possess them. They may adorn the
mothers, and sisters, and wives, and daughters of us
all. They may give dignity, grace, and strength to
our men. The men in humble walks may rise in dig-
nity and importance by the magic power they possess.
602
SUCCESS.
Mind is a thing of progress. Use it, and it will
grow forever. Exert it strongly and wisely, and it will
soon stand among the sons of light, and ere long
shine among the cherubim and seraphim. There is
no limit to its knowledge, culture, virtue, growth, and
progress. It is a deathless, immortal thing, instinct
with Godlike capabilities. Its true life is angelic.
Its false life is devilish. One urges up and onward,
the other downward and backward. In every soul a
light shineth, a voice crieth for the true life, for the
mighty and glorious possibilities within it. The light
should cheer up and onward the ascending spirit; the
voice should encourage it. The Actual of itself and
its life should seem to it only as a seed of its possible
attainments. The true life is in progress. A day of
no progress in good, is a day of false life. Every pro-
gressive moment is a moment of the life that never
dies, the true, the immortal, the Godlike life
Success, then, is making the Possible Actual. Now
it turns to us, and asks what are the aspirations of
our souls, the longing of our hearts? Success to
the thief in some design of robbery, success to the li-
centious man who is seeking an opportunity to betray
virtue, and success as viewed by the philanthropist,
noble-hearted and righteous man are very different
things. But generally speaking, it is applied to this
world, gathering its precious store, winning its re-
nown, occupying its high places. How many make
the mistake in regarding success in the world as the
end of life instead of the means of accomplishing
SUCCESS.
603
noble ends. When we measure success not by the
measuring line of popular applause, not by the heap
of gold or silver, but by the light of another world,
what is it after all but a comparatively vulgar, pal-
try affair? Is it anything for which a man should
crawl in the dust, degrade himself in his own estima-
tion, do violence to the divine principle within him,
or stoop to the smallest mean or dishonorable action?
Is life a scrub-race, where, at every hazard, though
you have to blind the one on your right and trip the
one on your left, you must struggle to come out ahead?
Shall we subscribe to that dangerous materialism run-
ning throughout American life, which preaches that
money is the great end and evidence of the possession
of intellect, that a man must be a failure unless he
culminates in the possession of a check-book? Were
we sent into the world simply, in the slang phrase of
the day, "to win a pile"? And when we have a
competence, shall we sacrifice health, peace, conscience,
that we may boast of our hundreds of thousands,
though we know that incessant fear and nervous anx-
iety are often the shadows that surround the glitter-
ing heap? Is it nothing to have a conscience void of
offence, a face that never turns pale at the accuser's
voice, a bosom that never throbs at the fear of ex-
posure, a heart that might be turned inside out and
discover no stain of dishonor?
.
But perhaps you regard popularity as a great test
of success; you covet the digito pretereuntium mons-
trari; you would be the focus of all eyes, "the ob-
604
SUCCESS.
served of all observers," though of that kind of
honor, as Crowley says, "every mountebank has more
than the best doctor, and the hangman more than the
lord chief justice of a city." Then you live a life
only in others' breath; your happiness depends on
every turn of the weathercock; you are at the mercy
of every wind that blows. Are you the lion of to-
day, because you have burned the heart of the world
with your ardent soul? I am the lion to-morrow, be-
cause I balance myself on a wire over the dizzy
chasm of Niagara, and you are quite forgotten. The
confounding of excellence with pecuniary success or a
seat in Congress is both absurd and immoral. Was
the divinest life ever lead on this earth a success, hu-
manly speaking? And are you entitled to pronounce
your fellow-man, who has humbly tried to copy it, a
cipher, because he has not, like you, courted applause,
and made some little nook or corner of the earth ring
with his name? Has not many a man been a bless-
ing to the world who has made no noise in it, and
who has died a beggar? And have not thousands
died rich in goods or reputation, who were intellect-
ually, morally, and spiritually bankrupt? Is it not
too true of the road of ambition, that, as another has
said, "the higher it ascends the more difficult it be-
comes, till at last it terminates in some elevation too
narrow for friendship, too steep for safety, too sharp
for repose, and where the occupant, above the sympa-
thy of man and below the friendship of angels, re-
sembles in the solitude if not the depth of his suffer-
SUCCESS.
605
ings a Prometheus chained to the Caucasian rock?"
Whatever you will pay the price for, you can have
in this world,-that is the rule. Be rich or popular,
if you choose.-bringing all your faculties, as did
Bonaparte his forces, to bear upon one point, and let·
ting your intellectual and moral nature lie fallow.
But do not arrogate too much on the strength of this
vulgar success; do not expect admiration and ap-
plause, or even a tacit assent to your claims, from
those who are accustomed to look below the surface.
Do not deem yourself authorized to pity those who
prefer incorruptible treasures to a balance at their
banker's, the "pearl of great price" to the jewel
that sparkles on the finger, and who have been suc-
cessful as men, though they may have failed as law-
yers, doctors, and merchants. The possession of
United States bonds, of mortgages, and corner lots
does not always and necessarily reward virtuous in-
dustry; "a play, a book, a great work, an architect,
or a general, may owe success simply to the bad taste
of the times; and, again, non-success in any candidate
may arise from a conscience too clear and sensitive, a
taste too good and too nice, a judgment too discrimi-
native, a generosity too romantic and noble, or a
modesty too retiring." There is no possible valuation
of human character which would make the slightest
show in the stock-list; and hence success, truly un-
derstood, must be sought, not in what we have but in
what we are.
All experience shows that the greatest and most
606
SUCCESS.
continued favors of fortune cannot, of themselves,
make a man happy, nor can the deprivation of them
render altogether miserable the possessor of a clear
conscience and a well-regulated mind. Goethe, who
seems to have been born to show how little genius,
health, honor, influence, and worldly goods can do to
make a man happy, confessed that he had not, in the
course of his life, enjoyed five weeks of genuine pleas
ure; and a famous caliph, looking back over a bril-
liant reign of fifty years, found that he had enjoyed
only fourteen days of pure and unalloyed happiness.
Do you ask, then, what you shall aim at in life?
We answer, as we began: Aim to act well your part,
for therein lies all the honor. Every man has a mis-
sion to perform in this world, for which his talents
precisely fit him, and having found what this mission
is, he must throw into it all the energies of his soul,
seeking its accomplishment, not his own giory. As
Goethe wisely says: "Man is not born to solve the
problem of the universe, but to find out what he has
to do, and to restrain himself within the limits of his
power of comprehension." Having found out what
you have to do, whether to lead an army or to sweep
a crossing, to keep a hotel or to drive a hack, to
harangue senates or address juries or prescribe medi-
cines, -do it with all your might, because it is your
duty, your enjoyment, or the very necessity of your
being.
Are your intellectual endowments small, and do you
despond because your progress must be slow? Re-
SUCCESS..
607
member that, if you have but one talent, you are re-
sponsible only for its wise employment. If you can-
not do all you wish, you can at least do your best;
and, as Dr. Arnold says, if there be one thing on
earth which is truly admirable, it is to see God's wis-
dom blessing an inferiority of natural powers, when
they have been honestly, truly, and zealously culti-
vated. Remembering that the battle of life cannot
be fought by proxy, be your own helper, be earnest,
be watchful. be diligent, and, if you do not win suc
cess, you will have done the next best thing,-you
will have deserved it.
Is your calling one which the world calls mean or
humble? Strive to ennoble it by mixing brains with
it, as Opie did with his colors. Show by the spirit
that you carry into it, that to one who has self-respect,
an exalted soul, the most despised profession may be
made honorable; that, as we have already said, it is
the heart, the inspiring motive, not the calling, that
degrades; that the mechanic may be as high-minded
as the poet, the day-laborer as noble as the artist..
Schiller most beautifully says:
"What shall I do lest life in silence pass ?"
And if it do,
And never prompt the bray of noisy brass,
What need'st thou rue ?
Remember aye the ocean deeps are mute ;
The shallows roar?
Worth is the ocean, -Fame is the bruit
Along the shore.
:
608
SUCCESS.
"What shall I do to be forever known ?"
Thy duty ever!
This did full many who yet sleep unknown,"-
Oh! never, never!
•
Think'st thou perchance that they remain unknown
Whom thou know'st not?
By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown,
Divine their lot.
A successful life is one that overcomes the ten
thousand difficulties of opposing elements; one that
brings to a triumphant close the earthly mission and
one that is then prepared to enter the everlasting life
in the blessed Hereafter. However successful a man
may be in heaping gold, in winning fame, in obtaining
applause here on earth, if he overlooks the great end
of life, misses the grand object of his mission, he will
be only a miserable failure and a forlorn wreck at last.
But that is true success which brings the soul at last
up to the gate of Heaven and causes it to hear the
sweetest praise that can fall on mortal ears in its Mas-
ter's welcome plaudits: "Well done, good and faithful
servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."
:
XLIV.
THE EVENTIDE OF LIFE.

IFE at home may be filled with joy and hap-
piness, or it may be clouded with sadness
and woe; but whether sunshine lightens or
shadows darken it, one fact remains sure
and certain, and that is, that the home that knows
us now will soon know us no more for ever.
How unconsciously and how quickly we approach
that period, when gray hairs and augmenting infirm-
ities forebode with louder and louder admonition the
common termination of mortality. The Spring and
Summer of life are past; Autumn is far advanced;
the frown of Winter is already felt. Age has its
privileges and its honors. It claims exemption from
the more arduous offices of society, to which its
strength is no longer equal; and immunity from some
at least of the exertions, the fruit of which it cannot
enjoy. Deprived of many active pleasures, it claims
an equivalent of ease and repose. Forced to con-
tract the sphere of its utility, it claims a grateful re-
membrance of former services. From the child and
the near relation, it claims duty and love: from all,
tenderness and respect. Its claims are just, accepta-
609
610
THE EVENTIDE OF LIFE.
ble, and sacred. Reason approves them; sympathy
welcomes them; Revelation sanctions them. But if
age would be regarded with affection and reverence,
it must shew itself invested with the qualities by
which those feelings are to be conciliated. It must
be useful according to its ability, by example, if not
by exertion. If unable to continue the full exercise
of active virtues, it must display the excellence of
those which are passive. It must resist the tempta-
tions by which it is beset, and guard itself against in-
dulging faults on the plea of infirmity. In a word, if
the "hoary head" is to be a "crown of glory," it
must be found in the "way of righteousness."
Though we are called upon "to pity the sorrows of
a poor old man," yet there is a bright and pleasing
side to old age. Now those fervid passions which
agitated the breast of youth have subsided; the vani-
ties which dazzled its gaze have ceased to delude.
Cheerful hours, enlivened by the society of descend-
ents, of relations, perhaps of some co-eval friends en-
deared by the recollection of long established regard,
still remain. If maladies press heavily on the func-
tions of life, if pain embitter the remnant of your sat-
isfactions; yet the duration of your sufferings can-
not be long. If the day be far spent, the hour of rest
must necessarily be at hand. The young, when over-
taken with calamities corresponding to those which
you endure, know not but that according to the set-
tled order of human events, a very long period of
sorrow and anguish may await them. From all such
THE EVENTIDE OF LIFE.
611
distresses you will shortly be at peace. Whether
your waning years be loaded with affliction, or glide
away placid and serene; have you not still in your
possession the chief of earthly blessings, the promises
of the Gospel, the prospect of immortality? If those
promises, that prospect be not adapted to give you
comfort, lay not your disquiet to the charge of age;
charge it on your past life, on your own folly, on your
own sin; and labor ere the day of grace be past, ere
the portentous shades of death and misery close
around you, to make even yet your peace with God
through the mediation of an atoning Saviour. But
if you have so lived as to have an interest in the glo-
rious hopes of Christianity; how peculiarly strong
must be your delight in looking forward to rewards,
from which you are separated by so brief an interval.
Endear then yourself to all around you by cheerful
good humor, by benevolence, by affectionate kindness,
by devout patience and resignation. By seasonable
exhortation, by uniform example, endear to them that
piety which is your support. Engage them to a con-
tinual remembrance of the hour, when they shall be
as you are. So shall your memory speak the lan-
guage of instruction and of comfort, when you are
silent in the grave.
How often is the question asked "Which is the hap-
piest season of life?" and it has been answered in
various ways.
Some years ago, at a festal party where old and
young were gathered, the question was asked, which
612
THE EVENTIDE OF LIFE.
-
season of life was the most happy? After being
freely discussed by the guests, it was referred for an-
swer to the host, upon whom was the burden of four-
score years. He asked if they had noticed a grove of
trees before the dwelling, and said, "When the spring
comes, and in the soft air the buds are breaking on
the trees, and they are covered with blossoms, I think,
How beautiful is Spring! And when the summer
comes, and covers the trees with its heavy foliage,
and singing birds are all among the branches, I think,
How beautiful is Summer! When autumn loads
them with golden fruit, and their leaves bear the gor-
geous tint of frost, I think, How beautiful is Autumn!
And when it is sere winter, and there is neither foli-
age nor fruit, then I look up, and through the leafless
branches, as I could never until now, I see the stars
shine through. This is the blessed privilege of age. The
young are looking forward with bright hopes
through blooming flowers and opening buds of prom-
ise. The middle-aged are so engaged with the life's
earnest work, with the hard toil of life's summer day,
that they do not look beyond the thick foliage that
droops around their cots importing its cooling shade
and pleasant breezes to fan their feverish brows; and
when life's autumn brings forth its golden store, when
children's children climb upon the knee, when the
crisp air is laden with the harvest song and the reap-
ers of life's golden grain return with many sheaves.
The heart is then so full that youth seems to return
again with lively hopes.
A
THE EVENTIDE OF LIFE.
613
But soon the harvest is gathered, the fruits have
ripened and are housed. The cold bleak winds that
usher in the winter of our lives, when the chill frost
ties up the fountains of our life; when the leaves are
all fallen; when we stand out of sympathy with
the living, connected with them only by that which
keeps the little life we have within us, why then 'tis
sweet to look out of the casements of our souls up
through the leafless branches, and withered limbs to
yon bright shining orbs, and as we see them burning
in the skies, we think of those whom we have met,
and known, and loved "when life with us was
young." And as we remember how they have gone
before, to that other country where the inhabitants
never grow old; how they have departed to "that
bourne from whence no traveller returns."
The very
stars take form, and from
"Over the river they beckon to me,
Loved ones who've crossed to the further side
The gleam of their snowy robes I see,
But their voices are drowned in the rushing tide."
3
It is true that the aged have lost the elasticity and
freshness of earlier days. They are gradually sink-
ing beneath the inevitable law that dooms man to the
dust. Their sun is setting; the night draweth on.
Under these circumstances, they are sometimes dis-
posed to withdraw entirely from active pursuits, and
give themselves up to an indolent repose. They feel
the need of rest and quiet in the evening of life; and
614
THE EVENTIDE OF LIFE.
surely they, if any, should enjoy this blessing. But
they should never forget that the due exercise of mind
and body is indispensable to happiness. Age brings
no necessary exemption from this benevolent law.
Said John Newton, in his seventieth year, "We must
work while it is day, for the night cometh." And he
was himself an example of the happy influence upon
the health and happiness, of his own precept.
We would not here recommend severe and pro-
tracted toil, but only regular and moderate exercise,
in connection with some pleasing and useful employ-
ment. This accords with the laws of our being,
whether in youth or age. It affords a healthful in-
vigoration and refreshment. It tends most happily to
draw the mind away from that melancholy brooding
over real or fancied ills, which dries up the fountain
of life and joy within the soul, and in which the un-
employed, especially in advanced years, are prone to
indulge.
It is common to hear men talk of retiring from
business, to enjoy at their leisure the fruits of previous
toil. But such an expectation generally ends in dis-
appointment. The pleasure so fondly anticipated in
a freedom from toil and care, comes not at the bidding.
A feeling of uncomfortable lassitude and impatience
ensues. The elegant home, with its pleasant arrange-
ments, its shady walks, its cool retreats, whatever
taste and wealth can furnish for embellishment and
comfort, is irksome to its possessor, and he almost
sighs for the bustle and bondage he has left. And
THE EVENTIDE OF LIFE.
615
there is nothing strange in this. It is the natural re-
sult of a violent transition, and of the transgression of
that law which makes us happy only as our powers
are duly exercised.
It would be better far that, instead of a sudden with-
drawal, as age approaches, from the accustomed rou-
tine of labor, whether on the farm, in the shop, the
family, the pulpit, or whatever calling, there should
be still such a continuance of effort as is proportioned
to the gradually declining strength. And we may
remark, by the way, that such a course would not only
greatly conduce to happiness, but to Christian useful-
ness. It is by no means true that a moderate atten-
tion even to worldly business, of necessity interferes
with spiritual enjoyment and devotedness. We may
be diligent in business, and yet fervent in spirit, serv-
ing the Lord. And activity tends to avert that lassi-
tude and dulness, that spiritual depression and decay
of mind and body, which are such powerful hind-
rances to usefulness.
C
If advanced years bring increased leisure, how well
for the aged, as well honoring to God, that it be em-
ployed in his direct service. What a delightful field
of activity is here opened before the Christian in the
evening of life! How pleasing to see him, as he
gradually retires from worldly pursuits, turning with
increased affection to the church, which has had his
earlier love! Here his mind may be exercised accord-
ing to the measure of its ability, and in the way most
favorable to that calm and holy repose so desirable
616
THE EVENTIDE OF LIFE.
for the aged. In the exercises of devotion, in spirit-
ual conversation, in ministering the sweet charities of
the gospel to the poor, and sick, and needy of the
flock, and in other ways seeking the interests of the
church and the religious welfare of the community, as
he has opportunity or ability, the aged saint would
renew his strength; though old he would still be
young. Many such we can recall to mind, whose la-
bors of love have made them the glory of our churches.
They bear fruit in old age. They are fair and flour-
ishing. Their hoary head, found thus in the ways of
righteousness, is a crown of glory. And while they
honor God, he honors and blesses them. From not a
few of the evils incident to age are they, in a measure
or wholly, preserved.
}
CLOSING SCENES.

B
come.
T is well for us all, even in entering up-
on life, to remember its termination, and
how swiftly and suddenly the end may
"Here we have no continuing city."
We are "strangers and pilgrims, as all our
fathers were," and the road of life at its very
opening may pass from under us, and ere we have
well entered upon the enjoyments and work of the
present, we may be launched into the invisible and
future world that awaits us. At the best, life is
but a brief space.
"It appeareth a little moment,
and then vanisheth away." It is but a flash out of
darkness, soon again to return into darkness. Or, as
the old Saxon imagination conceived, it is like the
swift flight of a bird from the night without, through
a lighted chamber, filled with guests and warm with
the breath of passion, back into the cold night again.
We stand, as it were, on a narrow "strip of shore,
waiting till the tide, which has washed away hundreds
of millions of our fellows, shall wash us away also in-
to a country of which there are no charts, and from
which there is no return." The image may be almost
endlessly varied. The strange and singular uncer-
617
618
CLOSING SCENES.
tainty of life is a stock theme of pathos, but no de-
scriptive sensibility can really touch all the mournful
tenderness which it excites.
It is not easy for a young man, nor indeed for any
man in high health and spirits, to realize the transi-
toriness of life and all its ways. Nothing would be
less useful than to fill the mind with gloomy images
of death, and to torment the present by apprehensions
as to the future. Religion does not require nor coun-
tenance any such morbid anxiety; yet it is good also
to sober the thoughts with the consciousness of life's
frailty and death's certainty. It is good above all to
live every day as we would wish to have done when
we come to die. We need not keep the dread event
before us, but we should do our work and duty as if
we were ever waiting for it and ready to encounter it.
"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy
might for there is no work, nor device, nor knowl
edge, nor wisdom in the grave, whither thou goest."
Our work here should always be preparatory for
the end. Our enjoyments should be such as shall not
shame us when we stand face to face with death. The
young, and the old too, but especially the young, are
apt to forget this. In youth we fail to realize the in-
timate dependency, the moral coherency which binds
life together everywhere, and gives an awful meaning
to every part of it. We do not think of consequences
as we recklessly yield to passion, or stain the soul by
sinful indulgence. But the storm of passion never
fails to leave its waste, and the stain, although it may
CLOSING SCENES.
619
have been washed by the tears of penitence, and the
blood of a Savior, remains. There is something dif
ferent, something less firm, less clear, honest, or con-
sistent in our life in consequence; and the buried sin
rises from its grave in our sad moments, and haunts
us with its terror, or abashes us with its shame. As-
suredly it will find us out at last, if we lose not all
spiritual sensibility. When our feet begin "to stum-
ble on the dark mountains," and the present loses its
hold upon us, and the objects of sense wax faint and
dim, there is often a strangely vivid light shed over
our whole moral history. Our life rises before us in
its complete development, and with the scars and
wounds of sin just where we made them. The sor-
row of an irreparable past comes upon us, and we are
tortured in vain by the thought of the good we have
thrown away, or of the evil we have made our portion.
Let no one imagine for a moment that it can ever be
unimportant whether he yields to this or that sinful
passion, or, as it may appear to him at the time, ve-
nial indulgence. Let him not try to quiet his con-
science by the thought that at the worst he will out-
live the memory of his folly, and attain to a higher
life in the future. Many may seem to him to have
done this. Many of the greatest men have been, he
may think, wild in youth. They have "sown their
wild oats," as the saying is, and had done with them;
and their future lives have only appeared the more
remarkable in the view of the follies of their youth.
A more mischevious delusion could not possibly pos-
620
CLOSING SCENES.
sess the mind of any young man. For as surely as
the innermost law of the world is the law of moral ret-
ribution, they who sow wild oats will reap,
in some
shape or another, a sour and bitter harvest. For
"whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap:
he that soweth to the flesh, shall of the flesh reap cor-
ruption; he that soweth to the Spirit, shall of the
Spirit reap life everlasting."
There is nothing more sure than this law of moral
connection and retribution. Life, through all its
course, is a series of moral impulses and consequences,
each part of which bears the impress of all that goes
before, and again communicates its impress to all that
follows. And it is with the character which is the
sum of all that we meet death, and enter on the life
to come. Every act of life-all our work, and study,
and enjoyment—our temptations, our sins, our repent-
ance, our faith, our virtue, are preparing us-whether
we think it or not-for happiness or misery here-
after. It is this more than anything that gives such
a solemn character to the occupations of life. They
are the lessons for a higher life. They are an educa-
tion—a discipline for hereafter. This is their highest
meaning.
Let young men remember the essential bearing of
the present upon the future. In beginning life let
them remember the end of it, and how it will be at the
end as it has been throughout. All will be summed
up to this point; and the future and the eternal will
take their character from the present and the tempo-
CLOSING SCENES.
621
rary.
"He that is unjust, let him be unjust still:
and he that is filthy, let him be filthy still: and he
that is righteous, let him be righteous still and he
that is holy, let him be holy still." The threads of
our moral history run on in unbroken continuity. The
shadow of death may cover them from the sight; but
they emerge in the world beyond in like order as they
were here.
Make your present life therefore a preparation for
death and the life to come. Make it such by embrac-
ing now the light and love of God your Father-by
doing the work of Christ your Saviour and Master—
by using the world without abusing it—by seeking in
all your duties, studies, and enjoyments, to become
meet for a "better country, that is, an heavenly."
To the youngest among you the time may be short.
The summons to depart may come in "a day and an
hour when you think not." Happy then the young
man whose Lord shall find him waiting-working-
looking even from the portals of an opening life here
to the gates of that celestial inheritance "incorrupti-
ble and undefiled, and that fadeth not away!"
There is a time coming, it may not be far distant,
when there will come the inevitable rupture of the
unity of the home.
We say, it may
be broken; but we know that it
must be broken. The hour comes inevitably when
you shall watch the death-shadow deepening on the
face that you most dearly love. The last word will
be spoken, the last look of love will gleam forth, and
622
CLOSING SCENES.
then you question the still rosy lips, but they are for-
ever silent; you search the depths of the beloved
eyes, but a film has gathered over them, the depths
have vanished, only a cold dull mask is there. And
a great agony seizes the soul that is widowed; a great
wail, a great appeal, it may be a great protest, goes
up from an overstrained heart to God. This lies in
the future of every home, blessed of God. We say
blessed be God in faith here, we shall repeat it in
open vision there, when death has transplanted the
whole family to the home which the Lord has founded
and adorned for it on high. But a stern, sad experi
ence lies between all of us and that consummation;
an experience which the steadfast vision of the con-
summation alone can transmute into solemn and holy
joy.
And Death, who bursts the bond and rifles the
treasures of our homes, wears to the eye of sense no
angelic aspect. In this sin-haunted sphere he still
wears his dress of terrors. He is one of God's chief
preachers of righteousness, and bears a form which
drives his lessons home. Were death but translation,
we could hail his advent. Enoch, Elijah, found
death, the one a gentle, the other a triumphant pas-
sage, to the joys and the splendors of eternity. But
Adam left not translation as his legacy to his chil-
dren. "Sin entered into the world, and death by sin,”
and death, wedded to sin, brought a terror of dying
into the human heart. Part of death, perhaps the
saddest part, is the inevitable decay; the long, slow,
CLOSING SCENES.
623
sad decline, sad but for the light which falls on it
from a higher sphere. God will not have us forget
in this world the evil tree, of which sin is the bitter
fruit. All the dread apparatus of death, is God's les-
son to the living about sin. There is no attempt on
the part of heaven to soften or sweeten the homily.
Christianity brought to us no mitigation of the physi-
cal pains and fears of dying. Its whole work is in
the spirit which endures them, and sees in them the
birth pangs of the life eternal. And this is the so-
lace, yea, the more than solace, of bereavement in a
Christian home: the whole family, limb by limb, and
organ by organ, is being born into the home where it
shall dwell eternally.
A touch of sadness must enter here into all our
loves. The closer we twine the heart-strings, the
sharper the pain when they part, as part they must.
It is the dire necessity of life-death, and the heart-
aches, the life weariness that death brings in its train.
The family stock lives on, but the old leaves drop and
the
young buds
buds expand and occupy their room,
to wither and die in turn. Not only has Christianity
not mitigated the physical pain and the fear that at-
tend on death, there is a sense in which it has inten-
sified them. There can be no question that the influ-
ence of the gospel has raised to a higher pitch our
joys and hopes. The sensibilities of humanity have
grown more keen, the bonds have been drawn more
close in homes and states. Human joy is a higher
thing, purer and more intense, since the day when one
624
CLOSING SCENES.
could say in the name of Christ, "Rejoice in the Lord
alway, and again I say rejoice;" but with intenser
joy, also, intenser pain. The larger body casts the
larger shadow, and as humanity has grown in strength,
dignity, and conception of what life means and life is
worth, the pains and the fears have grown with it;
there is more at stake, more to lose, more to suffer.
And this has been the work of the gospel. It has
taught us how to love. It has dignified, purified, and
consecrated the most intense of the forms of love. It
has made wedded love a loftier thing than anything
of which a pagan dreamed; and it has added fresh
strength and tenderness to the relationships which
grow out of the home. But it is not afraid of increas-
ing in the circle of light, lest it should increase also
the circumference of shadow. It is not afraid of ex-
alting the joys of life, because, its pain must grow
more intense by the same rule; for it holds that life
and joy are the conquerors. Darkness and pain are
for time, light and joy are for eternity. In strength-
ening the life, the love, it is giving to us an eternal
victory. It bids us front the peril, and smile at the
pain, from which it cannot shield us, because of its
abounding power to bear us through it and beyond
it; and to complete our life in the world where there
shall be no more pain for ever. In the home life the
double experience is released more intensely. The
Christian home makes most of its relationships, and
the gap is widest, the pain is deepest, when the circle
is broken in upon by death. But the Christian house-
CLOSING SCENES.
625
hold aims at a higher completeness than the life of
this world can compass. It is not an accident, it is
not a stroke, it is a vital stage of its growth, it is a
grand step of its progress toward its consummation,
when its dearest pass through the veil and beckon the
mourners from beyond. For-
The whole family, death only can complete.
Death has a double aspect, as he works through
Christ or through Adam. In the one he despoils, in
the other he crowns us; in the one he disrobes, in the
other he arrays us; in the one he breaks up the unity,
which in the other he completes. Wholeness belongs
not to this world. There is no whole hnman experi-
ence, there is no whole human friendship, there is no
whole human possession, which is all contained with-
in this world's bounds. I have endeavored in a
former discourse to prove to you how man must take
the eternal into his horizon of vision, if he is to under-
stand truly even a fragment of his present life. Like
some cunning royal texture, where there is a peculiar
thread running through the whole fabric, so that the
smallest portion tells the tale of the place and year of
its production, there is not a broken bit of the most
wasted life which has not some feature about it that
can be explained only by eternity. And if we can
say it of the basest fragment, must we not believe of
the noblest fabric which the Lord has founded and ed-
ified in this world, that it too has an eternal life,
which can be seen in its completeness only "in the
general assembly and Church of the first-born" on
626
CLOSING SCENES.
high. The family which we see, that portion of it
which earth contains at any moment, is but a ring, a
link of a golden chain, which is dropped from heaven
and taken up into heaven again.
Children of a Christian home, it is sacred ground
on which you are standing, it has been won for you
by the toils, the heroisms, the sacrifices, perhaps by
the life-blood of godly sires. That family tradition,
that atmosphere of the family life, in which you were
nurtured, which you breathed with your first breath,
and which has lent its tincture from the first to the
currents of your blood, was not the creature of acci-
dent or even of words. How many noble lives of
men and women do you reckon in your line? How
many names are in your family Bible which are also
written in the Lamb's book of life? Step by step,
perhaps generation by generation, the family has
lifted itself to a higher level, has attained to a wider
culture, and has taken a larger part in the affairs of
life. Who shall tell what brave struggles, heroic en-
durances, wrestling prayers, utter sacrifices, have made
that fabric of the family life and the family fortunes,
which are your rich inheritance? And what is left of
them these men and women whose sacred dust is
your vantage ground, and whose achievements are
your heritage? Is it simply that dust and those sacred
memories? Is a memory of them all that lives in
God's universe? And when
And when you die, is a memory all
that will survive of you? It was for you, for their
children's children, that these men toiled and suffered;
Klage
CLOSING SCENES.
627
that the family might live before God, they watched,
and wept, and prayed. They are gone, but have they
borne no loves and visions with them; loves that
cling still to the dear ones who hold the legacy of their
lives, and visions of the time, when they shall see of
their travail as the children join them, and gather the
fruit of their toils in eternity?
Surely there is something in this family stock which
has a real existence in the universe. It is not a name
only, a string on which a succession of individuals
may be strung, and wear the appearance of a unity.
It is real and not nominal, a thing and not a name. A
thing which has a clear existence before the eye of
God, and which will have the substance, as well as
wear the appearance, of a unity in eternity. There is
a whole family life, of which each individual, and even
each generation, is but a section. It has a distinct
form, a type of feature, a character, and a mission in
the world. It would startle us to see how much the
essential characteristics of families, running through
and tinging the diverse members, tell as a distinct and
powerful element upon the development of society.
If the family is to nurse the individual man to his
complete maturity, it is that he may continue and
carry out the influence of the family life. Each man's
work in his household is to live out with full freedom
the special capacity for life which is in him; that be-
longs partly to him and partly to his race.
That race
is a reality before God in its wholeness; it has a speci-
ality of gift and function, and a work in the world
628
CLOSING SCENES.
which it only can fulfill. We see this on a grand
scale in the character and the mission of nations, but
it runs through the whole race. The man and his be-
longings, his father's fathers and his children's child-
ren, form a whole which enters as a factor into the
order of God's everlasting kingdom. The bond of
the household is not accidental and for time, it is es-
sential and for eternity.
And the treasures which a home life, such as I have
striven to picture, gathers, are not treasures of this
world that can perish in its wreck; they have the
mint-mark of heaven on them-they must pass up
and appear on high. The infant in the home seems
to be the poorest and most helpless of creatures under
the sun; poor in power, but rich in right, and rich in
love. As it grows it gathers its riches round it. The
work of life is to lay them up in sure storehouses,
"where moth and rust corrupt not, and thieves break
not through to steal." The child learns to lay its
hands on the things that are needful for the nurture
and culture of the being, and to lay the clasp of its
heart on persons whose love it demands by those sure
instincts which never fail. Trace childhood on to its
maturity. The man or the woman of fifty have made
themselves a name and a place in life; they are the
centres of attraction to troops of friends; they have
sons and daughters growing up in their homes, who
pay to them the reverent obedience which they pay to
the Father God. They have furnished their minds
with knowledge, the universe has unveiled its secrets,
CLOSING SCENES.
629
the past is peopled with heroic forms, the future with
visions which the eye of faith alone is strong enough
to behold. How rich life has become to them, how
full its storehouses of knowledge, power, and love!
Trace it a stage further. At seventy, the puling,
helpless, portionless infant has grown into a patriarch,
whose white hairs are a crown of honor, before which
all men joyfully bow. The sons and daughters have
each made themselves a home, and little infants, of
whom he has all the joy and none of the care, come
climbing round his knee, and twine soft tendrils round
the boughs of his strength; lending to his age the
grace and the charm of youth once more. His wis-
dom has grown ripe with large experience, his affec-
tions and sympathies wide with frequent ministries;
he fills the place of a prince in his circle, and when he
falls a wide company of men feels beggared awhile by
his loss.
And what does his fall mean? What but that a
larger and loftier home circle has need of him, and
the wise and the good who have gone on before are
waiting to welcome him to their fellowship, to lead
his disciplined and ripened power to the work for
which God was training it, and to rest his heart in the
home-life of heaven. The rich experience of which
the home-life of earth had been the parent, would
make the heavenly life strange, and even foreign, if
the home did not reappear beyond the river. The
man who has been nursed to a noble maturity by such
fellowship as we have been describing, would find the
630.
CLOSING SCENES.
higher life an exile, if "home" were not the essential
form of its relationships, if love, the love of kindred
souls, and the intercourse which it generates, were not
the essential principle of its life. The patriarch of
the earthly home, passes out of it to be joined to the
patriarchal company-" the spirits of just men made
perfect," whose home-life but perpetuates in heavenly
forms all that was best and dearest in his mortal pil-
grimage. And there too the infants, "the flowers
that grow between," whom the Angel bears early
home, find loving nurses; there is tender training for
the young immortals in a home where love rules all
the sphere.
I have firm belief in the specific uses of all the fac-
ulty that is cultured in this world, in the life of the
world to come. This seems to me to be the meaning
of the Apocalypse, of all the unveilings of the secrets
of the heavenly life which the scripture affords. Its
simple, honest homelikeness, to me is its broadest and
most striking feature-the entire absence of strange-
ness in its objects, its interests, its joys. It may be
said this presentation of it is a concession to the nec-
essary imperfections and limitations of our knowledge:
that the things unseen can only be represented by fa-
miliar images, if they are to carry any sense of real-
ness to our human apprehension; and that the fact of
the employment of these earthly images conveys no
absolute truth about the eternal world.
Those most familiar with the higher aspects of death
know most of the higher aspects of life. To them the
CLOSING SCENES.
631
common ground becomes sacred, for saints who are at
rest with God have trodden it; the common duties
become holy, for they mingle with the earthly, the
thoughts and the energies of the heavenly sphere.
And if God makes breaches in your home circle, un-
derstand the loving reason; it is that He may separate
the one into two bands awhile, still declaring their
oneness, and so may marry the two spheres. The lit-
tle home that has sheltered
you in its
sunny nook has
expanded. There is now but one home everywhere.
Those who are "bone of your bone and flesh of your
flesh "are treading the heavenly pathways. How
often as you gaze longingly on yon fair star, do they
cross the line of your sight! How lovingly will they
welcome you, and efface all strangeness when you join
them! Dear hands will one day lead you through
the unaccustomed paths. The bringing you into the
home, the home of the whole family, will be one of
their most intense delights.
66
And the fear of losing all knowledge of dear and
familiar forms, and of being cut off from all the holi-
est associations of this life, in eternity, has haunted
the Christian ages, and has been a
and has been a paralysing terror to
many a true Christian heart. But these notions, the
'sleep of the soul," "the disembodied state," are just
the bugbears with which a narrow and hard theology
has oppressed mankind. In truth, the whole mediæ-
val conception of the world behind the veil, is set in
too sad a key. The Church then used freely the tones
of gloom and terror; she ruled by fear, and sought to
632
CLOSING SCENES.
terrify men into the deliverance which her sacraments
offered. But her influence has long been waning, she
seems to be settling into her second childhood; and
now the gospel, whose first words are joy and hope,
resumes its ministry, and good news about God, about
death, about eternity, are everywhere abroad.
The soul never sleeps. There is no disembodied
human spirit. The definition of man is "an embodied
spirit," and it cannot be the very manhood of man that
death has commission to destroy. The body that sin
has corrupted, death rends in pieces and buries out of
sight. Blessed be God, its pains and frets, its stormy
passion, its panting lust, lie buried in the grave for
ever. But a "building of God" awaits the trembling
spirit in the moment of dissolution, that it may be,
"not unclothed, but clothed upon," and that "mortality
may be swallowed up of life."
¦
All that constitutes the interest, the work, and the
hope of life, is carried through the veil, and resumed
with a sacred joy under the blest conditions which
here we pined for-the conditions of a sinless and
eternal world.
Personality obliterated! Kindred unrecognized!
Love all drawn off from the creature, and lost in God!
It is treason to the Man of the resurrection to imagine
it. Personality will be revealed, kinship will be dis-
covered, love will be unbound, when the blots and the
blurs of evil have been purged from the spirit. We
shall see then, what we knew and loved in part on
earth, revealed in its wholeness, and know for the first
CLOSING SCENES.
633
time what to live and to love may mean. I know not
what forms the recovered ones will wear. I know
not how the dead are raised up, nor with what body
they will come. Enough for me that the great Fore-
runner, the great Leader of the host, was raised in
His human wholeness; each line, each touch, of His
dear humanity more perfect, than when He was with
us in the weakness of his mortality. The Lord took
all by which man might know Him, and for which
man might love him, through death into the eternal
world. He took it visibly, that we might have as-
surance of the Invisible; and that we might hold fast
the faith, that whatever may have perished of our dear
ones, whom we have loved in the Lord and lost
awhile, all that made their dearness lives on, and has
grown to a divine completeness under the touch of
Death.
We may perchance have had some glimpse of the
image which they are wearing, in the moment when
the fret and the waste of life seemed to vanish, and
there fell on their faces a solemn and holy beauty, as
they settled into the silence of death. One has often
seen in a dying face at such moments an ideal beauty,
wherein all that might be possible to the nature seemed
expressed; a sign and a prophecy of eternity. Some
meet tabernacle must be ready for the spirit when
death unbinds it; some organ of intercourse with its
fellows and with the great universe, or the triumphant
language of St. Paul which we have quoted, would be
a mockery and a snare. The dead even now are
botas
!
634
CLOSING SCENES.
wearing some form, which fits them to mingle in the
great congress of the first-born, already met in fellow-
ship on high. But nothing even there as yet seems
final. The complete form of the glorified spirit, the
body of the resurrection, still waits the trumpet-call
of that last great day of God; the day when the work
of restitution shall be finished, the day of the full and
final manifestation of His sons.
one
And "there they are before the throne of God, and
they serve Him day and night in His temple: "
band, once more, met again and met for ever. Hearts
long sundered, knit again in immortal fellowship; the
struggles and sorrows of earth their most sacred
memory; "the far off interest of tears," their most
dear possession; brothers of an order of which Christ
is the Living Elder, and whose consecrating priest
was Death.
There is in these intimations of heaven, which are
scattered through the pages of the Bible, something
which commends itself to every mind, so that we can
scarcely imagine any, with this glorious prospect in
view, living so that they will never be able to enter this
land of holiness and glory. And it is very necessary
that heaven should be constantly kept in mind, other-
wise the attractions of earth will obtain too great a
mastery over the mind; but by having the thoughts
constantly directed to that promised kingdom,we be-
come better prepared to overcome the temptations
with which we may be assailed, and stimulated to con-
tinued exertions, as the champions in the Grecian
CLOSING SCENES.
635
games were stimulated and strengthened, when per-
haps led to relax the severity of the necessary disci-
pline, by the sight of the honored garland-their be-
ing crowned with which was regarded as the greatest
of all triumphs.
If anything could stimulate to a holy and religious
life, it would be the hope of heaven.
On earth we walk in a vain shadow: but in heaven
there is no pain or sorrow-tears are not shed there—
death has no power-time cannot fade its glories, but
happiness in its fullness and its deep rapture is enjoy-
ed by all. On earth we are continually at war with
ourselves: but in heaven there will be no corrupt na-
ture to subdue, no struggling between mind and mat-
ter; no unholy passions will rage, no dark thoughts
rise-no feuds, no jars, no disorders. The wicked
will not trouble nor tempt; but a deep and universal
love will pervade all hearts, and link all with bands
of deep affection. And the glories of that land, how
vast and overwhelming they must be! walls of sap-
phire and rivers of crystal, and streets of pearl, are
the images employed to represent its splendor, and
there the redeemed walk in white robes, with palms
in their hands and crowns upon their heads, while the
light which guides them is God. Wonderful expres-
sion! neither sun, nor moon, nor stars, shall irradiate
heaven, but "the glory of God shall lighten it, and
the Lamb be the light thereof." We could imagine
glorious luminaries lighting up heaven, but who can
comprehend what that land must be which Deity
makes refulgent by himself?
636
CLOSING SCENES.
•
The volume of Universal Truth will be opened to
the gaze, with no obscurity upon a single line. Then
will all the secrets of those things which have been
studied on earth be revealed-glory resting upon them
all, and brightness making them all beautiful: the
whole economy of nature will be open to the view,
and all its laws be made known. Then will all the
speculations which learned men have hazarded be re-
moved-doubt will give way to certainty, and perfect
knowledge take the place of superficial. Then will
the wisdom and justness of God's dealings be made
apparent―all the uncertainty which now hangs over
them will be withdrawn.
The objects that now agitate or delight us, must
soon perish. But the habits of mind which they
generate, the affections which they mature, are eter-
nal. They go with us over the "swelling of Jordan,"
when, of all the riches which we have gathered, we
can carry nothing away. The harmony of soul, which
prepares for intercourse with "just men made per-
fect," the love of holiness, the spirit of praise, which
constitute the temper and the bliss of heaven, must
be commenced below; so that not the scenes through
which we pass, but the impressions which those scenes
make on the soul, are to be desired, or deprecated.
Ah! who is sufficiently aware of the importance of
this brief existence? Who is that "faithful and
wise steward," whom his Lord, coming even at mid-
night, shall find prepared?
The consciousness of immortality is both a prompt.
CLOSING SCENES.
637
ing and sustaining motive of immense influence. To
do this, or to avoid that—not from considerations of
personal interest, but because we are to live for ever
is worthy of a being, marked out by his Creator, for a
"Sky-born, sky-guided, sky-returning race."
We are too prone to be absorbed, either by the things
of this life, or by gloomy views of its termination,
pressed on us by the departure of some endeared
relative or friend. We busy ourselves more with the
part which dieth, than with that which is immortal.
Sometimes we array Death with a transforming power,
or trust that the diseases which are his heralds, may
bring a repentance able to atone for the errors and
omissions of many years. He often steals unawares
upon his victim, leaving no time for sigh or prayer.
His office is to sunder the spirit from the clay, not to
reform or prepare it for heaven. He takes the soul
as he finds it. It is life which seals our credentials
for the bliss or woe of eternity. We are accustomed
to anticipate the ministry of death with fear. I would
say to you, rather fear life; for according to the
character of that life, will death be to you either
the king of terrors, or the herald of unspeakable joy :
"Death hath no dread, but what frail life imparts."
We think too much of the dark gate, through
which we pass into the eternal temple, and too little
of the pilgrimage by which our mansion in that tem-
638
CLOSING SCENES.
7
ple is determined. Earthly prosperity should be es-
timated by its influence on the soul. What we here
term adversities, may in reality be blessings. When
we cast off these vestments of clay, perhaps they may
come in beautiful garments, to welcome us to ever-
lasting habitations. Here, we spoke of them as evil
messengers; in the court of heaven, we may per-
chance recognize them, as "angels sent on errands
full of love."
By the combined influence therefore of intellectual,
moral and religious obligation, by the unresting voice
of Time, Judgment, and Eternity, we are impelled to
diligence, perseverance and zeal in duty, urged to
forget the things that are behind, and reach for-
ward toward those that are before, and press onward
to the mark, for the prize of the high calling of
God, in Christ Jesus our Lord."
(6
Those who have lived as they should have lived
need fear nothing in death. To them there is no
death, for Christ has vanquished it, and in its stead,
life and immortality are brought to light. Death
will be to them but the triumphal entry into a blessed,
happy, and eternal home, and we can fearlessly say:
SHRINK not, O Human Spirit,
The Everlasting arm is strong to save!
Look up, look up, frail Nature, put thy trust
In Him who went down mourning to the dust,
And overcame the grave!
Quickly goes down the sun;
Life's work is almost done;
CLOSING SCENES.
639
!}},
Fruitless endeavor, hope deferred, and strife!
One little struggle more,
One pang, and then is o'er
All the long, mournful weariness of life.
Kind friends, 'tis almost past,
Come now and look your last!
Sweet children, gather near,
And his last blessing hear,
See how he loved you who departeth now!
And with thy trembling step and pallid brow,
O, most beloved one,
Whose breast he leaned upon,
Come, faithful unto death,
Receive his parting breath.
The fluttering spirit panteth to be free,
Hold him not back who speeds to victory;
The bonds are riven, the struggling soul is free!
Hail, hail, enfranchised spirit!
Thou that the wine-press of the field has trod!
On, blest immortal, on, through boundless space,
And stand with thy Redeemer face to face ;
And stand before thy God!
Life's weary work is o'er,
Thou art of earth no more ;
No more art trammelled by the oppressive clay,
But tread'st with winged ease
The high acclivities
Of truths sublime, up Heaven's crystalline way.
Here no bootless guest;
The city's name is Rest;
Here shall no fear appal;
Here love is all in all;
Here shalt thou win thy ardent soul's desire ;
Here clothe thee in thy beautiful attire.
640
CLOSING SCENES.
}
Lift, lift thy wondering eyes!
Yonder is Paradise,
And this fair, shining band
Are spirits of thy land!
And these that throng to meet thee are thy kin,
Who have awaited thee, redeemed from sin!
The city's gates unfold-enter, oh! enter in!
So live that when the mighty caravan,
Which halts one nighttime in the vale of death,
Shall strike its white tents for the morning march.
Thou shalt mount upward to the eternal hills,
Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renewed,
Like the strong eagle for the upward flight.
THE END.

F.A.RINGLER &COL
DLECTROTYPERS‹
169AL NEW YORK.

ARMANNA
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6 PT
8 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
10 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
AIIM SCANNER TEST CHART #2
4 PT
6 PT
8 PT
10 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
Century Schoolbook Bold
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
News Gothic Bold Reversed
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:'',/?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:',./?$0123456789
Bodoni Italic
8 PT ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπφρστυωχψζ37",/Σ+++><><><
10 PT ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπφρστυώχψζ27",/St=7°><><Ξ
QUAWN--
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?80123456789
1
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
Greek and Math Symbols
ABгAEZOHIKAMNOIIPPETYMX¥Zaßyde§0nikλµvo#Opoτvwx¥(≥F",/≤±=#°><D<=
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπφρστυωχψζ==",/S+=#°><><><Ξ
White
HALFTONE WEDGES
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Isolated Characters
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4
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3
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9
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EXTAWN-I

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RIT ALPHANUMERIC RESOLUTION TEST OBJECT, RT-1-71