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CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Instituta for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproductions historlques

1980

Technical Notes / Notes techniques

The institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Physical
features of this copy which may alter any of the
images in the reproduction are checked below.

D
D

Coloured covers/
Couvertures de couleur

Coloured maps/

Cartes giographiques en couleur

L'institut a microfilm^ ie mellleur exemplaire
qu'il lui a AtA possible de se procurer. Certains
dAfauts susceptibles de nuire A la quaiitA de ia
reproduction sont notAs ci-dessous.

Coloured pages/
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Coloured plates/
Planches en couleur

Th
po
of
'Mr

coi

api

Th(
filr
ins

D
D

Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/
Pages d^coiories, tacheties ou piqu6es

Tight binding (may cause shadows or
distortion along interior margin)/
Reliure serr6 (peut causer de i'ombre ou
de la distortion ie long de la marge
intdrieure)

Show through/
Transparence

Pages damaged/
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Ms
in (
upi
bol
foil

Additional comments/
Commentaires suppl6mentaires

Original copy restored and laminated.

Bibliographic Notes / Notes bibliographiques

D
D

Only edition available/
Seule Edition disponible

Bound with other material/
Reiii avec d'autres documents

D
D

Pagination incorrect/
Erreurs de pagination

Pages missing/
Des pages manquent

Cover title missing/

Le titre de couverture manque

Maps missing/

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Plates missing/

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Additional comments/
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Th« imagas appearing hara ara tha bast quality
posaibia conaidaring tha condition and lagibiiity
of tha original copy and in Icaaping with tha
HIming contract spacificationa.

Laa imagaa auivantaa ont At4 raproduitas avac la
plua grand aoin. compta tanu da la condition at
da la nattatA da I'axamplaita film6. at an
conformity avac laa conditiona du contrat da
filmaga.

*. na laat racordad frama on aach microficha shall
contain tha symbol —^ (maaning CONTINUED"),
or tha symbol V (maanmg "END"), whichavar
appiias.

Un das symbolas suivanta apparaltra aur la dar-
nlAra imaga da chaqua microficha, salon la caa:
la aymbola — ► signifia "A SUIVRE". la symbols
V signifia "FIN".

Tha original copy was borrowed from, and
filmed with, the kind consent of the following
institution:

National Library of Canada

L'axemplaira film* fut reproduit grAce A la
gAnArositi da I'Atablissament prAteur
suivant :

Biblioth^ua nationale du Canada

Maps or plates too large to be entirely included
in one exposure are filmed beginning in the
upper Iflft hand corner, left to right and top to
bottom, as many frames as required. The
following diagrams illustrate the method:

Lea cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour Atre
reproduites en un seul clichA sont filmAes A
partir da I'angle supArieure gauche, da gauche d
droite et de heut en bas. en prenant la nombre
d'images nAcessaire. La diagramme suivant
illustre la mAthoda :

•

f Si EMM ir«m m um.

pi-

'■n

THE

ROYAL PATH OF LIFE;

OR,

AIMS AND AIDS TO SUCCESS AND HAPPIlffiSS.

COMPILED FKOW -nrE BEST AniHORS.

AUCIENT AND MODSKy.

WITH AN INI'RODUOTIO.S- BY

KEY. JOHN POTTS, D.D.

tAMtOVL MKrBOPOUITAM OHOtOH.

Uorouto;

a. M. ROSE 6c SONS.

187?

SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION.

WHEN you KNOW OF NO AGENT

IN YOUR VICINITY . .

■ • • • •

THIS VOLUME

Will be promptly sent you, post paid, on
receipt of its price, $2.00, if directed to the
address at foot of the title page. No copies
sold ai: less than retail price, except in lots
to active agents.

AGENTS WANTED,

NOT FOR SALE IN BOOK STORES.

I
■^1

Introduction.

HIS book, designated " Thb Royal Path or Lrm," sbonld
be posBeflsed of royal elimentt; to be wt>rthy of toch a
dignifie<i name.

It will bn found, on examination, to be well entiUed to the
name it bean.

"niose who read, mark, learn and inwardly digest tbe ooaienti
of this volame, will greatly enrich tbeir mental and moral
•tore, and become pottseaeed of invalimbie directiooB in almost
all the walks of life.

This book is pore in sentiment, beaatiAil in style, az^d emi«
nently practical in its teachings.

In this age of trashy and peraioioas literature, when so vaanj
of the yoong people of the land are becoming intellectaally
enfeebled and morally poisone<l,vthe advent of a book like this
should be hailed with joy by all who ieel an interent in the
social and religious progress of onr country.

The topics it treats of are such an the young people of
Canada should underHtand, and here they are presented in an
attractive and impressive form.

The teachings of this book are designed to elevato the tone,
purify the heart, and strengthen the character of all who accept
its teachings and practise its golden precepta,

I rejoice to have the honour of introducing it to the Oanadian
public, and wish for it a s^H worthy of the theme it so beanti-
hiUy unfolds.

JOHN FOTTa

TOBOKTO. Octob«r, 187ft

«'■>

.. ^'.«

■>-jS

Preface.

:--^il

I'HFi irabject matter of this book, Suooeas and Hsppinew,

v||9> baa been the considenition of every eminent pen, from

the days of Solouion to the present. To aay anythin^^

strictly new would be impossible ; nor woald we presume that

our knowledge and experience would be as valuable as the
maxims of the wise and sublime truths which have become a part

of the standarfl literatura The best, therefore, that any one can
expect cO do is to recombine the experience of the past, and
compile such thoughts and extracts as have chimed in with
the testimony of earnest and aspiring minds, and offer them in
a novel and fascinating form, in the words of the poet :

" We have ^tbared posim froii other men's flowwi,
Nothing bnt the thread that biu<U them k oom."

In life there is a Royal Path. Alas I that so many, not being
urged to seek life's prizes, fail to find them. It is hoped that
this book shall bo a counsellor to those who have become indif-
ferent to life's purposes ; a comfort to those who have long
travelled on this Tloyal Path ; and if it shall serve to awaken
the slumbering genius within the youth, stimulate and impel
them to noble thoughts and actions, and lead them on to honour,
success and happiness, the authon will consider them.selveii
amply repaid for their labour.

•

• Z^ /* 6#/br» you / /mm fh9 foM road
Toy oannot tun • tHn take ye up the loaa
Mot youre to tread or leaoe the imknoutn utay
Ye must go o'er It, meetgt.^fiat ye may.
Bird up your souls •Jf*fhfn yom to the deed;
Anaefe and feUo^rmp^itu bid you •p^d t "

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-H

TH«

EoYAL Path of Life.

|i&.

'E point to two ways in life, and if tbe yoong man and
maiden, whose feet are lingering in soft green meadow*
and flowery paths, will consider these two ways soberly
a&d earnestly, bf^fore moving onward, &nd choose the one that
truth and reason tell them i«ada to honour, success, and happi-
ness, theyhave wisely chosen the"RoyalPath of Life." The other
way is too well known to need description. It is a sad thing,afte(r
the lapse of twenty years, to find ourselves amid ruined h ipea;
—to sit down with folded hands and say, " Thus far lif h has
been a failure " I Yet, to how many is this the wretched sum-
ming up at the end of a single score of years from the time
that reason takes the helm ! Alas ! that so few who start Avrong
ever succeed in finding the " Royal Path ;" life proving, even
to its last burdened years, a millstone about the neck.

Dear reader, life is a * Royal Path," and to you it shall be a
millstone about your neck« or a diadem on your brow. Decide
at once upon a noble purpose, then take it up bravely, bear it
off joyfully, lay it down triumphantly. Your greatest inheri-
tance is a purpoee in pursuit of which you will find employ
ment and happiness, for

" The bosT vorld ahorm •agrilj &side
The man who stands with arms akimbo mI
Until oomsioD teii* him what to do ;
Aad he who waata to hare his task marked oat
Shall dim tad Inva his arnad unfulfillad.*

LIFE.

Life is not mean — it is grand. If it is mean to any, htf
makes it so. Qod made it glorious. Its channel He paved
with diamonds. Its banks He fringed with flowers. He over-
arched it with stars. Around it He spread the glory of the
physical universe — suns, moons, worlds, conatellations, sjrstemi
— all that is magnificent in motion, sublime in magnitude, and
grand in order and obedi mce. God would not have attended
life with this broad march of grandeur, if it did not mean some-
thing. He would not have descended to the blade of grass,
the dew-drop, and the dust-atom, if every moment of life were
not a letter to spell out some word that should bear the bur-
den of a thought. How much life means, words refuse to tell,
because they can not. Tho very doorway of life is hung around
with flowery emblems, to indicate that it is for some purpose.
The mystery of our being, the necessity of action, the relation
of cause to effect, the dependence of one thing upon another,
the mutual influence and affinity of all things assure us that
life is for a purpose to which every outward thing doth point.

The trees with leaves " like a shield or like a sword " wage
vigorous warfare with the elements. They bend under the
wind, make music of it, then stand up again and grow nore
stalwartly straight up toward the heart of the heavens. A
man is to learn of the oak, and cling to his plans as it to its
leaves till pushed off by new ones ; and be as tenaciovis of life,
when lopt, sending up branches straight as the old trunk, and
when cut off, sending up a brood of young oaks, crowning the
stump with vigorous defenders. He that floats lazily down
the stream, in pursuit of something borne along by the same
current, will find himself indeed movod forward ; but unless he
lays his hand to the oar, and incre;ises his speed by his own
labour, must bo always at the same distance from that which
he is following. In oui- voyage of life we muat not drift but
ateer.

Every youth should form, at the outset of his career, the
solemn purpose to make the most and the best of trie powers
which God has f^iyen him, and to turn to the best |K>ssible ac-

LIFB.

■m

ocmiit every out Nvard advantage within his reach. This pur-
pose must carr}"^ with it the assent of the reason, the ap-
proval of the conscience, the sober judgment of the iAtellect.
It should then embody within itself whatever is vehement in
desire, inspiring in hope, thrilling in enthusiasm, and intense in
desperate resolve. Such & plan of life will save him from
many a damaging contest with temptation. It will regulate
his sports and recreations. It will go with him by day to
trample under foot the allurements of pleasure. It will hold
his eyes waking as he toils by the evening lamp. It will
watch over his slumbers to jog him at the appointed hour, and
summon him to the cheerful duties of his chosen pursuit*
Those who study and labour under the inspiration of such a
purpose, will soon soar out of sight of those who barely allow
themselves to be carried along by the momentum of the machin-
ery to which they are attached.

Many pass through life without even a consciousness of
where they are, and what they are, and what tht are doing.
They gase on whatever lies directly before them, "in fond
amusement lost." Human life is a watchtower. It is the clear
purpose of God that every one — the young especially — should
take their stand on this tower. Look, listen, learn, wherever
you go, wherever you tarry. Sometliing is always transpiring
to reward your attention. Let your eyes and ears be always
open, and you will often observe, in the slightest incidents,
materials of advantage and means of personal improvement.

In nothing is childhood more strongly distinguished from
manhood than this, that the child has no purpose, no plan of
life, no will by which his energies are directed. He lives, in a
great measure, to enjoy the passing scene, and to find his hap-
piness in those agreeable consciousnesses which from hour to
hour come to him by chanca If his life is governed by a plan,
a purpose, it is the purpose of another — not hi« own. The man
has his own purpose, his own plan, his own life and aim. The
sorrowful experience of multitudes in this respect is that they
are never men, but children all their days. Think out your

^■^

LIFB.

work, then work out your thought. No one can pui-sue a wor-
thy object, with all the powers of his mind, and 3'et make hik
life a failure. A man may work in the dark, yet one day light
shall arise upon his labour ; and though he may neVer, with
his own lips, declare the victory complete, some day others
will behold in his life-work the traces of a great and thinking
mind.

Take life like a man. Take it just as though it was — as it is
—an earnest, vital, essential affair. Take it just as though you
personally were born to the tjusk of perfcming a merry part in
it — as though the world had waited for your coming. Take it
as though it was a grand opportunity to do and to achieve, to
cany forward great and good schemes ; to help and cheer a
flufFering, weary, it may be a heart-broken, brother. The fact
is, life is undervalued by a gieat majority of mankind. It is
not made half as much of as should be the case. Now and
then a man stands aside from the crowd, labours earnestly,
steadfastly, confidently, and straightway becomes famous for
wisdom, intellect, skill, greatness of some sort. The world
wonders, admires, idolizes; and yet it only illustrates what
each may do if he takes hold of life with a purpose. One way
is right to go ; the hero sees it and moves on that aim and has
the world under him for foot and support. His approbation
is honour, his dissent infamy. Man was sent into the world to
be a growing and exhaustless force. The world was spread
out around him to be seized and conquered. Realms of infinite
truth burst open above him, inviting him to tread those shin-
ing coasts along which Newton dropped his plummet and Her-
schel sailed, — a Columbus of the skies. Some, because they
• have once or twice met with rebuffs, sink in discouragement.
Such should know, that our own errors may often teach us
more than the grave precepts of others. We counsel the young
man never to despair. If he can make nothing by a-ny vvork
that presents itself now, he can at least make himself ; or what
is equivalent, he can save himself from the sure death of a pus-
illauimous, halting, irresolute spirit. Niver be cast down by

■f

LIFB.

misfortunes. If a spider break his web, over and over he will
mend it igain. And do not you fall beliind the very insect on
vour yraXi*. If the sun is going down, look up to the stars ; if
earth is dark, keep your eye on heaven. With the presence
and promise of God, we can bear up under anything ; and
should press on, and never falter or fear.

It is my firm conviction that man has only himself to blame
if his life appears to him at anytime void of interest and of
pleasure. Man may make life what he pleases and give it as
much worth, both for himself and others, as he has energy for.
Over his moral and intellectual being his sway is complete.

The first great mistake that men fall into is that they do not
use integi'ity and trutli and good sense in judging of what they
are fit for. They take the things that they want, and not the
things that they deserve. They aspire after things that are
pleasing to their ambition, and not after things to which they
are adapted by their capacity. And when a man is brought in-
to a sphere of his ambition for which he has not the requisite
powers, and where he is goaded on every side in the discharge
of his duties, his temptatl(m is at once to make up by fraud and
appearance that which he lacks in reality. Men are seen going
across-lots to fortune ; and a poor business many of them
make of it. Oftentimes they lose their way ; and when they
do not, they find so many hills and valleys, so many swells
and depressions, so many risings and fallings, so many ups and
downs, that though by an air-line the distance might be shorter,
in reality the distance is greater than by the lawful route ;
and when they come back they are ragged and poor and mean.
There is a gi'cat deal of going across-lots to make a beggar of a
man's self in this \. o. !d. Whereas the old-fashioned homely
law that the man who was to establish himself in life must
take time to lay the foundations of reality, and gradually and
steadily build thereon, holds good yet Though you slur it over
and cover it up with fantasies, and find it almost impossible to
believe it, it is so.

B«ly not upon others ; but let there be in your own bosom

MAN AND WOMAN.

a calm, deep, decided, and all-porvading principle. Look &Kt,
midst, and last to God, to aid you in the great task before you ;
and then plant jour foot on the right. Let others live as they
please — tainted by low tastes, debasing passions, a moral pu-
trefaction. Be you the salt of the earth ; mcorrupt in your
deeds, in your inmost thoughts and feelings. Nay more, in-
corruptible, like virtue herself ; your manners blameless ; your
views of duty, not narrow, false and destructive, but a savour of
life to all around you. Let your speech be always with grace,
seasoned with the salt of truth, honour, manliness, and benevo-
lence. Wait not for the lash of guilt to scourge you to the path
of God and heaven. Be of the prudent who foresee the evil and
hide themselves from it ; and not of the simple, who pass on
and are punished. Life, to youth, is a fairy tale just opened ;
to old age, a tale read through, ending in death. Be wise in
time, that you may be happy in eternity.

! \'f

iwx wxb ml0ittatY.

■$

1^ AN is bold-

-woman is beautiful. Man is courageous —
woman is timid, Man labours in the field — woman at
home. Man talks to persuade — woma] o please, Man
has a daring heart — woman a tender loving one. Man has power
— woman taste. Man has justice — womai has mercj'. Man has
strength — woman love; while man combats with the enemy,
struggles with the world, woman is waiting to prepare his repast
and sweeten his existence. He has crosses, and the partner of his
couch is there to soften them ; his days may be sad and troubled,
but in the chaste arms of his wife he finds comfort and repose.
Without woman, man would be rude, gross, solitary. Woman
spreads around him the flowers of existence, as the creepers of
the forests, which decorate the trunks of sturdy oaks with their

MAN AND WOMAN,

perfumed garlands. Finally, the Christian pair live and die
onited ; together they rear the fruits of their union ; in the
duat they lie side by side ; and they are reunited beyond the
limits of the tomb.

Man has his strength and the exercise of his power ; he is
busy, goes about, occupies his attention, thinks, looks forward
to the future, and finds consolation in it ; but woman btays at
home, remains face to face with her son-ow, from which nothing
distracts her ; she descends to the very depths of the abyss it
has opened, measures it, and often fills it with her vows and
tears. To feel, to love, to suflfer, to devote herself, will always
be the text of the life of woman. Man has a precise and dis-
tinct language, the word being luminous speech. Woman pos-
sesses a peculiarly musical and magical language, interspersing
the words with song. Woman is affectionate and suffers ; she
is constantly in need of something to lean upon, like the honey-
suckle upon the tree or fence. Man is attached to the fireside,
by his affection for her, and the happiness it gives him to pro-
tect and support her. Superior and inferior to man, humiliated
by the heavy hand of nature, but at tht same time inspired hy
intuitions of a higher order than man can ever experience, she
has fascinated him, innocently bewitched him forever. And
man has remained enchanted by the spelL Women are gener-
ally better creatures than men. Perhaps they have, taken
universally, weaker appetites and weaker intellects, but they
have much stronger affections. A man with a bad heart has
been sometimes saved by a strong head ; but a corrupt woman
is lost forever.

One has well said : "We will say nothing of the manner in
which that sex. usually conduct an argument ; but the intuitive
Judgments of women are often more to be relied upon than the
conclusions which we reach by an elaborate process of reason-
ing. No man that has an intelligent wife, or who is accustomed
to the society of educated women, will dispute this. Times
without number, you must have known them decide questions
on the instant, and with unerring accuracy, which you had

MAN AND WOMAN.

been poring over for hours, perhaps, with no other result than
to find yourself getting deeper and deeper into the tangled
ma^e of doubts and difficulties. It were hardly generous to
allege that they achieve these leats less by reasoning than by
a sort of sagacity which approximates to the sure instinct of
ihe animal races ; and yet, there seems to be some ground for
the remark of a witty French writer, that, when a man has
toiled step by step up a flight of stairs, he will be sure to find
a woman at the top ; but she will not be able to teli how she got
there. How she got there, however, is of little moment."

It is peculiar with what a degree of tact woman will deter-
mine whether a man is honest or not. She cannot give you the
reason for such an opinion, only that she does not like the looks
of the man, and feels that he is dishonest. A servant comes
for employment, she looks him in the face and says he is dis-
honest. He gives good references, and you employ him ; he
robs you — ^you may be quite sure he will do that. Years after,
another man comes ; the same lady look", ^im in the face, and
says he, too, is not honest ; she says so, again, fresh from hei
mere insight ; but you, also, say he is not honest. You say, I
remember I had a servant with just the same look about him,
three years ago, and he robbed me. This is one great distinction
of the female intellect ; it walks directly and unconsciously, by
more delicate insight and a more refined and a more trusted in-
tuition, to an end to which men's minds grope carefully and
ploddingly along. Women have exercised a most beneficial in-
fluence in softening the hard and untruthful outline which
knowledge is apt to assume in the hands of direct scientific ob-
servers and experiraentera ; they have prevented the casting
aside of a mass of most valuable truth, which is too fine to be
caught in the material sieve, and eludes the closest questioning
of the microsope and the t»».st-glass , which is allied with our
passions, our feelings ; and especially holds the fine boundary*
line where mind and matter, sense and spirit, wave their float-
ing and undistinguishabie boundaries, and exercise their com*
plex action and reaction.

MAN AND WOMAN.

When a women is possessed of a high degree of taot, she sees,
as hj a kind of second sic^ht, when any little emergency is like-
ly to occur, or when to use a more familiar expression, things
do not seem to go right. She is thus aware of any suddeii
turn in conversation, and prepared for what it may lead to ; but
above all, she can penetrate into the state of mind of those she
is placed in contact with, so as tx) detect the gathering gloom
upon another's brow, before the mental storm sh.all have reached
any formidable height ; to know when the tone of voice has
altered ; when any unwelcome thought shall have presented it-
self, and when the pulse of feeling is beating higher or lower,
in consequence of some apparently trifling circumstance which
has just transpired. In such and innumerable other instances
of much the same character, woman, with her tact, will notice
clearly the fluctuations which constantly change the feeling of
social life, and she can change the current of feeling suddenly
and in such a way that no one detects her ; thus, by the power
which her nature give^ Ler, she saves society the pain and an-
noyance which arise very frequently from trifles or the mis-
management of some one possessing less tact and social adapt-
ation.

Man is the creature of interest and ambition. His nature
leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love
is but the embellishment of his early life, or a song piped in the
intervals of the acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space
in the world's thought, and dominion over his fellow-men. But
a woman's whole life is the history of the aflfections. The heart
is her world ; it is there her ambition strives for empire ; it is
there her avarice seeks for hidden treasures. She sends forth
her sympathies on adventure ; she embarks her whole soul in
the traflSc of aflTection ; and if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless,
for it is the bankruptcy of the heart.

To a man, the disappointment of love may occasion soma
bitter \)&ngs ; it wounds some feehngs of tenderness ; it blasts
some prospects of felicity; but he is an active being; he may dissi-
pate his thoughts in the whirl of varied occupation.or may i)lunge

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MAN AND WOMAN.

into the tide of pleasure ; or, if the scene of disappointment be
too full of painful associations, he can shift his abode at will, and
taking, as it were, the wings of morning, can " tiy to the utter-
most pa- ts of the earth, and be at rest,"

We find man the cap stone of the climax of paradoxes ; a com-
plex budget of contradictions ; a heterogeneous compound of
good and evil ; the noblest work of God bespattered by Lucifer ;
an immortal being, cleaving to things not eternal ; a rational
being, violating reason; an animal with discretion, glutting,
instead of prudently feeding, appetite ; an original harmonious
compact violating order and revelling in confusion. Man is
immortal without realizing it ; rational, but often deaf to reason;
an animal, transgressing the law of appetite ; a combination of
noble powers, waging civil war, robbing, instead of aiding each
other ; yet, like the Siamese twins, compelled to remain in the
same apartment. They were created allies, lo promote their
own happiness and the glory of their king ; but Beelzebub, the
first rebel against heaven, has made them conspirators. Appe-
tite is led astray by pleasure ; they first stupefy, then dethrone
reason; immortality becomes paralyzed, and loses sight of
things eternal — stupefied reason and voracious appetite run
riot, and depose the soul, all these fall into the ditch togethor
— the natural consequence of violating the law of common
sense, reason, and revelation.

The following shows the love, tenderness, and fortitude of
women. The letter, which was bedimmed with tears, was
written before the husband was aware that death was fixing
its grasp upon the lovely companion, and laid in a book which
he was wont to peruse :

"When this shall reach your eyes dear G , some day

when you are turning over the relics of the past, I shall have
passed away forever, and the cold white stone will be keeping
its lonely watch over lips you have so often pressed, and the
sod will be growing green that shall hide forever from your
eight the dust of one who has so often nestled close to your
warm heart. For many long and sleepless nights, when all my

MAN AND WOMAN.

thought-a wer* at rest, I havo wrestled with the consciousnefw
of approaching death, until at iant it has forced iteelf on my
mind. Although to you and to e»i.'.ers it might now seem but

the nervous imagination of a girl, yet, dear G , it is so I

Many weary hours have I passed in the endeavour to reconcile
myself to leaving you, whom I love so well, and this bright
world of sunshine and beauty ; and hard indeed it is to strug-
gle on silently and alone, with the sure conviction that 1 am
about to leave forever and go down alone into the dark valley.
* But I know in whom I havo trusted,' and, leaning upon His
arm, ' I fear no evil.* Don't blame me for keeping even all this
from 3'ou. How could I subject you, of all others, to such a
sorrow as I feel at parting, when time will soon make it ap-
parent to you ? I could have wished to live, if only to be at
your side when your time shall come, and, pillowing your head
uj)on my breast, wipe the death damps from your brow, and
commend your departing spirit to its Maker's presence, em-
balmed in woman's holiest prayer. But it is not to be so ; and I
submit. Yours is the privilege of watching, through long and
dreary nights, for the spirit's final flight, and of transferring
my sinking liead from your breast to my Saviour's bosom ! And
you shall share my last thought, the last faint pressure of my
hand, and the last feeble kiss shall be yours ; and even when
flenh and hea t shall have failed me, my eye shall rest on yours
until glazed by death ; d our spirits shall hold one fast com-
mimion, until gently fading from my view, the last of earth.
you shall mingle with the tirst bright glimpses of the unlading
ghiries of that better world, where partings are unknown. Well

do I know the spot, dear G , where you will lay me ; often

have we stood by the place, as we watched the mellow sunset,
as it glanced its quivering flashes through the leaves, and bur-
nished the grassy mounds around us with stripes of gold.
Each perhaps has thought that one of us would come alone ;
and, whichever it might be, your name would be on the stone.
We loved the spot, and I know you'll love it none the less when
yo'4 see the same quiet sunlight and gentle breezes play among

MAN AND WOMAN.

the grass that grows over your Mary's jjrave. 1 know you'll
go often alone there, when I am laid there, and my spirit shall
be with you then, and whisper among the waving brandies, 'I
am not lost but gone before.' "

A woman has no natural gift more bewitching than a sweet
laugh. It is like the sound of Hutes upon the water. It leads
from her in a clear sparkling riil ; and the heart that hears it
feeJ 1 as if bathed in the cool, exhilarating spring. Have you
ever pursued an unseen figure through the trees, led on by a
fairy laugh, now her", now there, now lost, now found ? We
have. And wo are pursuing that wandering voice to this day.
Sometimes it comes to us in the midst of care and sorrow, or
irksome business, and then we turn away and listen, and hear
it ringing throughout the room like a silver bell, with power to
scare away the evil spirits of the mincL How nmch we owe
to that sweet laugh ! It turns prose to poetry ; it flings showers
of sunshine over the darkness of the wood in which we are
travelling.

Quiucy being asked why there were more women than men,
replied, " It is in confoi mity with the arrangements of natura
We always see more of heaven than of earth." He cannot be
an unhappy man who has the love and smile of woman to ac-
company him in every department of life. The world may
look dark and cheerless without — enemies may gather in his
path — but when he returns to his fireside, and feels the tender
love of woman, he forgets his cares and troubles, and is com-
paratively a happy man-. He is but half prepared for the
journey of life, who takes not with him that friend who will
forsake liim in no emergency — who will divide his son'ows —
increase his joys — lift the veil from his heart — and throw sun-
shine amid the darkest scenes. No, that man cannot be miser-
able who has such a companion, be he ever so poor, despised,
and trodden upon by the world. No trait of character is more
valuable in a female than the possession of a sweet temper.
Home can never be made happy without it. It is like the
dowers that spring up in our pathway, reviving and cheerLg

MAN AND WOMAN. U

as. Let a man go home at night, w varied and >»>mby the
toils of the day, and how soothing is a word by a good dispo-
sition I It is sunshiiio falling on his heart. Ue is happy, and
the cares of iito are forgotten, Mothing can be more touching
t' ".n to behold a woman who ha»l been all tenderness and de-
pendence, and alive to every trivial roughness while treading
the prosperous path of life, suddenly lising in mental force to
be the comforter and suppoiter of her husband under misfor-
tune, and abiding with unnhrinking firmness the bitterest winds
of adversity. As the vine whi'^h has long twine'l its graceful
foliage about the oak, and been lifted by it in sunshine, will,
when the hardy plant is riven by the thunderbolt, cling round
it with its caressing tendiils, and bind up its shattered boughs,
so it is beautifully ordained that woman, who is the mere de-
pfcndtmt, an adornment uf man in happiest hours, should be his
stay and solace when smitten 1^- sudden calamity.

A woman of true intelligence is a blessing at home, in her
circle of friends, and in society. Wherever she goes, she carries
with her a health-giving intiuence. There is a beautiful har-
mony about her character thai, at once inspires a respect whicii
soon warms into love. The icfluence of such a woman upon
society is of the most salutary kind. She strengthens right
principles in the virtuous, incites the selfish and indifferent to
good actions, and gives to even the light and frivolous a taste
for food more substantial than the frothy gossip with which
they seek to recreate their minds.

Thackeray says : " It is better for. you to pass an evening
once or twice a week i a lady's diawing-room, even though
the conversation is siovv, and you know the girl's song by
heart, than in a club, a tavern, or a pit of a theatre. All
amusements of youth to which virtuous women are not ad-
mitted, rely on it, are deleterious in their nature. All men who
avoid female society have dull perceptions, and are stupid, or
have gross tastes, and revolt against what is pure. Your club
gwaggerers, who are sucking the butts of billiard cues all night,
call female society insipid. Poetry is uninspiring to a jockey ;

MAN AND WOMAN.

beauty has no cliaroas for a blind man: music does not pUaa*
a poor beast who does not know one tune from another ; but
as a pure epicure is hardly tired of water, sauces, and brown
bread and butter, I protest I can sit for a whole evening
talking with a well regulated, kindly woman about her girl
Fanny, or her boy Frank, and like the evening's entertainment.
One of the great benefits d, man may derive from a woman's
society is that he is bound to be respectful to her. The habit
is of great good to your moral men, depend upon it. Our edu-
cation makes us the most eminently selfish men in the world."

Tom Hood, in writing to his wife, says ; " I never was any-
thing till I knew you ; and I have been better, happier, and a
more prosperous man ever since. Lay that truth by in lavender,
and remind me of it when I fail. I am wiiting fondly and
warmly ; but not without good cause. First, your own affec-
tionate letter, lately received ; next, the remembrance of our
dear children, pledges of our old familiar love ; then a delicious
impulse to pour out the overflowings of my heart into yours ;
and last, not least, the knowledge that your dear eyes will read
what my hands are now writing. Perhaps there is an after-
thought that, whatever may befall me, the wife of my bosom
will have this acknowledgment of her tenderness, worth and
excellence, of all that is wifely or womanly, from my pen."

I have observed among all nations that the women ornament
themselves more than the men ; that wherever found, they are
the same kind, civil, obliging, humane, tender beings ; that thsy
are ever inclined to be gay and cheerful, timorous and modest.
They do not hesitate, like a man, to perform any hospitable or
generous action ; not haughty or arrogant, or superciUous, but
full of courtesy, and fond of society, industrious, economical, in-
genious, more liable, in general, to err than man, but, in general,
also, more virtuous, and performing more good actions than he-

The gentle tendrils of woman's heart sometimes twine around
a proud and sinful spirit, like roses and honeysuckles around •
lightning-rod, clinging for support to what brings down upon
them the blasting thunderbolt.

YAN AND WOMAN.

The true lady is known wherever you meet her. Ten women
shall g?t into the street car or omnibus, and, though we never
saw them, we shall point out the true lady. She does not
giggle constantly at every little thing that transpires, or does
some one appear with a p^eculiar dress, it does not throw her
into confusion. She wears no flowered brocade to be trodden
under foot, nor ball-room jewellery, nor rose-tinted gloves ; but
the lace frill round her face is scrupulously fresh, and the string,
under her chin have evidently been handled only by dainty
fingers. She makes no parade of a watch, if she wears one ; nor
does she draw off her dark, neatly-fitting glove, to display os-
tentatious rings. Still we notice, nestling in the straw beneath
us, such a trim little boot, not paper-soled, but of an anti-con-
sumption thickness ; the bonnet upon her head is of plain
straw, simply trimmed, for your true lady never wearK a " dress
hat " in an omnibus. She is quite as civil to the poorest as to
the richest person who sits beside her, and equally regardful of
their rights If she attracts attention, it is by the unconscious
grace of her person and manner, not by the ostentation of her
dress. We are quite sorry when she pulls the strap and dis-
appears ; if we were a bachelor we should go home to our soli-
tary den with a resolution to become a better and a — married
man. The strongest man feels the influence of women's gen-
tlest thoughts, as the mightiest oak quivers in the softest breeze.
We confess to a great distrust of that man who persistiiigly un-
derrates woman. Never did language better apply to an ad-
jective than when man called the wife the " better half." We
admire the ladies because of tiieir beauty, respect them be™
cause of their virtues, adore them because of their intelligence^
and love them because we can't help it.

Man was made to protsct, love and cherish, not to under-
value, neglect, or abase women. Treated, educated and esteem-
ed, as she merits, she rises in dignity, becomes the refiner, and
imparts a milder, softer tone to man. No commxmity has ever
exhibited the refinements of civilization and cocial order where
women were held in contempt and their rights not properly re-

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MAN AND WOMAN

spected and preserved. Dognide woman and you degrade man
more. She is the fluid of the thermometer of society, placed
there by the hand of the great Creator. Man may injure the
instrument, but can neither destroy nor provide a substitute for
the mercury. Hor rights are as sacred as those of the male sex.
Her mental powers are underrated by those only who have
either not seen, or were so blinded by prejudice, that they would
not see their development. Educate girls as boys : put women
in the business arena designed for men, and they will acquit
themselves far better than boys and men would, if they were
placed in the departments designed for females.

As a species, the perception of woman, especially in cases
of emergency, is more acute than that of the male species ; un-
questionably so designed by an all-wise Creator for the preser-
vation and perpetuity of our race. Her patience and fortitude,
her integrity and constancy, her piety and devotion, are
naturally stronger than in the other sex. If she was first in
trangi*ession, she was first in the breach. Her seed has bruised
the serpent's head. She stood by the expiring Jesua, wheD
boasting Peter and the other disciples had forsaken their Lord,
She was the last at His tomb, embalmed His sacred body, and
the first to discover that He had burst the bars of death, risen
from the cleft rook, and triumphed over death and the grave.

Under afiii<;tiou, especially physical, the fortitude of women
is proverbial. As a nurse, one female will endure more than
five men. That she is more honest than man, our penitentiaries
fully demonstrate. That she is more religiously inclined, the
records of our churches will show. That she is more devotion-
al, our prayer-meetings will prove.

Women have exercised a most remarkable judgment in re-
gard to great issues. They have prevented the casting aside of
plans which led to very remarkable discoveries and inventions,
Wlien Columbus In id a plan to discover the new world, he could
not get a heaiing till he applied to a woman for help. Women
equips man for the voyage of life. She is seldom a leader in
any prospect but meets her peculiar and best altitude as helper.

MOTUBE, 18

Thoagh man frAMuies a project, she fits him for it, beginning
in his childhood. A man discovered America, but a woman
equipped the voyage. So everywhere ; man executes the per-
formancep but woman trains the man. Every effectual person,
leaving his mark on the world, is but another Columbus, for
whose furnishing some Isabella, in the lorra of his mother, lays
uown her jewellery, her vanitiee, her comforts.

-> »•«-«-

lot^er.

JrT is trne to nature, although it be expressed in a figurative
I form, that a mother is both the morning and the evening
star of life. The light of her eye is always the first to
rise, and often the last to set upon man's day of trial. She
wields a power more decisive far than syllogisms in argu-
ment, or courts of last appeal in authority. Nay, in cases not
a few, where there has been no fear of God before the eyes of the
young — where His love has been unfelt and His law outraged,
a mother's affection or her tremulous tend«^v<5ss has held trans-
gressors by the lieart-strings, and been the means of leading
them back to virtue and to God.

Woman's charms are certainly many and powerful. The ex-
panding rose, just bursting into beauty, has an irresistible be-
witchingness ; the blooming bride, led triumphantly to the
hymeneal altar, awakens admiration and interest, and the blush
of her cheek fills with delight ; but the charm of maternity
Lb more sublime than all these.

Heaven has imprinted in the mother's face something beyond
this world, something which claims kindred with the skies —
the angelic smile, the tender look, the waking, watchful eye,
which keeps its fond vigil over her slumbering babe.

Mother I ecstatic sound so twined round our hearts that they

I 1.

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MOTHER.

mtisi coase to throb ere we forget it I 'tis our first love ; 'tii
part of religion. Nature has set the mother upon such a pin-
nacle, that our infant eyes and aims are first uplifted to it ,
we cling to it in manhood ; we almost worship it in old age.
He who can enter an apartment and behold the tender babe
feeding on its mother's beauty — nourished by the tide of life
which flows through her generous veins, without a panting
bosom and a grateful eye, is no man, but a monster.

" Can a mother's love be supplied ? " No 1 a thousand times
no 1 By the deep, earnest yearning of my spirit for a mother's
love ; by the weary, aching void in my heart ; by the restless,
unsatisfied wanderings of my afiections, ever seeking an object
on which to rest ; by our instinctive discernment of the true
maternal love from the/a^se — as we would discern between a
lifeless statue and a breathing man ; by the hallowed emotions
with which we cherish in the depths of our hearts the vision
'f a grass-grown mound in a quiet graveyard among the moun-
tains ; by the reverence, the holy love, the feeling akin to idola-
try with which our thoughts hover about an angel form among
the seraphs of Heaven — by all these, we answer, no 1

Often do I sigh in my struggles with the hard, uncaring
world, for the sweet, deep security I felt when, of an evening,
nestling in her bosom, I listened to some quiet tale, suitable to
my age, read in her tender and untiring voice. Never can I
forget her sweet glance cast upon me when I appeared asleep ,
never her kiss of peace at night. Years have passed away
since we laid her beside my father in the old church-yard; yet,
still her voice whispers from the grave, and her eye watdhea
over me, as I visit spots long since hallowed to the memory of
my mother.

Oh 1 there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother
to her son that transcends all other afiections of the heart. It
is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger,
nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude.
She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience ; she will
'turrender every pleasure to his enjoyment ; she will glory in

MOTHER.

his fame and exult in his prosperity ; and if miflfortune over-
take hiru, he will be the dearer to her from misfortune ; and if
disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and cherish
him in spite of his disgrace ; and if all the world beside cast
him otf, she will bo all the world to him.

Alas I how little do we appreciate a mother's tenderness
while living. How heedless are we in youth of all her anxieties
and kindness ? But when she is dead and gone, when the cares
and coldness of the world come withering to our hearts, when
we experience how hard it is to find true sympathy, how few
to love us for ourselves, how few will befriend us in misfortune,
then it is that we think of the mother we have lost.

Over the grave of a friend, of a brother, or a sister, I would
plant the primrose, emblematical of youth; but over that of a
mother, I would let the green grass shoot up unmolested, for
there is something in the simple covering which nature spreads
upon the grave, that well becomes the abiding place of decay-
ing age. O, a mother's grave ! Earth has some sacred spots,
where we feel like loosing shoes from our feet, and treading
with reverence ; where common words of social converse seem
rude, and friendship's hands have lingered in each other ; where
vows have been plighted, prayers ofiered, and tears of parting
shed. Oh ! how thoughts hover around such places, and travel
back through unmeasured space to visit them I But of all
spots on this green earth none is so sacred as that where rests,
waiting the resurrection, those we have once loved and cherished
— our brothers, or our children. Hence, in all ages, the better
pai-t of mankind have chosen and loved spots of the dead, and
on these spots they have loved to wander at eventide. But of
all places, even among the charnel-houses of the dead, none is so
sacred as a mother's grave. There sleeps the nurse of infancy,
the guide of our youth, the counsellor of our riper years— our
friend when others deserted us ; she whose heart was a stranger
to every other feeling but love — ^there she sleeps and we love
the very earth for her sake.

In what Christian country can we deny the influence vhich

'^1

MOTHJe/L

a mother exerts over the whole life of her children ? Th«
roughest and hardest wanderer, while he is tossed on the oceAn.
or while he scorches his feet on the desert sands, recurs in his
loneliness and sufferings to the smiles which maternal affection
shed over his infancy ; the reckless sinner, even in his hardened
career, occasionally hears the whi'ij-erings of those holy pre-
cepts instilled by a virtuous mother, and, although they may,
in the fulness of guilt, be neglected, there are many instances
of their having so stung the conscience, that they have led to
a deep and lasting repentance ; the erring child of either sex
will then, if a mothei yet exists, turn to her for that consola-
tion which the laws of society deny, and in the jastiog purity
of a mother's love will find the way to heaven. How cheerfully
does a virtuous son labour for a poverty-stricken mother ! How
alive is he to her honour and high standing in the world ! And
should that mother be deserted — be left in " worse than widow-
hood," how proudly he stands forth her comforter and protec-
tor ! Indeed, the more we reflect upon the subject, the more
entirely are we convince d, that no influence is so lasting, or of
such wide extent, and tlie more extensively do we feel the neces-
isity of guiding this aacrod atfection, and perfecting that being
from whom it emanates.

Science has sometinks tnea to teach us that if a pebble be
cast into the sea on any shore, the efiects are felt, though not
perceived by man, over the whole area of the ocean. Or, more
wonderful still, science has tried to show that the efiects of all
the sound.s ever uttered by man or beast, or caused by inani-
mate things, are still floating in the air ; its present state is just
the aggregate result of all these sounds ; and if these things
bo ti'ue, they fui*nish an emblem of the eflTects produced by a
mother's power — effects which stretch into eternity, and ope-
rate there forever, in sorrow or in joy.

The mother can take man's whole nature under her control
She becomes what she has been called, " The Divinity of In-
fancy." Her smile is its sunshine, her word its mildest law,
until sin and the world have steeled the heart She can

" '*«r»'««4«*>»piw^ra«Weg»»i<

MOTHER.

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nhower around her the most genial of all influences, and from
the time when she first lapa her little one in Elysium by clasp
Log him to her bosom — " its first paradise " — to the mo)nen'
when that child is independent of her aid, or perhaps, like
Washington, directs the destinies of millions, her smile, he-
word, her wish, is an inspiring force. A sentence of encourage
ment or praise is a joy for a day. It spreads light upon ali
faces, and renders a mother's power more and more charm-like,
as surely as ceaseless accusing, rebuking and correcting, chafes
sours and disgusts. So intense is her power that the mere re-
membrance of a praying mother's hand, laid on the head in in-
fancy, has held back a son from guilt when passion waxed
strong.

The mother is the angel-spirit of home. Her tender yearn-
ings over the cradle of her infant babe, her guardian care of the
child and youth, and her bosom companionship with the man
of her love and choice, make her the personal centre of the in-
terests, the hopes and the happiness of the family. Her love
glows in her .sympathies and reigns in all her thoughts and
deeds. It never cools, never tires, never dreads, never sleeps,
but ever glows and burns with increasing ardour, and with
sweet and holy incense upon tha altar of home-devotion. And
even when she is gone to her last rest, the sainted mother
in heaven sways a mightier influence over her wayward husband
or child, than when slie was present. Her departed spirit stiU
hovers over his affections, overshadows his path, and draws
him by unseen cords to herself in heaven.

But in glancing at a nxother's position in our homes, we should
not overlook the sorrows to which she is often exposed. A
mother mourning by tlie grave of her first-born is a rjpectacle
of woe. A mother watching the palpitating frame of her child,
as life ebbs slowly away, must "(^voko the sympathy of thw
sternest A mother closing the dying eye of child after child
till it seems as if she were to be left alone in the world again^
is one of the saddest sights of earth ; when the cradle-sonc
passes into a dirge, the heart is laden indeed.

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MOTEJiR.

Not long ago two friends were sitting together engaged m
letter writing. One was a young man from India, the other a
female friend part of whose family resided in that far-off land.
The former was writing to his mother in India. When the
lettei- was finished liis fi-iend offered to enclose it in hers, to
save postage. This he politely declined, saying : " If it be sent
separately, it will reach her sooner than if sent through a
friend ; and, perhaps, i*: may save her a tear." His friend was
touched at his tender n gard for his mother's feelings, and felt
with him, that it was worth paying the postage to save his
mother a tear. Would that every boy and girl, every young
man and every young woman were equally »aving of a mo-
ther's tears.

The Christian jnother especially can deeply plant and geni-
ally cherish the seeds of truth. Is her child sick ? that is a
text from which to speak of the Great Physiciaa Is it the
sober calm of evening, when even children grow sedate ? She
can tell of the Home where there is no night. Is it morning,
wheu all are buoyantly happy ? The eternal day is suggested,
and its glories may be told. That is the wisdom which winn
souls even more than the formal lesson, the lecture or the task.
There is one suggestion more. Perhaps the saddest sentence
that can fall upon the ear regarding any child ip — " He has no
mother ; she is dead ! " It comes like a voice from the sepul-
chre, and involves the consummation of all the sorrows that
can befall the young. In that condition they are deprived of
their most tender comforter, and tlieir wisest counsellor. They
are left a prey to a thousand temptations or a thousand ills,
and freed from the restraint of one who could curb without
irritating, or guid(j without afiecting superiority. Now will
mothers live with their children as if they were thus to leave
them in a cold and inhospitable world ? Will they guide their
little ones to Him who is pre-eminently the God of the orphan
and who inspired His servant to say — " Thougii father and mo-
ther forsake me, the Lord will take me up."

CHILDREN.

'OE to him who pioiles not over a cradle, and weeps not
over a tomb. H» who has never tried the companionship
of a little chilJ j%s carelessly passed by one of the great-
est pleasures o . life, as one passes a rare flower without plucking
it or knowing its value. The gleeful )augh of happy children ia
the best home music, end the graceful figures of childhood are
the best statuary. We are all kings and queens in the cradle,an<'
each babe is a new marvel, a new miracle. The perfection of
the providence for childhood is easily acknowledged. The care
which covers the seed of the tree under tough husks, and stony
canes, provider for the human plant the mother's breast and
the father's bouse. The size of the nestler is comic, and its
fciny, beseeching weakness is compensated perfectly by the one
happy, patronizing look of the mother, wlio is a sort of high-
reposing Providence to it. Welcome to the parents the puny
struggler, strong in his weakness, his little arms more irresisti-
ble than the soldier's, his lips touched with persuasion which
Chatham and Vericles in manhood had not. His unaffected
lamentations when he lil'ts up his voice on high ; or, more
beautiful, the sobbing child — the face all liquid grief, as he
tries to swallow his vexation — soften all hearts to pity, and to
mirthful and clamorous compassion. The small despot asks so
little that all reason and all nature are on his side. His igno-
rance is more charming than all knowledge, and his little sins
more bewitching than any virtue. His flesh is angel's flesh,
all alive. " Infancy," said Coleridge, " presents body and spirit
in unity; the body is all animated." All day, between his
three or four sleeps, he coos like a pigeon-house, sputters and
spurs, and puts on his faces of importance, and when he fastsi
the little Pharisee fails not to sound his trumpet before him'
By lamplight, he delights in shadows on the wall ; by daylight
ui yellow and scarlet. Carry him out of doors — he is over-

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CHILDREN.

powered ty the light and by the extent of natural object*, and
is silent. Then presently begins his use of his Angel's, and he
studies power — the leseon of his race.

Not without design has God implanted in the maternal
breast that strong love of their children which is felt every-
where. This lays deep and broad the foundation for the child's
future education from parental hands. Nor without designs
has Christ commanded, " Feed my lambs," — meaning to incul-
cate upon His Church the duty of caring for the children of the
chuich and the world at the earliest possible period. Nor can
parents and all well-wishers to humanity be too earnest and
cai'eful to fulfil the promptings of their very nature *nd the
command of Christ in this matter. Influence is a* quiet a»d
imperceptible on the child's mind as the falling of snowflakes
on the meadow. One cannot tell the hour when the human
mind is not in the condition of receiving impressions from ex-
terior moral forces. In innumerable instances, the moat secret
and unnoticed influences have been in operation for months
and even years to break down the strongest ban'iers of the hu-
man heart, and work out its moral ruin, while yet the fondest
parents and friends have been unaware of the working of such
unseen agents of evil. Not all at once does any heart become
utterly bad. The error is in this : that parents are not con-
scious 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 ?

Never scold children, but soberly and quietly reprove. Do
not employ shame except in extreme cases. The suffering is
acute ; it hurts self-respect in the child to reprove a child before
the family ; to ridicule it, to tread down its feelings ruthlessly,
is to wake in its bosom malignant f eelingH. A child is defence-
less ; he is not allowed to argue. He is often tried, condemned,
and executed in a second. He finds himself of little use. He
is put at tilings he does not care for, and withheld from things

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CHILDREN,

which he does like. He is made the convenience of grown-up
people ; is hardl> supposed to have any rights, except in a
comer, as it were ; is sent hither and thither ; made to get up or
sit down for everybody's convenience but his own ; is snubbed
and catechised until he learns to dodge government and jlude
authority, and then bo whipped for being " such a liar that no
one can believe you."

They will not trouble you long. Children grow up*— no-
thing on earth grows so fast as children. It was but yester-
day, and that lad was playing with tops, a buoyant boy. He is
a man, and gone now ! There is no more childhood for him or
for us. Life has claimed him. When a beginning is made, it
is like a raveling stocking ; stitch by stitch gives way till all
are gone. The house has not a child in it — ^there is no more
noise in the hall — no boys rush in pell-mell ; it is very orderly
now. There are no more skates or sleds, bats, balls or strings
left scattered about. Things are neat enough now. There is
no delay for sleepy folks ; there is no longer any task, before
you lie down, of looking after anybody, and tucking up the
bedclothes. There are uo disputes to settle, nobody to get off to
school, no complaint, no opportunities for impossible things, no
rips to mend, no fingers to tie up, no faces to be washed, or
collars to be arranged. There never was such peace in the
house ! It would sound like music to have some feet clatter
down the front stairs ! Oh 1 for some children's noise ! What
used to ail us, that we were hushing their loud laugh, checking
their noisy frolic, and reproving their slamming and banging
the doors ? We wish our neighbours would only lend us an
urchin or two to make a little noise in these premises. A home
without children ! It is like a lantern and no oandle ; a garden
and no flowers ; a vine and no grapes ; a brook and no water
gurgling and gushing in its channel We want to be tried, to
be vexed, to be run over, to hear chiidreu at work with all itt
varieties.

Bishop Earle says : " A child is man in a small letter, yet the
bes» copy of Adam, before he tasted of Evo or the apple ; aiMi

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he is happy whose small prj.ctice in the world can only wriU
his character. His soul is yet a white pap - 'm8cribl)le(l with
observatiunH of the world, wherewith, at length, it becomes a
blurred note-book. He is purely happy, because ho knows no
evil, nor hath made means by sin to bo acquainted with misery.
He arrives not at the mischief of being wise, nor endures evila
to come, by foreseeing them. He kisses and loves all, and,
when the smart of the rod is past, smiles on his beater. The
older he grows, he is a stiir lower from God. He is the Christ-
ian's example, and the old man's relapse ; tlie one imitates his
pureneas, and the other falls into his simplicity. Could he put
off his body with his little coat, lie had got eternity without a
burden, and exchanged but one heaven for another."

Children are more easily led to be good by examples of lov-
ing kindness and tales of well-doing in others, than threatened
into obedience by records of sir, crime and punishment. Then,
on the infant mind imprass sincerity, truth, honesty, Isenevo-
lence and their kindred virtues, and the welfare of your child
will be insured not only during this life, but the life to come.
Oh, what a responsibility to form a creature, the frailest and
feeblest that heaven has made, into the intelligent and fearless
sovereign of the whole animated creation, the interpreter and
adorer and almost the representative of Divinity.

♦*•»

EN glory in raising great and magnificent structures and
^ find a secret ])leasure to see sets of their own planting
grow up and flourish ; but it is a greater and more
glorious work to build up a man ; to see a youth of our own
planting, from the small beginnings and advantages we have
given him, to grow up into a considerable fortune, to take root
in the world, and to shoot up into such a height, and spread its

YOUTH.

its

bmnches so wide, tliat we who first, plant<^<l him may oursclvet
find comfort and shelter under his shadow.

Much of otir early gladness vanishes utterly from our mem-
ory; we can never recall the joy with which we laid oar heads
on our raothf. \ bosom, or rode our fatlier'H l>aek in childhood ;
doubtless that joy is wronglit up into our nature as lIk sun-
light of long past morninyvi is wrou;'ht up in the soft mellowness
of the apricot.

The time will soon oome — if it has not already — when you
must part from those Mdio have sunouiided the same paternal
board who mingled with you in the gay-hearted joys of child-
hood, jid the opening promise of youth. New cares will at-
tend you in new situations ; and the relations you form, or the
business you pursue, may call you far from the " play-place" of
your " early days." In the unseen future, your brothei-s and
Bisters may be sundored from you ; your lives may be spent
apart ; and in dea*^.h you may be divided ; and of you it may
be said —

" They grow in beauty, side by side,
Tlioy filled oiio home witli ;^I< o ;
Their graves arc severed far and wide,
By mount, a»d stroam, and aea."

Let your own home be the cynosure of your affections, the spot
where youj- highest desires are concentrated. Do this, and you
will prove, not only the hope, but the stay of your kindred and
home. Your personal character will elevate the whole family.
Others may become degenerate sons, and bring the gray hairs
of their parents with sorrow to the grave. But you will be the
pride and staff of a mother, and an honour to your sire. You
will establish their house, give peace to their pillow, and be a
memorial to their praise.

Spend your evening hours, boys, at home. You may make
them among the most agreeable and ])rofi table of your lives,
and when vicious companions would tompt you away, remem-
ber that God has said, " Cast not in thy lot with them ; walk
thou not in their way ; refrain thy foot from tbeir path. They

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YOUTH.

lay in wait for their own blood ; they lurk privily for their own
lives. But walk thou in the way of good men, and keep the
paths of the right-eous."

Keep good companj'^ or none. Never be idla If your hands
cannot be usefully employed, attend to the cultivation of your
mind. Always speak the truth. Make few promises. Live
up to your engagements. Keep your own secrets, if you have
any. Wlien you speak to a person, )«ok him in the face. Good
company and good conversation are the very sinews of virtue.
Good character is above all things else. Your character can-
not be essentially injured except by your own acta. If <me
spsak evil of yo'i, let your life be such that none will believe
him. Drink ao kind of intoxicating liquors. Always live, mis-
fortune excepted, within your income. When you retire to
bed, think over what you have been doing during the day.
Make no haste to be rich if you would prosper. Small and
steady gains give competency with tranquillity of mind. Neve*
play at an^ kind of game of char -e. Avoid temptation through
fear that you may not be able to withstand it. Never run in-
to debt, unless you see a way to get out again. Never borrow '
if you can possibly avoid it. Never speak evil of any one. Be
just before you are generous. Keep yourself innocent if you
would be happy. Save when you are young to spend when
you are old. Never think that which you do for religion is
time or money misspent. Always go to meeting when you can*
Kead some portion of the Bible every day. Often think of
death, and your accountability to God.

An honest, industri is boy is always wartted. He will be
sought for ; his services will be in demand ; he will be respect-
ed and loved ; he will ue spoken of in words of high commen*
dation ; he will always have a home , he will grow up to be u
man of known worth and established character.

He will be wanted. The merchant will want him for a salefi
man or a clerk ; the master mechanic will want him for an ap-
prentice or a journeyman ; those with, a job to let will want
him for a contractor ; clients will want him for a Is *'yer ; par

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YOUTH.

tients for a phjsidan; religious congregations for a pastor;
parents for a teacher of their children ; and the people for an

officer.

He will be wanted. Townsmen will want him as a citizen ;
acquaintances as a neighbour ; neighbours as a friend ; families
as a visitor ; the world as an acquaintance ; nay, girls will
want him for a beau and Anally for a husbend.

To both parents, whea faithful, a child is indebted beyond
estimation. If one b^ins to enumerate their claims, to set in
order their labours, and recount their sacrifices and privations,
he is soon compelled to desist from his task. He is constrained
to acknowledge that their love for him is surpassed only by
that of the great Spring of all good, whom — to represent in
the strongest language our measureless indebtedness to Him —
we call " Our Father in Heaven."

Parents do wrong in keeping their children hanging around
home, sheltered and enervated by parental indulgence. The
eagle does better. It stirs up its nest when the young eagles
are able to fly. They are compelled to shift for themselves, for
the old eagle literally turns them out, and at the same time
tears all the down and feathers from the nest 'Tis this rude
and rough experience that makes the king of birds so fearless
in his flig>^t and so expert in the pursuit of prey. It is a mis-
fortune to be bom with a silver spoon in your mouth, for you
have it to carry and plague you in all your days. Riches often
hang like a dead weight, yea like a millstone about the necks
of ambitious young men. Had Benjamin Franklin or George
Law been brought up in the lap of affluence and ease, they
would probably never have been heard of by the world at
large. It was the making of the one that he ran away, and of
the other that he was turned out of doors. Early thrown upon
their own resources, they acquired the energy and skill to over-
come resistance, and to grapple with the difl5culties that beset
their pathway. And here I think they learned the most im-
portant lesson of their livra — ^a lesson tha* develonod their
manhood— forcing upon them Necessity, the most useful and

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|§ YOUTH.

inexorable of masters. There is nothing like being bound out,
turned out, or even kicked out, to compel a man to do for him-
self. Rough handling of the last sort has often made druxiken
men sober. Poor boys, though at the foot of the hill, should
remember that every step they take toward the goal of wealth
and honour gives them increas«d energy and power. They
ha,ve a purchase^ and obtain a inomentuTn, the rich man's son
never knows. The poor man's son has the furthest to go, but
without knowing it he is turniog the longest lever, and that
with the utmost vim and vigour. Boys, do not sigh for the
capital or indulgence of the rich, but use the capUaZ you have —
I mean those God-given powers which every healthy youth ot
good habits has in and of himself. All a man wants in this life
is a skilful hand, a well-informed mind, and a good heart. In
our happy land, and in these favoiyoed time« of libraries, ly-
ceums, liberty, religion and education, the humblest and poor-
est can aim at the greatest usefulness, and tbe highest excel-
lence, with a prospect of success that calls forth all the endurance
perseverance and industry that is in man.

We live in an age marked by its lack of veneration. Old
institutions, however sacred, are now fearlessly, and often wan-
tonly, assailed ; the aged are not treated with deference ; and
fathen and mothers are addressed with rudeness. The com-
mand now runs, one would think, not in the good old tenor of
.he Bible, " Children obey your parents in the Lord, for this is
right," but thus : Parents obey your children. Some may go
80 far as to say this is right. " Why should I, who am so much
superior to my father and my mother, bow down before them I
Were they equal to me ; did they appear so well in society ; and,
especially, were they not in destitute circumstances, I could re-
spect them. But " — my young friend, pause — God, nature, and
humanity forbid you to pursue this strain. Because our pa-
rents are poor, are we absolved from all obligfttions to love and
reqpeot them ? Nay, if our father was in narrow drcumstances,
and stUl did all that he could for us, we owe him, instead of
tees regard, an hundred fold the more. If our mother, with

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TOOTH.

scanty meAOs, could promote our comfort and train us up aa
she did, then, for the sake of reason, of right, of common com-
passion, let us not despise her in her need.

Let every chiVl, having any pretence to heart, or manlinees,
or piety, and who is so fortunate as to have a father or mother
living, consider it a sacred duty to consult at any reasonable,
personal sacrifice, the known wishes of such a parent, until
that parent is no more ; and our word for it the recollection of
the same through the after pilgrimage of life will sweeten
every sorrow, will brighten every gladness, will sparkle every
tear drop with a joy ine£fable. But be selfsh still, have your
own way, consult your own inclinations, yield to the bent of
your own desires, regardless of a parent's commands, and coun-
sels, and beseechings and tears, and as the Lord liveth your life
will be a failure ; because " the eye that mocketh at his father,
and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley
shaU pick it out, and the young eagle shall eat it."

Consider, finally, that it' you live on, the polluted joys of
youth cannot be the joys of old age ; though its guilt and st&ng
left behind, will endure. I know well that the path of strict
virtue is steep and rugged. But, for the stem discipline of
temperance, the hardship of self-denial, the crushing of appe-
tite and passion, there will be the blessed recompense of a cheer-
ful, healthful manhood, and an honourable old age. Tea, higher
and better than all temporal returns, live for purity of speech
and thought; live for an incorruptible character; have the
courage to begin the great race, and the energy to pursue the
glorious price ; foresee your danger, arm against it, trust in.
God, and jou will have nothing U> fear.

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fomc.

'HAT a hallowed name! How full of enchantment
und how dear to the heart ! Home is the magic circle
within which the weary spirit finds refuge ; it is the
sacred asylum to which the care-worn heart retreats to find rest
from the toils and inquietudes of life.

Ask the lone wanderer as he plods his tedious way, bent with
the weight of figb, and white with the frost of years, ask him
what is home ? He will tell you " it is a green spot in memory ;
an oasis in the desert ; a centre about which the fondest recol-
lections of his grief- oppressed heart cling with all the tenacity of
youth's first love. It was once a glorious, a happy reality, but
now it rests only a^ an image of the mind."

Home ! That name touches every fibre of the soul, and
strikes every chord of the human heart with its angelic fingers.
Nothing but death can break its spell. What tender associa-
tions are linked with home ! What pleasing images and deep
emotions it awakens ! It calls up the fondest memories of life
and opens in our nature the purest, deepest, richest gush of
consecrated thought and feeling.

Some years ago, some twenty thousand peopW <|Hthered in
the old Castle Garden, New York, to hear Jennie l^nd sing, as
no other songstress ever had sung, the sublime compositions of
Beethoven, Handel, etc. At length the Swedish Nightingale
thougiit of her home, paused, and seemed to fold her wings
for a higher flight. She began with deep emotion tc pour forth
" Home, Sweet Home." The audience could not stand it An
uproar of applause stopped the music. Tears gushed from those
thousands like rain. Beethoven and Handel were forgotten.
After a moment the song came again, seemingly as from heaven,
almost angelic. Home, that was the word that bound as with
a spell twenty thousand souls, and Howard Payne triumphed
ever the great masters of song. When we look at the brevity

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BOMB.

and simplicity of this home song, we are ready to ask, what is
the charm that lies concealed in it ? Why Joes the dramatist
and poet find his reputation resting on so apparently narrow
a basis ? The answer is easy. Next to religion, the deepest
and most ineradicable sentiment in the human soul is that of the
home affections. Every heart vibrates to this thjme.

Home has an influence which is stronger than death. It is
law to our hearts, and binds us with a spell which neither time
nor change can break ; the darkest villainies which have dis-
graced humanity cannot neutralize it. Gray-haired and demon
guilt will make his dismal cell the sacred urn of tears wept
over the memories of home, and these will soften and melt into
tears of penitence even the heart of adamant.

Ask the little child what is home t You will find that to
him it is the world — he knows no other. The father's love,
the mother's smile, the sister's embrace, the brother's welcome,
throw about his home a heavenly halo, and make it as attrac-
tive t(3 him as the home of the angels. Home is the spot whore
the child pours out all its complaints, and it is the grave of all
its sorrows. Childhood has its sorrows and itiS gne vances, but
home is the place where these are soothed and banished by the
sweet lullaby of a fond mother's voice.

Was Paradise an abode of purity and peace ? or will the New
Eden above be one of unmiugled beatitude 1 Then " the Para-
dise of Childhood," " the Eden of Home," are names applied to
the family abode. In that paradise, all may appear as smiling
and serene to childhood as the untainted garden did to unfallen
man ; even the remembrance of it, amid distant scenes of woe,
has soothed some of the saddest hours of life, and crowds o£
mourners have spoken of

*' A home, that paradise beIo\r
Of sunshine and of flowers.
Where hallowed joys perennial flow
By calm sequester'd bowers."

There childhood nestles like a bird which has built its abod*

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amon^ roses ; there the cares and the coldness of the earth am,
as long as possible, averted. Flowers there bloom, or fruits ia-
vite on every side, and there paradise would indeed be restored,
could mortal power ward off the consequences of sin. This new
garden of the Lord would then abound in beauty unsullied, and
trees of the Lord's planting, bearing fruit to His glory, would be
found in plenty there — it would be reality, and not mere poetry,
to speak of

** My own dear qniet home,
The Eden of my heart."

Home of my childhood ! What words fall upon the ear with
so much of music in their cadence as those which recall the
scenes of innocent and happy childhood, now numbered with
the memories of the past 1 How fond recollection delights to
dwell upon the events which marked out our early pathway,
when the unbroken home-circle presented a scene of loveliness
vainly sought but in the bosom of a happy family ! Interven-
ing years have not dimmed the vivid colouring with which mem-
ory has adorned those joyous hours of youthful innocence. We
are again borne on the wings of imagination to the place made
sacred by the remembrance of a father's care, a mother's love
and the cherished associations of brothers and sisters.

Home ! how often we hear persons speak of the home of their
childhood. Their minds seem to delight in dwelling upon the
recollection of joyous days spent beneath the parental roof,
when their young and happy hearts were as light and free as
the birds who made the woods resound with the melody of their
cheerful voices. What a blessing it is, when weary with care
and burdened with sorrow, to have a home to which we can go,
and there, in the midst of friends we love, forget our troubles^
and dwell in peace and quietness.

There is no happiness in life, there is no misery like that
growing out of the dispositions which consecrate or desecrate
a home. Peace at home, that is the boon. " He is happiest,
be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home." Home

HOME.

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•hould be made so truly homo that the weary tempted heart
could turn toward it anywhere on the dusty highway of life
and receive light and strength. Should be the sacred refuge of
our lives, whether rich or poor. The affections and loves of
home are graceful things, especially among the poor. The tiet
that bind the wealthy and the proud to home may be forged
on earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble
hearth are of the true metal and bear the stamp of heaven.
These affections and loves constitute the poetry of human life,
and, 80 far as our present existence ia concerned with all the
domestic relations, are worth more than all other social ties.
They give the first throb to the heart and unseal the deep foun-
tains of its love. Home is the chief school of human virtue.
Its responsibilities, joys, sorrows, smiles, tears, hopes, and solici-
tudes form the chief interest of human life.

There is nothing in the world which is so venerable as th«
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 those of brothers and sisters.
The little circle is made one by a singular union of the affect-
ions. The only fountain in- the wilderness of life, where man
drinks of water, totally unmixed with bitter ingredients, is that
which gushes for him in the calm and shady recess of domestio
life. Pleasure may beat the heart with artificial excitement,
ambition may delude it with golden dreams, war may eradicate
its fine fibres and diminish its sensitiveness, but it is only do-
mestic love that can render it truly happy.

Even as the sunbeam is composed of millions of minute rays,
the home life must be constituted of little tendernesses, kind
looks, sweet laughter, gentle words, loving counsels ; it must
not be like the iorch-blaze of natural < excitement which is
easily quenched, but like the serene, chastened light which
burns as f-^fely in the dry east wind as in the stillest atmos-
phere. Let each bear the other's burden the while — ^let each
cultivate the mutual confidence which is a gift capable of in-
crease and improvement — and soon it will be found that kind-

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lineflb will spring up on every side, displacing constitutional
unsuitability, want of mutual knowledge, even as we have seen
sweet violets and primroses dispelling the gloom of the gray
sea- rocks.

There is nothing on earth so beautiful as the household on
which Christian love forever smiles, and where religion walki
a counsellor and a friend. No cloud can darker it, for its twin-
Btars are ©entered iu the soul. No storm can make it tremble,
for it has a heavenly support and a heavenly anchor.

Home is a place of refuge. Tossed day by day upon the
rough and stormy ocean of life — harassed by worldly cares,
and perplexed by worldly inquietude the weary spirit yearna
after repose. It seeks and finds it i i the refuge which home
supplies. Here the mind is at rest ; the heart's turmoil be-
comes quiet, and the spirit bosks in the peaceful delights of
domestic love.

Yes, home is a place of rest — we feel it so when we seek and
enter it after the busy cares and trials of the day are over.
We may find joy elsewhere, but it is not the joy — the satisfac-
tion of home. Of the former the heart may soon tire ; of the
latter, never. In the former there is much of cold formality ;
much heartlessness under the garb of friendsliip, but in the lat-
ter it is all heart — all friendship of the purest, truest character.

The road along which the man of business travels in pursuit
of competence or wealth is not a Macadamized one, nor does it
ordinarily lead through pleasant scenes and by well-springs of
delight. On the contrary, it is a rough and 'ugged path, beset
with " wait-a-bit " thorns and full of pit-falls, which can only
be avoided by the watchful care of circumspection. After
evjry day's journey over this worse than rough turnpike road,
the wayfarer needs something more than rest; he requires
solace, and he deserves it. He is weary of the dull prose of life,
and athirst for the poetry. Happy is the basiness maji who
can find that solace and that poetrj' at home. Warm gi-eetings
from loxning hearts, fond glances from bright eyes, the welcome
ghouts of children, the many thousand little arrangements for

HOME.

our comfort and enjoyment that silently tell of thoughtful and
ijx{)ectant love, the gentle ministrations that disencumber us
into an old and easy scat before we are aware of it ; these and
like tokens of affection and sympathy constitute the poetry
which reconciles us to the prose of life. Think of this, ye wives
and daughters of business men ! Think of the toils, the anxi-
eties, the mortification, and wear that fathers undergo to secure
for you comfortable homes, and compensate them for their trials
by making them happy by their own firesides.

Is it not true, that much of a man's energy and suooess, as
well as happiness, depends upon the character of his home ?
Secure tJiere, he goes forth bravely to encounter the trials of
life. It encourages him, to think of his pleasant home. It is
hia point of rest. The thought of a dear wife shortens the
distance of a journey, and alleviates the harassings of business.
It is a reserved power to fall back upon. Home and home
friends ! How dear they are to us all ! Well might we love
to linger on the picture of home friends ! When all other
friends prove false, home friends, removed from every bias but
love, are the steadfast and sure stays of our peace of soul — are
best and dearest when the hour is darkest and the danger of
evil the greatest. But if one have rone to care for him at
home, — if there be neglect, or love of absence, or coldness, in
our home and on our hearth, then, even if we prosper without,
it is dark indeed withLn ! It is not seldom that we can trace
alienation and dissipation to this source. If no wife or sister
care for him who returns from his toil, well may he despair of
life's beet, blessings. Home is nothing but a nume without
home friends.

The sweetest type of heaven is home — nay, heaven itself is
the home for whose acquisition we are to strive the most
strongly. Home, in one form and another, is the great object
of life. It stands at the end of every day's labour, and beckons
us to ita bosom ; and life would be cheerless and meaningless
did we not discern across the river that divides it from the life
beyond, glimpses of tho pleasant mansions prepared for us.

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HOME.

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Ileaven ! that land of quiet rest — toward which those, who
worn down and tired with the toils of earth, direct their frail
barks over the troubled waters of life, and after a long and
dangerous passage, find it — safe in the haven of eternal blisa
Heaven is the home that awaits us beyond the grave. There
the friendships formed on earth, and which cruel death has
severed, are never more to be broken ; and parted friends shall
meet again, never more to bo separated.

It is an inspiring hope that, when we separate here on earth
at the summons of death's angel, and when a few more years
have rolled over the heads of those remaining, if " faithful unto
death," we shall meet again in heaven, our eternal hcyrrn, there
to dwell in the presence of our Heavenly Father, «nd go no
more out forever.

At the best estate, my friends, we arfl only pilgrims and
strangers. Hoavon is to be our eternal home. Death will never
knock at the door of that mansion, and in all that land there
will not be a single grave. Aged parents rejoice very much
when on Christmas Day or Thanksgiving Day they have their
children at home ; but there is almost always a son or a daugh-
ter aosent — absent from the country, perhaps absent from the
world. But Oh, how our Heavenly Father will rejoice in the
long thanksgiv-ntr day of lieaven, when He has called His
children with a. glory ! How glad brothers and sisters

will be to dr so long a separation ! Perhaps a score of

years aj ^ parted at the door of the tomb. Now they

meet aga..^ at the door of immortality. Once they looked
through a glass darkly. Now, face to face, corruption, incor-
ruption — mortality, immortality. Where are now all their
sorrows and temptations and trials 1 Overwhelmed in the
Red Sea of death, while they, dry-shod, marched into glory.
Gates of jasper, capstone of amethyst, thrones of dominion
do not so much affect my soul as the thought of home.
Once there, let earthly sorrows howl like storms and roll
like seas. Home! Let thrones rot and empires wither.
Home ! Let the world die in earthquake struggles and b«

FAMILY WORSHIP.

buried ami<l procession of planets and dirge of s[»herea. Ilorap'
Let everlasting ages roll in irresi.stible sweep. Home 1 No sor-
row, no crying, no tears, no death; but home ! sweet homel
Beautiful home ! Glorious home I Everlasting home 1 Home
with each otlior ! Home with angels ! Homo with God ! Home,
home 1 Through the rich grace of Christ Jesus, may we all
reach it.

PRAYER LESS family cannot be otherwise than irreli-
gious. They who daily pray in their homes, do well ;
they that not only pray, but read the Bible, do better ;
but they do best of all, wlio not only pray and read the Bible,
but sing the praises of God.

What scene can be more lovely on earth, more like th >
heavenly home, and more pleasing to God, than that of a pious
family kneeling with one accord around the home-altar, and
uniting their supplications to their Father in heaven ! How
sublime the sict of those parents who thus pray for the blessing
of God upon their household ! How lovely the scene of a pious
mothtsr gathering her little ones around her at the bedside, and
teaching them the privilege of prayer ! And what a safeguard
is this devotion against all the machinations of Satan !

It is this which makes home a tyoe of heaven, the dwelling
place of God. The family altai is heaven's threshold. And
happy are those children who, at that altar, have been conse-
crated by a father's blessing, baptized by a mother's tears, and
borne uj) to heaven upon their joint petitions, as a voluntjiry
thank-offering to God. The home that has honoured God with
an altar of devotion may well be called blessed.

The influence of family worship is great, silent, irresistible,
and permanent. Like the calm, deep stream, it moves ou in

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FAMILY W0B8RIF,

gilent, tut overwhelming power. It strikes ita roots deep int«
the human heart, and spreads its branches wide over the wholt
being, like the lily that bears the tempest, and the Alpine
flower that leans its cheek upon the bosom of ei«mal snows —
it is exerted amid the wildest storms of life, and breathes •
softening spell in our bosom, en when a heartless world u
drying up the foundations of sympathy and love.

It affords home security and Lappiness, remo\ es family frio
tion, and causes all the comphcated wheels o' the home ma
chinery to move on noiselessly and smoothly. IL promotes on-
ion and harmony, expunges all selfishness, allays petulant feel
ings and turbuleni passions, destroys peevishnA-ii of temper
and makes home inv'xjurse holy and delightful. 3 i causes thi
members to reciprocate "^ech other's affections, huik<v^ the voic«
of recrimination, and exev*te a softening and hanrcovuzing in-
fluence over each heart. T'^w dew of Hermon falli upon the
home where prayer is wont to ^e made. Its inemi^rs enjoy
the good and the pleasantness of dwelling togethec in unity.
It gives tone and intensity to their affections and sympathies;
it throws a sunshine around their hopes and interests ; it in-
creases their happiness and takes away the poignancy of their
grief and sorrow. It availeth much, therefore, both for time
and eternity. Its voice has sent many a poor prodigal home
to his father's house. Its answer has often been, " This man
was bom there ! " The child kneeling beside the pious mother,
and ix)uring forth its infant prayer to Grod, must attract ths
notice of the heav enly host, and receive into its soul the power
of a new life.

But in order to do this, the worship must be regular and
devout, and the whole family engage in it. Some families arc
not careful to have their children present when they worship.
This is very wrong. The children above all others, are bene-
^vA, and should always bo present. Some do not teach tht
children to kneel during prayer, and hence, they awkwardly sit
in their seats, while the parents kneeL This is a sad mistake.
If they do not kneel, tliey naturally suppose they have no part

FAMTLY WORSHIP.

lit

jt in the devotions, and soon feel that it is wrong for them
to bow before the Lord. We have seen many cases where
grown up sons and daughters have never bent the knee before
the Lord, and thought it wrong to kneel till they wei'e Christ-
ians. In this way they were made more shy and stubborn,
and felt that there was an impassable barrier. between them and
Christ. This feeling is wrong and unnecessary. If family
worship had been rightly observed, they would have felt that
they were very near the Saviour, and would easily be inclined
to give their hearts to Him. Indeed, children thus trained, sel-
dom grow to maturity without becoming practical Christians.

Indeed, in iteelf, it embodies a hallowing influence that pleads
for its observance. It must needs be, that trials will enter a
household. The conflict of wishes, the clashing of views, and a
thousand other causes will ruffle the temper, and produce jar and
friction in the machinery of the family. There is needed then,
some daily agency that shall softly enfold the homestead with its
hallowed and soothing power, and restore the line, harmonious
play of its various partij. The fether needs that which shall
gently lift away from his thoughts the disquieting burden of
his daily business. The mothei- that which shall smooth down
the fretting irritation of her unceasing toil and trial; and the
child and domestic that which shall neutralise the countless
agencies of evil that ever beset them. And what so well ad-
apted to do this, as for all to gather, when the day Is done,
around the holy page, and pour a united supplication and
acknowledgment to that sleepless Power, whose protection and
scrutiny are ever around their path, an-l who will bring all
things at last into judgment ? And when darker and sadder
daj's begin to shadow the home, what can cheer and brighten
the sinking heart so finely as this standing resort to that fa-
therly One who can make the tears of the loneliest sorrow to
bo the seed-pearls of the brightest crown ? See what homa
becomes \rt\i religion as its life and rule. Human nature is
there checked and moulded by the amiable spiiit and lovely
cftwacter of Jesus. ITie mind is expanded, the heart softened.

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FAMILY WORSHIP

■entiments refined, passion subdued, hope elevated, pursuits en-
nobled, the world cast into the shade, and heaven realized as
the first priase. The great want of our intellectual and moral
nature is here met, and home education becomes impregnated
with the spirit and elements of our preparation for eternity.

Compare an irreligious home with this, and see the vast im-
portance of family worship. It is a moral waste ; its members
move in the putrid atmosphere of vitiated feeling and misdi-
rected power. Brutal passions bocome dominant ; we hear the
stem voice of parental despotisra ; we behold a scene of filial
strife and insubordination ; there is throughout a heart-blank.
Domestic life becomes clouded by a thousand crosses and disap-
pointments ; the solemn realities c the eternal world are cast
into the shade ; the home conscience and feeling become stulti-
fied ; the sense of moral duty distorted, and all the true in-
terests of home appear in a haze, Natural affection is debased,
«nd love is prostituted to the base designs of self, and the en-
tire family, with all its tender chords, ardent hopes, and pro-
mised interests, become engulfed in the vortex of criminal
worldliness !

It is included in the necessities of our children, and in the
covenant promises of God. The penalties of its neglect, and
the reward of our faithfulness to it, should prompt us to its
establishment in our homes. Its absence is a curse; its pre-
sence a blessing. It is a foretaste of heaven. Like manna, it
wiU feed our souls, quench our thirst, sweeten the cup of life, and
shed a halo of glory and of gladness around our firesides. Let
yours, therefore, be the religious home ; and then be sure that
God will delight to dwell therein, and His blessing will des-
cend like the dews of heaven, upon it. Your children shall
" not be found begging bread," but shall be like " olive plants
around your table," — the " heritage of the Lord." Yours will
be the home of love and harmony ; it shall have the charter of
family rights and privileges, the ward of family interests, the
palladiiun of family hopes and happiness. Your household
piety will be the crowning attribute of your peaceful home-~

BOMB INFLUENCE.

the "crown of living stars" that shall adorn the night of its
trihulation, ana the pillar of cloud and of fire in its pilgrimage to
a " better conntry." It shall strew the family threshold with
Uie flowers of promise, and enshrine the memory of loved ones
gone before, in all the fragrance of that " blessed hope " of re-
union in heaven which looms up from a dying hour. It shall
give to the infant soul its " perfect flowering," and expand it in
all the fulness of a' generous love and conscious blessedness,
m alfiTig it " lustrous in the livery of divine knowledge." And
then in the dark hour of home separation and bereavement,
when the question is put to you mourning parents, " Is it well
with the child ? is ii» well with thee ? " you can answer with
joy,"T*i8weU!"

\smt Snfltiena.

^UR nature demands heme. It is the first essential element
of our social being. This cannot be complete without the
home relations ; there would be no proper equilibrium
of life and character without the home influence. The heart,
when bereaved and disappointed, nat rally turns for refuge to
home-life and sympathy. No spot is so attractive to the weary
one ; it is the heart's moral oasis. There is a mother's watch-
ful love and a father's sustaining influence ; there is a husband's
protection and a wife's tender sympathy ; there is the circle of
loving brothera and sisters — happy in each other's love. Oh,
what is life without these ! A desolation, a painful, gloomy
pilgrimage through " desert heaths and barren sands."

Home influence may be estimated from the immense force of
its impressions. It is the prerogative of home to make the
first impression upon our nature, and to give that nature its
first direction onward and upward. It uncovers the moral
Kouniaun, chooses its channel, and gives the sl^ream its first im«

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HOME INFLUENCE.

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pulse. It makes the " first atamp and sets the first seal ** upon
the plastic nature of the child. It gives the first tone to our
desires and furnishes ingredients that will either sweeten or
embitter the whole cup of life. These impressions are indelible
and durable as life. Compared with them, other impressions
are like those made upon sand or wax. These are like " the deep
borings into the flinty rock." To erase them we must remove
every strata of our being. Even the infidel lives under the
holy influence of a pious mother's impressions. John Rsin-
dolph could never shake ofiT the restraining influence of a little
prayer his mother taught him when a child. It preserved him
from the clutches of avowed infidolity.

The home influence is either a blessing or a curse, either for
good or for evil. It cannot be neutral. In either ease it is
mighty, commencing with our birth and going out with us
through life, clinging to us in death, and reaching into the eter-
nal world. It is that unitive power which arises out of the
manifold relations and associations of domestic life. The speci-
fic influences of husband and wife, of parent and child, of bro-
ther and sister, of teacher and pupil, united and harmoniously
blended, constitute the home influence.

From this we may infer the character of home influence. It
is great, silent, irresistible and permanent. Like the calm, deep
stream it moves on in silent, but overwhelming power. It
strikes its roots deep into the human heart, and spreads its
branches wide over our whole being. Like the lily that braves
the tempest, and " the Alpine flower that leans its cheek on
the bosom of eternal snows," it is exerted amid the wildest
storms of life and breathes a softening spell in our bosom even
when a heartless world is freezing up the founf^ain of sympathy
and love. It is governing, restraining, attracting and tradi-
tional. It holds the empire of the heart and rules the life. It
restrains the wayward passions of the child and checks him in
his mad career of ruin.

Oui' habits, too, are formed under the moulding power of
home. The "tender twig" is there bent, the spirit shaped,

HOME INFLUENCE.

piiuciples implanted, and the whole character is formed until
it becomes a habit. Goodness or evil are there " resolved into
necessity." Who does not feel this influence of home upon all
his habits of life? The gray-haired father who wails in his
second infancy, feels the traces of his childhood home in his
spirit, desires and habits. Ask the strong man in the prime of
life whether the most firm and relia jle principl&s of his char-
acter were not the inheritance of the parental home.

The most illustrious statesmen, the most distinguished war-
riors, the most eloquent ministers, and the greatest benefactors
of human kind, owe their greatness to the fostering influence
of home. Napoleon knew and felt this when he said, " What
France wants is go>, I mothera, and you may be sure then that
France will have good sons." The homes of the American re-
volution nade the men of the revolution. Their influence
reaches yet far into the inmost frame and constitution of our
glorious republic. It controls the fountains of her power, forms
the character of her citizens and statesmen, and shapes our
destiny as a people. Did not the Spartan mother and her home
give character to the Spartan nation ? Her lessons to her child
infused the iron nerve into the heart of that nation, and caused
her sons, in the wild tumult of battle, " either to live behind
thoir shields, or to die upon thom!" Her influence fired them
with a patriotism which was stronger than death. Fad it been
hallowed by the pure spirit and principles of Christianity what
a power of good it would have been!

But alas! the home of an Aspasia had not the heart and
ornaments of the Christian family. Though " the monuments
of Cornelia's virtues were the character of her children," yet
these were not " the ornaments of a quiet spirit." Had the
central heart of the Spartan home been that of the Christian
mother, the Spartan nation would now perhaps adorn the
brightest page of history.

Home, in all well-constituted minds, is always associated
with moral and social excellence. The higher men rise in the
scale of being, the more important and interesting is home.

HOME INFLUENCE.

The Arab or forest men may care little for his home, but tin*
Christian man of cultured heart and developed mind will love
his home, and generally love it in proportion to his moral worth.
He knows it is the planting-ground of every seed of morality
— the garden of virtue, and the nuraery of religion. He knows
that souls immortal are here trained for the skies; that private
worth and public character are made in its sacred retreat. To
love home with a deep and abiding interest, with a view to ita
elevating influence, is to love truth and right, heaven and Qod.
Our life abroad is but a reflex of what it is at home. We
make ourselves in a great measure at home. This is especially
true of woman. The woman who is rude, coarse and vulgar
at home, cannot be expected to be amiable, chaste and refined
in the world. Her home habits will stick to her. She cannot
shake them off. They are woven into the web of her life.
Her home language will be first on her tongue. Her home
by-words will come out to mortify her just when she wants
most to hide them in her heart. Her home vulgarities will
show their hideous forms to shock her most when she wants
to appear her best. Her home coarseness will appear most
when she is in the most refined circles, and appearing there
will abash her more than elsewhere. All her home habits will
follow her. They have become a sort of second nature to her.
It is much the same with men. It is indeed there that every
man must be known by those who would make a just estimate
either of his virtue or felicity ; for smiles and embroidery are
alike occaaional, and the mind is often dressed for show in
painted honour and fictitious benevolence. Every young
woman should feel that just what she is at home she will ap-
pear abroad. If she attempts to appear otherwise, everybody
will soon see through the attempt. We cannot cheat the world
long about our real characters. The thickest and most opaque
mask we can put on will soon become transparent. This fact
we should believe without a doubt. Deception most often
deceives itself The deceiver is the most deceived. The liar
u often the only one cheated. The young woman who pretendi

HOME INFLVBNOE.

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to what Bhe is not, believes her pretence is not understood.
Other people laugh in their sleeves at her fooli ^^ pretensiona.
Every young woman should early form in hei and an ideal
of a true fiome. It should not be the ideal of a place, but of
the chavdcter of Jvotm. Place does not constitute home. Many
a gilded palace and sea of luxury is not a home. Many a
flower-girt dwelling and splendid mansion lacks all the ess -
tiak of home. A hovel is often more a home than a palav .
If the spirit of the congenial friendship link not the hearts of
the inmates of a dwelling it is not a home. If love reign not
there ; if charity spread not her downy mantle over all ; if
peace prevail not ; if contentment be not a meek and merry
dweller therein ; if virtue rear not her beautiful children, and
religion come not in her white robe of gentleness to lay her
hand in benediction on every head, the home is not complete.
We are all in the habit of building for ourselves ideal homes*
But they are generally made up of outward things — a house, »
garden, a carriage, and the ornaments and appendages of luxuiy.
And if, in our lives, we do not realize our ideas, we make our-
selves miserable and our friends miserable. Half the women^
in our country are unhappy because their homes are not so^
luxurious as they wish.

The grand idea of home is a quiet, secluded spot, where lov-
ing hearts dwell, set apart and dedicated to i/mprovm%ent — to-
intellectual and moral improvement. It is not a formal school
of staid solemnity and rigid discipline, where virtue is made a
task and progress a sharp necessity, but a free and easy exer-
cise of all our spiritual limbs, in which obedience is a pleasure,
discipline a joy, improvement a self- wrought delight. All the
duties and labours of home, when rightly understood, are so
many means of improvement. Even the trials of home are so-
many rounds in the ladder of spiritual progress, if we but
make them so. It is not merely by speaking to children about
spiritual things that you win them over. If that be all yoo
do, it will accomplish nothing, less than nothing. It is the
sentiments which they hear at home, it is the maximg whii^.

HOME AMUi^EMENTS.

rule your daily conduct — the likings and dislikings which you
express — the whole regulations of the household, in dress, and
food, and furniture — the recreations you indulge — the company
you keep — the style of your reading — the whole complexion
of daily life — this creates the element in which your children
aie either growing in grace, and preparing for an eternity of
glory — or they are learning to live without God, and to die
without hope.

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'* ^TT HAVE been told by men, who have passed unharmed
(^r through the temptations of youth, that they owed their
escape from many dangers to the intimate companionship
of aflectionate and pure-minded sisters. They have been saved
from a hazardous meeting with idle company by some home en-
gagement, of which their sisters were the charms ; they have re-
frained from mixing with the impure, because they would not
bring home thoughts and feelings which they could not share
with those trusting and loving friends ; they have put aside
the wine-cup, and abstained from stronger potations, becaiuia
they would not profane wi^h their fumes the holy kiss, with
which they were accustomed to bid their sisters good-night,"

A proper amount of labour, well- spiced with sunny sports, is
almost absolutely necessary to the formation of a lirm, hardy,
physical constitution, and a cheerful and happy mind. Let all
youth not only learn to choose and enjoy proper amusements,
but let them learn to invent them at home, and use them there,
and thus form ideas of such homes as they shall wish to hare
their own children enjoy. Not half the people know how to
make a home. It is one of the greatest and most useful studies
of life to learn how to make a home — such a home as men, and
women, and children should dwell in. It ii> a study that should

€)omi: ^muftinn^ntft.

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HOME AMUSEMENTS.

b« early introduced to the attention of youth. It would be well
if books were written upon this most interesting subject, giv-
ing many practical rules and hints, with a long chapter on
Amusementa.

That was a good remark of Seneca, when he said, " Oreat is
he who enjoys his earthen-ware as if it were plate, and nofc
less great is the man to whom all his pUte is no more than
earthen-ware." Every home should be cheerful. Innocent joy
should reign in every heart. There should be domestic amuse-
ments, fireside pleasures, quiet and simple it may be, but such
as shall make home happy, and not leave it that irksome place
which will oblige the youthful spirit to look elsewhere for joy.
There are a thousand unobtrusive ways in which we may add
to the cheerfulness of home. The very modulations of the
voice will often make a wonderful difference. How many
shades of feeling are expressed by the voice ! What a chancre
comes over us at the change of its tones ! No delicately tuned
harpstring can awaken more pleasure ; no grating discord can
pierce with more pain.

Let parents talk much and talk well at home. A father who
IS habitually silent in his own house, may be in many respects
a wise man; but he is not wise in his silence. We sometimes
see parents who are the life of eveiy company which they
enter, dull, silent and uninteresting at home among the chil-
dren. If they have not mental activity and mental stories
sufficient for both, let them first provide for their own house-
hold. Ireland exports beef and wheat, and lives on potatoes-
and they fare as poorly who reserve their social charms for
companions abroad, and keep their ddness for home consump-
tion. It IB better to instruct children and make them ha.pv
at home, tnan it is to charm strangers or amuse friends. A
sdent house is a dull pla for young people, a place from which
they wnl escape if they can. They will talk of being "shut
up there ; and the youth who does not love home is in danger.
Ihe truo mother loves to see her son come home to her He
may be almost as big as her house; a whiskerando, with a.

HOME AMUSLMSNTS.

H-

much hail on his face ao would stuff her arm chair.snd she
may be a mere shred of a woman ; bub he's "her boy ;" and if
he grew twice as big he'd be " her boy " still ; aye, and if he
take unto himself a wife, he's her boy still, for all that She
does not believe a word of the old rhyme—

** Your Bon is your son till he gets him a wife ;
But your daughter's your daughter all the days of her life. **

And what will bring our boys back to our homesteads but
oar making those homesteads pleasant to them in their youth.
Let us train p. few roses on the humble wall, and their ecent
and beauty will be long remembered ; and many a lad, instead of
going to a spree, will turn to his old bed, and return to his work
again, strengthened, invigorated and refreshed, instead of bat-
tered, weakened, and, perhaps, disgraced.

Fathers, mothers, remember this : and if you would not have
your children lost to you in after-life — if you would have your
married daughters not forget their old home in the new one —
if you would have your sons lend a hand to keep you in the
old rose-covered cottage, instead of letting you go to the naked
walls of a workhouse — make home happy to them when they
are young. Send them out into the world in the full belief
•• that there is no place like home," aye, " be it ever so homely."
And even if the old home should, in the course of time, be
pulled dovra, or be lost to your children, it will still live in their
memories. The kind looks, and kind words, and thoughtful
love of those who once inhabited it, will not pass away. Your
home will be like the poet's vase —

** You may break, you may ruin, the vase if you will.
But the Boeut of the roses wUl cling to it stilL"

Music is an accomplishment usually valuable as a home en-
joyment, as rallying round the piano the various members of a
family, and harmonizing their hearts, as well as their voices
particularly in devotional strains. We know no more agree-
able and interesting spectacle than that of brothers and ttisten

'<M

TO YOUNG MSN

playing and singing together those elevated oompositious in
music and poetry which gratify the taste and purify the heart,
while their parents sit delighted by. We have seen and heard
an elder sister thus leading the family choir, who was the soul
of harmony to the whole household, and whose life was a per-
fect example. Parents should not fail to consider the great
value of home music. Buy a good instrument and teach your
family losing and play, then they can produce sufficient amuse-
ment at home themselves so the sons will not think of looking
elsbwhere for it, and thus often be led into dens of vice and
immorality. The reason that so many become dissipated, and
run to every place of amusement, no matter what its character,
making every effort possible to get away from home at night,
b the lack of entertainment at home.

jottn0

fOUNQ men I you are wanted. From the street comers,
from the saloons and playhouses, from the loafers' ren-
dezvous, from the idlers* promenade, turn your steps into
the highway of noble aim and earnest work. There are prizes
enough for every successful worker, crovras enough for every
honourable head that goes through the smoke of conflict to
victory.

There is within the young man an upspringing of lofty sen-
timent which contributes to his elevation, and though there
are obstacles to be surmounted and difficulties to be vanquished,
yet with truth for his watch-word, and leaning on his own noble
purposes and indefatigable exertions, he may crown his brow with
imperish&ble honours. He may never wear the warrior's crim-
son wreath, the poet's chaplet of bays, or the statesman's laur-
els ; though no grand universal truth may at his bidding stand

;■«;'

TO YOUNG MEN.

.15-

oonfeased to the world — ^though it may never be his to bring
to a successful issue a great political revolution — to be th«
founder of a republic whose name shall be a " distinguished
star in the constellation of nations " — ^yea, more, though his
name may never be heard beyond the narrow limits of his own
neighbourhood, yet is his mission none the less a high and
holy one.

In the moral and physical world, not only the field of battle,
but also the consecrated cause of truth and virtue calls for cham-
pions, and the field for doing good is " white unto the har-
vest ;" and if he enlists in the ranks, and his spirit faints not,
he may write his name among the stars of heaven. Beautiful
lives have blossomed in the darkest pla^^es, as pure white lilies
full of fragrance on the slimy, stagnant waters. No possession
is so productive of real influence as a highly cultivated intellect.
Wealth, birth, and official station may and do secure to their
possessors an external, superficial courtesy ; but they never
did, and they never can, command the reverence of the heart.
It is only to the man of large and noble soul, to him who blends
ft cultivated mind with an upright heart, that men yield the
tribute of deep and genuine respect.

But why do so few young men of early promise, whose hopes,
purposes, and resolves were as radiant as the colours of the rain-
bow, fail to distinguish themselves ? The answer is obvious ;
they are not willing to devote themselves to that toilsome cul-
ture which is the price of great success. Whatever aptitude for
particular pursuits nature may donate to her favourite children,
she conducts none but the laborious and the studious to dis-
tinction.

God put the oak in the forest, and the pine on its sand and
I'ocks, and says to men, " There are your houses ; go hew, saw,
frame, build, make." God makes the trees ; men must build the
houtte. God supplies the timber ; men must construct the ship.
Ood buries iron in the heart of the earth ; men must dig it, and
smelt it, and fashion it What is useful for the body, and, stiU
more, what is useful for the mind, is to be had only by exer*

.; i

mam

TO YOU NO MEN.

tion — exertion that will work men more than iron is wrought'—
that will shape men more than timber is shaped.

Great men have ever been men of thought as well as men of
■etion. Ah the magnificent river, rolling in the pride of ita
mighty waters, owes its greatness to the hidden springs of the
moiantain nook, so does the wide sweeping influence of dis-
tmgoished men date its origin from hours of privacy, resolutuly
employed in efforts after self-developrnent. The invisible spring
of self -culture is the source of every great achievement.

Away, then, young man, with all dreams of superiority, un-
less you are determined to dig after knowledge, as men search
for oonoealed gold ! Remember, that every man has in himself
the seminal principle of great excellence, and he nay develop
It by cultivation if he will try. Perhaps you are what the
world caUs poor. What of that ? Most of the men whose
names are as household words were also the children of pover-
ty. Captain Cook, the circumnavigator of the globe, was bom
in a mud hut, and started in life as a cabin boy. Lord Eldon,
who sat on the woolsack in the Bitish parliament for nearly
half a century, was the son of a coal merchant. Franklin, the
philosopher, diplomatist, and statesman, was but a poor printer's
boy, whose highest luxury at one time was only a penny roll,
eaten in tlie streets of Philadelphia. Ferguson, the profound
philosopher, was the son of a half-starved weaver. Johnson,
Goldsmith, Coleridge, and multitudes of othera of high dis-
tinction, knew the pressure of limited circumstances, and have
demonstrated that poverty even is no insuperable obstacle to
■access.

Up, then, young man, and gird yourself for the work of self-
eultivation ! Set a high price on your leisure moments. They
are sands of precious gold. Properly expended, they will pro*
<*«*?« for yoa a stock of great thoughts — ^thoughts that will liU
stir and invigorate, and expand the soul. Seize also on the an>
paralleled aids furnished b}'^ steam and type in this unequalled

■ge-

The great thoughts of great men are now to be procured at

I \

• • TllrBIIHHlnmnini

J i • f'

I <

TO YOUNG MEN.

prices almost nominal. You can, therefore, easily collect a
library of choice standard works. But above all, learn to re-
flect even more than 30U read. Without thought, books are
the sepulchre of the soul — they only immure it. Let thought
and reading go hand in hand, and the intellect will rapidly in-
crease in strength and gifts. Its possessor will rise in charac-
ter, in power, and in positive influence. A great deal of talent
is lost in the world for the want of a little courage. Eveiy
day sends to the grave a number of obscure men, vho have
only remained in obscurity because their tiuudity has pro-
vented them from making a first effort ; and who, if they could
havd been induced to begin, would, in all probability, have
gone gieftt lengths in the career of fame. The fact is, that to
do anything in this world worth doing, we mast not stand
back, shivering and thinking of the cold and the danger, but
jump in and scramble through as well as we can. It will not
do to be per]>etually calculating tasks, and adjusting nic«
chances ; it did veiy well before the flood, where a man could
consult his friends upon an intended publication for a hundred
and fifty yeai-s, and then live to see its success afterward ; but
at present a man waits and doubts, and hesitates, and consults
his brother, and his uncle, and particular friends, till, one fine
day, he finds that he is sixty years of age ; that he has lost so
much time in consulting his first cousin and particular friends,
that he has no more time to follow their advice.

Man is boi-n to dominion, but he must enter it by conquest,
and continue to do battle for every inch of ground added to liis
sway. His tirst exertions are put forth for the acquisition of
the control and the establishment of the authority of his own
will. With his first efforts to reduce his own physical power*
to subjection, he must simultaneously begin to subject his
mental faculties to control. Through the combined exertion
of his mental and physical powers, he lab .rs to spread hia
dominion over the widest possible extent of the world without.

Thus self-control and control over outward circumstai. 368
are alike the duty and the birthright of man. But self-oon-

TO YOUNG MEN,

trol is the highest and noblest form of dominion. * He that
nileth his own spirit is greatei- than he that taketh a city."

If you intend to marry, if you think your happiness will be
increased and your interests advanced by matnmony, be sure
and " look where you're going." Join yourself in xmion with
no woman who is selfish, for she will sacrifice you ; mth no one
who is fickle, for she will become estranged ; have naught to
do with a proud one, for she will ruin you. Leave a coquette
to the fools who flutter around her ; let her own fireside accom-
modate a scold ; and flee from a woman who loves scandal, as
you would flee from the evil one. " Loo': where you're going"
will sum it all up.

Gaze not on beauty too much, last it blast thee ; nor too long,
lest it blind thee ; nor too near, lest it bum thee ; if thou like
it, it deceives thee ; if thou love it, it disturbs thee ; if thou
lust after it, it destroys thee ; if virtue accompany it, it is the
heart's paradise ; if vice associate it, it is the soul's purgatory ;
it is the wise man's bonfire, and the fool's furnace. The God-
less youth is infatuated by a fair face, and is lured to his fata
by a syren's smile. He takes no counsel of the Lord and is left
to follow his own shallow fancies or the instigations of his pas-
sions. The time will surely come in his life when he will not
so much want a pet as a heroine. In dark and trying days,
when the waves of misfortune are breaking over him, Rnd one
home comfort, and another, and another is swept away, the
piano — the grand instrument — gone to the creditors, the family
turned out on the sidewalk by the heartless landlord, then
what is the wife good for if her lips that accompanied the
piano in song, cannot lift alone the notes, " Jesus, lover of my
soul," etc. The strongest arm in this world is not the arm of
a blacksmith, nor the arm of a giant; it is the arm of a uxyraan,
when Gbd has put into it, through faith and submission to His
will, his own moral omnipotence. If there is one beautiful spot
on .Arth, it is the home of the young family consecrated by piety,
the abode of the Holy Spirit, above which the hovering angels
touch their wings, forming a canopy of protection and sanctity.

Ulllllllllpl

"iwhiHtfir

TO YOUNG MEN,

There is no moral object so beautiful to me as a oonscientiooa
young man. I watch him as I do a star in the heavens ; cloudi
may be before him, but we know that his light is behind them
and will beam again ; the blaze of others' popularity may out-
sliine him, but we know that, though unseen, he illuminates
his own true sphere. He resists temptation, not without a
struggle, for that is not virtue, but he does resist and conquer ;
he bears the sarcasm of the profligate, and it stings him, for
that is a trait of virtue, but heals the wound with his own pure
touch. He heeds not the watchword of fashion if it leads to
sin ; the Atheist, who says not only in his heart, but with his
lips, " There is no God ! " controls him not ; he sees the hand of
a creating God, and rejoices in it. Woman is sheltered by
fond arms and loving counsel ; old age is protected by its ex-
perience, and manhood by its strength ; but the young man
stands amid the temptations of the world like a self-balanced
tower. Happy he who seeks and gains the prop and shelter
of morality. Onward, then, conscientious youth — raise thy
standard and nerve thyself for goodness. If God has given
thee intellectual power, awaken in that cause ; never let it be
said of thee, he helped to swell the tide of sin by pouring his
influence into its channels. If thou art feeble in mental
strength, throw not that drop into a polluted current. Awake,
arise, young man ! assume that beautiful garb of virtue ! It is
difficult to be pure and holy. Put on thy strength, then. Let
truth be the lady of thy love — defend her.

A young man came to an aged professor of a distinguished
continental university, with a smiling face, and informed him
that the long and fondly cherished desire of his heart was at
length fulfilled — his parents had given their consent to his
studying the profession of the law. For some time he contin-
ued explaining how he would spare no labour nor expense in
perfecting his education. When he paused, the old man, whc
had been listening to him with great patience and kindness,
gently said, " Well I and when you have finished your studies,
what do you mean to do then ? " " Then I shall take my de-

. — 'j;

TO YOUNQ WOMEN. M

\gvee^ answered the young man. "And then?" asked the
venerable friend, " And then ? " continued the youth, " I
shall have a number of diflScult cases, and shall attract notice,
and win a great reputation." " And then ? " repeated the holy
man. " Why then," replied the youth, " I shall doubtless be
promoted to some high office in the State." " And then ? "
" And then," pursued the young lawyer, " I shall live in honour
and wealth, and look forward to a happy old age." " And
then ? " repeated the old man. " And then," said the youth, " and
then — ^and then — and then I shall die." Here the venerabloi
listener lifted up his voice, and again asked, with solemnity and
emphasis, " And then ? " Whereupon the aspiring student
made no answer, but cast down his head and in silence and
thoughtfulness retired. The last " And then ? " had pierced
his heart like a sword, had made an impression which he could
not dislodge. >

J0itn^

L0mtn.

" HAT is womanhood ? Is there any more important ques-
tion for young women to consider than this ? It should
be the highest ambition of every young woman to
jpossess a true womanhood. Earth presents no higher object of
attainment. To be a woman, in the truest and highest senjse of
the woi*d, is to be the best thing beneath the skies. To be a
woman is something more than to live tlghteen or twenty
years ; something more than to grow to the physical stature of
woman ; something more than to wear flounces, exhibit dry*
goods, sport jewellery, catch the gaze of lewd-eyed men ; somo
thing more than to be a belle, a wife, or a mother. Put all these
qualifications together and they do but little toward making a
true woman.
Bei.uty and style are not the surest passports to womanhood

— iiUfW^'W l«WM ■

wmm

TO YOUNG WOMEN.

— some of the noblest specimens of womanhood that the world
has ever seen, have presented the plainest and most unprepos-
sessing appearance. A woman's worth is to be estimated by
the real goodness of her heart, the greatness of her soul, and
the purity and sweetness of her character ; and a woman with
a kindly disposition and well-balanced temper, is both lovely
and attractive, be her face ever so plain and her figure ever so
homely ; she makes the best of wives and the truest of mothers.
She has a higher purpose in living than the beautiful, yet vain
and supercilious woman, who has no higher ambition ohan to
flaunt her finery on the street, or to gratify her inordinate
vanity by extracting flattery and praise from society, whose
compliments are as hollow as they are insincere.

Beauty is a dangerous gift. It is even so. Like wealth it
has ruined its thousands. Thousands of the most beautiful
women are destitute of common sense and common humanity.
No gift from heaven is so general and so widely abused by
woman as the gift of beauty. In about nine cases in ten it
makes her silly, senseless, thoughtless, giddy, vain, proud, friv-
olous, selfish, low and mean. I think I have seen more girls
spoiled by beauty than by any other one thing. " She is beau-
tiful, and she knows it," is as much as to say she is spoiled.
A beautiful girl is very likdly to believe she wias made to be
looked at ; and so she sets htrsclf up for a show at every win-
dow, in every door, on every i',orner of the street, in every com-
pany at which opportunity cSeva for an exhibition of herself,
and Ijelieving and acting thus, she soon becomes good for no-
thing else, and when she conies to be a middle-aged woman
she is that weakest, most sickening of all human things — a faded
beauty.

These facts have long since taught sensible men to beware oi
beautiful women — to sound them carefully before they give
them their confidence. Beauty is shallow — only skin-r^'p;
fleeting — only for a few years' reign ; dangerous — tempting to
vanity and lightness of mind ; deceitful — dazzling often to be-
wilder ; weak — reigning only to ruin ; gross —leading often to

^4-

TO YOUNG WOMEN.

Bensual pleasure. And yet we say it need not be so. Beauty
is lovely and ought to be innocently possessed. It has charms
which ought to be used for good purjioses. It is a delightful
gift, which ought to be received with giatitude and worn with
grace and meekness. It should always minister to inward
beauty. Every woman of beautiful form and features should
cultivate a beautiful mind and heart.

Young women ought to hold a steady moral sway over theii
male associates, so strong as to prevent them from becoming
such lawless rowdies. Why do they not ? Because they do
not possess sufficent furce of character. They have not suffici-
ent resolution and energy of purpose. Their virtue is not vigor-
ous. Their moral wills are not resolute. Their influence is not
armed with executive power. Their goodness ib not felt as an
earnest force of benevolent purpose. Their moral convictions
zse not regarded as solemn resolves to be true to God and duty,
come what may. This is the virtue of too many young women.
They would not have a drunkard for a husband, but they would
drink a glass of wine with a fast young man. They would not
U3e profane language, but they are not shocked by its incipient
language, and love the society of men whom they know are as
profane as Lucifer out of their presence. They would not be
dishonest, but they will use a thousand deceitful words and
ways, and countenance the society of men known as hawkers,
sharpers and deceivers. They would not be irreligious, but they
smile upon the most irreligious men, and even show that they
love to be wooed by them. They would not be licentious, but
they have no stunning rebuke for licentious men, and will even
admit them on parol into their society. This is the virtue of
too many women — a virtue scarcely worthy the name — really
no virtue at all — a milk-and-water substitute — a hypocritical,
hollow pretension to virtue as unwomanly as it is disgraceful
We believe that a young lady, by her constant, consistent Chris-
tian example, may exert an untold power. You do not know
ihe respect and almost worship which young men, no matter
how wicked they may be themselves, pay to a consistent Chris-

TO YOUNG WOMEN,

<;.

1' i 1

'S '

tian lady, be she young or old. Tf a young man sees that the relig-
ion which, in youth, he was taught to venerate, is lightly thought
of, and perhaps sneertd at, by the young ladies with whom he
aasociates, we can hardly expect him to think that it is the
thing for him. Let none say that they have no influence at all.
This is not possible. You cannot live without having some sort
of influence, any more than you can without breathing. One
thing is just as unavoidable as the other. Beware, then, what
kind of influence it is that you are constantly exerting. An in-
vitation to take a glass of wine, or to play a game of cards, may
kindle the fires of intemperance or gambling, which will bum
forever. A jest given at the expense of religion, a light, trifl-
ing manner in the house of God, or any of the numerous wayi
in which you may show your disregard for the souls of othera,
may be the means of ruining many for time and eternity.

We want the girls to rival the boys in all that is good, and
refined, and ennobling. We want them to rival the hoja, as
they well can, in learning, in understanding, in virtues ; in all
noble qualities of mind and heart, but not in any of those
things that have caused them, justly or unjustly, to be described
as savages. We want the girls to be gentle — not weak, but gentle
— and kind and afiectionate. We want to be sure, that whero-
ever a girl is, there should be a sweet, subduing and harmon-
izing influence of purity, and truth, and love, pervading and
hallowing, from centre to circumference, the entire circle in
which she moves. If the boys are savages, we want her to be
their civilizer. We want her to tame them, to subdue their
ferocity, to soften their manners, and to teach them all needful
lessons of order, and sobriety, and meekness, and patience and
goodness.

The little world of self ia not the limit that is to confine all
her actions. Her love wa» not destined to waste ita fires in
the narrow chamber of a single human heart ; no, a broader
sphere of action is hers — a more expansive benevolence. The
light and heat of her love are to be seen and felt far and wide.
Who would not rather thus live a true life, than sit shiveri*^

TO YOUNG WOMEN.

#ver the smouldering embers of self-love ? BTappy is that
maiden who seeks to live this true life I As time passes on,
her own character will be elevated and purified. Gradually
will she return toward that order of her being, which was lost in
the declension of mankind from that original state of excellence
in which they were created. She will become, more and more,
a true woman ; will grow wiser, and better, and happier. Her
path through the world will bo as a shining light, and all who
know her will call her blessed.

A right view of life, then, which all should take at the out-
set, is the one we have presented. Let every young lady
seriously reflect upon this subject. Let her remember that she
is not designed by her Creator to live for herself alone, but
has a higher and nobler destiny — that of doing good to other
— of making others happy. As the quiet streamlet that runs
along the valley nourishes a luxuiiant vegetation, causing
flowers to bloom and birds to sing along its banks, so do a kind
look and happy countenance spread peace and joy around.

Kindness is the ornament of man — it is the chief glory of
woman — it is, indeed, woman's true prerogative — her sceptre
•»nd her crown. It is the sword with which she conquers, and
Me charm with which she captivates.

Young lady, would you be admired and beloved ? would you
be an ornament to your sex, and a blessing to your race ? Cul-
tivate this heavenly virtue. Wealth may surround you with
its blandishments, and beauty, learning, or talents, may give you
admirers, but love and kindness alone can captivate the heart.
Whether you live in a cottage or a palace, these graces can sur-
round you with perpetual sunshine, making you, and all around
you, happy.

Seek ye, then, fair daughters ! the possession of that inward
grace, whose essence shall permeate and vitalize the affections,
— adorn the countenance, — make mellifluous the voice, — and
impart a hallowed beauty even to your motions. Not merely
that you may be loved, would I urge this, but that you may,
in truth, be lovely, — that loveliness that fades not with time,
nor is marred or alienated by disease, but which neither chance

.5!,-

DJ UGHTER AND SIST.SR.

nor change can in any way despoil. We urge you, gentle
maiden, to beware of the silken enticements of the stranger,
until your love is confirmed by protracted acquaintance Shun
the idler, though his coffers overflow with pelf Avoid the
irreverent — the scoffer of hallowed things ; and him " who
looks upon the wine w' oa \\- is red ; " — ^him, too, " who hath a
a high look and a proud heart," and who " privily slandereth
his neighbour." Do not heed the specious prattle about " first
love," and so place, irrevocably, the seal upon your future des-
tiny, before you have sounded, in silence and secresy, the deep
fountains of your own heart. Wait, rather, until your own
character and that of him who would woo you, is more fully
developed. Surely, if this " first love " cannot endure a short
probation, fortified by " the pleasures of hope," how can it be
expected to survive years of intimacy, scenes of trial, distract-
ing cares, wasting sickness, and all the homely routine of prac-
tical life. Yet it is these that constitute life, and the love thai
eaonot abide them, is false, and must die.

iatijg^ter untt msitt.

I i

J HERE are few things of which men are more proud than
of their daughters. The young father follows the sport-
ive girl with his eye, as he cherishes an emotion of com-
placency, not so tender, but quite as active as the mother's.
The aged father leans on his daughter as the crutch of his de-
clining years. An old proverb says that the son is son till he id
married, but the daughter is daughter forever. This is some-
thing like the truth. Though the daughter leaves the parental
roo^ she is still followed by kindly regards. The gray-haired
fikther drops in every day to greet the beloved face ; and when
he pats the cheeks of the little grandchildren, it is chiefly be-
cause title bond which unites him to them passes through the

DA VanTBR AND SJSTBR.

■■> ■•?

heart of hip darling Mary ; she is his daughter still. There
are other ministries of love more conspicuous than hers, but
none in which a gentler, lovelier spirit dwells, and none to
which the heart's warm requitals more joyfully respond.
There is no such thing as comparative estimate of a parent's
affection for one or another child. There is little which he
needs to covet, to whom the treasure of a good child has been
given. A good daughter is the steady light of her parents' house.
Her idea is indissolubly connected with that of his happy fire-
side. She is his morning sunlight, and his evening star.

The grace and vivacity, and tenderness of her sex, have their
place in the mighty sway which she holds over his spirit. The
lessons of recorded wisdom which he reads with her eyes, come
to his mind with a new charm, as they blend with the beloved
melody of her voice. He scarcely knows weariness which her
song does not make him forget, or gloom which is proof against
the young brightness of her smile. She is the pride and orna-
ment of his hospitality, and the gentle nurse of his sickness,
and the constant agent in those nameless, numberless acts of
kindness which one chiefly cares to have rendered because they
are unpretending, but all expressive proofs of love.

But now, turning to the daughters themselves, one of their
first duties at hom . to make their mother happy— to shun
all that would pain or even perplex her. " Always seeking the
pleasure of others, always careless of her own," is one of the
finest encomiums ever pronounced upon a daughter. Time :
at that period of life when dreams are realities, and realities
seem dreams, this may be forgotten. Mothers may find only
labour and sorrow where they had a right to expect repose ;
but the daughter who would make her home and her mother
happy, should learn betimes that, next to duty to God our
Saviour, comes duty to her who is always the first to rejoice in
our joy, and to weep when we weep. Of all the proofs of
heartlessness which youth can give, the strongest is indiffer-
ence to a mother's happiness or sorrow.

How lai^e and cherished a place does a good sister's love

DAUQUTER AND SISTER.

w -
; .>■■ .

always hold in the grateful memory of one who has been
blessed with the benefits of this relation, as he looks back to
the home of his childhood I How many are there who, in the
changes of maturor 3'ear8, have found a sister'j love, for them-
selves, and others dearer than themselves, their ready and ade-
quate resource. With what a sense of security is confidence
reposed in a good sister, and with what assurance that it will
be uprightly and considerately given, is her counsel sought I
How intimate is the friendship of such sisters, not widely sepa-
rated in age from one another 1 What a reliance for warning,
excitement, and sympathy has each secured in each ! How
many are the brothers to whom, when thrown into circum-
stances of temptation, the thought of a sister's love has been
a constant, holy presence, rebuking every wayward thought 1

The intercourse of brothers and sisters forms another impor-
tant element in the happy influences of home. A boisterouM
or a selfish boy may try to domineer over the weaker or more
dependent girl, but generally the latter exerts a softening,
sweetening charm. The brother animates and heartens, the
sister mollifies, tames, refines. The vine-tree and its sudtaining
elm are the emblems of such a relation — ^and by such agencies
our " sons may become like plants grown up in their youth, and
our daughters like comer-stones polished after the similitude
of a temple." Among Lord B3n:on's early miseries, the terma
on which he lived with his mother helped to sour the majestic
moral ruin — he was chafed and distempered thereby. The
outbreaks of her passion, and the unbridled impetuosity of his,
made their companionship uncongenial, and at length drove
them far apart. But Byron found a compensating power in
the friendship of his sister, and to her He often turned amid
his wanderings, or his misanthropy and guilt, as an exile turns
to his home. " A world to roam in and a home with thee "
were words which embodied the feelings of his void and aching
heart, when all else that is lovely appeared to have faded away
He had plunged into the pleasures of sin till he was sated,
wretched, and self-consumed — the very Sardanapalus of vice.

■m^mmp^0k\

DAUGHTER AND SISTER.

But " his Bister, his sweet Bistor," still hone like the morning
star of memory upon hiy dark soul.

Sisters scarcely know the influenco they have over their
brothers. A young man testifies that the greatest proof of
the truth of (Christian religion was his sister's life. Often the
simple request of a lady will keep a young man from doing
wrong. We have known this to be the case very frequently;
and young men have been kept from breaking the Sabhath,
from drinking, from chewing, just because a lady whom they
respected, and for whom thoy had an affection, requested it.
A tract given, an invitation to go to church, a request that
your f liend would read the Bible daily, will often bo regarded,
when a more powerful appeal from other sources would fall
unheeded upon his heart. Many of the gentlemen whom you
meet in society are away from the influence of parents and
sisters, and thoy will respond to any interest taken in their
welfare. We ail speak of a young man's danger from evil as-
sociates, and thf' very bad influence which hia dissipated gen-
tlemen associates have upon him. Wc believe it is all true
that a gentleman's character is formed to a greater extent by
the ladies that he associates with before he becomes a complete
man of the world. We think, in other words, that a young man is
pretty much what his sisters and young lady friends choose to
make him. We know & family where the sisters encouraged
their young brothers to smoke, thinking it was manly, and to
mingle with gay, dissipated fellows, because they thought it
" smart ; " and they did mingle with them, boi^y and soul, and
abused the same sisters shamefully. The influence began fur-
ther back than with their gentleman companions. It began
with their sisters, and was carried on through the forming years
of their character. On the other hand, if sisters are watchful
and aflectionate they may in various ways — by entering into
any little plan with interest, by introducing their younger bro-
tbeaa into good ladies' society — lead them along till their char-
acter is formed, and then a high respect for ladies, and a manly
self-respect, will keep them from mingling in low society.

ASSOCIATES,

issoAnUs,

'ti,

Thou art noble ; yot, I «ee.
Thy honourable Metal may be wrought
From that it is disposed. Therefore 'tis meet
That noble Minda keep ever with their Likes .
For wiio so hrm, that cannot be seduced ]

— Shahpeart.

N author is known by his writings, a mother by hei
daughter, a fool by his words, and all men by their
companions.

Intercourse with persons of decided virtue and excellence w
of great importance in the formation of a good character. The
force of example is powerful ; we are creatures of imitation, and,
by a necessary influei ce, our tempers and habits are Tery much
formed on the model of those mth whom we familiarly asso-
ciate. Better be alone than in bad company. Evil communi*
cations corrupt good manners. Ill q'. alities are catching as
well as diseases ; and the mind is at least as much, if not a
great deal more, liable to infection, than the body. Go with
mean people, and you think life is mean.

The human lace requires to ba educated, and it is doubtless
true that the greattir part of that education is obtained through
example rather than precept. This is especially true respecting
character and habits. How natural is it for a child to look up
ta those around him for an example of imitation, and how read-
ily does he copy all that he sees done, good or bad 1 The im-
portance of a good example on which the young may exercise
this powerful and active element of their natui e, is a matter of
the utmost moment. To the Phrenologist every faculty as-
sumes an importance almost infinite, and perhaps none more
so than that of imitation. It is a trite, but true maxim, that
•• a man Ls known by the company he keeps." He naturally
assimilates, by the force of imitation, to tlie habits and man*

ASSOCIATES.

7»

Aera of those by whom he is surrounded. We know persona^
who wiilk much with the lame, who have learned to walk with
a hitch or limp like tlieir lame friends. Vice stalks in the
streets unabashed, and children copy it. Witness the urchin
seven years old trying to ape his seniors in folly, by smoking
the cigar-stumps which they have cast aside. In time, when
his funds improve, he will wield the long nine, and be a full-
fledged " loafer." This faculty is usually more active in the
young than in adult life, and serves to lead them to imitate
that which their seniors do, before their reasoning powers are
sufficiently developed and instructed to enable them to reason
out a proper course of action. Thus by copying others, they
do that which is appropriate, right, or wrong, without know-
ing why, or the principles and consequences involved in their
actions.

The awfully sad consequences of evil associations is exhibited
in the history of almost all criminals. The case of a man named
Brown, executed in Toronto, Canada, some years ago, is an
example. He was bom in Cambridgeshire, England, of parents
who were members of the Church of England; and in a sketch
of his life, written at his dictation, he attiibutes his downfall
to early disobedience and to bad companions, which led to dis-
sipation and finally plunged him into associations with the
most dissolute and lawless characters. They led him on in
transgression and sin, which ended in his being brought to the
scaffold- On the gallows he made the following speech : " 'Hiia
is a solemn day for me, boys ! I hope it will be a warning lo
you against bad company — I hope it will be a lesson to all
yonng people, and old as well as young, rich and poor. It waa
♦iiat that brought me here to-day to my last end, though I am
innocent of the murder I am about to suffer for. Before my
God I am innocent of the murder ! I never committed this of
i.ny other murder. I know nothing of it. I am going to meet
my Maker in a few minutes. May the Lord have mercy on my
soul !* What a terrible warning bis melancholy example af-
fords to young men never to deviate from the straight line oi

4^;

Tf,-

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*^-'
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ASSOCIATES.

duty. Live with the culpable, and you will be very likely to
die with the criminal. Bad company is like a nail driven into
a post, which after the first or second blow, may be drawn out
with little difficuU^ ; but being once driven in up to the head,
the pinchers cannot take hold to draw it out, which can only
be done by the destruction of the wood. You may be ever so
pure, you cannot associate with bad companions without falling
into bad odour. Evil company is like tobacco smoke — ^you can-
not be long in its presence without carrying away taint of it.
" Let no man deceive himself," says Petrarch, " by thinking that
the contagions of the soul are less than those of the body. They
are yet greater ; they sink deeper, and come on more unsuspect-
edly." From impui'e air, we take diseases ; from bad company,
vice and imperfection. Avoid, as much as you can, the com-
pany of all vit as persons whatever ; for no vice is alone, and
all are infectious.

Men carry unconscious signs of their life about them, those
that corae from the forge and those from the lime and mortar,
and those from dus*«* travel bear signs of being workmen and
of their work. One needs not ask a merry face or a sad one
A'hether it hath come from joy or from grief. Tears and laugh-
tor tell their own story. Should one come home with fruit,
we say — " You have come from the orchard." If with hands
fiili of wild flowers, " You have come from the Held." If one's
garments smell of mingled odours, we say, " You have walked
in a garden." So with associations — those that walk with the
jtist, the upright, have the sweetest incense that has ever an-
ointed man. Let no man deceive himself.

Do you love the society of the vulgar ? Then you are already
debased in your sentiments. Do you seek to be with the pro-
fane ? in your heart you are like them. Are jestei-s and
buffoons your choice friends ? He who loves to laugh at
folly is himself a fool. Do you love and seek the society
of the wise and good ? Is this your h»bit ? Had you rather
take the lowest seat among these than the highest seat among
others ? Then you have already learned to be good. You may

u :

ASSOCIATES.

not make very much progress, but even a good beginning is
not to be despised Hold on your way, and seek to be the
companion of those that fear God. Sc you shall be wise for
yourself, and wise for eternity.

No man of position can allow himself to associate, without
prejudice, with the profane, the Sabbath-breakei-s, the drunken
and the licentious, for he lowers himself, without elevatinjw
them. The sweep is not made the less black by rubbing against
the well-dressed and the clean, while they are inevitably de-
filed. Nothing elevates us so much as the presence of a spirit
similar, yet superior, to our own. What is companionship,
where nothing that improves the intellect is communicated,
and where the larger heart cuntjacts itself to the model and
dimension of the smaller ?

" Washington was wont to say, " Be courteous to all, but inti-
mate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give
them your confidence." It should be the aim of young men to
go into good society. We do not mean the rich, the proud
and fashionable, but the society of the wise, the intelligent and
good. Where you find men that know more than you do, and
from whose conversation one can gain information, it is always
safe to be found. It has broken down many a man by associ-
ating V )h the low and vulgar, where the ribald song and the
indecent story were introduced to excite laughter. If you wish
to be respected — if you desire happiness and not misery, we
advise you to associate with the intelligent and good. Strive
for mental excellence and strict integrity, and you never will
be found in the sinks of pollution, and on the benches of re-
tailers and gamblers. Once habituate yourself to a virtuous
course — once secure a love of good society, and no punishment
would be greater than by accident to bo obliged for a half a
day to associate with the low and vulgar. Try to frequent th©
company of your betters. In book and life it is the most
wholesome society ; learn to admire rightly ; that is the great
pleasure of life. Note what the great men admire — they ad-
mire great things ; narrow spirits admire basely and worship

- >< V

■4g.t

. i. L 1 Jiiu,uij.aiiJiyatfjBj

ASSOCIATES.

.,.*.

meanly. Some persons choose their associates as they do other
useful animals, preferring those from whom they expect the
most service. Procure no friends in haste, nor, if once secured,
in haste abandon them. Be slow in choosing an associate and
slower to change him ; slight no man for poverty, nor esteem
any one for his wealth. Good friends should not be easily for-
gotten, nor used as suits of apparel, which, when we have worn
them threadbare, we cast off and call for new. When once
you profess yourself a friend, endeavour to be always such.
He can never have any true fnends that will be often chang-
ing them. Whoever moves you to part with a true and tried
friend, has certainly a design to make way for a treacherous
enemy. To part with a tried friend without very great prov-
ocation, is unreasonable levity. Nothing but plain malevo-
lence can justify disunion. The loss of a friend is like that of
a limb ; time may heal the anguish of the wound, but the loss
cannot be repaired.

Wlien you have once found your proper associate, then stick
to him — make him your friend — a close friend ; do all you can
to improve him and learn all you can of him ; let his good
qualities become yours ; one is not bound to bear a part in the
follies of a friend, but rather to dissuade him from them ; even
though he cannot consent to tell him plainly, as Phocian did An-
tipater, who said to him, "1 c.nnot be both your friend and flat-
terer." It is a good rule always to back your friends and face
your enemies. Whoever would reclaim his friend, and bring
him to a true and perfect understanding of himself, may pri-
vately admonish, but never publicly reprehend him. An open
admonition is an open disgrace.

Have the courage to cut the most agreeable acquaintance you
have, when you are convinced he lacks principle ; a friend
should bear with a friend's infirmities, but not with his vices.
He that does a base thing in zeal for his friend burns the
golden thread that ties their hearts together.

Tf you have once chosen the proper person us an aanociate
and a friend, then you have a friend for lifetime, and you will

ASSOCIATES.

7»

atways cherish and honour him ; but the neglected child, the
reckless youth, the wrecked and wretched man will haunt you
with memories of melancholy, with grief and despair. How
we will curse those associates that dragged us down to ruin
and destruction, and how love to repeat the names of old
friends.

" Old friends 1 " What a multitude of deep and varied emo-
tions are called forth from the soul by the utterance of these
two words. What thronging memories of other days crowd
the brain when they are spoken. Ah, there is a magic in the
sound and the spell which it creates is both sad and pleasing.
As we sit by our fireside, while the winds are making wild
melody without the walls of our cottage, and review the scenes
of by-gone years which flit before us in quick succession, dim
and shadowy as the recollections of a dream — how those "old
familiar faces " will rise up and haunt our vision with their
well remembered features. But ah, where are they ? those
friends of our youth — those kindred spirits who shared our
joy and sorrows when first we started in the pilgrimage of life.
Companions of our early days, they are endeared to us by
many a tie, and we now look back through the vista of years
upon the hours of our communion, as upon green oases in a
sandy waste. Years have passed over us with their buds and
flowers, their fruits and snows ; and where now are those " old
familiar faces ? " They are scattered, and over many of their
last narrow homes the thistle waves its lonely head ; " after
life's fitful fever they sleep well." Some are buffeting the
billows of time's stormy sea in distant lands ; though they are
»l>8tont, our thoughts are often with thera-

mmrnmrn

go INFLUENCE.

Snfltteitee.

WAY up among the Alleghanies there is a spring so
small that a single ox, on a summer's day, could drain it
dry. It steals its unobtrusive wr 7 among the h ills, till it
spreads out into the beautiful Ohio, luence it stretches away
a thousand miles, leaving on its banks more than a hundred
villages and cities and many a cultivated farm ; then joining
the Mississippi, it stretches away some twelve hundred miles
more, till it falls into the emblem of eternity. It is one of the
greatest tributaries to the ocean, which obedient only to God,
shall roar till the angel with one foot on the sea and the other
on the land, shall swear that time shall be no longer. So with
moral influence. It is a rill — a rivulet — an oceaui and as bound-
less and fathomless as eternity.

"The stone, flung from my careless hand into the lake,
splashed down into the depths of the flowing water, and that
was all. No, it was not all. Look at those concentric rings,
rolling their tiny ripples among the sedgy reeds, dippliug the
overhanging Loughs of yonder willow, and producing an influ-
ence, slight but conscious, to the very shores of the lake itself.
That stray word, that word of pride or scorn, flung from my
lips in casual company, produces a momentary depression, and
that is alL No, it is not all. It deepened that man's disgust at
godliness, and it sharpened the edge c ! f hat man's sarcasm, and
it shamed that half- converted one out of his penitent misgiv-
ings, and it produced an intiuence, slight, but eternal, on the
destiny of a human life. O, it is a terrible power that 1 have
— this power of influence — and it clings to me. I cannot shake
it off. It is born with me ; it has grown with my growth, and
is strengthened with my strength. It speaks, it walks, it moves ;
it is powerful in every look of my eye, in every word of my
lips, in every act of ray life. I cnnnot live to myself. I must
either be a light to illumine, or u tempest to destroy. I must

UABIT.

either be an Abel, who, by his immortal righteousness, being
dead yet speaketh, or an Achan, the sad continuance of whose
otherwise forgotten name is the proof that man perishes not
alone in his iniquity. Dear reader, this necessary element of
power belongs to you. The sphere may be contracted, thine
influence may be small, but a sphere and influence you surely
hpve."

Every human being is a centre of influence for good or for ill.
No man can live unto himself. The meshes of a n t are not
more surely knit together than man to man. We may forget
this secret, silent influence. But we are exerting it by our
deeds, we are exerting it by our words, we are exerting it by
our very thoughts — and he is wise with a wisdom more than
that of earth who seeks to put forth the highest power for
good, be his home a hut or a hall, a cabin or a palace.

«••»

ABIT in a child is at first like a spider's web ; if neglected
it becomes a thread of twine ; next, a cord of rope ;
finally, a cable — then who can break it ? There are habits
contracted by bad example, or bad management, be^ ).o we have
judgment to discern their approaches, or because the eye of
reason is laid asleep, or has not compass of view sufl&cient to
look around on every quarter.

O, the iyra.miy, the despotism of a bad habit 1 Coleridge, one
of the subtlest intellects and finest poets of his time, battled
for twenty years before he could emancipate himself from his
tyrant, opium. He went into voluntary imprisonment. He
hired a man to watch him day and night, and keep him by
force from tasting the pernicious drug. He formed resolution
after resolution. Yet, during all the best years of his life, he

.1 \rv*

: :

HABIT.

wasted his substance and his health, neglected his family, and
lived degraded and accursed becmise he had not resolution to
abstain. He would lay plans to clieat the very man whom he
had paid to keep the drug from him, and bribed the gaoler to
whom he had voluntarily surrendered himself.

Terrible, terrible is t' ^ despotism of a bad habit. The case
of Coleridge is an extreme one of course. But there are many,
whose eyes these lines will meet, who are as truly the slaves of
a perverted r.ppetite as he. Their despot may be opium, to-
bacco, drink, or worse ; but they are so completely under the
dominion of their master, that nothing short of a moral war
of independence, which should task all their own strength, and
all they could borrow from others, would suffice to deliver
them.

J. B. Gough uses the following as a powerful illustration ; I
remember once riding from Buffalo to Niagara Falls. I said to
a gentleman, *• What river is that, sir ? "

" That," he said, is " Niagara river."

" Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I ; " bright and fair and
glassy ; how far off are the rapids ? "

" Only a mile or two," was the reply.

" Is it possible that only a mile from ua we shall find the
water in the turbulence which it must show near to the Falls ? *'

* You will find it so, sir." And so I fovmd it ; and the first
sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now, launch your bark
on that Niagara river ; it is bright, smooth, beautiful and
glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; the silver wave you
leave behind adds to the enjoyment.

Down the stream you glide, oars, sails and helm in proper
trim, and you set out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly
Botae one cries out from the bank, " Young men, ahoy 1 "

"What is it?"

** The rapids are below you."

" Ha ! ha ! we have heard of the rapids, but we are not such
fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with
Qm helm and steer to the shore ; we will set the mast in the

HABIT.

?■

loekefc, hoist the sail, and speed to the land. Then on, boys ;
don't hi, alarmed — there is no danger."

" Young men, ahoy there 1 "

"What is it?"

* The rjipids are below you ! "

" Ha ! ha ! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us.
What care we for the future ! No man ever saw it. Sufficient
for the day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life while wa
may; will catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoyment; time
enough to steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with
the current."

" Young men, ahoy I **

•• What is it ? "

* Beware ! Beware ! The rapids are below you ! *

Now you see the water foaming all arc^und. See how fast
you pass that point ! Up with the helm ! Now turn ! Pull hard !
quick ! quick ! quick ! pull for your lives \ pull till the blood
starts from the nostrils, and the veins stand Uke whip-cords upon
the brow ! Set the mast in the socket ! hoist the sail ! — ah !
ah ! it is too late ! Shrieking, howling, cursing, blaspheming,
over they go !

Thousands go over the rapids every year, through the power
of habit, crying all the while, " When I find out that it is in-
juring me I will give it up ! "

Few people form habits of wrong-doing deliberately or wil-
fully; they glide into them by degrees aad almost uncon-
aciously, and before they are aware of danger, the habits arc
confirmed and require resolute and persistent etfort ro etfect a
change. " Resist beginning," was a maxim of the ancients, and
should be preserved as a landmark in our day. Those who are
prodigal or passionate, or indolent, or visionary, soon make ship-
wreck of themselves, and drift about the sea of life, the prey
of every wind and current, vainly shrieking for help, till at
last they drift away into darkness and death.

Take care that you are not drifting. See that you have fast
hold of the helm. The breakers of life for ever roar under the

HABIT

lee, and adverse gales continually blow on the shore. Are yon
watching how she heads ? Do you keep a firm grip of th«
wheel ? If you give way but for one moment 3'ou may drift
hopelessly into the boiling vortex. Young men, take care ! It
rests with yourselves alone under God, whether you reach port
triumphantly or drift to ruin.

Be not slow in the breaking of a sinful custom ; a quick
courageous resolution is better than a gradual deliberation ; in
such a combat, he is the bravest soldier who lays about him
without fear or wit. Wit pleads, fear disheartens ; he that
would kill hydra, had better strike off one neck than five heads ;
fell the tree, and the branches are soon cut off.

Whatever be the cause, says Lord Kames, it is an established
fact, that we are much influenced by custom ; it hath an effect
upon our pleasures, upon our actions, and even upon our thoughts
and sentiments. Habit makes no figure during the vivacity of
youth ; in middle age it gains ground ; and in old ago, governs
without control. In that period of life, generally speaking, we
eat at a certain hour, take exercise at a certain hour, all by the
direction of habit ; nay, a particular seat, table, bed, comes to be
essential ; and a habit in any of these cannot be contradicted
without uneasiness.

Man, it has been said, is a bundle of habits ; and a habit is
second nature. Metastasio entertained so strong an opinion as
to the power of repetition in act and thought, that he said, " AH
is habit in mankind, even virtue itself."

Evil habits must be conquered, or they will conquer us and
destroy our peace and happiness.

Vicious habits are so gi-eat a stain upon human nature, said
Cicero, and so odious in themselves, that every person actuated
by right reason woulc' void them, though he was sure they
would always be conceajv^d both from God and man, and had
no future punishment entailed upon them.

Vicious habiis, when opposed, offer the most vigorons resist-
anoe on the first attack. At each successive encounter this

EABJT. 8S

BiBfanoe grows fainter and fuinter, nntil finally it ceasee alto-
gether and the victorj' is achieved.

Habit is man's best friend or worst enemy ; it can exalt him
to the highest pinnacle of virtue, honour and happiueas, or
sink him to the lowest depths of vice, shame and misery.

We may form habits of honesty, or knavery ; truth, or false-
hood ; of industry, or idleness ; frugality, or extravagance ; of
patience, or impatience ; self-denial, or self-indulgence ; of kind-
ness, cruelty, politeness, rudeness, prudeness, perseverance, cir-
cumspection. In short there is not a virtue, nor a vice ; not an
act of body, nor of mind, to which we may not be chained
down by this despotic power.

It is a great point for young men to begin well ; for it is in
the beginning of life that that system of conduct is adopted
which soon assumes the force of habit. Begin well, and the
habit of doing well will become quite as easy as the habit of
doing badly. Pitch upon that course of life which is the most
excellent, and habit wja render it the most delightful. Well
begun is half ended, says the proverb ; and a good beginning
is half the battle. Many promising young men have irretriev-
ably injured themselves by a first false step at the commence-
ment of life ; while others, of much less promising talents,
have succeeded simply by beginning well, and going onward,
The good practical beginning is, to a certain extent, a pledge,
a promise and an assurance, of the ultimate prosperous issue.
There is many a poor creature, now crawling through life, mis-
erable himself and the cause of sorrow to others, who might
have lifted up his head and prospered, if, instead of merely sat-
isfying himself with resoluticus of well-doing, ho had actually
gone to work and made a good practical beginning.

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COMPANY,

bompsn^.

Congenial paasioiiB souls together bind,
And every calling mingles with its kind ;
Soldier unites with soldier, swain with swain,
The mariner with him that roves the main.

I HAT we may be known by the company we frequent, has
become proverbial. For, when unrestrained, we are
prone to choose and associate with those whose man-
ners and dispositions are agrt^eable and congenial to oura.
Hence, when we find persons frequenting any company what-
soever, we are disposed to believe that such company is con-
genial with their feelings, not only in regard to their intellectual
capacities and accomplishments, but also their moral disposa-
sition and the particular manner in life.

Gbod company not only improves our manners, but also our
minds ; for intelligent associates will become a source of en-
joyment, as well as of edification. If they be pious they will
improve our morals ; if they bo polite they will tend to im-
prove our manners ; if they be learned they will add to our
knowledge and correct our errors. On the other hand, if they
be immoral, ignorant, vulgar, their impress will most surely be
left upon us. It therefore becomes a matter of no trivial con-
cern to select an associate with proper company, while avoid-
ing thnt hich is certainly prejudicial.

We should always seek the company of those who are
known to possess superior merit and natural endowments ; foi
then, by being assimilated in manners and disposition, we rise.
Whereas, by associating with thase who are our inferiors la
every respect, we become assimilated with them, and by that
assimilation become degraded. Upon the whole much care and
judgment are necessary in selecting properly that company
which will bt> profitable. Yet this is not a point of so great

COMPANY.

ht ereet among females as men ; because they are not ne ccaaa r-
ily thrown into such promiscuous associations of such diversity
of character as the latter. Neverthelasa, the greater care and
prudence are requisite to them, should they happen in such
circles, to avoid their pernicious influence to which most are too
prone to yield.

Good company is that which if composed of intelligent and
well-bred persons ; whose langua je is chaste and good ; whoso
sentiments are pure and edifying ; whose deportment is such
18 pure and well-regulated education and correct morals dic-
tate; and whose conduct is directed and restrained by the
pure precepts of religion.

When we have the advantage of such company, it should be
the object of our zeal " to imitate their real perfections ; copy
their politeness, their carriage, their address and the easy well-
bred turn of their conversation ; but we should remember that»
let them shine ever so bright, their vices (if they have any) are
BO many blemishes, which we should no more endeavour to imi-
tate than we should make artificial warts on our faces because
some very handsome lady happened to have one by nature.
We should, on the contrary, think how much handsomer she
would have been without it."

What can be more pleasing and more angelic, than a youMg
lady, virtuous and adorned with the graces and elegances of
finished politeness, based upon a sound intellect, and well im-
proved mind I

** For her, inoonstant man mis^ht oeaae to nBg«^
And gratitude forbid desire to change."

The reflection is pleasing, that it is in the power of all to
Msquire an elegance of manner, although they may be deprived
of the advantages to be derived from a liberal education. At
least they may attain to that degree of elegance and manners,
by judicious selection of company, that will render them pleasing
in any social circle, whether at home or abroad. This will excite
intenat, which will grow into respect; from which alwaye

■4

FORCE OF CHARACTER.

springs that pure, ardent and affectionate attachment which
forms the only generous and indissoluble connection between
the sexes ; that which the lapse of time serves only to confirui
and nought but death can destroy.

If so much importance be attached to the prudent selection
of company associates, and if this be of such vital interest to
every young female, how careful should she be in taking to her
bosom for life a companion of dissolute habits and morals. Such
an act might destroy all the domestic felicity she might have
hoped to enjoy, and be a course of constant sorrow to her through

'* Oh shun my friend, avoid that dangerous cout
Where peace expires, and fair afifectiou's lost."

For no connection of friendship can be fond and lasting, where
a conformity of inclination and disposition does not exist ; but
where this exists, all passions and finer feeliugs of the soul gen-
tly harmonize, and form one common and lasting interest

■^■^<»t» '

lorct 0f (il^uvattn.

'HAT you can efl'ect depends on what you aro. You put
your whole self into all that you do. If that self be
amall, and lean, and mean, your entire life-work is pal-
try, your words have no force, your influence has no weight. If
that self be true and high, pure and kind, vigorous and foroefnl
your strokes are blows, your notes staccatos, your work mas-
sive, your influence cogent — you can do what you will. What-
ever your position, you are a power, you are felt as a kingly
spirit, you are as one having authority. Too many think of
character chiefly in its relation to the life beyond the grave.
I certainly would not have less thought of it with refer^^noe to
that unknown future, okx the margin of which some of vm ua-

FORCE OF CHARACTER.

(Joubtedly are at this moment standing ; but I do wish that
more consideration were bestowed upon its earthly uses. I
would have young men, as they atart in life, regard character
fts a capital, much surer to yield full returns than any other
capital, iinaff«cted by panics and failures, fruitful when all
other investments lie dormant, having as certain promise in
the present life as in that which is to come.

Franklin, also, attributed his success as a public man, not to
his talents or his iwwers of speaking — for these were but
moderate — but to his known integrity of character. " Hence,
it was," he says, " tliat I had so much weight with my fellow-
citizens. I was but a baJ speaker, never eloquent, subject to
much hesitation in my choice of word:^, hardly correct in lan-
guage, and yet I generally caiTied my point." Character
creates confidence in men in every station of li'o. It was said
of the first Emperor Alexander of Russia that his personal
character was ec^uivalent to a constitution. During the wars
of the Fronde, Montaigne was the only man among the French
gentry who kept his castle gates unbarred ; and it wjis said of
him, that his personal character was worth more to him than
a regiment of horse.

There are trying and perilous circumstances in life, which
show how valuable and important a good character is. It is a
sure and strong staff of support, when everything else fails. It
is the Acropolis which remains impregnable, imparting security
and peace when all the other defences have been surrendered
to the enemy. The higher walks of life are treacherous and
dangerous ; the lower full of obstacles and impediments. We
can only be secure in either, by maintaining those principles
which are just, praiseworthy, and pure, and which inspire
bravery in ourselves and confidence in others.

Truthfulness, integrity and goodness— qualities that hang not
on any man's breath — form the essence of manly character, or,
as one of our old writers has it, " that inbred loyalty unto
virtue which can serve her without a livery." He who possesses
Uiese qualities, united with strength of purpose, carries with him

\ Seii

m^mmmmmmmm

lUi

FOECE OF CHAIiACTEH

a power which is irresistille. He is strong to do good, strong
to rosist evil, and strong to bear up under difficulty and mis-
fortune. When Stephen of Coloraa fell into the hands of his
hose assailants, and they asked him, in derision, " Where is
now your fortress ? " " Here," was his bold reply, placing his
hand upon his heart. It is in misfortune that the character of
the upright man shines foith witli the greatest lustre ; and.
when all else fails, he t'lkes stand upon his integrity and his
courage. In the famous battle at Thermopylre, the three hun-
dred Spartan? ^^o alone had refused to abandon the scene of
action, withstood the enemy with such vigour that they were
obliged to retire wearied and conquered during three successive
days, till the enemy suddenly falling upon their rear, crushed
them to pieces.

Strength of character consists of two things — power of will
and power of self-restraint. It requires two things, therefore,
for its existence — strong feelings and strong command over
them. Now, it is here we mak a great mistake ; we mistake
strong feelings for strong character. A man who bears all be-
fore him, before whose frown domestics tremble, and whose
bursts of fury make the children of the household quake — l)e-
cause he has his will obeyed, and his own way in all things, we
call him a strong man. The truth is, that is the weak man ;
it is his passions that are strong ; he, mastered by them, ia
weak. You nmst measure the strength by the power of the
feelings he subdues, not by the power of those which subdue him.
And hence composure is very often the highest result of strength.

Did we never see a man receive a flagrant insult and only
grow a little pale, and then reply quietly 1 This is a man
spiritually strong. Or did we never see a man in anguish,
stand, as if carved out of solid rock, mastering himself ? Or
one bearing a hopeless daily trial remjiin silent and never tell
the world what cankered his home p«ace ? That is strength.
He who, with strong passions, reniains chaste ; he who, keenly
sensitive, with manly powers of indignation in him, can be pro-
voked, and yet restrain himself and forgive — these are the
strong men, the spiritual heroes^

FORCE OF CHARACTER

»1

Tlie truest criterion of a man's character and conduct is, in-
variably, to be found in the opinion of his nearest relational
who, having daily and hourly opportunities of forming a judg-
ment of him, will not fail in doing so. It is a far higher testi-
mony in his favour, for him to secure the esteem and love of a
few individuals within the privacy of his own borne, than the
good opinion of hundreds in his immediate neighbourhoou, or
that of ten times the number residing at a distance. The most
trifling actions that aflect a man's credit are to be regarded.
The sound of your hammer at five in the morning, or nine at
night, heard by a creditor, makes him easy six months longer ;
but if he sees you at a billiard tjible, or hoars your voice at a
tavern, when you should be at work, he sends for his money
the next day.

Deportment, honesty, caution, and a desh-e to do right car-
ried out in practice, are to human charactei wnat truth, rever-
ence, and love are to religion. They are the unvaried elements
of a good reputation. Such virtues can never be reproached,
although the vulgar and despicable may scoff at them ; but it
is not so much in their aflected revulsion at them, as i't is in
the wish to reduce them to the standard of their own degraded
natures, and vitiated passions. Let such scoff and sneer — let
them laugh and ridicule as much as they may — a strict, up-
right, onward course will evince to the world and to them, that
there is more manly independence in one forgiving smile, than
in all the pretended exceptions to worthiness in the society of
the mean and vulgar. Virtue must have its admirers, and
firmness of principle, both moral and religious, will ever com-
mand the proudest encomium of the intelligent world, to the ex-
clusion of every other thing connected with human existence.

That character is power is true in a much higher sense than
that knowledge is power. Mind without heart, intelligence
without conduct, cleverness without goodness, are powers in
their way, but they aie powers only for mischief We may be
instructed or amused by them, but it is sometimes as difficult
to admire them as it would be to admire the dexterity of a
pickpocket or the horsemanship of a highwayman.

INTEGRITY

fOIJNQ men look about theiu and nee a great measure ol
worldly success awarded to men without principle. They
see the trickster crowned with public honours, they see
the swindler rolling in wealth, they see the sharp man, the
over-reaching man, the unprincipled man, the liar, tho dema-
gogue, the time-server, the trimmer, the scoundrel who cun-
ningly manages, though constantly disobeying moral law and
trampling upon social courtesy, to keep himself out of the
clutches of the legal police, carrying off the prizes of wealth
and place. All this is a demoralizing puzzle and a fearful
temptation ; and multitudes of young men are not strong
enough to stand before it. They ought to understand that in
this wicked world there is a great deal of room where there is
integrity. Great trusts may be sought by scoundrels, but great
trusts never seek them ; and perfect integrity is at a premium
even &mong scoundrels. There are some trusts that they will
never confer on each other. There are occasions where they
need the services of true men and they do not find them in
shoals and in the mud, but alone and in pure water.

Integrity is the foundation of all that is high in character
among mankind ; other qualities may add to its splendour, but
if this essential requisite be wanting all their lustre fades.
Our integrity is ne^^er worth so much to us as when we have
lost everything to keep it. Integrity without knowledge ia
weak ; knowledge without integrity is dangerous and dreadful.
Integrity, however rough, is better than smooth dissimulation.
Let a man have the reputation of being fair and uprJjfht in his
dealings, aud he will possess the confidence of all wh-^ know
him. Without these qualities every other merit will prove un-
availing. Ask concerning a man, " Is he active and capable ? *
Yes. * Industrious, temperate, and regular in hfe habits ' "
O, yes. " Is he honest ? is he trustworthy.' Why, as to thai

if^w.'

INTEGRITY.

»s

I am sorry to say that he is not to be trusted ; he wanta
watching ; he is a little tricky, and will take an undue advan-
tage, if he can. " Then I will have nothing to do with him,**
will be the invariable reply. Why, then, is honesty the best
policy ? Because, without it you will get a bad name, and every-
body will shun you.

The world is always asking for men who are not for sale ;
men who are honest, sound frora centre to circumference, true
to the heart's core ; men who will condemn wrong in friend or
foe, in themselves as well as others ; men whose consciences
are as steady as the needle to the pole ; men who will stand
for the right if the heavens totter and the earth reels ; men
who can tell the truth, and look the worid and the devil right
in the eye ; men that neither brag nor run ; men that nei-
ther flag nor flinch • men who can have courage without
shouting to it ; men in whom the courage of everlasting life
runs still, deep and strong ; men who do not cry, nor cause
their voices to be heard on the streets, but who will
not fail nor be discouraged till judgment be set in the
earth ; men who know their message and tell it ; men who
know their places and fill them ; men who know their own
business ; men who will not lie ; men who are not too lazy to
work, not too proud to be poor ; men who are willing to eat
what they have earned, and wear what they have paid for. It
is always safe to trust those who can trust themselves, but
when a man suspects his own int.egrity, it is time he was sus-
pected by others. Moral degradation always begins at home.
Honesty is never gained or lost suddenly, or by accident.
Moral strength or moral weakness takes possession of us by slow
and imperceptible degrees.

A-void — and young men especially — avoid all base, servile,
underhand, sneaking ways. Part "tli anything rather than
your integrity and conscious rectitude ; flee from injustice as
you would from a viper's fangs ; avoid a lie as you would
the gates of hell. Some there are who are callous as to
this. Some there are who, in stooping to mercantile dip-

m^^^^m

INTEGRITY.

honou)* and baseness — in driving the immoral bargain — think
tbey have done a clever actioa Things are often called by theii
wrong names; duplicity is called shrewdness, and wrong-hearted-
ness is called long-headedness; evil is called good, and good evil,
and darkness is put for light, and light for darkness. Well ! be
it 80. You may be proaperoun *n your own eyes ; you may have
realized an envied fortune ; you may have your carriage and
plate, and servants and pageantry ; but rather the cabin and
the crust of bread with a good conscience, than the stately
dwelling or palace without it. Rather than the marble mauso-
leum, which gilds and smothers tales of heartless villainy and
fraud — ^rather, far rather, that lowly heap of grass we were
wont often to gaze upon in an old village churchyard, with the
simple record of a cotter's virtues : " Here Umt an honest man !"
There is nothing more sad than to be carried like a vessel
away from the straight course of principle ; to be left a strand-
ed outcast thing on the sand.<t of dishonour : a nutn bolstering
himself up in a position he is not entitled ta " That is a man
of capital" says the world, pointing to an unscrupulous and
successful swindler. Capital ! What i« capital ? Is it what a
man ha^ f Is it counted by doUai* una cents, stocks and
shares, by houses nnd lands ? No ! capital is not what a man
has, but what a man ia. Character is capital ; honour is capi-
tal. That is the most fearful of ruin when character is gone,
when integrity is sold, when honour is bartered for a miserable
mess of earthly pottage. God save us from ruin like this !
Perish what may ; perish gold, silver, houses, lands ; let the
winds of misfortune dash our vessel on the simken rock, but
let integrity be like the valued keepsake which the siilor boy
lashed with the rope round his body, the only thing we care to
save. Let me die ; but let angels read, if friends cannot alford
to erect the grave stone : " Here lies an honest man.

I^i

KW.*:-<^,.„^.

^oav 0cti» <tnh ^tninvnc**

0pp. p. 95.

POOR BOYS.

|Or ANY men have been obscure in their origin and birth,
^J^L but great and glorious in life and death. They have been
bom and nurtured in villages, but have reigned and
triumphed in cities. They were first laid in the mangers of
poverty and obscurity, but have afterwards become posrieasors of
thrones and palaces. Tlieir fame is like the pinnacle which
ascends higher and higher, until at last it becomes a most con-
spicuous and towering object of attraction.

Columbus was the son of a weaver, and a weaver himself.
Cervantes was a common soldier. Hjmer was the son of a
small farmor Moli^re was the son of a tapestry maker. De-
mosthenes was the son of a cutler. Terrence was a slave.
Oliver Cromwell was the son of a London brewer. Howard
was an apprentice to a grocer. Franklin was the son of a tal-
low-chandler and soap boiler. Dr. Thomas, Bishop of Worcester,
was the son of a hnen-draper. Daniel Defoe, hostler, and son
of a butchei. Whitfield was th( son of an inn-keeper. Virgil
was the son of a porter. Horace was the son of a shop-keeper.
Shakspeare was the son of a wood stapler. Milton was the son
of a money scrivener. Robert Burns was a ploughman in Ayr-
shire. Mohammed, called the prophet, a driver of asses. Madame
Bernadotte was a washer- woman of Paris. Napoleon was of
an obscure family of Corsica. John Jacob Astor once sold
apples on the streets of New York. Catherine, Empress of
Russia, was a camp-grisette. Cincinnatus was [)loughing in his
vineyard when the Dictatorship of Rome was offered him.
Elihu Burritt was a blacksmith. Abraham Lincoln was a rail-
eplitter. General Grant was a tanner.

The young man, who thinks of taking a short cut to fortune,
should deliberately write down the names of a dozen of our
richest men, and he will find that the largest part of the wealth

■m

mmmm

FOOS BOYS.

of the Astors and Browns and Stewarts and Vanderbilts, wm
accumulated after they had passed their fiftieth year.

" Without fame or fortune at forty, without fame or fortune
always," is the sentiment of many, oftener expressed by the
saying, that if a man is not rich at forty, he never will be. It
was after forty that Sir Walter Scott became the great un-
known ; it was after forty that Palmerston was found to be
England's greatest prime minister of the century. At that age,
Lincoln and Grant were obscure and poor citizens of country
towns in the far West. Howe, of the sewing-machine, was
utterly destitute at thirty-five, a millionaire six years later,

A long time ago, a little boy twelve years old, on his road to
Vermont, stopped at a country tavern, and paid for his lodging
and breakfast by sawing wood, instead oi asking for it as a gift.
Fifty years later, the same boy passed that same little inn as
George Peabody, the banker, whose name is the synonym of
magnificent charities — the honoured of two hemispheres. He
was bom poor in Danvers, Massachusetts, and by beginning
right and pursuing a course of strict honesty, integrity, industry,
activity and Christian benevolence, he had been able to amass
great wealth. Some years since he made a generous gift to his
native town ; and also remembered the City of Baltimore,
Maryland, where he long resided, by a liberal donation. For
nearly twenty-five years, having done business in London, and
being pas' sixty years old, he had given j61 50,000 — nearly
$750,000 — ^to be devoted to the benefit of the poor of that city.

When Cornelius Vanderbilt was a young man, his mother
gave him fifty dollars of her savings to buy a small sail-boat,
and he engaged in the business of transporting market-garden-
ing from Staten Island to New York City. When the wind
was not favourable he would work his way over the shoals by
pushing the boat along by poles, putting his own shoulder tc
the pole, and was very sure to get his freight in market in sea-
son. This energy gave him always a command of full freights,
and he accumulated money. After awhile be began to build
and run steamboats. He died at an advanced a^e, reputed i/*

POOR BOYS,

b* worth more than forty millioas of dollars. During the \rar
he made the U. S. Government a present of a steamship that
cost $800,000.

Mr, Tobin, the President of the Hudson River Railroad Com-
pany, is a millionnaire. He is not yet forty years of age. He
began life as a steamboat clerk with Commodore Vanderbilt.
When he took his position the Commodore gave him two orders :
first, to collect fare of everybody and have no dead-heads on the
boat ; second, to start the boat on time, and wait for nobody.
The Commodore then lived at Staten fsland. Tobin obeyed
his orders so literally that he collected fare of the Commodore
on the first evening, and left him on the wharf the next morn-
ing, as the boat could not wait. The Commodore was coming
down the wharf leisurely, and supposed, of course, the boat
would wait for him. He proved a man after Vanderbilt's own
heart. He became his confidential clerk and broker, bought
•nd sold Harlem and made for himself a fortune.

Stephen Girard left his native country at the age of ten or
twelve years, as a cabin boy on a vessel. He came to New
York in that capacity. His deportment was distinguished by
such fidelity, industry and temperance, that he won the attach-
ment and confidence of his master, who generally bestowed on
him the appellation of " my Stephen." When his master gave
up business he promoted Girard to the command of a small
Tessel Girard was a seif-taui^ht man, and the world was his
Bchoo . It was a favourite theme with him, when he after-
wards grew rich, to relate that he commenced life with a six-
pence, and to insist that a man's best capital was his industry.
All professions and all occupations, wV.ich afforded a just re-
ward for labour, were alike honourable in his estimation. He
was never too proud to work.

In the time of tos fever, in 1793, when consternation had
seized the whole population of the City of Philadelphia, Stephen
Girard, then a rich merchant, offered his services as a nurse in
the hospital. His offers were accepted, and in the performance
of the most loathsome duties, he walked unharmed in the midst

■i ■:

:»

POOR BOYS.

of the pestilence. He uaed to say to his friends, " When you
are sick, if anything ails you,*do not go to a doctor, but come
to me, I will cure you."

Far back in the teens of the present century, a young man
asked for employment in the Springfield armoury ; but he was
poor and modest, and had no friends, so he went away without
it ; but, feeling the man within him, he sought work until he
found it. An age later, he visited that armoury a second time,
not as a common day-labourer, but as the ablest speaker of
the House of Representatives, and for many years Governor
of Massachusetts.

Of P. R. Spencer, the author of the Spencerian system of
penmanship, it is said that, " the smooth sand beach of Lake
Erie constituted the foolscap in and on which, for want of other
material, he perfected essentially the system which meets such
general favour in our common and corainercial schools, and in
our business and literary circles." When we reflect upon the
immense populanty of his system, which, passing beyond the
limits of our own country, has been re-engraved in England, is
used in the model counting-rooms of London, Liverpool and
Manchester, and is also the adopted system of the English
Department of the University of Zurich, in Switzeiland, we
must accord to its honoured author chaste and elevated powers
of conception, with bold and tireless grasp, of just apprehension,
and agree that the barefooted boy of fifty years ago must
have been thinking, and thinking aright, and thinking with wo
ordinary mind, when he gave to his coinings in the sands such
vitality of science, that the world has ado[)ted and embalmed
them as the most beautiful imagery of " the art."

Masons and bricklayers can boast of Ben Jonson, who worked
at the building of Lincoln's Inn with a trowel in his hand and
a bock in his pocket; Edwards and Telford, the engineers;
Hugh Miller, the geologist, and Allen Cunningham, the writer
and sculptor. John Hunter, the physiologi.'^t, Ronevey and
Opie, the painters. Professor Lee, the orientalist, and John
Gibbons, the sculptor, were carpenters. Wilson, the omitholo-

POOB BOYS.

gist, Dr. Livingstone, the missionary traveller, and Tannahill,
the poet, were weavera. Samuel Dre^, the essa3dBt, and Gif-
ford, the editor of the " Quarterly Review," were shoemakers.
Admiml Hobson, one of the gallantest of British seamen, was
originally a tailor.

It is not good for human nature to have the road of life made
too easy. Better to be under the necessity of working hard
and faring meanly, than to have everything done ready to our
hand, and a pillow of down to repose upon. Indeed, to <»tart
in life with comparatively small means seems so necessary as a
stimulus to work, that it may almost be set down as one of the
essential conditions to success in life. Hence, an eminent
judge, when asked what contributed most to success at the bar,
replied, " Some succeed by great talent, some by high connec-
tions, some by miracle, but the majority by commencing with-
out a shilling." So it is a common saying that the men who
are most successful in business are those who begin the world
in their shirt-sleeTas ; whereas those who be^n with fortunes
generally lose them. Necessity is always the first stimuli to
industry, and those who conduct it with prudence, persever-
ance and energy will rarely fail. Viewed in this light, the
necessity of labour is not a chasti.»emont, but a blessing — the
very root and spring of all that we call progress in individuals,
and civilization in nations. It may, indeed, be questioned
whether a heavier curse could be imposed on man than the
complete gratification of all his wishes without effort on his
part, leaving nothing for his hopes, desires or struggles. The
feeling that life is destitute of any motive or necessity for
action, must be, of all others, the most distressing and the most
insupportable to a rational being.

" ?
f

100

OCCUPATION.

'■:t.
.A

*' \

"^ * f ^1'

I HE mim who has no occupation is in a bad plight. If he
is poor, want is ever and anon pinching him ; if he ia
rich, ennui is a more restless tormentor than want. An
unoccupied man cannot be happy — ^nor can one who is improp-
erly occupied. We have swarms of idlers among us, the wont
of whom are gentlemen idlers ; that is, mev who pursue no
useful occupation, and sponge their way, often enjoying the
luxuries of life, living upon the hard earnin^^s of others — the
cancers of community — ^pseudo patterns of bipeds — leeches on
the body politic

In this widespread and expanding country, no one need be
without some useful occupation. All trades and professions are
open, from the honest hod-carrier up to the highest place in
the agricultural, commercial and mechanical departments, and
from the humblest, but not least useful, teacher of A. B. C, up
to the pinnacle of professional fame. Those occupations that
require manual labour are the surest, most healthy, and most
independent.

A man or woman with no business, nothing to do, is an ab-
solute pest to society. They are thieves, stealing that which
is not theirs ; beggai-s, eating that which they have not earned ;
drones, wasting the fruits of others' industry ; leeches, sucking
the blood of others ; evil-doers, setting an example of idlenees
and dishonest living ; hypocrites, shining in stolen and false
colours ; vampires, eating out the life of the community. Frown
upon them, O youth. Learn in your heart to despise their
course of life.

Many of our most interesting youth waste a great portion of
their early life in fruitless endeavours at nothing. They have
no trade, no profession, no object before them, nothing to do,
and yet have a great desire to do something, and something
worthy of themselves. They try this and that, and the other

i '.Is

OCCUPATION.

101

«der themselves to do anything and even^hing, and jret know

now to do nothing. Educate theraselveH, they cannot, for they
know not what they should do it for. They waste their time,
energie-s, and little earidngs in endless changes and wanderings.

They have not the stimulus of a fixed object to fasten their
Attention and awaken their energies ; not a known prize to
win. They wish for good things, but have no way to attain
them ; desire to be useful, but little means for being so. They
iay plans, invent schemes, form theories, build castles, but never
stop to execute or realize them. Poo' creatures 1 All that ails
them is the want of an object — a single object. They look at
a hundred and see nothing. If they should look steadily at
one, tliey would see it distinctly. They grasp at random at a
hundred things and catch nothing. It is like shooting among
a scattei'ed Hock ot pigeons. The chances are doubtful. This
will never do — no, never. Success, respectability, and happi-
ness are found in a permanent business, an early choice of souis
business, devotion to it, and preparation for it, should bo made
by every youth.

When the two objects, business and character, aM the great
end of life, are fairly before a youth, what then ? Why, he
must attain those objects. Will wishes and prayers bring them
'.nto his haiuls ? By no neans. He must work as well as wish,
labour as well as pray. His hand must be as stout as his heart,
his arm as strong as his head. Purpose must be followed by
aclion. The choosing of an occupation, however, is not a small
thing ; great mistakes are made and often the most worthy
pursuits are left. Tlio young man who leaves the farm-field
for the merchant's desk, or the lawyer's or doctor's office, think-
ing to dignify or ennoble liis toil, makes a sad mistake. He
passes by that step from iridependence to vassalage. He barters
a natural lor an artificial pursuit ; and he must be the slave of
the caprice of customers, and the chicane of trade, either to
support himself or to acquire a fortune, The more artificial a
man's pursuit, the more debasing is it, morally and j)hysica]ly.
To test it, contrast the merchant's clerk with the plough -l)oy.

^■*

102

OCCUPATION.

The f« rmer may have the most exterior polish, but the latter
under his rough outside, possesses the true stamina, ile is the
freer, franker, happier and nobler man. Would that yuung
uien niiyht judge of the dignity of labour by its usefulness,
rather tlian by the superficial glosses it weaiu Therefore, we
never see a man's nobility in his kid gloves and toilet adorn-
ments, but in that yinewy arm, whose outlines, browned by the
sun, betoken a hardy, honest toil, under whose farmer's or
mechanic's vest a kingliest heart may beat.

Above all, the notion that the " three black graces?," Law,
Me<iicine and Ministry, must be worshipped by the candidat*
for respectability and honour, has done incalculable damage \r
society. It has spoiled many a good cai penter, done injustice
to the sledge and tlie anvil, cheated the goose and the shears
out of their rights, and committed fraua on the corn and the
potato field. Thousands have di d of broken hearts in these
professions — thousands who might have been happy at th«>
plough, or opulent behind the counter ; thousands, dispirite(i
and hopeless, look upon the healthful and independent calling
of the farmer with envy and chagrin ; aiid thousands more, by
a worse fate still, are reduced to necessities which degrade them
in their owti estimation, rendering the most brilliant success
but a wretched compensation for the humiliation with which
it is accompanied, and compelling them to grind out of the
miseries of their fellow men the livelihood which is denied to
their legitimate exertions. The result of all this is, it the
leorld is full of men who, disgusted with their vocations, get-
ting their living by their weakness instead of by their strength,
are doomed to hopeless inferiority. " If you choose to repre-
sent the various parts in life," says Sydney Smith, •' by holes
in a table of diiferent shapes — some circular, some triangular,
some square, some oblong — ^and the persons acting these parts
by bits of wood of similar shapes, we shall generally find that
the triangular person has got into the square hole, the oblong
into the triangular, while the square person has squeezed him-
self into the round hole." A French writer on agriculture Q\h

OCCUPATION,

10»

Berres that it is impossible profitably to improve land by trying
forcibly to change its natural character — as by bringing sand
to clay, or clay to sand. The only true method is to adapt tne
cultivation to the nature of the soil So with the moral or in-
tellectual qualities. Exhortation, self-determination may do
much to stimulate and prick a man on in a wrong career againdt
his natural bent ; but, when the crisis "omes, this artificial
character thus laboriously induced will break down, failing at
the very time when it is most wanted.

No need of spurs to the littL Handel or the boy Bach to
study music, when one steals midnight interviews with a smug-
gled clavichord in a secret attic, and the other copies whole
books of studies by moonlight, for want of a candle, churlishly
denied. No need of whips to the boy painter. West, when he
begins in a garret, and plunders the family cat for bristles to
make his Vashes. On the other hand, to spend years at col-
lege, at the work-bench, or in a ^tore, and then find that the
'ailing is a wrong one, is disheartening to all but men of the
ooughest fibre. The discovery shipwrecks the feeble, and
plunges ordinary minds into despair. Doubly trying is this
discovery when one feels that the mistake was made in defi-
ance of friendly advice, or to gratify a freak of fancy or an idle
whim. The sorrows that come upon us by the will of God, or
through the mistakes of our parents, we can submit to with
comparative resignation ; but the soi rows which we have
wrought by our own hand, the pitfalls into which we have fal-
len by obstinately going on our own way, these are the sore
places of memory which no time and no patience can salve
over.

Be what nature intended you for, and you will succeed ; be
anything else, and you will be ten thousand times worse than
nothing. •

It is an uncontroverted truth, that no man ever made an ill-
figure who understood his own talents, nor a good one who
mistook them. Let no young man of industry and perfect
honesty despair because his profession or calling is crowded.

■ \

104

EMPLOm tNT.

Let him noways remember that thtrf* is room enough at the
top, and that the question whether ho is ever to reach the top
or rise above the crowd at the base of the pyramid, will be de-
cided by the way in which lie improves the first ten years of
his active life m securing to himself a thorough knowledge o*
his professiou, and a sound moral and intellectual culture.

mplogment.

.<»->

TAKE it that men and women were made for business,
for activity, for eiuployment. Activity is the life of ua
all. To do and to liear is the duty of life. We know
that employment makes the man in a very great measure. A
man with no employment, nothing to do, is scarcely a man
The secret of making men is to put them to work, and keep
them at it. It is not study, nqt instruction, not careful moral
training, not good parents, not good society that makes men.
These are means ; but back of these lies the grand moulding in-
fluence of men's Hfe It is employment. A man's business
does more to xoa-ke him than every thing else. It hardens his
muscles, strengthens his body, quickens hia blood, sharpens liis
mind, corrects his judgment, wakes up his inventive genius,
puts his wits to work, starts him on the race of life, arouses his
ambition, makes him feel that he is a man and must fill a man's
shoes, do a man's work, bear a man's part in life, and show him-
self a man in that part. No man feels himself a man who is
not doing a man's business. A man without employment is
not a man. He does not prove by his works that he is a man.
He cannot act a man's part. A hundred and fifty pounds of
bone and muscle is not a man. A good cranium full of brains
is not a man. The bone and muscle and brain must know how
to act a man's part, do a man's work, think a man's thoughts,

EMPLOYMENT.

10S

mark out a man's path, and bear a roan's weight of character
and duty before they constitute a man. A man is a body and
soul in action. A statue, if well dressed, may appear to be a
man ; so may a human being. But to 6et a man and appear to
be, are two very different things. Human beings grow, men
are made. The being that grows to the stature of a man is not a
man till he is made one. The grand instrumentality of man-
making is employment. The world has long since learned that,
men cannot be made without employment. Hence it sets ita
boys to work ; gives them trades, callings, professions ; puts the
instruments of man-making into their hands and tells them to
work out their manhood. And the most of them do it some-
how, not always very well, The men who fail to make them-
selves a respectable manhood are the boys who are put to no
business, the young men who have nothing to do ; the malb
beings that have no employment. We have them about iis ;
walking nuisances ; pestilential gas-bags ; fetid air-bubbles,
who burst and are gone. Our men of wealth and character, of
worth and power, have been early bound to some useful em-
ployment. Many of them were unfortunate orphan boys, whom
want compelled to work for bread — the children of penury and
lowly birth. In their early boyhood they buckled on the ar-
mour of labour, took upon their little shoulders heavy burdens,
assumed responsibilities, met fierce circumstances, contended
with sharp opposition, chose the ruggedest paths of employ-
ment because they yielded the best remuneration, and braved
the storms of toil till they won great victories for themselves
and stood before the world in the beauty and majesty of noble
manhood. This is the way men are made. There is no other
way. Their powers are developed in the field of employment,
lien are not bom ; they are made. Genius, worth, power
of mind are more made than born. Genius born may grovel
in the dust ; genius made will mount to the skies. Our great
and good men that stand along the paths of history bright and
shining lights are witnesses of these truths. They stand there
as everlasting pleaders for employment.

. .in

T£UK GBEATNXSa.

Itxu f&vtutntn*

I HE forbearing use of power is a sure attribute of trud
greatness. Indeed, we may say that power, physical,
moral, purely social or political, is one of the touch-
stones of genuine greatness.

The power which the husband has over his wife, in which
we must include the impunity with which he may be unkind
to her ; the father over his children ; the old over the 3'oungi
and the young over the aged ; the strong over the weak ; the
officer over his men ; the master over his hands ; the magistrate
over the citizens; the employer over the employed ; the rich over
the poor ; the educated over the unlettered ; the experienced
over the confiding. The forbearing and inoffensive use of all
this power or authority, or a total abstinence from it, where the
case admits it, will show the true greatness in a plain light.

" You are a plebeian," said a patrician to Cicero. " I am a
plebeian," said the eloquent Roman ; " the nobility of my family
begins with me ; that of yours will end with you. I hold no
man deserves to be crowned with honoui whose life is a failure ,
and he who lives only to eat and drink and accumulate money,
is a failure. The world is no better for his living in it. He
never wiped a tear from a sad face — never kindled a fire upon
a frozen heart. I repeat with emphasis, he is a failure. There
is no flesh in his heart ; he worships no God but gold." These
were the words of a heathen.

Man is to be rated, not by his hoards of gold, not by the
simple or temporary influence he may for a time exert ; but by
his unexceptionable principles relative both to character and
religion. Strike out these, and what is he ? A brute witliout
a virtue — a savage without a sympathy ! Take them av;ay
and his manship is gone ; he no longer lives in the image (^
his Maker ! A cloud of sin hangs darkly on his brow ; there it
over a tempest on his countenance, the lightning in his glance

f
*

hi/i.

■k

iHMi

the tliunder in words, and the rain and whirlwind in the hreatii-
ing or his angry soul. No smile gladdens his lip to tell thai
love is playing there; no sympathizing glow illuminates hii
cheek. Every word bums with malice, »>nd that voice — the mys-
tic gift of heaven — grates as harshly on the timid ear as rushing
thunders beating amid falling cliffs and tumbling cata "acts.

That which ospecially distiuguishes a high order of man
from a low order of man — that which constitutes human good-
neHS, human gieatness, human nobleness — is surely not the de-
gree of enlightenment with which men pursue their own ad-
vantage ; but it is self-forgetf ulness ; ft is self-sacrifice ; it is
the disregard of personal pleasure, personal indulgence, personal
advantage, remote or piesent, because some other line of con-
duct is more right.

The truest greatness is that which is onseen, unknown. Pub-
lic martyrdom of every shape has a certain Sclat and popular-
ity connected with it that will often bear men up to endure
with courage its trials ; but those who suffer alone, without
sympathy, for truth or principle, those who, unnoticed by men,
maintain their post, and in obscurity, and amid discouragement,
patiently fulfil their tnist, these are the real heroes of the age,
and the suffering they bear is true greatness.

Let man go abroad with just principles, and what is he t
An exhaustless fountain in a vast desert ; a glorious sun shin-
ing ever, dispelling every vestige of darkness. There is love
animating his heart, sympa Iiy breathing in every tone. Tears
of pity-— dew drops of the soul — gather in his eye and gush
impetuously down his cheek. A good man is abroad and the
world knows and feels it. Beneath his smiles lurk no degrad-
ing passions. Within his heart there slumbers no guile. He
is not exalted in moral pride, not elevated in his own views ;
but honest, moral and virtuous l>efore the world. He stands
throned on ti-uth ; his fortress is wisdom and his dominion is
the vast and limitless world. Always uptight, kind and sym-
pathizing ; always attached to just principles and actuated by
the same, governed by the highest motives in doing goc^

^f^MftHfr ■

100

IDLEXE88,

Sbleness.

ANT raorfilbtj lub-ft ranuurked that prid6 )im, of all hn-
^L man vices, the widest dominion, appears in the greatest
multiplicity of forms, and lies hid under the greatest
variety of disguises — of which disguises, like the moon's veils
of brightness, are both xin lustre and its shade, and betray it
to others though they hide it from themselves.

It is not my intention to degrade pride from its pre-eminence
yet I know not whether idleness may not maintain a veiy
doubtful and obstinate position. Idleness predominates in
many lives where it is not suspected, for, being a vice which
terminates in itself, it may be enjoyed without injury to oth(5rs
and therefore is not watched like fraud, which endangers pro-
perty, or like pride, which naturally seeks its gratification in
others' inferiority.

Idleness is a silent and peacelal quality that neither raises
envy by ostentation nor hatred by opposition. There are some
that profess idleness in its full dignity ; they boast because
they do nothing, and thank their stars that they Ii xve noth-
ing to do — who sleep every night until they cannot bleep any
longer, and then rise only that exercise may enable them to
sleep again ; who prolong the reign of darkness by double cur-
tains, and never see the sun but to tell him how they hate his
beams ; whose whole labour is to vary the posture of indul-
gence, and whose day ditiers from their night but as a couch or
chair differs from a bed. These are the true and open votaries
of idleness, who exist in a state of unruffled stupefied laziness,
forgetting and forgotten, who have long ceased to live, and at
whose death the survivors can only say that they have ceased
to breathe. Such a person is an annoyance — ^he is of no use to
anybody — ^he is an intruder in the busy thoroughfare of every-
day life — he is of no advantage ; he annoys busy men — he
makes them unhappy ; he may have an income to 8up{)ort hv

ri^i

■ ^m^f iih-pryrrr ■

IDLENESS.

109

kdleneifl, or he may sponge on his good-natured friends, but in
either case he is despised ; he is a criminal prodigal, and a pro-
lific author of want and dharae ; he is a confused work-shop for
the devil to tinker in, and no good can ever be expected from
him ; in short, ho is a nuisance in the world, and needs abate-
ment fur the public good. Idleness is the bane of body and
mind, the nurse of naughtiness, the chief author of all mischief,
one of seven deadly sins — the cushion upon which the devil
reposes, and a groat cause not only of melancholy but of many
other diseases, for the mind is naturally active, and if it be not
occupied about some honest business, it rushes into mischief or
sinks into melancholy. Of all contemptible things, there is noth-
ing half so wretched as a lazy man. The Turks say the devil
tempts everybody, but the idle man tempts the devil. When we
notice that a man can be a professional loafer, a successful idler
with less capital, less brains, that are required to succeed in
any other profession, we cannot blame him so much after all,
for those are the things that the idler is generally destitute
of; and we can notice it as an acti'al fact, that they succeed in
their business, and it costs tliein no energy, no brains, no charac-
ter, no nothing. They are dead-beats; they should not be
classed among the living — they are a sort of dead men that
cannot be buried

Idleness is an ingredient in the upper current, which was
scarcely known, and never countenanced, in the good old linsey
woolsey, tow and linen, mush and milk, pork and potato times
of the pilgrim fathers, and revolutionaiy patriots. We now
have those among us, who uld rather go hungry and be clad
in rags, than to work. \» e also have a numerous train of
gentlemen idlers, who pass down the stream of life at the ex-
pense of their fellow passengers. They live well, and dress
weU, as long as possible, by borrowing and sponging, and then
take to gambling, swindling, stealing, robbing ; and often pass
on for years, before justice overtakes them. So long as these
persons can keep up fashionable appearances, and elude the
police, they are received into the company of the upper ten

110

IDLENESS

thousand. Many an idle knave, by means of a fine coat, a lily
hand, and a graceful bow, has been received into the polite
circles of society with ^clat, and walked, rough-shod, over a
worthy young mechanic or farmer, who had too much good
sense to make a dash, or imitate the monkey shines of an itin-
erant dandy. A fine dress, in the eyes of some, covers more
sins than charity.

If thus the yoimg man wishes to be nobody, his way is easy.
He need only go to the drinking saloon to spend his leisure
time; he need not drink much at first, only a little beer, or
some other drink ; in the meantime play dominoes, checkers^
or some^ing else, to kill time, so that he is sure not to read
any useful books. If he reads at all, let it bo some of the dime
novels of the day. Thus go on, keep his stomach full and his
head empty, and he will soon graduate a nobody, unless (as it
is quite likely) he should turn gut a dnmkard or a professional
gambler, which is worse than a nobody.

Young man, if you do not wish tc be a nobody, or somebody
much worse than nobody, then guard your youth. A lazy
youth will be a lazy man, just as sure as a crooked sapling
makes a crooked tree. Who ever saw a youth grow up in
idleness that did not make a lazy, shiftless vagabond when he
was old enough to be a man, though he was not a man by
character. The great mass of thieves, paupers and criminals
have come to what they are by being brought up to do nothing
useful. Laziness grows on people ; it begins in cob-web and
ends in iron chains. If you will be nothing, just wait to be
somebody. That man that waits for an opportunity to do
much at once, may breathe out his life in idle wishes, and
finally regret his useless intentions and barren zeal — a young
man idlo, an old man needy. Idleness travels very leisurely
along, and poverty soon overtakes her — to be idle is to be poor.
It is said that pride and poverty are inconsistent companions,
but when idleness unites them the depth of wretchedness is
complete. Leisure is sweet to those who have earned it but
burdencome to those who get it for nothing.

EDUCATION.

Arouse yourself, yourig man ! Shake off the wretched and
disgraceful habits of the do-nothing, if you have been so un-
fortunate as to incur them, and go to work at once t " But
what shall I do ? " you perhaps ask. Anything, rather than
continue in dependent, and enfeebling, and demoralizing idle-
ness. If you can get nothing else to do, sweep the streets.
But you are " ashamed " to do that. If so, your shame has
been very slow in manifesting itself, seeing how long you have
been acting, on life's great stage, the despicable parts of drone
and loafer, tuitJuyat shame !

Idler ! Take the foregoing home to yourself. Don't try to
persuade yourself that the cap doesn't fit you. Hocesfcly ac-
knowledge its fitness. It will be a great point gained, to be-
come honest with yourself. It will be a step forward — a step
toward that justice to others which your present conduct ab-
solutely ignores 1

'4: \

|& ANUFACTURERS find intelligent educated mechanics
^J^L more profitable to, employ, even at higher wages, than
those who are uneducated. We have never met any
one who had much experience in employing large numbers of
men who did not hold this opinion, and, as a general rule, those
manufacturers are most successful who are most careful to secure
intelligent and skilful workmen.

It requires extensive observation to enable one even partially
to appreciate the wonderful extent to which aU the faculties
are developed by mental cultivation. The nervous system
grows more vigorous and active, the touch is more sensitive;
And there is greater mobility in the hand.

We once knew a weaving room filled with girls above the aver-

112

EDUCATION.

't^'

age in character and intelligeuce, and there was h-Mm^kn ^mong
them who had been highly educated. Though length of arms and
strength of muscle are advantages in weaving, and though this
girl was short and small, she always wove the greatest number
of pieces in the room, and consequently drew the largest pay
at the end of every month. We might fill many pages with
similar cases which have come under our own observation, but
there is no occasion. It has not long since been settled by the
general observation of manufacturers, that intelligent workmen
will do more and better work than ignorant ones.

But the excess in the amount of work performed is not the
most important r&spect in which an intelligent workman is
superior to a stupid one. He is fur more likely to be faithful
to the interests of his employer, to save from >vaste and to turn
to profit every thing that comes to his hand. There is also the
exalted satisfaction of being surrounded by thinl^ing, active and
inquiring minds, instead of by ignorance.

Such are some of the advantages to the " Captains of Indus-
try," which result from the employment of intelligent work-
men ; not in one article, nor any number of articJes, could these
advantages be fully set forth. And if it is impossible to state
the advantages to the employer, how vain must be the effort
to describe those which result to the workman himself 1

The increase of wages is the least and lowest of the rich re-
wards of mental culture. The whole being is enlarged and ex-
alted ; the scope of view is widened ; the objects of interest
are increased ; the subjects of thought are multiplied ; life is
more filled wilh emotion ; and the man is raised in the scale of
creation.

To intelligent English travellers,nothing in the United States
has excited such wonder and admiration as Lowell, Nashua,
Manchester, Lawrence, and the other manufacturing towns of
New England. That factory-girls should play on the piano,
and sustain a creditable magazine by their own contributions;
that their residences should be clean, commodious, and elegant;
that factory-nen should be intelligent gentlemen, well-read in

EDUCATIOHr.

iin

!55'

liteiaiure, and totally unacquainted with beer and its inspira-
tions, have been, for many years, the crowning marvels of
America to all tra"3llera of right feeling and good judgment.

D^ijiel Webstp? says : " Knowledge does not comprise all
whir.h is contained in the large term of education. The feel-
ings are to be disciplined, the passions are to be restrained ;
true and worthy motives are to be inspired ; a profound relig-
louf feeling is to be instilled, and puie morality inculcated
»mder all circumstances. All this is coinpi-ised in education."

Too many have imbibed the idea that to obtain a suHicient
education to enable a man to appear advantageously upon the
theatre, especially of public life ; his boyhood and youth must
be spent within the walls of some classical seminary of learn-
ing, that he may commence his career under the high floating
banner of a collegiate diploma — with them, the first round in
the ladder of faijie.

That a refined classical education is desirable, and one of
the acconipliahinents of a man, I admit — that it is indispen-
■ably necessary, and always makes a man more useful, I deny.
He who has been incarcerated, from his childhood up to his
majority, within the limited circumference of his school and
boarding room, although he may have mastered all the classics,
is destitute of that knowledge of men and things, indispensablj''
necessary to prepare him for action, either in private or pul>lic
life. CI issic lore and polite literature are very different from
that vast amount of common intelligence, fit for every day use,
that he must have, to render his intercourse with society
pleasing to himself, or agreeable to others. He is liable to im-
position at every turn he makes. He may have a large fund
of fine sense, but if he lacks common sense, he is like a ship
without a ixidder. Let boys and girls be taught, first and last,
all that is necessary to prepare them foi" the common duties of
life — if the classics and polite literature can be worked between
the coarser branches, they will be much safer — as silk goods
are, encloseil in canvas, or a bale. I wish not to undervalue
high seminaries of learning — bat rather to stimulate those to

■

114

EDUOATION.

persevere in the acquirement of science, who are deprived oi

the advantage of their dazzling lights. Franklin, Sherman,
and others, emerged from the workshop, and illuminated the
world as brightly as the most profound scholar from a college.
In thLs enlightened age, and in our free country, all who will
may drink, deeply, at the pure fountain of science. Ignorance
is a voluntary misfortune. By a proper improvement of time,
the apprentice of the mechanic may lay in a stock of useful
knowledge that will enable him, when he arrives at manhood,
to take a res[)ectable stand by the side of those who have
grown up in the full blaze of a collegiate education — and with
a better prospect of success at the start, becaiLso he is much
better stocked with common information, without which a man
is a poor helpless animal.

Education of every kind has two values — value as know-
ledge and value as discipline. Besides its use for guidance in
conduct, the acquisition of each order of facts has also its
use as mental exercise ; and its effects as a preparative for com-
plete living have to be considered under both these heads.

Education cannot be acquired without pains and application.
It is troublesome and deep digging for pure water, but when
oncf^ you come to the springs, they riso up and meet you. Every
grain helps fill the bushel, so does the improvement of every
moment increase knowledge.

Says Swedenborg: "It is of no advantage to man to know
much, unless he lives according to what he knows, for know-
ledge has no other end than goodness ; and he who is made
good is in passession of a far richer treasure than he whose
knowledge is the most extensive, and. yet is destitute of good-
ness ; for, what the latter is seeking by his great acquirements,
the former already possesses."

One oi the most agreeable consequences of knowledge is
the respect and importance which it communicates to old age.
Men rise in character often as they increase in years ; they are
venerable from what they have acquired and pleasing from whai
they can impart. Knowledge is the treasure, but judgment

■3

EDUCATION.

115

the treasurer of a wise man. Superficial knowledge, pleasure
dearly purchased, and subsistence at the will of another, are
the disgrace of mankind.

The chief properties of wisdom are to be mindful of things
past, careful for things present, and provident for things to come.

He that thinks himself the happiest man is really so ; but
he that thinks himself the wisest is generally the greatest fool.

A wise man, says Seneca, is provided for occurrences of any
kind : the good he manages, the bad he vanquishes ; in pros-
perity he betrays no presumption, and in adversity he feels no
despondency.

By gaining a good education you shall have your reward in
the rich stores of knowledge you have thus collected, and which
shall ever be at your command. More valuable than eartnly
treasure — while fleets may sink, and storehouses consume, and
banks may totter, and riches flee, the intellectual investments
you have thus made will be permanent and enduring, unfailing
as the constant flow of the Niagara or Amazon — a bank whose
dividends are perpetual, whose wealth is undiminished how-
ever frequent the drafts upon it ; which, though moth may
impair, yet thieves cannot break through nor steal.

Nor will you be able to till these storehouses to their full.
Pour into a glass a stream of water, and at last it fills to the
brim and will not hold another drop. But you may pour into
yoiu" mind, through a whole lifetime, streams of knowledge
trcm every conceivable quarter, and not only shall it never be
full, but it will constantly thirst for more, and welcome each
fresh supply with a greater joy.

Nay, more, to all around you may impart of these gladden-
ing stieams which have so fertilised your own mind, and yot,
like the candle from which a thousand candles may be lit with-
out diminishing its flame, your supply shall not be impaired.
On the contrary, your knowledge, as you add to it, will itself
attract still more as it widens your realm of thought ; and thus
will you realize in your own life the parable of the ten talents.
for " to him that hath shall be given."

r T

116

OPPORTUNITY.

The beginning of wisdom is to feax God, but the end of it
is to love Uim. The highest learning is to be wise ; and tho
greatest wisdom is to be good. The wise man looks forward
into futurity, and considers what will be his condition million*
of ages hence, as well as what it is at present.

-♦-•■•♦-♦•

, ANY do with opportunity as children do at the st.a-

^L shore ; they fill their little hands with sand, then hi
the grains fall through one by one, till they are all gone.

Four things come not back; the spoken word; the sped ar-
row; the past life; and the neglected opportunity. Oppor-
tunity has hair in front, behind she is bald ; if you seize her
by the forelock you may hold her, but if sufiered to escape, not
Jupiter himself can catch her again. Opportunities are the
ofiers of God. Heaven gives us enough when it gives us op-
portunity. Great opportunities are generally the result of
the wise improvement of small ones. Wise men make more
opportunities than they find. If you think your opportunities
are not good enough, you had better improve them. Remember
you are responsible for talents, for time, and for opportunities ;
improve them as one that must give an account. Make hay
while the sun shines. Gather roses while they bloom.

As a general rule, those who have no opportunities despise
■mall ones; and those who despise small opportunities never
get large ones.

Opportunity does not only do great work, but if not heeded
is often most disastrous.

A shipmaster once said, " It was my lot to fall in with tbe
ill-fated steamer, the * Central America.' The night was closing
in, the sea rolling high ; but I hailed the crippled steamer, aod

OPPORTUNITY.

117

Mked if they needed help. 'I am in a einking condition/
cried Captain Hemdon. ' Had you not better send your pas-
sengers on board directly ? * I said. 'Will you not lay by mo
till morning ? ' answered Captain Hemdon. * I will try," I re-
plied ; ' but had you not better send your passengers on board
NOW ? ' * Lay by me till morning,' again said Captain Hem-
don. I tried to lay by Lim ; but at night such was the heavy
roll of the sea I could not keep my position, and I never saw
the steamer again. In an hour and a half after the captain
said ' Lay by me till morning.' the vessel with its living freight,
went down — the captain and crew, and a great majority of
passengers, found a grave in the deep." There is so little time
f(ir over-squeamishness at present the opportunity slips away ;
the very period of life at which a man chooses to venture, if
e /er, is so confined that it is no bad mle to preach up the ne-
eussity, in such instances, of a little violence done to the feel-
ings, and of eflforts made in defiance of strict and sober calculi
tion and not pass one opportunity after another.

What may be done at any time, will be done at no tim&
Take time while time is, for time will away, say the English,
When the fool has made up his mind, the market has gone by :
Spanish. A little too late, much too late : Dutch. Some refuse
roast meat, and afterwards long for the smoke of it : Italian.

There is sometimes wanting only a stroke of fortune to dis-
cover numberless latent good or bad qualities, which would
otherwise have been eternally concealed; as words written
with a certain liquor appear only when applied to the fire.

Accident does very little toward the production of any great
result in life. Though sometimes what is called a " happy hit "
may be made by a bold venture, the old and common highway
of steady industry and application is the only safe road to travel.

It is not accident that helps a man in the world, but purpose
and persistent industry. These make a man sharp to discern
opportunities, and turn them to account. To the feeble, th«
sluggiah, and purposeless, the happiest opportunities avail no-
thing —they pass them by, seeing no meaning in them.

118

SPAIi£ MOMEXIS,

rpare gotnenta*

^P we are prompt to seize and improve even the shortest in-
teivals of possible action and effort, it is astonishing hov>
much can be accomplished. Watt taught himself chem-
istry and mechanics while working at his trade of a mathe-
matical instrument maker; and he availed himself of every
opportunity to extend his knowledge of language, literature,
and the principles of science. Stephenson taught himself arif h-
metic and nipnsuration while working as an engineer during
the night sliifts, and he studied mechanics during his spivre
hours at home, thus preparing himself for the great work of
his life — the invention of the passenger locomotive.

With perseverance, the very odds and ends of time may he
worked up into results of the greatest value. An hour in every
day withdrawn from frivolous pursuits, would, if profitably
employed, enable any man of ordinary capacity, very shortly
to master a complete science. It would make an ignorant man
a well-informed man in ten years. We must not allow the
time to pass without yielding fruits, in the form of something
learned worthy of being known, some good principle cultivated,
or some good habit strengthened. Dr. Mason Good translated
Lucretius while riding in his carriage in the streets of London,
going his rounds among his patients. Dr. Darwin composed
nearly all his works in the same way, while riding about in his
" sulky," from house to house in the country — writing down his
thoughts on little scraps of paper, which he carried about with
him for the purpose. Hale wrote his " Contemplations " while
travelling on a circuit. Dr. Bumey learned French and Italian
•while travelling on horseback from one musical pupil to another
in the courae of his profession. Kirk White learned Greek
while walkini- to and from a lawyer's office ; and we personaiiY
know a mai of eminent position in a northern manufaciuriiig

i#^i

SPAEE MOMENTS.

110

town, who learned Latin and French while going mesBages an
an errand boy in the streets of Manchester.

Elihu Burritt attributed his tiret success in self-improvement,
not to genius, which he disclaimed, but simply to the careful
employment of those invaluable fragments of time, called " odd
moments." While working and eai'ning his living as a black-
smith, he mastered some eighteen ancient and modern lan-
guages, aud tweuty-two European dialects. Withal, he was
exceedingly modes' and thought his achievements nothing
extraordinarj'. Like another learned and wise man, of whom
it wa.s said that he could be <?ileut in ten Janguajjes, Elihu

OCT'

Burritt could do the same in forty. " Those who have been
acquainted with my character from my youth up," said he
writing to a friend, " will give me credit for sincerity when I
say, that it never entered into my head to blazon forth any
acquisition of my own. ♦ * ♦ All that I have accomplished,
or expect, or hope to accomplish, has been and will be by that
plodding, ]iatient, persevering process of accretion which builds
the ant-heap — particle by particle, thought by thouglit, fact
by fact. And if ever I was actuated by ambition, its highest
and warmest aspiration reached no further than the hope to
set before the young men of my country an example in em-
ploying those invaluable fragments of time called ' odd mo-
ments.' "

Daguesseau, one of the great chancellors of France, by care-
fully working up his odd bits of time, wrote a bulky and able
volume in the successive intervals of waiting for dinner ; aud
Madame do Genlis composed several of her cliarming volumes
while waiting for the princess to whom she gave her daily lessons.
Jeremy Bcntham, in like manner, disposed of his hours of labour
and repose, so that not a moment should be lost, the arrange-
ment being determined on the principle that it is a calamity to
lose the smallest portion of time. He lived and worked habit-
ually under the practical consciousness that man's days are
numbered, and that the night cometh when no man can work.
What a solemn and striking admonition to youth is that

ISO

SPARE MOMENTS.

;•. t;

inscribed on the dial at All Souls, Oxford, England, " Periunt fit
imputantur," the hours perish and are laid to our charge. For
time, like life, can never be recalled. Melancthon noted down
the time lost by him, that he might thereby reanimate his
industry, and not lose an hour. An Italian scholar put over
his door an inscription intimating that whosoever should remain
there should join in his labours. " We are afraid," said some
visitors to Baxter, " that we break in upon your time." " To
be sure you do," replied the disturbed and blunt divine, lime
was the estate out of which these great workers, and all other
workers, carved a rich inheritance of thoughts and deedti for
their successors.

Sir Walter Scott found spare moments for self-improvement
in every pursuit, and turaed even accidents to account. Thus
it was in the discharge of his functions as a writer's apprentice
that he first penetrated into the Highlands, and formed those
friendships among the surviving heroes of 1745 which served to
lay the foundation for a large class of his works. Later in life,
when employed as quartermaster of the Edinburgh Light
Cavalry, he was accidentally disabled by the kick of a horse, and
confined for some time to his house ; but Scott was a sworn
enemy to idleness, and he forthwith set his mind to work, and
in three days composed the first canto of "The Lay of the Last
Minstrel," his first great original work.

Let not, then, the young man sit with folded hands, calling
on Hercules. Thine own arm is the demi-god. It was given
thee to help thyself. Go forth into the world trustful, but fear-
less. Exalt thine adopted calling or profession. Look on labour
as honourable, and dignify the task before thee, whether it be in
the study, office, counting-room, work-shop, or furrowed field.
There is an equality in all, and the resolute will and pure heftrt
may ennoble either

1.' 'V.

■;?f ':

;'*''•■

BOOKS.

looks.

t^K.

man has a right to bring up his children without sur«
rounding them with bookfi. It ia a wrong to his family.
He cheats them. Children learn to read by being in the
prsdenos of books. The love of knowledge comes with reading,
and grows upon it. And the love of knowledge in a young
mind is almost a warrant against the inferior excitement of pas-
sions and vices.

A little library, growing larger every year, is an honourable
part of a young man's history. It is a man's duty to have
oooks. A library is not a luxury but one of the necessaries of
life. It is not like a dead city of stones, yearly crumbling, and
needing repair, but like a spiritual tree. There it stands and
yields its precioas fruit from year to year and from age to age.
Carlyle saw the intiuence of books many years ago. " I say,
of all the priesthoods, aristocracies — governing classes at pres-
ent extant in the world — there is no class comparable for im-
portance to the priesthood of the writers of books."

The art of writing and of printing, which is a sequence to it,
is really the most wonderful thing in thf» world. Books are
the soul of actions, the only audible, articulate voice of the ac-
complished facts of the past. The men of antiquity are dead ;
their fleets and armies have disappeared ; their cities are ruins;
their temples are dust ; yet all these exist in magic preserva-
tion in the books they have bequeathed us, and their manners
and their deeds are as familiar to us as the events of yesterday.
And these papers and books, the mass of printed matter which
we call literature, are really the teacher, guide and law giver
of the world to-day.

The influence of books upon man is remarkable ; they make

the man. You may judge a man more truly by the books and

papers which he reads than by the company which he keeps,

for his associates are often, in a manner, imposed upon him :

122

BOOKS.

I;.

but his reading is the result of choice, and the man wb^ chooMek
a v^ortaiu cl&ss of bouks and papers unconsciously becomes mort
coloured in their views, more I'ooted m their opluions, and the
mind becomes fettered to their views.

All the life and feeling of a young girl fascinated by «ome
glowing lovo romance, is coloured and shaped by the page she
reads. If it is false, and weak, and foolish, she will be false,
and weak, and foolish, too ; but if it is ^ne, and tender, and in-
spiring, then something of its truth, and tenderness, and inspi-
ration will grow into her soul and will become a part of her
very self. The boy who reads deeds of manliness, of bravery
and noble daring, feels the spirit of emulation grow within him,
and the seed is planted which will bring forth fruit of heroic
endeavour and exalted life.

A good book is the most ap|>ro['nate gift that friendship can
make. It never changes, it never grows uniashionable or old.
It is soared by no neglect, is jealous of no rival ; but always ita
clean, clear pages are ready to aiTiuse, interest and instruct.
The voice that speaks the thought may change or grow still for-
ever, the heart that prompted the kindly and cheering word
may grow cold and forgetful ; but the page that mirrors it is
changeless, faithful, immortal. The book that records the in-
carnation of divine love, is God's best gift to man, and the
books which are filled with kindly thought and generous sym-
pathy, are the best gift of friend to friend.

Every family ought to be well supplied with a choice supply
of books for reading. This may be seen from the consequences
of its neglect and abuse on the one hand, and from its value
and importance on the other. Parents should furnish their
children the necessary means, opportunities and direction of a
Christian education. Give them proper books. " Without books,"
says the quaint Bartholin, " God is silent, justice dormant,
science at a stand, philosophy lame, letters dumb and all things
involved in Cimmerian darkness." Bring them up to the habit
of prop'""' ■ reading and studying these books. " A reading peo-
ple Wa .^n become a thinking people, and a thinking people

Books,

\i9

must Boon become a great people." Every book yon furxiisb
your child, and which it reads with roliection is " like a cast of
the weaver's shuttle, adding,' another thread to the indestructi-
ble web of existence." It will be worth more to him thau all
your hoarded gold and silver.

Dear reader, be independent and make up your mind what
it is best for you to read, and xead it. Master a few good Ijooks*
Life is short, and books are many. Ii. ^tuad of having your
mind a garret and crowded with rubbish, make it a parlour with
rich furniture, beautifully arranged, in which you would not be
ashamed t have the whole world enter. " Readere," saj's Ad-
dison, " wl. .) are in the ilowor of their youth should labour at
those accoinplishments which may set off their persons when
their bloom is gone, and to lay m timely provisions for man-
hood and old age." Says Dr. Watts : " A line of the golden
verses of the Pythagoreans recurring in the memory hath often
tempted youth to frown on temptation to vice." No less wor-
thy is the following : "There are many silver books, and a few
golden books ; but I have one book worth more than all, called
the Bible, and that is a book of bank-notes." The parent who
lives for hia children's souls will often consider what other
books are most likely to prepare his little ones for prizing
aright that Bi)ok of Books, and make that object the pole star
of his endeavours.

Every book has a moral expression, though as in the human
face, it may not be easy to say what it consists in. We may
take uj) some exquisite poem or story, with no distinctly reli-
gious bearing, and feel that it is religious, because it strikes a
chord, so deep in human nature, that we feel that it is only the
divine nature, " God who encompasses," that can respond to
what it calls forth. When we feel the inspiiing influence of
books, when wo are lifted on the wings of ancient genius, we
Bhoald jealously avoid the perversion of the gift. The child-
ren of this world have their research and accomplishment, and
enough Is done for pleasure and fame ; but the Christian scho-
lar wil' rebuke himself unless he finds it in his heart to be more

■A

■i--'

124

iOOKS.

alive in devotion to heavenly things, at the very moment when
he haf; breathed the aroma of poetry and eloquence. Some
books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed., antl some few
to be chewed and digested ; that is, some bocks are to be read
only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some
few to bo read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some
books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them
by others ; but that would be only in the less important argu-
ments, and the meaner sort of books ; else distilled books are,
like common distilled waters, flashy things.

" Not to know what was before you were, is," as has been
truly said, "to be alwnys a child." And it is equally true that
he never becomes a complete man, who learns nothing of the
former days, from reading. " Books," says a good writer, " are
the crystalline founts, wliich hold in eternal ice the imperish-
able gems of the past."

Good books are invaluable as a moral guard to a young man.
The culture of a taste lor such reading, ko )s one quietly at
home, and prevents a thirst for exciting recreations and debas-
ing pleasure. It makes him scorn whatever is low, coarse, and
vulgjir. It prevents that wearv and i-estless temper which
drives so many to the saloon, if not the gambling-table, to
while away their leisure hours. Once form the habit of do-
mestic reading, and you will, at any time, prefer an interesting
book, to frequenting the haunts of vica

Chief among the educational influences of a household a«e
its books. Therefore, good sii, or madam, whenever you econo-
mize, do not cut ofl* the supply of gooti literature. Have the
best books, the best papers, and the best magazines, though you
turn your old black silk once more, and make the old coat do
duty another season. Nothing will compensate to your boys
and girls for the absence of those quiet, kindly teachers, who
keep such order in their schools, and whose invaluable friend-
ship never cools or suffers change. You may go without pies
or cako, or without butter on your bread, but, if you rare for
your family's beat happiness and progress, you will net g»

BOOKS.

12S

without the best of books, such as Shakspeare and Irving,
Thackeray and Dickens, and the best authors of the day.

In books we live continually in the decisive raoments of his-
tory, and in the deep^sst experience of individual lives. The
flowers which we cull painfully and at long intervals in our
personal history, bloasom in profusion here and the air is full
of a fragrance which touches our own life only in the infre-
quent springs. In our libraries we meet groat men on a fami-
liar footing, and are at ease with them. We come to know
them better, perhaps, than those who bear their names and sit
at their tables. The reserve that makes so many fine natui"es
difiicult of access is entirely lost No crudeness of manner,
no poverty of speech or unfortunate personal peculiarity, mars
the intercourse of author and reader. It is a relation in which
the interchange of thought is undisturbed by outward condi-
iions. We lose our narrow selves in the broader life that is
»pened to as. We forget the hindrances and limitations of our
»wn work in the full comprehension of that stronger life that
cannot be hound nor confined, but grows in all soils and climbs
heavenward under every sky. It ip ^he privilege of greatness
to understand life in its height and depth. Ha^'litt has told
UH of his first interview with ColeBidge, and of the moonlight
walk homeward, when the eloquent lips of the great conversa-
tionalist awi.ke the slumbering genius within him, and made
the old familiar world strange and wonderful under a sky that
seemed full of new stars. Such intercourse with gifted men
is the privilege of few ; but in the seclusion of the library there
often grows up an acqiiaintancs more thorough and inspiring.
Books are rich, not only in thought and sentiment, but in char-
acter. Where shall we find in any capitals such majesty as
** doth hedge about " the kings of Shakspeare, or such brave
and accomplished gentlemen as adorn his courts anO measure
wit and courtesy with the fair and graceful women of his
fancy ?

The best society in the world is that which lives in books.
No taint of vulgarity attaches to it, no pett} itrife for placf

126

READING.

and power alsrarbs its harmony, no falsehood stains its peifect
truth ; and those who move habitually in these associations
find a strength which is the more controlling because moulded
by genius into forms of grace and refinement.

There is a certain monotony in daily life, and those whose
aims are high, but who lack the inherent strength to stand true
to them amid adverse influences, gradually drop out of the
ever-thinning ranks of the aspiring. They are conquered by
routine, and disheartened by the discipline and labour that
pruard the prizes of life. Even to th« strongest there are hours ol
weakness and woariness. To the w^eak, and to the strong in
their times of weak ness, books are inspiring friends and tenchers.
Against the feebleness of individual efforts they proclaim the
victory of faith and patience, and out of the uncertainty and
discouragement of one day's work they prophesy the fuller and
richer life, that grows strong and deep through conflict, sets
itself more and more in harmony with the noblest aims, and
is at labt crowned with honour and power.

J HERE are four classes of readers. The first is like the hour-
ly, glass ; and their readings being on the sand, it runs in and
runs out and leaves no vestige behind. A second is like
a sponge, which imbibes everything, and returns it in the same
state, only a little dirtier. A third is like a jelly bag, allowing
all that is pure to pass away, and retaining only the refuse and
dregs. The fourth is like the slaves in the diamond mines of
Golconda, who, casting a,sido all that is worthless, obtain only
pure gems.

One's reading is, usually, a fair index of his character. Ob-
serve, in almost any house you visit, the books which lie cus»

READING.

127

comarlly on the centre-table ; or note what are taken by pre-
ference from the puljllc or circulating library; and you may
judge, in no small degree, not only the intellectual tjistes and
the general intelligence of the family but also — and what \b
of far deeper moment — you may pronounce on the moral at-
tiiinments and the spiritual advancement of most of the house-
hold. A man is known." it is said, " by the company ho
keeps.** It is equally true that a man's character may be, to a
great extent, ascertained by knowing what books he reads.

The temptation to corrupt reading is usually strongest at the
period when the educatioji of the school-room is about closing.
The test of the dnal utility, however, is the time when our
youth leave these schools. If the mind be now awakened to
a manly independence, and start on a course of vigorous self-
culture, all will be well. But il, on the other hand, it sinks
into a state of inaction, inditFcreut to its own needs, and to all
the highest ends and aims of iif€ , then woe to the man. For
few. very few, ever rouse themselves in mid-life to a new in-
tellectual taste, and to an untried application of their tim. and
I'owers to that culture for which the Creator formed and en-
dowed them.

To read books which present false pictures of human life ia
decidedly dangerous, and we would say stand aloof. Life ia
neither a tragedy nor a farce. Men are not all either knaves
or heroes. Women are neither angels nor furies. And yet, if
you depended upon much of the literature of the day, you
would get the idea that life, instead of being something earnest,
something practical, is a fitful and fantastic and extravagant
thing. How poorly prepared are that young man and woman
for the duties of to-day who spent last night wading through
brilliant passages desci iptive of magnificent knavery and wick-
edness. The man will be looking all day long for his heroine
in the tinshop, by the forge, in the factory, in the counting-
«oom, and he will not find her, and he will be dissatisfied. A
man who gives himself up to the indiscriminate reading of
p-^vels vrill be nerveless, inane, and a nuisance. He wilJ

128

READINO.

be fit neither for the store, nor the shop, nor 6 ■» held. A
woman who gives herself up to the indiscriminaW reaxiing of
novels will be unfitted for the duties of wife, mother, sister,
daugliter. There she is, hair dishevelled, countenance vacant,
cheeks pale, hands trembling, bursting into tears at midnight
over the fate of some unfortunate lover ; in the day-time, when
she ought to be busy, staring by the half -hour at nothing ; bit-
ing her finger-nails to the quick. The carpet that was plain
before wiU be plainer, after through a romance all night
long having wandered in tessellated halls of castles. And
your industrious companion will be more unattractive than
ever, now that you have walked in the romance through parks
with plumed princess^, or lounged in the arbour with the po-
lished desperado.

Abstain from all those books which, while they have some good
things about them, have also an admixture of evil. You have
read books that had the two elements in thera — the good and
the bad. Which stuck to you ? The bad ! The heart of most
people is like a sieve, which lets the small particl*^^ of gold
fall through, but keeps the greafc oinders. Once in a while
there is a mind like a loadstone, which, plunged amid steel
and brass filings, gathers up the 'teel and repels the brass.
But it is generally just the opposite. If you attempt to plunge
through a hedge of burrs to get one blackberry, you will get
more burrs than blackberries. You cannot afibrd to read a bad
book, however good you are. You say, " The influence is in-
significant." I tell you that the scratch of a pin has sometimes
produced the lockjaw. Alas, if through curiosity, as many do,
you pry into an evil book, your cariosity is as dangerous as that
of the man who should take a torch into a gunpowder mill,
merely to see whether it would blow up or not.

Inferior l»ooks are to be rejected, in an age and time when we
are courted by whole libraries, and when no man's life is long
enough to compass even those which are good and great and
famous. Why should we bow down at puddles, when we can
approach freely to the crystal spring-head* of j»cieiif^ and letr

RE A PINO.

189

r-
i

1?.--

Urs ? Half the reading of m. st people is snatched up at ran-
dom. Many stupefy themselves over the dulness of authors
who ought never to have escaped oblivion. The invention of
paper and printing — especially the production of both by a new
motive power — may be said to have overdone the matter, and
made it too easy to be born into the world of authorship. The
race would be benefited by some new invention for strangling
nine out of ten that sue for publicity. No man can do his
friend or child a more real service than to snatch from his hand
the book that I'elaxea and elTemiuates him, lest he destroy the
solids and make his fibre flaccid by the slops and hashes of a
catch-penny press. But especially is he a benefactor who in-
stils the {)rinciple that no coinpo-^ition should bo deliberately
sought, which is not good, beuoticial and above niodiocrity.

To those who plead the want of time to road, we would say,
be as frugal of your hours as you are of your dollars, and you
can create time in the busiest day, Horace Greeley, the editor
of a newspaper which has niached an almost incredible circula-
tion, tells us, that when a boy, he would "go reading to the wood-
pile ; reading to the ganlen ; reading to the ntighbours." His
father was poor, and ne';ded his services through the day ; and
it was a mighty struggle with him to get Horace to bed. "I
•would take a pine knot," he says, " put it on the back-log, pile
my books around me, and lie down and read all through the
long winter evenings ; silent, motionless and dead to the world
around me, alive only to the world to which I was transported
by my book." In tliis country, talent has a fair field to ri.se by
culture from the humblest walks of life^ and to attain the hio-h-
est distinction of which it is ctipable. " Why,"' inquirovi a by-
s.^ander of a certain carpenter, who was bestowing great labour
in planing and smoothing a seat for the bench in a court-room,
" why du you spend so much time on that seat ? " "I do it,"
was the reply, " to make it easy for my.self." And he kept his
word ; for, b}' industry, perseverance, and self-education, he
rose, step by scop, until he actually did afterwards sit as judge
on that very bench he had planed as a carpenter.

130

BEADING.

■ft

Consider that what we carry to a book .% aiways quite as
important as what we receive from ir. We may strike the
keys of the best iiistnunent, from earliest morn to latest night,
but unless there be music in our soul, it can produce no hai*-
raony for us. While, to an earnest, inquiring, self-poised miud
" a good book is the plectrum by which our else silent lyres are
struck." Master your reading, and let it never master you.
Then it will serve you with an (;ver-increasing fidelity. Only read
books pright, and they will chai'ge your mind with the true
electric lire. Take them up as among your best friends ; and
every volume you peruse will join the great company of joy-
<m8 servitors who will wait around your immortal intellect
Thou, too, your daily character will bear the signatures of the
great minds you coiuiunne with in secret. And, as the years
pass on, you M'ill w^iUlv in the light of an ever-enlarging multi-
tude of well-chosen, silent, but never-erring guides.

To read with profit, the book must be of a kind calculated
to inform tlie mind, correct the head, and better the heart.
These books should be read with attention, understood, remem-
bered, and their precepts put in practice It depends lows on
number than quality. One good book, well understood and re-
membered, is of more use than tri have a superticial knowledge
of tif ry, equally sound. Books of the riglit character produce
reliection, and induce investigation. They are a mirror of mind,
for mind to look in. Of all the books ever written, no one <.'on-
tains so instructive, so sublime, and so great a variety, aa the
Bible. Resolve to read three chapters each day, for one year,
and you will lind realities there, more wonderful than any pic-
tures of tiction, that have been drawn by the finest pencil-
lings of the master hand of the most practiced novel writer,
who has shone in the dazzling galaxy ol ancient or modem
literature.

The advice in regard to reading only the best selected woiia
leads me to say, read slowly. We sometimes rush over pages
of valuable matter, because, at a glance, they seem to be dull ;
and we K^ap along to see how the wtory, if it bo a story, is to

HEADING.

131

end. We do everything in this a^e in a hurry , we demand
not only "fast" horses, but fast writers, fast preachers, and
fast lect.urers. Said a noted seamen's preacher in one of our
large cities, " I work in a huny, I sleep in a hurry, and, if I
ever die, I expect to die in a hurry." This is the history of
much of the present reading.

No one can too liiglily appreciate the magic power of the
press, or too deeply depreciate its abuses. Newspapers have be-
come the great, highway of that intelligence which exerts a
controlling power over our nation, catering the e very-day food
of the mind. Show us an intelligent family of boys and girls,
and we will show you a family where newspapers and periodi-
cals are plenty. Nobody who has beei without these private
tutors can know their educating power for good or evil. Have
yon ever thought of the innumerable topics of discussion which
they suggest at the breakfast table ; the important public mea-
sures with which, thus early our children become acquainted ;
grcut philanthropic questions of the day, to which, uncon-
Bciijusly, their attention is awakened, and the general spirit of
intelligence which is evoked by these quiet visitors ? Any-
thing that makes home pleasant, cheerful and chatty, thins the
haunts of vice, and the thousand and one avenues of tempta-
tion, should certainly be regarded, when we consider its influ-
ence on the minds of the 3'oung, as a great^ social and moral
liglit.

A child beginning to read becomes delighted with a uews-
papfr, because he reads of names and things which are familiar
and he will progress accordingly. A newspaper in cne year is
worth a quarter's schooling to a child. Every father must con-
sider that information is connected with advancement. Th«
mother of a family, being one of its- heads, and having a more
immediate charge of children, should herself be instructed. A
mind occupied becomes fortified against the ills of life, and is
braced for emergency. Children amused by reading or study
are of course more considerate and easily governed.

How many thoughtless young men have spent their earnings

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182

BEADING.

in a tavern or grog shop who ought to have beon reading
How many parents, who have not spent twenty dollars for
books for their families, would have given thousands to reclaim
a son or daughter who had ignorantly or thoughtlessly fallen
into temptation.

Take away the press, and the vast educating power of the
school and the college would soon come to an end. Or, look one
moment at the immense influence a single writer has had upon
an age, or upon the world — Shakespeare in creating the drama,
or Bacon and Descartes in founding different systems of phil-
osophy. Who may estimate the influence of Charles Dickens
upon society, wlien hy the magic of his pen he touched the
under world of poverty and want, and sin, over which the rich
and the gay glided on, not knowing or thinking what was
beneath their teet, and marched all this ghastly array of ragged
and hungry children and sorrowful women and discouraged
men, and the famished forms from the poor-house, and the
ugly visage of the criminal, into the parlours of wealth and cul-
ture, and there had them tell the story of their woes and their
suffering ? Or who can tell the intiuence of a McDonald, or a
Beecher, or an Eggleston in entering the wide realm of romance
and compelling ' ' to serve truth, humanity and religion ? Take
one single writer of the neighbouring Republic, Mrs. Har-
riet Beecher Stowe. Tlie single tale of " Undo Tom's Cabin,"
stirred the heart of that vast nation U its profoundest
depths. At the simple moving of her pen millions of swords
and bayonets gleamed and flashed in the air, and vast armies
met in deadly array and fought face to face, till liberty, rebap*
tized in blood, was given to man as man. This vast world
moves along the lines of thought and sentiment and prin-
ciple, and the press gives to these wings to fly and tongues to
speak.

€~€J ^

PKRi^EVEUANCS. 138

flcrscbcrimte.

G. S. Weaver says : " Continual drc^ping wears a
tone." So persevering labom- gains our objects. Per-
severance is tlie virtue wanted, — a lion-hearted purpose
of victory. It is this that builds, constructs, accomplishes
whatever is great, good, and valuable.

Perseverance built the pyramids on Egypt's plains, erected the
gorgeous temple at Jerusalem, reared the seven hilled cit}', in-
closed in adamant the Chinese empire, scaled the stormy, cloud-
capped Alps, opened a highway through the watery wildtrnosa
of the Atlantic, levelled the forests of a new world, and reareil
in its stead a community of states and nations. It has wrought
fr^m the marble block the exquisite creations of genius, painted
ou the canvas the gorgeous miix.icry of nature, ai)d engraved on
the metallic surface the viewless substance of the shadow. It
has j)Ut in motion millions of spindles, winged as many flying
shuttles, harnessed a thousand iron steeds to as many freighted
cars, and set them flying from towj* to town and nation to na-
tion, tunnelled mountains of granite and aimihilated space with
the lightning's speed. It has whitened t!ie watera of the world
with the sails of a hundred nations, navigated every sea and
explored every land. It has reduced nature in b-er thousand
forms to as many sciences, taught her laws, prophesied her fu-
ture movements, measured lier untrodden spaces, counted her
myriad hosts of worlds, and compu'.;ed their distances, dimen-
sions, and velocities.

But greater still are the works of perseverance in the world
of mind. What are the productions of science and art com-
pared with the s')lendid achievoments won in the human boul?
What is a monument of constructive genius, compared with
the living domes of thought, the sparkling temples of virtue,
and the rich, glory-wreathed sanctuaries of religion, which per-
beverance has wrought out and reared in the souls of the good t

1 ■

134

PERSEVERANCE.

What are tbo toil sweated productions of wealth piled in vnat
profusion around a Girard, or a R'/t]isehild, when weighed
against the stores of wisdom, the treasures of knowledge, and
the strength, beauty and glory witl* which this victorious vir-
tue has enriched and adorned a great multitude of min<1s dur-
ing the march of an hundred generations ? How little can we
tell, how little know, the ])rain-sweat, the heart-labour, the con-
science-struggles which it cost to make a Newton, a Howard,
or a Channing ; how many days of toil, how many nights of
weariness, how many months and years of vigilant, powerful
effort, was spent to perfr-i^ in them what the world has l>owed
to in reverence. Their words have a power, their namav a
charm, and their deeds a glory. How can tliis wealth of soul be
th' ir? ? Why are their names watchwords of power set high on
the temple of fame? Why does childhood lisp them in reveremx),
and age feel a thrill of pleasure when they are mentioned ?

They were the sons of pei'severance — of unremitting induslry
and toil. Thoy were once as weak and helpless as any of ub
— once as destitute of wisdum, virtue and power as any infant.
Once, the very alphabet of that language which they have
wielded with such magic effect, was unknown to them. Tliey
toiled long to learn it, to get its sounds, understand its de])en-
dencies, and longer still to obtain the Sijcret of its highest
charm and mightiest power, and yet even longer for those liv-
ing, glorious thoughis which they bade it bear to an astonished
and admiring world. Their charactei's, which are now given
to the world, and will bo to millions yet unborn as patterns of
greatness and goodness, were made by that untiring persever-
ance which marked their whole lives. Frr.m childhood to age
they knew no such word as fail. Defeat o: ly gave them
power ; difficulty only taught them the necessity of redoubled
exertions ; dangers gave them courage ; the sight of great
labours inspired in them conesponding exertions. So it has
been with all men and all wom on who have been eminently
successful in any profession or calling in life. Their success
has been wrought out by persevering industry. Successful

PERSEVEHASCB.

135

men owe more to their perseverance than to their natural
powers, their frioitds, or the favourable circumstances around
them. Genius will falter by the side of lalx)ur, great powers
will yield to great industry. Talent is desiiable, but perse-
verance is more so. It will make mental powers, or, at least,
it will strengthen those already made. Yt-s, it will make
mental power. The most available and successful kind of
mental power is that made by the hand of cultivaaon.

It will also make friends. Who will not befriend the per-
severing, energetic youth, the fearless man of industry ? Who
is not a friend to 'nra who is a friend to himself ? He who per-
severes in business, and hardshi|j8. and discouragements, will
always find ready and generous friends in every time of need.
He who perseveres in a course of wisdom, rectitude, and benevo-
lence, is sure to gather around him friends who will be true and
faithful. Honest industry will procure friends in any commu-
nity and any ])art of the civilized world. Go to the men of
business, of worth, of influence, ^md ask them who shall have
their confidence and support. They will tell you, the men who
falter not by the way-side, who toil on in their callings against
every barrier, whose eye is bent upward, and whose motto is
" Excelsior." These are the mer to whom the}- give their con-
fidence. But they shun the lazy, the indolent, the fearful, and
faltering. They would as soon tru.st the wind as such men. If
you would win friends be steady and true to yourself; be the
unfailing friend of your own pui*poses, stand by your own cha-
racter, and others will come to your aid. Though the earth
quake and the heavens gather blackness, be true to your course
and yourself. Quail not, nor doubt of the result ; victory will
be youra. Friends wiD come. Athou.sandprm8of strength will
be bared to sustain you.

First, be sure that your trade, your profession, your calling in
life is a good one — one that God and goodness sanctions ; then
be true as steel to it. Think for it, plan for it, work for it, live
for it; throw in your mind, might, strength, heart, and soal into
your actions for it, and success will orowu you her favoured child

t :,

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136

PEli;^EVEliANCE.

i ■

No matter wbcthdr your object be gieat or small, whether it be
the planting of a nation or a imtcli of potatoua, the same perse-
verance is neccssfuy. Ever' body ailiuircs an iron rk'tonnina-
tion, and coniea to the. aid of him who directs it to f^oud.

But perseverance will not only make friends, but it will inake
favourable circumstances. It will change the face of all things
around us, It is .silly and cowardly to complain of the circum-
stancea that are against us. Clouds of darkness, evil forebo-
dings, opposition, enemies, bar-iers of eveiy kind, will vanish
before a stout heart and resolute energy of soul. The Alps
stood between Napoleon and Italy, which he desired to conquer

He scaled the inouutain and do.scended upon lus prey. His
startling descent more than half conquered the country. He
forced every circumstance into his favour. His greatest barriei
proved a suru means of victory A conquered enemy is oftien
the readiest slave. So a barrier once scaled aftbrds a vantage,
ground forour future efforts. Oppo.'ingcircumstancesof ten create
stiength, both mental and physical. Labour makes us strong.
Opposition gives us greater power of resistance. To overcome
one barrier gives us gi eater ability to overcome the next. It is
cowardice to grunible about circumstances. Some men always
talk as though fate had wfveu a web of circumstances against
them, and it is uselesrs for th' 'n to try to break through it. Out
upon such dastardly whinir is their business to da.9h on in

pursuit of their objects ery thing. Then circumstances

will gradually' turn i . favour, and they will deem them-

selves the favoured cu..uren of destiny.

Look at nature. She has a voice, wliich is the voice of God,
teaching a thousand lessons oi perseverance. The lofty moun-
tains are wearing down by slow degrees. The ocean is gradually
but slowly, tilling up, by deposits from its t^itusand rivers
The Niagara Falls have worn back several miles through the
hard limestone, over which it pours its thundering columns of
water, and will by-and-by drain the gi-eafc lake wiiich feeds its
boiling chasm. The Red Sea and whole regions of the Pacific
ocean are gradually filling up by the lal>our3 of a little insect

HI™

PERSEVERANCE,

187

40 small as to bo almost invisible to the naked eye. These
8tupei»dou8 works are going on before our eyes, by a slow but
8ure process. They teach a great lesson of perseverance.
Nature has but one voice on this subject, that is " perseverance."
God has but one voice, that is " persevere," and duty proclaims
the same lesson. More depends upoti an active perseverance
than upon genius. Says a common sen.se author upon this
Bubject, " Genius, unexerted, Is no more genius tlian a busliel of
acorns is a forest of oaks." There may be epics in men's brains,
just us tlierc are oaks in acorns, but the tree and the bark must
come out before we can measure them. We very naturally
recall here that large class of grumblers and wishers, who spend
their time in longing to be higher than they are, while they
should have been employed to advance themselves. These
bitterly moralize on the injustice of society. Do they want a
change? Let them then change! Who prevents them ? If
you are as high .'is your faculties will permit you to rise in the
scale of society, why should you complain of men ?

It is God that arranged the law of precedence. Implead him
or be silent ! If you have capacity for a higher station, take
it. What hinders you ? How many men would Icve to go to
sleep beggars and wake up Rothschilds or Astors ? How many
would fain ;^o to bed dunces, to be waked up Solomons ?
You reap what you have sown. Those who havo sown dunce-
seed, vice-seed, laziuess-seed, u.sually get a crop. They that
sow the wind reap a whirlwind. A man of mere " capacity
undeveloped " is only an organized degrar'.Ation with a shine on
it. A Hint and a genius that will not strike fire are no better
than wet junk-wood. We have Scripture for it, that " a living
dog is better than a dead lion ! " If you go up, go — if you
would be seen, shine. At the present day eminent position, in
any profession, is the result of hard, unwearied labour. Men
can no longer fly at one dash into eminent prsition. They have
got to hammer it out by heavy and rugged blows. The world is
no longer clay, but rather iron, in the hands of its workers.

Work is the order of this day. The slow »" ^y is surer

««n«HLa.i,aH>a..j<.T,< iH;vuw.ILA.!,...«<ivi.^m9;v^inFf]iPlPfWl

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138

FERSEVEBANCE.

than the quick dollar. The slow trotter will out-travel the
fleet racer. Genius darts, flutters and tires ; but perseverance
wears and wins. Tiie all-day horse wins the race. The after-
noon-man bears off the laurels. The last blow finishes the naiL
Men must learn to labour and to wa' if they would succeed.
Brains grow by use as well as hands. The greatest man is the
one who uses his brains the most, who has added most to his
natural stock of ^ower. Would you have fleeter feet ? Try
them in the race. Would you have stronger minds ? Put them
at rational thinking. They will grow strong by action. Would
you have greater success ? Use greater and more rational and
constant efforts ? Does competition trouble you ? Work away ;
what is your competitor but a man ? Are you a coward, that
you shrink from the contest ? Then you ought to be beaten.
Is the end of your labours a long way off? Every step takes
you nairer to it. Is it a weary distance to look at ? Ah, you
are faint-hearted ! That is the trouble with the multitude of
youth. Youth are not so lazy as they are cowardly. They
may bluster at first, but they won't " stick it out." Young
farmer, do you covet a homestead, nice and comfortable, for
yourself and that sweet one of your day-dreams ? What hin-
ders that you should not have it ? Persevering industry, with
proper economy, will give you the farm. A man can get what
he wants if he is not faint-hearted. Toil is the price of success.
Learn it, young farmer, mechanic, student, minister, physician.
Christian. Learn it, ye formers of character, ye followers of
Christ, ye would-be men and women. Ye must have some-
thing to do, and do it with all your might. Ye must harden
your hands and sweat your brains. Ye must work your nerves
and strain your sinews. Ye must be at it, and always at it.
No trembling, doubting, hesitating, flying the track. Like
the boy ci* *iie rock, ye cannot go back. Onward ye must go.
There ia a gi-eat work for ye all to do, a deep and earnest life-
work, solemn, real and useful. Life is no idle game, no farce
to amuse and be forgotten. It is a fixed and stern reality, fullw
of duties than the sky is of stars.

PLUCK.

I3fi

Illicit.

HERE is seldom a line of glory written upon the earth'i
face but a line of suffering runs parallel with it ; and they
that read the lustrous syllables of the one, and stop not
to decipher the spotted and worn inscription of the other, get
the lesser half of the lesson earth has to give.

The hopelessness of any one's accomplishing anything with-
out pluck is illustrated by an old East Indian fable. A mouse
that dwelt near the abode of a great magician was kepi, in such
constant distress by its fear of a cat, that the magician, taking
pity on it, turned it into a cat itself. Immediately it began to
suffer from its fear of a dog, so the magician turned it into a
dog. Then it began to sufler from the fear of a tiger, and the
magician turned it into a tiger. Then it began to suffei" from
its fear of huntsmen, and the magician, in disgust, said, " Be a ^
mouse again. .As you have only the heart of a mouse, it is im-
possible to help you by giving you the body of a nobler animal."
And the poor creature again became a mouse. •

It is the same with a mouse-hearted man. He may be clothed
with the powers, and placed in the position of brave men, but
he will always act like a mouse ; and public opinion is usually
the great magician that finally says to such a person, " Go back
to your obscurity again. You have only the heart of a mouse,
and it is useless to try and make a lion of you."

Many depend on luck instead of pluck. The P left off that
word makes all the difference. The English say luck is all; "it
Ls better to be born lucky than wise." The Spanish, " The
worst pig gets the best aorn." The French. ' A good bone
never fails to a good dog." The German, " Pitch the lucky man
into the Nile, and he will come up with a fish in his mouth."

Fortune, success, fame, position are never gained, but by
piously, determinedly, bravely sticking, living to a thing till it
is fairly accomplished. In short, you must carry a thing

140

SELF HELIANGE.

i! 1

through if you want to be anybody or anything. No matter
if it does cost you the pleasure, the society, the thousand pearly
gj'atifications of life. No matter for these. Stick to the thing
and carry it through. Believe you were made for the matter,
and that no one else can do it. Put forth your whole energies.
Be awake, electrify yourself; go forth to the task. Only once
learn to carry a thmg through in all its completeness and pro-
portion, and you will become a hero. You will think better of
yourself ; others will think better of you. The world in its
very heart admires the stern, determined doer. It sees ^ him
its best sight, its brightest object, its richest treasure. Drive
right along, then, in whatever you undertake. Consider your-
self amply sufficient for the deed and you will succeed.

it\i %t\x\mtt.

OD never intended that strong, independent beings should
be reared by clinging to others, like the ivy to the oak,
for support. The difficulties, hardships, and trials of
life — the obstacles one encounters on the road to fortune — are
positive blessings. They knit his muscles more firmly, and
teach him self-reliance, just as by wrestling with an athlete
who is superior to us, we increase our own strength, and learn
the secret of his skill. All difficulties come to us, as Bunyan
says, of temptation, like the lion which met Samson ; the first
time we encounter them they roar and gnash their teeth, once
subdued, we find a nest of honey in them. Peril is the very
element in which power is developed. " Ability and necessity
dwell near each other," said Pythagoras.

The greatest cuise that can befall a young man is to lean,
while his character is forming, on others for support. He who
begins with crutches will generally end with crutches. Help

i !

SELF RELIANCE,

141

from "within always strengthens, but help from without invari-
ably enfeebles its recipient. It is not in the slieltered garden
or the hot-house, but on the rugged Alpine cliffs, where tho
storms beat most violently, that the tough&st plants ai'e reared.

The oak that stands alone to contend with the tempest's
blasts, only takes deeper root, and stands the firmer for ensuing
conflicts ; while the forest tree, when the woodman's axe has
spoiled its surroundings, sways and bends and trembles, and
perchance is uprooted. So it is with men. Those who are
trained to self-reliance ^re ready to go out and contend in the
sternest conflicts in life ; while men who have alwaj'^s leaned
for support on those around them, are never prepared to breast
the storms of adversity that arise.

Many a young man — and for that matter, many who are
older — halts at his outset upon life's battle-field, and falters
and faints for what ho conceives to be a necessary capital for
a start. A few thousand dollars, or hundreds, or " something
handsome " in the way of money in his purse, he fancies to be
about the only thing needful to secure his fortune.

The best capital, in nine cases out of ten, a young man can
start in the world with, is robust health, sound morals, a fair in-
telligence, a will to work his way honestly and bravely, and if
it be possible, a trade — whether he follows it for a livelihood
or not. He can always fall back upon a trade when other paths
are closed. Any one who will study the lives of uiemorable
men — apart from the titled, oi hereditarily great — will find
that a large majority of them rose from the ranks, with no
capital for a start, save intelligence, energy, industry, and a
will to rise and conquer. In the mechanic and artizan pursuits,
in commerce, in agriculture, and even in the paths of litem-
ture, science and art, many of the greatest names sprung from
poverty and obscurity. Dr. Johnson made himself illustrious
by his intellect and industry — so did Franklin, and so have
multitudes whose memories are renowned.

The greatest heroes of the battle-field — as Wellington, Han-
nibal, Napoleon — some of the greatest statesmen and orators,

142

SELF RELIANCE.

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ancient and modem— as Demosthenes, Chatham, Burk<e, and
our own Blake and McGee — could boast no patrician advan-
tages, no capital in gold, to start with. The grandest fortunes
ever accumulated or possessed on earth were and are, the fruit
of endeavour that had no capital to begin vriih. save energy,
intellect and the will. From Croesus down to Astor, the story-
is the same — not only in the getting of wealth, but also in the
acquirement of various eminence — those men have won mo8t>
who relied most upon themselves.

The path of success in business is invariably the path of
common sense. Notwithstanding all that is said about " lucky
hits," the best kind of success in every man's life is not that
which comes by accident. The only " good time coming " we
are justified in hoping for, is that which we are capable of
making for ourselves. The fable of the labour of Hercules ia
indeed the type of all human doing and success. Every youth
should be made to feel that if he would get through the world
usefully and happily, he must rely mainly upon himself and
his own independent energies. Making a small provision for
young men is hardly justifiable ; and it is of all things the
most prejudicial to themselves. They think what they have
much larger than it really is ; and they make no exertion. The
young should never hear any language but this : " You hav6
your own way to make, and it depends upon your own exer-
tions whether you starve or not." Outside help is your greatest
curse. It handcuffs effort, stifles aspiration, shuts the prison
door upon emulation, turns tae key on energy.

The ^visest charity is to help a man to help himself. To put
a man in the way of supporting himself gives him a new lease
of life, makes him feel young again, for it is very many times
all the sick man needs to restore him to perfect health.

People who have been bolstered up and levered all their
lives, are seldom good for anything in a crisis. When misfortune
comes, they look around for somebody to cling to, or lean upon.
If the prop is not there, down they go. Once down, they art

8ELF RELIANCE.

143

n
a

as nei pleas as capsized turtles, or unhorsed men in armcur, and
they cannot find their feet again without assistance.

There are multitudes of such men . They art like summer
vines, Avhich never grow even ligneous, but strotcu out a thou-
sand little hands to grasp the stronger shrubs ; and if they
cannot reach them, they lie dishevelled in the grass, hoof-trodden,
and beaten by every storm. It will be found that the first real
movementu}) ward will not takeplace,until,in a spirit of resolute
8elf-denial,indolence, so natural to almost every one, is mastered.
Necessity is, usually, the spur tot sets the sluggish energies
in motion. Poverty, therefore, is oftener a blessing to a young
man than prosperity ; xor, while the one tends to stimulate hia
powers, the other inclines them to languor and disuse. But,
is it not very discreditable for the young man, who is favoured
with education, friends, and all the outside advantages wnich
could be desired as means to worldly success, to let those who
stand in these respects, at the beginning, far below him, gradu-
ally approach as the steady years move on, and finally outstrip
him in the race ? It is not only discreditable, but disgraceful.
A man's true position in society, is that which he achieves for
himself — he is worth to the world no more, no less. As he
builds for society in useful work, so he builds for himself. He
is a man for what he does, not for what his father or his friends
have done. If they have done well, and given him a position,
the deeper the shame, if he sink down to a meaner level through
self-indulgence and indolence.

If a boy is not trained to endure and to bear trouble, he will
grow up a girl ; and a boy that is a girl has all a girl's weakness
without any of her regal qualities. A -.voman made out of a
woman is God's noblest work ; a woman made out of a man is
his meanest. A child rightly brought up will be like a willow
branch, which, broken oft" and touching the ground, at once
takes root. Bring up your children so that they will root
easily in their own soil, and not forever be grafted into your
old trunk and boughs.

144

LABOUR

uthout.

J HERE 13 dimity in toil — in toil of the hand as well u
toil of the head — in toil to provide for the bodily wants
of an individual life, as well as in toil to promote some
enterprise of world-wide fame. All labour that tends to sup-
ply man's wants, to increase man's happiness, to elevate man's
nature — in a word, all labour that is honest — is honourable too.
Labour clears the forest, and drains the morass, and makes " the
wilderness rejoice and blossom as the rose." Labour drives the
plough, and scatters the seeds, and reaps the harvest, and grinds
the com, an'^ converts it into bread, the staff of life. Labour,
tending the pastures and sweeping the waters as well as culti-
vating the soil, provides with daily sustenance the nine hun-
dred millions of the family of man. Labour gathers the gossa-
mer 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 mbe of the prince and the gray gown
of the peasant being alike its handiwork. Labour mou ds 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.
Labour, diving deep into the solid earth, brings up its long-
hidden stores ot coal to feed ten thousand furnaces, and in mil-
lions of homes to defy the winter's cold.

Labour explores the rich veins of deeply-buried rocks, ex
tracting the gold and silver, the copper and tin. Labour smelts
the ii'on, and moulds it into a thousand shapes for use and or-
nament, from the massive pillar to the tiniest needle, from the
ponderous anchor to the wire gauze, from the mighty fly-wheel
of the steam-engine to the polished purse-ring or the glittering
bead, Labour hews down the nia.'^led oak, and shapes the tim-
ber, and builds the ship, and guides it over the deep, plunging
Uirough the billows, and wrestling with the tempest, to bear

II'

LABOUR.

to our shores tho produce of every Jinie. Labour, laughing at
difficulties, spans majestic rivei*s, carries viaducts over marshy
swamps, suspends bridges over deep ravines, pierces the solid
mountain with the dark tunnel, blasting rocks and filling hol-
lows, and while linking together with its iron but loving grasp
all nations of the earth, verifying, in a literal sense, the an-
cient prophecy, " E^'er}^ valley shall be exalted, and every moun-
tain and hill shall be brought low ; " labour draws foi*th its
delicate iron thread, and stretching it from city to city, from
province to province, through mountains and beneath the sea,
realizes more than fancy ever fabled, while it constructs a chariot
on which speech may outstrip the wind, and compete ■w-ith
lightning, for the telegraph dies as rapidly as thought itself

Labour, tho mighty magician, walks forth into a region un-
inhabited 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 wheel whirls round ; the town appears ;
the mart of commerce, the hall of science, the temple of reli-
gion, rear high their lofty fronts ; a forest of masts, gay with
varied pennons, rises from the harbour ; representatives of far-
off regions make it their resort ; science enlists the elements of
earth and heaven in its service ; art, awakening, clothes its
strength with beauty ; civilization smiles ; liberty is glad ; hu-
manit}^ rejoices ; piety exults, for the voice of industry and
gladness is heard on every side. Working men walk worthy
of your vocation! You have a noble escutcheon ; disgrace it
not. There is nothing really mean and low but sin. Stoop
not from your lofty throne to defile yourselves by contamin-
ation with intemperance, licentiousness, or any form oi evil.
Labour, 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 succe.^ fully prove the honour of
toil by illustrating in your own uersons its alliance with a

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I !

4 ■

sober, rigliteous and godly life. Be ye sure of this, that the
man of toil who works in a spirit of obedient, loving homage
to God, does no less than cherubim and seraphim in their hefti-
est flights and holiest songs.

Labour achieves grander victories, it weaves more durable
trophies, it holds wider sway, than the conqueror. His name
becomes tainted and his monuments crumble ; but labour con-
verts his red battle-fields into gardens, and erects monuments
significant of better things. It rides in a chariot driven by
the wind. It writes with tlie lightning. It sits crowned as a
queen in a thousand cities, and sends up its roar of triumph
from a million wheels. It glistens in the fabric of the loom, it
rings and sparkles from the steiily hammer, it glories in shapes
of beauty, it 8[)eaks in words of power, it makes the sinewy
arm strong with liberty, the poor man's heart ricli with con-
tent, crowns the swarthy and sweaty brow with honour, and
dignity, and pefice.

Don't live in hope with your arms folded ; fortune smiles on
those who roll up their sleeves, and put their shoulders to the
wheel. You cannot dream yourself into a character; you must
hammer and forge yourself one. To love and to labour is the
sum of living, and yet how many think they live who neither
love nor labour.

The man and woman who are above labour, and despise the
labourer, show a want of common sense, and forget that every
article that is used is the product of more or less labour, and
that the air they breathe, and the circulation of the blood in
the veins, is the result of the labour of the God of nature.
The time was when kings and queens stimulated their subjects
to labour by example. Queen Mary had her regular hours of
work, and had one of her maids of honour read to her while
she plied the needle. Sir Walter Raleigh relates a cutting re-
ply made to him by the wife of a noble duke, at whose lious^
he lodged over night. In the morning he heard her give di-
rections to a servant relative to feeding the pigs. On going
into the breakfast room he jocosely as;.ed her if the pig^ had

ft**

'ipl^

LABOUR

147

all breakfasted. " All, sir, but the strange pig I am about to
feed," w vs tho witty reply. Sir Walter was mute, and walked
up to thi^ trough.

The noblest thing in tho world is honest labour. It is the
very preservative principle of tho universe. Wise labour brings
order out of chaos; it turns deadly bogs and swamps into
grain-bearing fields ; it rears cities ; it adorns the earth with
architectural monuments, and beautiHes them with divinest
works of art ; it whitens the seas with the wings of commerce ;
it brings remote lands into mutual arwl profitable neighbour-
hood ; it binds continents together with the fast-holding bands
of railroads and telegraphs; it extinguishes barbarism and
plants civilization upon its ruins ; it produces mighty works of
genius in prose and verse, which gladden the hearts of men for-
ever. Work, therefore, with pride and gladness, for thereby
you %vill be united by a common bond with all the best and
noblest who have lived, who are now living, and shall ever
be bom.

Washington and his wife were examples of industry, plain-
ness, fnigality and economy — and thousands of others of the
wealthy laboured in the field and kitchen, in older times, before
folly superseded wisdom, and fashion drove common souse and
economy ofl' the track.

No man has the right to expect a good fortune, unless h«
gajs to work and deserves it. " Luck ! " cried a self-made man,
" .1 never had any luck but by getting up at five every morning
and working as hard as 1 could." No faithful workman finds
his task a pastime. We must all toil or steal — no matter how
we name our stealing. A brother of tlie distinguished Edmund
Burke was found in a reverie after listening to one of his most
eloquent speeches in Parliament, and being aske<l the cause re
plied, "I have been wondering how Ned has contrived to mo-
nopolize all the talents of the family ; but then I remember,
when we were at play, he was always at work."

The education, moral and intellectual, of eveiy Individual
must be chiefiy his own worh. How ebe could it happen that

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LAUOUli.

■ .

young mon, who have had precisely tho snnio opportimitien
should be continually presenting us with such different results,
and rush in[j to such opposite destinies ? Difference of talent
will not solve it, because that difference is very often in favour
of tlie disappointed candidate.

You will see issuing from the walls of tlie same college — nay
sometimes from the bosom of the same family — two young men
of whom tho one shall be admitted to be a genius of high or-
der, the other scarcely above the point of mediocrity ; yet you
shall see the genius sinking and perishing in poverty, obscu-
rity and wretchedness, while, on the other hand, you shall ob-
serve the mediocre plodding his slow but sure way up tlie hill
of life, gaining steadfast footing at every stop, and mounting,
at length, to eminence and distinction — an ornament to his
family, a blessing to his countiy.

Now, whose work is this ? Manifestly their own. Men
are the architects of their respective fortunes. It is the fiat of
fate from which no power of genius can absolve you. Genius,
unexerted, is like tho poor moth that flutters around a candle
till it scorches itself to death.

It is this capacity for high and long continued exertion, this
vigorous power of profound and searching investigation, this
careering and wide-spreiiding comprehension of mind, and tlio^e
long reaches of thought, that

" Pluck bright honour from the pale-facea moon,
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom lino couIJ never touch the ground|
And drag up drowned honour by the looks."

What we have seen of men and of the world convinces us
that one of the first conditions of enjoying life is to have aome-
tiling to do, something great enough t'^ rouse the mind and
nobie enough to satisfy the heart, and then to give our mind
and h^art, our thought and toil and affections to it, to labour
for it, in the fine words of Kobert Hall, " with an ardour border

LABOUR.

14$

ing on eiitlisiasm," or, as a yet greater a&s^ exprcssoa \i, to" do
if vith all our might"

A life of full and constant employment is the only safe and
happy one. If we suffer the mind and body to be unemployed,
our enjoyments, as well as our bbours, will be terminated.
One of the minor uses of steady employment is, that it keeps
one out of mischief, for truly an idle brain is th'» devil's work-
shop, and a lazy man the devil's bolster. To be occupied is to
be possessed as by a tenant, whereas to b<? idle is to be empty ;
and when the doors of the imagination are opened, temptation
finds a ready aoce,ss, and evil thoughts come trooping in. It
is observed at sea that men are never so much disposed to grum-
ble and mutiny as when least employed. Hence an old captain,
vhen there was nothing else to do, would issue the order to
" ocour the anchor."

Labour, honest labour, is mighty and beautiful. Activity is
the ruling element of life, and its highest relish. Luxuries and
conquests are the result of labour ; we can imagine nothing
without it. The noblest man of earth is he who puts his hands
cheerfully and proudly to honest labour. Labour is a business
and ordinance of God. Suspend laboiu:, and where are the
glory and pomp of earth — the fruit, fields, and i)alace8, and the
fashioning of matter for which men strive and war ? Let the
labour-scorner look to himself and learn what are the trophies.
From the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is the deb-
tor and slave of toil. The labour which he scorns has tricked
him into the stature and appearance of a man. Where gets he
garmenting and equipage ? Let laV ^ur answer. Labour —
which makes music in the mines and the furrow and the forge
— oh, scorn not labour, you man who never yet earned a mor-
sel of bread ! Labour pities you, proud fool, and laughs you to
scoiTi. You shall pass to dust, forgotten ; but labour will live
on forever, glorious iu its conquests and monuments.

150

ENEHOY.

f 3

[HE longar we live the more wo are cevfcain the great differ*
ence between men — between the feeble and the power-
ful, the great and the insignificant, is energy ; invhidbU
determination — a purpose, once fixed, and then death or vic-
tory ! That qnalitj'^ will do anything that can be done in thi»
«rorld ; and no talents, no circumstances, no opportunities, will
make a two-legged creature a man without it.

Never suffer your energies to stagnate. There iy no geniiaa
of life like the genius of energy and industiy. All the tradi-
tions current among very young men that certain g^eat char-
acters have wrought their greatness by an inspiration, aa it
were, grows out of a sad mistake. There are no rivals so for-
midable as those earnest, determined minds, which reckon the
value of every hour, and which achieve eminence by persistent
application.

The difference between one boy and another consists not so
much in talent as in energy. Provided the dunce has persis-
tency and application, he will inevitably head the cleverer fel-
low without these qualities. Slow but sure wins the race. It
is perseverance that explains how the position of boys at school
is often reversed in real life ; and it is curious to note how some
who wore then so clever have since become so common-place,
whilst others, dull boys, of whom nothing was expected, slow
in their faculties, but sure in their pace, have assumed the posi-
tion of leaders of men. We recollect, that when a boy we
stood in the same class with one of the greatest of dunces.
One teacher after another had tried his skill upon him and
failed. Corporal punishment, the fool's-cap, coaxing, and ear-
nest entreaty, proved alike fruitlers. Sometimes the experi-
ment was tried of putting him at he top of his class, and it
was curious to note the rapidity with which he gravitated to
the inevitable bottom, like a lump of lead passing through

EH E ROT.

Iftl

quicksilver. The youth was given up by many teachers as an
incorrigible dunce — one of them pronouncing him to bo " a
stupendous booby." Yet, slow though lie was, this dunce had a
dull energy and a sort of beefy tenacity of purpose, which
grew with his muscles and his manliood ; and, strange to say,
when he at length came to take part in the practical business
of life, he was found heading most of his school companions,
and eventually left tlie greater number of them far behind.
The tortoise in the right road will beat a racer in the wrong.
It matters not though a youth be slow, if he be but diligent.
Quickness of parts may even prove a defect, inasmuch as the
boy who learns readily will often forget quite as readily ; and
also because he finds no need of cultivating that quality of
application and perseverance which the slower youth is com-
pelled to exercise, and which proves so valuable an element in
the formauion of every character. The highest culture is not
obtained from teachers when at school or college, so much as
by our own diligent self-education when we have become meru
Parents need not be in too great haste to see their children's
talents forced into bloom. Let them watch and wait patiently,
letting good example and quiet training do their work, and
leave the rest to Providence. Let them see to it that the youth
is provided, by free exercise of his be lily powers, with a full
stock of physical health ; set him fairly on the road of self-
cuUure ; carefully train his habits of application and persever-
ance ; and as he grows older, if the right stuff be in him, he
will be enabled vigorously and effectively to cultivate himself.

He who has heart has everything ; and who doth not burn
doth not inflame. It is astonishing how much may be accom-
plished in self-culture by the energetic and the persevering,
who are careful to avail themselves of opportunities, and use up
the fragments of spare time which the idle permit to run to
waste. In study as in business, energy is the great thing. We
must not only strike the iron while it is hot, but strike it until
it is made hot.

Give us not men like weathercocks, that diaisge with every

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152

ENERGY.

wind, but men like mountains, ^ho change the winds them-
selves. There is always room for a man of force, and he makes
room for many. You cannot dream yourself into a character;
you must hammer and forge yourself one. Therefore don't
live in hope with your arms folded ; but go to work at oiice
and woik out your own destiny. " I can't ! it is impossible ! "
said a foiled lieutenant to Alexander. " Begone ! " shouted th«
conquering Macedonian in repl}'^ — " there is nothing impossi-
ble to him who will try ; " and to make good his words, th€
haughty warrior, not yet come to weep that there were no
more worlds to subdue, charged with a phalanx the rock-crested
fortress that had defied his timid subaltern, and the foe were
swept down as with the besom of destruction.

A man's character is seen in small matters ; and from even
so slight a test as the mode in which a man wields a hammer,
his energy may in some measure be inferred. Thus an eminent
Frenchman hit off in a single phrase the characteristic quality
of the inhabitants of a particular district, in which a friend of
his proposed to Lay land and settle. " Beware," said he, " of
making a purchase there ; I know the men of that department ;
the pupils who come from it to our veterinary school at Paris,
do not strike hard upon the anvil; they want energy j and you
will not get a satisfactory return on any capital you may invest
there." A fine and just appreciation of character, indicating
the accurate and thoughtful observer ; and strikingly illustra-
tive of the fact that it is the energy of the individual men that
gives strength to a state, and confers a value even upon the very
Boil which they cultivate.

It is a Spanish maxim, that he who loseth wealth loseth
much ; he who loseth a friend, loeeth more; but he who loseth
hi^ ener^'ies, loseth alL

■i

LUCK ANiJ PLVCK.

iwch anb vhxch

'OUNG man, your success or your failure, your weal or
woe of life will hang largely in the manner in which
you treat these two words.
Rev. G. S. Weaver says : " The word iuck is suggestive of
a want of law." This idea has passed into many common pro-
verbs, such as these : " It is more by hit than good wit ; " " It
is as well to be bom lucky as rich ; " " Fortune is a fickle
jade ; " " Risk nothing, win nothing ; " and more of a similar
import, all ignoring the grand rule of law and resting upon the
aiIk»isUcal idea of chance.

Our fathers were good, religious people, and did not mean
to foster atheism when they talked about luck, and gave a
half-way assent to its Godless reality. If the universe were
an infinite chaos ; if order had no throne in its wide realm ; if
universal law were a fable of fancy ; if God were a Babel, or
the world a Pandemonium, there might be such a thing as
luck, hat while from the particle to the globe, from the ani-
malcule to the archangel, there is not a being or a thing, a time
or an event, disconnected with the great government of eter-
nal law and ordw, we cannot see how such a game of chance
as the word luck supposes can be admitted into any corner of
the great world. Luck ' What is it ? A lottery ? A h«^-
haaard ? A frolic of gnomes 1 A blind-man's-buff among the
laws ? A ruse among the elements ? A trick of Dame Nature ?
Has any sdiolar defined luck, any philosopher explained iti
nature, any chemist shown us its elements ? Is luck that
strariLge, nondescript unmatonality that does all things among
men that they cannot account for ? If so, why does not luck
make a fool speak words of wisdom ; an ignoramus utter lec-
tures on philosophy ; a stupid dolt write the great works of
music and poetry ; a double-firigered dummy create the beau-
^m of art, or an untutored savage the wonders of meohamtur. ?

■4

1 M

, if

154

LUCK AND PLUCK.

If we should go into-a country where the sluggard's farm
Is covered with the richest grains and fruits, «uid where indus-
try is rewarded only with weeds and brambles ; where the
drunkard looks sleek and beautiful, and his home cheerful and
happy, while temperance wears the haggard face and eats the
bread of want and misery ; where labour starves, while idle-
ness is fed and grows fat ; where common sense is put upon
the pillory, while twaddle and moonshine are raised to distinc-
tion ; where genius lies in the gutter and ignorance soars to
the skies ; where virtue is incarcerated in prison, while vice i»
courted and wooed by the sunlight, we might possibly be led
to believe that luck had something to do there. But where
we see, as we everywhere do in our world, the rewards of in-
dustry, energy, wisdom and virtue constant as the warmth in
sunlight or beauty in flowers, we must deny in toto the very
existence of this good and evil essence which men have called
Itwk.

Was it luck thai gave Girard and Astor, Rothschild and
Allan their vast wealth ? Was it luck that won victories for
Wellington, Washington and Napoleon ? Was it luck that
carved Venus de Medici, that wrote the " iEneid," " Paradise
Lost," and " Festus ? " Was it luck that gave Morse his tele-
graph, or Fulton his steamboat, or Franklin the lightning for
his plaything ? Is it luck that gives the merchant his business,
the lawyei his clients, the minister his hearers, the physician
his patients, the mechanic his labour, the farmer his harvest ?
Nay, verily. No man believes it. And yet many are the men
who dream of luck, as though such a mysterious spirit existed,
and did sometimes humour the whims of visiouajy cowards and
drones.

Many are the young men who waste the best part of their
lives in attempts to woo this coy maid into their embraces.
They enter into this, or that, or the other speculatior, with the
dreamy hope that luck will pay them a smiling visit. Some go
to Califoniia, or Australia, or the " Far West," or to the torrid
or the frigid zone, or some wondrous away-off place, with no

I
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TMCK AND PLUCK.

155^

fair prospect or hope of success from their own energies And
exertions, but depending almost wholly on a gentle smile from'
capricious luck. Poor fellows ! they find that luck does not get'
BO far from home.

Some, less daring and more lazy, loiter about home, drawt
around town, or loll through the country, whose only trust of
expectation is in a shuffle of luck in their favour. They fenow'
they deserve nothing, yet, with an impudence hard as brass, tiiey'
will pray to luck for a " windfall," or a "fat office," or a " liv-
ing," and foolishly wait for an answer. These are the men that
make your gamblers, your house thievcs, your counterfeiters,
your gentlemen loafers. They are not men that originally mean
any harm. But they believe in luck, and their trust is in luck,
and they are going to have it out of luck some way. They de-
spised meanness at first, perhaps, as much as you and I do ; but
somebody told them of luck, and they believed, and lo ! they got
duped. Little by little they w^nt over to meanness, waiting
all the while for a shake of the hand from luck.

Some of the believeis in luck, of more moral firmness, dally
with all life's great duties, and so do about the same as no-
thing, and eat the bread of disappointment. They do a little at
this business, and luck does not smile. They do a little at that,
still luck keeps away. They do a little at something else, they
hear not a foot-fall from luck. And so they fritter away time
and life. These are the do-littles. Hard-working men they
are frequently. It is with them as though they had started to
go to a p]ace a thousand miles distant, leading to which there
were many roads. They set out at full speed on one road, go
a few miles and get tired, and so conclude to turn back and try
another. And s(; they try one after another, each time return-
ing to the starting-place. In a little while it is too late to get
there at the appointed time, nd so they mope along any road
they happen to be on till the day is over.

They crave a good they do not earn ; they pray to luck to
give what does not belong to them ; their whole inward life is
a constant craving wish for something to which they have oo

156

LUCK AND PLUCK,

■I

•ft-

just claim. It is a morbid, feverish covetouaness, whicb is very
apt to end in the conclusion, " The world owes me a living, and
a living I'll have," and so they go out to get a living as best they
may. They fancy that every rich and honoured man has got
his good by some turn of luck, and hence they feel that he has
no special right to his property or his honours, and so they will
get either from him if they can. They look upon the world,
not as a gi*eat hive of indiistr^ , where men are rewarded ac-
cording to their labours and merits, but as a grand lottery, a
magirticent sche'^.e of chance, in which fools and idlers have
as fair a show as talent and labour.

In my humble opinion, this philosophy of luck is at the bot-
tom of more dishonesty, wickedness and moral corruption than
anything else. It sows its seeds in youthful minds just at that
visionary season when judgment has not been ripened by ex-
perience nor imagination corrected by wisdom. And it takes
more minds from the great school-house of useful life, and more
arms from the great workshop of human industry, than any
other one thing to which my mind reverts. It is a moral palsy
against which every just man should arm himael£ The cure of
the evil is found in pluck. •

It is not luck, but pluck, which weaves the web of life ; it
is not luck, but pluck, which turns the wheel of fortune.
It is pluck that amasses wealth, that crowns men with honours,
that forges the luxuries of life. I use the term pluck as syn-
onymous with whole-hearted energy, genuine bravery of soul.
That man is to be pitied who is too feai'ful and cowardly to
go out and do battle for an honest living and a competence in
the gre.'/ held of human exertion. He is the man of luck, bad
luck. Foor fellow ! He lost his luck when he lost his pluck.
Good pluck is good luck. Bad pluck is bad luck. Many a
man has lost his luck, but never while he had good pluck left.
Men lose their luck by letting their energies eke through bad
habits and unwise projects. One man loses his luck in his late
tnomiog naps, another in his late evening hoars. One loses his
luck in a bar-room, another in the ball-room ; one down by the

11 i

LVCK AND PLUCK.

157

rii ^r holding the boyish fishing-rod, another in the woods chas-
ing down the innocent squirrel. One loses his luck in folly, one
in fashion, one in idleness, oni> in high living, one in dishonesty,
one in brawls, one in sensualism, and a great many in bad man-
agement. Indeed, bail management is at the bottom of nearly
all bad luck. It is bad management to train up a. family of bad
habits, to eat out one's living and corrupt his life. It is bad
management to drink liquor, and eat tobacco, and smoke, and
swear, and tattle, and visit soda-fout»taius, and cream saloons,
and theatres, and brothels, and live high, and chase after the
fashions, and fret, and scold, and get angry, and abuse people,
and mind other jieople's business ami neglect one's own. It is
bad management to expose one's health or overtax one's powers,
and get sick, and take drugs to got well ; to be idle or extrava-
gant, or mean, or dishonest. All these things tend to bring that
evil genius which men call bad luck.

Indeed, there is hardly a word in the vocabulary which is
more crueU}^ abused than the word " luck." To all the faults
and failures of men, thtiir positive sins and the less culpable
shortcomings, it is made to stand a godfather and sponsor. We
are all Micawbers at heart, fancying that ".something" will one
day " turn uj) " f )r our good, for which we have nsver striven.
An unskilful commander sometimes wins a victory; and arain
a famous warrior finds himself, "after a hundred victories foiled."
Some of the skilfullest 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 in-
sure, and never are burned out. Some of the shrewdest men,
with indefatigable industry and the closest economy, fail to
make money ; others, with apparent^ none of the qualities
that insure success, are oontmually blundering into profitable
speculations, and, Midas-like, touch nothing but it turns to
gold. Beau Bmmmell, with his lucky sixpence in his pocket,
wins at every gaming-table, and bags £40,000 in tlie clubs of
London and Newmarket.

So powerfully does fortune appear to sway the destinies of

,' t

I'/

...f

' i ■■

lofi

tl70^ .lAJ; PLUCK.

'■ ■■*y.

■■'&

■'

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 Rothschild, seem to have heen inclined
to regard luck as the first element of worldly success ; expe-
rience, sagacity, energy, and enterprise as nothing, if linked to
an unlucky star. Whittington, and Ids cat that proved such a
source of ricihes ; the man who, worn out by a painful disorder,
attempted suicide, and was cured by opening an internal im-
posthume ; the Persian, condemned to lose his tongue, on whom
the operation was so bunglingly performed that it merely re-
moved an impediment in his speech ; the painter who produced
an effect he had a 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, acconnplished 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 for the freaks of fortune by which some men
aie enriched or made famous by their blunders, while others,
with ten times the capacity 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, keeping
aloof from its finest and therefore most arduous struggles, be
cause tliey 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 victoiy, cheated of any just re-
turns. 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-siffhted men
who have surveyed the world with a scrutinizing eye, and who
to ck'^r and exact ideas of what is necessary to be done unite
the skill necessary to execute theu- well-approved plans.

At first, in our admiration of the man who stands upon the
topmost round of the ladder of fame, we are apt to mistake the
■way in which he got there. Our eyes ai o wearv' with gazing up,
and dazzled by the brilliant light ; and we fancy tlmt God muat

LUCK AND PLUCK.

159

luire l«t him down out of heaven for us ; never thinking that he
may have clambered up, round after round, through the mists
which shroud the base of that ladder, wliile all the world, in its
heedlessness^ was looking another way. Tiieii, when we come to
know better, we are content to lie postrate at the foot of our
ladder, as Jacob slept beneath his, dreaming that they are an-
gels whom we see ascending.and believing they {vscend by heavon-
bom genius, or some miraculous way, not by j)luck.

A better solution is that which e.vplaius the phenomena of
eminent success by industry. Clearly, the industrious use of
ordinary tools, whether mechanical or intellectual, will accom-
plish far more than the mere possession of the most perfectly
appointed tool-chest that was ever contrived. This is especially
true of the mind, whose powers improve with use. When we
reflect how the sharp wit-blade grows keener in often cutting^
how the logic-hammer swells into a perfect sledge in long
striking, how all our mental tools gain strength and edge in
severe employment, we shall see that it is but a poor question
to ask concerning suece.ss in life, " What tools had you ? " — that
a better question is, " How have you used your tools ? "

One who thus educates himself up to success is often con-
tented to labour a long while in a very humble spiiere. He
knows too much, indeed, to abandon one position before his
powers for a higher one are fully ripe ; for he has observed that
they, who leap too rapidly from one of life's stepping-stones to
another, are more likely to lose their footing than to improve
it. Very often, therefore, one who possesses this chaiacter
grows up to complete manhood before his neighbours take him
out of his cradle. In some western parish, in some country
practice, or at the head of some district school, be labours
quietly for years and years, gathering a secret strength from
every occurrence of his life, unnoticed, unknown, until at last
the crisis of opportunity arrives — to every man such opportu-
nity some time comes — and he starts forth, armed and equipped,
thoroughly built from head to foot ; there is bone for strength,
and stout muecle for movement, and society around is astonished

■'*•■

f ■

ICO

PURPOSE AND fflLL.

i) w

to find that it contained such a power, and knew it not. The
ri8€) of an individual thus trained, is sometinns'feurprising in its
suddenness. To the vision of ran kind around, he seems to
shoot up like a rocket ; and they gaze, and wonder, and glorify
the power of genius. "Whereas he grew, grew by a slow, steady,
natural [)roce8s of growth, available to all men. He grew,
however, under cover; and it was not until circumstances threw
the cover off him, that we saw to what stature he had attained.

It is by the exercise of this forward-reaching industry that
men attain eminence in intellectual life. The lives of eminent
men of all nations determine, by a vote almost overwhelming,
that whatever may have been their native powers, they did not
attain their ultimate success without the most arduous, well-
directed, life-lasting labour for self-improvement.

Idleness is death ; activity 5s life. The worker is the hero.
Luck lies in labour. This is the end. And labour the fruit
of pluck. Luck and ^luck, then, meet in labour. Pleasure
blossoms on the tree of labour. Wisdom is its fruit. Thrones
are built on labour. Kingdoms stand by its steady props.
Homes are made by labour. Every man of pluck will make
him one and fill it with the fruits of industry. In doing this i>t
will find no time to wait for, or complain of, luck.

<>•»

litrpose mb ^tll.

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1 \

E can never over-estimate the power of purpose and will
It takes hold of the heart of life. It spans our whole
manhood. It enters into our hopes, aims, and pros-
pects. It holds its sceptre over our business, our amusements,
our philosophy, r i religion. Its sphere is laiger than we can
at first imagine.

The indomitable will, the inflexible purpose looking for fu-

fc***'

I 1

PURPOSE AND WILL.

101

tur« good through present evil, liave alvrays begot confidence
and coninianded success, while the opposite qualities have aa
truly led to timid resolves, uncertain councils, alternate exal-
tation and depression, and final dl.^appoiutment and disaster.

A vacillating policy, irresolute councils, unstable wiU, sub-
ordinate of the future to the present, efibrts to relieve ouraelves
from existing trouble without i)roviding against its recurrence,
may bring momentary quiet, but expose us to greater disquiet
than ever hereafter, A double-minded man is unstable in all
his ways. " Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel."

When a child is learning to walk, if you can induce the little
creature to keep its eyes fixed on any point in advance, it will
generally "navigate" to that point without cap.sizing; but
distract its attention by word or act from the object before it,
and down goes the baby. The rule appli&s to children of a
larger growth. The man who starts in life with a determina-
tion to reach a c<',rtain position, juad adheres unwaveringly to
his purpose, rejecting the advice of tlie over-cautious, and de-
fying the auguries of the timi'l, rarely fails if he lives long
enough to reach the goal for which he set out. If circumstan-
ces oppose him, he bends them to his exigencies by the force
of energetic, indomitable will. On the other hand, he who va-
cillates in his course, " yawning," us the sailora say, toward all
points of the compass, is pretty sure to become a helpless cast-
away before his voyage of life is half completed. Smiles, in
his Self- Help, tells of an Englisli carpenter who was observed
one day planing a magistrate'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 er»ough, the man
actually lived to sit upon that very bench as a magistrate.

There can be no questicu among philosophic observation of
men and events, that fixedness of purpose is a grand element
of human success. Weathercock men are nature's failures.
They are good for nothing.

The men of action, whone nft»"''s are written imperis»hably

16t

PURPOSE AND WILL.

on the page of history, were men of iron. Silky fellows mny
do tor intrigue, but the foumlers, and conquerors, and libera-
tors, and saviours, of empires, have all beeri of the warrior
metiil. N(i human Ixiiug who habitually halts between two
opinions, who cannot <i»ieide promptly, and having decided, act
as if there was no such word as fail, can over bo ,1 er*;, Cajsar
would never have ci"03.sed the Rubicon, nor Wolfe scaled the
height* at Quebec, had thtjy not fixed their stern gaze on ob-
jects far beyond the perils at their feet.

Henry Ward IJeecher, in a sei-mon, roraarked : " We see su-
pi'enie purposes whicli men have formed running through theit
wliole career in this world. A young man means to be a civi\
engineer. That Is the thing to which his mind is made up ,
not his father's mind perhaps, but his. He feels his adaptation
to that calling, and his drawing toward it. He is young, inex-
perienced, forgetful, ac'ce.^iblo to youthful sympathies, and is
frequently drawn aside from his life [)urpose. To-day he at-
tends a pic-nic. Next week he devotes a day to some other
excursion. Occasionally he loses a day in consequence of fa-
tigue caused by over action. Thus there is a link knocked out
of the chain of this week, and a link out of the chain
of that week. And in the course of the summer he takes
a whole week, or a fortnight out of that purpose. Yet
there is the thing in his mind, whether he sleeps or wakes. If
you had asked him a month ago what he meant to be in life,
he would have r{qilie<l, ' I mean to be a civil engineer.' And
if you ask him to-day what has been the tendem^y of his life,
he will say, ' I have been preparing myself to be a civil engi-
neer.' If he waits and does nothing, the reason is that he
wants an opportunity to carry out his purpose. That purpose
governs his course, and ho will not engage in anything that
would coiitlict with it.

" These generic principles in the soul are like those great in-
visible laws of nature, whose effects are seen in the falling of
the pebble-stone, in all the various change-s which natural ob-
iecta uitd^i;go. When a man has fonned in his mind a ^jroAt

VUHPOSE AND WILL.

16S

■orereign purpose, it governs his conduct, as the law of nature
governs the operation of physical things.

" Every man should have a mark in view, and pursue it
•teadily. He should not be turned from his course by other
objects ever so attractive. Life is not long enough for any one
man to accomplish everything. Indeed but few can at best
accomplish more than one thing well. Many, alas, very many !
accomplish nothing worthy. Yet there is not a man endowed
with fair or ordinary intellect or capacity but can aocomplish
at least one useful, important, worthy purpose.

" But few men could ever succeed in more than one of the
learned professions. Perhaps the man never lived who could
master and become eminent in the practice of all of them.
Certainly not in them, and also in agriculture and the mechanic
arts. Not because one man was never endowed with capacity
for any of those pursuits or callings as he might choose. Our
country, every country, abounds with men posseesing sufficient
natural capacity for almost or quite any pursuit they might se-
lect and pursue exclusively. But the reason is simply because
no one man has the time, even if he have the capacity, to mas-
ter and pursue with eminent success, so many ^'id such widely
different avocations. Indeed, man's days, at most, are so few,
and his capacity, at the highest, so small, that never yet has
he even by confining the united efforts and energies of his life-
time at the most trivial pursuit, much less in the deep and in-
tricate learned professions, attained to perfection ; and h«
never will. How much less, then, are the probabilities of his
exhausting several, and those perhaps the most complicated
upheres of man's activity."

It requires purpose, will, and oneness of aim and invineible
determination to succeed.

It is win — force of purpase — that enables a man to do or be
whatever he sets his mind on being or doing. A holy man was
accustomed to say, " Whatever you wish, that you are ; for
such is the force of our will, joined to the Divine, that what-
ever we wish to be, seriously, and with a true intention.

ii)

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'.'-■Si

•t

164

FURFOSE AND WILL.

that we become. No one ardently wishes to be subiBisaive,
patient, modest, or liberal, who does not become what h«
wishes."

Will, is the monarch of the mind, ruling with despotic, and
at times with tyrannical powers. It is the rudder of the mind,
giving directions to its movements. It is the enf^ineer giving
course and point, speed and force to the mental machinery. It
acts like a tonic among the soul's languid powers. It is the
band that ties into a strong bundle the separate faculties of the
soul. It is the man's momentum ; in a word, it is that power
by which the energy or energies of the soul are concentrated
on a given point, or in a particular direction : it fuses the facul-
ties into one mass, so that instead of scattering all over like
grape and canister, they spend their united force on one point.
The intellect is the legislative department, the sensibilities are
the judicial, and the will the executive.

Among the many causes of failure in life, none is more fre-
quent than that feebleness of the wUl which is indicated by
spasmodic action — by fitful effort, or lack of persistence. Dr.
Arnold, whose long experience with youth at Rugby, gave
weight to his opinion, declared that " IIjo difference between
one boy and another consists not so much in talent as in energy."
"The longer I live," says another competent judge, Sir Thomas
Fowell Buxton, " the more I am certaii. Lhat the great difference
between men, between the great and the insignificant, is energy,
invincible determination, an honest purpose once fixed, and
then death or victory. This quality will do anything in tL^
world ; and no talents, no circumstances, will make a two-legged
creature a man without it.' The very reputation of being
strong-willed, plucky, and indefatigable,' is of priceless value.
It often ♦^owes enemies and dispels at the start opposition to
one's undertakings which would otherwise be formidable.

Says Shakespeare, " Our bodies are our gardens ; to the which,
our .souls are gardeners;" so that if we wiU plant nettles, or
sow lettuce ; sow hyssop, and weed up thyme ; supply it with
one gender uf herbs, an;* diatract it with many ; either to have

COUIiAGE.

16A

it aterile vith itUeness, or manured vrith indusiry; why, thf

power uimI coi ri<^il)le avithority of this lies in our wills.

Where there is a will there is a way. Nothing is im|)oaBible

to hiiu who wills. Will is the root; knowledge the stem and
leaves ; feeling tlie flower.

" Whore there is a will there is a way," is an old and true
laying. He who resolves upon doing a tlimg, by that very
reaohition often scales the barriers to it, and secures its achieve-
ment. To think we are able is almost to be so — to determine
upon attainment, is frequently attainment itself. Thus, earnest
resolution has oft - eeraed to have about it almost a savour of
Omnipotence. " \ ou can only half will," Suwarrow would say
to people who had failed. " I don't know," " I can't," and " im-
possible," were words which he detested above all others.
" Learn 1 do ! tr^' ' " he would exclaim.

OTHING that is of real worth can be achieved without
courageous working. Man owes his growth chiefly to that
active striving of the will, that encounter with difficulty,
which we call effort ; and it is astonishing to find Imjw often
results apparently impracticable are thus made possible. An.
intense anticipation itself transforms possibility into reality ;
our desires being often but the precursors of the things which
wo are capable of performing. On the contrary, the timid and
hesitating find everything impossible, chiefly because it seems
■o. It is related of a young French officer that he used to
walk about his apartment exclaiming, " I will be marshal of
France and a great general." This aident desire was the pre-
sentiment of his success ; for he did become a distinguished
commander and he died a lnal^shal of France

Piiilllll

-— ^uteiisisijB

;:S;-

■ ■%?

( ::■

1 1 ■■■fc

166

COURAGE.

Courage, by keeping the sensev^i quiet and the understanding
clear, puts us in a condition to receive true intelligence, to
make just computations upon danger, and pronounce rightly
upon that which threatens us. Innocence of life, consciousness
of woiiih, and great expectations are the best foundations of
courage.

True courage is the result of reasoning. A brave mind is al-
ways impregnable. Resolution lies more in the head than in
the veins; and a just sense of honour and of infamy, of duty and
of religion, will carry us further than all the force of mechanism-

To believe a business impossible is the way to make it so
How many feasible projects have miscarried through despon-
dency, and been strangled in the birth by a cowardly imagina-
tion. It is better to meet danger than to wait for it. A ship
on a lee shore stands out to sea in a storm to escape shipwreck.
Impossibilities, like vicious dogs, fly before him who is not
afraid of them. Should misfortune overtake, retrench — work
harder — -but never fly the track — confront difliculties with un-
flinching perseverance. Should you then fail, you will b«»
honoured ; but shrink, and you will be despised. When you
put your hands to a work, let the fact of your doing so consti-
tute the evidence that you mean to prosecute it to the end.
Stand like a beaten anvil. It is the part of a great champion
to be stricken and conquer.

. "* Trouble's darkest hour '

Shall not make me cower , • .

To tlie sptjctre'a power —
Never, never, uever. .

'* Then up, my soul, and braoe the«,
While the perils face the« ;
In thyself encase thee
Manfully for ever. •

" StormB may howl around thee,
Foes may hunt and hound the* ;
Shall ^hey overpower thee t ; ■ •

N«ver, never, nevef.'

> im

f :'4

f" -S

COURAGE.

fej.

> 'M

Courage, like cowardice, is undoubte<i]y contagious, but some
persons are not at all liable to catch it. The attention of rest-
less and fickle men turns to no account ; poverty overtakes
them whilst they are flying so many different ways to escap©
it. What id called courage is oftentimes nothinjy more thaa
the foar of being thought a coward. The reverence that re- •
strains us fi"om violating the laws of God or man is not unfre-
quently branded with the name of cowardice. The Spartans
had a saying, that he who stood mobc in fear of the law gener-
ally showed the least fear of an enemy. And Ave may infer
the truth of this from the reverse of the proposition, for daily
experience shows us that they who are the most daring in a
bad cause are often the most pusillanimous in a good one.

Plutarch says courage consists not in hazarding without fear,
but by being resolute in a just c^use. An officer, after a very
severe batlte, on being complimented on standing his ground
firmly, under a terrible fire, replied, " Ah, if you knew how I
was frightened, you would compliment me more still." It is not
the stolid man, or the reckless man, who exhibits the noblest
bravery in the great battle of life. It is the man whose nerves
and conscience are all alive; who looks before and l)ehmd;
who weighs well all the probabilities of success or defeat, and
is determined to stand his ground. There is another fine anec-
dote apropos to this subject : A phrenologist examining the
head of the Duke of WL.llington, said, " Your grace has not the
organ of animal courage largely developed." " You are right,"
replied the great man, " and but for my sense of duty I should
have retreated in ray first fight." This first fight, in India, was
one of the most terrible on record. O, that word " duty ! "
What is animal courage compared with it i Duty can create
that courage, or its equivalent, but that courage never can
create dviy The Duke oi' Wellington saw a man turn jwJe aa
he marched up to a battery. " That is a brave man," said he,
" he knows iis danger and faces ih."

To lead the forlorn hope in the field of courage requires less
nerve than > fight uobly and un&hrinkingty the bloodleiis battl«

168

COUKAQE,

t- '

of life. To bear evil speakiaaf and il' iterate jadgment with
ecjuanimity, is the highest bravery. It is, in fact, the repose
of mental courage.

Physical courage, which despises all danger, will ■•nake a inan
brave in one way, and moral courage, wliich despises all (jpin-
ion, will make a man brave in another. The former would
seem most necessary for the camp, the latter for council ; but
to constitute a great man, both are necessary.

No one can teU who the heroes are, and who the cowards,
until some crisis comes to put us to the t^st. And no crisis
puts us to the test tliat does not bring us up alone and single-
handed to face danger. It is nothing to make a rush with the
multitude even into the jaws of destruction. Sheep will do
that. Armies might be picked from t^*^ gutter, and marched
up to make food for powder. But wi on some crisis singles
one out from the multitude, pointing at him the particular
finger of fate, and telling him " Stand or run," and he faces
about with steady nei-ve, with nobody else to stand behind,
we mav be sure the hero stuif is in him. When such a crisis
comes, the true courage is just as likely to be found in people
of shrinking nerves, or in weak and timid women, as in great bur-
\y people. It is a moral, not a physical trait. Its seat is not in
the temperament, but the will, llow <;ourageous Peter was,
an^ all those square-built %hermen of the sea of Galileo, at
the Last Supper, and in the garden of Gethsemane, where
Peter di-ew his sword and smote the ofPcer 1 But when Christ
looked down from his cross, whom did ho see standing in that
iocus of Jewish rage ? None of those t out fishermen, but a
young man and a tender-heai-ted woman — John and Mary,

A good cause makes a courageous heart. They that fear an
overthrow are half conquered. To be valorous is not always
10 be venturous. A warm heart requires a cool head.

Though the occasions of high heroic daring seldom occur buv
in the history of the great, the less obtrusive opportunities for
the exertion of private energy are continually offering them-
selves. Wita these, domestic scenes as much abound aa does

♦ %

UTTLE THINGS.

169

the tented field. Pain may be as firmly endured in the lonely
chamber as amid the din of arms. Difficulties can be manfully
combatted ; misfortunes bravely sustained ; poverty nobly
supported ; disappointments courageously encountered. Thus
courage diffuses a wide and succouring influence, and besto-ws
energy apportioned to the trial. It takes from calamity its de-
jecting quality, and enables the soul to possess itself under every
vicissitude. It rescues the unhi^py from degradation, and the
feeble from contempt.

Courage, ?ike every other emotion, however laudable in its
pure form, may be allowed to degenerate into a faulty extreme.
Thus rashness, too often assuming the name of courage, has no
pretensions to its merit. For rashness urges to uselasa and im-
possible efforts, and thus produces a waste of vigour and spirit,
that, properly restrained and well directed, would have achieved
deeds worthy to be achieved, Rashneab is the exuberance of
courage, and ought to be checked, as we prune off the useless
though vigorous shoots of shrubs and trees.

\ittU 1^1139.

'RIFLES are not to be det^sed. The nerve of a tooth, not
so large as the finest cambric needle, will sometimes drive
a strong man to distraction. A musquito can make an
elephant absolutely mad. The coral rock, which causes a navy
to founder, is the work of tiny insects. The warrior that with-
stood death in a thousand forms may be killed by an insect.
For want of a nail the shoe was lost ; for want of a shoe the
horse was lost ; for ws it of a horse the rider was lost. Every
pea helps to fill the peck. Little and often fills the purue.
Momente are the golden sands of time. Every day is a little
life ; and our whole life is but a day repeated ; those, thereforft,

X70

LITTLE THINGS.

} :'

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■I

that dare lose a day, are dangerousfy prodigal; those that
dare misspend it, desperate. Springs are little things, but they
are sources of large streams — a helm is a little thing, but it
gc'erns the course of a ship — a bridle bit is a little thing, but
see its use and power — nails and pegs are little things, but they
hold parts of large buildings together — a word, a look, a frown,
ail are little things, but powerful for good or evil. Think of
tliis, and mind the little things. Pay that little debt — it's
promise redeem.

Little acts are the elements of true greatness. They raise life's
Talue, like the little figures over the larger ones in arithmetic,
to its highest power. They are tests of character and disinter-
estedness. They are the straws upon life's deceitful current,
and show the cun-ent's way. The heart comes all out in them.
They move on the ditil of character and responsibility signifi-
cantly. They indicate the character and destiny. They help
to make the immortal man. It matters not so much where we
are as what we are. It is seldom that acts of moral heroism
aw called for. Rather the real heroism of life is, to do all its
little duties promptly and faithfully.

There are no such things as trifles in the biography of man.
Drops make up the sea. Acorns cover the earth with oaks,
and the ocean with navies. Sands make up the bar in the
harbour's mouth, on which vessels are wrecked ; and little things
in youth accumulate into character in age, and destiny in eter-
nity. All the links in that glorious chain which is in all and
around all, we can see and admire, or at least admit ; but the
staple to which all is fastened, and which is the conductor of
all, is the Throne of Deity.

If you cannot be a great river, bearing groat vessels of blesB-
ings to the world, you can be a little sprmg by the wayside of
life, singing merrily all day and all night, and giving a cup ol
cold water to every weary, thirsty one who passes by.

Life is made up of little things. He who travels over a con-
tinent, must go step by step. He who writes books must do It
•enieuce by sentence. He who learns a science must master it

Ji^^

UTTLE THINGS.

171

fact by fact, and principle after principle. What is the happi-
ness of our life made up of ? Little courtesies, little kindnesses,
pleiujant words, genial smiles, a fiieudly letter, good wishes, and
good deeds. One in a million — once in a lifetime — may do an
heroic action ; but the little things that make up our life come'
ever^'' day and eveiy hour. If we make the little events of life
beautiful and good, then is the whole life full of beauty and
goodness.

There is nothing too little for so little a creature as man. It
is by studying little things that we attain the great art of hav-
ing as little misery and as much happiness as possible. " If a
straw," says Dryden, " can be made the instrument of happiness,
ho is a wise man who does not despise it." A very little thing
makes all the difference. You stand in the engine-room of a
st-eamer ; you admit the steam to the cylinder.?, and the paddles
turn ahead ; a touch of a lever, you admit the self -same steam
to the self-same cylinder and the paddles turn astern. It is so,
oftentimes, in the moral world. The turning of a straw decides
whether the engines shall work forward or backward. The at-
omic theory is the true one. The universe is but an intinite
Attrition of particles. The grandest whole is resolvable to

tractions ; or as the ditty hiis it-

Littla drops of water and little grains of aand,
Fill the mighty ocean and form the solid laud."

Is it not strange that, in the face of these facts, men will
neglect details ? that many even consider them beneath their
notice, and, when they hear of the sueeo is of a business maa
who is, perhaps, more solid than brilliant, sneeringly say that,
he is " great in little things ? " Is it not the " little things "
that, in the aggregate, make up whatever is great? Is it not
the countless grains of sand that make the beach; the trees
that form the forest ; the successive strata of rock that compose
t'ao mountains; the myriads of alnjost impercepti* V, itan that
'f ^it<«i the heavens with the milky-way ?

■iipwm

173

LliTLE THINGS.

i I

So with character, fortune, unci all the concerns oi life — tht.
littles combmed form the great bulk. If we look well to the
disposition of these, the sum total will be cared foi". It is the
minutes wasted that wound the hours and mar the day. It is
the cents neglected that squander the dollars. The majority
of men disdain littles — to many fractions are " vulgar " in naor©
tieu8k)S than the rule implies. It is apt to be thought indicative
of a narrow mind and petty spirit to be scrupulous abo t
ittles. Yet from littles have sprung the mass of great vices
and crimes. In habits, iu manners, in business, we have only
to watch the littles, and all will come out clear. The smallast
leak, overlooked, may sink a ship — the smallest tendency to evil
thiidcing or evil doing, left unguarded, may wreck character
and life. No ridicule should dissuade us from looking to the
littles. The greatest and best of men have not been above
CiU'ing for the littles — some of which have to do with every
hour and every purpose of our lives.

Often what seems a trifle, a mere nothing by itself, in 5?ome
nice situations turns the scale of fate, and rules the most impor-
tant actions. The cackling of a goose is fabled to have saved
tlome from the Gauls, and the pain produced by a thistle to
have warned a Scottish army of the approach of the Dan«3S
and according to the f(»llowing anecdote from Randtdl's " Life
of Jetierson," it seems that flies contributed to hasten the
American independence : While the question of independence
wa.s before Congress, it had its meeting near a livery stal.>le.
Its members wore short breeches and silk stockings, and, with
liandkerchief in hand, they were diligently employed in lashing
the flies from tlieir legs. So very v* xatious was this annoyance,
and to so great an impatience did it arouse the sufterers, that
it hastened, if it did not aid in inducing them to promptly aflix
their signatures to the gi'eat document which gave birth to an
•inpire republic I

iJiscoveriea are made mostly by little things. The aj*t of
printing owes its origin to rude impressions (for the amusement
of cliildren) from letters carvful on the l>«rk of a be«>ch trea

iiMMl

LITTLE THINGS.

173

It was a slight matter which thousands would have passed over
with neglect. Gunpowdt,>r was discovered from the falling of a
spark on some Tnaterial mixed in a mortar.

The stupendous results of the steam-engine may all be
attributed to an individual observing steam i.s.suing from a bootle
just emptied and placed casually close to a fire. He plunged the
bottle's neck into cold water and was intelligent enough to
notice the instantaneous rush which ensued from this simple
condensing apparatua. Electricity was discovered by a person
observing that % piece of nibbed glass, or some similar sub-
stance, attracted small bits of paper, etc.

Galvanism again owes its origin to Madame Clalvani's noticing
the contraction of the muscles of a skinned frog which waa
accidentally toucned by a person at the moment of the professor,
her husband, taking an electi-ic spark from a machine. He fol-
lowed up the b'- ' / experiments.

Pendulum ^ ;tC8 were invented from Galileo's observing the
lamp in a church swinging to and fro. The telescope we owe
to some children of a spectacle- maker i)lacing two or more paira
of spectacles before each other and looking through them at a
distant object. The glimpse thus afforded was followed up by
' ^ jr heads.

The barometer originate<l in the circumstance of a pump
which had been fixed higher than usual above the suiface of a
well. A sagacious oV>server heme deducted the pressure of the
atmosphere and tried quicksilver.

The A.rgand lamp was invented by one of the brother? of
that name having remarked that a tube held by chance over a
candle caused it to burn with a bright flame.

Sedulous attention and painstaking industry always mark
the true worker. The greatest men are not those who "despise
the day of small things," but those who improve them the most
carefully. Michael Angelo was one day explaining to a visitor
at his studio what he had been doing at a statue since his pre-
vious visit. " I have retouched this part — poli.shed that —
ioftened ^.hii* feature — brought out that luusclc

-given

some

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174

LITTLE THINGS.

I ;

expression to this lip, and more energy to that limb." " But
these are trifles," remarked the visitor. " It may be so," replied
the sculptor, "but recollect that trilles make |)erfection, and
perfection is no trifle." So it was said of Nicholas Poisain, the
painter, that the rule of his conduct was, that " whatever was
worth doing at all was worth doing well;" and when asked,
late in life, hy wliat means he had gained sc u^gh a reputation
among the painters of Italy, he empliatically answered, " Be-
cause I ha\e neglected nothing."

Many of the most distinguish jd r.ames in the world's history
were nearly half a century in a; tracting the admixing notice of
mankind ; As witness Cromwell and Cavour,and Bismarck and
Palmerston, and tlie elder Beecher. But their star will never
die ; their works, their influence on the age in wliiclx they lived,
will be perpetuated to remote generations. This should be
encouragement to all the plodders, for their time maj' come.

It is tie intelligent eye of the careful observer which gives
apparently trivial phenomena their value. So trifling a mat-
ter as the sight t.f sea-weed floating past his ship, enabled
Columbus to quell the mutiny which arose among his sailors
at not discovering land, and to assure them that the eagerly
sought Xew World was not far off. There is nothing so small
that it should remain forgotten ; and no fact, however trivial,
but may prove useful in some way or other if carefully inter-
preted. Who could have imagined that the famous " chalk-
cliffs of Albion " had been built up by tiny insects — detected
only by the help of the microscope — of the same order of crea-
tures that have gemmed the sea with islands of coral ! And
who t]\at contemj)lates such extraordinary results, arising from
infinitely minute operations, will venture to que^stion the power
of little thii.gs ?

It is the close observation of little things which is the secret
of success ia business, in art, in science, and in every pursuit
in life. Human Icnowledge is but an accumulation of small
facts, made by successive generations of men, the little bits of
knowhidge and experience carefully treasured up by them

UTILE THINGS.

171

growing at length into a mighty pyramid. Though many of
these facts and observations seemed in the first instance to have
but slight significance, they are all found to have their even-
tual uses, and to fit into their proper places. Even many specu-
lations seemingly remote turn out to be the basis of results the
most obviously practical. In the case of the conic sections dis-
covered by Apolonius Pergoeus, twenty centuries elapsed be-
fore they were made the basis of astronomy — a science which
enables the modern navigator to steer his way through un-
known SOBS, and traces for him in the heavens an unening
path to his appointed haven. And had not mathematics toiled
for so long, and to uninstructed observers, apparently so fruit-
lessly, over the abstract relations of lines and surfaces, it is
probable that but few of our mechanical inventions would
have seen the light.

When Franklin made his discovery of the identity of light-
ning and electricity, it was sneeied at, and people asked, " Of
what use is it ? " to which his apt reply was, " What is the use
of a child ? It may become a man 1 " When Galvani discover-
ed that a frog's leg twitched when placed in contact with dif-
ferent metals, it could scarcely have been imagined that so ap-
parently insignificant a fact could have led to important results.
Yet therein lay the germ of the electric telegraph, which binds
the intelligence of continents together, and doubtless before
many years elapse will " put a girdle round the globe." So,
too, little bits of stone and fossil, dug out of the earth, intelli-
gently interpreted, have issued in the science of geology and
the practical operations of mining, in which large capitals an
Miveited and vast numbers of persons profitably employed

11: !

17€

ECONOMY.

(onomtf.

CONOMY is the parent of integrity, of liberty, and of ease;
and the beaut-eous sister of temperance, of cheerfulness
and health ; and profusenesa is a cruel and crxzy demon,
that gradually involves her followers in dependence and debt ;
that is, fetters them with " irons that enter into their souls."

A sound economy is a sound understanding brought iut«
action. It is calculation realized ; it is the doctrine of propor-
tion educed to practice. It is foreseeing contingencies and pro-
viding agaixist them. Economy is one of three sisters of whom
the other and less reputable two are avarice and prodigality.
She alone keeps the straight and safe path, while avarice sneers
at her as profuse, and prodigality scorns at her as penurious.
To the poor she is indispensable ; to those of moderate means
she is found the representative of wisdom. The loose change
which many young men throw away uselessly, and sometimes
even worse, would often form the basis of fortune and indepen-
dence. But when it is so recklessly squandered it becomes the
worst enemy to the young man. He will soon find that he ha(!
bought nothing but expensive habits, and perhaps a ruined
character. Economy joined to industiy and sobriety is a bet-
ter outfit to business than a dowry.

We don't like stinginess, we don't like economy, when it cornea
down to rags and starvation. We have no sympathy with the
notion that the poor man should hitch himself to a post and
•tand still, while the rest of the world moves forward. It is
no mans auty to deny himself every amusement, every recre-
ation, every comfort, that he may get rich. It is no man's duty
to make an iceberg of himself, to shut his eyes ' 1 ears to the
sufierings of his fellows, and to deny himself ta*^ enjoyment
that results from generous actions, merely that he may hoard
wealth for hLs heirs to quarrel about. But there is an economy
which ia every man's duty, and which is especially comiUfeiid-

ECOKOM F,

177

able in the man who struggles with poverty — an economy which
ia consistent with happiness, and which must be practised if
the poor man would secure independence. It is almost every
man's privilege, and it becomes his duty, to live within his
means ; not to, but within them. This practice is of the very
essence of honesty. For if a man does not manage honestly to
live within his own means he must necessarily be living dis*
honestly upon the means of some one else If your means do
not suit your ends, pursue those ends which suit 3'our means.
Men are ruined not by what they really want, but by what
they think they want. Therefore they should never go abroad
in search of their wants ; if they be real wints they will come
home in search of them ; for if they buy what they do not
want, they will soon want what they cannot buy.

Wealth does not make the man, we admit, anil should never
be taken into the account in our judgment of men ; jut com-
petence should always be secured, when it can be, by the prac-
tice of economy and self-denial only to a tolerable extent. It
should be secured, not so much for others to look upon, or to
raise ua in the estimation of people, as to secure the conscious-
ness of independence, and the constant satisfaction which is
derived from its acquirement and possession.

Simple industry and thrift will go far toward making any
person of ordinary working faculty comparatively independent
in his means. Almost every working man may be so, provided
he will carefully husband his resources and watch the little out-
lets jf useless expenditure. A penny is a very small mat.or,
yet the comfort of thousands of families depends upon the
proper saving and spending of pennies. If a man allows the
little pennies, the result of his hard work, to slip out of his
fingers — some to the beer-shop, some this way and some that
— he will find that his life is little raised above one of mere
animal drudgery. On the other hand, if he take care of the
pennies ; putting some weekly into a benefit society or an in-
surance fund, others into a savings-bank and confiding the rest
to bis wife to be carefullv laid out, with a view to the comfort-

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ECONOMY.

able maintenanoe and education of his family, he will soon find
that his attention to small matters will abundantly repay him,
in increasing means, growing comfort at home, and a mind com-
paratively free from fears as to the future. If a working men
have high ambition and possess richness in spirit — a kind of
wealth which far transcends all mere worldly possessions — he
may not only help himself, but be a profitable helper of others
in his path through life.

When one is blessed with good sense, and fair opportunitien
this spirit of economy is one of the most beneficial of all secu-
lar gifts, and takes high rank among the minor virtues. It is
by this mysterious power that the loaf is multiplied, that using
does not waste, that little becomes much, that scattered frag-
ments grow to unity, and that out of nothing, or next to no-
thing, comes the miracle of something ! ELconomy is not merely
saving, still less, parsimony. It is foresight and arran'^ment.
It is insight and combination. It is a subtile philosophy of
things by which new uses, new compositions are discovered.
It causes inert things to labour, iLseless things to serve our
necessities, perishing things to renew their vigour, and all
things to exert themselves for human comfort. Economy ia
generalship in little things. We know men who live better
on a thousand dollars a year than others upon five thousand.
We know very poor persons who bear about with them in
everything a sense of fitness and nice arrangement, which make
their life artistic. There are day-labourers who go home to
more real comfort of neatness, arrangement, and prosperity,
in their single snug room, than is found in the lordly dwellings
of vaasxj millionnaires. And blessings be on their good angel
of economy, which wastes nothing, and yet is not sordid in
saving : that lavishes nothing, and is not parsimonious in giv-
ing ; that spreads out a little with the blessings of taste upon
it, which, if it does not multiply the provision, more than makes
it ap in the pleasure given. Let no man despise economy.

There is no virtue so unduly appreciated as economy, nor is
there one more truly worthy of estimation ; a neglect ot eooa-

ECONOMY.

170

ouy eventually leads to every misery of poverty and degrada-
tion, not unfrequently to every variety of error and of crime.
Dr. JohnsoD asserted, " that where there was no prudence, there
woe no virtue." Of all the maxims pronounced by that great
moralist, perhaps no one was more just or more instructive.
Even in that branch of prudence that directs us to take cog-
nizance of our pecuniary affairs, the propriety of this aphorism
b very striking.

The progress of civilization has incurred a necessity of bar-
ter and exchange as the means of subsistence. Thus wealth,
as the medium of acquiring all the comforts and all the luxu-
ries of life, has obtained high consideration among mankind.
Philosophers may therefore scoff as much as they please at the
value placed upon riches, but they will never sucK^eed in lesson-
ing the desire for their possession. When considered as the
means of enjoying existence in comfort, it mast be seen that
it is only by the judicious expenditure of wealth, that this end
can be obtained. Pass a few years, and the prodigal is penny-
leas. How few, under such circumstances, but, directly or in-
directly, are guilty of injustice and cruelty. Debts unpaid,
friends deceived, kindred deprived of a rightful inheritance —
such are the consequences of profusion, and are not such po.«ii-
tivo acts of injustice and cruelty ? Let those, therefore, who
inJignantly stigmatise the miser as a pest to society, and in a
fa:)cied honourable horror of miserly meanness are for showing
thuir nobler spirit by running into an opposite extreme, reflect,
that though different the means, how similar the results of
profusion ; how exactly conducting to the p*me crimes and
miseries. The taste of the age is so much more friendly to
prodigality ; the lavish expenditure of weiUth, by conducing
to the gratification of society, is so often unduly applauded,
that it is an extreme much more likely to be rushed upon.
But when the real consequences of its indulgence are fairly
and dispassionately surveyed, its true deformity will be quickly
perceived.

In short, economy appears to induce the exertion of almost

180

FARM LIFE.

every laudable emotion ; a strict regard to honesty ; a laudable
Bpirit of independence; a judicious prudence in providing for
the wants ; a steady benevolence in preparing for the claima
of the future. Really we seem to have run the circle of the
virtues ; justice and disinterestedness, honesty, independence,
pnidenoe, and benevolence.

mxm tife.

GRICITLTURE is the greatest among the arts, for it is
first in supplying our necessities. It is the mother and
nurse of all other arts. It favours and strengthens
population ; it creates and maintains manufactures, gives em-
ployment to navigation and materials to commerce. It ani-
mat>es every species of industry, and opens to nations the
surest channels of opulence. It is also the strongest bond a!
well regulated society, the surest basis of internal peace, the
natural associate of good morals.

We ought to count among the benefits of agriculture the
charm which the practice of it communicates to a country life.
The charm which has made the country, in our own view, the
retreat of the hero, the asylum of the sage, and the temple of
the historic muse. The strong desire, the longing after the
couniay, with which we find the bulk of mankind to be pene-
trated, points to it as the chosen abode of sublunary bliss.
The sweet occupations of culture, with her varied products
and attendrut enjoyments are, at least, a relief from the stifling
atmosphere of the city, the monotony of subdivided employ-
ments, the anxious uncertainty of commerce, the vexations of
ambition so often disappointed, of self-love so often mortified,
of factitious pleasures and unsubstantial vanitiea

Health, the first and best of all the blessings of life, is pre^

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served and fortified by the practice of a^spioulture. That rtate
of well-being which we feel and cannot define ; that self-satis-
fied disposition which depends, perhaps, on the perfect equili-
brium and easy play of vital forces, turns the slightest acts to
pleasure, and makes every exertion of our faculties a aouroe
of enjoyment ; this ineatimable state of our bodily funotiooa
is most vigorous in the country, and if lost elsewhere, it is in
tiM country we expect to recover it

" In ancient times, the sacred plough employ'd
The kings, and awful fathers of mankind :
And some, with whom oompared, your insect tribes
Are but tlie beings of a summer's day,
Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm
Of mighty war, then, with unwearied hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seized
The plough omd greatly iucUpendmtt lived."

— Thom3on>*» Seamnu.

We deplore the disposition of young men to get away from
their farm homes to our large cities, where they are subject to
difficulties and temptations, which, but too often, they fail to
overcome.

Depend upon it, if you would hold your sons and brothers
bftck from roaming away into the perilous centres, you must
steadily make three attempts — to abate the task- work of farm-
ing, to raise maximum crops and profits, and to surround your
spork with the exhilaration of intellectual progress. You must
elevate the whole spirit of your vocation for your vocation's
itake, till no other can outstrip it in what most adonis and
strengthens a civilized state.

We have long observed, and with unfeignod regret, the grow-
ing tendency of young men and lads, yet early in their teens,
to abandon the healthful and ennobling cares of the farm for
the dangerous excitements and vicissitudes of city life and trade.
Delightful firesides and friendly circles in the quiet rural dis-
tricts are every day sacrificed to this lamsntable mania of ths
times. Young men, favoured with every contort of life, and

182

FARM LIFE.

not oveTworked, fancy that they may do far better than " to
guide the ox or turn the stubborn glebe ; " and with the merest
trifle of consideration their hands are withdrawn from the im-
plements of agrif'ulture and given to the office or shop-work
of the city, which generally proves vastly less agreeable or
profitable than they had (in their inexcusable thoughtlessness)
anticipated. Disappointed and chagrined, they faint under
the advance of

" Nimble miaehaiMe, that ooium «o swift of foot,"

■ s

and where one is enabled to withstand the sweeping tide of
temptation, five are submerged in its angry waves and humed
on to ruin. Every year finds hundreds, aye, thousands, of such
victims, irrecoverably allied to the fallen and vicious of every
class, from the smooth-tongued parlour-gambler and rake, to
the more degraded, if not more despicable, " Bowery Boy " and
" Dead Rabbit," while the prison doors, and worse, the gates of
hell, close on many "lost ones" who had been saved but for the
foolish desertion of home and true friends. It has been wiell
said that " for a young man of unstable habits and without
religious principles, there is no place where he will be so soon
ruined as in a large city."

Parents throughout the country have not failed to realize this
startling truth, and to sorely mourn the strange inclination vi
their suns to encounter the fascinating snares and pitfalls of
city residence and fashion. In brief, let the country lad be ai
well educated for the farm as his city cousin is for the bar, v.
the counting-room. And by all possible means let the farmer
be led to properly estimate his high and honourable position in
the community. "Ever remember," writes Goldthwait, "that for
health and substantial wealth, for rare opportunities for self-
improvement, for long life and real independence, farming is the
best business in the world." History tells of one who was called
from the plough to the palace, from the farm to the forum ; and
when he had silenced the angry tumult of a State reBomed a^;aui

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FARM LIFE.

183

(he quiet duties of a husbandman. Of whoae resting place did
Halleck write these beautiful lines 7

** Such grares aa his are pilgrim -shrine*.
Shrines to no code or creed confined—
, The Delphian vales, the Talestines,

The Meccas of the mind."

It was Bums, the plough-boy, afterward the national bard of
Scotland. And Bums himself has left evidence that he com-
posed some of the rarest gems of his poetry while engaged in
rural pursuits.

It would require volumes to enumerate the noble men who
have imperishably recorded their exalted appreciation of rural
life and enterprise. Every age has augmented the illustrioua
number. The immortal George Washington was ever more
enamoured of the sickle than the sword, and unhesitatingly
pronounced agriculture " the most htialthy, the most useful,
and the laost noble employment of man."

When we walk abroad in nature, we go not as artists to
study her scenes, but as her children to rejoice in her beauty.
The breath of the air, the blue of the unclouded sky, the shining
sun, and the gi*een softness of the unflowered turf beneath our
feet, are all that we require to make us feel that we are trans-
ported into a region of delights. We breathe and tread in a pure
untroubled world, and the fresh clear delight that breathes
round our senses seems to bathe our spirits in the innocence of
nature. It is not that we have prized a solitude which secludes
us from the world of life ; but the aspects on which we look
breathe a spirit; the characters we read speak a language
which, mysterious and obscurely intelligible as they are, draws
us on wftiji an eager and undefined desire. In shapes and sounds
of fear ; in naked crags, gulfs, precipices, torrents that have rage
without beauty, desolate places ; there is to that temper of mind
an attractive power. All speak in some way to the spirit, and
raise up in it new and hidden emotion, which, even when ming-
led with paint, it is glad to feel ; for such emotion makes dis-

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184

SUCCESS.

covery to it of its own nature, and the interest It feels so strongly
springs up froni and returns into itself.

Of all occupations, that of agriculture is best calculated tx>
induce love of country, and rivet it firmly on the heart. No
profession is more honourable, noro as conducive to health,
peace, tranquillity, and happiness. More iadependent than any
other calling, it is calculated to produce an innate love of liberty.
The farmer stands upon a lofty eminence, and looks upon the
bustle of cities, the intricacies of mechanism, the din of com<
merce,and brain confusing, body killing literature, with feelings
of personal freedom, peculiarly his own. He delights in the
prosperity of the city as his market place, acknowledges *he
usefulness of the mechanic, admires the enterprise of the com-
mercial man, and rejoices in the benefits that flow from the
untiring invsstigations and deveiopmente of science ; then turns
his thoughts to the pristine quiit of his agrarian domain, and
covets not the fame that accumulates around the other profes-
sions.

ftUUM,

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; WENTY clerks in a store ; twenty hands in a printing
^j), office ; twenty apprentices in a shipyard ; twenty young
" men in a village — all want to get on in the world, and
expect to succeed. One of the clerks will become a partner
and make a ^ortime ; one of the compositors will own a news-
paper and become an influential citizen ; one of the appren-
tices will become a master builder ; one of the young villjigen
will get a handsome farm and live like a patriarch — but which
one is the lucky individual ? Lucky ! there is no luck about
it. The thing is almost jw certain as the Rule of Three. The
young fellow who will distance his competitors is he who mas-
ters his businesb, who {>re8erve.s his integiity. who Uv«w oitMuily

succJiss.

180

and purely, who devotes his leisure houTs xo the acquisition of

knowledge, who never gets into debt, who gains friends by de-
serving them, and who saves his spare money. There are some
ways to fortune shorter than this old dusty highway — but the
staunch men of the community, the men who achieve something
really worth having, good fortune and serene old age, all go on
in this road.

We hear a great deal about " good luck " and " bad luck."
If a person has prospered in business, he is said to have had
" good luck." if he has failed, he has had " bad luck."
If he has been sick, good or bad luck is said to have visited
him, accordingly as h^. got well or died. Or, if he has re-
mained in good health, while others have been attacked by some
epidemic disease, ho has had the " good luck " to escape that
with which others have had the " bad luck " to be seized. Good
or bad luck is, in most cases, but a synonym for good or bad
judgment. The prudent, the considerate, and the circumspect
seldom complain of ill luck.

We do not know anything which more fascinates youth
than what, for want of a better word, we may call brilliancy.
Gradually, however, this peculiar kind of estimation change"?
very much. It is no longer those who are brilliant, thoso who
affect to do the most and the best work with the least apparent
pains and trouble, whom we are most inclined to admire. We
eventually come to admire labour, and to respect it the more,
the more openly it is proclaimed by the laborious man to be
the cause of his success if he has any success to boast of.

A great moral safeguard is habits of industry. This pro-
motes our happiness ; and so leaves no cravings for those vices
which lead on and down to sin and its untold miseries. Indus-
try conducts to prosperity. Fortunes may, it is true, be won
in a day ; but they may also be lost in a day. It is only the hand
of the diligent that makes one permanently rich. The late Mr.
Ticknor, of Boston, a model merchant and publisher, in his last
hours spoke of the value of a steady pursuit of one's legitimate
buainess. He commented on the insane traffic in gold at that

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186

SUCCESS.

moDMot, as rainous to the country and the parties engaged in
it " The pathway of its track," said he, is " strewn with
wrecks of men and fortunes ; but few Jave failed of success
who were honest, earnest, and patient." He attributed his
own sucoess to his clinging to his resolution to avoid all spec-
ulations, and steadily pursuing the business of his choice. He
had been bred to the trade of a broker ; but thought it as
dangerous as the lottery and dice. And no young tnan could
fail to be warned by him, who had seen the frenzy that comes
over the " Brokers* Board." " A Babel of conflicting: sounds —
a hot oven of excitement " is that board ; it is a moral storm
which few can withstand long. How much wiser is he who
^:eeps out of this whirlpool, content with an honest calling and
reasonable gains.

Who are the successful men ? Ihey are those who wh<m
boys were compelled to work either to help themselves or their
parents, and who, when a little older, were under the stem
necessity of doing more than their legitimate share of labour ;
who as young men had their wits sharpened by having to de-
vise ways and means of making their time more available th.%n
it would be under ordinary circumstances. Hence in residiiig
the lives of eminent men who have greatly distinguished thein
selves, we find their youth passed in self-denials of food, sleep,
rest, and recreation. They sat up lute, rose early, to the per-
formance of imperative duties, doing by daylight the work of
one man, and by night that of another. Said a gentleman, the
other day, now a private banker of high integrity, and who
started in life without a dollar, " For years I was in my place
of business by sunrise, and often did not leave it for fifteen or
eighteen hours." Let not, then, any youth be discouraged if he
has to make his own living, or even to support a widowed
mother, or sick sister, or unfortunate relative ; for this htis been
the road to eminence of many a proud name. This is the path
which printers and teachers have often trod — ^thorny enough at
times, at others so beset with obstacles as to be almost impassa-
ble : but the way was cleared, sunshine came, success followed
— then the glory and renown.

SUCCESS

failiir

187

The secret of one'a nuooeao or tailiire in neari
prise is usually contained in answer to the question : HoM^
earnest is he ? Success is the child of confidence and persever-
ance. The talent of success i-" simply doing what you can do
well, and doing well whatever you do — without a thought of
fame. Fame never comes because it is craved. Success is the
best test of capacity. Success is not always a proper criterion
for judging a man's character. It is certain that success natur-
ally confirms us in a favourable opinion of ourselves. Success
in life consists in the proper and harmooiuus developmOUt oi
those faculties which God has given us.

Be thrifty that you may have wherewith to be cbarit{..blc.
He that labours and thrives spins gold.

We are familiar with people who whine continually at fate.
To believe them, never was a lot so hard as their.s ; yet those
who know the history will generally tell you that their life has
been but one long tale of opportunities disregarded, or mis-
fortunes otherwise deserved. Perhaps they were bom poor. In
this case they hate the rich, and have always hated th^m, but
without ever having emulate I their prudence or energy. Perhaps
they have seen their rivals more favoured by accident. In this
event they forgot how many have been less lucky than them-
selves ; so they squandered their littlo, because, as they say,
tliey cannot save as much as others. Irritated at life, they grow
old prematurely. Dissatisfied with everything, they never per-
mit themselves to be happy. Because they are not bom at the
top of the wheel of fortune, they refuse to take hold of the
spoke as the latter co: nes around, but lie stubborn to the dirt,
crying like spoiled children, neither doing anything themselves,
nor permitting others to do it for them.

Some men make a mistake in marrying. They do not in this
matter either begin right. Have they their fortunes still to
make ? Too often, instead of seeking one who would be a help-
mate in the true sense of the term, they unite themselves to a
giddy, improvident creature, with nothing to recommend her
but the face of a doll and a few showy accomplishments. Sueh

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SUCCESS.

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a wife, they discover too late, neither makes home happy nor
help*j to increase her husbard's means. At first, thriftless, ex-
travagant and careless, she gradually becomes cross and re-
proachful and while she envies other women, and reproaches
l.or husband because he cannot afford to maintain her like thenb
is really the principal cause of his ill fortune. The selection of
a proper companion is one of the most important concerns of
life. A well-assorted marriage assists, instead of retarding, a
roan's prosperity. Select a sensible, agreeable, amiable woman,
and you will have secured a prize " better than riches." If yoo
do otherwise, then, alas for you !

Treat every one with respect and civility. " Everything la
gaineil. and nothing lost, by courtesy." " Good mannei-s insure
success." Never anticipate wealth from any other source than
labour. " He who waits for dead men's shoes may have to go
a long time bare foot." And above all, "JViZ desperandam,"
for " Heaven helps those who help themselves." If you impli-
citly follow these precepts, nothing can hinder you from accu-
mulating. Let the business of everybody else alone, and at-
tend, to your own ; don't buy what you don't want ; use every
hour to advantage, and study to make even leisure hours use-
ful ; think twice befox^e you throw away a shilling; remember
you will have another to make for it ; find recreation in your
own business ; buy low, sell fair, and take care of the profits ;
look over your books regularly, and, if you find an error, trace
it out ; should a stroke of misfortua come over yom* trade,
retrench, work harder, but never tty the track; confront diifi-
cultie» with uuceiising perseverance, and they will disappear
at last ; though you should fail in the struggle, you will be
honoured ; but shrink from the task and you will be despised.

Engage in one kind of business only, and stick to it faith-
fully until you succeed, or until your experience shows that
you should abandon it. A constant hammering on one nail
will generally drive it home at last, so that it can be clinched.
When a man's undivided attention is centered on one subject^
hia niiud will be constantly suggesting improvements of valueii

succEna.

189

which would wcape him if his biain was occnpie<l b}* a dozen
diirt*rontsal)jocts ot once. Many a fortune has slipped through
a man's tingors because he was engaging in too many occupa-
tions at a time. There is good sense in the old caution against
having too many irons in the fire at once.

"At thy fii-st entrnnce upon tliy estate/' once said a wise
man, " keep a low sail, that thou mayst ris.„ with Ijonour ; thou
canst not decline without hliame ; lie that begins whero his
father ends, will end where his fatlior began." An P^nglish
ju<lgo being asked what contributed most to success at the bar,
replied, "Some auceood by groat talent, some by the inlluenee
of friends, some by a miracle, but the majority by comiiunci ng
ivithout a shiUitig."

Everywhere in human experience, as frei^uently in nature,
hardship is the vestibule of the hii^hest success. That magni-
ficent oak was deiained twenty yearss in its upward growth
while itvS roots toi)k a great turn around a boulder by which
the tree was anchored to withstand the storms of centuries.

In our intercourse with the world a cautious eircumspeetion
ia of great advant^ige. Slowness of belief, and a j)roper dis-
trust are essential to success. The cre«lulons and confiding are
ever the dupe^s of knaves and impostors. A.sk those who have
lost tiielr property how it happened, and you will find in most
cases it hits been owing to misplaced confidence. One has lost
by endoraing; another by crediting; another by false represent
tatioiis; all of which a little luore foresight and a little more
distrust would hav(> prevented. In the afi'jiirs of this world
meiv are not saved by faith, but by the want of it.

They who are eminently successful in business, or who achieve
greatness, or even notoriety in any pursuit, nmst e.xpect to
make enemies. Whoever becomes distinguished is sure to be a
mark for the malicious spite of those who, not deserving suc-
cess themselves, are galled by the n^erited triumph of the more
worthy. Moreover, the i)ppo3i(,ion which originates in such
despicable motives, is sure to bo of the most uuscrupuloUK
character; heaitating at no iniquity, descoidin^ to the ahab-

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190

INDUSTRY.

biest littleness. Opposition, if it be honest and manly, is no%
in itself undesirable. It is the whetstone by which a highly
tempered nature is polished and sharpened. He that has never
known adversity, is but half acquainted with others or with
himself. Constant succe.ss shows us but one side of the world.
For, as it surrounds us with friends, who will tell us only oui
merits, so it silences those enemies fiom whom alooe we can
leaiii our defects.

-♦—•-»-<-

JJ'R success in life generally bears a direct proportion to

the exertions we make, and if we aim at nothing we

shall certainly achieve nothing. By the remis-sion (»f

labour and energy, it often liappens that poverty and contempt,

disaster and defeat, steal a march upon prosjterity and honour,

and overwhelm us with reverses and .shame.

A very ira])ortant principle in the business of money getting,
is industry — persevering, indefatigable attention to business.
Persevering diligence is the philosopher's stone, which tuma
everything to gold. Constant, regular, habitual, and system-
atic application to business, must, in time, if properly directed,
produce great results. It must lead to wealth, with tbe same
certainty that poverty follows in the train of idleness and in-
attention.

It lias been said that the best cure for hard times is to cheat
the doctor by being temperate ; the lawyer, by keeping out of
debt ; the demagogue, by voting for honeBt men ; and poverty,
by being industriou.s.

To industry, guided by reasonable intelligence and economy,
every people can look with certainty as an unfailing soui-co of
temporal probperity. Whatever Is useful oi beautiful in art,

INDU8TBT.

191

science, or other human attainiaent, has come from industry.
In the humblest pursuits, industrj- may be accompanied by the
noblest intelligence, so that respect, place and power are open
to its humblest honest practiser. Let no man spurn industry
as his temporal shield ; it is the safest and surest he can buckle
to his arm, and with it he may def}^ the want and poverty
which, more than everything else, destroy the independence of
man.

Honourable industrj*^ always travels the same road with en-
joyment and duty ; and progress is altogether impossible with-
out it. The idle pass through life leaving as little trace of their
existence as foam upon the water, or smoke upon the airj
whereas the industrious stamp their character upon their age^
and influence not only their own but all succeeding generations.
Labour is the best test of the energies of men, and furnishes an
admirable training for practical wisdom.

Practical industry, wisely and vigorously applied, never fails
of success. It carries a man onward and upward, brings out
his individual character, and powerfully stimulates the action
of others. All may not rise equally, yet each, on the whole, very
much according to his deserts. " Though all cannot live on the
piazza," Jis the Tuscan proverb has it, "eve- rone may feel the sun."

Industry is the heir of fortune ; the companion of honesty
and honour; the beauteous sister of temperance, health and ease
— one of the noble virtues which links with porfection.

Industry has a physical blessing; limbs aengthened by
exercise, and sinews braced by exertion ; every organ performing
its legitimate duty, and kept in its appointed office ; the blood
circulated by motion, and the joints pliant from use ; disease
repelled by internal vigour ; appetite created by the calls of
ncreasing strength ; rest rendered welcome by previous labour,
sleep become acceptable after busy working. The habit, free
from the petty ailments entailed by sluggishness, no longer
faUs a prey to peevishness and irritation, and time employed
jiot wasted in murmurs and discontent. The temper, less tried
by bodily infirmity and secret upbraidings, acquires equanimity.

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INDUSTRY.

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The spirits, unharassed by petty pains and plagues, rise to
cheerfulness. The faculties, unimpaired by disease, unblunted
by disuse, more vigorously expand. The whole man, active,
useful, and happy, is enabled to resist the approaches of infir-
mity, sickness and sorrow ; to enjoy a vigorous old age, and
to drop after a brief struggle his mortal frame, to sofi,r with
improved powers into a state of improved being. While in
idleness, the disordered frame, gradually sickening, oppressed
the vital powers. The mind, weakened and stupefied, imbibes
wild or gloomy ideas; the better faculties are crushed and
curbed, and the whole man at last sinks beneath the under-
mining mischiefs of insidious sloth.

Is this a wretched picture ? Whilst we feel that though ii
is so, it is also a true one, let us gratefully remember, that such
a state is not inevitable, but that it is one incurred from choice,
and produced by voluntary permission. Reverse the picture,
extirpate sloth, and in its place introduce activity, and how
mighty is the difierence ? The wand of Harlequin could never
produce a more striking change.

In vain has nature thrown obstacles and impediments in the
way of man, he surmounts every difficulty interposed between
his energy and his enterprise. Over seas and mountains his
course is unchecked; he directs the lightning's wings, and almort
wmihilates space and time. Oceans, rivers, and deserts aie
explored ; hills are levelled, and the rugged places made smooth.
" On the hardest adamant some footprint of us is stamped in."
The soil teems with fertility, and under the cunning and
diligent hand of his taste and skill, the whole earth is beautified
and improved.

The stimulus of a painful necessity urges man to accomplish
more than his necessities require, and the world is filled with
monuments and memorials of his industry, his zeal, his patient
labour, his masterly spirit, and his indomitable perseverance

** All is the gift of industry : whate'er
Exalts, embellishes, and renders liff
Delightful"

HONSSTY.

\OHitijBl»

[ HE firit step towards greatness is to be honest, says the
proverb; but the proverb fails to state the case strong
enough. Honesty is not only the first step towards
greatness — ^it is greatness itself.

It is with honesty in one particular as with wealth ; those
that have the thing care less about the credit of it than those
that have it not. What passes as openfaced honesty is often
masked malignity. He who saith there is no such thing as an
honest man, you may be sure is himself a knave. When any
one complains, as Diogenes did, that he has to hunt the street
with candles at noon-day to find an honest man, we are apt to
think that his nearest neigUxmr would have quite as much
difficulty as himself in making the discovery. If you think
there isn't an honest man living, you had better, for appear-
ance sake, put off saying it until you are dead yourself.
Honesty is the best policy,but those who do honest things merely
because they think it good policy, are not honest. No man
has ever been too honest. Cicero believed that nothing is use-
ful that is not honest. He that walketh uprightly, walketh
surely ; but he that perverteth his ways shall be known. There
ia an alchemy in a high heart which transmutes other things
to its own quality.

The truth of the good old maxim, that " Honesty is the best
policy," is upheld by the daily experience of life ; uprightness
and integrity being found as successful in business as in every-
thing else. As Hugh Miller's worthy uncle used to advise him,
•* In aU your dealings give your neighbour the cast of the
bauk — ' good measure, heaued up, and runniug over' — and you
will not lose by it in the end."

Honesty is the best policy. But no man can be upright,
tmid the various temptatiooa of life, unless he is honest for

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HONESTY.

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the right's sake. You should not be honest from the low motive
of policy, but because you fuel the better for being honest.
The latter will hold you fast, let the element set as it will, let
storms blow ever so fiercely ; the former ia but a cable of pack-
thread, which will snap apart. In the long run, character is
better than capital. Most of the great American merchants,
whose revenues outrank those of princes, owe their colossal
fortunes principally to a character for integrity and ability.
Lay the foundations of a character broad and deep. Build
them on a rock, and not on sand. The rains may then descend,
the floods rise and the winds blow, but your house will stand.
But, establish a character for loose dealings, and lo ! somo great
tempest will sweep it away.

The religious tradesman complains that his honesty is a hin-
drance to his success ; that the tide of custom pours into the
doors of his less scrupulous neighbours in the same street, while
he himself waits for hours idle. My brother, do you think
that God is going to reward honour, integrity and highminded-
ness with this world's coin ? Do y a fancy that he will pay
spiritual excellence with plenty of custom ? Now consider the
price that man has paid for his success. Perhaps mental degra-
dation and inward dishonour. His advertisements are all de-
ceptive ; his treatment of his workmen tyrannical ; his cheap
prices made possible by inferior articles. Sow that man's seed,
and you will reap that man's harvest. Cheat, lie, advertise, be
vmscrupulous in your assertions, custom will come to you ; but
if the price is too dear, let him have his harvest, and take
yours. Yours is a clear conscience, a pure mind, rectitude within
and without. Will you part with that for his ? Then hy do
you complain ? He has paid his price ; you do not choose to pay it.

Some, in their passion for sudden accumulation, practise se-
cret frauds, and imagine there is no harm in it, so they be not
detected. But in vain will they cover i their transgressions ;
for God sees it to the bottom ; and let them not hope to keep
it always from man. The birds of the air sometimes carry the
tale abroad. In the long web of events, " Be sure your sin will

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HONESTY.

195

find you out." He who is carrying on a course of latent cor-
ruption and dishonesty, be lie president of some mammoth cor-
poration, or engaged only in private transactiona, is sailing in
r. ship like that fabled one of old, which ever comes nearer and
nearer to a magnetic mountain, that will at last draw every
nail out of it. All faith in Clod, and all trust in man will
eventually be lost, and he will get no reward for his guilt. The
very winds will sigh forth his iniquity ; and " a beam will come
out of the wall," and convict and braite him.

Strict honesty is the crown of one's early days. " Your son
will not do for me," was once said to a friend of mine ; " he
took pains, the other day, to tell a customer of a small blemish
in a piece of goods." The salesVioy is sometimes virtually taught
to declare that goods cost such or such a sum; that they are
strong, fashionable, perfect, when the whole story is false. So
is the bloom of a God-inspiied truthfulness not seldom brushed
from the cheek of our siniple-heartod children.

We hope and trust these cases aie larc ; but even one such
house aa we allude to may ruin the integrity and the fair fame
of many a lad. God grant our young men to feel that " an
honest man is the noblest work of God," and, under all tempta-
tions, to live as they feel.

The possession of the principle of honesty is a matter known
most intimately to the man and his God, and fully, only to the
latter. No inan knows the extent and strength of his own
honesty, until he has passed the fiery ordeal of temptation.
Mijn who shudder at the dishonesty of others, at one time in
life, then sailing before the favourable wind of prosperity, when
adversity overtakes them, their honesty too often flies away
on the same wdngs with their riches ; and, what they once
viewed with holy horror, they now prat^tise with shameless
imjiunity. Others, at the commencement of a pix)sperous
career, are quite above any tricks in trade ; but their love of
money increases with their wealth, their honesty relaxes, they
become hard honest men, then hardly honest, and are, liiially,
conlirmed in dishonesty.

196

CHARACTER.

' ■' '.f--.'

On the great day of account, it wUl be found, that men have
erred more in judging of the honeaty of others than in any one
thing else ; not even religion excepted. Many who have been
condemned, and had the stigma of dishonesty fixed upon them,
because misfortune disabled them from paying their just debts,
will stand acquitted by the Judge of quick nnd dead, w^hilst
others cover dishonest hearts and actions, undetected by man

It is ray earnest desire to eradicate the impression, so fatal
to many a young man, that one cannot live by being perfectly
honest. You must have known men who have gone on for
years in unbroken prosperity and yet never adopted that base
motto, " All is fair in trade." You must have seen, too, noble
examples of those who have met with losses and failures, and
yet risen from them all with a conscious integrity, and who
have been sustained by the testimony of all around them, that,
though unfortunate, they were never dishonest ? When we
Bet before you such examples, when we show you, not only that
" Honesty is the best policy," but that it is the very keystone of
the whole arch of manly and Christian qualities, it cannot bo
that every ingenious heart does not respond to the appeal
Heaven grant all such to feel that an " Honest man is the
noblest work of God," and to live as they feeL

[l^uritttw.

' .

■ 1

7^ HERE is a structure which every body is building, young
and old, each one for himself. It is called character, and
every act of life is a stone. If day by day we be care-
ful to build our lives with pure, noble, upright deeds, at the
end will stand a fair temple, honoured by God and man. But,
as one leak will sink a shi}), and one flaw break a chain, so one
mean, dishonourable, untruthful act or word will forever iefcv*

CBARACTER.

197

its impress and work its influence on our characters. Then,
let the several deeds unite to form a day, and one by one the
days grow into noble years, and the years, as they slowly pass,
will raise at h st a beautiful edifice.enduring forever to our praise.

There are as many •nnster-v^orkmen in you as there are sep-
arate faculties ; and there are as many blows struck as tliere are
separate acts of emotion or volition. Every single day these
myriad forces are building, building, building. Here is a great
structure going up, point by point, story by story, although
you are not conscious of it. It is a building of character. It
is a building that must stand, and the word of inspiration
warns you to take heed how you build it ; to see to it that you
have a foundation that shall endure ; to make sure that you
are building on it, not for the hour in which you live, but for
that hour of revela ion, when you shall be seen just as you are.

Our minds are given us, but our characters we make. Our
mental powers must be cultivated. The fuU measure of all
the powers necessary to make a man are no more a charactei
than a handful of seeds is an orchard of fruits. Plant the
seeds and tend them well, and they will make an orchard.
Cultivate the powers and harmonize them well, tkUvI they will
make a noble character. The germ is not the tree, the acorn
is not the oak, neither is the mind a character. God gives the
mind ; man makes the character. The mind is the garden ;
the character is the fruit ; the mind is the white page ; the
character is the writing we put on it. The mind is the metallic
plate ; the character is our engraving thereon. The mind ia
the shop, the counting-room ; the character is our profits on
the trade. Large profits are made from quick sales and small
percentage. So great characters are made by many little acts and
efforts. A dollar is composed of a thousand milk ; so is char-
acter of a thousand thoughts and acts. The secret thought
never expr&ssed, the inward indulgences in imaginary wrong,
the lie never told for want of courage, the licentiousness never
indulged in from fear of public rebuke, the irreverence of the
heart, are just as effectual in staining the character as though

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198

CHARACTER

the world knew all about them. A subtile thing is a character :
and a constant work in its formation. Whether it be good or
bad, it has been long in its growth, and is the aggregate of
millions of little mental acts. A good character is a precious
thing, above rubies, gold crowns, or kingdoms, and the work of
making it is the noblest labour on earth."

Character is formed by a course of actions, and not actions
by character. A person can have no character before he has
had actions, Though an action be ever so glorious in itself,
it ought not to pass for great, if it be not the effect of wisdom
and good design. Great actions wirry their glory with them as
the ruby wears its colours. Whatever be your condition or
calling in life, keep in view the whole of your existence. Act
not for the little span of time alloted you in this world, but act
for eternity.

Characters formed by circumstances are much like machhie
poetry. They will do for the sport of mirth, and the torment
of the senses of the beautiful. But they are horrible things.
It makes angels weep to look at them. They are tho picture
of old chaos, a mass of confusion. A thousand winds have
blown t-opether the materials of which they are m; de. They
usually lack order, harmony, consistency, and beauty, the very
elements and essentials of a good character. They are those
aimless nuisances that live for nothing, and mould, and become
putrid, about the sewers of the world. If aught on earth is de-
spicable, it is these porous masses of con'^lomerated filth and
scum that float on the surface of society, driven or attracted by
every speck of circumstance about them. They are purpose-
less, powerless, enervated, automatons, playing second fiddle to
chance. One brave will to resist evil and hold fast to good, is
worth a million of them. One stout soul, with a resolute de-
termination to make its own character, after the pattern of its
own high-wrought ideal, that, Wellington -like, takes the re-
sponsibility of being what suits its well-formed judgment, is of
more real significance than an army of them. li will stand
against them, and defy their power.

CHARACTER,

199

Every man is bound to aim at the possession of a good char-
acter, as one of the highest objects of his life. The very effort
to secure it by worthy means will fumifjh him with a motive
for exertion ; and his idea of manhood, in proportion Jis it is
elevated, will steu,dy and animate his motive. It is well to
have a high standard of life, even though we may not be able
altogether to realize it. "The youth," says Disraeli, "who
does not look up will Icck down; and the spirit that does not
soar is destined, perhaps, to grovel." He who has a high
standard of living and thinking will certainly do better than
he who has none at all. We would have young men, as they
start in life, regard character as a capital, much surer to peld
full returns than any other capital, unaffected by panics and
failures, fruitful when all other investments lie dormant,
having as certain promise in the present life as in that which
is to come. Character is like stock-in-trade ; the more of it a
men possesses, the greater his facilities for adding to it.
Character is power, is influence: it makes friends, creates
fimds, draws patronage and support, and opens a sure and
easy way to wealth, honour and happiness.

Trifles discover a character more than actions of importance.
In regard to the former, a person Ls off his guard, and thinks
it not material to use disguise. It is no imperfect hint toward
the discovery of a man's character to say he looks as though
you might be certain of finding a pin upon his sleeve. Truth-
fulness is a comer-stone in character, and if it is not firmly
laid in youth, there will be ever after a weak spot in the foun-
dation.

Sum it up then as we will, character is the great desidera-
tum of human life. This truth, sublime in its simplicity and
powerful in its auty, is the highest lesson of religion, the
first that youth should learn, the last that age should forget

The value of character is the standard of human progress.
The individual, the community, the nation tell its standing, its
advancement, its worth, its true wealth and glory in the «ye
of GU>d by its estimation of character. That man or aation

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200

PRINCIPLE AND RIGHT.

who or which lightly esteems character, is low, grovelHnjf, and
barbarous. Wherever character is made a secondary object^
sensualism and crime prevail. He who would prostitute char-
acter to reputation is base. He who liva? for anything less
than character is mean. He who enters upon any study, pur-
suits, amusement, pleasure, habit, or course of life, without
considering its effect upon his character, is not a tnisty or an
honest man. He whose modes of thought, states of feeling,
every-day acts, common language, and whole outward life, are
not directed by a wise reference to their influence upon his
character, is a man always to be watched. Just as a man
prizes his character, so is he. This is the true standard of «
man.

! I

mindpl

c anb Siglji

""E often judge unwisely. We approve or condemn men
by their actions. But ifc so happens that many a man
whom we condemn, God approves ; and many a one
whom we approve, God condemns. Here below it often hap-
pens that we have saints in prison and devils in priestly robes
We often view things under a false sight, and pass our judg-
ments accordingly; but God judges from behind the veil
where motives reveal themselves like lightning on a cloud.

Now, right and might lie in motive. Personally they an-
swer the question, " Ought I ? " and " Can I ? " Some men
ask, " Ought I to do this ? " Others ask, " Can I do this I"
It is the angel that asks, "Ought I to do this?" It is the
devil that asks, " Can I do ^his ? "

We all have good and bad in ue. The good would do what
it ought to do; the bad does what it can do. The good dwell*
in the kingdom of right; the bad sits on the throne of might.

FHINCIFLM AND RFGHT.

SOI

Right is a loyal subject ; inifi^ht is a royal tyrant. Ric^ht is
the foundation of tho river of peace , might is the mother of
war and its abominations. Right is th« ovnngel of God that
uroc'aims the "acceptable year of the Lord;" might is the
scourge of the world that riots in carnage, groans and blood.
Right is the arm of freedom made bare and b«mutiful in the
e)es of all the good in heaven and earth ; might is the sword
of power unsheathed in tho hand of oppression. Right gains
its victories by peace ; might conqiiers only by war. Right
strengthens its array by the increase of all ita conquered ;
might weakens its force by every victory, as a part of its power
must stand guard over its now-made subjects. Right rules by
invitation ; might by compulsion. Right is from above ;
might from below. Right is un3elfi.sh ; might knows nothing
but self. Right is for the whole ; might is for one. Fight is
unassuming; might is pompous as a king. Right is instruc-
tive ; might is dictatorial. Right reasons like a philosopher,
and prepares the ground on which it sows ; might stalks on
like madness, reckless of everything but the end sought. Right
is a lamb, cropping buds and fltjwers to make itself mor( beau-
tiful ; might is a tiger prowling in search of pn^y. Right is a
moralist resting in principle ; might is a worldling seekinpf for

pleasure. These are inward principles coutending with each
othei iu every human aouL

There are men, and *heii' number is not small, who make
principle and right depen*^. on policy. They are honest when
they think it policy to be honest. They smile when it is
policy, though they design to stab the next minute. Men of
policy are honest when it is convenient and plainly profitable.
When honesty costs nothing, and will pay well, they are hon-
est ; &ut when policy will pay best, they give honesty the slip
at once. When they think honesty is the best policy they are
most conscientiously honest ; but when policy will, in their
judgment, serve th-^va. a better turn, their consciences change
fsces very quicklj . Principle, right and honesty are always,
and everywhere, and eternally best. It is hard to bmIm hon-

!> i

Ek,<<«U4vU J,^,!,, I^OUIliUlJIUi

FBINOIPLE AND RIGHT.

eaty and policy woik together in the same mind. When one
is out, the other is in. Honesty will not atay where policy ia
permitted to visit. They do not think or act alike, and never
can be made to agree. They have nothing in comuion. On**
is the prophet of God, the other of Baal.

There are men who choose honesty as a soul companion.
They live in it, and with it, and by it. They embody it in
their actions and lives. Their words speak it. Their faces
beam it. Then- actions proclaim it. Their hands are true to
it. Their feet tread its path. They are full of it. They love
it. It is to them like a God. They believe it is of God. With
religious awe they obey its behests. Not gold, or crowns, ar
fame, could bribe them to leave it. They are wedded to it
from choice. It is their first love. It makes them beautitul
men ; yea, more, noble men, great, brave, rightooi men.
When God looks about for his jew^els, these are the men his
eye rests on, well pleased. He keeps his angels employed in
making crowns for them, and they make crowns for themselves
too ! Crowns of honesty ! To some men they seem not very
beautiful in the dim light of earth ; but when the radiance of
heaven is opened upon them, they will reflect it in gorgeous
splendour. Nothing is brighter ; nothing is better ; nothing is
worth more, or more substantial. Honesty, peerless queen of
principles ! how her smile enhaloes the men who love her !
How ready they are to suflfer for her, to die for her. They are
the martyrs. See them. What a multitude ! Some at the
stake; some in stocks; some in prison; some before judges as
criminals ; some on gibbets, and some on the cross. But they
are all sustained. They smile on their foes. They have peace
within. They are strong and brave iu heart Their souls are
dauntless as the bright old sun.

■>'■■■, :•:

VALUE OF REPUTATION.

20S

. r

HO shall estimate the cost of a priceless reputation— ^
that impress which gives this human dross its currency
— w?!ihout which we stand despised, debased, depre-
ciated? Who shall repair it injured? Who can redeem it lost ?
Oh, well and truly does the great philosopher of poetry esteem
the world's wealth as "trash "in the comparison. Without it,
gold has no value ; birth, no distinction ; station, no dignity ;
beauty, no charm ; age, no reverence ; without it every trea-
sure impoverishes, every grace deforms, every dignity de-
grades, and all the arts, the decorations, and accomplish-
ments of life stand, like the beacon-blaze upon a rock, warning
the world that its approach is dangerous ; that its contact is
death.

The wretch without it is under eternal quaratUine ; n« friend
to greet ; no home to harbour him. The voyage of his life be-
comes a joyless peril ; and in the midst of all ambition can
achieve, or avarice amass, or rapacity plunder, he tosses on
the surge, a buoyant pestilence. But let me not degrade into
selfishness of individual safety or individual exposure this
individual principle; it teetifies a higher, a more ennobling
origiiL

It IB this whicn, consecrating tne humble circle ot the hearth,
will at times extend itself to the circumference of the horiaon ;
which nerves the arm of the patriot to save his country ; which
lights the lamp of the philosopher to amead man ; which, if it
does not inspire, will yet invigorate the martyr to merit im-
mortality ; which, when one world's agony is passed, and the
glory of another is dawning, will prompt the prophet, even in
his chariot of fire, and in his vision of Heaven, to bequbttth to
maokiud the Di«Bilo of his msimory !

204

VALVE OF REPUTATION.

Oh, diyine ! oh, delightful legacy of a spotless reputation ]
Rich is the inheritance it leaves ; pious the example it testilies ;
pure, precious, and imperishable, the hope which it inspires !
Can there be conceived a more atrocious injury than to filch
from its possessor this inestimable benefit — to rob society of ite
charm, and solitude of its solace ; not only to outlaw life, but
to attaint death converting the very grave, the refuge of the
sufferer, into the gate of infamy and of shame !

We can conceive few crimes beyond it. He who plunders
my property takes from me that which can be repaired by
time ; but what period can repair a ruined reputation ? He
who maims my person, affects that which medicine may remedy;
but what herb has sovereignty over the wounds of slander ?
He who ridicules my poverty, or reproaches my profession, up-
braids me with that which industry may retrieve, and integri-
ty may purify ; but what riches shall redeeem the bankrupt
fame ? What power shall blanch the sullied snow of character ?
There can be no injury more deadly. There can be no crime
more crueL It is without remedy. It is without antidot&
It is without evasion.

The reptile calumny is ever on the watch. From the fasci-
nation of its eye no activity can escape ; from the venom of
its fang no sanity can recover. It has no enjoyment but crime ;
it has no prey but virtue ; it has no interval from the restless-
ness of its malice, save when bloatea with its victims, it groveia
to disgorge them at the \vithei'ed abdne where envy idoijsea
her ewn inturuaiittk

FAME.

205

mmB,

Though fame is smoke,
Its fames are fraukincense to human thon^hic

AlME, like money, should neither be despised nor idolized.
An honest fame, based on worth and merit, and gained,
like large estates, by prudence and industry, deservedly
perpetuates the names of the great and good.

No glory or fame is both consolatory and enduring, unless
based on virtue, wisdom, and justice. That acquired by wild
ambition, is tarnished by association — time deepens the stain.
We read the biography of Wellington with calmness and de-
light ; that of Bonaparte, with mingled feelings of admiration
and abhorrence. We admire the gigantic powers of his intel-
lect, the vaatness of Lis designs, the boldness of their execu-
tion ; but turn, with horror, from' the slaughter-fields of his
ambition, and his own dreadful end. His giddy height of
power served to plunge him deeper 'n misery ; his lofty ambi-
tion increased the burning tortures of his exile; his towering
intellect added a duplicate force to the consuming pangs of his
disappointment. His fatal end should cool the ardour of all
who have an inordinate desire for earthly glory.

The praises and commendations of intimates and friends are
the greatest and most impassable objects to real superiority.
Better were it, that they should whip us with cords and drive
us to work, than that they sho'ild extol and exaggerate our
childish scintillations and puerile achievements.

False fame is the rushlight which we, or our attendants,
kindle in our apartments. We witness its feeble burning, and
its gradual but certain decline. It glimmers for a little while,
««rhen, with dickering and palpitivtiiig radiance, it soon expires.

f06

FA MB.

Egotism and vanity detract from fame as oi9ienW>ion dimin<
isbes the merit of an action. He that is vain enough to cry
up himself, ought to be punished with the silence of otbera.
We soil the splendour of our most beautiful actions by our
vain-glorious magnifying them. There is no vice or folly that
requii-es so much nicety and skill to manage as fame, nor any
which, by ill management, makes so contempt Wle a figure. The
desire of being thought famous is often a hindrance to being
so ; for such au one is more solicitous to let the world see what
knowledge he hath tlian to learn that which he wants. Men
are found to be vainer on account of those qualities which they
fondly believe they have than of those which they really have.
Some would be thought to do great things, wlio are but tools or
instruments; like the fool who fiincied he played upon the
organ, when he only drew the bellows.

Be not so greedy of popular applause, as to forget that the
same breath which blows up a fire may blow it out again.
True fame is the light of heaven. It cometh from afar, it
.shines powerfully and brightl}^ but not always without clouds
aud shadows, which interpose, but do not destroy ; eclipse, but
do not extinguish. Like the glorious sun, it will continue to
diffuse its beams when we are no more ; for other eyes will
hail tlie light, when we are withdrawn from it.

Great and decided talent is a tower of strength which can-
not be subverted. Envy, detraction, and persecution are
mis.siles hurled against it only to fall harmless at its base, and
to strengthen what they cannot overthrow. It seeks not the
applause of the present moment, in which folly and mediocrity
often secure the preference ; but it extends its bright and pro-
phetic vision through the " dark obscure " of distant time, and
bequeaths to remote generations the vindication of its honour
and fame, aud the cleai- comprehension of its truths.

No virtues and learning are inherited, but rather ignorance
and misdirected inclinations; and assiduous and persevering
labour must correct these defects, and make a fruitful garden
of tLat soil which is naturally' encumbered with stones and

ambition:

207

thistles. All home-triumitlis and initiatory iiffortu are notliing
wortli. That which is gi'eat, commanding, and lasting, must
be won by stubborn energy, by patient industry, by unwearied
application, and by indefatigable zeal. We must lie down and
groan, and get up and toil. It is a long race, not a pleasftnt
walk, and the prize is not a leaf or a bauble, but a chaplet or a
crown. The si)ectators are not IViend.s, but foes; and the con-
test is one in which thousands fall through weakness and ^vant
of real force nnd courage.

We may add virtue u- virtue, strength to strength, and know-
ledge to knowledge, and yet fail, and soon bo lost and forgotten
in that mighty and soul-testing struggle, in which few cume
ofT conquerors and win an enduring and imperishable name. If
w^e embark on this course, we shall need stout hearts conjoined
with invincible minds. We mufit bid adieu to vice, to sloth, to
ilatteriei) and case.

*' And scorn dellgbta .lud live laborloue dajs."

Ambition.

.Tie wbo ascends to moiintain-tops. sliall flui
The loftiest peaks most wraur in clouds and auow ;
Ho who surpasses or EubJue-s mmikiii'l,
Miut look down ou the hate of those below.

OME conceited wights, who study party polities rawe
'■^ than philosophy or ethics, call all the laudable desires of
the human heart ambition, aiming to strip the monster
of its deformity, that they may use it as the livery of heaven
to serve the devil in. The former are based on {)hilantLropy,
tLe lAix^v ou selfi^hneuL Lexicographers detlne ambition to be

■ii-%«ai'ill-iHHI

''^^!fWA^'

206

AMBITION.

ll^

*■

1 '' \ <

an earnest desire of power, honour, preferment, pride. Th«
honour that ia awarded to power is of doubtful grandeur, and
the power that ia acquired by ambition is held by a slender
tenure, a mere rope of sand. Its hero often r.;ceives the ap-
plause of the multitude one day, and its execrations the next,
The summit of vain ambition is often the depth of misery.
Baaed on a sandy foundation, it falls before the blasts of envy,
and the toi*nado of faction. It is inflated by a gaseous thirst
for power, like a balloon with hydrogen, and is in constant dan-
ger of being explo<led by the very element tliat causes its ele-
vation. It eschews charity, and deals largely in the corrosive
sublimate of falsehood. Like the kite, it cannot rise in a calm,
and requires a constant wind to preserve its upward course.
The fulcrum of ignorance, and the lever of party .spirit, form
its magic power. An astute writer has well observed that "am-
bition makes the same mistake concerning power, that avarice
makes relative to wealth." The ambitious man begins by ac-
cumulating it as the desideratum of happiness, and ends his
c»reer in the midst of his exertions to obtain more. So ended
the onward and upward career of Napoleon ; his life a modern
wonder ; his fate a fearful warning ; his death a scene of
gloom. Power is gained as a means of enjoyment, but oftener
fchan otherwise, is its fell destroyer. Like the vii>er in the
fable, it is prone to sting those who warm it into life. History
fully demonstrates these propositions. Hyder Ali was in the
habit of starting frightfully in his sleep. His confidential
friend and attendant asked the reason. He replied: " Aly friend,
the stati! of a be.;jgar is more delightful than my envied mon-
ajchy — awake, he sees no conspirators — a-sleep, he dreams of
no aasastiins." Ambition, like the gold of the miser, is the
sepulchre of the other pai^ions of the man. It is the grand centre
around which they move with centripetal force. Its history
is one of carnage and blood; it is the bane of substajitial
good ; it endangera body and soul for time and eternity. Reader,
if you demxe peace of mind, shun ambition and the ambitious
maiL He will use you as some men do their horses, ride you

AVARICE.

209

all day without food, and give you post meat for supper.
He will gladly make a bridge of you on which to walk into
power, provided he can pass toll free, Let your aim be more
lofty tlian the highest pinnacle ambition can rear. Nothmg is
pure but heaven, let that be the prize you seek,

*' And taste and prove in that traiwporting sight,
Joy without aonow, without darkuess — Ught,"

The road ambition travels is too narrow for friendship, too
crooked for love, too rugged for hoxwisty, too dark for scieace, I
Mid too hilly for happiness. , , "

••a

ibutxtt.

JUDICIOUS writer haa well remarked, that avarice is
the father of more children than Priam, and, like him,
survives them all. It is a paradoxical propensity, a
species of heterogeneous insanity. The miser starves himself,
knowing that those who wish him dead will fatten on his
hoarded gains. He submits to more torture to lose Heaven
than tho martyr does to gain it. Ho serves the worst of tyran-
nical masters more faithfully than most Christians do the best,
whose yoke is easy and burden light. He worships this world,
but repudiates all its pleasures. He endures all the miseries
of poverty through life, that he may die in the midst of wealth,
. He is tho mere turnkey of his own riche.s — a poorly-fed
and badly-clothed slave ; a draught-horse without Ix-lls or
feathers; a inan condemned to work in mines, which is the
lowest and hardest condition of servitude ; and, to increase
his misery, a worker there for he knows not whom. " He
heapeth up riches and knows not wlio .shall enjoy them." It

210

A VABIOE.

iiil

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■.#■..
'.t ■

!■

■X-

. 1 m

is only sure that he himself neither shall nor can enjoy them.
He is an indigent, needy slave ; he will hardly allow himself
clothes and board wages. He defrauds not only other men,
but his own genius ; he cheats himself for money. He lives
as if the world were made altogether for him, arid not he for
the world ; to take in everything and to part with nothing.
Charity is accounted no grace with him, and gratitude no vir-
tue. ' The cries of the poor never enter his cars, or if they do,
he has always one ear leadier to let them out than the other
to take them in. In a word, by his rapines and extortions ho
is always for making as many poor as he can, but for relieving
none whom he either finds or makes so. So that it is a ques-
tion whether his heart be hard«r or his fist closer. In a word,
he is a pest and a monster ; greedier than the sea and bar-
rener than the shove. He is the cocoon of the human race —
death ends his toils, and others reel off the glossy product of
his labours. He is the father of more miseries tlian the prodi-
gal — whilst he lives he heaps them on himself and those arooad
hiu). He is his own and the poor man's enemy.

The avarice of the miser may be termed the grand sepulchre
of all his other jmssions, as thoy successively decay. But, unlike
other toml's, it is enlarged Ijy repletion and strengthened by
age. His mind is never expandtMl beyond the circumference of
the ahniglity dollar. He thinks not of his immortal soul, his
accountability to God, oi- of his final destiny- He covets the
\/ealth of others, revels in extortion, stops at nothing to
gratify his ruling passion, that will not endanger his dear idol.
He is an Ishmael in community — ho passes to the grave with-
out tasting the sweets of friendship, the delights of social inter-
course, orthe comforts of a good repast, unless the latter is got
by invitation, when abroad. The fiist voluntary expenditure
upon hi^ body, during his manhood, and the first welcome vi.sit
of his neighbours, both passive on his part, are at his funeral.

If we would enjoy the comforts of life rationally, we must
avoid the miseries of avarice and the evils of prodigality. Let
us use the provisionri of our benevolent Beuefacior without

a AM BUNG.

211

abusing them.and render to ITini that gratitude which is His due.
Bainish all inordinate desires after wealth — If you gain an
abundance, be discreetly liberal, judiciously benevolent, and, if
you!' children have arrived at their majority, die your own
executor.

VERY device that suddenly changes money or property
from one person to another without a quitl />ro quo, or
leaving an equivalent, produces individual embarrass-
ment— fteu extreme misery. More pernicious is that plan, if
it changes projierty and money from the hands of the many to
the few.

Gambling does this, and often inflicts a still greater injury,
by poisoning its victims with vice, that eventually lead to
oriuies of the darkest hue. Usually, the money basely lilched
from its victims is the smallest part of the injury inflicted.
It almast inevitably leads to intemperance. Every species of
oflence, on the black catalogue of crime, jnay be traced to tiie
gambling table, as the entering wedge to its perpetration.

This alarming evil is as wide-spread jus our country. It is
prhctised from the humblest water-craft that iloats on our canals
up to the majestic steamboat on our mighty rivers ; from the
'ovFest groggeries that curse the community, up to the most
fashionable hotels that claim respectability ; from the hod car-
rierinhis bespattered rags, up to the honourable meiabers of Par-
liament in their ruffles. Like a mighty maelstrom, its motion,
at the outside, i.s Bcarcely perceptible, but soon increiuses to a
fearful velocit}'^ ; suddculy the awful centre is readied — the
victim is lost in the vortex. Interested friends may warn, the
wife may entreat, with all the eloijuuuce of tears ; children
may cling and cry for broad — once in the fatal anare, the victim

"aam

212

GAMBLING.

Cut gamblers is seldom saved. He combines the deafinefls of tbe
adder with the desperation of a maniac, and rushes on, regard-
less of danger — reckless of consequonees.

To the fashionable of our country, who play cards and other
games as an innocent amusement, we may trace the most ag-
gravated injuries resulting from gambling. It is there tliat
young men of talents, education, and wealth, take the degree
of entered apprentice. The example of men in high life, men
in public siai-ions and responsible offices, has a powortul and
corrupting influence on society, and does much to increase the
evil, and forward, as well as sanction, Ihe high-handed roV)bery
of finely dressed blacklegs. The gambling liells in our cities,
tolerated and patronized, are a disgrace to a nation bearing a
Christian name, and would be banished from a Pagan com-
munity.

Gambling asstiines a grcnt variety of forms, from the flip-
pin^; of a cent in the bar-room for a glass of whisky, up to the
splendidly furnished faio-bank room, where men are ocea«ion-
aliy swindled to the tune of " ten thousand &, year," and some-
times a much larger amount. In addition to these varieties,
we bave legalized lotteries and fancy stock brokers, and among
those who manage them, professors of religion are not unfre-
quuntly found.

Thousands who carefully shun the monster under any other
form, pay a willing tribute to the tyrant at the shrine of lot-
teries. Persons from all classes throw their money into this
vault of uncertainty, this whirlpool of speculation, with a loss
chance to regain it than when at the detested faro-bank. It
is here that the poor man spends his last dollar ; it is here that
the ricli often become poor, for a man has ten chances to be
killed by lightning where he has one to draw a capital prize.
The ostensible objects of lotteries are always praise wortliy.
Meeting-houses, hospitals, seminaries of learning, internal ira-
- provement, some lauda})le enterprise, may always be found first
and foremost in n lottery ■^nhome ; the most ingeniougand moat
fat-'U gull-trap ever invented by man or devil.

OAhlHUNO.

21S

Gaming cowers in darkness, and often biota out all the nobloi
powers of tho heart, paralyzes its aeii ibilities to human woe,
severs the .^acreJ tiCvS that bind man to man, to ^voraari, to
family, to comn.unity, to morals, to religion, to social order, and
to country. It trausff^rms men to brutes, desperadoes, maniacs,
misanthropists, and strips human nature of all its native dig-
nity. The ganicstei" forfeits tho happiness of this life and en-
dures the penalties of sin in both worlds. Ilis profession is
the .scavenger of avarice, haggard and filthy, badly fed, poorly
clad, and worse paid.

Let me entreat all to shun the monster, unde: all his bor-
towed and deceptive forms. Remember that gambling for
amusement is the wicket gate into the labyrinth, and when
once in, you may find it difficult to get out. lluiu is marked
in blazing capitals over the door of the gambler ; his hell is
the vestibule to that eternal hell where the worm dieth not and
the tire is not quenched. If you regard your own, and the
happiness of your family and friends, and the salvation of your
immortal soul, recoil from evun the shadow of a shade reflected
hy this heaven-daring, heart-breaking, soul-destroying, fashion-
able, but ruinous vice.

An evil that starts upon a wrong principle, the vital eknent
of which i.s injustice, must have a vast productive force in creat-
ing other evils. It is necessarily a mighty agency in destroy-
ing all that is good in the soul ; vitiating the whole character,
and dragging down every lofty pur[)0se and noble aspiration.
And we find that the gambler is rapidly qualified for every
other species of wickedness. The fiery excitement to which
he yields himself in the game-room inflames every other pas-
sion. It produces a state of mind that can be satisfied only
with intense and forbidden pleasures. It virtually takes him
out of the circle of refined, rational enjoyment and plunges
him into scenes more congenial to a coiTupt taste. He would
gladly witness as a pastime bull fights, pugilistic conteete : and
perhaps his craving for excitement could only be fully satisfied
by iicenes such as Roman persecutors and heatlien spectators

214

TEMPER.

^^.

formerly feasteil upon, in which men and women were torn In
pieces by wild beasta. Sucli bloody encounters and hoi lid
tragedies might come up to his Bt&ndard of amuaement.

Thus does the giant vice uncivilize a man and throw him
Imck into a state of barbarism. It revolutionizes his tastes at
the same time that it ciusts dowTi his moral principles. If its
victim haa been in early life under the influence of religious
sentiment, it speedily obliterates those sentiments from the
mind. If the voice of conscience has been in the past years
heard, that voice is now silenc^id. If feelings of humaaity
once had influence, their power is now gone. If visions of
extensive usefulnesH ami honourable achievement once floated
in the imagination they havu vanished ; vanished in tke dis-
tance, never to return.

Nor .should the youth 'orget that if he is once taken in tlte
coils of this vice, the hope of extricating himself, or oi realis-
ing his visions of wealth and happiness, is exceedingly faint.
He has no rational grounds to expect that he can escape the
terrible consequencas that are inseparably connected with this
sin. If he does not become bankrupt in property, he is .sure
to become one in character and in moral principle; he becomoM
a debauched, debased, frieniliesa vagabond.

♦••»

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OOD temper is like a sunny day, it slieds its brightneii
on everything. No trait of character is more valuable
than iLo possession of good temper. Home can never
be made happy wiUiout it. It is like flowers springing up in our
pathway, reviving and cheering us. Kind words and looks are
the outward demon^itratiou ; pati^taee and forbeoraace M^e the
"ii'.utinelfi within.

i*^

£'ji|i^s@siafo%4if'

TEMPER,

1 <•»

If a man haa a quarrelsome temper, let him »lone. The
world will soon find him employment. He will soon meet
with Bomo ono stronger than himself, who will repay him
better than you can. A man may fight duels all his life if he
is disposed to quarrel. How sweet the serenity of habitual
self-command ! How many stinging self-reproaches it spai'es
us ! When does a man feel more at ease with hl.nself tnaii
when he has passed through a sudden and strong provocation
loiihout Bpeaking a word, or in undisturbed good humour !
When, on the contrary, does he feel a deeper humiliation than
when he is conscious that anger has m^de him butray himself
by word, look or action ? Nervous irritability is the greatest
weakness of character It is the sharp grit which aggravates
friction and cuts out the bet ,ings of the entire human
uachine. Nine out of every ten men we meet are in a chronic
state of annoyance. The least untoward thing sets them in a
fer'ient,

'here are people, yes, many people, always looking out for
slights. They cannot carry on the daiiy intercourse of the fam-
ily without finding that some offence is designed. They are
as touchy as hair triggers. If they meet an acquaintance who
happens to be preoccupied with business, they attribute his
abstraction in some mode personal to themselves and take
umbrage accordingly. They lay on others the fruit of their
irritability. Indigestion makes them see impertinence in every
ono they come in contact with. Innocent persons, who never
dreamed of giving offence, are astonished to find some un-
fortunate word, or momentarv taciturnitv, mistaken for ask
insult.

To say the least, tlie habit is unfortunate. It is far wiser
to take the more charitable view of our fellow beings, and not
suppose that a slight is intended unless the neglect is open and
direct. After all, too, life takes its hues in a great degree from
the colour of our own mind. If we are frank and generous,
the world will treat us kindly ; if, on the contrary we are sa«-
picious, HMD learn to be cold and cauUous to us. Let a person

"il

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216

TEMPER.

i 1

i «

get the reputation of being " touchy," and everybody is tiiidei
restraint, and in this way the chances of an imaginary offence
are vaatly increased.

Do you not find in households — refined, many of them —
many women who are jealous, exacting, and have a temper
that will be swayed by nothing ; and do we not see in another
family ..rcle, a man as coarse and bloody -mouthed as a despot t
The purpose of the existence of a score of people is to make
him happy, fan him, feed him, amuse him, and he stands as a
great aljsorbent of the life and heat that belongs to the rest.
Many sermons tell you to be meek and humble, but you doji't
hear many which tell you you live in your families to growl,
to bite, and to worry one another. You ought to make in your
households the outward and visible life- work for this spiritual
and transcendent life. There can be nothing too graceful and
truthful, generous, disinterested and gracious for the household.
All that a man expects to be in heaven, he ought to try to be
from day to day with his wife and children, and witli those
that are members of his family.

It is said of Socrates, that wheth-^r he was teaching the rules
of an exact morality, whether he was answering his corrupt
judges, or was receiving sentence of death, or swallowing the
poison, he was still the same man ; that is to say, calm, quiet,
undisturbed, intrepid, in a word, wise to the last.

A man once called at the house of Pericles and abused him
violently. His anger so transcended him that he did not ob-
serve how late it wjus growing, and when he had exhausted hia
passion it was quite dark. When he turned to depart, Pericles
calmly summoned a servant and said to him, " Bring a lamp,
and attend this man home."

Like flakes of snow that fall unperceived upon the earth, the
seemingly unimportant events of life succeed one another. At
the snow gathers together, so are our habits formed. No single
flake that is added to the pile produces a sensible change. No
single action creates, however it may exhibit a man's character ;
but as the tempest hurls the avalaache down the mountain.

TEMPER.

217

Ib-
ies

and overwhelms the inhabitant and his habitation, so passion,
acting upon the elements of mischief which pernicious habit*
have brought together by imperceptible accumulation, may
overthrow the edifice of truth and virtue.

Truly, a man ought to be, above all things, kind and gentle,
but however meek he is required U) be, he also ought to re-
member that he is a man. There are many persons to whom
we do not need to tell this truth, for as soon as they only think
of having been ofiended or that somebody has done them any
harm, they fly up like gunpowder. Long before they know
for a certainty that there is a thief in the garden they have the
window open and the old gun has been popped. It is a very
dangerous thing to have such neighbours, for we could sit more
safely on the horns of a bull than to live in quietness with such
characters. We, therefore, should form no friendship with per-
sons of a wrathful temper, and go no farther tnan is needful
with a man of fiery and unrestrained spirit, Solomon 5aid,
" He that is slow to wrath is of great understanding, but he that
is hasty of spirit exalteth folly."

Our advice is, to keep cool under all circumstances, if possi-
ble. Much may be eflfected by cultivation. We should leam
to command our feelings and act prudently in all the ordinary
concerns of life. This will better prepare us to meet sudden
emergencies with calmness and fortitude. If we permit our feel-
ings to be ruffled and disconcerted m small matters, they will
be thrown into a whirlwind when big events overtake us. Our
belt ax»ticlote is, implicit oonfidenoe in God.

rle

21S

AUGEB,

\n%tv.

|T does no good to get angry. Some sins have a seeming

compensation or apology, a present gratification of some

sort, but anger has none. A man feels no better for it.

It is really a torment, and when the storm of passion has cleared

away, it leaves one to see that he has been a fooL And he has

made himself a fool in the eyes of others too.

Sinful anger, when it becomes strong, is called wrath ; when
it makes outrages, it is fury; when it becomes fixed, it la
termed hatred; and when it intends to injure any one, it is
called malice. All these wicked passions spring from ang«r.
The continuance and frequent fits of anger produce an evil
habit in the soul, a propensity to be angry, which oftentim(«
ends in choler, bitterness, and morosity ; when the mind btj-
comes ulcerated, peevish, and querulous, and like a thin, weak
plate of iron, receives impressions, and is wounded by the least
occurrence.

Anger is such a headstrong and impetuous passion, that the
ancients call it a short madness and indeed *there is no dif-
ference between an angry man and a madman while the fit
continues, because both are void of reason and blind for that
season. It is a disease that, where it prevails, is no less danger-
ous than deforming to us ; it swells the face, it agitates the
body, and inflames tbe blood ; and as the evil spirit mentioned
in the Gospel threw the possessed into the fire or the water,
so it ca^te us into all kinds of danger. It too often ruins or
subverts whole families, towns, cities, and kingdoms. It ii^ a
vice that very few can conceal ; and if it does not betray it-
self by such external signs &i paleness of the coimtenance and
trembling of the limbs, it is more impetuous within, and
by gnawing in the heart injuros the body and the mind verj
vudi.

ANQER.

219

Ko man is oblif];ed to live so free from passion as not to show
Bome resentment ; and it is rather stoical stupidity than virtue
to do otherwise. Anger may glance into the breast of a wise
man, but rests only in the bosom of fools. Fight hard against
a hasty temper. Anger will come, but resist it strongly. A
■park may set a house on fire. A fit of passion may give you
cause to mourn all the days of your life. Never revenge an
injury. When Socrates fonnd in him.self any disposition to
anger, he would check it by speaking low, in opposition to the
motions of his displeasure. If you are conscious of lieing in a
passion, keep your mouth shut, for words increase it. Many a
person has dropped dead in a rage. Fits of auger bring fits of
disease. " Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad,"
and the example is a good one for our imitation. If 3'ou would
demolish an opponent in argument, first make him as mad as
you can. Dr. Fuller used to say that the heat of passion make^i
our souls to crack, and the deAril creeps h at the crevices.
Anger is a passion the most criminal and dest "uctive of all the
passions ; the only one that not only bears the appearance of
insanity, but often produces the wildest form of madness. It
uj difficult, indeed, sometimes to mark the line that distinguishes
the bui-sts of rage froiu the bursts of phrenzy ; so similar are
its movements, and too oft«n equally similar are its actions«
What crime has l)een committed in the paroxysms of anger ?
Has not the friend murdered his friend ? the son massacred his
parent ? the creature blasphemed his Creator ? \-. hen, indeed,
the natur\3 of this pa^ion is considered, what crime may it not
commit ? ts it not the storm of the human mind, which wrecks
every better affection — wrecks reason and conscience ; am i, as a
ship driven without helm or compass before the rushing gale,
is not the mind bome away, without guide or government, by
the tempest of unbounded rage ?

A passionate temper renders a man unfit for advice, deprives
him of his reason, robs him of all that is either great or noble
in his nature ; it makes him unfit for conversation, destroji
friendship, cl^anges justice into cruelty, and turns all Qrder in-

■-i5.

5ir.Kf<QtvwafK,<-.^-

I i^-^m

1 1

ANk^EB.

to confusion. Says Lord Bacon : " An angry man who sup-
presses his passions, thinks womae than he speaks ; and an an-
gry man that will ohide, speaks worse than he thinks." A wise
man liath no more anger than is necessaiy to show that he
can ap])reliend the first wrong, nor any more revenge than
justly to prevent a second. One angry word sometimes raises
a storm tnan lime itself cannot allay. There is many a man
whose tongue might govern mult: j^des, if he could onlj"^ govern
his tongue. He is the man of power who controls the storms
and tempest of his mind. He that will be angry for anything,
will be angry for nothing. As some are often incensed with-
out a cause, so they are apt to continue their anger, lest i*
should appear to their disgrace to have begun without occasion
If we do not subdue our anger it will subdue us. It is the
secoud word that makes the quarrel. That anger is not war-
rantable that hath seen two sims. One long anger, and twenty
short ones, have no very great difference. Our passions are
like the seas, agitable by the winds; and as God hath set
bounds to these, so should we to those — so far shalt tJiou go
md no farther.

Angry and choleric men are as ungrateful and unsociable as
ohunder and liglitning, being in themselves all storm and tem-
pests ; but quiet and easy natures are like fair weather, wel-
come to all, and acceptable to all men ; they gather together
what the other disperses, and reconcile all whom the other in-
censes ; as they have the good will and the good wishes of all
other men, so they have the full possession of themselves, have
all their own thoughts at peace, and enjoy quiet and ease in
their own fortunes, how strait soever it may be.

But how with the angry, who thinks well of an ill natured,
churlish man, who has to be approached in the most guarded
and cautious way ? Who wishes him for a neighbour, or a
partner in business ? He keeps all about him in nearly the
same state of mind as if they were living next door to a hor-
aet's nest or a rabid animal. And so to prosperity in busi-
aess ; one gets along no better for getting ajugry. What ii

i<---:

ANGER.

221

DUainess is perplexing, and everything goes " by contraries ! "
Will a fit of passion make the wind more propitious, the ground
more productive, the market more favourable ? Will a bad
temper draw customers, pay notes, and make creditors better
natured ? If men, animals, or senseless matter cause trouble,
will getting " mad " help matters ? make men more subservi-
ent, brutes more docile, wood and stone more tractable ? An
angry man adds nothing to the welfare of society. He may
do some good, but more hurt. Heated passion makes him a
threbrand, and it is a wonder that he does not kindle flames
of discord on every hand.

The disadvantages arising from auger, under all circumstan-
ces, should prove a panacea for the complaint. In moments of
cool reflection, the man who indulges it, views, with deep re-
gret, the desolations produced by a summer storm of passion.
Friendship, domestic happiness, self-respect, the esteem of others,
and sometimes property, are swept away by a whirlwind ; per-
haps a tornado of anger. I have more than once seen the fur-
nitiure of a house in a mass of ruin, the work of an angry mo-
ment. I have seen anger make wives unhappy, alienate hus-
bands, spoil children, derange all harmony, and disturb the
quiet of a whole neighbourhood. Anger, like much wine, hides
us from ourselves, but exposes us to others.

Some people seem to live in a perpetual storm ; calm weather
can never be reckoned upon in their company. Suddenly,
when you least expect it, without any adequate reason, and al-
most without any reason at all, the sky becomes black, and the
wind rises, and there is growling thunder and pelting rain.
You can hardly tell where the tempest came from. An acci-
dent for which no one can be rightly blamed, a misunderstand-
ing which a moment's calm thouglit would have terminated, a
chance word which meant no evil, a trifling difliculty which
good sense might have removed at once, a slight disappointment
which a cheerful heart would have borne with a smile, brings
on earthquakes and hurricanes. What men want of reason
for their opinions, they are apt to supply and make up in rage.

••-'■1?

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222

OBSTINACY.

The most irreconciLible enmities grow from the most intimal«
friendships. To be angry with a weak man is to prove that
you are not very strong yourself. It is much better to reprove
than to be angry secretly. Anger, says Pythagoras, begins with
folly and ends with repentance.

Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them
to be, since you cannot make yourself what you wisli to be.

He that is angry with the just reprover kindles the fire of
the just avenger. Bad money cannot circulate through the
veins and arteries of trade. It is a great pity that bad blood
can circulate through the veins and arteries of the human
frame. It seems a pity that an angry man, like the bees that
leave their stings in the wounds they make, could inflict only
a single injury. And, to a certain extent, it is so, for anger
has been compared to a ruin, which, in falling upon its victims,
breaks itself to pieces. Since, then, anger is useless, disgraceful,
without the least apology, and found " only in the bosom of
fools," why should it be indulged at all ?

N obstinate man does not hold opinions, but they hold
him ; for when he is once possessed of an error, it is like
a devil, only cast out with great difficulty. Whatsoevei
he lays hold on, like a drowning man, he never loses, though
it but help to sink him the sooner. Narrowness of mind ia
the cause of obstinacy. We do not easily believe what is be-
yond our sight. There are iew, very few, that will own them-
selves in a mistake. Obstinacy is a barrier to all improvements.
Whoever perversely resolves to adhere to plans and opinions, be
theyright or be they wrong, because such plans and opinions have
been already adopted by them, raises an impenetrable bar to con-

OBSTINACY.

223

viction and information. To be open to conviction, speakn a
wise mind and amiable character. Human natu-e is so frail
and 80 ignorant, so liable to misconception, that none but the
most incorrigibly vain can pertinaciously determine to abide by
self -suggested sentiments, unsanctioned by the experience or
the judgment of others, as only the most incurably foolish can
be satisfied with the extent of their knowledge. The wiser we
are, the more we are aware of our ignorance. Whoever resolves
not to alter his measures, sliuts hiuuself out from all possibi-
lity of improvement, and must die, as he lives, ignorant, or at
best but imperfectly informed.

In morals, perhaps, obstinacy may be more plausibly excused,
and, under the misnomer of firmness, be practised as a virtue.
But the line between obstinacy and firmness is strong and de-
cisive. The smallest share of common seuse will suffice to de-
te(!t it, and there is little doubt that few people pass thisboun-
daiy without being conscious of the fault.

It will probably be found that those qualities which come
under the head of foibles, rather than of vices, render people
most intolerable as companions and coadjutors. For example
it may be observed that those persons have a more worn, jaded
and dispirited look than any others, who have to live with
people who make difliculties on ever}"- occasion, great or small.
It is astonishing to see how this practice of making difficulties
grows into a confirmed habit of mind, and what dishearten-
mont it occasions. The savour of life is taken out of it when
you know that nothing you propose or do, or suggest, hope for,
or endeavour, will meet with any response but an enumei'ation
of the difficulties that lie in the path you wish to travel. The
difficulty monger is to be met with not only in domestic and
social life, but also in business. It not unfrequently occurs in
business relations that the chief will never by any chance,
without many objections and much bringing forward of possi-
ble difficulties, approve of anything that is brought to him by
his subordinates. They at last cease to take pains, knowing
that no amount of pains will prevent their work being dealt

-~r- J M.-'JW f "BflB'W

.? J . ;

224

UYPOCRTSY.

with in a spirit of ingenious oLjectiveness. At last they say
to themselves, " The better the thing we present, the more op-
portunity he will have for developing his unpleasant task of ob-
jectiveness, and his imaginative power of inventing diflficulties."

Of all disagreeable people, the obstinate are the worst. So-
ciety is often dragged down to low standards by two or three
who propose, in every case, to fight everything and every idea
of which they are not the instigators. When a new idea is
brought to such persons, instead of drawing out of it what
good they can, they seek to get the bad, ever ready to heap a
mountain of difficulties upon it. The trying to suggest an im-
provement to anything, or an idea, fairly amnans them, or
throws dirt in their eyes so they can't see what they otherwise
might have arrived at.

But there are situations in which the proper opinions and
mode of conduct are not evident. In such cases we must ma-
turely reflect ere we decide ; we must seek for the opinions of
those wiser and better acquainted with the subject than our-
selves ; we must candidly hear all that can be said on both
sides ; then, and only then, can we in such cases hope to deter-
mine wisely ; but the decision, once so deliberately adopted,
we must firmly sustain, and never yield but to the most unbiased
0(mvioiio]i of our former error.

l-lMi

J HERE is no foolishness in the world so great as to be a
hjrpocrite. He is hated of the world for seeming to be
a Christian ; he is hated by God fornot being one. He
hates himself and he is even despised by Satan for serving him
and not acknowledging it. They are really the best followem
mm) the greatest dupes that he has ; they serve him better *i»«a

- "!""'Oi*?PT?W(ff*-\'^'*^^T^'< ■<'^^"

HYPOCRISY.

225

any other, but receive no wages. And what is most wonderful,
they submit to greater mortifications to go to hell than the
most sincere Christian to go to heaven. They desire more to
seom good than to be so, while the Christian desires more to
be so than to seem so. They study more to enter into riligion
than that religion should enter into them. Thev are zealous
in little things but cold and remiss in the most important.
They are saints by pretension, but sataiia in intention. They
testify, they worship only to answer their wicked purposes.
They stand as angels before their sins 30 as to hide them. A
scorpion thinks when its head is under a leaf it cannot be seen.
So the hypocrite. The false saints think when they have hoisted
up one or two good works, that all their sins therewith are cov-
ered and hid.

Let us ask ourselves seriously and honestly, " What do I
believe after all ? What manner of man am I after all ?
What sort of a show should I make after all, if the people
around me knew my heart and all my secret thoughts ? What
sort of show, then, do I already make, in the sight of Almighty
God, who sees every man exactly as he is ? " Oh, that poor
soul, though it may fool people and itself, it will not fool God !

Hypocrisy shows love, but is hatred ; shows friendship^ but
is an enemy ; shows peace, but is at war; it shows virtue, but
is wretched and wicked. It flatters ; it curses ; it praises ; it
slanders. It always has two sides of a question ; it possesses
what it does not pretend, and pretends what it does not possess.

Men are afraid of slight outward acts which will injure them
in the eyes of others, while they are heedless of the damna-
tion which throbs in their souls in hatreds, and jealousies, and
revenges.

They are more troubled by the outburst of a sinful disposi-
tion, than by the disposition itself. It is not the evil, but its
reflex effect upon themselves, that they dread. It is the love
of approbation, and not the conscience, that enacts the part of
a moral sense, in this case. If a man covets, he steals. If a
man has murderous hate, ho murders. If a man broods die

m^^^

■ I . >U4J1

226

HYPOCJilSY.

i <

'•'S'' ^ •

ilKlw'-' i

■■1

■iii^M..^

honest thoughts, lie is a knave. If . man harbours sharp and
bitter jealousies, envies, liatreds, though he never express thens
by his tougue, or sliape them by his hand, they are there. So-
ciety, to be sure, is less injured by thoir latent existence than
it would bo by their overt forma. But the man himself is as
much injured by the cherished thoughts of evil, in his own
soul, as by the open commission of it, and sometimes even more.
For evil brought out ceases to disguise itself, and seems aa
hideous as it is. But evil that lurks and glances through the
soul avoids analysis, and evades iletection.

There are many good-seeming men who, if their all day's
thoughts and feelings were to be suddenly developed into acts,
visible to the eye, would rtm from themselves, as men in earth-
quakes run from the fiery gapings of the ground, and sulphurous
cracks that open the way to the uucooled centre of perdition.

Pretension ! profession ! how haughtily they stride into the
kingdom of the lowly Redeemer, and usurp the highest seats,
and ])Ut on the robes of sanctity, and sing the hymns of praise,
and utter aloud, to be heard of men, the prayers which the
spirit ought to breathe in silent and childlike confidence into
the ear of the listening and loving Father ! How they build
high domes of worship with velvety seats and golden altars
and censers and costly plate and baptismal fonts by the side
of squalid want and ragged poverty I How their mocking
prayers mingle with the cry of beggary, the curse of blasphemy,
the wail of [)ain and the lewd laugh of sensuality ! How
mournfully their organ chants of j>raise, bought with sordid
gold, go up from the "eats of worldliness and pride, and how
reproachfully the tall steej)les of cathedrals and synagogues
and churches look down on the oppression and pride and sel-
Hshness which assemble below them, and the slavery, poverty,
and intemperance which pass ami repass their marble founda-
tions ! Oh ! shade of religion, where art thou ? Spirit of the
lowly bleeder on Calvary, hast thou left this world in despair ?
Comforter of the mourning, dweller with the sinful, how long
shall these things be ? lleligion is made a show-bubble. Pride

FliETTINO AND GHUMbLINQ.

217

is her handmaid, and selfishness her leader. Wliat a tawdry
show they make ! And who believes the substance is equal to
the show, the root as deep as the tree is high, the foundation
as firm as the structure is imposing ? Nowhere does show
more wickedly usurp the dominion of substance than in the
realm of religion. In the world we might expect to see hypo-
crisy. But the l.rue religion is above the world. " My king-
dom is not of this world," said its founder. It has a world of
its own. It is built on substance. But men have sought to
make it a world of show, to carry the deception and Pharisaism
of this world up into the Redeemer's world, and palm them oflP
there for the golden reality that shall be admitted to heaven.
But poorly will hypocrisy pass at the bar of God. No coin
but the true one passes there. No gilding will hide the hollow-
ness of a false soul. No tawdry displays will avail with that
eye whose glance, like a sword, pierces to the heart. All is
open there : all hypocrisy, vanity ; worse than vanity ; it is
sin. It is a gilded lie, a varnished cheat. It is a proof of the
hollowness within, the sign of corruption. Yea, more ; it is
itself corrupting ; a painted temptation. It lures men away
from the truth ; wastes their energies on a shadow ; wins their
affections to fading follies, and gives them a disrelish for the
real, the substantial, and enduring. Who can expect that God
will not hide in every hollow show intended to deceive, a sharp
tw()-:?dged sword that shall cut with disappointment, and pierce
with inward, wasting want ?

fretting iintr jSntmbiing.

'l^\ ANY very excellent persons, whose lives are honourable,

and whose characters are noble, pass numberless hours
of sadness and weariness of heart. The fault is not
with their circumstances, nor yet witJi their general characters.

?SEl!<^S?*?^«i*y-'-

228

FRETTING AND GRUMBLINO,

but with thomsolves that thoy are miserable. They hare
failed to adopt the true philosophy of life. They wait for hap-
pine.ss to como instead of going to work and raaking it ; and
while they wait they torment themselves with borrowed
troubles, with fears, forebodings, morbid fancies and moody
spirits, till thoy are all unfitted for happiness under any circum-
stances. Sometimes they cherish unchaste ambition, covet
some fancied or real good which they do not deserve and could
not enjoy if it were tlieirs, wealth they have not earned, hon-
ours they have not won, attentions they have not merited, love
which thoir selfishness only craves. Sometimes they under-
value the good they do possess ; throw away the pearls in hand
for some beyond their reach, and often less valuable ; trample
the flowers about them under their feet ; long for some never
seen, but only heard or read of ; and forget present duties and
joys in future and far-off visions. Sometimes they shade the
present with every cloud of the past, and although sun*ounded
by a thousand inviting duties and pleasures, revel in sad
memories with a, kind of morbid relish for the stimulus of their
miseries. Sometimes, forgetting the past and present, they live
in the future, not in its probable realities, but in its most im-
probable visions aad unreal creations, now of good and then rJ
evil, wholly unfitting their minds for real life and enjoyments.
These morbid and improper states of mind are too prevalent
among some persons. They excite that nervous irritability
which is so productive of pining regrets and fretful complaints.
They make that large elass of fretters who enjoy no peace them-
selves, nor permit others to enjoy it. In the domestic circle
they fret their life away. Everything goes wrong with them
because they make it so. The smallest annoyances chafe them
as though ' were unbearable aggravations. Their businep j
and dv' -ible them as though such things were not good.

Plo a/ never seem to know because they never get ready

to , it. Even the common movements of Providence are

all wrong with them. The weather is never as it should be,
The seasons roll on badly. The sun is never properly tempered

r RETTING AND OAVMBLINO.

229

The c'imatc *8 always charged w;*,h a mnltituvie of vieee. Tht
wind*) are everlastingly perverse, either too high or too low,
blowing dust in everybody's face, or not fanning ih«sm as they
should. The earth is ever out oi humour, too dry oi too weU
too muddy or dusty. And the people are juat about like ii. (Some-
thing is wrong all the time, and the wrong is always iust about
them. Their home is the worst of anybody's ; their street and
their neighbourhood is the most unpleasant to be found ; no-
body else has so bad .servants and so many annoyances as they.
Their lot is harder than falls to common mortals ; they have t^
work harder and always did ; have less and always expect to.
Thty have seen more trouble than other folks know anything
about. They are never so well as their neighbours, and they
always charge all their unhappiiiess upon those nearest connected
with them, never dreaming that they are themselves the authors
of it all. Such peo}jle are to be pitied. Of all people in th^
world they deserve most our compa.ssion. They are good people
in many respects, very benevolent,very conscientious, very pious,
but, withal, very annoying to themselves and others. As a
general rule, their goodness makes them more difficult to cure
of their evil. They cannot be led to see that they are at fault
Knowing their virtues they cannot see their faults. They do
not, perhaps, overestimate their virtues ; but they fail to sflb
what they lack, and this they always charge upon others,
often upon those who love them best. They see others' acti ni»
through the shadow of their own fretful and gloomy spirits.
Hence it is that th^y see their own faults as existing in those
about them, as a defect in the eye produces the ai)pearance ot
a corresponding defect in every object toward which it is turned.
This defect in character is more generally the result of vicious
or improper habits of mind, than any constitutional idiosyn-
crasy. It is the result of the indulgence of gloomy thoughts,
morbid fancies, inordinate ambition, habitual melancholy, a com-
plaining, fault-finding disposition

A fretting man or woman is one of the most unlovable
objecta in the world. A wasp Is a comfortable houae-mate in

'^'^^SM

230

FUETTINO AND GRUMBLING.

comparison ; it only stings when disttirbed. But an habit aal
frotter buzzes if he don't sting, with or without provocation

" It is better to dwell in the corner of a house-top than with
a brawling woman and in a wide house." Children and ser-
vant's cease to respect the authority or obey the commands of
a complaining, worrisome, exacting parent or master. They
know that " barking dogs don'^: bite," and fretters don't strike,
and they conduct themselves accordingly.

If we are faultless, we should not be so much annoyed by the
defects of those with whom we associate. If we were to
acknowledge honestly that we have not virtue enough to bear
patiently with our neighbour's weaknesses, we should show
our own imperfection, f "^d this alarms our vanity.

He who frets is ne\or the one who mends, heals, or repairs
evils; more, he discourages, enfeebles, and too of ten disables
those around him, who, but for the gloom and depression of his
company, would do good work and keep up brave cheer. And
when the fretter is one who is beloved, whose nearness of rela-
tion to us makes his fretting, even at the weather, seem almost
like a personal reproach to us, then the misery of it become*
indeed insupportable. Most men call frettiag a minor fault, »
foible, and not a vice. There is no vice except drunkenneas
which can so utterly destroy the peace, the happiness of a
home. We never knew a scolding person that was able to
govern a family. What makes people scold ? Because they
cannot govern themselves. How can they govern others ?
Those who govern well are geneially calm. They are prompt
and resolute, but steady.

It is not work that kills men, it is worry. Work is healthy;
you can hardly put more on a man than he can bear. Worry
is rust upon the blade. It is not the revolution that destroys the
machinery, but the friction. Fear secretes acids, but love and
trust are sweet juices. The man or woman who goes through
the world grumbling and fretting", is not only violating the laws
of God, but is a sinner against the peace and harmony of
society, and is, and of right ought to be, shunned accordingly.

FRETTIXG AND QJtUMBLINQ.

231

They are always in hot water, forever in trouble. They throw
the blame of their own misdeeds and want of judgment upon
others, and if one might believe them, society would be found
in a shocking state. They rail at everything, lofty or lowly, and
when they have no grumbling to do they begin to deprecate.
They endeavour to make good actions seem contemptible in
other men's eyes, and try to belittle every noble and praise-
worthy enterprise by casting suspicion upon the motives of
those connected with it. Such individuals, whether men or
Women, are an incubus on any society, and the best way to
paralyze their efforts to create discord, is to ignore them alto-
gether. Let grumblers form a select circle by themselves. Let
them herd together ; give them the cold shoulder when they
appear, and make them uncomfortable during their sojourn,
and if they «annot be cured they may be more easily endured,
and perhaps discover the error of their ways and reform.

An Englishman dearly likes, says Punch, to gi-umble, no mat-
ter whether he be right or wrong, crying or laughing, working
or playing, gaining a victory or smarting under a national
humiliation, paying or being paid — still he must grumble, and,
in fact, he v. never so happy as when he is grumbling ; and,
supposing everything was to our satisfaction (though it says a
great deal for our power of assumption to assume any such
absurd impossibility), still he would grumble at the fact of tber«
being nothing for him to grumble about.

There are two things about wliich we should never grumble
the firs't is that which we cannot help, and fche other iiiai w-hicii
we c(va, Iidp.

■■w

ip^fp

2o2

FAULT FINDING.

rmtit mnbin%.

■ ii:

MAN would get a very false notion of his standing among
his Liends and acquaintances if it were possible — a*
many would like to have it possible — ^to know whai i»
Aatd of him behind his back. One day he would go about in
a glow of self-e^toein, and the next he would be bowed under
a miserable sense of misapprehension and disgust. It would be
impossible for him to put this and that together and " strike
an average." The fact is, there is a strange human tendency
to take the present friend into present confidence. With strong
natures this tendency proves often a stumbling-block ; with
weak natures it amounts to fickleness. It is a proof, no doubt
'jt the universal brotherhood ; but one has to watch, lest, in an
unguarded moment, it lead him into f ,er so slight disloyalty
to the absent.

Never employ yourself to discover the faults of others —
look to your own. You had better find out one of your own
faults than ten of your neighbour's. When a thing does not
suit you, think of some pleasant quality in it There is noth-
thing so bad as it might be. Whenever you catch yourself in
a fault-finding remark, say some approving one in the same
breath, and you will soon be cured. Since the best of us have
too many infirmities to answer for, says Dean Swift, we ought
not to be too severe upon (hose of others ; and therefore, if our
brother is in trouble, we ought to help him, without inquiring
over seriously what produced it.

Those who have the fewest resources in themselves natur-
ally seek the food of their self-love elsewhere. The mosi
ignorant people find most to laugh at in strangers ; scandal and
satire prevail most in small places ; and the propensity to ridi-
cule the slightest or most palpable deviation from what we
happen to approve, ceases with the progress of common sense

FAULT FINDING.

233

aad decency. True worth does not exult in the faults and
deficiency of others ; aa true refinement turns away from gross-
ness and deformity, instead of being tempted to indulge in an
unmanly triumph over it. Raphael would not faint away at
the daubing of a sign-post, nor Homer hold his head higher for
being in the company of a " great bard." Real power, real ex-
cellence does not seek for a foil in imperfection ; nor fear con-
tamination from coming in contact with that which is coarse
and homely. It reposes on itself, and is equally free from etivy
and affectation. There are some persons who seem to treasure
up things that are disagreeable, on purpose.

The tongue that feeds on mischief, the babbling, the tattling,
the sly whispering, the impertinent meidling, all these tongues
are trespassing on the community constantly. The fiery tongue
is also abroad, and being set on fire of hell, scatters firebrands
among friends, sets families, neighbourhoods, churches and
social circles in a flame ; and, like the salamander, is wretched
when out '^^ the burning element. The black slandering tongue
is constantly preying upon the rose buds of innocence and virtue,
the foliage of merit, worth, genius, and talent ; and poisons,
with its filth of innuendoes and scum of falsehood, the most
brilliant flowers, the most useful shrubs, and the most valuable
trees, in the garden of private and public reputation. Not con-
tent with its own base exertions, it leagues with the envious,
jealous, and revengeful tongues ; and, aided by this trio, suf-
ficient venom is combined to make a second Pandemonium ;
and malice enough to fill it with demons. They can swallow
perjury like water, digest forgery as readily as Graham bread,
convert white into black, truth into false ^ood, good into evil,
innocence into crime, and metamorphose every thing which
stands in the current of their polluted and oolluting breath.

I can understand how a boy that never had l>een taught
better might carry torpedoes in his pocket, and delight to throw
t^em down at the feet of the passers b}' and see them bound ;
But I can not understand how an instructed and well-meaning
person could do such a thing. And yet' there are men woo

■"■■"M<i«inMiiMHnH

234

FAULT FINDING.

■1 )

\ !

r-:

carry torpedoes all their life, and take pleasiire iu toselng them
at people. " Oh," they say, " I have something now, and when
I meet that man I will give it to him," And they wait for th**
right company, and the right circumstances, and then they out
with the most disagreeable things. And if they are remon-
strated with, they say, " It is true," as if that was a justifica-
tion of their conduct. If GoJ should take all the things that
are true of you, and make a scourge of them, and whip you
with it, you would be the most miserable of men. But he does
not use all the truth on you. And is there no law of kindness ?
Is there no desire to please and profit men ? Have you a right
to take any little story that you can pick up about a man, and
use it in such a way as to injure him, or give him pain ? And
yet, how many men there are that seem to enjoy nothing so
much as inflicting exquisite suflfering upon a man in this way,
when he can not help himself? Well, you know just how the
devil feels. Whenever he has done anything wicked, and has
made somebody very unhappy, and laughs, he feels just as, for
the time being, you feel when you have done a cruel thing,
and somebody is hurt, and it does you good.

By the rules of justice, no man ought to be ridiculed for any
imperfection, who does not set up for eminent sufficiency in
that wherein he is defective. If thou would'st bear thy neigh-
bour's faults, cast thy eyes upon thine own.

It is easier to avoid a fault than to acquire a perfection. By
others' faults wise men correct their own. He that contemns
a small fault commits a great one. The greatest of all faults
is, to believe we have none. Little minds ignore their own
weakness, and carp at the defect of the great ; but great minds
are sensible of their own faults, and largely compassionate to-
ward inferiors.

Beecher says : " When the absent are spoken of, some will
apeak gold of them, some silver, some iron, some lead, and some
*»ways speak dirt ; for they have a natural attraction toward
what ia evil and think it shows penetration in them. As a cat
watohiBg for mice does not look up though an elephant goa~

ENVY.

235

by, sc they are so busy mousing for defects, that thay let great
excellences pass them unnoticed. I will not say that it is not
Christian to make beads of others' faults, and tell them orer
every day ; I say it is very sinful. If you want to know how
the dfcvil feels, you do know if you are such a one."

There is no such disagreeable people in the world as those
who are forever seeking their own improvement, and disquiet-
ing themselves about this fault and that ; while, on the other
hand, there is an unconscious merit which wins more good than
all thb theoretically virtuous in the wide world.

What a world of gossip would be prevented, if it was only
remembered, that a person who tells /ou the faults of others
intends to tell others of your faults. Every one has his faults ;
every man his ruling passion. The eye tliat sees all things
sees nor. itself. That man hath but an ill life of it, who feeds
hinuelf with the faults and frailties of other people. Were
not curiosity the purveyor, detraction would soon be starved*
into tameness.

To a pure, sensitive and affectionate mind, every act of find-
ing fault, c .• dealing in condemnation, is an act of pain. It is
only when we huve become callous to the world, and strangers
to the sentiments of compassionate love, that we are able to
play with unconcern the parts of persecutors and slanderers,
and that we can derive any pleasure from malignity and ren
venge. He who is the first to condemn, will be often the last
to forgive.

•»-♦♦* •<-

NVY'S memory is nothing but a row of hooks to hanig
up grudges on. Some people's sensibility i*i a meiy t»aii
die of aversions, and you hear them display and pcurade
it, not iu recounting the things they are auaiohed to, bat

-iu>i"(i.j;':a;:.'»5iTaiit'j!(»«u ^ '. ji,."- i,'."i ! -I'l n" ,im!.".' <J--,ii.i,,. . i.j i i iiinh.i

W?^"^^TW^"T"'i^'^P*WW>f«P!i"i

236

ENVY.

j i).

in telling you how many things atid persons " they can&ot
bear."

Envy is not raeroly a [)erversene8s of temper, but it is such a
distemper of the mind as disiorders all the faculties of it. It
lietjan with Satan; for when he fell he could see nothing to
jplease him in Paradise, and envi^jd our first parents when in
iniiocence, and thei'efore tempted them to sin, which ruined
ihem, and all the human race. Mr. Locke tells us that upoa
asking a blind man what he thought scarlet was, he answere<i
he believed it was like the sound of a trumpet. He was forced
to form his conceptions of ideas which he had nob, by tliosa
which he had. In the same manner, though an envious man
'Camiot but see perfections, yet having contracted the distem
per of acquired blindness, lie will not own them, but is alwayi
•degrading or misrepresenting things which are excellent. Thus,
point out a pious person, and ask the envious man what he thinks
of him, he will say he is a hypocrite, or deceitful ; praise a man
of learning or of great abilities, and he will say he is a pedant
or proud of his attainments ; mention a beautiful women, and
he will either slander her chastity or charge her with affecta-
tion; ahow him a lino poem or painting, and he will call the
one " stiff," and the other a "daubing." In this way he de-
preciates or deforms every pleasing object. With respect to
other vices, it is frequently seen that many coofess and forsake
them ; but this is not often the case wdth respect to this vice,
for as tho person afflicted with this evil knows very well to own
that we envy a man is to allow him to be a superior, his pride
will not therefore permit him to ma^e any concession, if ac-
cused of indulging this base principle, but he becomes more
violent against the person envied, and generally remains incu-
rable.

Like Milton's fiend in Paradise, he sees undelighted all de-
light. The brightnes:> of prosperity that surround others, pains
the eyea of the envious man more than the meridian rays of
che Bun. Tt starts the involuntary tear, and casts a gloom over
his inind. It brings into action jealousy, revenge, falsehood,

ENFT.

23:

and the basest passions of the fallen natnre of man. It goail.s
him onward with a fearful impetus, like a locomotive ; and often
runs his car off the track, dashes it in pieces, and he is left,
bruised and bleeding. Like the cuttle-fieh, he emits his black
venom for the purpose of darkening the clear waters that sur
round his prosperous neighbours ; and, like that phenomenon
of the sea, the inky substance is confined to a na'-T-ow circum-
ference, and only tends to hide himself. The sui. ds of those
around him throws him into convulsions, and, like a man with
the delirium tremens, he imagines all who approach him de-
mons, seeking to devour him. Like Haman, he often erectf
his own gallows in his zeal to hang others. His mind is iik
the troubled sea, casting up the mire of revenge. " Dionysius
the tyrant," says Plutarch, " out of envy, punished Philoxen-
lus, the musician, because he could sing ; and Plato, the philo*
sopher, because he could dispute better than himself."

Envy is a sentiment that desires to equal or excel the efforts
of compeers ; not so much by increasing our own toil and in-
genuity, as by diminishing the merit due to the effort of others.
It se«»ks to elevate itself by the degradation of others; it
detests the sounds of another's praise, and deems no renown
acceptable that must be shared. Hence, when disappointments
occur, they fall, with unrelieved violence, and the sense of dis-
comfi'-ed rivalry gives poignancy to the blow.

How is envy exemplified ? A worm defiling the healthful
blossom — a mildew, blasting the pi'omised harvest. How true,
yet how forbidding an image of the progress of envy! And
trould any rational creature be willingly the worm that defiles
the pure blossoms of virtue, the mildew that blasts the pro-
mised harvest of human talent, or of human happiness ?

And what produces envy ? The excellence of another.
Humiliating deduction ! Envy is, then, only the expression of
inferiority — the avowal of deficiency — the homage paid to ex-
cellence. Let pride, for once, ba virtue, and urge the extinc-
tion of this baneful passion, since its indulgence can only pro
dace shame and regret. Envy is, unquestionably, a high oom

."i»r77P?»M>: V,»f!P,

^msM

.«i:.i...rkUik^!

298

ENVY.

1 -'I

pUment, but a most ungracious one. An envious man I'epinea
as much at the manner in which his neighbours live as if he
maintained them. Some people as much envy others a good
name, as they want it themselves, and that is the reason of it.
Envy is fixed on merit ; and, like a sore eye, is offended with
everything that is bright. Envy increases in exact proportion
with fame ; the man that makes a character makes enemies.
A radiant genius calls forth swarms of peevish, biting, sting-
ing insects, just as the sunshine awakens the world of flies.
Virtue is not secure against envy. Evil men will lessen what
they won't imitate, K a man is good, he is envied ; if evil
himself is envious. Envious people are doubly miserable, in
being afflicted with others' prosperity and their own adversitj'

Envy is a weed that grows in all soils and climates, and is
no less luxuriant in the country than in the court ; is not con-
fined to any rank of men or extent of fortune, but rages in the
breast of all degrees. Alexander was not prouder than Dio-
genes ; and it may be, if we would endeavour to surprise it in
its most gaudy dross and attire, and in the exercise of its full
empire and tyranny, we should find it in schoolmasters and
scholars, or in some country lady, or the knight her husband ;
all which ranks of people more despise their neighbours than
all the degrees of honour in which courts abound, and it rages
as much in a sordid affected dress as in all the silks and em-
broideries which the excess of the age and the folly of youth
delight to be adorned with. Since, then, it keeps all sorts of
company, and wriggle" itself into the liking of the most con-
trary natures and dispositions, and yet carries so much poison
and venom with it, that it alienates the affections from heaven,
and raises rebellion against God him self, it is worth our utmost
care to watch it in all its disguises and approaches, that we
may discover it in its first entrance and dislodge it before it
procures a shelter or retiring place to lodge and conceal itself.

Envy, like a cold poison, benumbs and stupefies ; and thus,
as if conscious of its own impotence, it folds its arms in de-
spair ana sits cursing in a comer. When it conquers it kt com-

SLANDER.

monly in the dark, by treachery and undermining, by calumny
and detraction. Envy is no less foolish than detestable ; it is
a vice which, they say, keeps no holiday, but is always in the
wheel, and working upon its own disquiet. Envy, jealousy,
scorpions and rattlesnakes can be made to sting themselves to
death. He whose first emotion on the view of an excellent
production is to undervalue it, will never have one of his own
to show.

Reader, if envy is rankling in your bosom, declare war against
it at once ; a war of extermination ; no truce, no treaty, no
compromise. Like the pirate on the high seas, it is an outlaw,
an enemy to all mankind, and should be hung up at the yard-
arm until it is dead ! dead ! ! DEAD ! I !

*••>•

** That abominable tittle-tattle,
The cud eschew'd by human cattle."

— Byron.

LANDER is a blighting sirocco; its pestiferous breath
pollutes with each respiration ; its forked tongue is
charged with the same poison ; it searches all comers of
the world for victims ; it sacrifices the high and low, the king
and the peasant, the rich and poor, the matron and maid, the
living and the dead ; but delights most in destroying worth,
and immolating innocence. Lacon has justly remarked, " Cal-
umny crosses oceans, scales mountains, and traverses deserts,
with greater ease than the Scythian Abaris, and, like him,
rides upon a poisoned arrow." As the Saraiel wind of the
Arabian desert not only produces death, but causes the most
rapid decomposition of the body ; so calumny affects fame,
honour, integrity, worth, and virtue The base, cloven-footed

240

SLANDBR.

;1 !

f '

calumniator, like the loathsome worm, leaves his path marked
with the filth of malice, and scum of falsehood, and pollutes
the fairest flowers, the choicest, fruits, the most delicate plants
in a green-house of character. Living, he is a travelling peat,
and worse, dying impenitent, his soul is too deeply stjiined for
hell. Oh, reader, never slander the name of another. A writer
once said : " So deep does the slanderer sink in the murky
waters of degradation and infamy, that could an angel apply
an Archimedean moral lerer to him, with heaven for a fulcrum,
he could not, in a thouwuid years, raise hitu to the grade of a
convict felon."

Sl^KDBR ;
Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath
Rides oQ the posting winds, and doth belie
AH comers of the world ; kings, queens and states,
Maids, matrons, nay the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.

It is a melanchol}'^ reflection upon human nature, to see how
small a matter will put the ball of scandal in motioiL A mei«
hint, a significant look, a mysterious countenance ; directing
attention to a particular person ; often gives an alarming im-
petus to this ignis fatuua. A mere interrogatory is converted
into an affirmative assertion — tue cry of a mad dog is raised —
the mass join in the chase, and not unfrequently, a mortal
wound is inflicted on the innocent and meritorious, perhaps by
one who had no ill-will, or desire to do wrong in any case.

There is a sad propensity in our fallen nature to listen to
the retailers of petty scandal. With many, it is the spice of
conversation, the exhilarating gas of their minds. Without
any intention of doing essential injury to a neighbour, a care-
less remark, relative to some minor fault of his, may be seiaed
by a babbler, and as it passes through the babbling tribe, each
one adds to its bulk, and gives its colour a darker hue, until it
assumes the magnitude and blackness of base slander. Few
•re without visible faults — most persons are sometimes incon-

I ^

SLANDER.

241

distent. Upon theoe faults and misiakes, petty scandal delights
to feast.

Nor are those safe from the filth and scum of this poisonou.s
tribe, who are free from external blemishes. Envy and jea-
lousy can start the blood-hound of suspicion ; create a noise
that \\'ill attract attention ; and many may be led to suppose
there is game, when there is nothing but thin air. An unjust
and unfavourable innuendo is started against a person of un-
blemished character ; it gathers force as it is rolled through
babble town — it soon assumes the dignity of a problem — is
solved by the rule of double position, and the result increased
by geometrical progression and permutation of quantities ; and
before truth can get her shoes on, a stain, deep and damning,
has been stamped on the fair fame of an innocent victim, by
an unknown hand. To trace calumny back to the small foun-
tain of petty scandal, is often impossible ; and always more
difficult than to find the source of the Nile.

Insects and reptiles there are which fulfil the ends of their
existence by tormenting us ; so some minds and dispositions
accomplish their destiny by increasing our misery, and making
us more discontented and unhappy. Cruel and false is ho who
builds his pleasure upon my pain, or his glory upon my shame.

Shun evil -speaking. Deal tenderly with the absent; say
nothing to inflict a wound on their reputation. They may he
wrong and wicked, yet your knowledge of it does not oblige
you to disclose their character, except to save others from in-
jury. Then do it in a way that bespeaks a spirit of kindness
for the absent offender. Be not hasty to credit evil reports.
They are often the result of misunderstanding, or of evil design,
01 they proceed from an exaggerated or partial disclosure of
facts. Wait and learn the whole story before you decide ; then
believe just what evidence compels you to and no more. But
even then, take heed not to indulge the least unkindness, else
you dissipate all the spirit of prayer for them and unnerve
yours«K for doing them good. We are nearer the truth in
thinking well cf jMrsons then ill. Human nature is a tree

242

8LASDBR.

i.i

1
\

bearing good as well aa evil, but our eyes are wide open to tb»
latter and half closed to tho former. Believe but half the ill
and credit twice the good said of your neighbour.

A glance, a gesture, or an intonation, may be vital with false
hood, sinking a heavy shaft of cruelty deep into the injureii
soul — though truth, in its all-disclosing effulgence, will, sooner
or later, disperse the mists and doom the falsifier to desei^ved
aversion ; still, the exposure of the guilty does not recompense
the injured any more than the bruising of the serpent heals
the wound made by his barbed fang. An injurious rumour —
originating, perhaps, in some sportive gossip — once attached to
a person's name will remain beside it a blemish and doubt for-
ever. Especially is this true of the fair sex, many of whom
have, from this cause, withered and melted in their youth like
snow in the spring, shedding burning teara of sadness over the
world's unkindness and " man's inhumanity to man."

Among many species of animals, if one of their number is
wounded and falls, he is at once torn to pieces by his fellows.
Traces of this animal cruelty are seen in men and women to-day.
Let a woman fall from virtue and nine-tenths of her sisters
will turn and tear her to pieces, and the next day smile on the
man who ruined her 1 The ciuelty of woman to woman is per-
fectly wolfish. 0, shame ! Keverse the action. Loathing for
the unrepentant wretch and tenderness for the wounded sister.
Tenderness and pity and help for both alike if they repent and
reform. But never trust him who has been a betrayer once.
No kindness demands this risk. The smell of blood is too
strong for the tamed tiger.

There is a natural inclination in almost all persons to do it —
a kind of inhuman pleasure in pelting others with stones. Our
right hands ache to throw them. There is such wir:ked enjoy-
ment in seeing them dodge and flinch and run. This is human
nature in the rough. There are so many who never get out of
the rough. There are multitudes of respectable people who
evince exquisite pleasure in making others smart. There is a
trood deal of the Inc'ian — the uncivilized man, in us all yet.

VANITY.

243

tt lias noi boeii Avliolly t.lirninatod or educatod out of ub by the
boa«tc() enlightenment and civilization of the age. A great
deal of pharisaic zeal to stono others who are no more guilty
than we are still exists. It is often by the crafty cry of " stop
thief " to divert attention f roixi ourselves. A thief snatched a
liamond ring froiii a jowollor'M tray and dodged around the cor-
ner into the crowded street. The clork ran outcrying "stop
t!Uef ! " The rascal eluded attimtiou by taking up the cry and
vociferating as if of one ahead " stop thief! stop thief! "

li takes a bloodthirsty wretch to be a prosecutor and inqui-
sito . The vulture Uvea to disembowel his victim and wet his
beak .n blood. Wlio ever heard of s. dovo rending the breast
of a robin, or a lamb sucking the blood of a kid ? Hawks and
tigers dtlight in this. No ! nature will ovwfc. If Christianity
has noi jut off the clawo, we incline to scratch somebody. If
Christ possesses us wholly, and we have been transformed by
His spiriv, there will be no disposition to stono our neighbour
even if at fault. It is not in the genius of Cbristianity to do
it. It is A cancer in the soul that must be cut out, or burned
out, or purged out, of the blood, or it will kill eh.

Alexander had an ugly scar on his forehead, roceived in bat-
tle. When the gieat artist painted his portrait, he sketched
him leaning on his elbow, with his finger covering the scar on
his forehead. There was tiie likenc'js with the scar hidden.
So let us study to paint each other with the finger of charity
upon the scar of a brother, hiding the ugly mark asd revealing
only the beautiful, the true and the good.

\m^S'

PHIS propensity pervades the wholft hhiiJAL family, to a
w|h leas or greater degree, as the atmo.^phere does the globe.
It is the froth and effervescence of pride. The latter ia

lAt. .\^,MM.->,li,l^U.>iiJ>.- »!■ Aiv.i IIWINIIHWiflWPPBH

244

VANITY.

■f '-^

unyielding haugntiness, the former, as soft, pliant, and light
Eis the ''own of a goose. It is selfishness modified and puffed
up, like a bladder with wind. It is all action, but has no use-
ful strength. It feeds voraciously and abundantly on the rich-
est food that can be served up ; and can live on less and meaner
diet, than anything of which we can have a conception. The
rich, poor, learned, ignorant, beautiful, ugly, high, low, strong,
and weak — all have a share of vanity. The humblest Christ-
ian is not free from it, and, when he is most humble, the devii
will flatter his vanity by telling him of it.

Vanity is ever striving to hide itself, like the peacock ita
ugly feet, and will even deny its own name. " I speak ivithovi
vanity " — hush — you deceitful puflf. You make men and wo-
men the only animals that can laugh, the very ones to b«
laughed at. Dr. Johnson once remarked, " When any one com-
plains of the want of what he is known to possess in an eminent
degree, he waits, with impatience, to be contradicted ; " and
thus vanity convert-s him into a fool and a liar, only to render
him ridiculous. Vanity engenders affectation, mock modesty,
and a train of such like et cetera^ ; a)I subtracting from the
real dignity of man.

On the other hand, it feeds, with equ;;' voracity on vulgarity,
coarseness, and fulsome eccentricity ; every thing by which the
person can attract attention. It often takes liberality by the
hwid, prompts advice, administers reproof, and sometimes
perches, visibly and gaily, on the prayers and sermons in ihe
pulpit. It is an every where and ever present principle of
human nature — a wen on the heart of man ; leas painful, but
quite as loathsome as a cancer. It is, of all others, the most
baseless propensity.

We have nothing of which we should be vain, but much to
induce humility. If we have any good qualities they are the
gift of God ; in the best of men there are bad ones enough, if
they can see themselves, to strangle vanity. Let every out
guard against this all-pervading principle, and teach their cMl*
dreu that it is the shadow of a shade.

PMDB.

245

frlbt.

^riTT £ that is proud eats himself up. Pride is his o\m glass,
^F/'X his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever
praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the
praise. Pride is like an empty bag, and who can stand such a
thing upright f It is hollow and heartless ; and, like a drum,
makes the more noise from its very emptiness. Wliat Ls there
XL. ns to induce such a seutiment ? Vv^ho can say, with truth,
' i am better than my neighbour ? " Some shrewd philosopher
has said, that if the best man's faults were written on his fore-
head they would make him pull his hat over his eyes 1 Ah,
there is so much of good in those who are evil, and so much
that is bad in the best, that it ill becomes us to judge our neigh-
bom's harshly, or set ourselves up as saints at their expense.
Let those who feel above their fellows, \dew the heights above
themselves, and realize their littleness ; for as there is none sc
vile but that a viler hath been known, so there is no saint but
that a holier can be named.

When one asked the philosopher what the great God was
doing ? he n-pl-iod, " His whole employment is to lift up the
h' ^ble, and to cast doNvn the proud." And, indeed, there is no
one sin which the Almighty seems more determined to pu-Jsh
than this. The examples of God's displeasure against it are
most strikingly exhibited in the history of Pharaoh, Uezekiah,
Haman. Nebuchadnezzar, and Herod.

Pride is generally the effect of ignorance ; for pride and
folly attend each other. Ignorance and pride keep constant
company. Pride, joined with many virtues, chokes them aU.
Pride is the bane of Imnpiness. Some people, says L'Estrange,
are all quanty. You would think they were made of nothing
but title and geuea'ogy. The stamp of dignity de£M!98 in tbeoi

246

PRIDE.

i ' 1

the very character of humanity, and transports them to sucL a
degree of haughtiness that they reckon it below themselves to
exercise either good nature or good manners. It is related of
the French family of the Duke de Levis, that they have a pic-
ture in theii' pedigree in which Noah is represented, going into
the ark, and carrying a small trunk, on which is written, "Papers
belonging to the Levis family." Pride is the mist that vapours
round insignificance. We can conceive of nothing so little or
ridiculous as pride. It is a mixture of insensibility and ill-
nature, in which it is hard to say which has the largest share.
Pride is as loud a beggar as want, and a great deal moi« saucjr.
Kjiavery and pride are often united ; the Spartan boy was dis-
honest enough to steal a foir, but proud enough to let the be&vt
eat out his vitals sooner than hazard detection. Pride break-
fasted with Plenty, dined with Poverty, and suppered with In-
famy. Pride had rather at any time go out of the way thaia
come behind.

Pride must have a fall. Solomon said, pride goeth before

destruction. Of all human actions, pride the most seldom

obtains its p-nd; for while it aims at honour and reputjition, it

reaps contempt and derLsion. Pride and ill -nature will be hated

in spite oi all the wealth and greatness in the world. Civility

is always saf o., but pride creates enemies. As liberality makes

friends of enemies, so pride makes enemies of firiends. Says

Dean Swift, " If a proud man makes me keep my distance, the

comfort is, he at the same time keeps his." Proud men have

friends neither in prosperity, because they know nobody ; nor

in adversity, because nobody knows them. There is an hooieBt

pride, such as makes one ashamed to do an evil act ; such a

d^ree of self-esteem as makes one above doing an injury to any

one ; but it is the pride which sets one above his fellows that

we deprecate ; that spirit which would demand homage to itself

ttb better and greater than others. In the name of good sense

how can anyone feel thus, when it is reali7.ed that the eiaiire

life of a nan is bat n moment in t^e scale ot etenuty ; and XhtX

in a few short days, at most, we must all go froro here. Wh«n

PRIDE.

247

the soul is about to depart, what avails it whether a man dies
upon a throne or in the dust ?

Pride is a virtue — let not the moralist be scandalized — pride
is also a vice. Pride, like ambition, is sometimes virtuous and
sometimes vicious, according to the character in which it is
found, and the object to which it is directed. As a principle,
it is the parent of almost every virtue, and every vice— every
thing that pleases and displeases in mankind ; and as the
effects are so very different, nothing is more easy than to dis-
cover, even to ourselves, whether the pride that produces them
is virtuous or vicloua : the first object of virtuous pride is rec-
titude, and the next Independence. Prido may be allowed to this
or that degree, else a man cannot keep up his dignity. In
gluttony there must bo eating, in drunkenness there must be
drinking ; 'tis not the eating, nor 'tis not the drinking that
must be bIPiraed, but the excess. So in pride.

Pride and poverty, when combined, make a man's life up-hill
work. Pcraposity in a hovel. A gaudy parlour, meagre
kitchen, and empty cupboard ! Ragged aristocrat ! What
shifts there are Among this class to hide their rags, and to give
everything a golden tinge. Among them you see a rich frosted
cake and red wine in the parlour, and a dry crust, dryer codfish,
and bad coifae in the kitchen. Broadcloth hides a ragged shirt.
Polished boots hide tattered stockings. Fortune's toys, she
kicks them about as she likes. The higher they look the lower
they sink. The gaudy side out, rags and starvation within.
Oh ! the pangs of pride ! What misery is here cov» red up.
Smiifts abroad, tears at home. An eternal war with want on
one h».flid, and proud ambition on the other. This trying to be
" Borjobody," and this forgetting that it is not necessary to be
goid-waahed, and to have a silver spoon in one's mouth, in order
to reach that envied good m life's journey. There are plenty
of " somebodies" among the honest poor, and plenty of " no-
bodies" among the dainty rich. Pride and poverty are the
west ill-aasorted companiona that can meet. They live in a
•taie of contini&al warfare, and the sacrifices they exACt from

248

PRIDE.

ilv;

each other, like tliose claime^l by enemies to establish a hollow
peace, only serve to increase their discord.

Proud persons in general think of nothing but themselves,
and imagine that all the world thinks about them too. They
suppose that they are the subject of almost every conversation,
and fancy every wfeeel wliich moves in society hath some rela-
tion to them. People of this sort are very desirous of knowing
what is said of them, and as they have no conception that any
but great things are said of them, they are extremely solicitous
to know them, and often put this question : " Who do men say
that I Mm *"

Pride is tho ape of charity. In show not much unlike, but
.somewhat fuller of action ; in seeking the one, t;tke heed thou
light not upon the other. They are two parallels never put
asunder. Charity feeds the poor, so does })ride ; charity builds
a hospital, so does pride. In this they differ : charity gives
her glory to God, pride takes her glory from man. When
llowers are full of heaven-descended dews, they always hang
their heads ; but men hold theii-s the higher the more they re-
ceive, getting proud as they get full.

Likeness begets love, j^et proud men hate each other. Pride
makes us esteem ourselves ; vanity makes us desire the esteem
of others. It is just to say, that a man is too proud to be vain.
The pride of wealth is contemptible ; the pride of learning is
pitiable ; the pride of dignity is ridiculous ; but the pride of
bigotry is insupportable;. To be proud of knowledge, is to be
blind in the light : to be proud of virtue, ia to poison yourself
with the antidote ; to be proud of authority is to make your
rise your downfall. The sun appears largest when about to
set, so does a ppottd man swell most magnificently ju»t before
an explosion.

No two feelings of the human mind Me more opposite tliMi
pride and humility. Pride is founded on a high o}>inion of our-
selves ; humility on the cona^ousness of the want of merit.
Pride is the offspring of ignorance ; humiiity is the child of
wisdom. Pride hardens th^ hetui ; huwility softens th« tem-

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PRIDE.

240

ptjir and the disposition. Prido is deaf to the clamours of oon-
scieuce ; humility listens with reverence to the monitor within *
and finally, pride rejects the counsels of reason, the voice of
experience, the dictates of religion ; while humility, with a
docile spirit, thankfully receives instruction from all who ad-
dress her in the garb of truth. " Of all trees," says Feltham,
"I observe God hath chosen the vine — ^a low plant that
creeps upon the helpful wall ; of a!l beasts, the soft and pliant
Iamb ; of all fowls, the mild and guileless dove. When God
appeared to Moses, it was not in the lofty cedar, nor in the
spreading palm, but a bush, an humble, abject bush. As if he
would, by these selections, check the conceited arrogance of
man," Nothing produces love like humility ; nothing hate like
piide. It was pride that changed angels into devils ; it is hu-
mility that makes men as angels.

Tliere are as good horses drawing in carts as in coaches ; and
as good men are engaged in humble employments as in the
highest. The best wny to humble a proud man is to take no
notice of him. Men are sometimes accused of pride, merely
because their accusers would be proud themselves if they were
in their places. Ther.3 are those who despise pride with a
greater pride. To que.U the pride, even of the greatest, we
should reflect how much we owe to others, and how little to
ourselves. Other vices ciioose to be in the dark, but pride loves
to be seen in the light. The common charge against those who
rl'ie above their CDudition, is pride. Proud looks make foul
work in fair faces.

When a man's pride is thoroughly subdued, it is like the
sides of Mount iEtna. It was terrible while the eruption
lasted and the lava flowed ; but when that is past, and the
lava is turned into soil, it grows vineyards and olive tiees up
to the very top.

. ..npjti ,ji .in.4ia!fs

■1

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i i

lOPa AND DANDIES.

^ops anb Dimbies.

Though groat thy grandeur, man, may \)m.
No pride of heart is meant for thee ;
Let foolB exult, presumption boast,
The fops and dandies dwell in hosts.

[ HE rose of Florida, the most beautiful of flowers, emits
no fragrance ; the bird of Paradise, the most beautiful
of birds, gives no songs ; the cypress of Greece, the finest
of trees, yields no fruit ; dandies, the shiniest of men, gener-
ally have no sense ; the ball-room belles, the loveliest of created
cr<"atm*es, are very often ditto. Dr. Holmes, in his " Autocrat
of the Breakfast Table," says : " Dandies are not good for much,
but they are good for something. They invent or keep in cir-
culation those conversational blanks, checks or counters, which
intellectual capitalists may sometimes find it worth their while
to borrow of Uiem. They are useful, too, in keeping up the
standard of dress, which, but for them, would deteriorate and
become, what some old folks would have it, a matter of con-
venience, and not of taste and art. Yes, I like dandies well
enough — on one condition, that they have pluck. I find that
lies at the bottom of all true dandyism."

A man, following the occupation of wood cutting, vnrought
with exemplary zeal the six working days, hoarding every cent
not recjuired to furnish him with the most frugal fare. As his
" pile " increased, he invested it in gold ornaments — watch
chains of massive links, shirt and sleeve buttons, shoe buckles,
then buttons for vest and coat, a hat band of the precious
metal, a heavy gold-headed cane — and, in short, wherever an
ounce of it could be bestowed upon his person, in or out of
taste, it was done, The glory of his life, his sole ambitioa was
to don his curious attire (which was deposited for sate keeping
during the week in one of the banks) on Sunday morning, and

FOPS AND DANDIES.

251

ihoa spend the day, the " observed of all observers," lounging
about the office or bar-room of the St. Charles. He never drank,
and rarely spoke. My.stery seemed to envelop hiro. No one
knew whence he came or the origin of his innocent whim
Old citiz;ens assured you that, year after year, hi.'j narrow sav-
ings were measured by the increfuse of his ornaments, until, at
length, the value of the anomalous garments came to be esti-
mated by thousands of dollars. By ten o'clock on Sunday
night, the eKhibition was closed ; his one day of self-gratilica-
tion enjoyed ; his cc^stly wardrobe was returned to the biuk
vault, and he came back into the obscurity of a wood chopper.
Many may think that this man was a fool, and very much un-
like tiie ordinary young man ; but not so. Many young men
do the same, only their cloth, their gaudy apparel are not so
durable ; and they are not so economical ; do not invest in so
valuable material, but spend their entire income (and some-
times more) just to earry ft stylish, shiny suit worth about tifty
dollars.

There are a thousand fops luade by art, for one fool made by
nature. How ridiculous a sight, says Dr. Fuller, is a vain yoimg
gallant, that 1 istles with his plumes, and shakes his giddy
head ; and to no other purpose than to get possession of a mis-
tress who is as umch a trille as himself ! The little soul that
couversea of nothing of more importance than the looking-
glass and a fantastic dress, may make up the show of the world ;
but must not be reckoned among the rational inhabitants of
it. A man of wit may sometimes be a coxcomb ; but a man
of judgment and sense never caa A beau dressed out, is like
a cinnamon tree — the bark is worth more than the body. An
EkS8 is but an ass, though laden or covered with gold. Fops are
more attentive to what is showy than mindful of what is ne-
cessary. A fop of fashion is said to be the mercer's friend, the
tailor's fool, and his own foe. Show and su])stance are often
united, as an object and its shadow, the sun and its glory, the
uoul and body, mind and its outward actions, love and its face
.t£ sweetness. And on this accouut men have aauociated tie

>*>

252

FOPS AND DANVIBS.

j. i

I i

1 -

two 80 closely together as often to mistake the one for the other,
and hence have sought for show aa though it was substance,
and deceivers have j)ut the former in place of the latter to
cheat the world thereby.

Show paints the hypocrite's face and wags the liar "s tongue
To discriminate between show and .substance, to determine
what is show and what is substance, and what are substance
and show, is a work of critical judgment, and one upon which
the excellency, majesty, and strength of our life in no small
degree depends. There is show without substance, there is
substance without show, there is substance and show together.

Dandies au<i fops are lik. n '^ody without soul, powder with-
out ball, lightning without tluinderbolt. It is dress on a dcl^
paint on sand. There is much of this in the world. We see it
in respect to every thing considered valuable. The counter-
feiter gives the shuw of gold to his base coin, and the show of
value to his lying l>ank note. The thief hangs out the appear-
ance of honesty on his face, and the liar is thunderstruck if
any body suspects him of ecp'ivocation. The bankrupt carries
about him the insignia of wealth. The fop puts on the masque-
rade of dignity and importance, and the poor belle, who.se mo-
ther washes to buy her plumes, outshines the peeress of the
court. Many a table steams with costly viands for which the
last cent was paid, and many a coat, sleek and black, swings
on uhe street and in the saloon on which the tailor has a moral
mortgage. Often do the diawing-room and parlour, the ward-
robe and coach, speak of wealth and standing when, if they
were not dumb deceivers, they would cry out " It's all a lie."
This is show without substance in domestic life. It is the
grandest lie of the world, and cheats more poor people out of
their birthright than any other one species of wicked show.
All their thoughts, and labours, and money, and credit are
spent to fabricate a gorgeous cheat to the world, to make them-
selves appear to be what they are not ; when, if they would
be honest, and labour for the true substiince of life, they might
be, in reality, what they are clownishly a^ ing. They cheat

FAHniON

t&B

their souls out of honeaty, and a respectable and comfortable
moral character, their V)0(lies out of the substance of a good liv-
ing, themselves out of a good name among their follows ; yea,
they cheat every thing but the very world they intend to cheat.
That world sees their gossamer r,how, and laughs at the foolish-
ness which seeks to conceal a want of substance.

It is a general sin, to which there are but few exceptions ; a
groat falsehood, which almost every man is striving to make
greater. This gieat evil turns society into a grand show-room,
in which the most dexterous show-master wears the tallest
plume. Besides the sinfulness of the thing, it is a great domes-
tic bane. It makes the poor poorer, and the rich more avari-
cious. It causes almost every body to o\ er-live, over-dress,
over-eat, over-act, in every thing that will make a show. It
is a great root of selfishness, a great vveight of oppression, a
great sink of meanness, a great burden of woe, a great cloud
of despair.

ftis^jon.

HEATHEN god or goddess has ever had more zealous
devotees than fashion, or a more absurd and humiliating
ritual or more mortifying and cruel penances. Her
laws, like those of the Modes and Persian.s, must be implicitly
obeyed, but unlike them, cha..^w as certainly as the moon.
They are rarely founded in reason, usually violate common
sense, sometimes common decency, and uniformly common com-
fort

Fashion rules the world, and a most tyrannical mistress she
is — compelling people to submit to the most inconvenient things
imaginable for her sake. She pinches our feet with tight shoe"*,
or chokes ua with a tight neckerchief, or squeezes the breato

254

FASHION.

I J

out of our body by tight lacing. She makes people sit up by
night, when they ought to be in bed, and keeps them in bed in
the morning when they ouglit to be up nnd doing. She makes
it vulgar to wait upon one's self, and genteel to live idly and
uselessly. She makes people visit when they would rather
stay : t home, eat when they are not hungrj', and drink when
they are not thirsty. She invades our pleasures and inter-
rupts our business. She compels people to dr&ss gaily, whether
upon their own property or that of others — whether agreeably
to the word of God or the dictates of pride.

Fashion, unlike custom, never looks at the past as a prece-
dent for the present or future. She imposes unanticipated
burdens, without regard to the strength or mean.s of her hood-
winked followers, cheating them out of time, fortune and hap-
piness ; repaying tliem with the consolation of being ridiculed
by the wise, endangering health and wasting means ; a kind
of remuneration rather paradoxical, but most graciously re-
ceived. Semblance and shade are among her attributes. It is
of more importance for her wor8hipj)ers to appear happy than
to he ao.

Fashion taxes without reason and collects without mercy.
She first infatuates the courts and aristocracy, and then ridi-
cules the poor if they do not follow in the wake, although they
die in the ditch. This was exemplified in the reign of Richard
III., who was hump-backed. Monkey-like, his court at the
dictum of fashion, all mounted a bustle on their bacJcs, and as
this was not an expensive adjunct, the whole nation became
hump-backed — emphatically a crooked generation — from th«
peasant to the king, all were humped.

If she requires oblations from the four quarters of the globe,
they must be had, if wealth, health and happiness are the price.
If she fancies comparative nakedness for winter, or five thick-
nesses of woollen for dog days — she speaks, and it is done. li
she orders the purple current of life and the organs of respir-
ation to be retarded by steel, whalebone, buckram, drill, and
cords— it is done. Disease laughs and death grins at the folly

"^im^-4ismf^^m'

FASHION,

S56

of the goddosB and the z«ial of the worshippers. If ahe orders
a bag full of notions on the hips, a Chinese shoe on the foot,
a short cut, a trail, a hoop, or a hailoon Hleove, or no sleeve, for
a dress, and a grain fan bonnet, or fool's cap for the head, she
is obsequiously obeyed by the exquisitely fjishionablo ladies
and laudtid by tluiir beaux. If she orders, her male subjects,
the Mordecais and Daniels tremble at the gong sound of
trumpet- tongued ridiotile. Not only the vain and giddy, the
thoughtless and rattlebrained, dance attendance upon her, but
many a statesman and philosopher.

The empress at Paris, or other ladies of rank, do not origin-
al 3 the fashions, neither do any ladies of real rank and distinc-
tion ; they adopt them, and thus set the seal of their acknow-
ledged authority upon them, but no lady would be the first to
wear a striking novelty, or a style so ne\v, or so outre us to
be likely to attract public attention. This in left for the leaders
of the demi-monde, several of whom are in the pay of Paiia-
sian dress- makers and modistes. The noted Worth, the man-
milliner of Paris, who receives all the monoy unc! exercises all
the impudence which have placed him at the lieao of his pro-
fession, while women do all the work, has in his employ a
dozen fashion writers and several of the most noted leaders of
Parisian society. These latter are selected for their fine appear-
ance and dashing manners. Toilettes, equipages and boxes at
the theatre and opera are provided for them. Dead or dying,
they are required to show Iheujselves at these })laces on all
suitable occasions, in extraordinary dresses made by the " re-
nowned " Worth, as the fashion correspondents say, who in this
way take up the l^urdcn of the song, and echo it even upon
these Western shores. It is the height of ambition with some
American women to go to Paris, and ha\e a ^ress made by
Worth ; and dearly do tliey sometimes pay for their folly, not
only in immense prices for very small returns, but in degrading
their American womanhood by following in so disgraceful a
scramble with so mixed an assemblage.

Fashion is the foster mother of vanity, the offal of pride,

?^W

wmmmimimm'

256

FASHION.

* til

and has nursed her pet until it is as fat as a sea turtle, is quite
as wicked to bite, and harder to kill ; but, unlike that inhabi-
tant of the herring pond, instead of keej)ing in a shell, it ia
mounted on a shell, adorned with every flummery, intruding
into all the avenues of life, scattering misery far and wide —
faithless, fearless, uncompromising, and tyrannical.

Then the exam^^le of a fashionable woman, how low, how
vulgar ! W ith her the cut of a collar, the depth of a ilounce,
the style of a ribbon, is of more importance than the strength
of a virtue, the form of a mind, or the style of a life. She con-
sults the fashion-plate oftener than her Bible ; she visits the
di-y goods shop and the milliner oftener thaii the church. She
speaks of faaldon oftener than of virtue, and follows it closer
tlian she does her Saviour. She can see squaiitl misery and
low-bred vice without a blush or a twinge of the heart ; but a
plume out of fashion, or a table set in old style, would shock
her into a hysteric lit. Her example ! What is it but a breath
of poison to the young? 1 had as soon have vice stalking
bawdily in the presence of my children, as the graceless form
of fashion. Vice would look haggard and mean at first sight,
but fashion would be gilded into an attractive delusion. Oh,
fashion ! how thou art dwarfing the intellect and eating out
the heart of our people ! Genius is dying on thy luxurious
altar. And what a sacrifice ! Talent is withering into weak-
ness in thy voluptuous gaze .' Virtue gives up the ghost at thy
smile. Our youth are chasing after tiiee as a wanton in dis-
guise. Our young women are the victims of thine all-gi'eedy
lust And still thou art not satisfied, but, lik(- the devouriog
gi'ave, criest for more.

Friendship, its links must be forged on fashion's anvil, or it
is good for nothing. How shocking to be friendly with an
unfashionable lady ! It will never do. How soon one would
lose caste ! No matter if her mind is a treasury of gems, and
her heart a flower garden of love, and her life a hymn of grace
and praise, it will not do to walk on the streete with her, jr
intimate to anybody that j'ou know her. No one's intimB*^'

FASHION.

257

friend must he d la mode. Better bow to the shadow of a
belle's wing thaft rest in the bosom of a " strong-minded " wo-
rn an'y love.

And love, too, that must be fashionablo. It would be un-
pardonablo to love a plain man whom t'lshion could nr t seduce,
whose sem.e of right dictated Ids life, a man who doe-s not walk
perpendicular in a standing collar, and sport a watcli-fob,
and twirl a cane. And then to marry him would be death.
He would be just as likely to sit down in the kitcheu as in the
parlour ; and might get hold of the wood .saw aa often as the
guitar; and very likely he would have the baby right up in his
arms and I'eod it and roclc it to .sleep. A man who will make
himself useful about his own home is so exceedingly unfash-
ionablo that it will never do for a lady to marry him. She
would lose caste at once.

Abused women generally outlive fashionable ones. Crushed
and care-worn women see the pampered daughters of ffishion
wither and die around the.n, and wonder why death in kind-
ness does not come to take them away instead. The reason
is pjlain : fashion kills more women than toil and sorrow.
Obedience to fashion is a greater transgression of the laws of
woman's nature, a greater injury to her physical and mental
ooustitution, than the hardships of poverty and neglect. The
slave-woman at her tasks will live and grow old and see two
or three generations of her mistresses fade and pfias away.
The washerwoman, with scarce a ray of hope to cheer her in
her toils, r'^ill live to see her fashionable sisters all die around
her. The kitchen maid is hearty and strong, when her lady
has to be nursed like a sick baby. It is a iad truth, that
fashion-pampered wouionare almost worthless for all the great
ends of human life. They have but little force of character ;
they have still less power of moral will, and quite Jis little
physical enei'gy. They live for no great purpose in life; they
accomjjlish no worthy ends. Tiicy are only doll-forms in the
hands of milliners and servants, to be diessed and fed to order
They dress ujbody ; they feed uoboily ; they instruct nobody

258

ORESa.

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they bless nobody, and save nobody. They write no books ;
they set no rich examples of virtue and womanly life. If they
rear children, servants and nurses do it all, save to conceive
and give them birth. And whcu reared what are they ? What
do they evev amount to, but weaker scions of the old stock ?
Who ever heard of a fashionable woman's child exhibiting any
virtue or power of mind for which it becamtj eminent ? Read
the biograj)hies of our great and good men and women. Not
one of them hod a fashionable mother. They nearly all sprung
from plain, strong-minded women, who had about as little to
do with fashion as with the changing clouds.

There is one fashion that never changes. The sparkling eye,
the coral lip, the rose leaf blushing on the cheek, the elastic
step, are always in fashion. Plealth — rosy, bouncing, gladsome
health — is never out of fashion ; what pilgrimages are made,
what prayers are uttered for its possession ! Failing in the
pursuit what treasures are lavished in concealing its loss or
counterfeiting its charms ! Reader, if you love freedom more
than slavery, liberty more than thraldom, happiness more than
misery, competence more than poverty, never bow your knee
to the goddess fashion.

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if^ 00 KING thus upon the panoramic field of Ood's works,
J^ we must conclude that he ha.s taken especial care to
grptify the varying tastes of his creatures. And more
than this, we must conclude that He Himself has an infinite taste,
which finds an infinite pleasure in making and viewing this
magnificent universe of flashing splendour and sombre sweet-
ness, this field on field system beyond system, far ofi" where
human eye can never reach, all shining and moving in an in-

DRESS.

259

a.
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lis
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fiuite variety of forms, colours ?ind movements. Moi*eover, we
cannot but feel that God i8 a lover of dress. He has put on
robes of beauty and glory upon all his works. Every flower
is dressed in richness ; every field blushes beneath a mantle of
beauty ; every star is veiled in brightness ; every bird is clothed
in the habiliments of the most exquisite taste. The cattle upon
a thousand hills are dressed by the hand divine. Who, study-
ing God in His works, can doubt that He will smile upon the
evidence of correct taste manifested by His children in clothing
the forms He has made them ?

To love dress is not to be a slave of fashion ; to love dress
only is the test of such homage. To transact the business of
cliarity in a silk dress, and to go in a carriage to the W(;rk, in-
jures neither the work nor the worker. The slave of fashion
is one who assumes the livery of a princess and then omits the
errand of the good human soul ; dresses in elegance and goes
VMon no good errand, and thinks and does nothing of value to
mankind. It does, indeed, appear, that the woman of our land
is moving against all the old enemies of society. She herself
rises and is helping others.

Beauty in dress is a good thing, rail at it who may. But it
is a lower beauty, for which a higher beauty should not be
sacrificed. They love dress too much who give it their lirst
thought, their best time, or all their money ; who for it neglect
the culture of mind or heart, or the claims of others on their
service; who care more for their dreas than their disposition;
who are troubled more by an unfashionable bonnet than «
neglected duty.

Female loveliness never apj>ears to so good advantage as
when set oflf by simplicity of dress. No artist ever decks his
angels with towering feathers and gaudy jewellery ; and our dear
human angels— ? they would make good their title to that
name — should carefully avoid ornaments which properly belong
to Indian squaws and African princesses. These tinseliies may
serve to give efiect on the stage, or upon the ball-room floor,
but in daily life there is no substitute for the charm of sim-

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260

DRESS.

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plicity. A Tulgar taste Is not to be disguised by gold and
diamonds. The absence of a true taste and relineinent of del-
icacy cannot be compensated for by the possession of the moat
princely fortune. Mind measures gold, but gold cannot measure
mind. Through dress the mind may be read, as through the
<lelicate tissue the lettered page. A modest woman will dress
modestly ; a really retined and intelligent woman will bear the
marks of careful selection and faultless taste.

A coat that has the mark of use upon it is a recommenda-
tion to the people of sense, and a hat with too much nap and
too liigh lustre a derogatory circumstance. The best coats in
our streets are worn on the backs of penniless fo[)s, broken
down merchants, clerks with pitiful salaries, and men that do
not pay up. The heaviest gold chains dangle from the fobs of
gamblers and gentlemen of very limited means ; costly' orna-
ments on ladies indicate to the eyes that are well opened, the
fact of a silly lover or husband cranij>ed for fumJs. And wlien
a pretty woman goes V)y in plain and neat apparel, it is the pre-
sumption that she has fair expectations, and a husband that
can show a balance in his favour. For women are like booka
— too much gilding makes men suspicious that the binding i«
the most important part. The body is the shell of the soul
and the dress is the husk of the body ; but the husk general] y^
tells what the kernel is. As a fashional:>ly dressed young lady
passed some gentlemen, one of them i-aisod hiii hat, whereupon
another, struck by the fine ap[)earance of the lady, made son:ie
inquiries concerning her, and was answered thus : " She makes
a pretty oinament in her father's house, but otherwise is of no
use."

The love of beauty and refinement belong to every true wo-
man. She ought to desire, in moderation, pretty dresses, and de-
light in beautiful colours and graceful fabrics; she ought to
take a certain, not too expensive, pride in herself, and be soli-
citous to have all belonging to her well-chosen and in good taste :
to care for the perfect ordering of her house, and harmony ana
fitness of her furniture, the cleanliness of her surround ingf>.

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S61

•

and good style of her arrangements -. she ought not to like
singularity, either of habit or appearance, or be able to stand
out against a fashion when fashion has become a custom ; she
ought to make herself conspicuous only by the perfection of
her taste, by the grace and harmony of her dress, and unob-
trusive good-breeding of her manne7"s ; she ought to set the
seal of gentlewoman on every squiiro inch of her life, and shed
the radiance of her ov.-n beauty and refinement on every ma-
terial object ab<-iut her.

The richest dress is alway>! worn on the soul. The adorn-
ments that will not perish, and that all men most admire, shine
iwm the heart through this life. God has made it our highest,
holiest duty to flress the soul He has given us. It is wicked to
waste it in frivolity. It is a beautiful, undying, precious thing.
If every young woman would think of her soul when she looks
ill the giafis, would hear the cry of her naked mind when she
dallies away her precious hours at her toilet, would listen to the
sad moaning of her hollow heart, as it wails through her i(.lle,
uneless life, something would be done for the tdevation of wo-
manhood. Compare a well-dressed body with a well-dressed
mind. Compare a taste for dress with a taste for knowledge,
culture, virtue and piety. Dress up an ignorant young woman
in the "height of fashion;" put on plumes and tiowers, dia-
monds and gewgaws ; paint her face and girt up her waist, and
I a.sk you if this side of a painted feathered savage, you can
find anything more unpleasant to behold. And yet just 8\xch
young women we meet by the hundred every day on the street
and in all our public places. It is awful to think of. Why is
it so ? It is only because woman is regarded as a doll to be
dressed — a plaything to be petted — a house ornament to ex-
hibit—a thing to be used and kept from crying with a sugar-
plum-show. '

What multitudes of yonng womt n waste all that is precious
in life on the tinical fooleries of the toilet. How the soul of
womanhood is dwarfed and shrivelled by such trifles, kept away
from the great fields of active thought and love by the gewgaws

■,cj.

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DHE!^.

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she hangM on her bonnet ! How light must bo that thing w t. ich
will float on the sea of passion — a bubble, a feather, a pull' luiU !
And yet multituiles of women float there, live there, ami call
it life. Poor things ! Scara on the surface ! But there is a
truth, young women ; woman was made for ,1 higher pur{.ose,
a nobler use, a grander destiny. Her powurs are rich and
stiong; her genius bold and daring. She amy walk the tit.dds
of thought, aclueve the victories of mind, s{)read around her
the testimonials of her worth, and make herself knuwu and
felt as man's co-worker and e(iual in whatsoever exalts mind,
embellishes life, or sanctities humanity.

The true object and importance of taste in :lres8 few unc'ler-
stand. Let no woman suppose that any man can bo really in-
different to her appearance. The instinct ma^ be deadeneil in
hia mind by slatteruly, negligent mother or oy plain mai.loB
sisters; but she may be sure it is there, ai.J, with little adroi t-
ness, Ciipable of revival. Of course, the immediate efiect ol a
well-chosen feminine toilet operates diffenmtly in different
minds. In some, it causes a sense of actual pleasure ; in othej's,
a consciousness of passive enjoyment. In some, it is intensely
felt while it is present ; in others only missed when it is gone.

Dress affects our manners. A man who is badly dressed
feels chilly, sweaty, and prickly. He stammers, and does not
always tell the truth. He means to, perhaps, but he can't.
He is half distracted about his pantaloous, which are much t<.)o
short, and are constantly hitching up ; or his frayed jacket and
crumpled linen harrow his soul, and quite unmans him. He
treads on the train of a lady's dress, and says " Thank you,"
sits down on his hat, and wishes tho " desert were his dwelling
place."

A friend of ours, who had long been absent, returned and
called upon two beautiful young ladies of his aciiuaintance.
One came quickly to gieet him in the neat, yet not precise at-
tire, in which she was performing her household duties. The
other, after the lapse of half an hour, made her stateh en-
trance, m all the primness of starch and ribbons, with which

CHURCn DRESS.

i!e»

on the announcement of his entrance, she had hastened to be-
deck herself. Our friend, who had long been hesitating on his
choice between the two, now hesitated no longer. The cordi-
ality with which the first hastened to greet nim, and the charm-
ing careleasneas of her attire, entirely wori his heart. She is
now his wife. Young ladies, takp wan\ing from the above, and
never refuse to see a irieud because you have on a Wiwh gown.
Be assured the true gentleman will not think less of you bo-
cause he finds you in the performaixce of your duties, and not
ashamed to let it be known. Besides, there may positively be
a grace, a witching wildness about an every-day dre.ss, that
ftdds to every cliarm of face and feature.

tHE best bred people of every Christian country, but our
own, avoid all personal display when engaged in worship
and prayer. Our churches, on the contrary, are made
places for the exhibition of fine apparel and other costly, flaunt-
ing compliances with fashion, by those who boast of superior
wealth and manners. We shall leave our gewgawed devotees
to i iiciie humiliation in worship with vanity in dress. That
ib .. problem which we confes.s we have neither the right nor
the capacity to solve. How far fine clothes may atiect the
personal piety of the devotee we do not pretend even to con-
jecture ; but we have a very decided opinion in regard to their
influence upon the religion of others. The fact is, that our
churches are so fluttering with birds of fine feathers, th.^t no
sorry fowl wiU venture in. It is impossible for poverty in
rags and patches, or even in decent but humble costume, to
take its seat, if it should be so fortunate as to find a place, by
the side of wealth in brocade and broadcloth. The poor are
so awed by the preten.sion of superior dress and " the proud
man's costume," that they naturally avoid too close a proximity

ft-yMr^''Y' ■■^>-^->-»"'

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CHURCH DHESi3

to them. The church being the only place on this side of the
grave denigned for the rich and the poor to meet together in
equal prostration before God, it certainly should always be kept
free for this conunon humiliation and brotherhood. It is so in
most of the churches in Europe, where the beggar in rags and
wretchedness, and the wealtliiest and most eminent, whose ap-
propriate sobriety of dress leaves them without mark of exter-
nal distinction, kneel down together, equalized by a common
humiliation before the only Supreme Being,

No person can attend upon the services of any of our churches
in towns and cities, and worship God without distraction. One
needs continually to oifer the prayer " take off my eyes from
beholding vanity." But he must be blind to have his prayer
answered, for the sight c .he eyes always atfects the heart.
There is the rustle of rich silks, the flutter of gay fans, the nod-
ding of plumes and tlowers , the tilting of laces, of ribbons, of
:;urls; here is head frizzed till it looks more like a picture of
the Furies than that of a Miss of " sweet sixteen," and there is
another with hair hanging full length, waxed and dressed so as
to four-fold its (quantity ; there are bracelets and ear-rings, and
fantasies of every sort and every hue ; everything that is ab-
surd and foolish in fashion, and everything that is grotes(jue
and ridiculous in trying to ape fashion ; all these are before
you, between you and the speaker, the altar whereon is laid the
sacrifice of prayer, and from whence the truth is dispensed ! How
can you worship God ? how can you hear with any profit ?

With dress and fashion, its propriety, its sin or folly, in the
abstract, we are not now dealing ; only with its improper dis-
play in the house of God. Tf persons have the taste, and the
means tc gratify that taste, in expensive, showy apparel, let
them have it to display at home, or abroad, at parties, at the
opera — anywhere, but in the sanctuary.

The adoption of more simple apparel for church on the part
of the rich, in this country, would have the eftect, certainly not
of diminishing their own personal piety, but probably of increas-
ing the disposition for ieligiou.« observance on the part of the
poor.

MANNERS,

266

[»nners.

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ANNERS are different in every country ; but true polite-
ness is every where the same. Munnei-s, which cake up
so much of our attention, are only artificial helps which
ignorance ascuraes in order to imitate politeness, which is tho
result of good sense and good nature. A person possessed of
those qualities, though ho had never seen a court, is truly agree-
able ; and if without them, would continue a clown, though he
had been all his life a gentleman usher. He who assumes airs
of importance exhibits his credentials of insignificance. There
i« no policy like politeness ; and a good manner is the best
thing in the world to get a good name, or to supp'y the want
of it. Good manners are a part of good morals, and it is as
much our duty as our interest to practise in both. Good man-
ners is the art of making those around us easy. Whoever
makes the fewest persons uneasy is the best bred man in the
compan}'. Good manners should begin at home. Politeness
is not an article to be worn in all dress only, to be put on when
we have a complimentary visit. A person never appears so
ridiculous by the qualities he has, as by those he aflfects to jave.
He gains more by being contented to be seen as he is, thai: by
attempting to appeal- what he is not. Good manners is the
result of much good sense, some good nature, and a little self
denial, for the sake of others, and with a view to obtain the
same indulgence from them. " Manners make the man," says
the proverb. It may be true that some men's manners have
been the making of them ; but as marmers are rather the ex-
pression of the man ; it would bo more proper to say — man
makes the manners. Social courtesies should emanate from the
heart, for remember always that the worth of manners consists
in being the sincere expressions of feelings. Like the dial of
the watch, tbey should indicate that the work witliiii is good
and true.

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The young slioukl be mannorly, but thoy feel timid, basyiful
and self-distrustful the Tnom(!nt thoy are addressed by a stran-
ger, or appear in (xjnipany. There is but one way to get over
this feeling, and acquire oa8y and gi-aceful manners, and that ia
to do the best they can at home as well as abroad. Good man-
ners- are not learned so much as ac<iuired by habit. They grow
upon us by use. Wo must be courteous, agreeable, civil, kind,
gentlemanly, and manly at home, and tlien it will become a
kind of second nature everywhere. A coarse rougli manner at
home begets a habit of roughness, which we cannot leave off
if we try, when we go among strangers. The most agT"eea})l^
persons in company are those who are the most agreeable at
home. Home is the school for all the best ihing.i.

Good manners are an essential part of life-education, and
their importance cannot be too largely magnified, when we con-
sider that they are the outward expression of an inward virtue.
And how often is this exhibition of the virtue of frankness, gen-
tleness and sweet simplicity, tlie safest and surest recommend-
ation of those who come to us as strangers in quest of friendly
aid. It is quite raarveilous, from the fact that by no special
training, no aristocratic examples, no con ventionah ties but
those of nature, the gifts of good sense, a true sense of propriety
and native tact, are sufficient qualificaticnis to enable as to glide
freely and irreproachal)ly among the elaborated subjects of &
regal court. A foreigner once remarked to mo, " An American
is received in any circle in England," but weie we boorish in
manner, and without mental accompli: amenta, this privilege
would not be accorded to us.

The true art of being agreeable is to appear well pleased
with all the company, and rather to seem well entertained with
them, than to bring entertainment to them. A man thus dis-
posed, perhaps, may not have much sense, learning, nor any
wit, but if he has common, and something friendly in his be-
haviour, it conciliates men's minds more than the brightest
parts without this disposition; it i:? true indeed that we should
not disserrble and flatter in company ; but a man may be very

MANNERS.

267

agreeable, strictly consistent with truth and fincerity, by a
prudent Hilenco where he cannot concur, and a plefising aHRentr*
where he can. Now and then you meet with a peraon so ex-
actly formed to please that ho will gain ui)on every one that-
hears or beholds him ; this disposition is not merely the gift-
of nature, but frequently the effect of much knowledge of the-
world, and a command over the passions.

It is unfortunate that the agreeable should bo so often found
in unison with the frivolous, for frivolity makes great encroach-
ments upon dignity.

Levity of manners is prejudicial to every virtue. -Avoid all
sourness and austerity of manners. Virtue is a pleasant and
agreeable quality, and gay and civil wisdom is always engaging.

There are a thousand pretty, engaging little ways which
every peraon may put on, without running the risk of being
deemed either affected or foppish. The sweet smile ; the quiet,
cordial bow ; the earnest movement in addressintr a friend —
more especially a stranger — whom one may recommend to our
good regards; the inquiring glance; the graceful attention,
which is so captivating when uni<A3d with self-possession ; these
will secure us the good regards of even a churl. Above all,
there is a certain softness of manner which should be cultiva-
ted, and which, in either man or woman, adds a charm that al-
ways entirely compeasates for a lack of beauty.

Lord Chatham, who was almost as remarkable for his man-
Ders as for his eloquence, and public spirit, has thus defended
good breeding : " Benevolence in trifles, or a preference of
others to ourselves in the little daily occurrences of life."

Says Emerson, " I wish cities would teach their best lesson
— of quiet manners." It is the foible especially of American
youth — pretension. The mark of the man of the world is ab-
sence of pretension. He does not make a speech ; he takes a
low business tone, avoids all brag, is nobody, dresses plainly,
promises not at all, performs much, speaks in monosyllables,
hugs his fact. He calls his employment by its lowest name,
and 80 takes from evil tongues their sha pest weapon. His

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268

MANNERS.

conversation clings to the weather and the news, yet he allows
himself to be surprised into thought, and the unlocking of his
learning and philosophy.

One of the most marked tests of character is the manner in
which we conduct ourselves toward others. A graceful beha-
viour toward superiors, inferiors, and equals, is a constant source
of pleasure. It pleases others because it indicates respect for
their personality, but ii gives tenfold more pleasure to ourselves.
Every isan may to a large extent be a self -educator in good
behaviour, as in everything else ; he can be civil and kind, if
he will, though he have not a penny in his purse.

If dignity exists in the mind, it will not be wanting in th6
mannera. When no seat was offered to the Indian chief Te-
cumseh, in the council, and he exclaimed, in a spirit of elevated
but offended pride (at the same time wrapping his blanket
around him), " The sun is my father, and the earth is my mo-
ther, I will recline upon her bosom," and then seated himself
upon the ground, he displayed a striking instance of genuine
and manly dignity. He might have stood for centuries, mak-
ing Parisian attitudes and grimaces,

" With studied gestures ur well-practised smiles,"

and not have been lialf so noble, commanding and dignified, as
by thia sublime expression and this simple act.

Dr. Hail sayn : " The language of a man is a reasonably good
index of his character ; the trifler abounds in slang words and
slang phrases ; the vulgar and low-bred use most glibly the
depredative adjective ; they revel in the expletives of liar,
scoundrel, swindler ; the educated the cultivated, and the re-
fined, speak softly, quietly, gently ; every word is uttered with
composure, even under circumottnces of Biggravation ; if an-
noyed, their severest reproof is expressive silence ; and always
they maintain their self respect."

Manners are the ornament of action ; and there is a way of
■peaking a kind word, or of doing a kind thing, which greatly

MANNERS.

269

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enhances their value. What seems to be done with n grudge,
or as an act of condescension, is scarcely accepted as a favour.
Yet there are men who pride themselves upon their gruffnoss ;
and though they may possess virtue and capacity, their man-
ner is often formed to render tLom almost insupportable. It
is difficult to like a man who, though he may not pull your
nose, habitually wounds your self-respect, and takes a pride in
saying disagreeable things to you. There are others who are
dreadfully condescending, and cannot avoid seizing upon every
small opportunity of making their greatness felt.

The cultivation of manner — though in excess it is foppish
and foolish — is highly necessary in a person who has occasion
to negotiate with others in matters of business. Affability and
good-breeding may even be regarded as essential to the success
of a man in any eminent station and enlarged sphere of life ;
for the want of it has not unfrequently been found in a great
measure to neutralize the results of much industry, integrity,
and honesty of character. There are, no doubt, a few strong,
tolerant minds which can bear with defects and angularities of
manner, and look only to the more genuine qualities ; but the
world at large is not so forbcarant, and cannot help forming
its judgments and likings mainly according to outward conduct.

Agreeable manners contribute wonderfully to a man's suc-
cess. Take two men, possessing equal advantages in every
other respect ; but let one be gentlemanly, kind, obliging and
conciliating ; the other disobliging, rude, harsh and insolent,
and the one will become rich while the other will starve.

Good manners are not only an embellishment to personal
charms, but an excellent substitute for them when they do not
exist. Whon the attraction.s of beauty have disappeared, there
should be an elegance of retin'^ment of manners to supply their
place. Beauty is the gift of nature, but manners are acquired
by cultivation and practice ; and the neglect of them is seldom
pardoned by the world, which exacts this deference to its opin-
ions, and this conformity to the least mistakable of its judg*
ments.

270

THE TRUE O EN TLB MAN.

f'-

Th«> accomplishments so much esteemed in some part8 of the
world, may be disregarded elsewhere, but wisdom and virtue,
intelligence and worth, are universally respected wid ai>precia-
ted, and exhibit that kind of deportment which is eveiywhere
approved and honoured.

If Christianity had no higher recommendation th«i this, that
it makes a man a "gentleman, it would still be an invaluable
element. The New Testament inculcates good manners. Our
Saviour was courteous even to His persecutors. Look at Paul
before Agrippa ! His speech is a model of dignified noortesy
as well as of persuasive eloquence. A spirit of kindly conside-
ration for all men characterized the Twelve. The same mild,
self-sacrificing spirit which pervaded the sayings and doings of
the early disciples is exhibited by the true followers of the
Cross at the present day. A man, it is true, may be .suiierficiaUy
polite without being a Christian ; bi Christian by the v«^
conditions of his creed and the obligations of his faith, is nefc-
cessarily in mind and soul — and therefore in word and act — r
gentleman.

\\t Sritc ^ctttlcinan.

HEN you have found a man, you have not far to g»
to find a gentleman. You cannot make a gold ring
out of brass. You cannot change a Cape May crysta.'
to a diamond. You cannot make a gentleman till you first
find a man.

To be a gentleman is not sufiicient to have had a grand-
father. To be a gentleman does not depend on the tailor or the
toilet. . Blood will degenerate. Good clothes are not good
habits.

A gentleman is a man who is gentle. Titles, graceful aceonh
plishments, superior culture, princely wealth, grai^ tal<rate.

THE TliUE GENTLEMAN,

271

genius, Jo not constitute a man with all the attributes needed
to make him a gentleman. He may ho awkward, angular,
homely, or poor, and yet belong to the uncniwned aristocracy.
His face may be bronzeil at the forgo or bleached in the mill,
his hand huge and hard, his patched vest, like Joseph's coat, of
many colours, and he may still be a true gentleman. The dandy
is a dry -goods sign, and not a gentleman, for he depends upon
dress and not upon his honour and virtue, for his passport to
the best circles of society. " The man who has no money is poor,
he who has nothing but money is poorer than he," and is not a
gentleman. Some of the most distinguished men in the world
of letters, in the world of art, have been una miable, gross, vul-
gar, ungentle, consequently not gentlemen.

There is true dignity in labour, atid no true dignity without
it. He who looks down scornfully on labour is like Hermes,
who had a mouth and no hands, and yet made faces at those
who fed him — mocking the lingers that brought bread to hb
lips.

He who writes a book, or builds a house, or tills a farm, or
follows any useful employment, lives to some purpose, and con-
tribuies something to the fimd of human happiness.

Garibaldi, the greatest hero of the age, is a working man.
Henry Clay was " the mill-boy of the slashes." Daniel Web-
ster knit his iron frame into strength by working on his father's
farm when young.

A gentleman is a human being, combining a woman's tender*
ness with a man's courage.

A gentleman is just a gentleman: no more, no less; a dia-
mond polished that was first a diamond in the rough. A gen-
tleman is gentle. A gentleman is modest. A gentleman is
courteous. A gentleman is slow to tiike ofience, as being one
who never gives it. A gentleman is slow to surmise evil, as
being one who never thinks it. A gentleman subjects his ap-
petites. A gentleman refines his taste. A gentleman subduei
hb t'eelings. A gentleman controls his speech. A gentleman
deems every other better than himself.

272

TUB TRUE GENTLEMAN.

■ i j \ 1

1 1 1

Sir Pliilip Sydney was never so much of a gentleman, -mir-
ror though he was of English knighthood — as when, upon the
field of Zutphen, as he lay in his own bloo'l, he waived the
draught of cool spring water, that was to quench his dying
thirst, in favour of a wounded soldier.

St. Paul describes a gentleman when he exhorted the Philip-
pian Clniatians : " Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever
things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things
are of good report, if there be any virtue, if there be any praise,
think of these things." And Dr. Isaac Barlow, in his admir-
able sermon on the callings of a gentleman, pointedly says :
•* He should labour and study to be a leader unto virtue, and a
notable promoter thereof ; directing and exciting men thereto
by his exemplary conversation ; encouraging them by his coun-
tenance and authority; rewarding the goodness of meaner
people by his bounty and favour ; he should be such a gentle-
man as Noah, who preached righteousness by his words and
woiks before a profane world."

One very frequently hears the remark made, that such and
such a man " can be a gentleman when he pleases." Now
when our reader next hears this expression made use of, lot
him call to mind the following : He who " can be a gentleman
when he pleases," never pleases to be anytiiing else.

A gentleman, like porcelain ware, must be painted before it
is glazed. There can be no change after it is burned in.

The sword of the best-tempered metal is the most flexible,
Bo the truly generous are the most pliant and courteou.s in their
behaviour to their inferiors.

The true gentleman is one whose nat'ire has been fashioned
after the highest models. His qualities depend not upon
fashion or manners, but upon moral worth — ^not on personal
possessions, but on personal qualities. The psalmist briefly
describes him as one " that walketh uprightly, and worketh
righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart."

The gentleman is eminently distinguished by his self-reapect.
He values his character — not so much of it only as can be seen

THB TRUE QENTLBMAN.

273

hf others, bat as he seee it himself, havLig regard for the ap-
proval of his inward monitor. And, as he respects himself, so,
by the same law, does he respect others. Humanity is sacred
In his eyes, and thence proceed politeness and forbearance,
kindness and charity.

The taTie gentleman has a keen sense of honour — scrupu-
lously avoiding meiin actions. His standard of probity in word
and action is high. He does not shuffle nor prevaricate, dodge
nor skulk ; but is honest, upright, and straightforward. His
law is rectitude — action in right lines. When he says yea, it
is a law ; and he dares to say the valiant no at the fitting sea-
son. The gentleman will not be bribed ; only the low-minded
and unprincipled will sell themselves to those who are in-
terested in buying them.

Riches and rank have no necessary connectiori with genuine
gentlemanly qualities. The poor n.an may be a true gentleman
— ^in spirit and in daily life. He may be honest, truthful, up-
right polite, temperate, courageous, self-respecting and self-help-
ing — that is, be a true gentleman. Th^i poor man with a rich
spirit is in all wnys superior to the rich man with a poor spirit.
To borrow St. Paul's words, the former is as " having nothing,
yet possessing all things," while the other, though possessing
all things, has nothing. The first hopes everything and fears
nothing ; the last hopes nothing and fears everything. Only
the poor in spirit are really poor. He who has lost all, but
retains his courage, cheerfulnens, hope, virtue aad salf-raepect.
It a true gendeman.

y'.'j-'. -j«B

274

WIT.

Ill

'^^

1 ■
t

!.i

Sense ii our helmet — wit is bnt a plnme ;
The plume exposes — 'tis our helmet uree.

ENTJTNE wit may be compared to a ka'eidoscope; every
time it is shaken, it presents new and beautiful figures,
the latter pleases the eye, and enables carpet and calico
manu&cturers to obtain new designs for their work ; the for-
mer pleases us all over, without really }>enefifcing us any where.
Like lightning in a dark night, its illuminations are momen-
tary in most cases. Shcridans and Hopkinsons are very rare.
They were as highly charged with wit, as a cloud sometimes
is with the electric fluid, emitting flashes in such quick succes-
sion, that darkness is scarcely visible.

Wit, like a coquette, is pleasing company for the time being ;
but no man, knowing her character, courts her with the inten-
tion of marriage, and no sensible man is long edified with her
company.

He who eudeavouKi to oblige the company by his good-na-
ture never fails of being beloved ; he who strives to entertain
it by his good sense never fails of being esteemed ; but he who
is continually aiming to be witty, generally miscarries of his
aim ; his aim and intention is to be admired, but it is his mis-
fortune either to be despised or detested — to be despised for
want of judgment, or detested for want of humanity. For we
seldom admire the wit when we dislike the man. There are a
great many to whom the world would be so charitable as to
allow them to have a tolerable share of common sense, if they
did not set up for something more than common, something
▼ery uncommon, bright, and witty. If we would trace the
faults of conversation up to their original source, most of them
might, I believe, be resolved into tbis, that men had rather ap-
pear shining than be agreeable in company. They are endea-
vouring to raise admiration instead of gaining love and goo I-

WIT.

27C

m\\, whereas the latter is in everybody's |x>wer, the former i u
:hat of very few.

There is a? much difference between wit and wisdom, as be-
tween the talent of a buffoon and a statesman. Wit is
brushwood, judgment is timber. The one gives the greatest
dame, the other yields the most durable hoat ; and both meet-
ing make the best fire.

Wit and wisdom may be found in the same person but when
the fonner is flashing, its glare hides the latter. It serves to
amuse and exhilarate, but rarely produces profitable reflection,
or elevates sound common sense. It is emphatically a plume,
and exposes the head it ornaments to many an arrow from
the bow of revenge. Some wits had ratlier lose a friend than
a keen, cutting remark upon him. This has often occurred,
and is exchanging treasure for trash. Wit may obtain many
conquests, but no willing subjects. It is like echo, it always
has the last word. It is more difficult to manage than steam,
and often wounds by its explosions. It produces many bon
mots, and but few wise sayings. It is like some heartless
•iportsmen, who shoot every bird indiscriminately, and kill
more innocent ones, unfit for food, than hawks, that prey upon
Dui poultry.

Wit losas its respect with the good when seen in company
with malice; and to smile at the jest which plants a thorn in
another's breast, is to become a principal in the mischief.

Finally, flashing wit is an undefined and undefinable propen-
sity — more to be admired than coveted ; more ornamental
than useful ; more volatile than solid ; a dangerous, sharp edged
tool, often cutting its most skilful master ; rarely imparting
substantial benefits to mankind ; but often serious injury.

Let your wit rather serve you for a buckler to defend your-
self, by a handsome reply, than the sword to wound others,
though with never so facetious a reproach, remembenng that a
word cuts deeper than a sharper weapon, and the wound it
makes is longer cuiin;^'. Let those who have it, endeavour to
control it, and those who have it not, can make better use ot
the sense thev have.

^'" ^

176

TRUTH.

i^ntk-

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OD is the anthor of truth, the devil the father of liea
If the telling of a truth shall endanger thy life, tha
author of truth will protect thee from the danger, or
reward thee for thy damage. If the telling of a lie may secure
thy life, the father of lies will beguile thee of thy gains, or tra-
duce the security. Better by losing of a life to save it, than
by saving of a life to lose it. However, better thou perish
than the truth.

Herodotus tells us, in the first book of hi history, that from
the age of five years to that of twenty, the ancient Persians
instructed their children only in three things, viz.: to manage
a horse, to shoot dexterously with the bow, and to apeak the
trvih. Which shows of how much importance they thought it
to fix this virtuous habit on the minds of youth betimes.

The smallest dew drop on the meadow at night has a star
sleeping in its bosom, and the most insignificant passage of
Scripture has in it a shining truth. Truth bears the impress
of her own divinity, and though reason may not be able to take
cognizance of the fact, she may be filling the chambers of tha
soul with a light and glory that is not bom of earth.

The study of truth is perpetually joined with the love (rf
virtue, for there's no virtue which derives not its original from
truth, as, on the contrary, there is no vice which has not its be-
ginning from a lie. Truth is the foundation of all knowledge
and the cement of all society.

The adorer of truth is above all present things. Firm in th«
midst of temptation, and frank in the midst of treachery, h*
will be attacked by those who have prejudices, simply becaiiM
he is without them, decried as a bad bargain by all who want
to [)urchase, because lie alone is not to be bought, and abaaed
by all parties because he is the advocate of none ; lik^ the

TRUTH.

Dolphin, which is always painted more ci-ooked than a ram'n
horn, although every naturalist knows that it is the straightest
iish that swims.

Truth is a standard according to which all things are to be
judged. When we appeal to it, it should be with sincerity of
purpose and honesty of feeling. Divesting ourselves of all par-
tiality, passion, paradox, and prejudice — of every kind of soph-
istry, subterfuge, chicanery, concealment and disguise, and
laying the soul open to what is honest, right, and true, our only
desire should be to judge of things as they really are, and can-
didly and truly to acknowledge and receive them as such. For
this is truth — the 'perception and representation of things as
they are.

Truth, divine in its nature and pure before heaven, is the
foundation of all human excellence, the keystone of all sincere
affection, and the seal of true discipleship with the Good Shep-
herd. It is impossible to love one in whose truthfulness we
cannot confide ; or to slight one, whose words, and purposes,
and actions, are " without dissimulation." Truth, or silence,
should be our alternative; and we should not disturb the
" soul's sweet complacency," by addicting ourselves to the too
frequent deceptions of " good breeding," or the " necessary
subterfuges of society." Good breeding needs not to be sus-
tained or appreciated through falsehood or affectation, and a
social system which involves the practice of fubtei'fuge is
wrong in its basis and corroding in its tendency. Into God's
holy place — our hoped-for future home, and after the ineffable
beauty of which every earthly household, and circle, and hu-
man heart should be modelled — ^nothing can enter which " lov-
eth or maketh a lie."

No bad man ever wished that his breast was made of glass,
or that others could read his thoughts. But the misery is, that
the duplicities, the temptations, and the infinnities that sur-
round us have rendered the truth, and nothing but the trutii,
as hazardous ^nd contraband a commodity as a man can pos-
sibly deal in. Woe to falsehood I it affords no relief to the

vva

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278

TRUTH.

i. If

fMi

breiwt like truth; it givoH us no comfort, pains him \^ho
forges it, and like an arrow directed by a god, tlies back and
wounds the archer. It a man be sincerely wedded to truth, he
must make up his mind to find her a portionless virgin, and he
must take her for herself alone. The contract, too, must be to
love, clicrish and obey her, not only until death, but beyond it ;
for this is an union that must survive not only death, but time,
the conqueror of death. There is nothing which all mankind
venerate and admire so much as simple truth, exempt from
artifice, duplicity and design. It exhibits at once a strength
of character and integrity of purpose in which all are willing
to confide.

Painters and sculptors have given us many ideal representa-
tions of moral and intellectual qualities and conceptions, and
have presented us with the tangible forms of beauty and grace,
heroism and courage, and many others. But which one of thi.'ra
will or can give us a correct and faithful delineation and em-
bodiment of truth ? — that we may place it upon our altars and
in our halls, in public and in private places, that it may be
honoured and worshipped in every home and in every heart 1

We see in an instant the immense importance of acquiring
and inculcating habits of the strictest truth. Whatever so es-
sentially tends to the concord and felicity of society, it must
be of momentous consequence to cherish and promulgate. No
idea can be formed of the important effect such habits would
produce. The most perfect confidence would not be the least
of its benefits, and the most perfect inward tranquillity. For
no species of deception can be practised without causing vexa-
tion and trouble to the practicer, and manj' a cheek has blushed
and many a heart palpitated at the apprehended or realized de-
tection of mistakes and exaggeration in common conversation.
Exaggeration is but another name for falsehood ; to exagge-
rate is to pass the bounds of truth ; and how can those bounds
he passed, without entering upon the precincts of falsehood.
There can be but a true or false representation. There cau b»
no medium ; what is not true must be false.

w a par a s

JVDQMBHT.

179

Of the public estimation iri which truth is held, we hnvo
numerous examples. Every one caji enter into the animating,
the delightful emotion with which Petrarch must have received
the gratifying tribute of public applause, when, on his appear-
ing as witness in a cause, and approaching the tribunal to take
the accustomed oaths, he was informed that such was the con-
fidence of the court in his veracity he would not be required
to take any oath, his word was sufficient

Was not the praise bestowed on Petrarch a tacit avowal that
veracity such as his was very rarely known ? Nothing can be
more easy than to speak truth, the unwise, the poor, the ignoble,
the youthful can all ecjually practice it. Nothing can be
more difficult than to speak falsely ; the wise, the rich, the
great, the aged, have all failed in their attempts. It would be
an easy road to distinction to be pre-eminent in an adherence
to truth. We could enumerate many besides Petrarch who have
acquired respect by it among their fellow-citizens, and the cele-
brity in the page of history. Can there be offered a more ob-
tainable, a more gratifying, a more noble object oi emulation to
the youthful heai't ?

^T is the office of judgment to compare the ideas received
through the senses with one another, and thereby to gain
right conceptions of things and events. Hence it by de-
grees forms for itself a standard of duty and propriety, accu-
mulates rulei» and maxims for conduct, and materials for re-
flection and meditation.

The judgment not only receives, investigates and airangee
the ideas presented to it, but it also regulates and directs the
other faculties, where their exertions may be most beneficial

«H*i

280

JUDGMENT.

and compensating. It ^^^^ restrains thfcm from undue excur-
siveness, and prevents their wandering into unprofitable and
vicious efforts.

The most necessary talent in a man of conversation, which
is what we ordinarily intend by a gentlemen, \& a good judg-
ment. He that has this in perfection is master of his com-
panion, without letting him see it ; and has the same advan-
tage over men of any other qualifications whatsoever, as one
that can see would have over a blind man of ten times his
strength.

Judgment, too, is abused in its use, especially kvhen u-sed to
judge others. Knaves try to help themselves, by pretending to
help otliers. Great ingenuity, industry and perseverance are
manifested in the modes of attack. False sympathy, flattery,
a tender concern for your interest, bare-faced impudence and
hypocrisy, make their attacks in front — whilst slander, false-
hood, dark innuendoes and damning praise, Jiasail the rear,
Pliny says, that Julius CcBsar blamed so ingeniously, that his
censures were mistaken for praise. Many, at the present day,
praise only to reproach. As has been observed by an eminent
writer, " they use envenomed praise, which, by a side blow, ex-
poses, in the person they commmend, such faults as they dare
not in any other way lay open." Deep is the poison of calumny
infused in this way — the venom of a coward, and the cunning
of a knave combined.

He that sees ever so accurately, ever so finely into the mo-
tives of other people's acting, may possibly be entirely ignor-
ant as to his own : it is by the mental as the corporeal eye, the
object may be placed too near the sight to be seen truly, aa
well as 80 far ofl*; nay, too near to be seen at alL

\ \

i; I

A RIGHT judgment
Orawi profit from all things we aeo.

The great misfortune arising from a disposition to judfpe
others, and meddle with their affairs, coutiistB in its being void

JUDGMENT.

281

of ger "line philanthropy. Rare instances may occur when a
person intrudes himself upon another for good — but such in-
trusions are, " like angfds' visits, few and far between." It is
on the contrary, and by far more numerous class, that we speak
— men and women, who look at others through a smoked glass
—that they may avoid the brightness of tho good qualities,
and discover more clearly the bad — who first perform the office
of the green fly, that other flies may prey upon the putridity
they produce — scavengers of reputation, who gather the faults,
blemishes, and infirmities of their neighbours into a Pan<lom
box — and there pamper them, like a turtle for a holiday dinner
— until they are inflated to an enormous size ; they are then
thrown into the market, and astonish every beholder.

Devils l>lu.sh, and. angels weep over such a disposition as
tlis. It is a canker worm in the body politic — the destroyer
of reputation ; the bane of peace m society; the murderer of
innocence ; a foul blot upon human nature ; a curse in commu-
nity, and a disgrace to our species.

Its baleful influence is f.^Jt, its demoniac effrjts are exper-
ienced, in all the walks of life. In the political arena — within
the pale of the church, and in the domestic circle — its miasma
is infused. The able statesmen, the profound jurist, the elo-
quent advocate, the pulpit orator, the investigating philosopher,
the skilful ph3\sician, the judicious merchant, tho industrious
mechanic, the honest farmer, the day labourer, the humblest
peasant, the child in the nursury — have all experienced the
scorpion lashes of this imp of Satan. Nay, more — female
character, basking in the sunshine of innocence, has often been
withered, blighted, ruined, by its chilling breath.

Ijet each reader examine and see if this propensity, so deeply
rooted in human nature, is exercising an influence over his or
her mind. If so, banish it from your bosom, as you would a
deadly viper. Let its enormity be held up to children, by
'parents and teachers, that they may learn to dread, despise,
and avoid it. Teach them charity, forbearance, £prgiveues%
and all the virtues tihat adorn our race.

'^^^^r^SK^j T i ji rii l iiw wwb—wi ii i rmii iii w i

282

PATIENCE.

Dear reader, does this propensity exist in your heart ? If
so, banish it, for it will do you much harm, and in time ruin
your soul-

Becoining Graces
Are Jiistioe, Verity, Temperance, Stablenes*.
Bonnty, Perseverance, Mercy, LowlineaSt
Devotion, Patience, Coui-age, Fortitude.

<>» »■

tocntt.

: I

man, in any condition of life, can pass his days with
tolerable comfort without patience. It is of univei'sal
use. Witliout it, prosperity will be continually dis-
turbed, and adversity will be cloudea Hh double darkness.
He who is withoi t patience will be uneasy and troublesome to
all with whom he is connected, and will be more troublesome
to himself t>'an to any other. The loud complaint, the queru-
lous temper and fretful spirit, disgrace every chai'acter : we
weaken thereby the sympathy of others, and estrange them
from offices of kindness and comfort. But to maintain a steady
and unbroken mind, amidst all the shocks of adversity, forma
the highest honour of man. Afflictions supported by patience
and surmounted by fortitude, give the last finishing stroke to
the heroic and the virtuous character. Thus the vale of tears
becomes the theatre of human glory ; that dark cloud presents
the scene of all the beauties in the bow of virtue. Moral gran-
deur, like the sun, is brighter in the day of the storm, and never
is so truly sublime as when struggling through the darkness of
an eclipse.

Patience is the guardian of faith, the preserver of peace, the
cherisher of love, the teacher of humility. Patience governs
the flesh, strengthens the spirit, sweetens the temper, stifles

PATIENCE.

le, the
Ivenis
Istifies

anger, extinguishes envy, subdues pride; she bridles the
tongue, restrains the hand, tramples u})on temptations, endure*
persecutions, consummates martyrdom.

Patience produces unity in the church, loyalty in the state,
harmony in families and societies ; she comforts the poor and
moderates the rich ; she makes us humble in prosperity, cheer-'
ful in adversity, unmoved by calumny and reproach ; she teacher
us to forgive those who have injured us, and to be the first in
asking the forgiveness of those whom we have injured ; she
delights the faithful and invites the unbelieving ; she adorns
the woman and approves the man ; she is beautiful in either
sex and every age.

Behold her appearance and her attire ! Her countenance is
calm and serene as the face of heaven unspotted by the shadow
of a cloud, and no wrinkle of grief or anger is seen in her fore-
head Her eyes are as the eyes of doves for meekness, and on
her eyebrows sit cheerfulness and joy. Her mouth is lovely in
silence,her complexion and colour that of innocence and security,
while.like the virgin, the daughter of Zion.she shakes her head at
the adver; y, despising and laughing him to scorn. She is
clothed in the robes of the martyrs, and in her hand she holds
a sceptre in the form of a cross. She rides not in the whirl-
wind and stormy tempest of passion, but her throne is the
humble and contrite heart, and her kingdom is the kingdom
of peace.

Patience has been defined as the " courage of virtue," the
principle that enables us to lessen pain of mind or body ; an
emotion that does not so much add to the number of our joys,
as it tends to diminish the number of our sufferings. If life
is made to abound with pains and troubles, by the errors and
the crimes of man, it is no small advantage to have a faculty
tl^at enables us to soften these pains and to ameliorate these
troubles. How powerful, and how extensive the influence of
patience in performing this acceptable service, it is imjtoHsibie
to judge but from experience ; those who have known moii
bodily pain can best testify its power. Impatience, la fact, by

284

PATIENCE.

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inducing restlensness ant! irritation, not only doubles every
pang, and prolongs every suffering, but actually often creates
the trials to be endured. In pains of the body this is the case,
but more potently is it so in all mental affliction. The hurry
of spirits, the ineffectual efforts for premature relief, the agi-
tation of undue expectation, all combine to create a real suffer-
ing, in addition to what is inflicted by the cause of our impa-
tience. How numberless are the petty disasters effected, the
trivial vexations protracted by this harassing emotion ; the
loss of money, time, friends, reputation by mistaken earnest-
ness in pursuing violent schemes, in not pausing to reflect be-
fore decision, in urging disagreeable or unjust claims, and in
rushing into ill-concerted plans ?

The most beneficent operations of nature are the re&ult of
patience. The waters slowly deposit their rich alluvium ; the
fruits are months in their growth and perfecting.

To be wise we must diligently apply ourselves, and confront
the same continuous application which our forefathers did ;
for labour is still, and ever will be, the inevitable price set upon
everything which is valuable. We must be satlsded to work
energetically with a {)urpose, and wait the results with patience.
Buffon has even said of patience, that it is genius — the power
of great men, in his opinion, consisting mainly in their power
of continuous working and waiting. All progi-esa, of the best
kind, is slow ; but to liim who works faithfully and in a right
spirit, be sure that the reward will be vouchsafed in its own
good time. " Courage and industry," says Granville Sharpe,
" must have sunk in despair, and the world must have r^^mained
unimproved and unornaraented, if men had merely compared
the effect of a sIkj,! j stroke of the chisel with the pyramid to
be raised, or of a single impression of the spa<ie with the moun-
tains to be levelled." We must cont?nuously apply ourselve&
to right pursuits, and we cannot fail to advance steadily, though
it may be unconsciously.

Hugh Miller modastly says, in his aatobiography : " The
only merit to which I lay claim is that of patient research —

TT^I"^^

FATIENCE.

285

a merit in which whoever wills may rival or surpass me ;" and
this humble faculty of patieuce, wlien rightly developed, may
lead to more extraordinary developments of idea then even
genius itself.

Patience is a good nag, says the proverb. Wisely and slow ;
they stumble that run fast. Always have a good stock of
patience laid by, and be sure you put it where you can easily
find it. Cherish patience as your favourite virtue. Always
keep it about you. You will find use for it oftener than for
all the rest. Moderation is the silken string running through
the ]iearl-chain of all virtue. He who is impatient to become
his own niaster is most likely to become merely his own slave.
You can do anything if you will only have patience ; water
may be carried in a sieve, if you can only wait till it freezes.
Those who at the commencement of their career meet with
less applause than they deserve, not uufrequenLly gain more
than they deserve at the end of it ; though having grounds at
first to fear that they were bom to be starved, they often live
long enough to die of a surfeit.

He hath made a good progress in business that hath thought
well of it beforehand. Some do first and think afterwards.
Precipitation ruins the best laid designs ; whereas patience
ripens the most difficult, and renders the execution of them
easy. That is done soon enough which is done well. Soon
ripe, soon rotten. He that would enjoy the- fruit, l*^ *• not
gather the flower. He calls to patience, who is patieiu . itself,
and he that gives the precept enforces it by his own example.
Patience affords us a shield to defend ourselves, and innocence
denies us a sword to defend others. Knowledge is power, but
it is one of the slowest because one of the most durable of agen-
cies. Continued exertion, and not hjisty efforts, leads to
success. What cannot be cured miii^ be endured. How poor
are they that have not patienoe 1

^^ r

286

CONTENTMENT.

j^onttnimttd.

** Poor and content is rich, and rich enough ;
But riches endless is as pour as winter
To him that always fears he shall be poor.*

VERY man either is rich, or may be so ; though not all in
one and the same wealth. Some have abundance, and
rejoice in it ; some a competency, and are content ; some
having nothing, have a mind desiring nothing. He that hath
most, wants something; he that hath least, is in something sup-
plied ; wherein the mind which maketh rich, may well possess
him with the thought of store. Who whistles out more con-
tent than the low-fortuned ploughman, or sings more merrily
than the abject cobbler that sits under the stall? Content
dwells with those that are out of the eye of the world, whom
she hath never trained with her guards, her toils, her lure«.
Wealth is like learning, wherein our greater knowledge is only
a larger sight of our wants. Desires fulfilled, teacii us to desire
more ; so we that at first'were pleased, by removing from that,
are now grown insatiable.

We knew a man that hath health and riches, and several
houses, all beautiful and ready furnished, and would often
nouble himself and family to be removing from one house
to another; and being asked by a friend why he removed so
often from one house to another, replied : " It was vo find con-
tent in some of them." But his friend, knowing ^is temper,
told him, " If he would find content in any of his houses, he
must leave himself behind him ; for content will never dwell
but in a meek and quiet soul." The inscription upon the tomb-
stone of the man who had endeavoured to mend a a tolerable
constitution by taking phy.sic. " 1 was well; I wishtd to be
better ; here I am" may generally be applied with great just-
ness to the distress of dissapointtd avarice and ambition.

We sometimes go musing along the streets to see how few

h i I

CONTENTMENT.

287

people there are whose faces look a.^ <ihou,',;h any joy had come
dov/n and sung in their souls. Wft carj see lines of thought,
and of care, and of fear — money linos, shrewd, grasping lines—
but kow few happy lines ! The rarest feeling that ever lights
the human face is the contentment of a loving soul. Sit for an
hour on the steps of the Exchange in Wall Street, and you will
behold a drama which is better than a thousand theatres, for all
the actors are real. There are a hundred successful men where
there is one contented man. We can find a score of handsome
faces where we can find one happy face. An eccentric wealthy
gentleman stuck up a board in a field upon his estate, upon
which was painted the following : " I will give this field to any
man contented." He sooi^ \.<A an applicant. " Well, sir; are
you a contented man?" "Yes, sir; very." "Then what do
you want of my field V The applicant did not stop to reply.

It is one property which, they say, is required of those that
SI lek the philosopher's stone, that they must not do it with any
covetous desire to be rich, for otherwise they shall never find
ii„ But most true it is, that whosoever would have this jewel
of contentment (which turns all into gold, yea, want into
wtsalth), must come with minds divested of all ambitious and
covetous thoughts, else are they never likely to obtain it. The
foundation of content must spring up in a man's own mind ; and
he who has so little knowledge of human nature as to seek hap-
piness by changing anything but his own disposition, will waste
his life in fruitless efibrts, and multiply the griefs which he
purposes to remove. No man can tell whether he is rich or
poor by turning to his ledger. It is the heart that makes a man
rich. He is rich or poor according to what he is ; not according
to what he has.

It conduces much to our content if we pass by those things
which happen to trouble, and consider what is pleasing and
prosperous, that by the representations of the better the worse
may be blotted out. If I be overthrown in my suit at law,
yet my house is left me still, and my land, or I have a virtuous
wife, or hopeful children, or kind friends, or hopes. If I

288

CONTENTMENT.

H ^ ii

have lost one cliild, it may be I have two or three still left me.
Enjoy the present, wliatever it may be, and be not solicitotia
for the future ; for '^^ you tjike your fool from the present stand-
ing, and thrust it forward to to-morrow's event, you are in a
restless condition; it is like refusing to quench your present
thirst by fearing you will want to drink the next day. If to-
morrow you should want, your sorrow would come time
enough, though you do not hasten it ; let your trouble tarry
till its own day comes. Enjoy the blessings of this day, if God
sends them, and the evils of it bear patiently and sweetly, foi
this day is ours. We are dead to yesterday, and not yet bom to
to-morrow. A contented mind is the greatest blessing a man
can enjoy in this world ; and if in the present life his happiness
arises from the subduing of his desires, it will arise in the next
from the gratification of them.

Contentment is felicity. Few are the real wants of man.
Like a majority of his troubles, they are more imaginary than
real. Some well persons want to be better, take medicine, and
become sick in good earnest ; perhaps die under some patented
nostrum. Some persons have wealth — they want more — enter
into new business they do not understand, or some wild spec-
ulation, and become poor indeed. Many who are surrounded
by all the substantial comforts of life, become discontented bo-
cause some wealthier neighbour sports a carriage, and his lady
a Brussels carpet and mahogany chaira, entertains parties, and
makes more show in the world tlian they. Like the monkey,
they attempt to imitate all tliey see that is deemed fashion-
able ; make a dash at greater contentment ; dash out their com-
fortable store of wealth ; and sometimes, determined on quiet
at least, close the farce with a tragedy, and dash their brains
out with a blue pill. Discontented persons live in open rebel
Hon against their great Benefactor, and virtually claim wisdom,
more than infinite. They covet, they wish, and wishes are as
prolific as rabbits. One imaginary want, like a stool pigeon,
brings flocks of others, and the mind becomes so overwhelmed
that it loses sight of all the real comforts in possession.

: 1

WM1; l|S

CONTENTMENT.

289

>^v

Contentment consisteth not in adding raor« fuel, bit in taking
ikvtraj some fire ; not in multiplying wealth, but in subtracting
men's desires. Worldly riches, like nuts, tear men's clothing in
getting them, spoil men's teeth in cracking them, but fill no
belly in eating them. When AJexai-der saw Diogenes sitting
in the warm sun, and asked what he should do for him ? he
desired no more than that Alexander would stand out of his sun-
shine, and not t^ke from him what he could not give. A quiet
and contented mind ia the supreme good ; it is the utmost fel-
icity a man is capable of in this world : and the maintaining
of such an uninterrupted tranquillity of spirit is the very crown
and glory of wisdom.

Nature teaches us to live, but wisdom teaches us to live con-
tented. Contentment is opposed to fortune and opinion — it is
the wealth of nature, for it give everything we either want or
need. The discontents of the poor are much easier allayed than
those of the rich. Solon being asked by Croesus, who in the
world was happier than himself, answered, Tellus ; who, though
he is poor, was a good man, and content with what he had, and
died in a good old age. No line holds the anchor of content-
ment so fast as a good conscience. This cable is so strong, and
compact, that when force is offered to it, the straining rather
strengthens, by uniting the parts more closely.

Those who are contented with a little deserve much ; and
those who deserve much are far the more likely persons to be
contented with a little. Contentment is ofbener made of cheap
materials than of dear ones. What a glorious world this would
be, if all its inhabitants could say with Shakespeare's shep-
herd : " Sir, I am a true labourer, I earn that I wear ; owe no
man hate ; envy no man's happiness ; glad of other men's good,
contented with my farm." Half the discontent in the world
arises from men regarding themselves as centres, instead of the
infinitesimal segments of circles. Be contented with enough ; you
may butter your bread until you are unable to eat it. Enough
b as good as a feast. When you feel dissatisfied with your
circumstances, lojk at those beneath you. There are minds.

290

CHEERFULNESS.

said John Qui ncy Adams, which can be pleased by honours and
preferments, and I can see nothing in them save en\y and en-
mity. It is only necessary to possess them to know how little
they contribute to happiness. I had rather be shut up in a
very modest cottage, wi' h my books, my family, and a few old
friends, dining Tipon simple bacon and hominy, and letting the
world roll on as it likes than to occupy the most high places
which human power can give.

■\tttMntB9,

sMi

! 'J
I I

^ijriOD bless the cheerful person — man, woman or child, old
or young, illiterate or educated, handsome or homely.
Over and above every other social trait stands cheerful-
ness. What the sun is to nature, what the stars are to night,
what God is to the stricken heart which knows how to lean
upon Him, are cheerful persons in the house and by the way-
side. Man recognises the magic of a cheerful influence in wo-
man more quickly and more willingly than the potency of
dazzling genius, of commanding v/orth, or even of easlaving
beauty.

If we are cheerful and contented, all nature smiles with us;
the air seems more balmy, tlie sky more clear, the ground Las
a brighter gi'een, the trees have a richer foliage, the tiowers a
more fragrant smell, the birds sing more sweetly, and the sun,
moon and stars all appear more beautiful.

Cheerfulness ! How sweet in inftmcy, how lovely in youth,
how saintly in age ! There are a few noble natures whose very
presence carries sunshine with them wherever they go ; a sun-
shine which means pity for the poor, sympathy for the suffer-
ing, help for the unfortunate, and benignity toward all. How
suck a frtc»j enlivens every other face it meets, and carries into

'm^zs

CMElilirULNESS.

291

e' ery company vivacity ami joy and gladness ! But the scowl
and frown, begotten in a seltiah heart, and manifesting itself
in daily, almost hourly fretfulness, complaining, fault-finding,
angry criticisms, spiteful comments on the motives and actions
of othei-s, how they thin the cheek, shrivel the face, sour and
saddon the countenance ! No joy in the heart, no n(jbility in
the soul, no generosity in the nature ; the whole character Ka
cold as an iceberg, as hard as Alpine rock, as arid as the wastes
of Sahara I Reader, which of these countenances are yon cul-
tivating ? If you find yourself losing all your confidence in
human nature, you are nearing an old age of vinegar, of worm-
wood and of gall ; and not a mourner will follow your wlitary
bier, not one tear-drop shall ever fall on your forgotten grave.

Look at the bright side. Keep the sunshine of a living faith
in the heart. Do not let thn shadow of discouragemeat and
despondency fall on your path. However weary you may be,
the promises of God will never cease to shine, like the stars at
night to cheer and strengthen. Learn to wait as well as la-
bour. ^. he best harvests are the longest in ripening. It is not
pleasant to work in the eartli plucking the ugly tares and weeds,
but it is as necessary as sowing the seed. The harder the task,
the more need of singing. A hopeful spirit will discern the
silver lining of the darkest cloud, for back of all planning and
doling, with its attendant discouragements and hindrances, shines
th« light of Divine promise and help. Ye are God's husband-
mcm. It is for you to be faithful. He gives the increa.se.

Be cheerful, for it is the only hapj)y life. The times may be
hard, but it will make them no easier to wear a gloomy and
sad countenance. It is the sunshine and not the cloud that
makes the flower. There is always that before or around us
which should fill the heart with warmth. The sky is blue ten
times where it is black once. You have troubles, it may be.
So have others. None are free from them. Perhaps it is as
well that none should be. They give sinew and tone to life —
fortitude and courage to man. That would be a dull sea, and
the sailor would never get skill, where there was nothing to

VJlEJUtFCLMHa.

II :!

ill!

disturb the surface of the ocean. It \n the duty of erery on«
to extract all the happiness and enjoyinont he can without and
within hiiu, and, above all, he should look on the bright sido
of things. What though things do look a little dark ? The
lane will turn, and tlie night will end in broad day. In the
long run, the great balance right.s itaelf. Wliat i.s ill 1 ■'comes
well ; what is wrong becomes riglit. Men are not made tohaug
down either heads or lips ; and those who do, oidy show that
they are departing from the i)aths of true common sense and
right. There is more virtue in one sunbeam than a whole
hemisphere of cloud and gloom. Therefore, vre repeat, look •ui
the bright jwde of things. Cultivate what is warm and gerdal
— not the cold and repulsive, the dark and morose. Don't neg-
lect your duty ; live down prejudice.

We always know the cheerful man by his hearty " good
morning." An well might fog, and cloud, and vapour ho})e to
cling to the sun-illuminod landscape, as the blues and morose-
ness to remain in any countenance when the cheerful > >ne comes
with a hearty " good morning." Dear reader, don't forget to
say it. Say it to your parents, your brothers and si.stera, your
schoolmates, your teachers — and say it cheerfully and with a
smile it will do you good and do your friends good. There's a
kind of inspiration in every " good morning," heaitily and
smilingly spoken, that helps to make hope fresher and work
lighter. It seems really to make the morning good, and a pro-
phecy of a good day to come after it. And if this be true oi
the " good morning," it is also of all kind, cheerful greetings :
they cheer tne discouraged, rest the tired one, and somehow
make the wheels of time run more smoothy. Be liberal then,
and let no morning puss, however dark and gloomy it may be,
that you do not help at least to brighten it by your smiles and
cheerful words.

The cheerful are the busy ; when trouble knocks at your
door or rings the boll, he will generally retire if you send him
word " engaged." And a busy life cannot well be otherwise
than cheerful. Frogs do not croak in running water. And

OBEBRFULNESS.

298

a
a

active minds are seMom troubled with gloomy forelkjdings.
They come up only from the stagtmnt depths of a spirit un-
atiiTcd by generous impulses or the blessed necessities of honest
toil.

Wliat shall we say by way of commending that sweet cheer-
fulness by which a good and sensible woman diffuses the oil of
gladness in the proper sphere of home. The best specimens of
heroism in the world woi-o nevor gazetted. They play their
role in common life, and their reward is not in the admiration
of spectators, but in the deep joy of their own conscious
thoughts. It is easy for a housewife to make arrangements
for an occasional feast ; but let me tell you what is greater and
better : amid the weariness and oxres of life ; the troubles, real
and imaginary, of a family ; the many thoughts and toils which
are requisite to make the family home of thrift, order and com-
fort ; the varieties of temper and cross-lines of taste and in-
clination which ai*e to bo found in a large household — to main-
tain a heart full of good nature and a face always bright with
cheerfulness, this is a perpetual festivity. We do not mean a
mere superficial simpc ', which has no more character in it than
the flow of a brook, but that exliaustless patience, and self-con-
trol, and kindness, and tact which spring from good sense and
bravo purposes. Neither is it the n" ^re reflection of prosperity,
for cheerfulness, then, is no virtue. Its best eithibition is iu
the dark back-ground of real adversity. Affairs assume a
gloomy aspect, poverty is hovering about the door, sickness
has already entered, days of hardship and nights of watching
go slowly by, and now you see the triumph of which we speak.
When the strong man has bowed hims»'lf, and his brow is knit
and creased, you will see how the whole life of the household
seems to hang on the frailer form, which, with solicitudes of
her own, passing, it may be, under " the sacred primal sorrow
of her &ex," has an eye and an ear for every one but heraelf,
suggestive of expedients, hopeful in extremities, helpful in kind
words and affectionate smiles, morning, noon and night, the
medicine, the light, the heart of a whole household. God blaaa

294

CHEERFULNESS.

^^f

that bright, sunny face ! says manj'^ a reader, as he recaJls tiiat
one of mother, wife, sister, daughter, which has been to him all
that my words ha\ e described.

The industrious bee stops not to complain that there are so
many poisonous flowers and thorny branches in his road, but
buzzes on, selecting the honey where he can find it, and pass-
ing quietly by the places where it is not. There is enough
in this world to complain about and find fault with, if men
have the disposition. We often travel on a hard and uneven
road, but with a cheerful spirit and a heart ir> praise God for
his mercies, we may walk therein with gi-eat comfort and conic
to the end of our journey in peace.

Let us try to be like the sunshiny member of the family,
who has the inestimable art to make all duty seem pleasant,
all self-denial and exertion easy, and drsirable, even disap-
pointment not so blank and crushing ; who is like a bracing,
crisp, frosty atmosphere throughout the home, without a susfii-
cion of the element that chills and pinches. You have known
people within whose influence you felt cheerful, amiable, and
hopeful, equal to anj'^thing ! Oh ! for that blessed power, and
for God's grace to exercise it rightly 1 I do not know a
more enviable gift than the energy to sway others to good ;
to diffuse around us an atmosphere of cheerfulness, piety, truth-
fulness, generosity, magnanimity. It is not a matter of great
talent ; not entirely a matter of gieat energy ; but rather of
earnestness and honesty, and of that quiet, constant ener;gy
which is like soft rain gently penetrating the soil. It is rather
a grace than, a gift ; and we all kuo w whore all grace is to be^
had freely for the asking

iiiM

x^-^

"WBTrrr

> ■.

^tniteetnetttff*

0pp. p. 295.

hAFFTyasii.

295

'RITERS of every age have endeftvoured to ahow that
pleasure is in us and not in the object otfiered for our
amusement. If the soul be happily disposed, every-
thing becomes capable of affording entertainment, and distress
will almost want a name.

The fountain of content must spring up in the mind, and he
who seeks happiness by changing anything but his own dis-
position, will waste his life in fruitless eflforts and multiply the
griefs which he purposes to remove.

Man is, in all respects, constituted to be happy. Hence it is
that he sees goodness around him in proportion to the good-
ness that is within him, and it is also Tor this reason that when
he calls the evil that is within him outside of him it also ap-
pears so. If man, therefore, chooses that which does not scorn
to him good, he can, in a measure, enjoy it. One of the most
evident differences between the enjo3anent of w3 at is good
and true, and that which is falsu and e^'^l, is that the first leaves
something to be re-enjoyed in memory and after life, while the
latter leaves regret, disappointment and suffering.

Great part of the infelicity of men arises not so mucli from
their situations or circumstances as from their pride, vanity
and ambitious expectations. In order to be happy, these dis-
positions must be subdued ; we must always keep before our
eyes such views of the world as shall prevent our expecting
more from it than it is designed to afford. We uestroy our
joys by devouring them beforehand with too eager expectation.

We ruin the happiness of life when we attempt to raise it
too high. Menedemus being told one day that it was a great
felicity to have whatever we desire, " Yea," said he, " but it is a
much grectter to dee'lre nothiiig bvi wfiat we have.

The idea has been transmitted from generation to generation

-M ;

il^

■,>.y.

1?-

p. 295.

^.r^««;'f>]^''*«;«i!H!ww«(«'

'B^BSSBBBsm^^sammrm

msnem^m^^^immmmmiim

296

HAPFiyFSa.

ii' i

'U'\

.*.

tliat h.Lppiiieas is one large and beautiful predoas stone — a sin^,le
gem, so rare that all search after it is all vain effort, for it is
fruitless and hopeless. It is not so. Happiness is a mosaic,
composed of many smaller stones. Each taken apart and
viewed singly may be of little value, but when are all grouj:»ed
together and judiciously combined and set, they form a pleas-
ing and graceful whole, a costly jeweL

Trample not under foot then the little pleasures which a
gracious Providence scatters in the daily path while in. eager
search after some great and exciting joy. We are so apt to
overlook little things and our own mind, and look for happi-
ness in large external matters ; bat we find it not.

If you go to the creature to make you happy, the earth will
tell you that happiness giows not in the furrows of the fields ;
the sea that it is not in the treasures of the deep ; cattle will
say, " It is not on our backs." Crowns will say, " It is too precious
a gem to be found in us." We can adorn the head, but we can-
not satisfy the heart. Happiness is in us, not in things.

If happiness consisted in things only, there would be no end
to the numberless kinds of it. It was in this point of view
that the erudite Roman writer, Varro, ennmerated seven hun-
dred sorts of happiness. So, also, the learned Turkish doctor,
Ebn Abbas, maintained that the number of grievous sins is
about seven hundred, thus balancing the acooants between
good and ill.

We talk of wealth, fame and power as undeniable sources
of enjoyment, and limited fortune, obscurity and insignificance
as incompatible with felicity. It is thus that there is a re-
markable distinction between acquisitions and conditions, theo-
retically considered and practically proved- However brilliant
in speculation, wealth, fame and power are found in possession
impotent to confer felicity. However decried in prospect,
limited fortunes, obscurity, insignificance are by experience
proved most fiiendly to human happiness. Le Droz, who wrote
a treaty upon happiness, describes the conditions necessary for
it, as consisting of the greatest fortitude to resLit and endure

GRATITUDE.

S97

the ills and pains of life, united with the keenest sensibility to
enjoys its pleasure-ii and delights.

" Health, peace and competence," is a popular definition of
happiness. Yet thousands, and tens of thousands possess these
great blessings and are not happy, nay, will not allow that they
have the means to be happy. Madame de Stael, in her, " Del ■
phine," defines happiness to consist in the absence of misery.
How many human beings are without one single real evil, and
yet complain of their fate.

There is so little real happiness on earth because we seek it
not aright — we seek it where it is not in outward circumstan-
ces and external good, and neglect to seek it, where alone it
dwells, in the close chambers of the bosom. We would have
a happiness in time, independent of eternity, we would have
it independent of the Being whose it is to give ; and so we go
forth each one as best we may, to seek out the rich possession
for ourselves. But disappointment attends every step in the
pursuit of happiness, until we seek it where alone it can be
found. The original curse is still resting upon us. The cheru-
bim, with their flaming swords still guard the gates of Para-
dise, and no man enters therein.

»»»«4-

iratrtitlre.

** But foolish mortals still piirsne
False happiness in placo of true ;
A happiness we toil to find,
Which still pHrsues us like the wind."

LTHOTJGH the word gratitude, like the word trinity, is
not to be found in the Bible, yet as the sacred Scriptures
contain many sentiments on each of these subjects, and
these words are the most comprehensive to convey the ideas,
they are well adapted. To deliver our thoughts in few words

■m

. i' )

; t

■ >

ill' ii

GRATITUDE.

on gratitude, we apprehend it includes five things ; first, a deep
and lively sense of benefits received ; secondly, an ardent love
to and complacency in the benefactor ; thirdly, an immediate
beginning tc make all possible returns to the donor, either in
repaying or else expressing our thankfulness ; fourthly, in a
fixed puipose of heart to make better returns, if ever in our
power ; and fifthly, a determined resolution to retain gratitude
for the benefit or favours to the end of life.

Gratitude is justly said to be the mother of most virtues, because
that from this one fountain so many rivulets arise ; as that of rev-
erence unto parents and masters, friendship, love to our country,
and obedience to God. The ungrateful are everywhere hated,
being under a suspicion of every vice ; but, on the contrary,
grateful persons are in the estimation af all men, having by
their gratitude put in a kind of security that they are not with-
out a measure of every other virtue.

Gratitude is a painful pleasure, felt and expressed by none
but noble souls. Such are pained, because misfortune placiw
them under the stern necessity of receiving favours from the
benevolent, who are, as the world wo'ild say, under no obliga-
tions to bestow them — ^free-will ofierings, made by generous
hearts, to smooth the rough path, and wipe away the tears of
a fellow being. They derive a pleasure from the enjoyments
of the benefits bestowed, which is rendered more exquisite by
the reflection that there are those in the world who can feel
and appreciate the woes of others, and lend a willing hand to
help them out of the ditch ; those who are not wrapped up in
the cocoon of selfish avarice, who live only for themselves, and
die for the devil. This pleasure is farther refined by a know-
ledge of the happiness enjoyed by the person whose benevol-
ence dictated the relief in tlie contemplation of a duty per-
formed, imposed by angelic f Mlanthropy guided by motives
pure as heaven. The worthy recipient feels deeply the obliga-
tions under which he is placed ; no time can obliterate them
from his memory, no statute of limitation bars the payment ;
the moment, means and opportunity are within his power, the

EOPE.

S99

debt is joyfully liquidated, and this very act gives a frc^ih vig'
otir to his long-cherished gratitude.

A very poor and aged man, busied in planting and grafting
an apple tree, was rudely interrupted by this interrogation :
" Why do you plant trees, who cannot hope to eat the fruit of
them ? " He raised himself up, and leaning upon his spade,
replied : " Some one planted trees for me before I was bom,
and I have eaten the fruit ; I now plant for others, that the
memorial of my gratitude may exist when I am dead and gone."
It is a species of agreeable servitude to be under an obligation
to those we esteem. Ingratitude is a crime so shameful that
the man has not yet been found who would acknowledge him-
self guilty of it.

Nothing tenders the heart, and opens the gushing fountain
of love, more than the exercise of gratitude. Like the showers
of spring, that cause flowers to rise from seeds that have long
lain dormant, tears of gratitude awaken pleasurable sensations,
unknown to thosa who have never been forced from the sun-
shine of prosperity into the cold shade of adversity, where no
warmth is felt but that of benevolence ; no light enjoyed but
that of chaiity ; unless it shall be the warmth and light com-
municated from Heaven to the sincerely pious, who alone are
prepared to meet, with calm submission, the keen and chilling
winds of misfortune, and who, above all others, exeicise the
nrivLQ of gratitude, in the full perfection of its native beauty.

J HE poet Hesiod tells us that the miseries of all mankind
were included in a great box, and that Pandora took
off the lid of it, by which means all of them came
abroad, and only hope remained at the bottom. Hope, then,
iR the principal antidote which keeps our heart from bursting

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300

HOPE.

under the pressure of evils, and is that flattering mirror thai
gives us a prospect of some greater good. Some call hope the
manna from heaven, that comforts us in all extremities ; others,
the pleasant flatterer that caresses the unhappy with expecta-
tions of happiness in the bosom of futurity. Wlien all other
things fail us, hope stands by us to the last. This^ as it were,
gives freedom to the captive when chained to the oar, health
to tht sick, victory to the defeated, and wealth to the beggar.

True hope is based on energy of character. A strong mind
always hopes, and has always cause to hope, because it knows
the mutability of human affairs, and how slight a circumstance
may change the whole course of events. Such a spirit, too,
rests upon itself ; it is not confined to partial views, or to one
particular object. And if, at last, all should be lost, it has saved
itself — its own integrity and worth. Hope awakens courage,
while despondency is the last of all evils ; it is the abandon-
ment of good — the giving up of the battle of life with dead
nothingness. He who can implant courage in the human soul
is the best physician.

Elarthly hope, like fear, is confined to this dim spot, on which
we live, move and have our being. It is excluded from heaven
and hell. It is a dasliing blade, with a great estate in expect-
ancy, which, when put in its possession, produces instant death.
It draws large drafts on experience, payable in/ttiitro, and is
seldom able to liquidate them. Hope is always buoyant, and
like old Virginia, never tires. It answers well for breakfast,
but makes a bad supper. Like a balloon, we know where it
starts from, but can make no calculation when, where and how
it will land us. Hope is a great calculator, but a bad mathemati-
cian. Its problems are seldom based on true data — their demon-
stration is often 'ir fictitious than otherwise. Without the base-
ness of some modern land speculators, it builds cities and towns
on paper, that are as worthless as their mountain peaks and
impassable quagmires. It suspends earth in the air, and plays
with bubbles, like a cl/ d, with his tube and soap-suds. As with
Milo, who attempted to split an oak, and was caught in the

HOPS.

301

split and killod ; the wedge often flies ont, and the operator is
caught in a split stick. It is bold as Caesar, and ever ready to
attempt great feats, if it should be to storm the castle of de-
spair.

When all other emotions are controlled by everts, hope alone
remains forever buoyant and undceayed, under the most ad-
verse circumstances, " unchanged, unchangeable." Causes that
affect with depression every other emotion, appear to give fresh
elasticity to hope. No oppression can crush its buoyancy ;
from under eveiy weight it rebounds ; amid the most depres-
sing circumstances, it preserves its cheering influence; no iHs-
appointments can annihilate its power, no ex|)erience can deter
us from listening to i'^s sweec illusions : it seems a counterpoise
for misfortune, an equivalent for every endurance. Who is there
without hope ? The fettered prisoner in his dark cell, the dis-
eased sufferer on his bed of anguish, the friendless wanderer
on the unsheltered waste ; each cherishes some latent spark of
this pure and ever-living light. Like the beam of heaven, it
glows with indestructible brilliance, to the heart of man what
light is to his eye, cheering, blessing, invigorating.

A true hope we can touch somehow through all the lights
and shadows of life. It is a propliecy fulfilled in part ; God's
earnest money paid into our hands that He will be readj^ with
the whole when we are ready for it; the sunlight on the hill-
top when the valley is dark as death; the spirit touching us
all through our pilgrimage, and tlien, when wo know that the
end is near, taking us on its wings and soaring away into the
blessed life where we may expect either that the fruition will
be entirely equal to the hope, or that the old glamour will
come over us again and beckon us on forever as the choicest
blessing Heaven has to give. We know of no condition in any
life which is trying to be real and true in which this power
will not do for us very much what \re have seen it doing for
the man who has to wait on the seasons for his daily bread.

We can cherish a sure hope about our future and the future
of ^iiose that belong to us, a sunny, eager on-looking toward the

302

HOPE.

fulfilment of all of the promises God lias written on om- nature
We may be all wrong in our thoughts of the special form in
which our blessings will come ; we never can be wrong about
the blessing. It may be like the mirage shifting from horizon
to horizon as we plod wearily along, but the soul is bound to
find at last the resting place and the spring. There is many a
father in the world to-day trying hard to get his head above
water who will sink, but his boys will swim and reach the firm
land, and think of him with infinite tenderness, while he, per-
haps, is watching them from above, and their success may be
one of the elements of his joy in Heaven. The setting of a
great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of
our life is gone, shadows of the evening fall behind us, and the
world .seems but a dim reflection itself — a broader shadow. We
look forward into the coming lonely night ; the soul withdraws
itself. Then stars arise, and the night is holv.

Its morality is equally inspiring, rich, and beneficent. It
encourages all things good, great, noble. It whispers liberty to
the sla\ e, freedom to the captive, health to the sick, home to
the wandering, friends to the forsaken, peace to the troubled,
supplies to the needy, bread to the hungry, strength to the
weak, rest to the weary, life to the dying. It has sunshine in
its eye, encouragement on its tongue, and inspiration in its hand
Rich and glorious is hope, and faithfully .should it be cultivated.
Let its inspiring influence hi in the heart of every youth. It
will give strength and courage. Let its cheerful words fall
ever from his tongue, and his bright smile play ever on its
countenance. Entertain well this nymph of goodness. Culti-
vate well this ever-shining flower of the spirit. It is the ever-
green of life, that grows at the eastern gate of tha soul's garden.

Hopes and fear!^ checker human life. He that wants hope,
is the poorest man living. Our hopes and fears are the main
springs of all our religious endeavours. There is no one whose
condition is so low but that he may liav j hopes ; nor is any on©
ao high as to be out of the reach of feare. Hopes and disap-
poiutmeut are the lot and entertainment of human life : the one

CHARITY.

301

serves to keep us from presumption, the other from de»pair.
Hope is the last thing that dieth in man, and though it be ex-
ceedi)ig dutiful, yet it is of this good use to us, that while we aie
travelling through this life, it conducts u« in an easier and more
pleasant way to our journey's end. When faith, temperance,
the graces, and other colu tial powere, loft tin; earth, says one
of the ancieiits, hope was < ue only goddess that stayed behind.
Hope's enchantments nc . er die. Eternal hope 1 Hope gilds
the future. Hope cheera and rouses the soul. Hope and strive
is the way to thrive. The man who carries a lantern in a dark
night can have friends all around him, walking safely by the
help of its rays, and not be defrauded. So he who has the
God-given light of hope in his breast can help on many othera
in this world's darkness, not to his own loss, but to their precious
gain.

Ho]ie is an anchor to the soul, both sure and steadfast, that
will steady our frail bark, while sailing over the ocean of life,
an*^! that will enable us to outride the storms of time — a hope
thao reaches from earth to heaven. This hope is based on faith
in the immaculate Redeemer, and keeps our earthly hopes from
running riot into forbidden paths. The cable of this hope can-
not be sundered until drath cuts the gordian knot and lets the
prisoner go free. To live without it. Is blind infatuation — to
die without it, eternal rum.

buritu.

fHARITY is one of those amiable qualities of the human
breast that imparts pleasure to its possessor, and those
who receive it. It is of a modest and retiring nature.
Charity, like the dew from heaven, falls gently on the droop-
ing flower in the stillness of nigliL. Its refreshing and reviv-

304

CHAHITY.

ing effects are felt, seen, and admired. It flows from a good
heart, and looks beyond the skies for appntval and reward. It
never opens, but seeks to heal the wounds inflicted by misfor-
tune — it never harrows up, but strives to cabn the troubled
mind. Like their Lord and Ma.stor, the tndy benevolent man
and woman go about doing good for the sake of goodness. No
parade, no trumpet to sound their charities, no press to chron-
icle their acta. The gratitude of the douee is a rich recompense
to the donor — purity of motive heightens and refines the joys
of each. Angels stnile on such benevolence. It is the attri-
bute of Deity, tJ i moving cause of every blessing we enjoy.

Fair Charity, be thou my guest,
And be thy conBtant couclx, my breast. " . ' '

—Cotton.

' 1

Charity is the golden chain that reaches from heaven to
earth. It is another name for disintero.sted, lofty, unadulter-
ated love. It is the substratum of philanthropy, the brigheit
star in the Chiistian's diadem. It spurns the scrofula of jeal-
ousy, the canker of tormenting envy, the tortures of burning
malice, the typhoid of foaming revenge. |It is an impartial
mirror, set in the frame of love, resting on equity and justice.
It is the foundation and cap stone of the climax of all the
Christian graces ; without it, our religion is like a body with-
out a soul ; our friendships, shadows of a shadow ; oui alms,
the ofi8])rings of pride, or, what is more detestable, the ofier-
ings of hypocrisy ; or humanity, a mere iceberg on the ocean
of time — we are unfit to discharge the duties of life, and de-
range the design of our creation. Was this heaven-born, soul-
cheering principle the mainspring of human action, the all-
pervading motive-power that impelled mankind in their on-
ward course to eternity, the polar star to guide them through
this world of sin and woe — the ills that flesh is heir to, would
be softened in its melting sunbeams, a new and blissful era
would dawn auspiciously upon our race, and Satan would be-

CHARITY.

80?

come a bankrupt for want of businosa. Wars and rumours
of wars wouM rease; envy, jealousy, and revenge would
Vide thoir diminished heads ; falsehood, slander, and perse-
cution would be unknown ; sectarian walls, in matters of
religion, would crumble in dust ; the houi^eliold of faith would
become, what it should be, ono united, hurtnonioiis family in
Christ; infidelity, vice, and immorality would recede, and hap-
piness, before unknown, woi d become the crowning glory of
man. Pure and undeiiled religion would then be honoured and
glorified — primitive Christianity would st,and forth, divestetj
of the inventions of men, in all the majesty of its native love-
liness. Oh, could an angel bear a balm of such charity into
our hearts, then would earth become a h(;aven and hell a fable.
When we take the history of one poor heart that has sinned and
Buffered, and represent to oursolf the struggles and temptations
it passed through — the brief pulsation of joy, the tears of re-
gret, the feebleness of purpose, the scorn of the world that has
little charity ; the desolation of the soul's sanctuary, and threat-
ening voices within ; health gone ; ha[>pinoss gone — we would
fain leave the erring soul of our fellow-man with Him from
whose hands it came. It is then that the words of Prior show
their truth and beauty :

•' Soft peace it brings wherever it arrives,
It builds our quiet — ' latent hoi)o rnvives,'
Lays the rough paths uf nature ' smooth and even,'
And opens in each breast a little heaven."

Is any man fallen into disgrace ? Charity holds down its
head, ia abashed and out of countenance, partaking of his
shame. Is any man disappointed of his hopes or endeavours ?
Charity cries out alas ! as if it were itself defeated. Is any
man afficted with pain or sickness ? Charity looks sadly, it
gigheth and groans, it faints and languishes with him. Is any
man pinched with hard want ? Charity, if it cannot succour
will condole. Does ill news arrive ? Charity hears it with an
unwilling ear and a sad heart, although not particularly cou-

306

KINDNESS.

cemed in il. The sight of a \vrcc!< at sea, of a field spread with
carcasses, of a country desolated, of houses burned and cities
ruined, and of the like calamities incident to mankind, would
touch the bowels of any man ; but the very report of them
would affect the heart of charity.

-•►«^-

4 >

' i

EORE hearts pine away in secret anguish, for the want of
kindness from those who should be their comforters,
than for any other calamity in life. A word of kind-
nass is a seed which, whe^^. dropped by chance, springs up a
flower. A kind word and pleasant voice are gifts easy to give ;
be liberal with them ; they are worth more than money. " If
a word or two will render a man happy," said a Frenchman, " he
must be a wretch indeed, who will not give it. It is like light-
ing another man's candle with your own, which loses none of
its brilliancy by what the other gains." If all men acted upon
that principle the world would be much happier than it is.
Kindness is like a calm and peaceful stream that reflects every
object in its just proportion. The violent spirit, like troabl'^d
waters, renders 'oack the images of things distorted and broken,
and communicates io them that disordered motion which arises
from its own agitation. Kindness makes sunsnine wherever it
goes ; it finds its way into hidden chambers of the heart and
brings forth golden treasures ; harshness, on the contrary, seals
them up forever. Kindness makes the mother's lullaby sweeter
than tlie song of the lark, the care-laden brow of the father
And man of business less severe in their expression. Kindness
is the real law of life, the link that connects earth with heaven,
the true philosopher's stone, tor all it touches it turns to virgin
gold ; the true gold whortiwith we purchase contentment, peace
«nd love. Write your name by kindness, love and mercy on

the hearts of the people you come in contact with year by year,
and you will never be forgotten.

In the intercourse of social life it is by little acts of watchful
kindness recurring daily and hourly ; and opportunities oi
doing kindness, if sought for, are forever starting up; it is by
words, by tones, by gestures, by looks, that aflfection is won
and preserved.

How sweet are the affections of kindness. How balmy the
influence of that regard which dwelL around the fireside, where
virtue lives for its own sake, ai 1 fidelity regulates and ki ms
the thirst for admiration, often a more potent foe to \ ^ae
than the fiercest lust. Where distrust and doubt dim not the
lustre of purity, and where solicitude, except for the preserva-
tion of an unshaken confidence, has no place, and the gleam of
suspicion or jealousy never disturb the harmony and tranquillity
of the scene. Where paternal kindness and devoted filial
afiection blossom in all the freshness of eternal spring. It
matters not if the world is cold, if we can turn to our own
dear circle for the enjoyment of which the heart yearns. Lord
Bacon beautifully says : " If a man be gracious unto strangers
it shows he is a citizen of the world, and his heart is no island
cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins them."

There is nothing like kindness in the world. Ic is the very
priuciple of love ; an emanation of the heart which softens and
gladdens, and should be inculcated and encouraged in all our
iniircourse with our fellow beings. It is impossible to resist
continued kindness. We may, in a moment of petulance or
pnasion, manifest coldness to the exhibition of good will on the
part of a new acquaintance; but let him persist, let him continue
to prove himself really benevolent of heart, generously and
kindly disposed, and we will find our stubborn nature giving
way, even unconsciously to oui-solves. If this be the result of
kindness among comparative strangere, how much more cei-tain
and delightful will be the exercise of the feelings at home,
within the charmed circle of friends and relatives ? Home en-
joyments, home afiections, home courtesies, cannot be too care-

- aMf;jiiRjsj(^mFw?*'^5?wwg^*i''

■ ■WIWiHil*t»1^«»Wfii^^W*W^*-

308

KINDNESS.

■ J

: 1

fully or steadily cultivated. They form the sunshine of tK*
heart. They bless and sanctify our private circle. They be-
come a source of calm delight to the man of business after a
day of toil, they teach the merchant, the trader, the working-
man, that there is something purer, more precious even than
the gains of industry. They twine themselves around the heart,
call forth its best and purest emotions and resources, enable us
to be more virtuous, more upright, more Christian, in all our
relations of life. We see in the little beings around us the ele-
ments of gentleness, of truth, and the beauty of fidelity and
religion. A day of toil is robbed of many of its cares by the
thought that in the evening vre may return home and mingle
with the family household. There, at least, our experience
teaches us we may find confiding and loving bosoms, those who
look up to and lean upon us, and those also to whom we may
look for counsel and encouragement.

We say to our friends, one and all, cultivate the home virtues,
the household beauties of existence. Endeavour to make the
little circle of domestic life a cheerful, an intelligent, a kindly,
and a happy one. Whatever may go wrong in the world of
business and trade, however arduous may be the struggle for
fortune or fame, let nothing mar the purity of reciprocal love,
or throw into its harmonious existence the apple of discord.

In the intercourse )f social life it is by little acts of watchftil
kindness, recurving daily and hourly; and opportunities of doing
kind acts, if sought for, are forever starting up ; it is by words,
by tones, by gestures, by looks, that affection is won and pre-
served. He who neglects these trifles, yet boasts that, when-
ever a great sacrifice is called for, he shall oe ready to make it,
will rarely be loved. The likelihood is he will not make it;
and if he does, it will be much rather for his own sake than for
his neighbours. Life is made up, not of great sacrifices or
duties, but of little things, in which smiles, and kindness, and
small obligations, given habitually, are what win and preserve
the heart, a'ld secure comfort.

Give no jmin. Breathe not a sentiment, say not m word,

."C

KINDNESS.

309

gwts not the expression of the countenance that will offend
another, or send a thrill of pain to his bosom. We are sur-
rounded by sensitive hearts, which a word or look even might
fill to the brim with sorrow. If you are careless of the opin-
ions of others, remember that they are differently constituted
from yourself, and never, by word or sign, cast a shadow on a
happy heart, or throw aside the smiles of joy, that linger on a
pleasant countenance.

Many lose the opportunity of saying a kind thing by waiting
to weigh the matter too long. Our best impulses are too deli
cate to indure much handling. If you fail to give them expres-
sion the moment they rise, they effervesce, evaporate, and are
gone. If they do not turn sour, they become fiat, losing all life
and sparkle by keeping. Sj)eak promptly when you feel kindly.

Deal gently with the stranger. Remember the severed cord
of affection, still bleeding, and beware not to wound by a
thoughtless act, or a careless word. The stranger ! he, per-
chance, has lived in an atmo.sphere of love as warm as that we
breathe. Alone and friendless now, he treasures the images of
loved ones far away, and when gentle words and warm kisses
arc exchang 1, we know not how his heart thrills and the hot
tear-drops start. Speak gently. The impatient word our friends
may utter does not wound, so mailed are you in the impenetrable
armour of love. We know that it was an inadvertent word that
both will forget in a moment after, or, if not, you can bear the
censure of one, when so many love you; but keenly is an unkind
'•emark felt by the lone and friendless one.

Like a clinging vine torn from its support, the stranger's
beart begins to twine its tendrils around the first object which
is presented to it. Is love so cheap a tking in this world, or
have we already so much that Ave can lightly cast off the in-
stinctive affections thus proffered ? Oh, do not ! To some
souls an atmosi)here of love is as necessary as the vital air to
the physical system. A person of such a nature may clothe
one in imagination with all the attributes of goodness and make
his heart's sacrifices at the shrine. Let us not cruelly destroy
the illusion by unkindness.

mrwmmmim'^'

310

KINDNESS.

'1!

■ i

;

Let the name of stranger be ever sacred, whethei it is tiwit
of an honoured guest at our fire-side, or the poor 8crv8.nt girl
in our kitchen ; the gray-haired or the young; and when we
find ourselves far from friends, and the dear associations of
liome, and so lonoly, may some kind, some angel-hearted being,
by sympathizing words and acts, cause our hearts to thrill with
unspoken gratitude, and thus we will find again the " bread "
long " cast upon the waters."

Our friends we must [jnze and appreciate while we are with
them. It is a shame not to know how much we love our
friends, and how good they are, till they die. We must seize
with joy all our opportunities; our duties we must perf'otm
with pleasure; our sacrifices we- must make cheerfully, kno'^r-
ing that he who sacrifices most is noblest; we must forgi ve
with an understanding of the glory of forgiveness, and use the
blessings we have, realizing how gi-eat are small blessings when
properly accepted.

Hard words are like hail-stones in summer, beating dow n
and destroying what they would nourish if they were melted
into drops.

Kindness is stored away in the heart like ixwe-leaves in a
drawer, to sweeten every object around them. Little drops of
rain brighten the meadows, and little acts of kindness brighten
the world. We can conceive of nothing more attractive than
the heart when filled with the spirit of kindness. Certainly
nothing so embellishes human natui-e as the practice of this
viitue ; a sentiment so genial and so excellent ought to be em-
blazoned upon every thought and act of our life. The principle
underlies the whole theory of Christianity, and in no other
person do we find it more happily exemplified than in the life
of our Saviour, who, while on earth, went about doing good.
And how true it is that

** A little word in kindneu spoken,
A motion, or a tear,
Has often healed the heart that's broiuti.
And made a friend sincere I "

FlilENDaMIF.

rrienbsl^lp.

H^URE, disinterested friendship, is a bright flame, emitting
^^ none of the smoke of selfishness, and seldom deigns to
tabernacle among men. Its origin is divine, its opera-
tions heavenly, and its results enrapturing to the soul. It is
because it is the perfection of earthly bliss that the world has
ever been flooded with base counterfeits, many so thickly coated
with the pure metal, that nothing but time can detect the base
interior and ulterior designs of bogus friends. Deception is a
propensity deeply rooted in human nature, and the hobby horse
on which some ride through life. The heart is deceitful above
aU things ; who can know it ?

Caution has been termed the parent of safety, but has often
been baffled by a Judas kiss. The most cautious have been the
dupes and victims of the basest deceivers. We should be ex-
tremely careful twAo we confide in,and then we will often find our-
selves mistaken. Let advei'sit}'' come, then we may know more
of our friends. Many will probably show that they were sur-
ehine friends, and will escape as for their lives, like rats from a
barn in flames ! Ten to one, those who have enjoyed the most
sunshine will be the first to forsake, censure and reproach.
Friendship, based entirely on self, ends in desertion the mo-
ment the selfish ends are accomplished or fi-ustrated.

** Disguise so near the truth doth seem to run,
Tis doubtful whom to seek or whom to shun
Nor know we when to spare oi.* when to strike,
Otir friends and foes they seeia so much alike.

Friendship is the flower that blooms in all seasons ; it may
be seen flourishing on the snow-capped mountains of Northern
Russia, as well as in the more favoured valleys of sunny Italy,
everywhere cheering us by its exq^uisite and indescribable

55PI-

^pJVT^^WTTTV^irmVTK

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312

FRIENDSHIP.

charms. No surveyed chart, no national boundary line, no
rugged mountain or steep declining vale put a limit to its
growth. Wherever it is vatjcred with the dews of kindness
and affection, there you may be sure to find it. Allied in closest
companionship with its twin-sister charity, it enters the abode
of sorrow and wretchedness, and causes happiness and peace.
It knocks at the lonely and disconsolate heart, and speaks
words of encouragement and joy. Its all-powerful influence
liovers over contending armies and unites the deadly foes in
the closest bonds of sympathy and kindness. Its eternal and
universal fragrance dispels every poisoned thought of envy,
find jjurifies the mind with a holy and priceless contentment
which all the ])omp and power of earth could not bestow. In
vain do we look for this heavenly flower in the cold, calculat-
ing worldling ; the poor, deluded wretch is dead to every feel-
ing of its ennobling virtue. In vain do we look for it in the
actions of the proud and aristocratic votaries of fashion ; the
love of self-display and of the false and fleeting pleasures
of the world has banished it forever from their hearts. In
vain do wo look for it in the thoughtless and practical throng,
who with loud laugh and extended open hands, proclaim obedi-
ence to its laws — while at the same time the canker of malice
and envy and detraction is enthroned in their hearts and active
on their tongues. Friendship, true friendship, can only be
found to bloom in the soil of a noble and self-sacrificing heart ;
there it has a perennial summer, a never-ending season of feli-
city and joy to its happy possessor, casting a thousand rays of
love and hope and peace to all around.

No one can be happy without a friend, and no one can know
what friends he has until he is unhappy.

It has been observed that a real friend is somewhat like a
ghost or apparition ; much talked of, but bardly ever seen.
Though this may not be exactly true, it must, however, be con-
fessed, that a friend does not appear every day, "na that he
who, in reality, has found one, ought to value the boon, and be
thankful

FRIENDSHIP.

31S

Where persona are united by the bonds of genuine friend-
<ftip, there is nothing, perhaps, more conducive to felicity. It
supports and strengthens the mind, alleviates the pain i)f life,
and renders the present state, at least .somewhat comfortable.
" Sorrows," says Lord Verulam, "by being communicated, grow
less, and joys greater." " And indeed," observes another, " sor-
row, like a stream, loses itself in many channels ; while joy,
like a ray of the sun, reflects with a greater ardour and quick-
ness when it rebounds upon a man from the breast of his friend."
The friendship which is founded upon good tastes and con-
genial habits, apart from piety, is permitted by the benignity
of Providence to embellish a world, which, with all its magni-
ficence and beauty, will shortly pass away ; that which has
religion for its basis will ere long be transplanted in order to
adorn the paradise of God.

There is true enjoyment in that friendship which has its
source in the innocence and uprightness of a true heart. Such
pleasures do greatly sweeten life, easing it from many a bitter
burden. A sympathizing heart finds an echo in sympathizing
bosoms that brings back cheering music to the spii'it of the
lowliest. Be all honour, then, to true friendship, and may it
gather yet more fragrant blossoms from the dew-batheil mea-
dows of social intercourse, to spread their aroma along the toil-
worn road of life. What a blessing it is to have a friend to
whom one can speak fearlessly upon any subject ; with whom
one's deepest thoughts come simply and safely. O, the com-
fort, the inexpressible comfort, of feeling safe with a person —
having neither to weigh the thoughts nor inoaaure the words
but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaflT and
grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift
them ; keep what is worth keeping, and then, with the bi eath
of kindness, blow the rest away.

If any form an intimacy merely for what they can gain by
it, this is not true friendship in such a person. It must be free
from any such selfish view, and only design mutual benefit as
each may require. Again, it must be unreserved. It is tru«

314

FRIENDSHIP.

indeed that friends are not bound to reveal to each other all
their family concerns, but they should be ever ready to disclose
what may in any point of view concern each other. Lastly,
it is benevolent. Friends must study to please and oblige each
other in the most delicate, kind, and liberal manner ; and that
in poverty and trouble, as well as in riches or prosperity. The
benevolence of friends is also manifested in overlookiDg each
other's faults, and, in the most tender manner admonishing
each other when they do amiss. Upon the whole, the purse,
the heart, and the house ought to be open to a friend, and in
no case can we shut oat either of them, unless upon clear proofs
of treachery, immorality, or some other great crime.

The first law of friendship is sincerity; and he who violates
this law, will soon find himself destitute of what he so erring-
iy seeks to gain : for the deceitful heart of such an one will
soon betray itself, and feel the contempt due to insincerity. Tlie
world is so full of selfishness, that true friendship is seldom
found ; yet it is often sought for paltry gain by the base and
designing. Behold that toiling miser, with his ill-got and
worthless treasures ; his soul is never moved by the hallowed
influence of the sacred boon of friendship, which renews again
on earth lost Eden's faded bloom, and flings hope's halcyon halo
over the wastes of life. The envious man — he, too, seeks to
gain the applause of others for an unholy usage, by which he
may usurp a seat of preeminence for himself. Self love, the
spring of motion, acts upon his soul. All are fond of praise,
and many are dishonest in the use of means to obtain it ; hence
it is often difficult to distinguish betweeii true and false irieud>
Hhip.

; I

oouMTamp,

315

LL the blefwedness, all the utility, efficacy, and happinesg
of the married state, depend upon its truthfuliieh.s, or
the wisdom of the union. Marriage is not neccssai ily
& blessing. It may be the bitterest curse. It may sting like
ui adder and bite like a serpent. Its bower Ls as often made of
biiorns as of roses. It blasts as many sunny expectations as it
realizes. Every improper marriage is a living misery, an un-
dying death. Its bonds ai'e grated bars of frozen iron. It is a
spirit prison, cold as the dungeon of ruin. An illy-mated hu-
man pair is the most woful picture of human wretchedness
that is presented in the book of life ; and yet, such pictures
are plenty. Every page we turn gives us a view of some such
living bondage. But a proper marriage, a true interior, soul-
linked union is a living picture of blessedness, unrivaled in
beauty. A true mairiage is the soul's Eden. It is the portal
of heaven. It is the visiting-place of angels. It is the charm
indescribable of a spirit in captivation with all imaginable
beauty and loveliness. It is a constant peace-oifering, that pro-
cures a continual Sabbath day sweetness, rich as the quietude
of reposing angels. It is not given to words to express the
refinement of pleasure, the delicacy of joy and the abounding
fulness of satisfaction thai those i'eei whom God hath joined in
a high marriage of spirit. Such a union is the highest school
of virtue, the soul's convent, where the vestal tires of purity are
kept continually burning.

Marriage, then, should be made a study. Every youth, both
male and female, should so consider it. It is the grand social
institution of humanity. Its laws and relations are of momen-
tous in?.portance to the race. Shall it be entered blindly, in to-
tal ignorance of what it is, what its conditions of happineM
are?

816

COURTSHIP.

'<: y

Vi^

" Marriage is a lottery," exclaim so many men and wromou
you meet. And why is it so ? Simply because courtship is a
grand scheme of deception. Is it not so ? Who courts hon-
estly f Some, it is true ; but few, indeed. Let us see, it is con-
ducted something like this : A young man and women meet ai
a party, ball, school, or church. The young man sees some*
thing in the lady that attracts his attention ; it may be hei
pretty face, her golden curls, her flashing eyes, her delicat*
hand or slender waist, or snowy neck, or graceful carriage, or
more likely, the plumage in which the bird shines. He looks
again, and then again, and without one particle of sense or
reason for it, save that he has caught the fair one's eye, his at-
traction rises into eaptivation. He seeks an introduction. A
little parley of nonsense ensues, about fashion, parties, beaux
«nd belles, and a few jokes pass about " invitations," " captiva-
tions," " runaway matches," etc. ; then an appointment for an-
other meeting, a walk, a visit to a saloon, a neighbour, or some-
thing of the kind, follows, and they part, both determined, in
the utmost desperation, to catch the prize, if possible. They
dream, and sing, and make verses about each other, and medi-
tate ways and means to appear captivating at the next meet-
ing, till it arrives, when, lo ! they meet, ail wreathed in smiles
and shining in beautiful things. How can it be otherwise thafi
that their eaptivation shall become absolute adoration now.
The afternoon and evening are spent together, each in perfect
delight. They talk about flowers, and stars, and poetry, and
give iiints, and signs, and tokens, till each understands the other's
eaptivation.

They are engaged and get married.

Mairied life now comes and ushers in its morning glory, and
they are happy as a happy pair can be for a while. But " life
is real," and chojaoter is real, and love is real. When life's re-
ality comes they find things in each other's characters that per-
fectly startle them. Every day reveals something new and
something unpleasant. The courtship character slowly fades
away, and with it the courtship love. Now eomes disappoint-

couiinmp.

817

tuent, sorrow, regret. They find that their characters »re en-
tirely dissiiuilar. Mani'jd life is a burden, full of cares, vexa-
tions, and disappointment-^. But they must make the best of
it, and bear it through. Yes, marriage is a lottery. They
know it. Some may get prizes, and some may not. No one
knows before he draws, whether he will draw a blank or a
prize. This is their concluaion. They did not court in the
right way. They courted by impulse, and not by judgment ;
it wa.s a process of wooing, and not of discovery; it was an ef-
fort to please, and not a search for companioaship ; it was done
with excitement, and not with calmness and deliberation ; it
was done in haste, and not with cautious prudence ; it was a
vision of th(? henrt, and not a solenm reality ; it was conducted
by feeling, and not by reason ; it was so mu,uaged as to be a
perpetual blandishment of pleasure, the most intoxicating and
delightful, and not a trying ordeal for the enduring realities of
solid and stubborn life ; it was a perpetual yielding up of every-
thing, and not a firm maintaining of everything that belongs
to the man or woman. In almost every particular it was false,
and hence must be followed by evil consequences. All similar
courting is bad.

Courtship, as it is generally conducted, is a game at " blind-
man's-buft'," only that both parties are blinded. They volun-
tarily blind themselves, and then blind each other ; and thus
they " go it blind," till their eyes are opened in marriage. It
is necessary for the youth of both sexes to be perfectly honest
in their intercourse with each other, so as to exhibit always
their true character and nature. Dishonesty is, perhaps, a
greater barrier even than ignorance to a proper understanding
of the real character of those with whom we contemplate mat-
rimonial alliances. Young men and women are not true to
themselves. They put on false characters. They assume alrg
not their own. They shine in borrowed plumes. They piactise
every species of deception for the concealment of their real
characters. They study to appear better than they are. They
seek, by the adornments of dress and gems, by the blandish

mmmmmmmm

M^ 1] , \

318

OOUBTaUIP.

.;* J

ments of art and manner, by the allurements of smiles and
honeyed words, by the fascination of pleasure and scenes of ex-
citement, to add unreal, unpossessed charms to their persona
and characters They aj)pear in each other's society to be the
embodiment of goodness and sweetness, the personification of
lofty principie and holy love, when, in fact, they are full of hu-
man weaknesses and frailties.

We have remarked that the ostensible object of courtship is the
choice of a companion. It is not to woo ; it is not to charm or
gratify, or phase, simply for the present pleasure ; it is not for
the present sweets of such an intimate and confiding intercourse.
It is simply and plainly for the selectioti of a life companion ;
one who must bear, suffer, and enjoy life with us in all its
frowns and smiles, joys and sorrows ; one who can walk pleas-
antly, willingly, and confidingly, by our side, through all the
intricate and changing vicissitudes incident to mortal life. Now,
how shall courtship be conducted so as to make a marriage a
certainty/ and not a lottery ? This is the question.

Now let us ask what is to be sought ? You answer, a com-
panion. What is a companion ? A congenial spirit, onepos-
sesseu of an interior constitutit ii of soul similar to our own, of
similar age, opinions, tastes, habits, modes of thought, and feel-
ing. A congenial spirit is one who, under any given combina-
tion of circumstances, would be affected, and feel and act as we
ourselves would. It is one Tho would enjoy what we v juld
enjoy, dislike what we would dislike, approve what we would ap-
prove, and condenm what we would condemn, not for the pur-
pose of agreeing with us, but of his or her own free will. This
is a companion ; one who is kindred in soul with us ; who is
already united to us by the ties of spiritual harmony ; which
union it is the object of courtship to discover. Courtship, then
is a voyage of discovery ; or a court of inquiry, established by
mutual consent of the parties, to see wherein and to what ex-
tent there is a harmony existing. If in all these they honestly
and inmostly agree, and find a deep and thrilling pleasure in
their agreement, find their union of sentiment to give a charm

FLIRTING.

3ir

to their social intercourse ; if now they feel that thc'r henrta
are bound as well as their sentiments in a holy unity, and that
for each other they would live, and labour, and n, Ice every
personal sacrifice with gladness, and that without each other
they know not how to live, it is their privilege, yes, their duty,
to form a matrimonial alliance. And it will not bo a lottery.
They know what they are to ji;ive and what they are to get
They will be married in the full blaze of light and love, and be
married for a happy, virtuous and useful union, to bleas them-
•elvea -ind the world with a living type of heaven.

rlirtitt0.

'jT^HE ostensible object of courtship is the choice of a com-
}l}.^ panion. For no other object should any intercourse
having the appearance of courtship be permitted or
indulged in. It -3 a species of high-handed fraud upon an un-
suspecting heart, -worthy of the heaviest penalty of public
opinion, or law. The affections are too tender and sacred to
be trifled with. He who does it is a wretch. He should be
rfinked among thieves, robbers, villaiiLs, and murderers. He
who steals money steals trash ; but he who steals affections
without a return of similar affections steals that which is dearer
than life and more precious than wealth. His theft is a robbery
of the heart.

Flirting is a horrid outrage upon the mo ^ holy and exalted
feelings of the human soul, and the most sacred and important
relation of life. It is a vulgarism and wickedness to be com-
pared only to blasphemy. It had, and still has, its origin in
the basest lust. The refined soul is always disgusted with it.
It is av/fnlly demoralizing in its tendency, and low and ba; ^ in
its character. It is true, many bandy their low jokes upon hia

iff?.

mtm^mKnKmi4<rftsmmm''7s^^>wimimsmmm

320

FLIRTING.

matter in thoughtlessness ; but if they would take (»ne moment's
sober reflection upon it, they would see the impropriety of jest-
ting about the most delicate, serious, and sacred feelings and
relations in human existence. The whole tendency of such
lightness is to cause the marriage relation to be lightly esteemed,
and courtship to be made a round of low fun and frolic, in
which every species of deception is endeavoured to be played
off. Until it is viewed in its true light, in that sober earnest-
ness which the subject demands, how can courtship be anything
else than a grand game of hypocrisy, resulting in wickedness
and misery the most ruinous and deplorable ?

There is much trifling courting among the young in some
portions of the country that results in such calamitous conse-
quences, carried on sometimes when the young man means
nothing but present pleasure, and sometimes when the young
woman has no other object in view. Such intercourse is confined
mostly to young men and women before they are of age. It is
a crying evil, worthy of the severest censure.

A case was recently tried in Rutland, Vermont, in which a
Miss Munson recovered fourteen hundred and tvi^enty-five
dollars of a Mr. Hastings, for a breach of marriage-contract.
The curiosity of the thing is this : The Vermont judge charged
the jury that no explicit promise was necessary io bind the
parties to a marriage contract ; but that long-continued atten-
tions or intimacy with a female was as good evidence of intend-
ed matrimony as a special contract The principle of the case
undoubtedly is, that if Hastings did not promise, he ought to have
done so — the law holds him responsible tor the non-performance
of his duty. A most excellent decision. We think if there
were more such cases there would be less flirting.

One of the meanest things a young man can do (and it is not
at all of uncommon occurrence) is to monopolize the time and
attention of a young girl for a year, or more, without any defi-
nite object and to the exclusion of other gentlemen, who, sup-
posing him to have matrimonial intentions, absent themselves
from her society. This selfish " doj^'-in-the-manger " way ot

BACHIS1.0RS.

321

proceeding should be discountenanced and forbidden by all
parents and guardians. It prevents the reception of eligible
offers of marriage, and fastens upon the young lady, when the
acquaintance is finally dissolved, the unenviable and unvierited
appellation of " flirt." Let all your dealings with women, young
man, be frank, honest and noble. That many whose education
and position in life would warrant our looking for better things,
ore culpably criminal on these points, is no excuse for your
shortcomings. That woman is often injured, or wronged,
through her holiest feelings, adds but a black dye to your mean-
ness. One rule is always safe : Treat every woTnan you meet
as you would wish another man to treat your innocent, con-
fid4/rig sister.

\n(ktloxs.

l^j\ ARRIAGE has a gi-eat refining and moralizing tendency,
i^^L Nearly all the debauchery and crime are committed by
unmarried men, or by those who have wives equal to
none, at least to them. When a man marries early, and uses
prudence in choosing a suitable companion, he is likely to lead
a virtuous, happy life. But in an unmarried state, all alluring
vices have a tendency to draw him away. We notice in the
State penitentiary reports that nearly all the criminals are
bachelors. The more married men you have, the fewer crimes
there will be. Marriage renders a man more virtuous and
more wise. An unmarried man is but half of a perfect
being, and it requires the other half to make things right ;
and it cannot be expected that in this imperfect state h»
can keep straight in the path of rectitude any more than a
boat with one oar can keep a straight course. In nine cases
out of ten, where married men become drunkards, or where

322

BACHELORS.

n . 1 5

i •

' ■

they commit Crimea against the peace of the community, the
foundation of these acts was laid while in a single state, or
where the wife is, as is sometimes the case, an unsuitable match.
Marriage changes the cunent of a man's feelings and gives him
a centre for his thoughts, his affections and his acts.

If it were intended for man to be single, there would be no
harm in remaining so ; and, on the other hand, it would become
a crime if any persons would unite and live as wedded. But,
since this is not the Divine law, it is a sin and a crime if men
do not marry, and live as designed.

I arriage is a school and exercise of virtue ; and though
marriage hath ^ares, yet single life hath desires, which are more
troublesome and more dangerous, and often end in sin ; while
the cares are but exercises of piety ; and, therefore, if the
single life hath more privacy of devotion, yet marriage hath
more variety of it, and is an exercise of more graces. Mar-
riage is tlie proper scene of piety and patience, of the duty of
parents and the charity of relations ; here kindness is spread
abroad, and love is united and. made firm as a centre. Mar-
riage is the nursery of heaven. The virgin sends prayers to
God ; but she carries but one soul to him ; but the state of her
marriage fills up the numbers of the elect, and hath in it the
labour of love, and the delicacies of friendship, the blessings
of society, and the union of hearts and hands. It hath in it
more safety than the single life ; it hath more care, it is more
merry and more sad ; is fuller of sorrows and fuller of jo^'s ;
it lies under more burdens, but is supported by all the strength
of love and charity which makes those burdens delightful.
Marriage is the mother of the world, and preserves kingdoms,
and fills cities, and churches, and heaven itself, and is that state
of good things to which God hath designed the present consti-
tution of the world.

We advise every young man to get married. The chances
are better by fifty per cent., all through life, in every respect.
There is no tear shed for the old bachelor ; there is no ready
hand and kind heart to cheer him in his loneliness and bereave-

BACnELORS.

323

ment ; there is none in whose eyes he can see himself reflected,
and from whose lips lie can receive the unfailing assurances of
care and love. He may be courted for his money ; he may eat
and drink and revel : and lie may sicken and die in a hotel or
a garret, with plenty of attendants about him, like so many
cormorants waiting for their prey ; but he will never know the
comforts of the domestic fireside.

The guardians of the Holborn Union lately advertised for
candidates to fill the situation of engineer at the work-house,
a single man, a wife not being allowed to reside on the premises.
Twenty-one candidates presented themselves, but it was found
that as to testimonials, character, workmanship, and appearance,
the best men were all married men. The guardians had there-
fore to elect a married man.

A man who avoids matiimony, on account of the cares of
wedded life, cuts himself oil' from a great b-essing for fear of
a tiifling annoyance. He rivals the wise-acre who secured
himself against corns by having his legs amputated. My
bachelor brother, there cannot, by any possibility, be a homo
where there is no wife. To talk of a home without love, we
might as well expect to find an American fireside in one of the
pjrannds of Egypt.

There is a world of wisdom in the following : " Every school-
boy kiiows that a kite would not fly unless it h id a string ty-
in,i» it down. It is just so in life. The man wlio is tied down
by a half-a-dozen blooming responsibilities and their mother,
will make a higher and stronger fight than the bachelor who,
having nothing to keep hira steady, is always floundering in the
mud. If you want to ascettd in the worlil, tie yourself to some-
body."

324

INFLUENCE OF MATBIMOyT.

]. I

■ i

Ul i :■

■■i

fix^ntntt of iniftrimmtti.

ARRIAGE is an occasion on which none refuse to sym-
pathize. Would that all were equally able and willing
to understand ! Would that all could know how, from
the firstflow of the affections till they are shed abroad in all their
plentitude, the purposes of their creation become fulfilled. They
were to life like a sleeping ocean to a bnght but barren and
silent shore. When the breeze from a far awakened it, new lights
began to gleam, and echoes to be heard ; rich and unthought
of treasures were cast up from the depths ; the barriei-s of in-
dividuality were broken down ; and from henceforth, they who
choose may " hoar the mighty waters rolling evermore. Would
that all could know how, by this mighty impulse, new strength
is given to every power — how the intellect ia vivified and en
larged — how the spirit becomes bold to explore the path of life,
and clear-sighted to discern its issues !

Marriage is, to a woman, at once the happiest and saddest
event of her life ; it is the promise of future bUss, raised on
the death of all present enjoyment. She quits her home, her
parents, her companions, her occupations, her amusements —
her everything upon which she has hitherto depended for
comfort— for affection, ,for kindness, for pleasure. The pa-
rents by whose advice she has been guided, the sister to whom
she has dared to impart every embryo thought and feeling, the
brother who has played with her, in turns the counsellor and
counselled, and the younger children to whom she has hither-
to been the mother and the plaj-^mate — all are to be for-
saken in one instant ; every former tie is loosened, the spring
of every hope and action to be changed, and yet she files with
joy unto the untrodden paths before her. Buoyed up by the
confidence of requited love, she bids a fond and grateful adieu
to the life that is passed, and turns with excited hope and joy-

INFLUENCE OF MATRIMONY

325

ous anticipations of the happiness to come. Then woe to the
man who can blast suvih hopes — who can, coward-Jike, break
the illusions that have won her, and destroy the confidence
which his love inspired.

There is no one thing more lovely in this life, more full of the
d'vinest courage, than when a yc x\g maiden, from her past
lite, from her happy childhood, when she rambled over every
field and moor around her home . when a mother anticipated
ber wants and soothed her little cares ; when brothers and
sisters grew from merry playmates to loving, trustful friends ;
from the Christmas gatherings, and romps, the summer festi-
vals in bower or garden ; from the rooms sanctified by the death
of relatives ; from the holy and secure back-grounds of her
childhood, and girlhood, and maidenhood, looks out into a dark
and \inillumined future, away from all that, and yet unterrified,
undaunted, leans her fair cheek upon her lover's breast, and
whispers, " Dear heart ! I cannot see, but I believe. The past
^vas beautiful, but the future I can trust vnth thee ! "

Wherever a woman plights her truth under the sky of heaven,
at the domestic hearth, or in the consecrated aisles, the ground
is holy, the spirit of the hour is sacramental. That it is thus
felt even by the most trivial may be observed at the marriage
ceremony. Though the mirth may be fast and furious befo''e
or after the irre /"ocable formula is spoken, yet at that point of
time there is a shadow on the most laughing lip — a moisture in
the firmest eye. Wedlock, indissoluble, except by an act of
God — a sacrament whose solemnity reaches to etemitv — will
always hold its rank in literature, as the most impressive fact
of human experience in dramatic writing, whether of the stage
or closet, the play or novel. It must be so. If government,
with all its usurpations and aggressions, has appropriated his-
tory, let the less ambitious portions of our literature be sacred
to the affections — to the family, based upon conjugal and pa-
rental love, as that institution is the state which, hitherto in the
world's annals, has baeu little else than the sad exponent of
human ambition.

326

INFLUENCE OF MATRIMONY.

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A judicious wife is always snipping oflf, from her muHtmim". ■
moral nature, little twigs that are growing in the wrong direc-
tion. She keeps him in shape by continual pruning. If you
say anything silly, she will affectionately tell you so. If you
declare you will do some absurd thing, she will find means of
preventing you from doing it. And by far the chief part of
all common sense there is in this world belongs unquestionably
to woman. The wisest things which a man commonly does are
those which his wife counsels him to do. A wife is the grand
wielder of the moral pruning knife. When you see a man ap-
pearing shabby, hair uncombed, and no buttons on his coat,
nine times out of ten you are correct in concluding that he is a
bachelor. You can conclude much the same wlien you s«e a
man profane, or speaking vulgarly of ladies. We would add
that young men who wish to appear well in every respect should
get married. It has been well said, " A man unmarried is but
half a man.**

It was thus, surely, that intellectual beings of different stxes
were intended by their great Creator to go through the wc»rld
together; thus united, not only in hand and heart, but 'Q prin-
ciples, in intellect, in views, and in dispoaitiovis ; each pursuing
one common and noble end — their own improvement and the
happiness of those around them — ^by the different means appro-
priate to their Situation, mutually correcting, sustaining and
strengthening each other ; undegraded by all practices of tyr-
anny on the one hand and of deceit on the other, each finding
a candid but severe judge in the understanding, and a warm
and partial advocate in the heart of their companion ; secure
of a refuge from the vexations, the follies, the misunderstand-
ings and the evils of the world in the arms of each other, and
in the inestimable enjoyments of undisturbed confidence and
unrestrained intimacy.

The la^ «nat binds the one man io the one woman is indeli-
bly written by nature, that, wherever it is violated in general
Bjnstcm, the human race is found to deteriorate in mind and form.
The ennobling influences of women oease ; the wife is a com-

INFLUENCE OF MATRIMONY.

327

incUng

indeli-
reneral
id form,
a com-

panion — a hundred wives are but a hundred slaves. Nor ra
this all, unless a man looks to a woman as a treasure to be
wooed and m — her smile the charm of his existence — her
single heart the range of his desires — that which deserves tho
name of love cannot exist ; it is struck out of the hateful sys-
tem of society. Now, if there be a passion in the human breast
which most tends to lift s out of egotism and self, which most
teaches us to love anotii which purifies and warms the whole
mortal being, it is love, as we of the North hold it and cherish
ift. For even when the fair s[)ring of youth has passed, and
when tho active life is employed in such grave pursuits that
the love of his early years seems to him like a dream of ro-
mance, still that love, having once lifted himout of egotism in-
to sympathy, does but pass into new forms and development
— it has locked his heart to charity and benevolence — it ^ves
a smile to his home — it rises up in the eyes of his children —
from his heart it circulates insensibly on to all the laws that
protect the earth, to the native lands which spread around it.
Thus in the history of the world we discover that wherever
love is created, as it were, and sanctioned by that equality be-
tween the sexes which the permanent and holy union of one
heart with another proclaims ; there, too, patriotism, liberty —
the manly and gentle virtues — ^also find their place ; and where-
ever, on the contrary, polygamy is practised and love disappears
in the gross satiety of the senses, there we find neither respect
for humanity nor reverence for home, nor afiection for the natal
soil. And one reason why Greece is contrasted in all that dig-
nifies our nature, the efieminate and dissolute character of the
East which it overthrew, is, that Greece was the earliest civi-
lized country in which, on the borders of those great monarch-
ies, marriage was the sacred tie between one man and one wo-
man — and man was the thoughtful father of a home, not the
wanton lord of a seraglio.

Nothing delights me more than to enter the neat little tene
ment of the young couple, who, within perhaps two or three
years, without any resources but their own knowledge or m-

328

INFLVENCB OF MATRIMONY.

r, I

.1 ;■-

ft.

'a-

dustry, have joined heart and hand, and engaged to share to-
gp^lier the responsibilities, duties, interests, trials and pleasures
of life. The industrious wife is cheerfully employed with hei
own hands in domestic duties, putting her house in order, or
mending her husband's clothes, or preparing the dinner, whilst,
perhaps, the little darling sits prattling on the floor, or lies
sleeping in the cradle, and everything seems preparing to wel-
come the happiest of husbands, and the best of fathers, when
he shall come from his toil to enjoy the sweets of his little
paradise. This is the true domestic pleasura Health, content-
ment, love, abundance, and bright prospects, are all here. But
it has b»;come a prevalent sentiment that a man must acquire
his fortune before he marries, that the wife must have no sym-
pathy nor share with him in the pursuit of it, in which most of
the pleasure truly consists ; and the young married people
must set out with avS large and expensive an establishment as
IS becoming to those who have been wedded for twenty years.
This is very unhappy; it fills the community with bachelors,
who are waiting to make their fortunes, endangering virtue and
promoting vice ; it destroys the true economy and design
of the domestic institution, and efficiency among females,
who are expecting: to be taken up by fortune and pas-
sively sustained, without any care or concern on their part •
and thus many a wife becomes, as a gentleman once remarked
not a " help-mate," but a " help-eat."

The Creator found that it was not good for man to be alone.
Therefore he made woman to be a " helpmeet for him." And
for many ages history has shown that " the permanent union
of one man with one woman establishes a relation of affections
and interests which can in no other way be made to exist be-
tween two human beings." To establish this relation was one of
the great designs of God in giving the rite to man ; and by es-
tablishing this relation, marriage becomes uo him an aid in the
sterr conflict of life. This it is in a theoretical point of view.
This, too, it has often proved in practical life. Many a man
has risen from obscurity to fame, who, in the days of his tn-

INFLUENCE OF MATRIMONY.

320

umj.bant victory, has freely and gratefully acknowledged, that
to the sympathy and encouragement of his wife, during the
long and weary years of toil, he owed very much of his achieved
success.

Bub while young men say they crnnot marry because the
girls of this generation are '/ oo extravagant, the fault by no
means is altogether w^th the girls. In the first place, young
men, as a general thing, admire the elegant costumes in which
many ladies appear, and do not hesitate to express their ad-
miration to those who are more plainly dressed. And what is
the natural effect of this ? In the second place many young
men are too proud themselves to commence their married life
in a quiet, economical way. They are not willing to marry
until they have money enough to continue all their own private
luxuries, and also support a wife in style. The difficulty is not
altogether on either side ; but if both men and women would
be true to the best feelings of their hearts, and careless about
what the world would say, pure and happy and noble homes
would be more abundant. This state of affairs is very unfor-
tunate for both parties. It leaves woman without a home and
without protection or support. Woman needs the strength and
courage of man, and he needs her cheerfulness, her sympathy,
her consolation. One paper tel's us, that in a single New Eng-
land city, there are nearly thir+.y thousand young men, alrea<iy
engaged, who are putting off marriage until they can make
enough to support their wives. So it is throughout the coun-
try. Young men need the restraining and elevating influences
of home. But as it is now the man must commence business
alone, fight his own battles without sympathy or consolation,
win, if possible, by years of arduous toil, a competence ; and
when the conflict is over, the toil is past and the victory is
won, tJicn he can have a wife and a home. A man to succeed
well in life needs the influence of a pure-minded woman, Aud
her sympathy to sweeten the cup of life.

330

ADVANTAGES OF MATRIMONY.

,&<;:

Abbnnfnges of Pttfrlmott^.

ARRTAGE has in it loss of beauty, but more of safety
than tlie single life ; it hatli no more ense, but less
danger ; it is more merry arul more sad ; it is fuller of
Borrows and fuller of joys ; it lies under more burdens, but it
is supported by all the strengths of love and charity, and those
burdens are delightful. Marriage is the mother of the world,
and preserves kingdoms, and tills cities and churches, and
heaven itself. Celibacy, like the fly in the heart of an appl i,
dwells in perpetual sweetness, but sits alone, and is confined
and dies in singularity ; but marriage, like the useful bee, builds
a house, and gathers honey from every flower, and labours, and
unites into societies and republics, and sends out colonies, and
feeds the world with delicacies, and obeys its king, and keeps
order, and exercises many virtu* -i, and promotes the interests
of mankind, and is that state of good to which God has de-
signed the present constitution of the world.

If you are for pleasure, marry ; if you prize rosy health,
marry. A good wife is heaven's last best gift to man ; his
angel of luercy ; minister of graces innumerable ; his gem of
many virtues ; his casket of jewels. Her voice his sweetest
music ; her smiles his brightest days ; her kiss the guardian of
innocence ; her arms the pale of his safety, the balm of his
health, the balsam of his life ; her industry his surest wealth ;
her economy his safest steward ; her lips his faithful counsellor ;
her bosom the softest pillow of his cares ; and her prayers the
ablest advocates of heaven's blessings on his head.

Woman's influence is the sheet anclior of society ; and this
influence is due not exclusively to the fascination of her charms,
but chiefly to the strength, uniformity, and consistency of her
virtues, maintained under so many sacrifices, and with so much
fortitude and heroism. Without these eudowments and quali-

ADVA NT AGES OF MATRIMONY.

flcations, external attractions are nothing ; but with them, their
power is irresistible.

Beauty and virtue are the crowning attributes bestoweil by
nature upon woman, and the bounty of heaven more than com-
pensates for the injustice of man. Sometimes we hear both
sexes repine at their change, relate the happiness of their
earUer years, blame the folly and rashness of their own choice,
and warn those whom they see coming into the world against
the same precipitance and infatuation. But it is to be remem-
bered that the days which they so much wish to call back, are
the days not only of celibacy but of youth, the days of novelty
and improvement, of ardour and of hope, of health and vigour
of body, of gaiety and lightness of heart. It is not easy
to surround life with any circumstances in which youth will
not be delightful ; and we are afraid that whether married or
unmarried, we shall find the vesture of terrestrial existence
more heavy and cumberous the longer it is worn.

Once for all, there is no misery so distressful as the desperate
ai'ony of trying to keep young when one can't. We know an
old bachelor who has attempted it. His affectation of youth,
like all affectations, b a melancholy failure. He is a rapid
young man of fifty. He plies innocent young ladies with the
pretty compliments and soft nothings in vogue when he was a
spooney youth of twenty. The fashion of talking to young
ladies has changed within thirty years, you know, and this
aged boy's soft nothings seem more out of date than a two-year-
old bonnet. They make you think, somehow, of that time-
honoured frog-story, wheioin 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 I'ke 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 Deen almost full-fledged before you were bom, and here h»

«,■(■•

882

YOUifG MEN AND MAKRIAOB.

is trying to make l)elieve that ho is still in the da}ii of his
gosling-groen, with tlie shell sticking on his liead to this day !
It is a melancholy absurdity. One can't be young unless one
is young. Only once is it given to us to be untried and soft,
and gushing and superiative, and when the time coniee for it
all to go, no sort of effort can hold back the fleeting days.

" I wish that I had married thirty years ago," soliloquizeo
an old bachelor. " Oh ! I wish a wife and half a score of child-
ren would start up around me, and bring along with them all that
affection which we should have had for each other by being
early acquainted. 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 T don't believe there is a person ia it
who care? a straw for me."

, t

<»•»

1^^^^^ i

fonng |n, rnib |»tri»ge.

YOUNQ man meets a pretty face in the ball-room,
falls in love with it, courts it, marries it, goes to house-
keeping "with it, and boasts of having a home and a
wife to grace it. The chances are, nine to ten, that he has
neither. He has been " taken in and done for ' " Her pretty
face gets to be an old story, or becomes faded, or freckled, oi
fretted, and as the face was all he wanted, all he paid attention
to, all he sat up with, all he bargained for, all he swore to love,
honour and protect, he gets sick of his trade, knows of a dozen
faces he likes better, gives up staying at home evenings, con-
soles himself with cigars, oysters, and politics, and looks upon
his home as a very indifferent boarding-house.

Another young man becomes enamoured of a " fortune." He
waits upon it to parties, dances a polka with it, exchanges billets
doux with it, pops the question to it, gets accepted by it, take*

■l

TOUNO MSN AND MARRIAOB,

it to the parson, weds it, calls it " wife," carries it liome, sets up
an establishment with it, introduces it to his friends, and aayn
he, too, is married and has got a liome. It is false. He is not
married ; he has no liome. And ho soon finds it out. Ho iti
in the wron;T box ; hut it is too late to get out of it; ho might
an well hope to get out of his cofllii. His friends congratulate
him, and he has to grin and bear it

If a young man would escape those sad consequences, let
him shun the rocks upon which so many have made .sliipwreck.
Let him disregard, totally, all considerations of wealth, beauty,
external accomplishments, fashion, connections in society, and
every other mere selfish and worldly end, and look into the
mind and heart of the W(Muan he thinks of marrying. If he
cannot love her for herself alone — that is, for u\\ that goes to
make up her chara<3ter as a woman — let him disregai-d every
external inducement, and shun a marriage with her as the
greatest evil to which he could be subjected. And if he have
in him a spark of virtuous feeling — if he have one unselfish
and generous emotion — he will shun such a marriage for the
woman's sake also, for it would be sacrificing her happiness as
well as his own.

From what is hero set forth every young man can see how
vitally important it is for him to make his choice in marriage
from a right end. Wealth cannot bring happiness, and is ever
in danger of taking to itself wings ; beauty cannot last long
where there is grief at the heart ; and distingui'-hed connections
are a very poor substitute for the pure lov-e of a true woman's
heait. *

All that has been said refers to the ends which should gov-
ern in the choice of a wife. Directions as to the choice itself
can only be of a general character, for the circumstances sur-
rounding each one, and the particular circles into which he is
thrown, will have specific influences, which will bias the judg-
ment either one way or another. One good rule it will, how-
ever, be well to observe, and that is, to be on your guaxcl
agwinst those voung ladies who seek evidently to attiact your

'*f

■If

iii«

■•»■

SS4

YOVNO MEN AND MARRIAOB.

> i

' I,. I

1 ^

I - n

• ; : Pi

S ! . i ti

!i ■ ■ 1

attention. It is unfeminine and proves that there is something
wanting to make up the perfect woman. In retiring modesty
you will be far more apt to find the virtues after which you
are seeking. A brilliant belle may make a loving, faithful
wife and mother ; but the chances are somewhat against her,
and a prudent young man will satisfy himself well by a close
obsei-vation of her in private and domestic life before he makes
up his mind to ofi'er her his hand.

There are many, too many finely educated young ladies who
can charm you with their brilliance of intellect, their attain-
ments in science and literature, or their music, who know not
the rudiments of how to make a home comfortable and inviting.
Some will frankly confess it, with sorrow, others boast of this
ignorance as something to be proud of. How many such
women marry and make an utter failure of life. They make
a wreck of their husband's happiness, of the home he had doted
on, of his fortune, and, alas, too often of his character, and his
soul's interest. You see them abroad, and are delighted to
have made their acquaintance, but you find their homes slip-
shod homes, sadly contrasting with the really cultivated man-
ners and mind which so attracted you.

When you see the avaricious and crafty taking companions
to themselves without any inquiry but after farms and money
or the giddy and thoughtless uniting themselves for life to
those whom they have only seen by the light of tapers ; when
parents make articles for children without inquiiing after their
consent ; when some maiTy for heirs to disappoint their brothers,
and others throw themselves into the arms of those whom they
do not love, because they have found themselves rejected where
they were more solicitous to please ; when some marry because
their servants cheat them ; some because they squander their
own money ; some because their houses are pestered with com-
pany ; some because they will live like other people ; and some
because thev are sick of themselves, we are not so much in-
dined to wonder that marriage is sometimes unhappy, as that
it appears so little loaded with calamity, and (^annot but con-

YOUNG MEN AND MAERIAGE.

33ft

elude that society hath something in itself eminently agreeable
to human nature, when we find its pleasures so great that even
the ill-choice of a companion can hardly overbalance them.
Those, therefore, of the above descrii)tion that should rail
against matrimony should be informed that they are neither
to wonder nor repine, that a contract begun on such princi[)les
has ended in disappointment. A young man and a dear friend
onc-e said to me, " 1 am going to take her for better or for
worse." The remark ran over me like a chili breath of winter.
I shuddered at the thought, " For better or for worse." All
in doubt. Going to marry, yet not sure he was right. The
lady he spoke of was a noble young woman, intellectual, cul-
tivated, pious, accustomed to his sphere of life. They were
going to marry in uncertainty. Both were of fine families;
both excellent young pt jjle. To the world it looked like a
desirable match. To them it was going to bo " for better or
for worse." They married. The woman stayed in his home
one year and left it, declaring he was a good man and a fault-
less husband, but not after her heart. She stayed awa]' one
year and came back ; lived with him one year more and died.
Sad tale. It proved for the worse, and all because the}'' did not
know each other ; if they had they would not have married.

Marriage is the seal of man's eaithly weal or woe. No event
is to be compared with this for its interest and its immeasur-
able results. Why are .so many unhappy in this union, never
indeed truly married i Because tliey rush 'nto its sacred temple,
eiiher deluded or unsanctihed by God and good principles.
They sin in haste, and aie left to repent at leisure. Custom,
convenience, proximity, passion, vicious novels, silly conr.ian-
ions, intoxicate the brain ; and tliat step is taken without one
serious thought, which death only can retrieve.

Robert Soutliey says; " A man may be clieerful and contented
in celibacy, but I do not think he can ever be happy ; it is an un-
natural statf, and uhe best feelings of his nature are never
Cfdled into action. The risks of marriage are for the greater
part on the woman's side. Women have so little the power

PflF'

«':

336

YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAGE.

. \ .'/ 5

of choice that it is not perhaps fair to say that tliey are leai
likely to choose well than we are ; but I am persuaded *,hat
they are more frequently deceived in the attachments they form,
and their opinions concerning men are leas accurate than .^^n's
opinion of their sex. ISow, if a lady were to reproach me for
having said this, I should only reply that it was another mode
of saying thei-e are more good wives in the world than there
are good husbands, which I veriiy believe. I know of nothing
which a good and sensible man is so certain to find, if he looks
for it, as a good wife."

Who marrie': for love takes a wife ; who marries for the sake
of convenience takes a mistress ; who marries for consideration
takes a lady. You are loved by your wife, regarded by your
mistress, tolerated by your lady. You have a wife for your-
self,- a mistress for your house and its friends, and a lady for
the world. Your wife will agi'ee with you, j^our mistress will
accommodate you, and your lady will manage you. Your wife
will take care of your household, your mistress of your house,
your lady of appearance. If you are sick, your wife will
nurse you, your mistress will visit you, and your lady will in-
quire after your health. You take a walk with your wife, a
ride with your mistres? and join paxtners with your lady.
Your wife will share your grief, your mistress your money, and
your lady your debts. If you are dead, your wife will shed tears,
your mistress lament, and your lady wear mourning. A year
after death marries again your wife, in six months your mis-
tress, and in six weeks or soonei', when mourning ia over, your
lady.

Men and women, before marriage, are as figures and cy-
phers. The woman is the c^'pher and counts for nothing till
she gets the figure of a husband beside her, when she becomes
of importance hertf slf and »dds ten-fold to the sum of his. But
this, it must be observed, occurs only when she gets and re-
mains on the '■ ' jUt side of him, for when she shifts from this
position, he returns to his lesser estate, and she to her original
insigniiicaQCd.

',^H»J^(T'*■^ *fr»r"'"

YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAOB.

MaiTiage offers the most effective opportunities for spoiling
the life of another. Nobody can debase, harass and ruin a
woman so fatally as her own husband, and nobody can do a
tithe so much to chill a man's aspirations, to paralyze his en-
ergies, as his wife. A man is never irretrievably ruined in his
prospects until he marries a bad woman. The Bible tells us
that, as the climbing a sandy way is to the feet of the aged,
BO is a wife full of words to a quiet man. A cheerful wife is
a rainbow in the sky when her husband's mind is tossed on
the storms of anxiety and care. A good wife is the greatest
earthly blessing. A man is what his wife makes him. It :a
the mother who moulds the character and destiny ot the child.
Make marriage matter of moral judgment. Marry in your
own religion. Marry into a different blood and temperament
from your own. Marry into a family which you have long
known.

Husbands and wives of different religious persuasions do not
generally live happily. When the spiritual influences are an-
tagonistic, the conjugal union is not complete, for it lacks the
unity essential to the fulfilment of serious obligations, and there
is an entire absence of that sound and reciprocated confidence
— that mutual faith, which, althon'ifh their roots be in the earth,
have their branches in the sky ct affection. The sul>ject is
painful, and however we may wound the susceptibilities of ap-
parently fond lovers— we B&y apparently advisedly, for there
can be no real love where there is " no silver cord to bind it "
— we unhesitatingly express the opinion that marriages be-
tween persons who do not tread in the same religious path are
wholly unadvisable — nay, wrong — for they tend to invite a
future teeming with shadows, clouds, and daikneas.

"T^T ^fmm^^^

338

YOU2fO LADIES AND MATRIMONY.

S|£»utt0 Rabies anb Matrinums.

^^^ ANY a joung lady writes to say tliat she has had an
advantageous offer of marriage. The man who made
it is of exemplary character ; he is well off in this
world's goods, is engaged in a prohtable and reputable business,
and there is no particular reason why she should not accept his
proposal ; but she does not love hixn. In our judgment, that is
reason enough. We do i^ot believe in marriage without love.
Respect is all very ve.^i, and that one should have anyway ;
but it does not take the place of affection. It is said that in
such matches love conies after marriage We have no doubt
that it often does. But we think love should precede as well as
follow matrimony. It is always iiai)le to happen to one who
has never loved, Bu*^ support* subsequent to marriage, it is
awakened for the iirst time in 9 wife, and the object happens
to be other than the husnand— wnat then ? This is a contin-
gency not pleasant to contemplate. Iso; if you do not love,
then do not marry. Singleness is blessedness compared to mar-
riage without affectiou. The connuMai yoke sits easy on the
shoulders of love ; but it is most gaiii^g without this one and
only sufficient support.

We celebrate the wedding, and make m«rry over the honey
moon. The poet paints the beauties and bNsbes of the bloom-
ing bride ; and the bark of matrimony, with ^ts fireight of un-
tested love is launched on the uncertain ocean of experiment,
amid kind wisnes and rejoicings. But on tnat j»recarious sea
are many storms, and even the calm has its periL« ; and only
when the bark has weathered these, and landed its cai-go iu thf
haven of domestic peace, can we pronounce the voyage prosper-
ous, and congratulate the adventurer on his merited and envi-
able reward.

The best women have an instinctive wish to marry a man

YOUNG LADJFS AND MATRIMONY.

339

and

superior to themselves in some way or other ; for their honour
is in their husbands, and their status in society is determined
by his. A woman who, for a passing fancy, marries a man in
any way her inferior, wrongs herself, her family, and her whole
life ; for the " grossness of his nature " will most probably drag
her to his level Now and then a woman of great force of
character may lift her husband upward, but she accepts such a
labour at the peril of her own higher life. Should she find it
erjually impossible to lift him to her level or to sink to hig,
what remains ? Life-long regrets, bitter shame and self-re-
proach, or a forcible setting of herself free. But the latter, like
all severe remedies, carries desperation, instead of hope with it.
Never can she quite regain her maiden place ; an aura of a
<loubtful kind fetters and influences her in every effort or re-
lation of lier future life. Or a young woman is smitten with
a pair of whiskers. Curled hair never before had such charms.
She sets her cap for them ; they take. The delighted whiskers
make an offer, proffering themselves both in exchange for one
heart. My dear miss is overcome with maguanimity, closes the
bargain, carries home the })rize, shows it to pa and ma, calls
herself engaged to it, thinks there never was such a pair of
whiskers before, and in a few weeks they are married. Married !
Y<«, the world calls it so, and so we will. What is the result?
\ short honeymoon, and then the discovery that they are as
unlike as chalk and cheese, and not to be made one, though
all the priests in (Christendom pronounced them so.

Young ladies are not to rely upon common report, nor the
opinion of friends, nor fashionable acquaintances, but upon
personal knowledge of the individual's life and character. How
can another know what you want in a companion ? You alone
know your own heart. If you do not know it you are not fit
to be married. No one else can tell what fills you with pleas-
mg and grateful emotions. You only know when the spring
of true affection is touched by the hand of a cougenial spirit.
It is for you to knew who asks j'our hand, who has your heart,
who links bis life with yours. If you Jctiow the man who can

mmm

340

TOTTNO LADIES AND MATRIMONY

i >

1 \

make tnie answer to your soul's true love, whose soul is all
kindred with yours, whose life answers to your ideal of manly
demeanour, you know who would make you a good husband.
But if you only fancy that he is right, or guess, or believe, or
hope, from a little social interchange of words and looks, you
have but a poor foundation on which to build hopes of future
happiness. Do not, as you value life and its comforts, marry a
man who is naturally cruel. If he will wantonly torture a
poor dumb dog, a cat, or even a snake, fly from him as you
would from the cholera. We would sooner see our daughter
dying of cholera, than married to a cruel hearted man. If his
nature delights in torture, he will not spare his wife, or his
helpless children. When we see a man practising cruelty on
any poor, helpless creature, or beating a fractious horse unmer-
cifully, we write over against his name, " devil," and shun him
accordingly.

Do not marry a fop. There is in such a character nothing
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 particular-
ity 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 destiny with
such a man, we hardly need say, would be to impress the seal
of disgrace upon your character, and the seal of wretchedness
upon your doom.

Look with disdain on what are called, significantly, our "fast
young men ;" those who frequent the saloon and bar-room, to
drench themselves in " fire-water ; " who, tilled with conceit,
talk largely, and use big-sounding oai hs ; whose highest ambi-
tion is to drive a fast horse^ to swear roundly, and wear dashy
garments ; who affect tc ' )k with contempt on their elders and
equals, as they toil in some honest occupation, and regard
labour as a badge of disgrace.

A habit of industry once formed is not likely to be ever loit.

YOUNO LADIES AND MATRIMONY.

841

Placv the iiulividual in whatever circumstances you will, and
he wjtl not be satisfied unless lie can be .ictive. Moreover, it
will impart to his character an energy, and efficiency, and we
may add, dignity, which can hardly fail to render him an ob-
ject i)f respect. We should regard your prospects for life as far
l:>ett<-r if you should marry a man of vijiy limited property, or
e ven no property at all, with an honest vocation and a habit of
industry, than if it were to see you united to one of extensive
wealth, who had never been tauglit to exercise his own powers,
and had sunk into the sensual gratification of himself.

Perhaps no folly holds so strong a place in a woman's mind
tlian she can reclaim the one she loves — if he is a little fast
after maniago, he will settle down into a just and sensible hus-
bend. History, too often repeats the failure of such beliefs ;
it is delusive, a snare, and the young woman after the marriage
vcws have boon recorded, awakes to find the will of her hus-
baad stronger than her own, too selfish for any control, and her
Hf d begins its long agony of misery. We say to young maidens,
be warned in time ; can you reclaim those who have not the
po VQV to reclaim themselves ? Can you throw away your pure
Mh and womanly synipatiiies upon wretches, whose moral priu-
cij.ies cannot stand the slightest examination, and whose prof-
tei'ed love is but a temporary sympton of their changing heart-
les«ues3 ? Beware, heioare ! the deepest rascal has the finest
cii>tJies and the smoothest tongue. Yet in spite cf all the wretch-
etluess of drunkards' wives, young women are continually
willing to marry men who are in the habit of indulging in the
B»jci*l glass ! Ladies often refuse the maniage offers of young
Dien because they are too poor, or of too humble a family, or
too plain in person or manners. But only now and then one
has good sense enough to refuse to unite herself with a man
who will not pledga himself to total abstinence. A rich and
fashionable young man has commonly no trouble to get a wife,
even though he is hardly sober long enough to pronounce the
marri&ge vow. But a teetotaler in coarse raiment might be
snubb( d as a vulcrar fellow who has never seen society. Ladies,

'•:'g

■ *>«i

842

rOUNQ LADIES AND MAT RI MONT.

r ■; 1

before you begin to scold at U8 for thi. pious thing, just look
around and see if this i.s not true. x. young woman that
marries a man who is addicted to drinking liquors is attaching
to herself but a dead weight that will drag her down with
himself below the level of the brute. Youni; ladies, as life is
precious to you, and since you value it highly, take no such
chnnces. Rather than many a man whom you know to drink;,
only now and then, for his friend's sake, wait a wliile longer ;
there are many young men of noble character who are on the
lookout for a good young lady, and your chances are not to be
despaired of To think of redeeming a young man from in-
temperance is simply folly. To him your efforts to keep him
from the cup would be like df'nming a river with a feathtr, («
stopping a hurricane with a tin whistle

During the period that intervenes between forming an « n
gagement and consummating the connection, let your depart-
ment toward the individual to whom you have given your af-
fections be marked by modesty and dignity, respect and kind-
ness. Never, on the one hand, give him the least reasor. tr
question the sincerity of your regard, nor on the other, sullei
your intercourse with him to be marked by an undignified
familiarity. Do all that you can to render him happy, aid
while you will naturally grow in each other's confidence and
affection, you may reasonably hope that you will be helpt i*9
of each othar's joy» m th« most endearing of all human rold'
tiouflw

LOVJi.

»43

lobe.

** Oh happy state ! when souls each other draw.
When love is liberty, and nature law :
All then ia full, possessing and possesa'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast :
Even thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart"

) OVE is such a giant power that it seems to gather strength
from obstructions, and at every difficulty rises to
higher might. It is all dominant — all conquering ; a
grand leveller which can bring down tj its own universal line
of equalization the proudest heights, and remove the most
stubborn impediments : " Like death, it levels all ranks, and
lays the shepherd's crook beside the sceptre." There is no hope
of resisting it, for it outwatches the most vigilant — submerges
everything, acquiring strength as it proceeds ; ever growing,
nay, growing out of itself. Love is the light, the majesty of
life ; that principle to which, after all our struggling, and
writhing, and twisting, all things must be resolved, Take it
away, and what becomes ot the world 1 It is a barren wilder-
ness! A world of monuments, each standing upright and
crumbling ; an army of gray stones, without a chaplet, without
a leaf to take off, with its glimpse of green, their flat insipidity
and offensive uniformity upon a shrubless plain. Things base
and foul, creeping and obscure, withered, bloodless, and brain-
less, could alone spring from such a marble-hearted soil.

Love's darts are silver ; when they turn to fire in the noble
heart, they impart a portion of that heavenly flame which Ia
their element. Love is of such a refining, elevating character
that it expels all that is mean and base ; bids us think great
thoughts, do great deeds, and changes our common clay into
fine gold. It illuminates our path, dark and mysterious as it

344

LOVB.

'yf^OBi>

i ■;

may be, with torchlights lit from the one great light. Oh .
poor, weak, and inexpressive are words when sought to strew,
as with stars, the path ami track of the expression of love'«
gioal uess and power ! Dull, pitiful, and cold ; a cheating,
horny gleam, as stones strung by the side of precious gems, and
the far-flashing of the sparkling ruby with his heart of fire !
The Mue eyes of turquoises, or the liquid light of the sapphire,
shouM alone be tasked to spell along, and character our thoughts
of love.

The loves that make memory happy and home beautiful are
those which form the sunlight of our earliest consciousness,
beaming gratefully along the path of maturity, and their radi-
ance lingering till the shadow of death darkens them all
together.

But there is another love — that which blends young hearts
in blissful unity, and, for the time, so ignores past ties and af-
fections, as to make willing separation of the son from his
father's house, and the daughter from all the sweet endearments
of her childhood's home, to go out together, and rear for them-
selves an altar, around which shall cluster all the cares and de-
lights, the anxieties and sympathies, of the family relation-
ship ; this love, if pure, unsf'llish, and discreet, constitutes the
chief usefulness and happiness of human life. Without it,
there would be no organized households, and, consequently,
none of that earnest endeavour for competence and respecti^
bility, which is the mainspring to Imman effort ; none of those
sweet, softening, restraining and elevating influences of domes-
tic life, which can alone fill the earth with th-i glory of the
Lord and make jrlad the city uf Zion. This love is indeed
heaven upon earth ; but above would not be heaven without
it ; where there is not love, tliere is fear ; but, " Ljve casteth
out fear." And yet we naturally do oflend what we most love.

Love is the sun of life ; most beautiful in morning and even-
ing, but warmest and steadiest at noon. It is the sun of the
•oul. Life without love is m orse than death ; a world without
a sun. The love which does not lead to labour will soon die

LOVB

S45

Out, an<l the thankfulness whicli 'lots nut embody itself in
sacrilicc s is already changing to gratitude. Love is not ripened
'Ji one (lay, nor in many, nor even in a human lifetime. It
is the oneness of soul with soul in apiuvciatlon and perfect
trust. To he blessed it must rest in that faith in the Divine
which underlies every other emotion. To be true, it must l)e
eternal as God himself. Zeno being t<ild that it was hundliating
to a philosopher to be in love, remarked : " If that be true, the
fair sex are umch to be pitied, foi they would receive the atten-
tion only of fools." Some love a girl for l)(iauty, some for vir-
tue, and others for understanding. Goethe says : " We love a
a girl for very different things than understanding. We love
her for her beauty, her youth, her mirth, her eontidingness, her
character, with its faults, cajirices, and God knows what other
inexpressible charms ; but we do not hive her understanding.
Her mind we esteem (if it is brilliant), and it may greatly ele-
vate her in our opinion ; nay, more, it may enchain us when
we already love. But her understanding is not that which
awakens and inflames our passions."

Love ia bUnd, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit

Hemeroter that love is dependent upon forms ; courtesy of
etiquette guards and protects courtesy of heart. How many
hearts have been lost irrecoverably, and how many averted
eyes an ' cold looks have been gained from what seemed, perhaps,
bub a trifling negligence of forms. Men and women should
not be judged by the same rules. There are many radical
differences in their affectional natures. Man is the creature of
interest and ambition. His natuie leads him forth into the
struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but the embellish-
ment of his early life, or a song piped in the intervals of the
acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the world's
thoughts, and dominion over his fellow-men. But a woman's
whole life is a history of the aflections. The heart is her world.

S46

LOVK

it is there her ambition strives for empire ; it is there her am-
bition seeks for hidden treoaurea. She sends i ith h^r sym*
pathies on adventure ; she embarks her whole soul in the
traffic of affection ; and if shipwrecked her case u hopeless,
for it is bankruptcy of the heart.

Mail's loTe IB of man's life a thing, a part • ' '
'Tis wouum'a wholv oiiatence.

Woman love8 more than man because she sacrifices more.
For every woman it is witli the food of the heart as with that
of the body ; it is possible to exist on a very small (juantity
but that small quantity is an absolute necessity. Woman loves,
or abhors ; man admires or despises. Woman without love is
a fruit without flavour. In love, the virtuous woman says no;
the passionate says yes ; the capricious says yes and no ; the
coc[uette neither yes nor no. A coquette is a rose from whom
every lover plucks a loaf ; the thorn remains for the future
husband. Slie may be compared to tinder which catches
sparks but does not always succeed in lighting a match. Love,
while it frequently corrupts pure hearts, often purifies corrupt
hearts. • How well he knew the human heart who said, " we
wish to constitute all the happiness, or, if that cannot be, the
misery of the one we love."

Woman's love is stronger than death ; it rises superior to
advei*sity, and towers in sublime beauty above the niggardly
selfishness of the world. Misfortune cannot suppress it ; enmity
cannot alienate it; temj..tation cannot enslave it. It is the
guardian angel of ohe nurseiy and the sick bed ; it gives an
affectionate concord to the partnership of life and interest,
circumstances cannot modify it ; it ever remains the same to
sweeten existence, to purify the cup of life on the rugged
pathway to the grave, and melt to moral pliability the brittle
nature of man. It is the ministering spirit of home, hovering
in soothing caresses over the cradle, lind the death-bed of the
h<^usehold, and filling up the urn of all its sacred memories.

LOVE.

347

The affection that links together man and wife is a far holier
and more enduring passion than tlio enthusiasm of young lover
It may want its gorgoousness — it may want its imaginative
character, but it is far richor, and holier, and more trusting in
its attributes. Talk not to us of the absence of love in wed-
lock. No I it bums with a steady and brilliant flame, shedding
a benign influence upon existence, a million times more precious
and delightful than the cold dreams of philosophy. Domestic
love 1 Who can measure its height or its depth ? Who can
estimate its preserving and purif^'ing power ? It sends an ever
dwelling stream of life through a household, it binds hearts into
one " bundle of life ;" it shields them from temptation, it takes
the sting from disappointments and sorrow, it lireathcs music
into the voice, into the footsteps, it gives worth and beauty to
the commonest office, it surrounds home with anatmospliere of
moral health, it gives power to effort and wings to proo;ress, it
is omnipotent. Love, amid the other graces in this world, is
like a cathedral tower, which begins on the earth, and, at first,
is surrounded by the other parts of the structure ; but, at length,
rising above buttressed wall, and arch, and parapet, and pinnacle,
it shoots spire-like many a foot right into the air, so high that
Vhe huge cross on its samrait glows like a spark in the morning
light and shines like a star in th evenii'g sky, when the rest
of the pile is enveloped in darkness.

He who loves a lady's complexion, form and features, loves
not her true self, but her soul's old clothes. The love that has
nothing but beauty to sustain it, soon withers and dies. The
love that is fed with presents always requires feeding. Love,
and love only, is the loan for love. Love is of the nature of a
burning glass, which, kept still in one place, fireth ; changed
often, it doth nothing. The purest joy we can experience in
one we love, is to see that person a source of happiness to
others. When you are with the person loved, you have no sense
of being bored. This humble and trivia' '"-cumstance is the
great test — the only sure and abiding test love. With the
persons you do not love you are never supremely at your ease.

mmm

mmam

348

MATIUMOJ^T.

I-

You have some of the seiLsation of walking upon stilts. In
con>rersatiou with them, however, much you admire them and
are interested in them, the horrid idea will cross your mind of
" What shall I say next ? " One has well said, " In ti-ue love
the burden of conversation is borne by both the lovers, and the
one of tliem who, with knightly intent, would bear it alone,
would only thus cheat the other of a part of his best fortune."
When two souls come together, each seeking to magnify the
other, each in a subordinate sense worshipping the other, each
helps the other ; the two flying together so that each wing-beat
of the one helps each wing-beat of the other — when two souls
come together thus, they are lovers. They who unitedh'' move
themselves away from grossuess and from earth, toward the
thrc. J crystaline and the pavement golden, are indeed, true
lovers.

>i 'i

agp

atrtmottg.

,T is pleasant to contemplate the associations clustering
around the wedding morn. It is the happiest hour of
human life, and breaks upon the young heart like a gentle
spring upon the flowers of earth. It is tlio hour of bounding,
joyous expectancy, when the ardent spirit, arming itself with
bold hope, looks with undaunted mien upon the dark and ter-
rible future. It is the hour when thought borrows the livery
of goodness, and humarvlty looking from its tenement, across the
broad common of life, .uiakes off its heavy load of sordidness,
and gladly swingB to its shoulders the light burden of love and
kindness. It is the heart's hour, full of blissful contemplation,
rich promises, and the soul's happy revels. We cordially echo
the sentiment, " Happy mom, garmented with the human vir-
tues, it shows life to the eye, lovely, as if

* Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.' "

souls

MATRIMONY.

349

• Marriage has in it less of beauty, but more of safety than the
single life, it hath no more ease, but less danger; it is more
merry and more sad ; it is fuller of sorrows and fuller of joys i
it lies under more burdens; but it is supported by all the
strengths of love and charity, and those burdens are delightful.
Marriage is the mother of the world, and preserves kingdoms*
and tills cities and churches, and heaven itself. Celibacy, like
the fl}^ in the heart of an apple, dwells in poipetual swt;etness,
but sits alone, and is confined and dies in sing-ularitv ; but
marriage, like the useful bee, builds a house, and gathers honey
from every flower, and laboui'S, and unities into societies and
republics, and senvla out colonies, and feeds the woiid with
delicacies, and obeys its king, and keeps order, and exercises
many virtues, and promotes the interest of mankind, and is
that state of good to whiUi God hath 'le>-igned the present con-
stitution of the world.

" Mai-riage is a lottei-y," ihe saying goi\s, and there are plenty
who believe it, and who act accoi'di ugly, and for such it is well
if they do no worse than d aw a blank, if they do not dniw a
life-long niiseiy and pain. But marriage is not necessarily a
lottery, either in the initial ciioic'j or in the months and years
after the marriage day. C uc can shut his eyes and draw, or
one can open them and cho ise. One can choose with the out-
ward eye alone, or with tlij eye of intellect and conscience
Says Jeremy Taylor, speaicing of marriages where physical
beauty is the oidy bond : " lb is an ill band of affections to tie
two hearts together with a little thread of red and white.'
But lot us choose ever so W'^ely, over so deeply, and not wa
ourselves nor the minister can marry us completely on the wed-
ding day. "A happy wedlocic is a long falling in love." Mar-
riage is very gradual, a frai tinn of us at a time. And the real
ministers that marry people are the slow years, the joys and
Borrows which they bring, our chii»lv'en on earth and the angek
they are transfig\ired into in heaven, the toils and burden?
borne in company. These are the ministers that really marry
us, and compared with these, the ministers who go through «

SF^^

I-

'■A

350

MATRIMONY.

form of words seme day, when heaven and earth seem to dra"w
near and kiss each other, are of small account. And the real
mai'riage service isn't anything printed or said ; it is the tnie
heart service w]:iicl.i each yields to the other, year in and y*»a,r
out, when the bridal wreath has long since faded, and even the
marriaq-e ring Ja getting aadly worn. Let this service be per-
formed, and even, if the marriage was a lottery to begin with,
this would go far t»,> redeem it and make it a marriage of
co-equal hearts and minds.

When the honeymoon passes away, setting behind dull
mountains, or dipping silently into tlie stormy sea of life, the
trying hour of married life has come. Between the parties
there are no more illusions. The feverish desire for possession
has gone, and all excitement receded. Then begins, or should.
the business of adaptation. If they find that they do not love
one another as they thought they did, they should double their
assiduous attentions to one another, and be jealous of every-
ning which tends in the slightest way to separate them. Life
is too precious to he thrown away in secret regrets or open
differences. And let me say to every one to whom the romance
of life has fled, and who are discontented in the slightest de-
gree with their conditions and relations, begin this reconcilia-
tion at once. Renew the attentions of earlier days. Dra^
your hearts closer together. Talk the thing all over. Acknow-
ledge your faults to one another, and determine that hence-
forth you will be all in all to each other ; and my word for it,
you shall find in your relation the sweetest joy earth has for
you. There is no other ^vcy for ycu to do. If you are happy
at home, you must be happy abroad ; the man or woman who
has settled down upon the convict-ion that he or she is attached
for life to an uncongenial yoke-fellow, and that there is no way
of esca]»e, has lost life ; there is no effort too co^stly to make
which can restore to ita setting upon tu<) bosom the missing

pearl. '''"'.'' "" '''^■'' ■'''•' '"' " ''■■ '■'

It is a great thing for two frail natures to live as one for liiu
long. Two harps are not easily koi)t always in tune, and what

■;

MATRIMONY.

3ol

Rball we expect of two harps each of a thousand strings ?
What human will or wisdom cannot do, God ciin do, and His
Providence is uniting ever more intimately, those who devoutly
try to do the work of life and enjoy its goods togi.'ther. For
them thej-e is in store a respect and affection ; a peace and
p)wer all unknown in the hey-day of young romance. Expe-
rience intertwines their remembrances and hopo.s in stronger
cords, and as they stand at the loom of time, one with the
strong warp, the otlier with the tinor woof, the hand of Provi-
dence weaves for them a tissue of unlading beauty and im-
perishable worth.

The marriage institution is the bond of social order, and, if
treatea with duo respect, care and discretion, greatly enhances
individual happiness, and consequently general good. The
Spartan law punished those who did not marry ; those who
maiTied too late ; and those who married im[)roperly. A large
portion of the evils that have defaced the original organization
of the patriarchal age, have resulted from the increase of celi-
bacy, often caused by the imaginary refinements of the upper
ten thousand. There are other causes that have stripped the
marriage institution of its ancient simplicity, and rendered its
pure stream turbid in places. Among the Patriarchs, before
there were any rakes, parents never interfered, the young pair
made the match, and the girl always married the man of her
choice, an indispensable pre-requisite to a happy union. How
to secure happiness to married life is the question. Some one
would say, " You might as well ask to find the philosopher's
stone, or the elixir of perpetual youth, or the Eutopia of per-
fect society ! " The prime difticidt}' in tho case is the entire
thoughtlessness, the want of consideration, common sense and
practical wisdom. Not only young persons contemplating mar-
riage — which includes all between the ages of eighteen and
thirty-five — but also many married people have a vague notiun
that happiness comes of itself. They wait for certain dreams
of Elysium to be fulfilled by beatific realities. Happiness does
not come of its own accord nor by accident. It is not a gift.

1 ii

852

MATRIMONY.

t I

but an attainment. Circumstances may favour, but cannot
create it. But advice to those wlio stand, or mean to stand, by
the hymeneal alter, falls upon dull ears, and every coupled
pair flatter themselves that their experience will be Vjetter and
more excellent than that of any who have gone before them.
They look with amazement at the tameness, and coldness, and
diversities, and estrangements, and complainings, and dissatis-
factions, which spoil the comfort of so many homes, as at
things which cannot, by any possibility, fall to their happier
lot. But liice causes produce like effects, ai.d to avoid the mis-
fortunes of others, we must avoid their mistak.s.

Love on both sides, and all things equtA in outward circum-
stances, are not all the requisites of domestic felicity. Human
nature in frail and multiform in its passions. The honeymoon
gets a dash of vinegar now and then, when least expected.
Young people seldom court in their every day clothes, but they
must put them on after marriage. As in other bargains, but
few expose defects. They are apt to marrj' faultless — love is
blind — but faults are there and will come out The fastidious
attentions of wooing are like ypi-ing flowers, they make pretty
nosegays, but poor greens. Miss Darling becomes the plain house-
wife, and Mr. Allattention the informal husband, not from a
want of esteem, but from the constitution and nature of man.
If all these changes, and more than would answer in wooing
time, arc anticipated, as they are by some analyzing minds,
their happiness will not be embittered by them when they come.
Bear and forbear must be the motto put in practice.

We exhort you, who are a husband, to love your wife, even
as you love yourself. Give honour to her as the more delicate
vessel ; respect the delicacy of her frame and the delicacy of
her mind. Continue through life the same attention, the same
manly tenderness which in youth gained her affections. Reflect
that, though her bodily charms aie decayed as she is a<ivaaced
in age, yet that her mental charms are incriased. and that
though novelty is worn ott', yet that habit and a thdusand
acts of kindness Lave stnugthened your mutual frienJsliip

MATRIMONY.

853

Devote yourself to her, und, after the hour of business, let the
pleasures which you most highly prize be found in her society.

We exhort you, who are a wife, to be gentle and condescend-
ing to your husband. Let the influence which you possess over
him arise from the mildness of your manners and the discre-
tion of youi conduct. Whilst you are careful to a<lorn your
person with neat and clean apparol — for no woman can long
preserve affection if she is negligent in this point — be still more
attentive in ornamenting your mind with meekness and peace,
with cheerfulness and good humour. Lighten the cares and chase
away the vexations to which men, in their commerce with the
world, are unavoidably exposed, by rendering his house pleas-
ant to your husband. Keep at home, let your employmputs be
domestic and your pleasures doniet^tic.

To both husband and wife we say, " Preserve a strict guard
over your tongues, tiiat you never utter anything which is rude,
contemptuous, or severe ; and over your tempers, that you
never appear sullen and morose. Endeavour to perfect your-
selves, but expect not too much from each other. If any offence
arises, forgive it ; and think not that a human being can be
exempt from faults,"

In conclusion we would say, that mairiage is one of God's
first blessings. Although it involves many weighty responsi-
bilities, it is the gem in the crown of life. It is a school and
exercise of virtue ; and though marriage hath cares, yet the
single life hath desires which are more troublesome and more
dangerous, and often end in sin, while the cares are but in-
stances of duty and exercises of piety ; and, therefore, if single
life hath more privacy of devotion, yet marriage hath more
necessities and more variety of it, and is an exercise of more
gi-aces. Here is the pioper scone of piety and patience, of the
duty of parents and the charity of relatives ; here kindness is
spread abroad, and love is united and made firm as a centre,

Man and wife are equally concerned to avoid all offences of
each other iri the beginning of their conversation : every little
ibing can blast an infant blossom, ard the breath of the south

954

THE CONJUGAL RELATION.

--'.!H

CPU shake the little rings of the vine, when first they begin to
curl like the locks of a new-weaned boy j but when, by age
and consolidation, they stiffen into the hardness of a stem, and
have, by the warm embraces of the sun and the kisses of heaven,
brought forth their clusters, they can endure the storms of the
north and the loud noises of a tempest, and yet never be broken ;
so are the early unions of an unfixed marriage ; watchful and
observant, jealous and busy, inquisitive and careful, and apt to
take al i-m at every unkinci word. After the hearts of the man
and wife are endeared and hardened by a mutual confidence and
experience, longer than artifice and pretence can last, there are a
great many remembrances, and some things present that dash
all little unkindnesses in pieces.

W^t fetfitjugal Relation.

AVE you taken upon yourself the conjugal relation?
Your high and solemn duty is to make each other as
happy as it is in your povjer. Th" ' 'isband should
have, as his great object and rule ol conduct /he happiness of
the wife. Of that happiness, the confidence in his affection is
the chief element ; and the proofs oi this atf'ection on his part,
therefore, constitute his chief duty — an aliection that is not
lavish of caresses only, as if these were the only demonstra-
tions of lo"ve, but of that respect which distinguishes love, as
a principle, from that brief passion which assumes, and oniy
assumes, the name — a respect which consults the judgment, as
well as the wishes, of the object beloved — which considers her
who is worthy of being taken to the heart ms worthy of being
admitteJ to all tiie counsels of the heart. He must often forget
lier, or be useless to the world ; she is most useful to the world
by remembering iiim. From the ti\muituous scenes which

TUB CONJUGAL RELATION.

355

4
i

I
%

agH^te many of his hours, he returns to the cahn aeone, where
peace awaits him, and happino^sa is sure to await him ; because
she is there waiting, wliose smile is peace, and whose very pre-
sence is more than happiness to his heart.

In your joy at the consummation of your wishes, do not for-
get that your happiness l)Oth here and hereafter depends — O
how much ! — upon each other's influence. An unkind word or
look, or an unintentional neglect, sometimes leads to thoughts
which ripen into the ruin of body and soul. A spirit of for-
bearance, patience, and kindness, and a determination to keep
the chain of love bright, are likely to develop corresponding
qualities, and to make the rough places of life smooth and plea-
sant. Have you ever reflected seriously that it is in the power
of either of you to make the other utterly miserable ? And when
the storms and trials of life come, for come they will, how much
either of you can do to calm, to elevate, to purify, the troubled
spirit of the other, and substitute sunshine for the storm ?

We cannot look upon marriage in the light in which many
deem to regard it — merely as a convenient arrangement in so-
ciety. To persons of benevolence, intelligence, and refinement,
it must be something more — the source of the greatest possible
hapipiness or of the most abject misery — no half-way felicity.
You have not had the folly to discard common sense. You
have endeavoured to study charitably and carefully the pecu-
liarities of each other's habits, dispositions, and principles, and
to anticipate somewhat the inconveniences to which they may
lead. And as you are determined to outdo each other in mak-
ing personal sacrifices, and to live by the spirit of the Saviour,
you have laid a foundatior for happiness, which it is not likely
will be shaken by the joys or sorrows, the prosperity or adver-
sity, the riches or poverty, or by the frowns or flattery, of the
world. If there is a place on earth to which vice has no en-
trance — where the gloomy passions have no empire — where
pleasure and innocence live constantly togetlier — where cares
and labours are lelii:[htful — where every pain is forgotten in
ru<'.lprocal tenderness — where there is an equal enjoyment of

850

TUB C ON J VGA L REL A TIOJ^.

the past, tho present and the future — it is the house of a wedvl«d
pair, but of a pair who, in wedlock, are lovers still.

The married life, though entered never so well, and with all
propel preparation, must be lived well or it will not be useful
or happy. Married life will not go itself, or if it does it wili
not keep the ti'ack. It will turn off at every switch and fly
off at every turn or impediment. It needs a couple of gfjod
conductors who understand the engineering of life. Good
watch must be kept for breakers aliead. The fires must be
kept up by a constant addition of the fuel of affection.
The boilers must be kept full and the machinery in order,
and all hands at their po'^ts, else there will be a smashing
up, or life will go hobbling or jolung along, wearing and
tearing, breaking and bruising, h iving some heads and
hearts to get well the best way they can. It requires skill,
prudence, and judgment to lead this life well, and these DUist
be tempered with forbearance, charity, and integrity.

The young are apt to hang too many garlands about the
married life. This is so as this life is generally lived. Bi t if
it is wisely entered and truthfully lived, it is more beautifiil
and happy than any have imagined. It is the true life which
God has designed for his children, replete with joy, delightful,
improving, and satisfactory in the highest possible earthly ile-
gree. It is the hallowed home of virtue, peao ^, and bliss. It
is the anfce-chamber of heaven, the visiting-place of angels, i;he
communing ground of kindred spirits. Let all young womcai
who would reap such joys and be thus blessed and happy,
leana to live the true life and be prepared to weave for their
brows the true wife's perennial crown of goodness.

The experience of an excellent lady may bo of benefit to
some reader. She had a very worthy husband, whom she did
not love as she should. The trouble was she had not entirely
surrendered herself to him until after she had been very ill.
She says : " I have been very ill, almost dead. Such care and
devotion as I have had ! What a rock my heart must hav«
been, not to be broken before. Day and night my husbpnd

THE CONJUGAL UELATION.

857

h:is \vatohe() nie hinisalf, slcefiless and tireless; nohody else
could do SI) much. Now I know what love means. My hus-
band .shall never say a;,fain, ' Love me more.' He shall have
all there is to ^ive, and 1 think my heart is larger than it was
a year ago. What a thrill of joy it gives nie when I catch his
eye, or hear his voice or step. My heart runs to meet him and
my eyes overflow with tears of happiness. How roean and
contemptible it seems to mo to desire tlie attention of <.>ther
men, or to wish to go anywhere he cannot accompany me. I
despise myself for ever thinking .such pleasures desirahie. I
deligh£ to say, ' My husband, my good, noble, generous, forgiv-
ing husband, keep me close to you. That is all the happiness
I ask.' I know now that all the trouble was the result of not
hoiking a full, complete giving up of myself, when I promised
to be a wife — a consecration of true love."

The warmest-hearted and most unselfish women soon learn
to accept quiet trus*- and the loyalty of a lo\nng life as the
calmest and happiest condition of marriage; and tho men who
aro sensible enough tj rely on the good sense of such wives
sail round the gushirjg adorers both for true affection and com-
fortable tranquiliity.

Just let a young wife remember that her husbar d neces-
sarily is umler a certain amount of bondage all day : that his
interests co apel him to look pleasant under all circumstances,
to ofiend none, to say no hast}' word, and she will see that
when he reaches his own fireside he wants, most of all, to have
thi.s strain removed, to be at ease ; but this ho cmnot be if he
is continually afraid of wounding his wife's sensil'litiesby for-
getting some outward and visible token of hisaffe tionforher.
Besides, she pays him but a poor compliment in refusing to
believe what he does not continually assert, anf by frettmg
foi' wrhaMs unreasonable to desire she deeply wrongs herself, for

" A woman moved is like a fountain truuWed,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of burtuty."

Make a home ; beautify and adorn it ; cultivate aU heavenly

358

TEE CONJUGAL RELATION.

channs within it ; sing sweet 8on<,'s of love in it ; bear youi
portion of toil, and pain, ami sorrow in it ; con daily lessons
of strength and patience there ; shino like a star on the face
of the darkest night over it, and tenderly rear the children it
shall give yon in it. High on a pinnacle, above all earthly
grandeur, all gaudy glitter, all fancied ambitions, set the homo
interests. Feed the mind in it ; feed the soul in it ; strengthen
the love, and charity, and truth, and all holy and good things
in it!

When young persons many, even with the fairest prospects,
they should never forget that infirmity is inseparably bound
up with their very nature, and that in bearing one another's
burdens, they fulfil one of the highest duties of the unij)D
Love in marriage cannot live nor subsist unless it be mut jal =
and where love cannot be, there can be left of wedlock nothinj^
but the empty husk of an outside matrimony, as undelightfui
and unpleasiug to God as any other kind of hypocrisy.

We have all seen the trees die in summer time. But tb»
tree with its whispering leaves and swinging limbs, its green-
ness, its umbrage, where the shadows lie hidden all tlie day,
does not die. First a dimness creeps over its Vjrightness ; next
a leaf sickens here and there, and pales ; then a whole bough
feels the palsying touch of coming death, and finally the feeble
signs of sickly life, visible here and there, all disappoai*, and
the dofid trunk holds out its stripped, stark limbs, a melancholy
ruin. Just so does wedded love sometimes die, Wedded ]ov«
girdled by the blessings of friends, hallowed by the sanction
of God, rosy with present joys, and radiant with future hopes,
it dies not all at once. A hasty word casts a shadow upon it,
and the shadow darkens with the sharp reply. A little thought- •
lessness misconstrued, a little unintentional neglect (leemod
real, a little word misinterpreted, through such small i),venueB
the devil of discord gains admittance to the heart, and then
welcomes all his infernal progeny. The presence of something
malicious is felt, but not acknowledged ; love becomes reticent,
confidence is chilled, and noiselessly but sure"* the work of

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

•reparation goes on, until the two arc left ae isolated as the
pyramids — nothing left of the union but the legal form — the
dead trunk of the tree, whose branches once tossed in the
bright sunlight, and whosj sheltering leaves trembled with
the music of singing V)ird3 now affords no shade for the traveller.
There are two classes of disappointed lovers — those who are
disappointed before marriage, and the more unhappy ones who
are disappointed after it. To be deprived of a person we love
is a happiness in comparison of Uviag with one we hate.

fusb^nb mil Mtfe.

v^OME writer asserts that, " a French woman will love her
y^ husband if he is either witty or chivalrous ; a German
woman, if he is constant and faithful ; a Dutch woman,
il he does not disturb her ease and comfort too much ; a Span-
it h woman, if he wreaks vengeance on tiiose who incur hia
d spleasure ; an Italian woman, if ho is dreamy and poetical ;
a Danish woman, if he thinks that her native country is the
bi ightest and happiest on earth ; a Russian woman, if he
dispises all westerners as miserable barbarians; an English
w^man, if he succeeds in ingratiating himself with the court
atd the aristoa-acy ; an American woman, if — he has plenty cl
nx>ney."

In the true wife the husband finds not affection only, but
companionship — a companionship with which no other can
ccrapare. The family relation gives retirement with solitude,
aijd society without the rough intrusion of the world. It plants
in the husband's dwelling a friend who can bear his silence
Wiihout weariness ; who can listen to the details ot his inter-
6614* with sympathy; who can appreciate his repetition of events
M'ty important as they are embalmed in the heart. Common

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360

HUSBAND AND WIFE,

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fiiends are linked to us by a slender thread. We must retain
them by ministering in some way to their interest or their
enjoyment. What a luxury it is for a man to feel that in hii
home there is a true and affectionate being, in whose presence
ho may throw off restraint without danger to his dignity ; h«
may contide without fear of treachery ; and be sick or unfor-
tunate without being abandoned. If, in the outer world, he
grows weary of human selfishness, his heart can safely trust in
one wliose indulgences overlook his defects.

The treasure of a wife's affection, like the grace of God, is
givyn, not bought. Gold is power. It can sweep down forests,
raise cities, build roads and deck houses. It can collect troops
of tiatterers, and inspire awe and fear. But alas ! wealth can
never purchase love. Bonaparte essayed the subjugation of
Europe, under the influence of a genius almost inspired, an
ambition insatiable, and backed by millions of armed men. He
almost spcceeded in swaying his sceptre from the Straits of
Dover to the Mediterranean ; from the Bay of Biscay to the
Sea of Azoff. On many a bloody field his banner floated tri-
umphantly. But tha greatest curquest was the unbought heart
of Josephine; his sweetest and most priceless treasure her
outraged but unchanged love. If any man has failed to esti-
mate the affection of a true-hearted wife, he will be likely to
mark the value ir> his loss when the heart that loved him is
stilled by death.

Is man the child of sorrow, and do afliictions and distresses
pour their bitterness into his cup ? How are his trials allevi-
ated, his sighs suppressed, his corroding thoughts dissipated,
his anxieties and pains relieved, his gloom and depression
chased away by her cheerfulness and love I Is he overwhelmed
by disappointment, and mortified by reproaches ? There is one
who can hide her eyes even from his faults, and who, like her
Father who is in heaven, can forgive and love " without up-
braiding." And when he is sickened by che subtleti^ and de-
ception of the world ; when the acrimony of men has made
him acrimonious ; when he becomes dissatisfied with himse^

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

861

and all around him, her pleasant smile, her undissembled ten-
derness, her artless simplicity, " restore him to himself and
spread serenity and sweetness over his mind,"

Nothing is more annoying than that display of affection
which some husbands and wives show to each other in society.
That familiarity of touch, those half -concealed caresses, those
absurd names, that prodigality of endearing epithets, that de-
voted attention which they flaunt in the face of the public as
a kind of challenge to the world at large, to come and admire
their happiness, is always noticed and laughed at. Yet to
some women this parade of love is the very essence of married
happiness, and part of their dearest privileges. They believe
themselves admired and envied, when they are ridiculed and
scoffed at ; and they think their husbands are models for other
men to copy, when they are taken as examples for all to avoid.
Men who have any real manliness, however, do not give In to
this kind of thing ; though there are some as effeminate and
gushing as women themselves, who like this sloppy effusive-
ness of love and carry it on to quite old age, fondling the an-
cient grandmother with gray hairs as lavishly as they had
fondled the youthful bride, and seeing no want of harmony in
calling a withered old dame of sixty and upwards by the pet
names by which they had called her when she was a slip of a
girl of eighteen. This public display of familiar affection is
never seen among men who pride themselves on making good
lovers, as certain men do ; those who have reduced the practice
of love-making to an art, a science, and know their lesson to a
letter. These men are delightful to women, who like nothing
«o much as being made love to, as well after maniage as be-
fore ; but men who take matters quietly, and rely on the good
sense of their wives to take matters quietly, too, sail roimd
these scientific adorers for both depth and manliness.

Books addressed to young married people abound with ad-

tice to the wife to control her temper, and never to utter weari-

*iome complaints or vexatious words when the husband comes

home fretful w unreasonable from hi^ out of-dcor conflicts with

■J

362

HUSBAND AND WIFB.

Of.:-

the worid Would not the advice be aa excellent and appro-
priate, if the husband were advised to conquer hU fretfulneas,
and forbear his complaints, in consideration of his wife's ill-
health, fatiguing cares, and the thousand disheartening influen-
oea of domestic routine ? In short, whatsoever can be named
as loveliest, Ijest, and most graceful in woman, would likewise
be good and graceful in man.

O husbands ! think upon your duty. Ton who ha\ e taken
a wife from a happy home of kindred hearts and kind compan-
ionship, have you given to her all of your time which you could
spare, have you endeavoured to make amends to her for the
loss of these friends ? Have you joined with her in her en-
deavours to open the minds of your children, and give thom
good moral lessons ? ECave you strengthened her mind wi ;;h
advice, kindness, and good books ? Have you spent ' 'ir eve n-
ings with her in the cultivation of intellectual, mora., j* social
excellence? Have you looked upon her as an immortal oeuig,
aa well as yourself ?

There is a picture, bright and beautiful but nevertheless
true, where hearts are united for mutual happiness and mutual
improvement ; where a kind voice cheers the wife in her
hour of trouble, aud when the shade of anxiety is chased from
the husband's brow as he enters his home ; where sickness is
soothed by watchful love, and hope and faith bum brightly.
For such there is a great reward, both here and hereafter, in
their own and their families' spiritual happiness and growth,
and in the blessed scenes of the world of spirits.

And, wives 1 do you also consult the tastes and dispositions
of your husbands, and endeavour to give to them high and
noble thoughts, lofty aims, and temporal comfort? Be ready to
welcome them to their homes, gradually draw their thoughts
while with yon from business, and lead them to the zegions of
the beautiful in art and nature, and the true and the divine in
sentiment. Foster a love of the elegant and refined, aud grad-
ually will yon see business, literature and high moral culture
blending in " sweet accord."

HUSBAND AND WIFB.

ppo-

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Before marriage, a young man would feel some delicacy about
accepting an invitation to spend an evening in company where
his " ladye love" had not been invited. After marriage, is he al-
ways as particular ? During the days of courtship, his gallan-
try would demand that he should make himself agreeable t<i
her ; after marriage, it often happens that he thinks more of
being agreeable to himself. How often it happens, that a
married man, after having been away from home the livelong
day, during which the wife has toiled at her duties, goes at even-
ing to some place of amusement, and leaves her to toil on alone,
uncheered and unhappy ! How often it happens that her kind-
est offices pass unobserved, and unrewarded even by a smile, and
her best efforts are condemned by the fault-finding husband I
How often it happens, even when the evening is spent at home,
that it is employed in silent reading, or some other way, that
does not recognise the wife's right to share in the enjoyments
even of the fireside 1

Look, ye husbands, for a moment, and remember what your
wife was when you took her, not from compulsion, but from
your own choice ; a choice based, pre t)ably, on what you then
considered her superiority to all others. She was young —
perhaps the idol of her happy home ; she was gay and blithe
as a lark, and the brothers and sisters at her father's fireside
cherished her as an object of endearment Yet she left aU to
join her destiny with yours, to make your home happy, and to
do all that woman's ingenuity could devise to meet your wishes
and to lighten the burdens which might press upon you.

The good wife ! How much of this world's happiness and
prosperity is contained in the compass of these two short
words ! Her influence is immense. The power of a wife, for
good or for evil, is altogether irresistible. Home must be the
seat of happiness, or it must be forever unknown. A good vdfe
is to a man wisdom, and courage, and strength, and hope, and
endurance. A bad one is confusion, weakness, discomfiture,
despair. No condition is hopeless when the wife possesses firm-
ness, decunon, energy, economy. There is no outward pxosper-

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\iV:.':'-':^f.

384

nUSBAND AND WIFE.

ity which can counteract indolence, folly, and extravagance » c
home. No spirit can long resist bad domestic influences. Man
is strong, but his heart is not adamant He delights in enter-
prise and action, but to sustain him he needs a tranquil mind
an\l a whole heart. He expends his whole moral force in the
conflicts of the world. His feelings are daily lacerated to the
utmost point of endurance by perpetual collision, irritation, and
disappointment.

Let woman know, then, that nhe ministers at the very foun-
tain of life and happiness. It is her hand that lades out with
overflowing cup its soul-refreshing waters, or casts in the
branch of bitterness which makes them poison and death. Her
ardent spirit breathes the breath of life into all enterprise. Her
patience and constancy are mainly instrumental in carrying
forward to completion the best human designs. Her more de-
licate moral sensibility is the unseen power which is ever at
work to purify and refine society. And the nearest glimpse of
heaven that mortals ever get on earth is that domestic circl*
which her hands have trained to intelligence, virtue, and lov*^,
which her gentle influence pervades, and of which her radiant
presence i« the centre and the sun.

Watching those on the sidewalk on the way to labour, we
thought we could read a great deal of the home-life of each in
the passing glance we gave as they went hurrying by. Here
was one whose clothing was ragged and neglected, and on his
face a hard, dissatisfied expression. It was easy to see there
was no hope in his heart; that he wert to his task as if it were
a penalty imposed for crime, and that no pleasant and loving
home cheered him at the evening and lifted from his heart the
clouds that darkened his life. It is a terrible thing when the
home of the poor lacks love — the only agency which can lighten
its burdens and make it hopeful and happy.

Beside him walks another — no better, but much cleanlier
dad, and the broad patches of his blue overalls are cleanly put
on and not fringed with ragged edges. He has a home, you
can see that at once, and, humble as it may be, there is a woman

III

JOY,

869

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<rho is his confidant as well as his wife, and, together, they
plan how to use their little meaas and increase their little
comforts. They have ambition, and ambition to improve one's
condition never fails to give force to character and something
of dignity and worth to life.

Last of all, though this consideration! be not the least of all,
let it be remembered that the husband is bound by the divine
law to treat his wife as an immortal being, and, therefore, to
have regard to her moral and spiritual welfare. Can any man
have a just sen.se of the truth that the partner of his heart, the
sharer of his fortunes, whose earthly destiny is so closely linked
with his own, is, like himself, an immortal spirit ; that, after
the scenes of time shall all have vanished from her view like a
gorgeous dream, she must enter upon those brighter ones that
shall be forever expanding in beatific splendour, or else, if un-
prepared for them, must dwell in those gloomy realms which
our Saviour describes as " the outer darkness " of b^'.nishment
from God and happiness, and yet cherish no lively interest in
her education for the society of heaven ? In that remarkable
hour that witnessed the formation of the marriage union, the
era of separation was anticipated by the solemn vow which his
lips then uttered, that he would cherish the object of his choice
as " the wife of his covenant " in wedded love " till death should
part tbem."

1*5-

kOY is a priae unbought, and is freest, purest in its flow
when it comes unsought. No getting into heaven as a
place will compass it You must carry it with you, else
it is not there. You must have it in you as the music of a
well-ordered soul, the fire of a holy purpose. An unchanging
state of joy is not possible on earth as it now is, because evil

■ -J

see

JOT.

and error are here. The soul must have its midnight hour an
well as its sunlight seasons of joy and gladness. Still the
mercy of the Lord is shown as much in the night as in the day.
It is only in the night that we can see the stars. The noblest
spirits, however, are those which turn to heaven, not in the
hour of sorrow, but in that of joy ; like the lark, they wait for
the clouds to disperse, that they may soar up into their native
element.

He who selfishly hoards his joys, thinking thus to increase
them, is like a man who looks at his granary, and says, " Not
only will I protect my grain from mice and birds, but neither
the ground nor the mill shall have it." And so, in the spring
he walks around his little pit of com, and exclaims, " How
wasteful are my neighbours, throwing away whole handf uls of
grain ! " But autumn comes ; and, while he has only his few
poor bushels, their fields are yellow with an abundant harvest.
" There is that scattereth and yet increaseth."

Worldly joy is like the songs which peasants sing, full of
melodies and sweet airs. Christian joy has its sweet airs too ;
but they are augmented to harmonies, so that he who has it
goes to heaven, not to the voice of a single flute, but to that of
a whole band of instruments, discoursing wondrous music
Those who joy in wealth grow avaricious; those who joy in their
friends too often lose nobility of spirit ; those who joy in sen-
suousness lose dignity of character ; those who joy in literature
ofttimes become pedantic ; but those who joy in liberty — i. e.,
that all should do as they would be done by — possess the happi-
est of joys. It is a solid joy no /ne can barter away. Exceed-
ingly few possess it.

He that to the best of his power has secured the final state,
has a perennial fountain of joy within him. He ia satisfied
from himself. They, his reverse, borrow all from without.
Joy wholly from without is false, precarious, and short. From
without it may be gathered, but like gathered flowers, though
fail and sweet for a season, it must soon wither and becom«

!' ii t;

JOT.

867

offensive. Joy from within ia like smell I ng the rose on the tree.
It is more sweet and fair — it is lasting ; and, I must add, immor-
tal Happy are the moment? when sorrow forgets its cares, and
misery its misfortunes ; when peace and gladness spring up upon
the radiant wings of hope, and the light of contentment dawns
once mure u])un tne disconsolate, unfortunate, and unhappy
heart.

" The past unaighed for, and the future sure "

There is in this world continual interchange of pleasing and
greeting accidents, still keeping their succession of times, and
overtaking each other in their several courses; no picture can
be all drawn of the brightest colours, nor a harmony consoi-ted
only of trebles ; shadows are needful in expressing of propor-
tions, and the base is a principal part in perfect music ; the
condition here alloweth no unmeddled joy ; our whole life is .
temperate between sweet and sour, and we must all look for a
mixture of both: the wise so wish: better than they still
think of worse, accepting the one if it come \n ith liking, and
bearing the other without impatience, being so much mastera
of each other's fortunes, that neither shall work them to excess.
The dwarf groweth not on the highest hill, nor the tall man
loseth not his height in the lowest valley; and as a base mind,
though most at ease, will be dejected, so a resolute vii-tue in
tl e deepest distress is most impregnable.

There are joys which long to be ours. God sends ten thous-
and truths, which come about us like birds seeking inlet;
but we are shut up to them, an<l so they bring us nothing, but
nt and sing a while upon the roof and then fly away.

168

BEAUT7.

\tWXtf,

lii

Beanty ! thou pretty playthine ! dear deoA^t !
That ateala so softly o'er the stripling's heart,
And gives it a new puUe unknown before.

E doubt not that God ia a lover of 'b<;auty. He fashioned
the worlds in beauty, when there was no eye to behold
them but Tlis own. All along the wild old forest he
has carved the forms of beauty. Every cliff, an* I mountain,
and tree is a statue of beauty. Every leaf, and stem, and vine,
and flower is a form of beauty. Every hill and dale and
landscape is a picture of beauty. Every cloud, and mist-wreath,
and vapour-veil is a shadowy reflection of beauty. Every dia-
mond, and rock, and pebbly beach is a mine of beauty. Every
sun , and planet, and star is a blazing face of beauty. All along
the aisles of earth, all over the arches of heaven, all through
the expanses of the universe, are scattered in rich and infinite
profusion the life gems of beauty. All this great realm of daz-
zling and bewildering beauty was made by God. What shall
we say then, is He not a lover of beauty ?

There is beauty in the songsters of the air. The symmetry
of their bodies, the wings so light and expert in fanning the
DTeeze, the graceful neck and head, their tiny feet and legs, all
so well fitted for their native element, and more than this, their
8"weet nv^tes that awaken delight in every heart that loves to
rejoice. Who can range the sunny fields and shady i'orescs
on a bright summer's day, and listen to the melod}' of a thou-
sand voices chanting their Maker's praise, and not reel the soul
melt with joy and gratitude for such refreshing scenes.

'Hie universe is its temple ; and those men who are alive to
it cannot lift their eyes without feeling themselves encompassed
with it on every side. Now this beauty is so precious., the
anjoytuents it gives are so refined and pure, so congenial with

0^^

'• ^

$«attti^*

Ofp. p. 368

I^'«

BEAUTY.

569

our tendc.Mt and noblest feelings, and. so akin to worRhip.
that it is painful to think of the multitude of men as living in
the midst of it, and living almost aa blind to it as if, instead of
this fair earth and glorious sky, they were tenants of a dungeon.
An infinite joy is lost to the world by the want of culture of
this spiritual endowment.

The highest style of beauty to be found in nature pertains *>o
the human form, as animated and lighted up by the inielligenoe
within. It is the expression of the soul that constitutes this
■uperior beauty. It is that which looks out at the eye, which
sits in calm majesty on the brow, lurks on the lip, smiles on the
cheek, is set forth in the chiselled lines and features of the
countenance, in the general contour of figure and form, in the
movement, and gesture, and tone ; it is this looking out of the
invisil'e spirit that dwells within, this manifestation of the
higher nature, that we admire and love ; this constitutes to us
the beauty of our species. Hence it is that certain features,
not in themselves particularly attractive, wanting, it may be,
in certain regularity of outline, or in certain delicacy and soft-
ness, are still invested in a peculiar charm and radiance of
beauty from their peculiar expressiveness anvl animation. The
light of genius, the superior glow of sympathy, and a noble
heart, play upon those plain, and it may bo, homely features,
and light them up with a brilliant and regal beauty. Those, as
every artist knows, are the most difficult to portray. The ex-
pression changes with the instant. Beauty flashes, and is gone,
or g^'ves place to a still higher beauty, as the light that plays
in fitful corruscations. along the ISorthem sky, coming and
going, but never still.

We would now dwell upon the beauty of spirit, soul, mind,
heart, life. There is a beauty which perishes not. It is .such
as the angels wear. It forms the washed white robes of the
saints. It wreathes the countenance of every doer of good. It
ttdoms every honest face. It shines in the virtuous life. It
moulds the hands of charity. It sweetens the voice of sym
pathy. It sparkles on the bix)w of wisdom. It flashes in the

870

£BA UTY.

M-.

? -
r '

I {

eye of love. It breathes in the spirit of piety. It is the beauty
of the heaven of heavens. It is that which may grow by the
hand of culture in every human soul. It is the flower of the
spirit which blossoms on the tree of life. Every soul may
[ilant and nurture it in its own garden, in its own Eden. This
is the capacity for beauty that God has given to the human
soul, and this the beauty placed within the reach of us all. We
may all be beautiful. Though our forms may be uncomely and
our features not the prettiest, our spirits may be beautiful.
And this inward beauty always shines through. A beautiful
heart will flash out in the eye. A lovely soul will glow in the
face. A sweet spirit will tune the voice, wreathe the counten-
ance in charms. Oh, there is a power in interior beauty that
melts the hardest heart !

Woman, by common consent, we regard as the most perfect
type of beauty on earth. To her we ascribe the highest charms
belonging to this wonderful element so profusely mingled in all
God's works. Her form is moulded and finished in exquisite
delicacy of perfecti'^n. The earth gives us no form more per-
fect,no features more symmetrical, no style more chaste,no move-
ments more graceful, no finish more complete; so that oui artists
ever have and ever will regard the woman-form of humanity
as the most perfect earthly type of beauty. This form is most
perfect and symmetrical in the youth of womanhood ; so that
youthfid woman is earth's queen of beauty. This is true, not
only by the common consent of mankind, but also by the
strictest rules of scientific criticism.

This being an admitted fact, woman, and especially youthful
woman, is laid under strong obligations and exposed to great
temptations. Beauty has wonderful charms. A chaiTning gift
of pleasure. Beauty will not only win for her admiring eyes,
but it will win her favour ; it will draw hearts toward her ;
it will awaken tender and agreeable feelings in her behalf; it
will disarm the stranger of the peculiar prejudices he often has
toward those he knows not ; it will pave the way to esteem •
it will w«ave the links to friendships chain ; it will throw an

<MfWJ y'W*Wl WW t«" =''"^! ^ « "W ' «'» '

BEAUTY.

air of agreeableness into the manners of all who approach hei-.
All this her beauty will i.o for ter before she puts forth a single
eflbrt of her own to win the esteem and love of her fellows.

Socrates called beauty a short-lived tyranny ; Plato, a privi-
lege of nature ; Theophrastus, a silent cheat ; Theocritus, a
delightful prejudice ; Cameades, a solitary kingdom ; Domitian
said, that nothing was more grateful ; Aristotle affirmed, that
beauty was better than all the letters of recommendation in
the world ; Homer, that it was a glorious gift of nature ; and
Ovid calls it a favour bestowed by the gods. But, as regards
the elements of beauty in women, it is not too much to say
that no woman can be beautiful by force of features alone ;
there must be as well sweetness and beauty of soul. Beauty
has been called " the power and aims of woman." Diogenes
called it " woman's most forcible letter of recommendation."
Cameades represented it as " a queen without soldiers ;" and
Theocritus says it is " a serpent covered with flowers ;" while
a modem author defines it " a bait that as often catches the
fisher as the fish." Nearlj' all the old philosophers denounced
an«l ridiculed beauty as evanescent, worthless and mischievous ;
but, alas ! while they preached against it they were none the
less its slaves. None of them were able to withstand " the sly,
smooth witchcraft of a fair young face." A really beautiful
woman is a natural queen in the universe of love, where all
hearts pay a glad tribute to her reign.

Nothing is all dark. There cannot be a picture without its
bright spots ; and the steady contemplation of what is bright
in others, has a reflex influence upon the beholder. It repro-
duces what it reflects. Nay, it seems to leave an impress even
upon the countenance. The feature, from having a dark, sinister
aspect, becomes open, serene, and sunny. A countenance so
impressed has neither the vacant stare of the idiot, nor the
crafty, penetrating look of the basilisk, but the clear placid as-
pect of truth and goodness. The woman who has such a face
is beautiful. She has a beauty which changes not with the
features, which fades not with years. It is beauty of exprea^

872

BEAUTY.

rion. It i8 the only kind of beauty which can be relied upon
for a permanent influence with the other sex. The violet will
soon cease to smilo. Flower must ffide. The love that has
nothing but beauty to sustain it soon withers away. A pretty
woman pleases the eye ; a good woman, the heart. The one is
a jewel, the other a tre»isure. Invincible fidelity, good humour,
and complacency of temper, outlive all the charms of a fine
face, and make the decay of it invisible. That is true beauty
which has not only a substance, but a spirit ; a beauty that we
must intimately know to justly appreciate.

Beauty has been not unaptly, though perhaps rather vulgarly,
defined as " all in my eye," since it addresses itself solely to
that organ, and is intrinsically of little value. From this
ephemeral flower spring many of the ingredients of matri-
monial unhappiness. It is a dangerous gift for both its possessor
and its admirer. If its possession, as is often the case, turns
the head, while its loss sours the temper, if the long rep^*»t of
its decay outweighs the fleeting pleasure of its bloom, the ^ 'n
should pity rather than envy the handsome. Beauty of coun-
tenance, which, being the light of the soul shining through the
face, 18 independent of feature^ or complexion, is the most at-
tractive as well as the most enduring charm. Nothing but
talent and amiability can bestow it, no statue or picture can
rival it, and time itself cannot destroy it.

Beauty, dear reader, is probably the woman you love best,
but we trust it is the beauty of soul and character, which sits
in calm majesty on the brow, lurks on the lip, and will outlive
what is called a fine face.

Man, however, is not the highest type of beauty ; for in him,
as in all things on earth, is mingled along with the beauty
much that is deformed — with the excellence much imperfection.
We can conceive forms supeiior to his — faces radiant with a
beauty that sin has never darkened, nor passion nor sorrow
dimmed. We can conceive forms of beauty more perfect, purer,
brighter, loftier than anything that human eyes have ever seen.
Imagination fashions these conceptions, and art produces it

TTf

MUSIC

37S

This, the poet, the painter, the sculptor, the architect, the orator,
each in his own way, is ever striving to do, to present, under
sensible forms, the ideal of a more perfect loveliness and excel-
lence than the actual world affords. This, however, cannot be
done successfully, as perfection of beauty dwells alone with
God.

ttsir.

•'When griping grief the heart doth wound.
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music, with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress."

THE rapturous charm of music ! What power it has to
soften, melt, enchain in its spirit-chords of subduing
harmony ! Truly there is power in music ; an almost
omnipotent power. It w. . tyrannize over the soul. It will
force it to bow down and worship, it will wring adoration from
it, and compel the heart to yield its treasures of love. Every
emotion, from the most reverent devotion to the wildest gushes
of frolicsome joy, it holds subject to its imperative will. It
calls the religious devotee to worship, the patriot to his country's
altar, tho philanthropist to his generous work, the freeman to
the temple of liberty, the friend to the altar of friendship, the
lover to the side of his beloved. It elevates, empowers, and
BtreDgthens them all. The human soul is a mighty harp, and
all its strings vibrate to the gush of music.

Who does not know the softening power of music, e«ipecially
the music of the human voice if It is like the angel-whisperinga
of kind words in the hour of trouble. Who can be angry when
the voice of love speaks in song ? Who hears th*^ harsh voice
of selfishness, and brutalizing passion, when music gathers up
hot pearly love-notes to salute the ear with a stray song of

874

MUSIC.

I f

t ,< I

I \i

paradise ? Sing to the wicked man, sing to the disconsoUtft,
sing to the suiferer, sing to the old, and sing to the children, f(jr
music v^m inspire them alL

The human voice is the most perfect musical instrument
ever made ; and well it might be, for it had the most skilful
Maker. The voice should be cultivated to sing the tones of
love to man and God. Around the fireside, in the social circle,
it should sing the voice of love, and at the altar of God it
should pour forth melodious praise.

How sweet doe.s it make the worship of God to have the
reverent emotions poured out. in song! How early should
children be taught to sing ; for what is sweeter than the liOiigR
of innocent childhood, so refining, so refreshing, so sugg(5slivo
of heaven ? Music sweetens the cup of bitterness, softens the
hand of want, lightens the burden of life, makes the hiiart
courageous, and the soul cheerfully devout. Into the soul of
childhood and youth it pours a tide of redeeming infmence.
Its first and direct efiect is to mentalize the musical performer;
not to give him knowledge, nor more wisdom in the practiced,
business affairs of life, but to stir his mental being to activity,
to awaken strong emotions, to move among the powers within
as a common electrifier, touching here with tenderness, there
with energy, now with holy aspiration, and anon with the in-
spiring thrill of beauty. It breathes like a miracle of; inspir-
ation through the soul, to elevate, refine, and spiritualize. No
lethargy can exist in the soul that is pouring forth a tide of
music numbers. Its very recesses are all astir. Everj-thing
within becomes active ; the perceptions acute, the iffections
warm, the moral sensibilities quick and sensitive. When we
think how much the world wants awakening, we car^ think of
no power better calculated to do it than that which dwells in
the mysterious melodies of music. Let every body become
musicians, and surely they world become living souls.

Besides music being powerful, I'uiversal, the voice of love,
and the type of the infinite, it is venerable for its >ige. As it
is the voice of God's love, we know not but it is (M>-existent

MUSIC.

S7&

with His being. It is reasonable to suppose that its swelling
numbers have rolled and made heaven vocal with it^ strains oi
praise since creation dawned. But the first account of it on
record was at the laying of the foundations of the earth, when
the " morning stars," delighted with the promise of a new
planet, " sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.**
Aa soon as the earth was made, its rocky spires thrown up, its
forest harps strung, its ocean organs tuned, it raised its ever-
lasting anthem to swell the chorus of the skies.

Every mng soothes and uplifts. It is ju.st pos.sible that at
times a song is as good as a prayer. Indeed, a song of the
pure kind recognised in Scripture, is akin to a petition, which
it is also in the spirit of thank.sgiving. The " sweet singer of
Israel " wedded his sincerest prayers to melody and wafted
them upward on the night air from his throbbing heart. In
the soul that has been touched and made tender by the fingers
of pain, music finds a place where it may murmur its sweetest
chords.

Music is healthful. There is no better cure for had humours,
and no medicine more pleasant to take. We cannot join
those who lament that the piano is heard where once the mono-
tone of the spinning-wheel, and the click of the shuttle, were
the only instrumental performances. It is a matter of rejoic-
ing rather that muscles of iron and fingers of steel, driven by
the tireless elements, now perform the laborious work of cloth
manufacture and give leisure to cultivate refined tastes in the
household. Music is to the ear and to the intellect what straw-
berries, peaches, and other luscious fruits, are to the taste.
Who regrets that the forests have been cleared, the walls and
fences built, the grain crops made sufficiently easy of cultiva-
tion, to allow the addition of the fruit yard and garden for
the enjo^ ment of the cultivator ? One of the greatest attrac-
tions for old and young, when visiting our cities, is the music
that may be heard here. Why should the farmer's household
not be as cheerful, as full as pleasure as that of the merch&ot
or the professional man ? We know of nothing more genial

■;J

MUSIC.

and heart-warming than to hear the whole family joining in a
hymn or song. They will leva each other and their home
better for it. Songs learned in childhood are like birds nest-
ling in the bosom ; their notes will b'^ heard and loved in after
years. The hymn sung by a mother to lier little boy may in
after days be a voice that will recall him from ruin.

No family can afford to do without music. It is a luxury
and an economy ; an alleviator of sorrow, and a spring of en-
joyment ; a protection against vice and an incitement to vir-
tue. When rightly used, its effecis, physical, intellectual and
moral, are good, very good, and only good. Make home at-
tractive ; music affords a means of doing this. Contribute kind-
ly feeling, love. Music will help in this work. Keep out an-
gry feeling. " Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast."
Show us the family where good music is cultivated, where the
parents and children are accustomed often to mingle their voiced
together in song, and we will show you one where peace, har-
mony and love prevail, and whe^e the great vices have no abid-
ing place.

One morning the sweet voice of a woman was heard sin^ng
a ballad in one of the tenement house districts of the Garden
Cit}'. The effect of it was almost magical. Not only did chil-
dren swarm out of their dingy hor-os and surround the singer^
but the stoops were crowded by adults, and old heads leaned
out of windows f- several blocks on either side. Faces bright-
ened everywhere. The blacksmith ceased his din and stood
with arms akimbo on the sidewalk. Thfe poor, sick widow in
% near tenement listened and forgot her sorrow and pain ; the
broad-faced wife whose stolid countenance, hardened by want
and contact with vice, paused from her employment, and as she
listened something touched her heart, her better nature was
«tirred, and beating time to the simple melody, wished she had
a penny to give the songster.

The hod-c«rriers halted; the well-dressed pedestrian, on
whose face, when he saw the crowd gathering, there was at first
A look of disdain, as if he would say, " No hand-organ musie

'y»iri.-;.A,y-f»,»<,»^(j-Vf^ri?;i'*^>;/^.*''^

Jii

MUSIC

877

fbt ««)«, if yc'U pleoae,** at last stood still aad biusbed, a» ,-,he
beauty of tbe song stirred his inmost heart. And wb'ja the
music ceased, the listeners turned again to their employ J:aiiuts,
as if rtif resiled in spirits and quickened to contented thoughta
of the work-a-day world.

Music means not merely times adapted to particular emo-
tions — a fjet of notes, a warbling voice, a strain of " melting
Bweetnesa " — O ! no : music can be acted as well as sunir. The
heart may mc..ke music when the lips are dumb. A simple
word may be full of music, and stir the pulses to new and bet-
ter emotions, the soul to higher joys ! The harmony of a wel
ordered life is most graceful muj^ic ; the tender cares and cares-
ses of a wife ; her fond solicitude to make home all it should
be ; the kindred gentleness and aft'ection of the husband ; the
quiet and ready obedience of the children — all these, do they
not make a household of music, that in the land beyond shall
be chanted by choirs of angels, when at last such families meet,
unbroken bands, in heaven ?

If ouly sound were music, how many thousands would be
denied that delightful solace ! Some there are who cannot
sing — ^and yet whose natures are finest harps, from which an
uulieard melody Cunheard by mortal ears) is continually ascend-
ing. Some there are who cannot even speak, nor hear, and yet
their sympathies, their nice comprehensions, are beautiful with
the subtle instinct of melody. O ! tell us where music is not .
Now we hear it in the pensive sound of the autumnal winds —
we see it in the sparkling flow of the bright river, we hear it,
as it were, in the morning stars; and just now a sweet voice
uttered words of music It is in all the elements ; the flame
hath a cheerful hum of its own, and the crackling sparks beat
time. The water ripples with music ; the air is always whis-
pering melody, and the bountiful earth ceases never its songs
of praise. The trickling rain-drops sing as they fall; the crow-
ded leaves answer to the pipes of the birds ; the sun sets the
day to sin^g, and the Almighty hath made man to sing Monga
of praise to Him, throughout all eternity.

:§

878

HONOUR.

But the woild need music — the touching domestic song that
tells in fevir words the loves, the trials, or the blisses of life —
the more sacred music that leads the soul to communion with
God — it needs music — its poor cry aloud for music ; they are
tired of the inharmonious din of toil, and a few sweet notes
bring with them hours of pleasure to the weaiy and world-
forsaken.

-♦-♦•*--♦■

1 \

JO be ambitious of true honour, of the true glory and
perfection of our natures, is the very principle and
incentive of virtue ; but to be ambitious of titles, of
place, of ceremonial respects and civil pageantry, is as vain and
little as the things we court.

True honour, as defined by Cicero, is the concurrent appr**-
bation of good men ; those only being fit to give true praii»9
who are themselves praiseworthy. Anciently the Romans wor-
shipped virtue and honour as gods ; they built two temples
which were so seated that none could onter the temple of hon
our without passing through the temple of virtue.

The way to be truly honoured is to be illustriously good.
Maximilian, the German emperor, replied to one who desired
his btters patent to ennoble him, saying, I am able to make
you rich ; but virtue must make you noble. Who would not
desire the honour that Agesilaus, king of Sparta, had, who was
fined by the Sphori for having stolen away all the hearts of
the people to himself alone ? Of whom it is said that he ruled
the country by obeying it. It is with glory as with duty ; for
as a single fine lineament cannot make a fine face, neither can
a single good quality render a man accomplished ; but a con-
currence of many fine features and good qualities make true
beauty ftud true honour.

BONOUR.

919

The Athei/ians rawed a noble statue to the memory of iEsop,
and placed a slave on a pedestal, that men might know the
way to honour was open to all. The man of honoui' is Inter-
naJ, the person of honour fji. external ; the one real, the other
a fictitious character. A person of honour may be a profane
libertine, penurious, proud, may insult his inferiors, and defraud
his creditors ; but it is impossible for a man of honour to be
guilty of any of these.

Among the ancient Greeks and Romans, in their best days,
honour was more sought after than wealth. Times are changed.
Now, wealth is the surest passport to honour; and respectability
is endangered by poverty. " Rome was Rome no more" when
the imperial purple had become an article of traffic, and when
gold could purchase with ease the honours that patriotism and
vaiour could once secure only with difficulty.

There is no true glory, no true greatness, without virtue ;
without which we do but abuse all the good things we have,
whether they be great or little, false or real. Riches make us
either covetous or prodigal ; fine palaces make us despise the
poor in poverty ; a great number of domestics flatter human
pride, which uses them like slaves; valour oftentimes turns
brutal and unjust ; and a high pedigree makes a man take
up with the virtues of his ancestors, without endeavouring to
acquire any himself.

It is a fatal and delusive ambition which allures many to
the pursuit of honours as such, or as accessions to some greater
object in view. The substance is dropped to catch the shade,
and the much coveted distinctions, in nine cases out of ten,
prove to be mere airy phantasms and gilded mists. Real hon-
our and real esteem are not difficult to be obtained in the world,
but thej'- are best won by actual worth and merit, rather than
by art and intrigue which run a long and ruinous race, and
■eldom seize upon the prize at last. Seek not to be honoured
iu any way save in thine own bosom, within thyself.

** Honour and shame from no condition rise :
Act well your part, there all the honour Ue«,*'

^80

GENIUS AND TALENT.

mmim anb Solent.

ENIUS is of the soul, talent of the understanding ; geniua
is warm, talent is passionless. Without genius there is
no intuition, no inspiration ; without talent, no execu-
tion. Genius is interior, talent exterior; hence genius ia
productive, talent accumulative ; Genius invents, talent accom-
plishes. Genius gives the substance, talent works it up under
the eye, or rather under the feeling, of genius.

Genius is that quality or character of the mind which is
inventive, or generates ; which gives to the world new ideas
in science, art, literature, morals, or religion ; which recognises
no set rules or principles, but is a law unto itself, and rejoices
in its own originality; which admitting of a direction, never
follows the old beaten track, but strikes out for a new course ;
which has no fears of public opinion, nor leans upon public
favour — always leads but never follows, which admits no truth
unless convinced by experiment, reflection, or investigation, and
never bows to the ipse dixit of any man, or society, or creed.

Talent is that power or capacity of mind which reasons rap-
idly from cause to effect ; which sees through a thing at a
glance, and comprehends the rules and principles upon which
it works; which can take in knowledge without laborious mental
study, and needs no laboured illusti'ations to impress a principle
or a fact, no matter how abstruse, hidden, complex, or intricate
Differing from genius by following rules and principles, bu<
capable of comprehending the works of genius — imitating with
ease, and thereby claiming a certain kind of originality, talent
is the able comprehensive agent ; while genius is the mastei
director.

Genius is emotional, talent intellectual; hence genius is crea
tive, and talent instrumental. Genius has insight, talent only
outsight Genius is always calm, reserved, self-centered; talent
is often bustling, officious, confident. Genius is rather inward,

'""^^fUSf^W^W^'^*'''-'

GENIUS AND TALENT.

881

.here is
execu-
qIus ia
accom-
p under

'hich ia
w^ ideas
cognises
rejoices
(U, never
' course ;
Q public
no truth
tion, and
r creed,
sons rap-
ling at a
ion which
us mental
b principle
r intricate
ciples, bu<
ttting with
lity, talent
the mast&i

iusis crea
talent only
Bred; talent
her inward.

i i

creative, and anirelic; talent outward, practical, and worldly.
Genius disdains and defies imitation ; talent is often the result
of universal imitation in respect to everything that mav contri-
bute to the dcisired excellence. Genius has quick and strong
sympathies, and is sometimes given to reverie and vision ; talent
is cool and wise, and seldom loses sight of common sense.
Genius is bom for a particular purj>oso, in which it surpasses,
talent is versatile, and may malco a respectable figure at almost
anything. Genius gives the impub o and aim as well as the
illumination, talent iho means ana implements. Genius, in
short, is the central, finer essence of the mind, the self-lighted
fire, the intuitional gift. Talent gjithers and shapes and applies
what genius forges. Genius is of ton entirely right, and is never
wholly wrong; talent is never wholly right. Genius avails
itself of all the capabilities of talent, appropriates to itself
what suits and helps it. Talimt can appropriate to itself no-
thing, for it has not the inward heat that can fuse all material
and assimilate all food to convert it into blood; this only genius
can do. Goethe was a man of genius, and at the same time of
immense and varied talents ; and no contemporary profited so
much as he did by all the knowledges, discoveries and accumu-
lations made by others.

Talent is full of thoughts; but genius full of thought. Genius
makes its observations in sb.ort hand ; talent writes them out
at length. Talent is a very common family trait, genius belongs
rather to individuals ; just as you find one giant or one dwarf
in a family, but rarely a whole brood of either. Men of geniua
are often dull and inert in society, as the blazing meteor when
it descends vu earth is only a stone. For full success, the two,
genius and talent, should co-exist in one mind in balanced pro-
portions, as they did in Goethe's, so that they can play smoothly
together in efiective combination. The work of the world, even
the higher ranges, being done by talent, talent, backed by in-
dustry, is sure to achieve outward success. Commonplace is
the smooth road on which are borne the freights that supply
the daily needs of life ; but genius, as the originator of all ap-

•ymT- rff

382

GENIUS AND TALENT.

>■'■

pliances and aids and motions and improvements, is the parent
of what is to-day comuion->-ot' all that talent has turned to
practical account.

It Is one of the myHterios of our life that genius, that noblest
gift of God to man, is nourished by poverty. Its greatest
works have been achieved by the sorrowing ones of the world
in tears and despair. Not in the brilliant saloon, furnished with
every comfort and elegance; not in the library, well fitted, softly
carpeted, and looking out upon a suKjoth, green lawn, or a broad
expanse of scenery; not in ease and competence, is geniu.s bom
and nurtured; more frequently in adversity and destitution,
amidst the harrassing cares of a straightened household, in bare
and firelesa garrets, with the noise of squalid children, in the
midst of the turbulence of domestic contentions, and in the deep
gloom of uncheered dcs[)air, is genius born and reared. This ia
its birth-place, and in scenes like these, unpropitious, repul.iive,
wretched, have men laboured, studied and trained themselves,
imtil they have at last emanated out of the gloom of that ob-
scurity the shining lights of their tiniei, become the com[)anion8
of kings, the guides and teachers of their kind, and exercise an
influence upon the thought of the world amounting to a .species
of intellectual legislation.

Genius involves a more than usual susceptibility to divine
promptings, a delicacy in spiritual speculation,a quick obedience
to the invitiiblo helmsman ; and these high superiorities imply
fineness and fulness of oiganiaation. The man of genius is
subject, says Joubert, to " transport, or rather rapture, of mind."
In this exalted state he has glimpses of truth, beauties, princi-
ples, laws, that are new revelations, and bring additions to
human power. Goethe might have been thinking of Kepler
when he said, " Genius is that power of man which by thought
and action gives laws and rules;" and Coleridge of Milton,
when he wrote, " The ultimate end of genius is ideal." And
Hegel might have had Michael Angelo in his mind when, in one
of his chapters on the phistic arts, he affirms that " talent cannot
do its part fully without the animation, the besouling of genius."

THJNKBRa.

888

Great powers and natural gifts do not bring privileges to their
possessors, so much as they bring duties. A contemporary, in
dilating on genius, thus sagoly remarks : " TL?> taleuto granted
to a single individual do not benefit himself alone, but are gifta
to the world ; every one shares them, for every one sutfers or
benefits by his actions. Genius is a light-house, meant to give
light from afar ; the man who bears it is but bhe rock upon
whicli the light-house is built."

Hath God given you genius and learning ? It was not that
you might amuse or deck yourself with it and kindle a blaze
which should only se»-ve to attract and dazzle the eyes of men.
It was intended to be the means of leading both yourself and
them to the father of lights. And it will be your duty, accord-
ing to the peculiar turn of that genius and capacity, either to
endeavour to promote and adorn human life, or, by a more
direct application of it to divine subjects, to plead the cause of
religion, to defend its truths, to enforce and recommend its
practice, to deter men from courses which would be dishonour-
able to God and fatal to themselves, and to try the utmost
efforts of all the solemnity and tendeiaess with which you can
clothe your addresses, to lead them into the paths of virtue and
happinesa

^HINKERS rise upon us like new stars — a few in a cen-
tury. The multitude run after them, and, like Lazarus,
eat the crumbs that fall from their table. They follow
them by instinct ; they adopt their theories and accept their
thoughts at sight Calvin rofje and thought. What a multi-
tude swallowed his hard, rocky thoughts, as though they were
digestible mental food ! Wesley rose, and another multitude
followed him, much as Mohammedans followed their prophet.

884

THINKEBS.

¥.

Swedenborg rose in the North, and straightway a cloud of wit-
nesses appeared about him to testify to all he wrote. Davis
came above the horizon, and lo ! an army follows in his train.
So it is ; men swallow whole what they eat, wheat or chaff,
meat or bone, nut or shell. They do not masticate their men-
tal food ; they do not examine the facts that they learn ; they
do not digest their knowledge. If they did we should not have
schools of men, seetc, parties, but one grand lyceum of individual
thinkers ; every one making his own use of his knowledge,
forming his own conclusions, and working out his own kind
and degree of culture. We read enough to have a generation
of philosophers.

Dull thinkers are always led by sharp ones. The keen in-
tellect cuts its way smoothly, gracefully, rapidly ; the dull one
wears its life out against the simplest problems. To perceive
accurately and to think correctly, is the aim of all mental train-
ing. Heart and conscience are more than the mere intellect.
Yet we cannot tell how much the clear, clean-cut thought, the
intellectual vision, sharp and true, may aid even these. Some
say that a man never feels till he sees, and when the objects
disappear, the feeling ceases. So we cannot exaggerate the
importance of clear, correct thinking. We should eat, drink,
sleep, walk, exercise body and mind, to this end. c ust as far
as we fail, we make dolts and idiots of ourselves. We cast away
our natural armour and defence. The designing make us dupes ;
we are overreached by the crafty, and trodden under foot by the
strong.

Undigested learning is as oppressive as undigested food ; and
as in the dyspeptic patient, the appetite for food often grows
with the inability to digest it, so in the unthinking patient, an
overweening desire to know often accompanies the inability to
know to any purpose. Thought is to the brain what gastric
juice is to the stomach — a solvent to reduce whatever is re-
ceived to a condition in which all that is wholesome and nutritive
may be appropriated, and tliat alone. To learn merely for the
sake of learning, is like eating merely for the taste of food. Th«

■»nlw™»^"^

THINKERS.

385

mind will wax fat and unwieldy, like the body of the gourmand.
The stomach i» to the frame what memory is to the mind ; and
it is as unwiso to cultivate the memory at the expense of the
mind as it woald be to enlarge the capacity of the stomach by eat-
ing more food than the wants of the frame require, or food that
it could not appropriate. To learn in order to become wise
makes the if ind active and powerful, like the body of one who
Is temperat" and judicious in meat and drink. Learning is
healthful! r digested by the mind when it reflects upon what is
learned, classifies and arranges facts and circumstances, con-
siders the relations of one to another, and places what is taken
mto the mind at different times in relation to the same subjects
under their appropriate heads ; so that the various stores are
not heterogeneously piled up, but laid away in order, and may
be referred to with ease when wanted. If a person's daily employ-
ments are such as demand constant exercise of thought, all the
leisure should not be devoted to reading, but a part reserved
for reflecting upon and arranging in the mind wliat is read. The
manner of reading is much more important than the quantity.
To hurry through many books, retaining only a confused know-
ledge of their contents, is but a poor exercise of the brain ; it
is far better to read with care a few well selected volumes.

Some of the great advantages of thinking are the following :
First, it transfers and conveys the sentiments of others to our-
selves, so as to make them properly our own. Secondly, it en-
ables us to distinguish truth from eiTor, and to reject what is
wrong after we have seen, read, or heard anything. Thirdly,
by this we lix in our memory only what we best approve of,
without loading it with all that we read. Lastly, by properly
meditating on what ccmes within the view of our minds, we
may improve upon the sentiments or inventions of others, and
thereby acquire great reputation, and j)erhaps emolument, from
their labours.

All mental superiority originates in habits of thinking. A
child, indeed, like a machine, may be made to perform certain
functions by external means ; but it is only when he begins to

S86

THINKERS.

1 '

think that he rises to the dignity of a rational being. It is
not reading but tiiinking, that gives you the possession of know-
ledge. A person may see, hear, read and learn whatever he
pleases and as much as he pleases ; but he will know very little,
if anything, of it, beyond that which he has thought over and
made the property of his mind. Take away thought from the
life of man and what remains ? You may glean knowledge by
reading, but you must separate the chaff from the wheat by
thinking. At every action and enterprize, ask yourself this
question : What will the consequence of this be to me ? Am
I not likely to repent of it ? I shall be dead in a little time,
and then all is over with me. Whatever thou takest in hand,
remember the end, and thou shalt never do amiss. Think be-
fore you speak, and consider before you promise. Take time to
deliberate and advise ; but lose no time in executing your re-
solutions. Do nothing to day that you will repent of to-
morrow. In the morning think of what you have to do, and at
night ask yourself what you have done. Seek not out the
thousfhts that are too hn.rd for thee. Strive not in a matter that
concemeth thee not. Evil thoughts are dangerous enemies, and
should be repulsed at ttie threshold of our minds. Fill the head
and heart with good thoughts, that there may be no room for
had jnes.

Some persons complain that they cannot find words for their
thoughts, when the real trouble is they cannot find thoughts
for their words. The man who thinks laboriously will express
himself concisely. It is only by labour that thought can be
made healthy, and only by thought that labour can be made
happy. It is not depth of thought which makes obscure to
others the work of a thinker ; real and offensive obscurity
comes merely of inadequate thought embodied in inadequate
language. What is clearly comprehended or conceived, what
is duly wrought and thought out, must find for itself and seize
upon the clearest and fullest expression. Thoughts are but
dreams till their effects be tried. The best thoughts are ever
■wiftest winged, the duller lag behind. A though i; muai iiave

:*,!55!Pw»M

THINKERii.

887

itti own way of expression, or it will hnve no way at all. The
thought that lives is only the deeds strugLjling into birth. It
is with our thoughts as with our flowers — those that are simple
in expression caiTy their seed with them ; those that are double
charm the mind, but produce nothing.

There is much need of independent thought in our day.
Too many yield to the opinions of others without asking or
meditating upon their bearing. Oftentimes the massas are
enslaved to opinion, especially in political matters. This may
be necessary in some countries, where a few rule but not in
our country, where, through a liberal education, all may be
taught to think. Books are so cheap now that the poorest can
have access to the channels of thought. Books, however, should
only be used as an impetus to set the mind in motion and set
it to prying deeper and farther into nature's hidden recesses
and boundless realms of truth, or, as a stone that is cast into
the calm bosom of the lake causes waves to roll and roll on
against the remotest outlines of the shore. It behooves us to
cast otf the shackles of opinion and wiilk resolutely before the
world, guided by a well-grounded opinion of our own. Every
man and woman ought to favour his age with new thoughts,
acw ideas, as an addition to the great storehouse of ideas,
with thoughts that will live though empires fall and language
dii!S. Such men and women raise the world from one degree
to another higher in the scale of civilization and intelligence.
Such are the lives that receive the plaudit, "Well done; "such
are lives virtuous, noble and godlike.

No man need fear that he will exhaust his substance of
thought, if he will only draw his mspiration from actual human
life. There the inexhaustible God pours depths and endless
variety of truth, and the true thinker is but a shorthand writer
endeavouring to report the discourse of God. Shall a child on
the banks ot the Amazon lear lest he should drink up tlie
■tieam I

'SI'

388

BENEFACTOR. OH MALEFACTORS.

t ;

. i!

penefactors or malefactors.

'E are all well doers or evil doers. " None of as liveth
to himself." Wo die, bub leave an influence behind
UB that survives.

The echoes of our words are evermore repeated, and reflected
along the ages. It is what man was that lives and acts after
him. What he said sounds along the years like voices amid
the mountain gorges; and what he did is repeated after
him in ever-multiplying and never-ceasing reverberatiena.
Every man has left behind him influences for good or for evil
that will never exhaust themselves. The sphere iu which he
acta may be small, or it may be great. It may be his fireside
or it may be a kingdom ; a village, or a great nation ; it
may be a parish, or broad Europe; but act he does cease-
lessly and forever. Kis friends, his family, his successors in
office, his relatives, are all receptive of an influence, a moral in-
fluence which he has transmitted and bequeathed to mankind ;
either a blessing which will repeat itself in showers of benedic-
tions, or a curse which will multiply itself in ever-accumulat-
ing evil.

Every man is a missionary, now and forever, for good or for
evil, whether he intends and designs it, or not. He may be a
blot, radiating his dark influence outward to the very circum-
ference of society, or he may be a blessing, spreading benedic-
tions over the length and breadth of the world ; but a blank
he cannot be. The seed sown in life springs up in harvests of
blessing"^, or harvests of sorrow. Whether our influence be
great or small, whether it be for good or evil, it lasts, it Uvea
somewhere, vrithin some limit, and is operative wherever it is.
The grave buries the dead duit, but the character walks the
world, and distributes itself, as a benediction or a cui se, aoaoitg
the families of mankind.

BENEFACTORS OR MALEFACTORS.

889

The 8un sets beyond the western hills, but the trail of light
h^ leaves behind him guides the pilgrim to his distant home.
The tree falls in the forest ; but in the lapse of ages it is turned
into coal, and our fires burn now the brighter because it grew
and fell. The coral insect dies, but the reef it raised breaks
the surge on the shores of great continents, or has formed an
sle in the bosom of the ocean, to wave with hai'vests for the
good of man. We live and we die ; but the good or evil thai
we do lives after us, and is not " buried with our bonea."

The babe that perished on the bosom of its mother, like a
flower that bowed its head and drooped amid the death-frosts
of time — ^that babe, not only in its image, but in its influence,
still lives and speaks in the chambers of the mother's heart.

The friend with whom we took sweet counsel is removed vi-
sibly from the outward eye ; but the lessons that he taught,
the grand sentiments that he uttered, the holy deeda of gene-
rosity by which he was characterized, the moral lineaments
and likeness of the man still survive and appear in the silence
of eventide, and on the tablets of memory, and in the light of
oiom and noon, and dewy eve ; and, being dead, he yet speaks
eloquently, and in the midst of us.

Mahomet still lives in his practical and disastrous influence
ir the East. Napoleon still is France, and France is almost
Kapoleon. Martin Luther's dead dust sleeps at Wittenburg,
but Martin Luther's accents still ring through the churches of
Christendom. Shakespeare, Byron and Milton, all live in their
uitluence, for good or evil. The apostle from his chair, the min-
bter from his pulpit, the martyr from his flame-shroud, the
statesman from his cabinet, the soldier in the field, the sailor
on the deck, who all Lave pa>5sed away to their graves, still
live in the practical deeds that they did, in the lives they lived,
and in the powerful lessons that they left behind them.

" None of us liveth to himself ; " others are affected by that
life ; " or dieth to himself ; " others are interested in that death.
The Queen's crown may moulder, but she who wore it will act
upon the ages which are yet to come. The noble's oonmet may

890

BENEFACTORS OB MALEFACTORS.

be reft in pieces, but the wearer of it is now doing what will be
reflected by thousands who will be made and moulded by him.
Dignity, and rank, and riches, are all corruptible and worthless ;
but moral chai'acter has an immortality that no sword-point
can destroy ; that ever walks the worlds and leaves lasting in-
fluences behind.

What we do is transacted on a stage of which all in the
univerae aie spectators. What we say is transmitted in echoes
that will never cease. What we are is influencing and acting
on the rest of mankind. Neutral we cannot be. Living we
act, and dead we speak ; and the whole universe is the mighty
company forever looking, forever listening ; and all nature the
tablets forever recording the words, the deeds, the thoughts,
the passions of mankind !

Monuments, and columns, and statues, erected to heroes,
poets, orators, statesmen, are all influences that extend into the
the future ages. The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle still
speaks. The Mantuan bard still sings in every school. Shakes-
peare, the bard of Avon, is still translated into every tongue.
The philosophy of the Stagyrite is still felt in every academy.
Whether these influences are beneficent or the reverse, they are
fraught with power. How blest must be the recollection of
those who, like the setting sun, have left a trail of light behind
them by which others may see the way to that rest which ro-
maineth for the people of God !

Since our earthly life is so brief, " and the night will soon
come when the murmur and hum of our days shall be dumb
evermore," it were well to have mile stones by the way point-
ing to a better land. Ah ! these are the true labourers in the
world's great harvest field, in any and in aU its varied depart-
ments.

The yeoman, gathering treasures from the bos' a of the earth,
and thus aiding in the sustenance of humanity ; the miner,
delving into the deep cavern and bringfiig forth diamonds and
precious stones, adding to the world's vast wealth ; the manu>
facturer, sending the costly fabrics through the land, and secur<

BENEFACTORS OR MALEFACTORS.

S91

\villb6
)y liim.
rtlilesa ;
d-point
ting itt-

l in the
1 echoes
1 acting
k^ing we
inigh<.y
ture the
loughta,

heroes,
into the
isle still
Shakes-
tongue,
cademy.
they are
ection of
It behind
^rhich re-
fill soon
be dumb
ly point-
rs in the
d depart-

the earth,
be miner,
londs and
he manu*
knd secur-

ing exchange from foreign countries ; the architect, with the
proud monumenta of his skill ; the sculptor, with his chisel
carving the form divine ; the artist, writing out in letters of
abiding light the faces wo so fondly love, and thus blessing us
with the continued presence of not only our absent ones, but
also those who " are not," since Go<l hath taken them ; all these
are truly earth's benefactors, and yet only the silver links in
the mighty chain.

Would we be numbered among earth's benefactors, and have
our middle and latest life filled with richest and holiest experi-
ences, we must be oftimes oblivious of self, con well the lesson
contained in the " Golden Rule," i id be still further perfected
in the two great commandmtMits, " on which hang all the law
and the prophets." When all the purple and gold, the glitter
and tinsel of our earthly life is ended, and the unknown and
mysterious eternity is spread out to our immortal vision, will
it not be a source of greater joy to us to have wiped a tear from
the eye of the sorrowing, to have soothed a weary pilgrim cros-
sing tlie river of death, pointing by an eye of faith to the
** better country," " even a heavenly," to have plumed one wing
for its eternal flight, than to possess a kingly crown, or wear
fame's brightest laurels ?

It is only the pure fountain that brings forth pure water.
The good tree only will produce the good fruit. If the centre
from which all proceeds is pure and holy, the radii of influence
from it will be pure and holy also. Go forth, then, into the
spheres that you occupy, the employments, the trades, the pro-
fessions of social life ; go forth into the high places, or into the
lowly places of the land ; mix with the roaring cataracts of
social convulsions, or mingle amid the eddies and streamlets of
quiet and domestic life ; whatever sphere you fill, caiTy into it
% holy heart, you will radiate around you life and power, and
leave behind you holy and ]>eneficent influences.

'■I"

•^'

392

TRIALS OF LIFM.

Wif-

dals of fife.

;SJP'

TARS shine brightest in the darkest night ; torches are
'^^'^ the better for beating ; grapes come not to the proof till
they come to the press ; spices smell sweetest when
pounded ; young trees root the faster for shaking ; vines are
the better for bleeding ; gold looks the better for scouring ;
glow-worms glisten best in the dark ; juniper smells sweetest
in the fire ; pomander becomes most fragrant for chasing ; the
palm-tree proves the better for pressing ; camomile, the more
you tread it, the more you spread it. Such is the condition of
men ; they are the most triumphant when most tempted ; as
their conHicts, so their conquests; as their tribulations, so their
triumphs. True salamanders live best in the furnace of perse-
cution ; BO that heavy afflictions are the best benefactors to
heavenly affections. And where afflictions hang heaviest, cor-
ruptions hang loosest ; and giace that is hid in nature, as sweet
water in rose-leaves, is then most fragrant when the fire of af-
fliction is put under to distil it out.

Do you wish to live vithout a trial ? Then you wish to die
but half a man — at the best but half a man. Without trial
you cannot guess at your own strength. Men do not learn to
swim on a table. They must go "nto deep water and bufifet
the surges. A certain amount of opposition is a great help to
a man. Kites rise against the wind, and not with the wind;
even a head wind is better than none. No man ever worked hi»
passage anywhere in a calm. Let no man wax pale, therefore,
because of opposition ; opposition is what he wants and must
have, to be good for anything. Hardship is the native soil of
manhood and self-reliance.

An acorn is not an oak tree when it is sprouted. It must go
through long summers and fierce winteic ; it hcus to endure all
that frost, and snow, and thunder, and storm, and side-striking

TRIALS OF LIFE.

hes are
roof till
t when
ines are
;ouring ;
iweetest
ng ; the
he more
lition of
pted; as
so their
of perae-
tctors to
iest, Cor-
as sweet
ire of af-

sh to die
out trial
learn to
id buffet
it help to
he wind;
orked his
therefore,
and must
ve soil of

t must go
tndure all
e-striking

winds can bring, before it is a full-grown oak. These are rough
teachers ; but rugged schoolmasters make rugged pupils. So
a man is not a man when he is created; he is only begun. His
manhood must come with years. A man who goes through life
prosperous, and comes to his grave without a wrinkle, is not
half a man. In time of war, whom does the general select for
some hazardous enterprise ? He looks over his men, and
chooses the soldier whom he knows will not flinch at danger*
but will go bravely through whatever is allotted to him. He
calls him that he may receive his ordei^Sjand the othcer, blush-
ing with pleasure to be thus chosen, hastens away to execute
them. Difficulties are God's errands. And when we are sent
upon them we should esteem it a proof of God's confidence —
as a compliment from God. The traveller who goes round the
world prepares him:> jlf to pass through all latitudes, and to meet
all changes. So man must be willing to take life as it comes ;
to mount the hill when the hill swells, and to go down the hill
when the hill lowers ; to walk the plain when it stretches be-
fore him, and to ford the river when it rolls over the plain. "I
can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."

The best of people will now and then meet with disappoint-
ments, for they are inherited by mortality. It is, however, the
better philosophy to take things calmly and endeavour to be
content with our lot. We may at least add some rays of sun-
shine to our path, if we earnestly endeiivour to dispel the clouds
of discontent that may arise in our bosoms. And by so doing,
we the more fully enjoy the bountiful blessing that God gives
to his humblest creatures.

It is far more noble to improve each hour in cultivating the
mind, and attuning it to the glory of the Creator. For this
end it matters not so much whether we spend our time in study
or toil ; the thoughts of the mind should go out and reach after
the higher good. In this manner we may improve ourselves
till our thoughts come to be sweet companions that shall lead
us along the path of virtue. Thus we may grow better within,
whilst the cares of life, the crosses ana losses and disappoint

394

SIOKNBSa.

I):
,, ,.

■i- . *•

f"-
\ ■

(

P.,

ments lose their sharp thorns, and the journey of life be mad«
comparatively pleasant and happy.

Much material j^ood must be resigned if we would attain to the
highest degree of moral excellence, and many spiritual joys must
be foregone if we resolve at all risks to win great material ad-
vantages. To strive for a higher professional position, and yet
expect to have all the delights of leisure ; to labour for vast
riches, and yet to ask for freedom from anxiety and care, and
aU the happiness which flows from a contented mind; to indulge
in sensual gratification, and yet demand health, strength, and
vigour ; to live for self, and yet to look for the joys that spring
from a virtuoiis and self-denying life, is to ask for impossibili-
ties.

God knows what keys in the human soul to touch in order to
draw out its sweeter and most perfect harmonies. They miy
be the minor strains of sadness and sorrow ; they may be the
loftier notes of joy and gladness. God knows where the melo-
dies of our natures are, and what discipline will bring them
forth. Some with plaintive tongues must walk in lowly vales
of life's weary way ; others, in loftier hymns, sing of nothing
but joy, as they tread the mountain-tops of life ; but they all
unite without discord or jar as the ascending anthem of loving
and believing hearts finds its way into the chorus of the
redeemed heaven.

^■^»'»

fkhntsB,

ICKNESS brings a share of blessings with it. What stores
of human love and sympathy it reveals. What constant
aflfectionate care is ours. What kindly greetings from
friends and associates. This very loosening of our hok^ upon
life calls out such wealth of human sympathy that life seeuis
richer than before. Then it teaches humility. Our absence is

sivKNnas,

39h

mode

to the
muat
al ad-
id yet
r vast
e, and
idulge
,h, and
spring
issibili-

)rder to
ey miy
' be the
e melo-
g them
ly vales
nothing
they all
>f loving
of the

lat storei
constant)
from
loU^ upon
life seeuiB
absence ie

ings

•carcely felt or noticed. From tlie noisy, wrestling world
without we are separated completely, as if the moss wjia on ouf
tombstones ; yet our place is tilled and all moves on without
us. So we learn that when at last wo shall sink forever beneath
the waves of the sea of life, there will be but one ripple and
the current will move steai' ly on. On tl^o sick l)ed the sober
truth comes home with startling emphav .;

" The gay will laaijh
When thou art Rone, the solonin brood r)f car©
riod ou, and each one as before will chaae
His favourite phantom."

We cannot too soon convince ourselves how easily we may
be dispensed with in the world. Wliat important personages
wo imagine ourselves to be ! We think tliat we alone are the
life of the circle in which we move ; in our absence we fancy
chat life, existence and breath will come to a general pause ;
and alas 1 the gap which wo leave is scarcely perceptible, so
quickly is it filled again ; nay, it is often but the place, if not
foi something better, at least for something more agreeable.

When sickne.ss has drawn a veil over tlio gaiety of our
hearts, or adversity eclipsed the splendour of our outward cir-
cumstances ; when some intervening cloud has darkened the
phjasing scenes of life, or disappointments opened our eyes;
then vice loses her fallacious allurements and the world ap-
pears as an empty, delusive cheat ; then Jesas and the Gospel
beun forth with inimitable lustre, and Ghri.stian virtue gains
loveliness from such lowering providences, and treads the shades
with more than mortal charms. May this reconcile me, and all
the sons of sorrow, to our appointed share of sufierings. If
tribulations tend to refine the soul and prepare it for glory,
welcome distress, or w^hatever our peevish passions may miscall
calamities. These are not judgments or marks of diapleiusure
to God's children, but necessary and salutary chastisements, as
well as tokftns of his parental concern for our spiritual and
jtemal weifaiti. Afilictions should, therefore, sit eai>^ upon im,

ww^

'T9 ^

^^^

SICKNESa.

vince they increase our knovvledj^e and humility, promote our
faith and love, and work out for us a far more exceeding and
«ternal weight of glory.

Sickjiess scours us of our rust, and however the wicked, like
trees in the wiKhnness, grow without culture, yet the saints,
like trees in the garden, must be pruned to be made fruitful,
and sickness does this. God will prune His people, but not
i ow them down ; the right h.itul of His mercy knows what the
left hand of Hi.s severity is doin(]f. There is as much dillurence
between the suftbrings of the saints and those of the ungodly,
as between the ('ords with which an executioner pinions a con-
demned malefactor, and the bandages wherewith a tender sur-
geon binds his patient.

Sickness and disease are, in wenk minds, the sources of mel-
ancholy ; but that which is painful to the body may be pro.i,-
able to the soul, Sioknosn, tht^ mother of modesty, puts us in
mind of our mortality, and while we drive on heedlessly in the
full career of worldly pomj* and jollity, kindly pulls us by tlie
ear, and brings us to a proper sense of our duty.

A minister was recovering from a dangerous illness, when
one of his friends addressed him thus : " Sir, though God seems
to be briTv/ini{ you up from the gates of death, yet it will be a
long time befoie you will sutiiciently retrieve your strength
and regain vigour enoi'|h of mind to preach as usual," 'J 'he
good man answered : " You are mistaken, my fiiend ; for this
six weeks' illness has taught me more divinity than all my past
studies and all my ten years* ministry put together."

Dr. Payt^on being ill, » friend coming into his room remarked
m a familiar way : " Well, I am sorry to see nou lying here on
yuur back." " Do you know what God puts us on our backs
for ? " asked Dr. Payson, smiling. " No," was the answer. " In
ord.^r iihat we may look upward." His friend said to him, " I am
not come to condole but to reji.dce with you, for it seems to me
that this is no time for mourning." " Well, I am glad to hear
that," was the reply, "it is not often that I am addressed in s'lch a
way. The fact is I never had less need of condolence, and yet

TEA RS,

197

everybody persists in ofFerinij; it; whereiis, when I was pros-
perous an. I well, an.l a Huoce.ssful preachor, and really needed
condolence, tliey ilactered and ct)ngratulatod me." Whom th«
Lord lovoth He chasteneth, and if we emlnre cUaateuiug, Qcd
deoleth witli uh ay with sons and daughters.

-••

Scats.

-■?!

JHERE is a sacredness in tears. They are not th-^ inark
of weakness, bnt of power. Thoy speak more eloquence
than ten thoiisaod tongues. TJioy are Hie messages of
overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, of unspeakable love. If
there were wanting any argument to prove tliat man is not
mortal, I would look for it in the strong conclusive emotions of
the breast, when the soul has been deeply agitated ; when the
fountains of feeling are rising, and wlien teai-s are gushing
forth in crystal streams. 0, speak not harshly of the stricken
one — weeping in silence ! Break nob the solemnity by rude
laughter, or intrusive footstcjjs. Despise not woman's tears —
they are what make her an arigLd. ScotF not if the stern heart
of manhood is sometimes melfccd to sympathy — thoy are what
hel|) to elevate him above the brute. We love to nee tears of
affection. They are painlul tokens, but still most holy. Thore
is pleasure in tears -an awful pleasure. If there were none
on earth to shed a tear for us, we should be loth to Vive ; and
if no one might weep over our grave, we could never die in
peace. - .

Genuine tears are the involuntary and faithful expressions
of the soul. The souls sorrow or joy — for joy weeps — guilt or
innocence — for insulted virtue has its tears — giisten-s in the
pearly drop. Tears relieve the soul ; they are prevailing ora-
toi-s ; they win triumphs which neither the inf jrnal sword, nor

mf\wi>

B98

TEARS.

1 ■ .'■,

divine speech could ever achieve. A true, tear is electric to the
true. A tear dropped in the silence of n sick chamlier often
rings in heaven witn a sound which belongs not to earthly
trumpets or bulls.

Tears, generally tremble in our eyes when we are happy, and
glisten like peails, or dew-drops on the flower cup ; but when
we first realize any overwhelming and unlookcd for happiness,
we gaze lound with a smile of bewildered ecstasy, and no tears
ti'emble iu our eyes. The extremes of joy and sorrow are too
great, too deep for tears.

Tender, holy and sanctifying are human teai-s — crystals of
affection and ])ity — jewels of the soiil. One trickled on the
oheek of a child. It had been crossed in the fulfilment of some
anticipation, and from a grieved heart gushed up the nympa-
thiziug tear. Another tremble*! from the eyelid of youth, ile
had felt the touch of a bitter reyiroof, or of disappointed love,
and to soften his brain and sorroAv came the same beautiful tear.

0, do; not that mau]iou<l — srrong manhood — was tlien sol-
aced by tears. O, ye tears ! what a mission have ye wron;j;ht in
our sorrowing world ! How tenderly worshipped on the altars
of pity and sincere love — how gloriously sanctified rej.entance
and grief ! Down in the damp cell where the martyr rattles his
chains j in the dungeon where the patriot waits for the block —
ye have performed, 0, tears ! the same blessed work. P]ven to
joy ye have been tlie balm of oil — a refiner's lire. When the
Macedonian passed the pillar of Hercules he was conquered by
tears — the same tears that sprung but now like dew-drops,
from the lashes of yon blue-eyed cliild.

For whiit different ends, and yet unchanged, have yc v-^ oni:ht.
Every moment mellowing and calming some sad, w(>rnhi'art
— aye, every day doing some mission for each of our^ouls. Ye
have guslied over battle-fields and over festive hails ; around
the bier and the board ; and deeper, holier, have been our lovei
and our friendliness with each return of your hallowed feet —
aye, feet! for tears h-ivo feet, and they come tread iajj^ up the
■oul like 80 many angels, offering sacrifices through our eyes.

SORJiOW.

399

Rerc^-H them not, child — they are a purifying vent to thy
yoxrng heart. Repress them not, O youth — they are good and
holy for thee. Repress them not, mother — for unto thee God
has given them to be a comforter in the lone and bitter hour.
A-nd tliou, manhood, quench not the fountain whose upheaving
is the most beautiful manifestation of thy spiritual life. Tears,
beautiful, blessed teai-s, be ever with every reader — with us all ;
our token when we sigh for the absent, or weep for the lost— a
sacred witness that our regrets and sorrows are sincere.

It is a striking fact that the dying never weep. The sobbing,
theheart-bie.iking agony of the circle of friends around the death-
bed, call foith no responsive tears from the d3'-ing. Is it because
he is ins'nsible, and stiff in the chill of dissolution ? That
cannot he, for he asks for his father's hand, as if to gain strength
in the mortal struggle, and leans on the breasu of his mother,
sister or bi-other, in still conscious afltiction. Just before ex-
piring, he calls the loved ones, and with quivering lips says :
"Kiss m'-" showing that the love which he has borne in his
heart is still fresh and warm. It must be because the dying
have reached a point too deep for earthly sorrows, too transcen-
dent for weeping. They are face to face with higher and holier
things, with the Father in Heavim and TTis angels. There is
no wee}>ing in that blessed abode to which the dying man is
hastening.

§orroto.

Give vSorrow words ; the grief, that does not speak,
Wliispers the o'erfrauglit Heart, and bids it bro.Jv.

— Sluikespeare.

Ti TE who tastes on)

the bitter in the cup of life, who looks
only at the clouds which lower in one quarter of the
heavens, while the sun is shining cheerily in another,
•rho persists in pricking and scratching himself with the thorn.

400

SORROW,

and refuses to enjoy the fragrance of the rose is an inerftte to
God and a torment to himself. The record of human lite m lar
more melancholy than its course ; the hours of quiet enjoy-
ment are not noted ; the thousand graces and happiness of
social life, the loveliness of nature meeting us at every step,
the buo} ancy of spirit resulting from health and pure air, the
bright sun, the starry firmament — all that cheers man on his
road through his probationary state, that warms the heart and
makes life pleasant — is omitted in the narrative, which can only
deal with facts ; and we read of disappointment, and sickness,
and death, and exclaim : " Why is man born to sorrow ? " He
is not so.

Sorrows are only tempast clouds ; when afar oflF, they look
black, but when above us scarcely gray. Sorrow is the nigh4
of the mind. What would be a day without its night ? The
day reveals one sun only ; the night brings to light the whole
of the universe. The analogy is complete. Sorrow is the
fii'mament of thought and the school of intelligence. Men that
are wise, as the bees draw honey from the thyme, which is a
most unsavoury and dry herb, extract something that is con-
venient and useful even from the most bitter afflictions.

Great undertakings require the Christian's faith to endure
the deep and overwhelming experiences of human sorrow with-
out relinquishing their cherished life-work. The world in its
bitterest forms of oppression spent itself upon Tasso, Dante
and Milton, in vain. Redeemed, exalted, purified, they came
forth from the abyss of anguish, and sung to their fellows a
song which those who have never sufifered, could never »itter.
Alas ! how many richly freighted souls have simk in the angry
biUows that came rushing in their furious strength only to
bend beneath these master-spirits and bear them up to immor-
tality. Sweetest of all songs are the Psalms in the nighl
David sang with the most touching tenderness when in the
gloom of deepest afiiiction. The heart may wail a miserere
over its dead or its dying, but even that will be sadly sweet,
and will have a hope in it. The saddest song is better than
none, because it is a song.

SORROW.

401

lar

Sorrow is one of God's own angels in the land. Her pnin-
ing-knile may not spare the tender buds of hope that make
glad the garden of the soul, but her fingers sow the seeds of a
quick sympathy with the woes of a common humanity, which,
springing into leaf, and bud, and blossom, send perfume and
beauty into the waste places of lonely lives, and permeate with
fragrant incense the soil that gave them birth.

The simplest and most obvious use of sorrow is to remind
us of God. It would seem that a certain shock is needed to
bring us in contact with retditv. 'We are not conscious of
breathing till obstruction makes it felt. We are not aware of
the possession of a heart till some disease, some sudden joy or
8OJT0W, rouses it into extraordinary action. And we are not
conscious of the might}'' craving of our half divine humanity ;
we are not aware of the God within us till some chasm yawns
which must be filled, or till the rending asunder of our afi'ec-
tions forces us to become fearfully conscious of a need.

To mourn without measure, is folly ; not to mourn at all, is
insensibility. God says to the fruit tree, bloom and bear ; and
to the human heart, bear and bloom — the soul's great blossom-
ing is the flower of sufiering. As the sun converts clouds into
a glorious drapery, firing them with gorgeous hues, and drap-
ing the whole horizon with its glorious costume, and writing
victory in fiery colours along the vanquished front of every
cloud, so sometimes a radiant heart lets forth its hope upon its
sorrow and all the blackness flies, and troubles that trooped to
appeal seem to ci owd around as a triumphal procession follow-
ing the steps of a victor.

There are people who think that to be grim is to be good,
and that a thought, to be really wholesome, must necessarily
be shaped like a coflin. They seem to think that black is the
colour of heaven, and that the more they can make their faces
look like midnight, the hfjlier they are.

The days of darkness come, and they are many, but our eye
takes HI only the first. One wave hides another, and the effort
to encounter the foremost withdraws our thought from eviis

^^i ! «ttMi ^ w jB ii.^Uuiiift:jb i -j.uwuM

408

SORROW.

which are pressing on. If we could see them all at once we
might lie down, like Elijah, under the juniper tree, and say
" It is enough — let me not live!" But pfi,tience attains her
perfect word while trials unfold. The capacity of soriow be-
longs to our gi'andeur ; and the loftiest oi' our race are those
who have had the proibundest grief, because they have had
the profoundest sympathies.

Sorrow cornea soon enough without despondency; it does a
man no good to curry around a lightning-rod to attract trouble.
Whon a gloom falls u[)on us, it may be we have entered into
the cloud that will give its gentle showers to refresh and
ijtrfjngthen us. Heavy burdens of sorrow seem like a stone
liung round our neck, yet they are often unly like the stt)ne
used by jiearl divei"S, wliich enables tliem to reach the prize
and rise onriclied.

Without suffering there could be no fortitude, no courage,
or forbearance. The beauty and grandeur of the starry hea-
vens are only to be seen wlien set against tlie brow of niglit ; so
sorrow 'jiti?n reveals to us our Father, whom the sunlight of
prosperity hides.

Woman's is a lixed, a sscluded and a meditative life. She
is the companion of her own thougiitsand fe-jlings, and if they
are turned to ministers of sorrow, where shall she look for con-
solation ? Her lot is to be wooed and won, and if utdiap[)y in
lier love, her heart is like some fortiess that has beeu oajttured,
aud sacked, and abandoned, and left desolate.

How many l>rigbt ej-es grow dim-^how manj' soft cheeks
gi-ow pale — how iimuy lovely furnjs fade away into the tomb, and
none can tell the cause that l«iighted their loveliness! As the
dove will clasp its wings to its side, and cover and conceal the
arrow that is preying on its vitals, so it is the nature of woniiin
to hide from the world the pangs of wounded atJection. The
love of a delicate female is always shy and silent. Even when
fortunate she scarcely breathes it to herself ; but when othei-
wiae, she biuies it in the recesses ot her bosom, and there lets
it brood and cower among the ruins of her peace. With het

e we

L say

IS her

w be-

those

I had

: "i

80RR0 W.

40A

the 'It =!ire of the heart has failed. The gieat charm of existence
is at an end. She neglects all the cheerful exercises which
gladden the spirits, quicken the pulses, and send the tide of life
in healthful current.-> throuj^h the veins. Her rest is broken —
the sweet refreshment of sleep is poisoned hy melancholy <lreanis
— ■' dry sorrow drinks her blood," until her feeble frame sinks
under the slightest external iiijury. Look for her after a little
while, and yoii will find friendship weeping over her untimely
grave, and wonderiTig that one who but lately glowed with all
th<5 radiance of health and beauty, should be so speedily V)rought
do wn to " darkness and the worm." You will bo told of some
wintry chill, some casual indisposition that laid her low ; but
no one knows of the mental malady that previously sapped her
stiength and made her so eas}'' a prey to the spoiler.

There fire sorrows too sacreil to be baWiled to the world, and
there may be loves which one would forbear to whisper even to
a friend. Real sorrow is not clamorous. It seeks to shun every
eve, and breathes in solitude and silence the sighs that come
from the heart. Every heart has its .secret sorrow, which the
world knows not ; and oftentimes we call a man cold when he
is only sad. Give not thy mind to heaviness ; the gladness of
the heart is the life of man, and joyfulnoss of a man prolongeth
his da} s. Remove sorrow far from thee, for sorrow hath killed
inajiy, and there is no profit therein ; and carefulness bringeth
age before the time.

^Ve ?^XQ inclined to think that the causes of our sorrows are
sent to us from above ; often we weep, we groan in our 'Spirits,
and we murmur against God; but he leaves \is to our soi*row, and
wo are saved ; our present grief saves us from an eternal sor-
row. It would be well, however, if we attempted to trace the
cause of them ; we should probatdy tind tlicir origin m some
region of the heart which we never had well explored, or in which
we had secretly deposited our worst indulgences. The clouds
that intercept the heavens from us, come not from the heavens,
but from the earth. Excess of sorrow is as fi-oliah as profuse
laughter. Loud mirth, or immoderate sorrow, inequality of be-

401

SORROW,

;!■

l\- ■':

1, -H I .■

haviour, either in prosperity or adversity, are alike ungraceftil
m a man that is born to die. Some are refined, like gold, in
the furnace; others, like chaff, are consumed in it. Sorrow,
when it is excessive, takes away fervour from piety, vigour from
action, health from body, light from reason, and repose from
the ctmscience.

Those who work hard seldom yield ttiemselves entirely up to
fancied or real sorrow. When grief sits down, folds its hands,
and mournfully feeds upon its own tears weaving the dim shad-
ows, that a little exertion might sweep away into a funeral pall
the strong spirit is shorn of its might, and sorrow becomes oui
master. When troubles flow upon you, dark and heavy, toil
not with the waves; wrestle not with the torrent; rather seek,
by occupation, to divert the dark waters that threaten to over-
whelm you, into a thousaml chatmeis which the duties of life
alw^ays present. Before you dream of it, those waters will
fertilize the present, and give birth to fresh flowers that may
brighten the future — flowers tliat will become pure and holy,
in the sunshine which penetrates to the path of duty, in apit«
of every obstacle. Grief, after all, is but a .selfish feeling; aiid
most selfish is the man who yields himself to the indulgence of
any passion which brings no ]oy to his fellow man.

They are true kings and queens, heroes and heroines, who,
foMing a pall of tenderest memory over the faces of their ovm
lost hopes and perished loves, go with unfaltering courage, to
grapple with the future, to strengthen the weak, to comfort
the weary, to hang sweet pictures of faith and trust in the
silent galleries of sunless lives, and to point the desolate, whose
paths wind ever among shadows and over rocks where never
the green moss grows, to the golden heights of the hereafter,
where the palms of victory wave.

Difficulties are things that show what men are. In case of
any difficulty, remember that God, like a gymnastic trainer,
has pitted you against a rough antagonist For what end ?
That you may be an Oiym} ic conqueror, and this cannot be
without toil. He that has greut affliction is made of sterner st^'aflf

SORROWING FOR THE DEAD,

405

U va most men. God seems to have selected him, like second
growth timber, for important work. It is not every one that
can be trusted to suffer greatly. God has confidence in him to
the extent of the affliction.

Causeless depi ession is not to bo reasoned with, nor can
David's harp charm it away, by sweet discoursings. As well
fight with the mist as with this shapeless, undefinable, yet all-
beclouding hopelessness. If those who laugh at such melancholy
did but teel the grief of it, for one hour, their laughter would
be sobered into compassion. Resolution might, perhaps, shake
it oflf, but where are we to find the resolution, when the whole
man is unstrung ?

It is a poor relief for sorrow to fly to the distractions of the
world ; as well might a lost and wearied bird, suspended over
the abyss of the tempestuous ocean, seek a resting place on
its heaving waters, as the child of trouble seek a place of re-
pose amid the bustling cares and intoxicating pleasures of earth
and time. Christ is a refuge and " a very present help in
trouble."

Sorrotoing fbr t^e g^atr.

TJR friends may die and leave our hearts and homes deso-
late for a time ; we cannot prevent it, nor would it be
beat if we could- Sorrow h:is its useful lessons when
H is legitimate, and death is the gate that opens out of earth
toward the house " eternal in the heavens." If we lose them,
heaven gains them. If we mouin, they rejoice. If we hang
our harps on the willows, they tune theirs in the eternal or-
chestra above, rejoicing that we shall soon be with them. Shall
we not drown our soxtow in the flood of light let through the
rent veil of the skies which Jesus entered, and, to cure our
Umeliuess, gather to us other friends to walk, life's way, know-

406

SORROWING FOR THE DEAD.

*v.

ing that every step brings us nearer the departed, and their
Bweet, eternal home, which death never enters, and where part-
ings are never known ? Wti may still love the departed. They are
ours as ever, and we are theirs. The ties that unite ns are not
broken. They are too strong for death's stroke. They are
made for the joys of eternal friendship. Other friendships on
earth will not disturb these bonds that link with dear ones on
high. Nor will our duties below interfere with the sacred-
neas of our relations with them. They wish not to see us in
sorrow. They doubtless sympathize with us, and could we hear
their sweet voices, they would tell us to dry our tears and bind
ourselves to other friends, and joyfully perform all duties on
earth till our time to ascend shall come.

" The sorrow for the dead," says Irving, " is the only sorrow
from which wa refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we
seek to heal, every other affliction to forget ; but this woimd
we consider it a duty to keep open ; this affliction we cherish
and brood over in solitude.

" Where is the mother who would willingly forget the in-
fant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every
recollection is a pang ? Where is the chila that would willing-
ly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember be
but to lament % Who, even in the hour of agony, would for-
get the friend over whom he mourns ? Who, even when the
tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved, when
he feels his heart, aa it were, -^.rushed in the closing of its por-
tal, would accept of consolation that must be bought by for-
getfulness ?

" No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest
attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its de-
lights ; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed
into the gentle tear of recollection, when the sudden anguish
and the convulsive agony over the ruins of all that we moat
loved is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it
was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out auah «
■orrow from the heart ?

■ ■™''/*r'>??«'?^**¥™H*?^-*-

SORROWING FOR THE DjSAD.

*()7

^■|

" Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the
bright hour of gaiety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour
of gloom, yet who would exchanga it even for the song of plea-
sure or the buist of revelry ? No, there is a voice from the
tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead
to which we turn even from the charms of the living.

" Oh, the gi-ave, the grave ! It buries every terror, cover»
every defect, extinguishes lavery resentment. From its peace-
ful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections.
Who can look upon the grave even of an enemy and not feel a
compunctious throb that he should ever have warred with the
poor handful of earth that lies mouldering ]>efore liim ?

" But the grave of those we loved, what a place for medit'i-
tion ! There it is that we call up in long review the whole his-
tory of virtue, and gentleness and the thousand endearment*
lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercoui-se of
intimacy. There it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the
solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene.

" The bed of death, with all its stifled griefs, its noiseless at-
tendants, its mute, watchful assiduities, the last testimonies of
expiring love, the feeble, fluttering, thrilling, oh, how thrilling 1
pressure of the hand. The last fond look of the glazing eye,
turning upon us even from the threshold of existence. The
faint, faltering accents struggling in death to give one more as-
surance of afiection. \.y, go to the grave of buried love, and
meditate ! There settle the account with thy conscience foi
every past benefit unrequited, every past endearment unre-
garded, of that departed being who can never — never — never
return to be soothed by contrition !

" If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the
soul, or a furrow to the silver brow of an atfectionato parent ;
if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom
that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one
moment of thy kindness or thy truth ; if thou art a friend,
and hast ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit
<• '#t generously confided in thee ; if thou art a lover, and hast

408

ADVERSITY.

given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies
cold and still beneath thy feet, then be sure that every unkind
look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come
thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at
thy soul ; then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and
repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour
the unavailing tear, more deep, more bitter, because un-
heard and unavailing.

" Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties
of nature about the gi-ave ;, console thy broken spirit, if thou
canst, with these tender, yet futile trib''ites of regret ; but take
warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over
the dead, and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in
the dischai'iie of thy duties to the living."

^bbersit^.

. The good are better made by ill : —
Ab odours oruah'd are sweeter still !

— Rogen,

^HE harp holds in its wires the possibilities of noblest
chords : yet, if they be not struck, they must hang dull
and useless. So the mind is vested with a hundred
powertj, that must be smitten by a heavy hand to prove them-
selves tlie offspring of divinity.

Welcome, then, adversity ! Thy hand is cold and hard, but
it is the hand of a friend 1 Thy voice is stem and harsh, but
it is the voice of a friend ! There is something sublime in the
resolute, fixed purpose of suffering without complaining, which
makes disappointment often better than success.

As full ears load and lay corn, so does too much fortune
bend and break the mind. It deserves to be considered, too.

ADVERSITY.

40t

43 another advantAj^e, that at&iction moves pity, and reconciles
our very enemies ; but prospority provokes envy, and loses as
our very friends. Again, adversity is u desolate and abandoned
state, the generality of people are like those infamous animals
that live only upon plenty and rapine ; and as rats and mice
forsake a tottering house, so do these the falling man. He that
has never known adversity is but half acquainted with others
or with himself. Coiistiint success shows us but one side <rf
the world ; for as it surrounds us with friends who tell us only
of our merits, so it silences those enemies from whom only w*
can learn our defects.

Adversity, uge, useful gireat,
Severe instructor, but tho host {
It is fruui thee alone we know
Juatly to value thingit beluw.

Adversity exasperates fools, dejects cowards, draws out th«
faculties of the wise and industrious, puts the modest to the
necessity of trying their skill, awes the opuleut, and makes
the idle industrious. A smooth sea never made a skilful mari-
ner, neither do uninterrupted prosperity and success qualify
men for usefulness and happiness. The storms of adversity,
like those of the ocean, rouse the faculties, and excite the in-
rention, prudence, skill, and fortitude of the voyager. The
martyrs of ancient times, in bracing their minds to outward
ctdamities, acquired a loftiness of purpose and a moral heroism
worth a lifetime of softness and security.

It is good for man that he bear the yoke in his youth. Oaks
we made hard by sti'ong discipline. As a gladiator trained
fche body, so must we train the mind to self-sacrifice, " to en-
d'lre all things," to meet and overcome difficulty and danger.
We must take the rough and thorny roads as well as the
sjAOOth and pleasant ; and a portion at least of our daily duty
cp>ui(t be hard and disagreeable ; for the mind cannot be kept
•t,rong and healthy in uerputual sunshine only, and the most

410

ADVERSITT.

dangerous of all states is that of constantly recniring pleasure,
ease and prosperity.

It seems as if man were like the earth. It cannot bask for-
ever in sunshine. The snows of winter and frost nnist come
and work in the ground and mellow it to make it fruitful. A
Iran upon whom continuous sunshine falls is like the earth in
August ; he becomes parched and dry, and hard and close-
grained. To some men the winter ami spring come when they
are young ; others are bom in summer and are only made fit
to die by a winter of sorrow coming to them when they are
middle-aged or old.

It is not the nursling of wealth or fortune who has been
dandled into manhood on the lap of prosperity, that carries
away the world's honours, or wins its mightiest influence; but
it is rather the man whose eailier years were cheered by
scarcely a single proffer of aid, or smile of approbation, and
who has dittwn from adversity the elements of greatness. The
* talent " which prosperity "fold.i in a napkin," the rough
hand of adversity shook out.

The men who stand boldly for the defence of the truth, in
the midst of the flood of errors that surround them, are not
the gentlemen of lily fingers who have been rocked in the
cradle of indulgence and caressed in the lap of luxury ; but
they are men whom necessity has called from the shade of re-
tirement to contend under the scorchinf; rays of the sun, with
the stem realities of life with all its vicissitudes. It is good
for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth. The gem can-
not be polished without friction, nor man peivccted without
adversity.

The patient conquest of difficulties which rise in the regular
and legitimate channels of business and enterprise, is not only
essential in securing the success which you seek, but it is essen-
tial to the preparation of your mind, requisite for the enjoy-
ment of your successes and for retaining them when gained.

Advenity is the trial of principle. Without it a man hardly
knows whether he is honest or not Night brings out the sta* »

DEBT.

411

M adversity shows us truths ; we never see the stars till we
can see little or naught else ; and thtis it is with truth. When
you feel inclined to cry, just change your mind and laugh.
Nothiiij,' dries sooner than tears.

Adversity certainly has its uses, and very valuable ones toa
It has been truly remarked that many a man, in losing hit
fortune, htm found himself ruined into salvation. Adver-
sity flattereth no man. Oft from apparent ills our blessings
rise. Who never fasts, no banquet e'er enjoys. In prosperity,
be humble ; in adversity, cheerful. If you have the blues, go
and see the poorest and sickest families within your knowledge.
To bear the sharp alllictions of life like men, we should also
feel them like men. The darker the setting, the brighter the
diamond. Probably we might often become reconciled to what
we consider a hard lot by comparing ourselves with the many
who want what we possess rather than with the few who pos-
sess wliat we want. Ho is happy whose ci re iiui stances suit hia
temper ; but he is happier who can suit his temper to his cir-
cumstances. There is a virtue in keejjing up appearances. He
is a fool that grumbles at ever-/ little mischance. Put the best
foot forward, is an old and good maxim. Don't run about and
tell acquaintances that you have been unfortunate ; people do
not like to have unfortunate men for acquaintjincea If the
storm of adversity whistles around you, whistle as bravely
yourself ; perhaps the two whistles may make melody.

khi.

[5i) UT, while you are generous, see to it that you are also
just. Do not give away what does not belong to you.
Let me warn you, on account of its moral bearings,
against debt. Nothing more eil'ectually robs one of his best
energies, takes away the bloom fiom kls cheek and peace from

-I

'in

412

DEBT.

his pillow, than pecuniary obligations. And that is not all, not
the worst ; debt is a foe to a man's honesty. Avoid all mean-
ness ; but shun a« a pestilence the habit of running thought-
lessly into «iebt. Let your expenses lie always short of your
income,

" Of what a hideous progeny of ill," says Douglas Jerrold,
" is debt the father ! What meanness, what invasions of self-
respect, what cares, what double-dealing 1 How in due season,
it will carve the frank, open face into wrinkles ; how like a
knife it will stab the hone.st heart. And then its transforma-
tions. How it has been known to change a goodly face into a
mask of brass ; how with the evil custom of debt, has the true
man become a callous trickster 1 A freedom from debt, and
what nouriRhing sweetness may be found in cold water ; what
toothsomeness in a dry crust ; what ambrosial nourishment in
a hard egg 1 Be sure of it, he who dines out of debt, though
his meal be a biscuit and an oui(m, dines in ' The Apollo.' And
then, for raiment, what warmth in the threadbare coat, if the
tailor's receipt be in your pocket ! what Tyiian purple in the
faded waistcoat, the vest not owed for ; how glossy the well
worn hat, if it covers not the aching head of a debtor ! Next
the home sweets, the out door recreation of the free man. The
street door falls not a knell on his heart-; the foot of the stair-
case, though he lives on the third {)!ur, sends no spasms through
his anatomy ; at the rap of his door he can crow ' come in,' and
his pulse still beats healthfully, his heart sinks not in his bowels,
See him abroad 1 How he returns look for look with any pas-
senger; how he saunters; now meeting an acquaintance, he
stands and gossips, but then this man knows no debt ; deb*
that casts a drug in the richest wine; that makes the food of
the gods unwholesome, indigestible ; that sprinkles the banquet
of a Lucullus with ashes, and drops sout in the soup of an
emperor ; debt that, like the moth, makes valueless furs and
velvets, enclosing the wearer in a festering prison (the shirt of
Nessus was a shirt not paid for) ; debt that writes upon fres-
coed halls the handwriting of the attorney ; that puts a voice

DEBT.

413

of terror in the knocker ; that makes the heart quake at the
haunted fireside ; dcV)t, the invisible demon that walks abroad
with a man, now quiokenini,' his st^jps, now making iiini look
on all sides like a hunted beaat, and now bringing to his face
the ashy hue of death as the unconscious {tassenger looks glauc-
ingly upon him ! Poverty is a bitter draught, yet may, ajid
sometimes can, with advantafre, be gulped down. Though the
drinker makes wry faces, there may, after all, be a wholesome
goodnes« in the cup. But debt, however courteously it may
be offered, is the cup of Syren ; and the wine, spicod and deli
cious though it be, is p(»ison. The man out of debt, though with
a flaw in his jerkin, a crack in his shoe leathur, and a hole in
his hat, is still the son of liberty, free as the singing lark above
him ; but the debtor, although clothed in the utmost bravery,
what is he but a serf out upon a holiday — a slave to be re-
claimed at any instant by his owner, the creditor ? My son, if
poor, see llyson in the nmning spring; see thy mouth water
at a last week's roll ; think a threadbare coat the oidy wear ;
and acknowledge a whitewashed garret the fittest housing
place for a gen th -man ; do this and llee debt. So shall thy
heart be at rest and the sheriff confounded."

Soniel)ody truly says that one debt begets another. If a
man owes you a dollar, he is sure to owe you a gnulge, too,
and he is generally more ready to pay interest on tho latter
than on the former. Contracting debts is not unlike the man
who goes to sea without a compas;^ — he may steer clear of rocks,
sandbars, a lee shore, and breakers, but the chances are greatly
against him ; and, if ho runs foul of either, ten to one he is
lost. The present indiscriminate credit system is a labyrinth,
the entrance is easy, but how to get out — that's the question.
It is an endless chain, and if one liiik breaks in a particular
community , it degrades the whole. The concussion ma\' break
many mor-?, create a panic, and the chain become useless. If
ibis misfortune would cure the evil, it would be a blessing in
disguise; but so deeply rooted is this system among us, that
no sooner is one chain destroyed than another is manufactured :

414)

DEBT.

' ' '

Im:

an increasing weight is put upon it ; presently some of its links
snap, another concussion is produced, and creates a new panic ;
car after car rushes down the inclined plane of bankruptcy, in-
creasing the mass of broken fragments and general ruin, all so
commingled that a Philadelphia lawyer, aided by constables
and sheriffs, can bring but little order out of the confusion.
At the outset, especially among merchants, a ruinous tax is im-
posed by this system upon the vendor and vendee. The seller,
in addition to a fair pi iht for cash in hand, adds a larger per
cent, to meet losses fn ni bad debts, but which often falls far
short of the mark. Each purchaser, who is ultimately able to
pay, bears the proportionate burden of the tax, and both con-
tribute large sums to indulge those who cannot, and what ia
worse, those who never intetiJ to pay; thus encouraging f mud.
On every hand we see paople living on credit, putting off pay
day to the last, making in the end some desperatt; effort either
b)'^ begging or borrowing, to scrape the money together, and
then struggling on again, with the canker of care eating at
their heart, to the inevitable goal of bankruptcy. If people
would only make a puf-b at the be;^'iuning, instead of the end,
they would save themselves all this misery. The great secret
of being solvent, and well-to-do, and comfortable, is to get
ahead of your expenses. Eat and drink this month what you
earned last month — not what you are going to earn next mouth
There are, no doubt, many persons so unfortunately situated
that they can never accomplish this. No man can to a certaintj
guard against ill health ; no man can insure himself a well-
conducted, helpful family, or a permanent income. Friendships
are broken over debts ; forgeries and murders are committed
on their account ; and however considered, they are a source of
cost and annoyance — and that continually. They break in
everywhere upon the harnionious relations of men ; they render
men servile or tyrannous, as they chance to be debtors or credi-
tors; they blunt sensitiveness to personal independence, and, in
no respect that we can fathom, do tney advance the general
well-being.

FAILURE.

416

railnre.

fN ev««y community there are men who are determined noi
^^^ to work if work can be shirked. Without avowing this
determiuatiou to themselves, o. reflecting that they are
fighting against a law of nature, they begin life with a reso-
lution to enjoy all the good things that are accumulated by
the labour of man, leithout contributing their own share of la-
bour to the common stock. Hence the endless schemes of getting
rich in a day — for reaching the goal of wealth by a few gi;^an-
tic bounds, instead of slow and by plodding steps. It matters
not in what such man deal, wliether in oroide watches or in
watered stock ; whuther thoy make " corners " in wheat or
in gold ; whether they gamble in oats or at roulette ; whether
they steal a railway yr a man's money by " gift concerts"— the
principle is in all caaos the same, namely, to obtain something
for nothing, to get vjjues without parting with anything in
exchange. Everybody knows the history of such men, the vicis-
situdes they experienoj — vicissitudes rendering the millionaire
of to-day a beggar t( laorrow.

Firms are constantly changing. Splendid mansions change
hands suddenly. A brilliant party is held in an up-town house,
the side walk is carpeteJ,and the pa|,erb are full of the brilliant
reception. The next setuson the house will be dismantled, and
a family, " going into the country," or " to Europe," will offer
their imported furniture to the public under the hammer. A
brilliant equipage is seen in the parks in the early part of the
season, holding gaily dreosed ladies and some successful speo-
ulatoir. Before the season closes some government oflicer or
sporting man will drive that team on his own account, while
the gay party that called the outfit their own in the early part
of the season, have passed away forever. This grows out of the
manner in which business is done. There is no thrift, no fore«

41t

FAILURE.

^^•1#

\'^^^

#f'

sij&-

cast, no thought for the morrow, A man who makes fifty
thousand dollars, instead of settling half of it on his wife and
children, throws the whole into a speculation with the expect-
ation of making it a hundred thousand. A successful dry
goods jobber, who has a balance of seventy-five thousand dol-
lars to his credit in the bank, instead of holding it for a wet
day or a tight time, goes into a Jittle stock speculation and hopes
to make a fortune at a strike. Men who have a good season
launch out into extravagances and luxuries, and these, with
the gambling mania, invariably carry people under.

A gentleman, who had a very successful trade, built him an
extraordinary country seat in Westchester county, whicn was
the wonder of the age. His house was more costly than the
palace of the Duke of Buccleuch. His estate comprised several
acres laid out in the most expensive manner, and the whole
was encircled with gas lights, several hundred in number, which
were lit every evening. As might have been expected, with
the first reverse (and it comes sooner or later to all), the mer-
chant was crushed, and as he thought disgraced ; and he was
soon carried to his sepulchte, the wife obliged to leave her lux-
urious home, and by the kindness of creditors was allowed, with
her children, to find temporary refuge in the coachman's iofb in
her stable.

Americans are always in a hurry when they have an object
to accomplish ; but if there is any vocation or pursuit in which
gradual, slow-coach processes are scouted with peculiar detesta-
tion, it is that of acquiring riches. Especially is this true at the
present day, when fortunes ar** continually changing hands, and
men are so often, by a lucky turn of the wheel, lifted from the
lowest depths of poverty to the loftiest pinnacle of wealth and
affluence. Exceptional persons there are, who are content with
slow gains — willing to accumulate riches by adding penny to
penny, dollar to dollar ; but the mass of business men are too
apt to despise such a tedious, laborious ascent of the steep of
fortune, and to rush headlong into schemes for the sudden ao
qnisiticfi of wealth. Hence honourable labour is too often i*
•pised ; a man of parts is expected to be above hard work.

'^■W^^ :«

DESPAIR.

417

There is, with a gi-««t majority of men, a want of constancy
in vliatever plans they undertake. Tney toil as though they
doubted that life had earaest and decided pathwnys ; as though
there was no compass but the siiifting winds, with each of
which they must change their course. Thus they beat about
on the ocean of ti ne but never cross it, to rest ou ielightful
islAods or mainlapds.

^VTO calamity can produce such parah'sis of the mind as
despair. It is the cap atone of the clima.'t of liuman
anguish. The mental powers are frozen with indiffer-
ence, the heart becomes o.ssified with melancholy, the soul is
shrouded in a cloud of gloom No words of consolation, no
cheerful repartee, can break the death-like calm ; no love can
warm the pent-up heart ; no sunbeams dispel the dark clouds.
Time may effect a change ; deatli will break the monotony.
We can extend our kindness, but cannot relieve the victim.
We may trace the causes of this awful disease ; God only can
effect a cure. We may speculate upun its nature, but cannot
feel its force until its iron hand is laid upon us. We may call
it weakness, but cannot prove or demoustrate the proposition.
We may call it folly, but can point to no frivolity to sustain
our position. We may call it madness, hut can discover no
maniac actions. We m&y call it stuVjboraness, but can see no
exhibitions of indocility. We may call it lunacy, but cannot
perceive the incoherences of that unfortunate condition. We
can call it, properly, nothing but dark, gloomy despair, an un-
defined and undefinable paralysation of all the sensibilities that
render a man happy, and capable of imparting happiness to
those around him It is a state of torpid dormancy, rather than
a mental dei-angement of the cerebral organs.

418

DESPAIR.

. t

Me miserablo ! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair ?
Which way I fly is hell ; myself am hell \
And in the lowest deep a lower deep
.Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide,
To which the helL I siiildr joems a heaven.

— MUton.

It is induced by a false estimate of things, and of the dis-
pensations and government of the God of raeicy. Disappoint-
ments, losses, severe and continued afflictions, sudden transi-
tion from wealth to poverty, the death of dear friends, may
cast a gloom over the mind that does not correctly comprehend
the great first cause, and see the hand of God in every tiling,
and produce a state of despair, because the things arc viewed
in a false mirror. Fanaticism in religious meetings has pro-
duced the most obstinate and melancholy cases of despair that
have come under my own observation. Intelligence chastened
by religion, are the surest safe-guards against this state of
misery ; ignorance and vic(i are its greatest promoters. Despair
is the destruction of all hope, the deathless sting that refinea
the torment of tl t finally impenitent and lost. It is that un-
dying worm, that unquenchable fire, so graphically described
in Holy Writ.

Remember this, that God always helps those that help them-
selves, that he never forsakes those who are good and true, and
that he heareth even the young ravens when they cry. More-
over, remember too, that come what may, we must never give
up in life's battle, but press onward to the end, always keeping
in mind the words — NEVEii despair.

Despair is the death of the soul. If we will sympathize
with God's system of salvation, there is no occasion for des-
pondency or a feeling of condemnation, as we discover our
defects from time to time ; >■ v, on the other hand, of cheer-
ful hopefulness, and confidence of this very thing, that " He
who hath begun a good work in us will perform it until the
day of Jesus Christ"

I ii

' i

STEPriNG STONES.

419

TEPPINQ STONES are advantages, auxiliaries, power,
etc., and these are attained in no otl • way than through
personal experiences. Our trials d ife strengthen us ;
discouragements, disappointments, misfortunes, failures, adver-
sities, and calamities, are all stepping stones for us ; each suc-
cessive victory raises us higher in strength and power. It is
through trials that stout hearts are made. It is through ad-
versities that our patience and courage are increased.

Men are frequently like tea — the real strength and goodness
is not properly drawn out of them till they have been a short
time in hot water. The ripest fruit grows on the loughest wall
It is the small wheels of a carriage that come in first. The
man who holds the ladder at thu bottom is frequently of more
service than he who is stationed at the top of it The turtle,
though brought in at a rear gate, takes the head of the table.
" Better to be the cat in the philanthropist's family than a mut-
ton pie at a king's banquet."

He who bears adversity well gives the best evidence that he
will not be spoiled by prosperity. It has been truly remarked
that many a man, iu losing his fortune, has found himself. Ad-
voi'sity flattereth no man. Oft from apparent ills our blessings
rise. Who never fasts, no banquet e'er enjoys. Adversity ex-
asperates fools, dejects cowards, draws out the faculties of the
wise and industrious, puts the modest to the necessity of try-
ing their skill, awes the opulent, and makes the idle industrious.
Many a promising reputation has been destroyed by early
success. It is ffir from being true, in the progress of knowledge,
that after everv failure we must recommence from the begin-
ing. Every failure is a step to success; every detection of what
is false directs us toward what is true ; every trial exhausts
•ome tempting form of error. Not only so, but scarcely any

420

STEP PI NO ST0NE8.

I' 'I

attempt is entirely a failuro ; scarcely any theory, the result ol
steady thought, is altoj,'ether false ; no templing form of error
is without aome latent c.hHTut deriveH fi':»m truth.

Doubtless a deeper feeling of individual responsibility, and
a better adaptation of talent to its fields of labour, are necessary
to bring about a bettor state of society, and a better condition
for the individual members of it. But with the most careful
adaptation of talent and means to pursuits, no man can succeed
as a general principle, who has not a fixed and resolute putpoHe
in his mind, and an unwavering faith that he can carry that
purpose out.

Man is bom a hero, and it is only by darkness and storms
that heroism gains its greatest and best development and illus-
tration ; then it kindles the black cloud into a blaze of glory,
and the storm bears it rapidly to its destiny. De8|)air not, then
disappointment will be realized. Mortifying failure may attend
this effort and that one; but only be honest and struggle on, and
it will all work well.

What though once supposed friends have disdain. jd and de-
serted you — ^fortune, the jade, deceived you — and the stern
tyrant, advei-sity, roughly asserted his despotic power to trampk
you down ? " While there's life there's hope." Has detraction's
busy tongue assailed thy peace, and contumely's venomed shaft
poisoned thy happiness, by giving reputation its death blow;
destroyed thy confidence in friendly promise, and rendered thee
suspicious of selfishness iti the; exhibition of brotherly kindness;
or the tide of public opinion well nigh overwhelmed you 'neath
its angry waves ? Never despair. Yield not to the influence
of sadness, the blighting power of dejection, which sinks you
in degrading inaction, or drives you to seek relief in some fatal
vice, or to drown recollection in the poisoning bowl. Arouse,
and shake the oppressive burden from overpowering thee.
Quench the stings of slander in the waters of Lethe ; bury des-
pondency in oblivion ; fling melancholy to the winds, and with
firm bearing and a stout heart push on to the attainment of m
higher goal. The open field for energetic action is large, pntl

! ■■

PhAfER.

421

dBult ol
if error

ty, and

icessary
ridition
careful
succeed
pui-pose
rry that

nd illuB-
»f glory,
lot, then
y attend
e on, and

and de-
he stern
) trami>le
traction's
ned shaft
,th blow,
sred thee
iindness;
ou 'neath
influence
sinks you
ome fata)
Aroase,
ing thee,
bury des-
and with
oaent of m
large, pntl

t).o call for vigorouB labourera irmiiensely exceed the supply.
Much precious time is s<piand3red, valuable labour lost, mental
activity stupefied and deadened by vain regrets, useless repi-
nings, and unavailing idleness. The appeal for volunteers in
the great battle of life, iu exU^rminatiag ignoiance and error,
and plaiiting high on an everlasting foundatioir the banner of
intelligence and right, i.s directed to you, would you but grant
it audience. Let no cloud again darken thy spirit, or weight of
sjulness oppress thy heart. Arouse ambition's smouldering tiroa.
The laurel may e'en now be wrcjithed destined to grace thy
brow. Buret the trammels thai impede thy progress, and
cling to hope. The world frowned darkly upon all who have
ever yet won f.Tme's wreath, but on they toiled. Place high
thy standard, and with a firm tread and t'earleas eye press
steadily onward. Persevere, and thou wilt surely roach it. Are
there those who have walchcd, unrewarded, through long sor-
rtwful years, for the dawning of a brighter morrow, when the
weaiy soul should calmly rest ? Flope's bright rays still illume
their dark pathways, and cheerfully yet they watch. Never
despair! Faint not , thow^h thy task be heavy, and victory
is thine. None should despair ; God can help thorn. None
■hould presume ; God can cross them.

<'^»i>

^RAYER is an action of likeness to the Holy Ghost, the
spirit of gentleness and dove-like simplicity ; an imita-
tion of the holy Jesus, whose spirit is meek, up to the
greatness of the biggest example ; and a conformity to God,
whose anger is always just, and marches slowly, and is witii-
out transportation, and often hindered, and never haaty, and 10

^^■l

4iS

PR A YRR.

full ot mercy. Prayei is the pt'.u(;o of our spirit, the stillnew
of our thoughts, tho ovenness of recollection, the seat of medi-
tation, the rest of our cares, and tho calm of our tempest .
prayer is the issuo of a quiot mind upon troubled thoughts; it is
the daughter of charity, and the sister of meekness ; and he
that prays to God with an angry, that is, witli a troubled and
discomposed spirit, is like him that r(3tiro8 into a battle to med-
itate, and sets up his closet in tho out-cjuarters of an anny, and
chooses a frontier garrison to bo wise in. Anger is a perfect
alienation of tho mind from prayer, and therefore is contrary
to that attention which presents our prayers in a right line to
God. For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grans,
and soaring upward, aiiigiug as ho rises, and hopos to get to
heaven, and climb above the clouds ; but the poor bird was
beaten back with the loud sighiiigs of an eastern wind, and his
motion made irregular and inconstant, descending more a j every
breath of the tempest than it could recover by the liberation auc
frequent weighing of his wings ; till the little creature wai
forced to sit down and pant, and sta}-^ till tlwj storm was over ;
and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and sing aa
if it had learned music and motion from an angel, as he pasjied
sometimes tarough the air about his ministries here below : so
is the prayer of a good man : when his affairs have required
business, and his business was matter of discipline, and his
discipline was to pass upon a sinning person, or had a desi #
of charity, his duties met with the infirmities of a man, and
anger was its instrument, and the instrument became stronger
than the prime agent, and raised a tempest, and oveiTuled the
man ; and then his prayer was broken, and his thoughts were
troubled, and his words went up toward a cloud, and his
thoughts pulled them back again, and made them without in-
tention, and the good man sighs for his intiimity, but must be
content to lose the prayer, and he must recover it when his
anger is removed, and his spirit is becalmed, made even as the
brow of Jesus, and smooth like the heart of God ; and then it
ascends to heaven upon the wings of the holy dove, and dwells

^^i^i^i^^mmi^^^^

PBA y KB

423

inodi-
ipeat J
s ; it is
,nd he
id and
jraed-
y, and
perfect
ritrary
line to

gratis,

get to

rd was

ind Ids

evt!i"y
ion anc
jre wai
IS over ;
sing oa
) pasiied
low : 80
required
and his
a desijf
nan, and
stronger
■uled the
hts were
and his
thout in-
must be
when his
en as the
id then it
nd dwells

with Ood, till it returns, like the useful bee. laden with a bless-
ing and the dew of heaven.

God respecteth not the arithmetic of our prayers, how many
they are ; nor the rhetoric of our prayers, how neat they are ;
nor the geometry of our prayers, how long they are ; nor the
music of our prayers, how melodious they are ; nor the logic
of our prayers, how methodical they are ; — but the divituty of
our prayers, how heart-sprung they are. Not gifts, but graces,
prevail in prayer. Perfect prayere, withoiit a spot or blemish,
though not one word be spoken, and no phrases, known to man-
kind be tampered with, always pluck the heart out of the earth
and move it softly like a censor, to and tro, beneath the face of
heaven.

Prayer is a constant source of invigoration to self-discip-
line ; not the thoughtless praying, which is a thing of custom,
but that which is sincere, intense, wjitchful. Let a man ask
himself whether he really would have the thing he prays for ;
let him think, while he is praying for a spirit of forgiveness,
whether, even at that moment, he is disposed to give up the
luxury of anger. If not, what a horrible mockery it is ! Do
not say you have no convenient place to pray in. Any man can
find a place private enough, if he is dispo.se<i. Our Lord pra3'e<l
on a mountain, Peter on the house-top, Isaac in the Held,
Nathaniel under the fig-tree, Jonah in the whale's belly. Any
place may become a closet, an oratory, and a Bethel, and to be
to us the presence of God.

To present a petition is one thing ; to prosecute a suit is an-
other. Most prayers answer to the former ; but successful
prayer corresponds to the latter. God's people frequently lodge
their petition in the court of heaven, and there they let it lie.
They do not press their suit. They do not employ other means
of furthering it beyond the presenting of it. The whole of
prayer does not consist in taking hold of God. The main mat-
ter is holding on. How many are induced by the slightest ap-
pearance of repulse to let gc, as Jacob did not 1 We have been,
struck with the manner in which petitions are usually con

424

PRA YER.

f i

s fi

|tr(.

cliuU'd — " And your jKjtitionera will over pray" So ** tcva ought
alway? pray (to God; and never faint." Payson Bay», " The
promisor of God is not to the act, but to the habit of prayer."

Though [)iayer should be the kny of the day, and tho lock of
the night, yet we hold it more needful in the morning, than
when our bodies do take their repose. For howsoever sleep be
the image or shadow of death — and when the shadow is so near,
the substance cannot be far — j-et a man at rest in his c^»amb«r
is like a ahcop irupenued in the fold ; subject only to the un-
avoidable and \\\o\A immediate hand of God : whereas in the
day, when he rovei^ abroad in tho open and wide pastures, he Li
then exposed to many more imthought-of accidents, that coa-
tingoritly and casually occur in ihe way : retiredness is more
safe than business : w.ho btdieves not a ship securer in the bay
than in the mi«Jst of tho hinling ocean ? Besides, the morning
to the day, is as youth to the life of a man ; if that bo begun
well, comuiunly his age is vVrtuous : otherwise, God acce{)ts not
the latter service, when his onomy joys in the first dish. Why
should God tiike the dry bone«. when the devil hath sucked the
marrow out ?

Not a few, too, owe their escape from scepticism and infidel-
ity to its sacred influence. Said the no tod John Randolph.
" I once took the French side in politics ; and I should havb
been a French atheist, if it had not been v>t one recollection ,
and that was the memory of the time M'hen my departed "xothei
used to take my little hands in hers, and C8i^«»m© or pp/ kncMM
to say, ' Our Father, who art in heaven.' "

" The parents pair their secret homage,
And offer up to heaven the warm roquo«it,
That He who stills the raven's olanioruiM rw^

And decks the lily fair in flowery pride
Woiild, in the way His wisdom sees the ht^it.
For them and for their little oum provid*."

i i

TUERK IS A OOD.

426

^knt Is It ^ob.

fHERE is a God 1 The herbs of the valley, the cedars of
^^ the mountain, bless Him : the insect sporta in His beam ;
the biid sings Him in the foliage; the thunder proclaims
Him in the heavens ; the ocean declares His immensity ; man
alone has said, " There is no Qod ! " Unite in thought at ^he
same instant the most beautiful objects in nature. Suppose
that you see at once ail the houi-s of the day, and all the seasons
of the year ; a morning of spring, and a morning of autumn; a
night bespangled with stars, and a night darkened by clouds ;
meadows enamelled with dowers ; forests hoary with snow ;
tiblds gilded by the tints of autumn ; then alone you will have
a juot conception of the universe ! While you are gazing on
that sun which is plunging into the vault of the west, another
observer admires him emerging from the gilded gates of the
east. By what inconceivable power does that aged star, which
is sinking, fatigued and burning, in the shades of the evening,
reappeai" at the same instant fresh and humid with the rosy
dew of the morning ? At every hour of the day the glorious
orb is at once rising, resplendent as noon-day, and setting in
the west ; or rather, our senses deceive us, and ther3 is proper-
ly speaking, no east Ci: west, no north or south in the world.

Go out beneath the arched heavens, at night, and say, if you
can, " There ie no Qod ! " Pronounce that dreadful blasphemy,
and each star above you will reproach the unbroken darkness
of your intellect ; every voice tha-t floats upon the night winds
will bewail your utter hopelessness and folly.

Is there no God ? Who, then, enrolled the blue scroll, and
threw upon its high frontispiece the legible gleamings of im-
mortality ? Who fashioned this green earth, with its perpetual
rolling waters, and its wide expanse of islands and of main f

B B

426

THERE IS A QOD.

Who settled the foundations of the mountains f Who paved
the heavens with clouds, and attuned, amid the clamour of
storms, the voice of thunders, and unchained the lightnings that
flash in their gloom ?

Who gave to the eagle a safe eyrie where the tempests dwell
and beat the strongest, and to the dove a tranquil abode amid
the forests that echo to the minstrelsy of her moan ? Who
made thek, man I with thy perfected elegance of intellect
r id form ? Who made the light pleasant to thee, ajid the dark-
ness a covering, and a herald to the first gorgeous flashes of the
morning ?

There is a God. All nature declares it in a language too
plain to be misapprehended. The great truth is too legibly
w:ritten over the face of the whole creation to be easily mis-
taken. Thou canst behold it in the tender blade just starting
from the earth in the early spring, or in the sturdy oak that
has withstood the blasts of fourscore winters. The purling
rivulet, meandering through downy meads and verdant glens,
and Niagara's tremendous torrent, leaping over its awful ch aim
and rolling in majesty its broad sheet of waters onward to the
ocean, unite in proclaiming — " There is a God."

'Tis heard in the whispering breeze and in the howling storm ;
in the deep-toned thunder, and in the earthquake's shock ; 'tis
declared to us when the tempest lowers j when the hurricane
sweeps over the land ; when the winds moan around our dwel-
lings, and die in sullen murmurs on the plain, when the heavens
overcast with blackness, ever and anon are illuminated by the
lightning's glare.

Nor is the truth less solemnly impressed on our minds in the
universal hush and calm repose of nature, when all is still as
the soft breathing of an infant's slumber. The vast ocean, when
its broad expanse is whitened with foam, and when its heaving
waves roll mountain on mountain high, or when the dark blue
of heaven's vault is reflected with beauty on its smooth and
tranquil bosom, confirms the declaration. The twinkling star,
shedding its flickering rays so far above the reach of human

\ I

THE BIBLE.

427

aved
Lir of

that

dwell
amid
Who
;ellect
dark-
of the

ge too
egibly
y miB-
larting
,k that
)urling
b glens,
I chaiin
i to the

T storm;
>ck; 'tis
urricana
ur dwel -
heavens
d by the

ids in the
is still as
lan, when
3 heaving
iark blue
aooth and
iling star,
of human

ken, and the glorious sun in the heavens — all — all declare there
is a universal First Cause.

And man, the proud lord of creation, so fearfully and won-
derfully made — each joint in its corresponding socket— each
muscle, tendon and artery, performing their allotted functions
with all the precision of the most perfect mechanism — and sur-
passing all, possessed of a soul capable of enjoying the most
exquisite pleasure, or of enduring the most excruciating pain,
which is endowed with immortal capacities, and is destined to
live onward through the endless ages of eternity — these all
unite in one general proclamation of the eternal truth — there
is a Being, infinite in wisdom, who reigns over all, undivided
and supreme — the fountain of all life, the source of all b'ght —
from whom all blessings flow, and in whoir \\\ happiness cen-
tres, ■ ' .' , i

^HE Bible is not only the revealer of the unknown God
to man, but His grand intei-preter as the God of nature.
In revealing God, it has given us the key that unlocks
the profoundest mysteries of creation, the clue by which to
t'lread the labyrin'^h of the universe, the glass through which
to look " from natare up to nature's God."

It is only v/hen we stand and gaze upon nature, with the
Bible in our hands, and its idea of God in our understandings,
that nature ia capable of rising to her highest majesty, and
kindling in our souls the highest emotions of moral beauty and
sublimity. Without the all-pervading spiritual God of the
Bible in o»ir thoughts, nature's sweetest music would lose its
tharm, the universe its highest signi^cance and glory.

Go, and stand with your open Buie upon the Areopagus of

428

THB BIBLE.

: V

'.■Hh'

Athens, where Paul stood so long ago I In thoughtiul Hilonee,
look around upon the site of all that ancient greatness ; look
upward to those still glorious skies of Greece, and what con-
ceptions of wisdoui and power will all those memorable 8cen«3(9
of nature and ai-t convey to your mind, now, more than they
did to an ancient worshijiper of Jupiter or Apollo ? They will
tell of Him who made the worlds, " by whom, and through
whom, and for whom, are all things." To you, that landscape
of exceeding beauty, so rich in the monu; lents of departed
genius, with its distant classic mountains, its deep blue sea,
and its bright bending skies, will be telling a tale of glory the
Grecian never learned ; for it will spesik to you no more of its
thirty thousand petty contending deities, but of the one living
and everlasting God.

Go, stand with David and Isaiah under the star-spangled
canopy of the night ; and, as you look away to the "range of
planets, suns, and adamantine spheres wheeling unshaken
through the void immense," take up the mighty questionings
of inspiration !

Go, stand upon the heights at Niagara, and listen in awe-
struck silence to that boldest, most earnest, and most eloquent
of all nature's orators ' And what is Niagara, with its plung-
ing waters and its mighty roar, but the oracle of God, tlie whis-
per of His voice who is revealed in the Bib^e as sitting above
the water-floods forever !

Who can stand amid scenes like these, with the Bible in his
hand, and not feel that if there is a moral sublimity to be found
on earth, it is in the book of God, it is in the thought of God ?
For what are all tliose outward, visible forms of grandeur but
the expression and the utterance of that conception of Deity
which the Bible has created in our minds, and which has now
become the leading und largest thought of all civilized nations ?

The oldest reliable history is .at given by Moses : " And
God said, Let there be light, and there was light." And on
and down, for four thousand years, the sacred volume follows
the lortunes of God's ohosen people. And, incidentally, it

■m'r ■'

■4 ;|

snco,
look
con-
enaB
they
will
•ougb
scape
)aried
e sea,
ry the
of its
living

angled
mge of

shaken
ionings

in awe-

iloqueut
} plung-
le whis-
,g above

lie in his
be found
of God?
deur but
of Deity
has now
nations 1
: " And
And on
\e follows
entaliy, it

THB BIBLE.

429

gives UB, at the same time^ light on the contemporary nations
of heathendom. See what it has done for science. True, >.(,
does not unfold to us the mysteries of geology, astronomy, or
chemistry. And yet it does train the mind for its loftiest
flights and its broadest explorbtions. " I have always found,"
said a patron of the National Institute at Washington, " in my
scientific studies, that, when I could get the Bible to say any-
thing on the subject, it afforded mo a firm platform to stand
irpon and another round in the ladder, by which I could safely
ascend." It throws its beams into the tem[)le3 of science and
literature, no less than those of religion ; and so prepares the
way for man's advancement in -philosophy, metaphysics, and
the natural sciences, no less than in the realm of ethics ; and;
as it saves the soul, it exalts the intellect.

The Bible is adapted to every possible variety of taste, tem-
perament, culture, and condition. It has strong reasoning for
the intellectual ; it takes the calm and contemplative to the
well-balanced James, and the affectionate to the loving and be-
loved John. The pensive may read the tender lamentations
and the funeral strains of Jeremiah. Let the sanguine commune
with the graphic and creative Joel ; and the plain and practi-
cal may go to the wise Ecclesiastes or the outsp>ken Peter.
They who like brilliant apothegms should study the book of
Proverbs; and the lover of pastoral and quiet delineations may
dwell with the sweet singer of Israel, or the richly endowed
Amos and Hosea. If you would take the wings of imagination,
and leap from earth to heaven, or wander through eternity,
then open the Revelation , and pore over and fill yourself with
the glory of the New Jersualem ; and listen to the seven thun-
ders ; and gaze on the pearly gates and the golden streets of
the heavenly city.

Not only is this book precious to the poor and unlearned ;
not only is it the counsellor and confidence of the great middle
class of society, both spiritually and mentally speaking ; but
the scholar and the sage, the intellectual monarchs of the race,
bow to xts authority It has encountered the scorn of a Luci-

480

THB BIBLE.

an, the mystic philosophy of a Porphyry, the heartless scepti-
eLsm of a Hume, the lore of a Gibbon, the sneers of a Voltaire,
the rude weapons of a Paine, and the subtle, many-sideu neo-
logy of modem Germany. But none of these things have
moved it. Nay, parallel with these attempts at its subjugation,
and triumphant over them all, have advanced the noble works
of such commanding intellects as Newton, Chalmers, Robert
Hall Bowditch, Channing, testifying that, to them, the Bible
bore the stamp of a special revelation and the seal of the Eter-
nal God.

To multitudes of our race this book is not only the founda-
tion of their religious faith, but their daily practical guide. It
has taken hold of the world as no other book ever did. Not
only is it read in all Christian pulpits, but it enters every hab-
itation from the palace to the cottage. It is the golden chain
which binds hearts together at the marriage altar ; it contain?
the sacred formula for the baptismal rite. It blends itself with
our daily conservation, and is the silver thread of all our best
reading, giving its hue, more or less distinctly, to book, peri-
odical, and daily paper. When the good mother parts with
her dear boy, other volumes may be placed in his hands, but
we are sure that, with tearful prayers, she will fold among his
apparel a Bible. On the seas it goes with the mariner, as bis
spiritual chart and compass; and on the land it is to untold
millions their pillar-cloud by day, there fire-column by night.
In the closet and in the street, amid temptations and trials,
this is man's most faithful attendant, and his strongest shield.
It is our lamp through the dark valley ; and the radiator of
our best light from the solemn and unseen future. Stand be-
fore it as a mirror, and you will see there not only your good
traits, but errors, follies, and sins, which you did not imagine
were there until now. You desire to make constant improve-
ment. Go then to the Bible. It not only shows the way of
all progress, but it incites you to go forward. It opens before
you a path leading up and stall upward, along which good an-

TUB BIBLE.

481

gfcia will cheer you, and God himself will lend jou a helping
hand.

You may go to the statesman, who has filled the highest
office in his country, and ask him whether hia cup of joy has
been full ? As he standi at the inauguration of hia successor,
hie shaded brow will tell you nay. Ask the warrior, coming
from the battle-field, his garments rolled in blood, Did the
shouts of victory satiate his thir^-t for applause ? Bi<l any of
the godless sons of literary fame, Frederic of Pruasia, Byron,
or Volney, give in their testimony ; and they affirm in one
gloomy voice ;

•• We've drank every cup of joy, heard every trump
Of fame ; drank early, deeply drank, drank draughta
That common milliona might have quenched ; — then died
Of thirat, because there waa no more to drink."

But never a human being went to the Bible, who did not
find His words true : " But whosoever drinketh of the water
I will give him, shall never thirst ; for it shall be in him a
well of water springing up into everlasting life." Like an ethe-
reiil principle of light and life, its blessed truths extend with
electric force through all the avenues and elements of the home-
existence, " giving music to language, elevation to thought,
vitality to ifeeiing, intensity to power, beauty and happiness."

It is a book for the mind, the heart, the conscience, the will
and the life. It suits the paiace and the cottage, the afflicted
and the prosperous, the living and the dying. It is a comfort to
'' the house oi mournmg,' and a check to ** the house of feast-
ing." It " giveth seed to the sower, and bread to the eater."
It is simple, yet grand ; mysterious, yet plain ; and though from
God, it is, nevertheless, within the comprehension of a little
child. You may send your children to school to study other
books, from which they may be educated for this world ; but in
this divine book they study the science of the eternal world.

The family Bible has given to the Christian home that un-
measured superiority in all the dignities and decencies and en-

432

THE BIBLB.

joymeuta of life, over the home of the heathen. It has ele-
vated woman, revealed her true mission, developed the true
idea and sacredness of marriage and of the home-relationship ;
it has unfolded the holy mission of the m( ♦^her, the responsi-
blity of the parent, and the blessings of the child. Take this
book from the family, and it will degenerate into a mere con-
ventionalism, marriage into a " social contract ; " the spirit oi
mother will depart ; natural affection will sink to mere brute
fondness, and what we now call home would become a den of
sullen seliishness and barbaric lust !

And in our own day, a throng of good and great men have
venerated this book, and imbibed its spirit, John Quincy
Adams, through a long life, made it his daily study ; a neigh-
aour of his once told me that, amid the most active portions
of life, he always translated a few verses in his Hobrew Bible
the first thing in the morning. He read it when a boy ; he
clung to it through his manhood ; and to his last day, he owed
to it, nob only his rare veneration for the Deity, but his love
for freedom and humanity, and all his adamantine virtues.
Jackson, Harrison and Clay were each students of the Bible.
They lived gratefully by its light ; and they died in the hope
of its glory. " Though I walk through the dark valley of the
shadow of dea.h, 1 will fear no evil ; " these were among the
last words that .*ell on the ear of the dying Webster. Sir Wal-
ter Scott, a few daya before his death, asked his son-in-law to
read to him. " What book," inquired Mr. Lockhart, " would
you like ? " " Can you ,ask ? " said Sir Walter, " there is but
one." Verily, there is but one oook bo be reaii in our last
houn.

RELiqiON.

[fli^ion.

ELIQION is the daughter of heaven, parent of our vir-
tues, and source of all true felicity ; she alone givea
peace and contentment, divests the heart of anxious
cares, bursts on the mind a flood of joy, and sheds unmingled
and perpetual sunshine in the pious breast. By her the spirits
of darkness are banished from the earth, and nngelic ministers
of grace thicken umieen the i\^ions of mortality.

She promotes love and good will among men, lifts up the
head that hangs down, heals the wounded spirit, dissipates the
gloom of sorrow, sweetens the cup of affliction, blunts the sting
of death, and wheiever seen, felt and enjoyed, breathes around
her an everlasting spring The external life of mau is the
creature of time and circumstance, and passes away, but the
internal abides, and continues to exist. One is the [minted
glory of the flower; the other is the delicious attar of the rose.
The city and the temple may be destroyed, and the tribes ex-
iled and dispersed, yet the altars and the faith of Israel are
still preserved. Spirit triumphs over form. External life pre-
vails amidst sounds and shows, and visil/ie things ; the internal
dwelb in silence, sighs and tears, and secret sympathies with
the invisible world. Power and wealth, and luxury, are rela-
tive terras : and if address, and prudence and policy, can only
acquire us our share, we shall not account ourselves more
powerful, more rich, or more luxurious, than when in the little
^e possessed we were still equal to those around us. But if
we 1' ive narrowed the sources of internal comfort, and internal
enjoyment, if we have debased the powers or corrupted the
purity of the mind, if we have blunted the sympathy or con-
tracted the aflections of the heart, we have lost some of that
treasure which waa absolutely our own, and derived not its
value from companitive estimation. Above all, if we have al-

484

HELIGION.

lowed the prudiiiice or the interest of this world, to shut '^nt
from our foula the view or the hopes of a better, we h,
quenched that li^dit which would have cheered the darkness oi:
afBiction. J3ut if we let God care for our inward and eteriial
life, if b}' all the experiences of this life he is reducing it and
preparing for its disclosure, nothing can befall us but prosperity
Every sorrow shall be but the setting of some luminous jewel
of joy. Our very mourning shall be but the enamel around
the diamond ; our very hardships but the metallic rim (hat
holds the opal glancing with strange interior fires.

If you stand upon the mountain, you may see the sun shin-
ing long after it is dark in the valley. Tn to live up high !
Escape, if you can, the malarious damps of the lowlands.
Make an upward path for your feet. Though yOw.r spirit may
be destined to live isolated, you cannot be alone, for God is
there. Your best 3tii\'ings of soul are there ! Your standard
ground .should be there ! Live upward I The cedar is always
developing its branches towards the top while the lower ones
arc dropping away. Let your soul-life be so ! Upward I Up-
ward.

" Drink deep, or t*ste not," is a directior fully as applicable
to religion, if we would find it a sourcp jf pleasure, a* it is to
knowledge. A little religion is, it mu^t be conrossed, apt to
make men gloomy, as a little knowleuge is to render them vain ;
hence the unjust imputation brought upon religion by those
whose degree of religion is just sufficient, by condemning their
course of conduct, to render them uneasy ; enough merely to
impair the sweetness of the pleasure of sin, and not enough
to compensate for the relinquishment of thetn by its own pe-
culiar comforts. Thus, then, men bring up, as it were, an ill
report of that land of promise, which, in truth, abounds with
whatever, in our journey through life, can best refresh and
strengthen us. Would you wish, amidst the great variety of
religious systems in vogue, to make a right distinction, and
prefer the best ? Recollect the character of Christ ; keep a
•teady eye on that universal and permanent good will to men,

>nt

IMMORTALITY.

435

In i»nich he lived, by which he suffered, and for which he died
N(rt in those wild and romantic notions, which, to make us
Christians, would make us fools ; but in those inspired wrii-
infi;s, and in those alone, which contain His genuine history and
His blessed g(jspel ; an<l whicii, in the most peculiar and ex-
tensive sense, are the words of eternal life.

♦••»

.igh!

,F we wholly perish with the body, what an imi)oalure is this
whole system of laws, manners, and usages, on which hu"
man society is founded I If we wholly perish with the
body, these maxims of charity, patience, justice, honour, grati-
tude, and friendships, which sages have taught and good men
have practised, what are they but empty words, possessing no
real and binding efficacy ? Why should we heed them, if in
thii life only we have hope ? Speak not of duty. What can
we owo to the dead, to the living, to ourselves, if n,ll are, or will
bt., nothing ? Who shall dictate our duty, if not our own plea-
suro'i — if not our passions ? Speak not of ImTuortality. It is a
mei© chimera, a bugbear of human invention, if retribution
tf.:r.'ninate with the grave.

If we must wholly perish, what to us are the sweet ties of
kindred ? What the tender namos of parent, child, sister,
brother, husband, wife, or friend ? The characters of a
drama are uot more iilusive. We hove no ancestors, no
descendants ; since succession cannot be predictecl ot nothing-
ness. Would we honour the illustrious dead ? How absurd
to honour that which has no existence ! Would we take thought
for posterity ? How frivolous to concern ourselves for those
whose end, like our own^ must soon be annihilation ! Have we
mii<le a promise ? How oin it bind nothing to nothing ? Per*

4S6

IMMORTALITY.

jury ia but a jest. The last injunctions of the dying — wheX
sanctity have they, more than the last sound of a chord that is
snapped, of an instrument that is broken ?

To sum up all : If wq must wholly perish, then is obedienee
to the law.' l^t an insensate servitude ; rulers and magistrates
are but the phantoms which popular imbecility has raised up ;
justice is an unwarrantable infringement upon the liberty of
men — an imposition, a usurpation ; the law of marriage is a
vain scruple , modesty, a prejudice ; honour and probity, such
stuff as dreams are made of ; and incests, murders, parricides,
the most heartless cruelties and the blackest crimes, are but the
legitimate sporU of man's irresponsible nature ; while the harsh
epithets attached to them are merely such as the policy of legis-
lator has invented and imposed on the credulity of the people.

Here is the issue to which the vaunted philosophy of unbe-
lievers must inevitably lead. Here is that social folicitv, that
sway of reason, that emancipation from error, of which they
eternally prate, as the fruit of their doctrines. Accept their
maxims, and the whole world falls back into a frightful chaos ;
and all the relations of life are confounded ; and all ideas of
vice and virtue are reversed ; and the most inviolable laws of
society vanish ; and all moral discipline perishes ; and the
government of states and nations has no longer any cement to
uphold it , and all the harmony of the body politic becomes
discord ; and the human race is no more than an assemblage of
reckless barbarians, shameless, remorseless, brutal, denaturalized,
with DO other law than force, no other check than passion, no
other bond than irreligion, no other God than self ! Such would
be the world which impiety would make. Such would be this
world, were a belief in Qod and immortality U> die out of the
human heart<

.«^.-

DOING GOOD.

487

lat

^oinj f^oob.

[HERE ar* treas, lika the butternut, that irapovenflh th«
ground upon which tliey grow, but the olive tree enrichea
the very soil uj)nn which it feeds. So there are natures
88 unlike in eU'ect as these. Some cold, seltish, absorbing, which
chill and imjjoverish every one witli whoui they couie in con-
tact. Others radiate atthient souls, who enrich by their verj'
presence, whose smilea are full of blessing, and whose touch
has a balm of feeling in it like the touch of Him of Nazareth.
Squalid poverty is not so pitiable and barren a-s the selfish lieart.
while wealth liaa uo largeness like that with which God dowers
the broad and sunny soul. Be like the olive, from whose kindly
boughs blessing and benison descend.

One of the old philo.sophens bid his scholars to consider what
was the best thing to possess. One came and said that there
was nothing better tlian a good eye, which is, in their lan-
guage, a liberal and contented disposition. Anotlier said a
good companion is the be.st thing in the world. A third said
a good neighbour was the best thing he could dasire ; and the
fourth ferred a man that could foresee tinners to come — that
is, ft wise person. But. at last cnno in one Eleazer, and he said
a good heart wtw better than them all. " True," said the mas-
ter, " thou hast comprehended in two woi'ds all that the rest
have said ; for he that hath a good heart will be both contented,
and a good couipaiiiou, and a good neighbour, and easily see
what is fit to be done by him."

Every man should ever consider that it ia best for him to
have a good heart ; having this it will prompt him to not only
do good, but it will encompass many virtues. We counsel our
friends, then, to seize every opportunity of contributing to the
good of others. Sometimes a smile will do it. Of tenet a kind
word, a look of sympathy, or an acknowledgment of obligation.

•'■e'

438

DOI^Q OOOU.

Somotimes a little help to a burdoned shouHer, or a bea^y
wheel, will be in place. Sometimes a word or two of good
Counsel, a Reasonable and gentle admonition, and at others, a
suggestion of advantage to be gained and a little interest to
secure it, will be received with lasting gratitude. And thua
ever}^ instance of kindness done, whether acknowledged or
not, t/pens up a little wellspring of happiness in the doer's own
breast, the flow of which may be made permanent by habit.

Influence is to a man what flavour is to fruit, or fragrance to
the flower. It does not develop strength, or determine char-
acter, but it is the measure of his interior richness and worth,
and as the blossom cannot tell what becomes of the odour which
is wafted away from it by every wind, so no man knows the
limit of that influence which constantly and imperceptibly
escapes from the daily life, and goes out far beyond his con-
scious knowledge or remotest thought. There are noxious
weeds and fragrance-laden flowers in the world of mind as in
the world of matter. Truly blessed are they who walk the
way of life as the Saviour of mankind once walked on o»ir
earth, filling ail the air about them with the aroma which is oo
subtilly distilled from kindly dee(b, helpful words and unsel-
fish lives.

One kernel is felt in a hogshead — one drop of water helps to
swell the ocean — a spark of fire helps to give light to the world.
You are a small man, passing amid the crowd, you are hardly
noticed ; but you have a drop, a spark within you that may l>e
felt through eternity. Do you believe it ? Set that drop in
motion, give wings to that spark, and behold ';he results ! It
may renovate the world.

None are too small — too feeble — too poor to be of service.
Think of this, and act. Life is no trifle. If we work upon
marble, it will perish ; if we work upon brass, time will efiiice
it ; if we rear temples, they will crumble into dust. But if we
work upon immortal minds — if we imbue them with high
principles, with the just fear of God, and of their fellow-men—
we engrave on these tables something which no time can efff ^

DOTNG GOOD.

439

but 'A'hjch will brighten to all eternity. It ia a great thing to
stand in a place of Qo«l, and [)roclaiiu His word in the presence
of angoltt and tnen.

If you would show yourself a man in the truest and noblest
sense, go not to yonder tented fieM, where death hovers, and
the vulture foasU himself upon human victims 1 Go not where
men are carving mon:unynt»s of laa.-ble to perpetuate names
which will not live in our own j^rateful memory ! Go not to
the dwellings of the rich 1 Go not to the palaces of the kingd t
Go not to the halls of morrimnnt and pleasare 1 Go rather to
the poor and helpless. Go to the wiJow and relieve her woe.
Go to the orj)^ .«n, and speak words of comforu Go to the lost,
and save him. Go to the fallen, and raise him dp. Go to the
sinner, and whisper in his ear words of otornai lila. A man's
true wealth hereafter, is the good ho does in thi.s \*jrld to his
fellow men. When he dies, people will say, what pioperty has
he left behind him. But the angds who examine will ask»
■ What are the good deeds thou hast s -nt before thee,"

Every one of us may in some way or other assist or \Uf>truct
some of hia fellow creatures, for the best of the human race is
poor and needy, and all have a mutual dependence oii one
another. There ia nobody that caimot do some good; and
everybody is bound to do diligently all the goud they car;. It
is by no means enough to be rightly dispo.scd, to boseriouji,
and religious in our closets ; we must be useful too, and take
care that as we all reap numberless benefits from soeieiy,
society may be the better for every one of us. It is a ffdae, a
faulty, and an indolent humility, that makes people sit still and
do nothing, because they will not believe that they are capable
of doing much, for everybody can do something. Everybody
can sot a good example, be it to many or to few. Everybody
can in some degree encourage virtue and religion, and discount-
enance ^dce and folly. Everybody has some one or other whom
they can advise, or instruct, or in some way help to guide
through life. Those who aro too poor to give alms can yei
give tlieir time, their trouble, their assistance in preparinj^

■ '^' ' ■ ■ vv^Vi^Jr^^^'^ j

440

DOING Q(H)J>

;'^^

forwarding the gifts of others ; in considering and represent-
ing di.stretiscd ('.aaos to thnse who can relieve them ; in visiting
and comforting the sick and atfiioted. Everybody can olfer up
their prayers for those who need them ; which, if they do rt/-
erently and sincerely, they will never be wanting in giving
them every other assistance that it should please God to put
in their power, ■

Dr. Johnson used to say, " He who waits to do a great deal
of good at once, will never do any." Good is done by degrees.
HoAvever small in proportion to benefits which follow indivi-
dual attempts to do good, a great deal may be accorapli.shed by
perseverance, even in the midst of discouragements auddia<ap-
pojntments. Life is made up of little things. It is but once
in an age that occasion is offered for doing a great deed. True
greatness consists in being great in little things. ITow are rail-
roads built ? By one shovelful of dirt after another ; one
shovelful at a time. Thus drops maka the ocean. Hence we
should be willing t< do a little good, it a time, and never" wait
to do a great deai of good at once." If we would do much
good in the world, we must be willing to do good in little
things, little acta one after another, setting a good example all
the time ; we must do the first good thing we can, and then
the next, and the next, and so keep on doing good. Oh ! it ia
great ; there is no other greatness : to make some nook of God's
creation a little more fruitful,, better, more worthy of a God;
to make some human hearts a little wiser, more manful, happier;
more blesseil, leas accursed ! The first and j)araraount aim of
religion is not to pre[)are for another world, but to make the
best of this world ; or, more correctly stated, to make this
world better, Mdser, and haj^pier. It is to be good, and do the
most good we can now and here, and to help others to be and
do the same. It is to seek with all our might the highe.st wel-
fare of the world we live in, and the realization of itjs ideal
gi-eatnesa, nobleness, and blessedness. A most comforting
thought is, that the forever will not be a place of white robe«
Mid golden harps and praise singing only, but will also be a

■I

WJaiLL DOING.

itiiig
arup
rev-
iving

t deal

ndivi-
eJby
diw»p-

tt OlACC

True
re raii-
r ; one
nco we
r" wail".

much
in little
[iiple all
ad then
)h \ it is
of God's
■ a God;
happier;
it aim of
nake the
kake this
id do the
to be and
^diest wel-

1 itjs ideal
omforting
hite robea
I alBo be *

place for living, loving and doing. There is pleasure in con-
templating good ; there is a greater pleasure in receiving good ;
but the greatest pleasure of all is in doing good, which com-
prehends the rest. Do good with what thou haat. or it will
do thee no good. The power of doing good to worthy objects,
is the only enviable circumstance in the lives of people of for-
tune. Napoleon once entered a cathedral and saw three silver
statues. " What are these," said the Emperor. "The twelve
Apostles," was the reply. " Well," said he, " take them down,
melt them, and coin them into money, - "' let them go about
doing good, as their Master did." Be always sure of doing
good This will make your life comfortable, your death happy,
and your account glorious. Zealously strive to do good for
the sake of good. Be not simply good ; be good for somethii>g.

. , " How sweet 'twill be at evening

If you and I can aay
, ■ * Good Shepherd, we've been seeking

• The lambs that went astray ;

• - Heart uore, and fitint with hunger,

We heard thena making moan,
And Id I we come at night-fall

Bearing them safely home 1 "* '

fell Sfiittg, Roman's f'ttltitre.

tAM happy, says G. S. Weaver, in knowi..^ that although
men differ about woman's intellectual capacities, they agree
in ascribing to her the highest order of moral and social
qualities. All admit that woman is the morality and religion,
tbe love and sociality, of humanity. In these developments
of human attainments, she is the queen without a peer. These
AM at present woman's peculiar fields of power. Society haa

li I

442

WELL DOING.

.'!

measurably shut her out from the iutellectual arena of life.
But if it has cut short her operations in this, it has extended them
In the field of social life. Wide and grand are her opportuni-
ties here. Man is not so deficient in gallantry as he is in gen-
erosity and judgment. In what man has oppressed woman it is
more the fault of his head than his heart ; it is more a weak-
ness of conscience than of aiTection. He is prouder of his judg-
ment than he ought to be. His judgment often fails because
it is not sanctified by conscience. His intellect i.s often deceived
because its vision is not extended and widened by a deep af-
fection and tt broad benevolence. In this, woman has the ad-
vantage of him in the present relations of the sexes. Her moral
sense consecrates her intellect, and her heart quickens it, thus
making her judgment more intuitive and ready, more compre-
hensive . '"I sure. She feels that a thing is so ; he retisona th&t
it is so. ohe judges by impreasion when facts are stated ; he
by logic. Her impressions she cannot always explain, because
her intellect has not been sufficiently cultivated ; his logic of-
ten fails him, because it is not sufficiently embued with the
moral element. The light of the conscience and the heart does
not shine upon it with sufficient strength. This we understand
to be the present difference between the male and female mind.
It is more than a difference in growth and culture, in inherent
constitution. We do not believe that the relations between the
different departments of the human mind naturally differ in
men and women ; that is, we do not believe that man is mor»
intelligent and less moral, and woman more moral and less
intellectual A perfect male mind is an equal strength of the
several , epartments of mind ; that is, an equal strength of the
intellectual, moral, social, and energetic portions of the mind, a
balance among its several powers. The same is true of the fe-
male mind.

So far as this relation of the parts is concerned, it in the same
in the perfect male and female mind. In just so much as this
relation is changed, is the judgm ut corrupted an<l the mental
strength impaired. In the present male mind this relation ib

» ;^

<»l»<^';iBtMj i » f WI> C y 11 B » W W3 f lWg *W^T»»>»^^<^^

W£LL DOING.

443

changed by giving the greater cultivation to the intellect, and
less to the moral sense and the heart. So his judgment is im-
paired and the moral dignity of his soul debixsed. Ho is less a
man than he ought to be ; is deformed in his mental growth
like a tree grown in a shady place where the light could reach
from only one quarter. He has less power of mind than he
would have with the same amount of cultivation properly and
equally distributed among the several departments of hia mind.
Strength lies in balance of power. Our men are not too intel-
lectual, but too intellectual for their moral and affectionate
strength. They are like an apple grown all on one side, or a
horse with disproportioned body, or any animal with some of
its limbs too short for fehe rest. Mentally they are deformed
and lame by their one-sided culture, In the present female mind
there is a disproportion in another dire';tion. In this the in-
tellect has been neglected, while the moral and social mind has
had a better degree of cultivation. Thus our women have been
mentally deformed and weakened. They are less women than
they ought to have been. Their characters and judgments have
lacked harmonj^ and their lives have been maiked by the same
deficiencies. Their minds are one-sided and marked with sad
irregularities. They are not too moral and affectionate, but
are not sufficiently intellectual. The same amount of culture
which they have received would have conferred more beauty
and dignity to the character and life had it been more general,
or equally applied to the several powera of the mind. Sound
judgment, pure life, dignity of character are the results of ft
balance of power and culture in the several departments of
mind. This difforeiice in the culture of the male and female
mind has made a breach between the sexes. The present male
mind cannot comprehend the female, nor the female the male.
Instead of growing up in similarity and harmony, they have
grown up into wide differences.

The male and female mind are not alike by nature, by any
means. There is a wide difference between them ; but the dif-
ference is in the nature, textui'e and quality of the mind, aad

444

WJSLL DOING.

■ ■ I
I

,. , (

\f':

1 f

not in the relation of parts. The female mind has an inherent
constitution peculiar to itself that makes it female ; so witb
the male. This diflerence is beyond the fathoming line of hu-
man thought We know it exists, but wherefore and how we
know not. It is the secret of the Divine Constructor of men-
tality. In our mental structure we are to seek for harmony, a
consistent rhythmic development of parts. The opportum
ties offered to woman for the cultivation of her moral and re-
ligious nature are eminently favourable. If her intellectual
opportunities are not so good, her moral and religious are better.
She is not so pressed with temptation. The world does not
bear with such an Atlas burden on her conscience. The al-
mighty dollar does not eclipse so large a field of her mental
vision. Material pursuits do not check so much her spiritual
progress. God is nearer to her heart, more in her thoughts,
sweeter in her soul, brighter in her visions, because she is less
compassed about by the snares of vice and the hostile pursuits
of the false and flattering world. It is a blessed thing for h i-
manity that woman is more religious and morally upright ; be-
cause man is too irreverent and base. He lacks the sanctity Df
high morality and the consecration of religion. I speak of
man in the mass. Woman is the conservation of morality and
religion. Her moral worth holds man in some restraint pnd
preserves his ways from becoming inhumanly corrupt. Mighty
is the power of woman in this respect. Every virtue in woman's
heart has its influence on the world. Some men feel it. A
brother, husband, friend or son, is touched by its sunshine. 1 ts
mild beneficence is not lost. A virtuous woman in the seclusion
of her home, breathing the sweet influence of virtue into the
hearts and lives of its beloved ones, is an evangel of goodness
to the world. She is one of the pillara of the eternal king-
dom of right. She is a star shining in the moral firmament.
She is a princess admiuistering at the fountains of life. Every
prayer she breathes is answered to a greater or less extent in
the hearts and lives of those phe loves. Her piety is an altar-
fire wliore religion acquiree strength to go out on its mereifal

fVELL DOING

rent
iwith
hu-

N we

men-

)ny,a

turn

id re-

ctual

)ettier.

es not

:he al-

3iental

nritual

uughta,

5 is less

)arsuit8

for h i-
;ht; be-
kctity of
ipeak of
ility and
aint PTid
Miglity
woman's
lel it. A.
ihine. Its
seclusion
3 into the

goodnesa
nal king-
irmament.
e. Every
\ extent in
s an altar-
ts merciful

mission. We cannot over-estimate the utility and power of
woman's moral and religious character. The world would go
to ruin without it. With all our ministers an»l churches, and
Bibles and sermons, man would be a prodigal without ths re-
straint of woman's virtue and the consecration of her religion.
Woman first lays her hand on our young powers. She plants
the first seeds. She makes the first impressions; and all
along through life she scatters the good seed of the kingdom
and sprinkles the dews of her piety. But woman does not do
enough. Her power is not yet equal to ifcs need. Her virtue
is not mighty enough. Her reli-^^ion comes short in its work.
Look out and see the v, orld — a grand Pandora's box of wicked-
ness — a great battle-field of clasliing passions ttnd warring in-
terests — a far-spread scene of sensualism and selfishness, in
which woman herself acts a conspicuous part. Look at society
— the rich eating up the poor ; the poor stabbing at the rich ;
fashion playing in the halls of gilded sensualism ; folly danc-
ing to the tune of ignorant mirth ; intemperance gloating over
its roast beef, or whisky-jug, brandy-punch, champagne-bottle,
bearing thousand 3 upon thousands <lown to the grave of igno-
miny, sensualism and drunkenness. Is there not a need of
more vigorous virtue in woman ? Is there not a call for a
more active religion, a more powerful impulse in behalf of
morality ? Who shall hc^d this cry of wicked wasting hu-
manity, if young woman does not ? To youthful woman we
must look for a powerful leader in the cause of morality and
religion. The girls of to-day are to be greatly instrumental in
giving a moral complexion to the society of to-morrow. It is
important that they should fix high this standard of virtue.
They ought to lay well their foundations of religion. They
ought early to baptize their souls in the consecrated waters of
truth and right.

The first element in their moral character which they should
seek to establish firmly is 'purity. A pure heart is the fount-
ain of life. "The pure in heart »liail see God." Not only is
puriU*^ of life needed to make a youu;^ woman beautiful and

446

WELL DOING.

i , < . '

useful, but purity in thought, feeling, emotion, and motive.
All within us that lies open to the gaze of God should be pure.
A young woman should be in heart what she seems to be in
life. Her words should correspond with her thoughts. The
smile of her face should be the smile of her heart. The light
of her eye should be the light of her soul. She should abhor
deception ; she should loathe intrigue ; she should have a deep
disgust of duplicity. Her life^ should be the outspoken lan-
guage of her mind, the eloo ent poem of her soul speaking in
rhythmic beauties the intrinsic merit of inward purity. Purity
antecedes all spiritual attainments and progress. It is the first
and fundamental virtue in a good character ; it is the letter A
in the moral alphabet ; it is the first step in the spiritual life ;
it is the Alpha of the eternal state of soul which has no Omega.
Whatever may be our mental attainments or social qualities,
we are nothing without purity ; only " tinkling cymbals."
Our love is stained, our benevolence corrupted, our piety a pre-
tence which God will not accept. An impure young woman is
an awful sight. She outrages all just ideas of womanhood, all
proper conceptions of spiritual beauty. To have evil imagin-
ings, corrupt longings, or deceitful propensities ought to startle
"any young woman. To feel a disposition to sensuality, craving
for the glitter of a worldly life, or a selfish ambition for unmer-
ited distinction is dangerous in the extreme. It is the exud-
ing of impure waters from the heart. Who feels such uttcr-
ings within should beware. They are the whisperings of an
evil spirit, the temptations to sin and crime. If I could speak
to all the young women in the world, I would strive to utter
the intrinsic beauties and essential qualities of purity ; I would
seek to illustrate it as the fountain of all that is great and
good, all that is spiritually grand and redeeming. There is no
virtue, no spiritual life, no moral beauty, ao glory of soul, nor
•dignity of character without purity.

The second virtup she shouhi cultivate is benevolence. Queen
of virtues, lovely iitar in the crown of life, bright and glorious
image of Him wco is love, how beautiful is it in woman's

WELL DOING.

447

heart I A woman without benevolence is not a woman ; she
is only a deformed personality of womanhood. In every heart
there are many tendencies to selfishness, but the spirit of bene-
volence counteracts them all. A hollow, cold, graceless, ungodly
thing is a heart without benevolence. In a world like this,
where we are all so r)*»edy and dependent, where our interests
are so interlocked, where our lives and hearts overlap each
other, and often grow together, we cannot livti without a good
degi-ee of benevolence. Our true earth -life is a benevolent one.
Our highest interests are in the path of benevolence. We do
most for ourselves when we do most for others. " It is more
blessed lo give than to receive." Good deeds double in the
doing, and the larger half conies back to the doer. The
most benevolent soul lives nearest to God. A large heart
of charity is a noble thing. Selfishness is the root of evil ;
benevolence is its cure. In no heart is benevolence more
beautiful than m youthful woman'.s. In no heart is selfishness
more ugly. To do good is noble ; to be good is nobler. This
should be the aim of all young women. The poor and needy
should occupy a large place in their hearts. The sick and suf-
fenng should move upon their sympathies. The sinful and
criminal should awaken their deepest pity. The oppressed
and down-trodden should find a large place in their compassion.
How blessed is woman on errands of mercy ! How sweet are
her soothing words to the disconsolate ! How consoling her
tears of sympathy to the mourning ! How fresh her spirit of
hope to the discouraged ! How soft her hand to the sick !
How balmy the breath of her love to the oppressed ! "W oman
appears in one of her loveliest aspects when she appears as the
practical follower of Him who " went about doing good." The
young woman who does these works of practical benevolence
is educating her moral powers in the school of earnest and
glorious life. She is laying the foundations for a nobler and
useful womanhood. She is planting the seeds of a charity that
will grow to bless and save the suffering of our fellow-men.
In no other way can she so successfully cultivate the viriue of

» ■!»

448

WELL DOINO.

benevolence. It is not enough that she pity the sorrows of tlie
poor and suffering. Her hand must be taught to heed the
pleadings of her pitying heart. What she feels, she must do.
What she wishes, she must make an effort to accomplish.
What she prays for, she must strive to attain. Everybody
predicts a beputiful life from a good-doing young woman.

The thiru virtue which the young woman should cultivate is
integrity or the sentiment of duty. A German philosopher has
poetically and truthfully said, " The two most beautiful things
.i the universe are the starry heavens above our heads and the
sentiment of duty in the human soul." Few objects are richer
for the contemplation of a truly highly-minded man than a
young woman who lives, acts, speaks, and exerts her powers
from an enlightened conviction of duty ; in whose soul the voice
of duty is the voice of God. In such women there is a might fore*
of moral power. Though they may be gentle as the lamb, or re
tiring and modest in thoir lemeanour, there is in them what com-
mands respect, what enforces esteem. They are the strong women.
The sun is not truer to his course than they to theirs. They are re-
liable as the everlasting rocks. Every day finds in them the same
beautiful, steady, moral firmness. Men look to them with a con-
fidence that knows no doubt. They are fearless and brave, they
have but to know their duty to be ready to engage in it. Though
men laugh or sneer, though the world frown or threaten, they
will do it. There is no bravado in them ; it is the oimple power
of integi'ity. They are true to what to them seems right
Such spirits are often the mildest and meekest wo have. They
are sweet as the flower while they are firm as the rock. We
know them by their lives. They are consistent, simple-hearted,
uniform, and truthful. The word on the tongue is the exact
speech of the heart. The expression they wear is the spirit they
bear. Their parlour demeanor is their kitchen and closet manner.
Their courtesy abroad is their politeness at home. Their confid-
ing converse is such as the world nvay hear and respect them
the niore for it. Such are the women of integrity. Men love
to trust their fortunes in their hands. The good love u> gatb^r

WELL DOING.

449

around them for the blessing of their smiles ; they strev their
pathway with moral light. They bless without effort ; they
teach sentimonts of duty and honesty in evoiy act of thoir lives.
Such is the rectitude of character which *-/ery young woman
should cultivate. Nothing will more surely secure confidence
and esteem, There is especial need of such cultivation, for
young women are doubted in many respects more gt^iiorally
than any other class of j)eople. Most ^loople seldom think of
believing many things they bear from the \\\)9 of young women,
so little is genuine integrity cultivated among them. I am sorry
to make such a remark. I wish truth did not compel it.

1 would that young women would cultivate the strictest re-
gard for truth in all things ; in small as well as in important
matters. Exaggeration or fal.se colouring is as nuich a viola-
tion of integrity as a direct falsehood. Equivocation is often
falsehood. Deception in all forms is opposed to integrity.
Mock manners, pretended emotions, 'iffectation, policy plans to
secure attention and respect are all siTeer falsehootis, and in the
end injure her who is guilty of them. Respect and aftettion
are the outgrowth of confidence. She who secures the firmest
confidence will secure ihe must respect and love. No love is
lasting but that which rests in confidence. Confidence can only
be secured by integrity. The young woman with a high sense
of duty will always secure confidence, and having this, she wiD
secure respect, aflection, and influence.

The fourth virtue of inestimable value which the young
woman should cultivate is piety. This may be regarded as the
crown of all moral virtues. It is that which sanctifies the rest
It is a heavenly sun in the moral rrmament, shedding a divine
lustre through the soul — a balmy, hallowing ^ight sweeter than
earth can give. Piety is the meek-eyed maid of heaven, that
holds her sister Faith in one hand and Hope in the other, and
looks upward vrith a confiding smile, saying, " My trearure is
above." Of all the influences wrought in the human soul, the
work of piety is the most harmonizing and divine. It subdues
the flesh and the world, and calls dowii heaven to bletw the

-%■

150

WELL DOING.

happy pietist. It is the constant, evor-spoaking voice of the
Father uttering in .suMime and beautiful impressions the holy
eloquence of His everlasting love. It is the communing ground
of the mortal child with the immortal Parent. In the mind
of youthful wom«i it is an beautiful aa it can be anywhere.
And when she consecrates all her powers by the laying on of
its heavenly hands, and sanctifies all her feelings by its hal-
lowed influences, she exhibits a vie\/ of beauty — of physical,
moral, and spiritual beauty — not elsewhere surpassed on earth.
A deep, pervading, all -controlling piety is the highest attain-
ment of man on earth. It is thai reverent, humble, grateful,
affectionate and virtuous purity of spirit in which the hu-
man and divine meet and embrace each other. It is the spir-
itual crown which men put on when they go into the king-
dom of heaven. Thi.s is what we urge as the last and finish-
ing excellency of tlie youthful female character. The cultiva-
tion of this is what v/e press as conferring mortal perfection of
character, or as great perfection as frail, sinful creatures can
put on below " the mansions of the skies."

We urge it as the best and highest duty of every young
woman — a duty .she owes to herself, her fellows, and her God
— a duty as full of joys as the heavens are of stars, and when
performed, roflecting matchless grace upon her soul. We do
not urge it through fear of hell or hope of heaven ; we do not
urge it from motives of policy ; we urge it for its own intrinsic
worth ; for the ble.ssed*ess of being pious ; for the excellency
and worth of character and life it confers. No character is
complete till it is swayed and elevated by genuine piety. No
heart is fully haj^py till it is imbued with the spirit of piety.
No life is all it may and should be till its motives are baptized
in the waters of piety. No soul is saved tiU it is transformed
by the acious spirit of this daughter of the skies. This
divine giu^e of the soul should be sought by every young wo-
man, and cultivated with the most rtssiduous care, for without
It she is destitute of the highest beauty and divinest charm and
power of womanhood.

*■ .

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OLD AOS.

lib s,

. *9*

' Jfo aiow falls lighter than the snow of age ; ho* none Is lieaTicr, for it

uerer melta."

I HE figure is by no means novel, but the closing part of
the sentence is new as well as emphatic. The Scrip-
tures represent age by the almond- tree, which btiars
blossomB of the purest white. " The alracud-tre*; shall flourish/'
the head shall be hoary. Dickens says of one of bis characters,
whoae hair wa-s turning gray, that it looked as if Time had
lightly splashed his snows upon it in pa.ssing.

" It never melts " — no never. Age is inexorable. Its wheels
most move onward ; they know no retrograde movement. The
old man may sit and sing, " I W(jukl I were a boy again," but
he grows older as he sings. He may i-ead of the elixir of
youth, but he cannot find it , he may sigh for the secrets of
that alchemy which is able to make him young again, but sigh-
ing brings it not. He may gaze kick ward with an eye of long-
ing upon the rosy scenes of early years, as one who gazes on
his home from the deck of a departincr ship, wliich every moment
carries him farther and further away. Poor old man ' he has
little more to do than die.

* It never melts." The snow of winter comes and sheds its
white blessings upon the valley and the mountains, but soon
the sweet spring comes and smiles it all away. Not so with
that upon the brow of the tottering veteran. Tliere is no
spring whose warmth can penetrate its eternal frost. It came
to stay. Its single flakes fell unnoticed — and now it is drilled
there. We shall see it increase until we lay the old man in
his grave. There it shall be alisorbed by the eternal darkness
— for there is no age in heaven.

The young, who all wish to live, but who at the same time
have a dread at growing old, may not be dispoeed to al'ow the

46S

OLD A OB.

5'i

justice of the representation we are now to make. They regard
old age as a dreary season, that admits of nothing which can
be called pleasure, and very little which deserves the name
even of comfort. They look forward to it, as in autumn we
anticii)at€ the approach of winter; but winter, though it terri-
fies us at a distance, has nothing very formidable when it
arrives. Its enjoyments are of a different kind, but we find it
not less pleasant than any other season of the year.

In like manner old age, frightful as it may be to the young,
who view it afar off, has no terror to them who see it near; but
exjwrience proves that it abounds with consolations, and even
with delights. We should look therefore with ]>leasure on
many old men whose illuminated faces and hoary heads resem-
ble one of those pleasant days in winter, so common in this
climate, when a bright sun darts its beams on a pure field of
■now. The beauty of spring, the splendour of summer, and the
glory of autumn are gone ; but the prospect is still lively and
cheerfuL

Among other clrcamstances which contribute to the satisfac-
tion of this period of life, is the respect with which old age ia
treated. There are, it must be acknowledged and lamented,
some foolish and ill-«ducated young persons who do not pay
ihat veneration which is due to the hoary head ; but these ex-
amples are not numerous.

The world in general bows down to age, gives it precedence,
and listens with deference to its opinions. Old age wants ac-
commodations ; and it must in justice to man be allowed that
they are afforded with cheerfulness. Who can deny that such
reverence is soothing to the human mind ? and that it compen-
sates us for the loss of many pleasures which are peculiar to
youth ?

The respect of the world in general is gratifying ; but the
respect of a man's own offspring must yield heartfelt delight.
Can there be a more pleasing sight, than a venerable old man
■urronnded by his children and grandchildren, all of whom are
•muloos of each other in testifying their homage and affectioa)

OLD AGK

463

EQs children, proud of their honoured hither, strive who shall
treat him with the moet attention, while his grandchildren hang
on his neck, entertain him Vith their innocent prattle, and con-
vince him that they love their grandfather not less than they
love their father. Whoever takes a little child into his love,
may have a very roomy heart, but that child will fill it all.
The children that are in the world keep us from growing old
and cold; they cling to our garments with their little hands, and
impede our progress to petrification ; they win us back with
their pleading eyes from cruel care ; they never encumber us at
alL A poor old couple, with no one to love them, is a most
pitiful picture ; but a hovel with a small face to fill a broken
pane, here and there, is robbed of its desolateness. A little
thoughtful attention, how happy it makes the old ! They have
outlived most of the friends of their early youth. How lonely
their hours I Often their partnei-s in life have long filled silent
graves ; often their children they have followed to the tomb.
They stand solitary, bending on their staff, waiting till the same
call shall reach them. How often they must think of absent
lamented faces, of the love which cheri&hed them, and the tears
of sympathy which fell with theirs — now all gone. Why should
not the young cling around and comfort them, cheering their
gloom with happy smiles ?

That old man ! what disappointments he has encountered in
his long journey, what bright hopes blasted, what sorrows felt,
what agonies endured, how many loved ones he has covered
op in the grave. And that old woman too 1 husband dead, chil-
dren all buried or far away, life's flowers faded, the friends of
her youth no more, and she waiting to go soon. Ought we
ever to miss an opportunity of showing attention to the aged,
of proffering a kindness, or lighting up a &mile, by a courteous
act or a friendly deed ?

Why speak of age in a moumfiil strain 7 It is beautiful,
honourable, eloquent. Should we sigh at the proximity of
death, when life and the world are so full of emptiness f Let
the old exult because they are old. If any must weep, let it

DEATH.

be the young, at the long succession of cares that are before
them. Welcome the snow, for it is the emblem of peace and
of rest. It is but a temporal crown which shall fall at the
gates of Paradise, to be replaced by a brighter and a better

O SEX is spared, no age exempt. The majestia- aftd
courtly roadu which monarcli^ pass over, the way that

the men of letters trend, the path the warrior traversiis.
the short and simple annals of the poor, all lead to the sam^
place, all terminate, however varied in their routes, in that one
enormous houso which is appointed for all living. One short
sentence closes the biography of every man, as if in mockeiy,
of the unsubstantial pretensions of human pride, " The dayJ^
of the years of Methuselah were nine hundred and sixty-niiK?
years, and he died." There is the end of it, '* And he died."
Such is the frailty of this boasted man. ** It is appointed uiitt:
men " — uuto all men — " once to die." No matter what statioB
of honour we hold, we are all subject to death.

As in chess-play, so long as the game is playing, all the mer
stand in their order and are respected according to their placee
— first the king, then the queen, then the bishops, after then?
the knights, and last of all the common soldiers ; but whev
once the game is ended and the table taken away, then they
are all confusedly tumbled into a bag, and haply the king is
lowest and the pawn upmost Even so it is with us in thif
life ; the world is a huge theatre, or stage, wherein some play
the parts of kings, others of bishops, some lords, many knights
and others yeomen; but death send^ all alike to the grave and
to the judgmenti

DEATn.

45»

Death comes equally to ns all and makes us all equal when
it comes. The ashes of an oak in. a cuimney are no epitaph of
that, to tell me how high or how large that was ; it tells me
not what flocks it sheltered when it stood, nor what men it
hurt when it fell. The dust of great men's graves is speech-
less too ; it ;:ays nothing ; it distinguishes nothing. '* As soon
the dust of a wretch whom thou wouldst not, as of a prince
whom thou couldst not look upon, will trouble thine eyes if
the wind blow it thither ; and when a whirlwind hath blown
the dust of a church-yard into a church, and the man sweeps
out the dust of the church into the church-yard, who will un-
dertake to sift those dusts again and to pronounce : This is the
patrician, this is the noble flower, and this is the yeoman, this
is plebeian bran ? "

Look at that hero, as he stands on an eminence and covered
with glory. He falls suddenly, forever falls. His intercourse
with the living world is now ended, and those who would here-
after And him must seek him in the grave. There, cold and
lifeless, is the heart which just now was the seat of friendship ;
there, dim and sightless, is tne eye whose radiant and enliven-
ing orb beamed with intelligence ; and there, closed forever,
are those lips, on whose persuasive accents we have so often
and so lately hung with transport

From the darkness which rests upon his tomb there proceeds,
methinks, a light, in which it is clearly seen that those gaudy
objects which men pursue are only phantoms. In this light,
how dimly shines the splendour of victory — how humble ap-
pears the majesty of grandeur 1 The bubble, which seemed to
have so much solidity, haii bvnt, %XkA we a^aiu m« that ail \»
low the mni k Yauitj

Tine, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced, the sad and
solemn procession has moved, the badge of mourning haa already
been decreed, and presently the sculptured marble will lift up
its front, proud to perpetuate the name of the hero and rehearse^
lo the pasfiiny txwveller his virtues — just tributes of respect,.

■x-i

•^

466

DEATH.

■■' »

and to the living aseful — but to him, mouldering in his narrow
and humble habitation, \yha^ are they ? Uow vain ! how un-
availing !

Approach, and behold, while I lift from his sepulchro its
covering 1 Ye admirers of his greatness — ye emulous of his
talents and his fame — approach and behold him now. How
pale I how silent I No martial bands admiro the adroitness of
his movements ; no fascinating throng weep, and melt, and
tremble at his eloquence I Amazing change ! A shroud, a
eo£ELn, a narrow, subterraneous cabin ! — this is all that now re-
mains of the hero ! And ia this all that remains of him ?
During a life so transitory, what lasting monument, then, can
our fondest hopes erect I

My brethren, we stand on the borders of an awful gulf,
which is swallowing up all things human. And is there,
amidst this universal wreck, nothing stable, nothing abiding
nothing immortal, on which poor, frail, dying man can fasten ?
Ask the hero, ask the statesman, whose wisdom you have been
accustomed to revere, and he will tell you. He will tell you,
did I isay ? He has already told you, from his death-bed, and
his illumined spirit still whispers from «he heavens, with well-
known eloquence, the solemn admonition: " Mortals hastening
to the tomb, and once the companions of my pilgrimage, take
warning and avoid my errors; cultivate the viitues I have re-
commended; choose the Saviour I have chosen; live disinter-
estedly ; live for immortality ; and would you rescue anything
from final dissolution, lay it up in God."

Ah, it is true that a few friends will go and buiy us ; affec-
tion will rear a stone and plant a few flowers over our grave ;
in a brief period the little hillock will be smoothed down, and
the stone will fall, and neither friend nor stranger will be con-
cerned to ask which one of the forgotten millions of the earth
was buried there. Every vestige that wo ever lived upon the
earth will have vanished away. All the little memorials of our
remembrance — the lock of haii> encased in gold, or the portrait

JOE AT H

467

rro^
un-

ro its
•f his
How
ess of
1, and

)U(1, »

[)vr re-

himl

en, can

il guif.

i there,

abiding

fasten?

ive been

tell you,

bed, and

itb well-

asteniug

ige, take
have re-
disinter

anything

la ; affec-
ir grave ;
lown, and
ill be con-
■ the earth
I upon the
rials of our
le portrait

that hung in our dwelling, will cease to have the slightest in-
terest to any living being.

We need but look into the cemetery and see the ten thousand
upturned faces ; ten thousand breathless l)03oni3. There was a
titue when fire flashed through those vacant orl)8 ; when warm
ambitions, hopes, joys, and the loving life gushed in those
bosoms. Di'oams of fame and power once liaunted those empty
skulls. Tht little piles of bones, that once w^re feet, ran swiftly
and deterraiLiedly through twenty, forty, sixty, seventy years of
life, but where are the prints 'hey left ? He lived — he died —
he was buried — is all that the headstone tells us. We move
amoug the monuments, we stie the sculpturing, but no voice
comes to us to say that tht? sleepers are remembered for any-
thing they have done. A generation passes by. The stones
turn gray, and the man has ceased to be, and is to the world
as if he had never lived.

Thus ks life. Only a few years do we journey here and we
come to that bridge — Death — which transports us as the road
we have travelled, either virtue, happiness and joy, to a happy
paradise of love, or the road of passion, lust and vice to de-
structive wretchedness.

A proper view of death may \m useful to abate most of the
iiiegular passions. Thus, for instance, we may see what avar-
ice comes to in the coffin of the miser ; this is the man who could
never be satisfied with liches ; but see now a few boards en-
close him, and a few square inches contain him. Study ambi-
tion in the grave of that enterprising man ; see his great de-
signs, his boundless expedients are all shattered and sunk in
this fatal gulf of all human projects. Approach the tomb of
the proud man ; see the haughty eountenence dreadfully flis-
fignred, and the tongue that spoke the most lofty things con-
demned to eternal silence. Go to the tomb of the monarch,
and there study qualit behold his great titles, his royal robe.i,
and all his tiatteiies — all are no more forever in this world,
Behold the consequence ol intemperance in the torab «f the

468

DEATH.

glut'x)n ; see his appetite uow fully satiatec^, his senses destroyed
and hiH buuos scattered. Thus the tombs of the wicked cou-
deuiri their practice and strongly recommend vii-tuc.

Death reigns in all the portions of our time. The autumn,
with its fruits, provides disorders for us, and the winter's cold
turns thorn into sharp diseases ; and the spring brings flowers
to strew our heai*se ; and the summer gives green turf and
bratnbles to bind uj)on our graves. Calentures and surfeit,
col I and agues are the four quarters of the year, and all min-
ister unto death. Go where you will and it will find you.
Many dread it and try to flee from it aa the king of terrors.

Is he an enemy, when God sends him to deliver us from
pains, follies, disappointments, miseries and woe ? Is he an
enemy, who transfers us from delusive dreams, from the region
of bubbles and corroding cares, to a region where all is pure,
substantial, enduiing joy and endless felicity ? It is a libel on
DEATH to will him our foe, a king of terrors, an enemy.

Frail man comes into the world crying, cries on through life,
and is always seeking after some desired thing which he ima-
gines is labelled HAPPINESS, or is mourning over some loss, which .
makes him miserable ; a restless mortal body, with an immor-
tal soul, that requires something more than earth can give to
sUiafy its lofty desires ; the soul that hails death as the wel-
come messenger, to deliver it from its ever changing, ever de-
caying prison-house of day, called man ; on which time wages
a perpetual war; whitening his locks, furrowing his cheeks
•tcaling his ivory, weakening his nerves, paralyzing his muscles
poisoning his blood, battering his wiiole citadel, deranging the
whole machinery of life, and wasting his mental powers ; u;.i-
til he beeooiee twice * child I «nd then detivevn him over tt
his last and best friend, death, who breaks the carnal bondage^
Bets the imprisoned spirit free, closing a toilsome career of in-
felicity; opening the door of immortal happiness, returning
the soul to its own original and glorious home ; to go no more
out forever. Not to become familiar with death, is to endure

DEATH.

i5»

\lw

much unnecesaary fear, and add to the myriads of the other
imaginary woe« of human life.

Death to thera that be God's dear children is no other thing
than the despatcher of all displeasure, the end of all travail,
the door of dosirea, the gate of gladness, the port of paradise,
the haven of heaven, the entrance to felicity, the beginning of
all blissfulness. It is the very bed of down for the doleful
bodies of God's |>eopIe to rest in, out of which they rise and
awake most fresh and lusty to everlasting life. It is a passage
to the Father, a chariot to heaven, the Lord's messenger, a
going to our home, a deliverance from bondage, a dismission
from war, a security from all son'ows, und a manumission from
all misery. And should we bo dismayed at it ? Should we trou-
ble to hear of it ? Should such a friend as it bo unwelcomed t
Death is but life to a true believer ; it is not his last day, nor
his worst day, but in the highest sense his best day, and the
beginning of his better life. A Christian's dying day will be
his enlarging day, when he shall bo freed from the prison in
which he has long been detained, and be brought home to his
Father's house. A Christian's dj-ing day will be his resting
day, when he shall rest from all sin and care and trouble ; his
reaping day, when he shall reap the fruit he has sown in tears
and faith; hLs conquering day, when he shall triumph over
every enemy, and even death itself shall die ; his transplanU
ing day, from earth to heaven, from a howling wilderness to a
heavenly paradise; his robing day, to put oif the old worn-out
rags of flesh, and put on the new and glorious robes of light ;
his marriage day ; his coronatiori, day ; the day of his glory,
ibe beginning of his eternal, perfect bliss with Christ.

We at death leave one j»isce to go to another ; if godly w%
depart from our place here on earth, and go to heaven ; we
depart from our friends on earth and go to our friends in
heaven; we depart from the valley of tears and go to the
mount of joy ; we depart from a howling wilderness and go
to A heavenly paraditie. Who would be unwilling to ex-

t:<i>i.'.'.

460

DEATH.

change a Sodoio for a Zion, an Egypt fur a Canaan, miseiy foi
glory?

What a superlatively grand and consoling idea ia that of
death ! Without this radiant idea, thia delightful moruing
star, indicating that the luminary of eternity is going to rise,
life would, to our view, darken into midnight melancholy. Oh,
the expectation of living here, and of livii thua always, would
be indeed a prospect of overwhelming o ipair ! Bnt thanki
be to that fatal decree that dooms us to die ! thanks to that
groepel which opens the vision of an endless life ! and thanks,
above all, to that Saviour friend who has promised to con-
duct all the faithful through the sacred trance of death, into
scenes of paradise and everlasting delight !

Oh, that all may be prepared for this awful change, but how
often we hear the mournful exclamation, "Too late!" from
men who come up to the doors of a bank juat as the key hat
turned in the lock ; or up to the great gates of a railway terminus
just as they swing to, and tell the tardy traveller he has lost
his train ; or up to the post office just as the mail has been
despatched ; but how should we tremble if our ears could hear
the despairing cry of souls whom the stony gaze of that grim
messenger has fixed in siu forever. How would our hearts
thrill with horror to accompany one, without hope of heaven,
to the portals of death. How do men dread such death scenes
as that of a young sceptic called suddenly from time to eternity.
" Begone !" he cried to the clergyman ; " I want none of your
cant" when he showed him the great need of repentance. " I
am not going to die ; and if I were I would die as I have lived."
The physician came, to whom he said : " Oh ! tell me I am not
dying ; 1 will not die ! " " My poor friend, I cannot speak
falsely to you ; your soul will, ere long, be with your God.*
" My God ! " he said, " I have no God save the world ; I havt
stifled conviction, I have fought agaiust God, I have resisted
my mother's pleadings, and now you tell me that I must die.
Do you know," he added, in an awful whisper, "all that means!

DEATH.

461

If I dU to-day T shall go to hdl ! Take it back ; tell me I'ro
not going to die. Father," he said, " 'twas you who taught me
this ; you led mo on in this way, and now you say J'm to die.
Stand back ' " he shrieked ; " / wiM twt die ! " and a torrent of
invectivoa issued from his fevur-parched lips, ao terrible in their
madness that it seemed like a wail fium the sea of woe. No
wonder the poo>* mother was borue fainting from the room,
and the fatbvjr's brow was cx)rrugated, while great drops of
agony rested thore. Ah, that infidel father ! How must bis
heart have bled in that dreadful hour, when in the midst of
dire cursings, hh gifted son foil back a corp.se.

What a striking contrast between such a death and the fol-
lowing :

One of Martin Ltither's children lay on hor death bed; t^i
great man approached her ai J sal H to her : " My little daugh-
ter, my beloved Margaret, yoti would willingly remain with
your earthly parents, but if God calls you, you will go with
your heavenly Father." " Yes. dear father, it is as God pleases."
He then said : "My daughter, entei' thou into thy resting i)lac«
in peace." She turned her eyes towards him and said, with
touching simplicity, " Yes, father." How resignedly could the
believing Luther part with his dying child, and methinka the
sentiment of his h*»art was very like the inscription on a child's
tombstone in an EInglish churchyard, as follows : " ' Who
plucked that flower ? ' cried the gardener, as he walked through
the garden. His fellow servant answered. ' The Master.' And
the gardener held his peace."

When this hand of mine shall be pulseless and cold, and
motionless as the grave wherein it must lie ; when the damp,
dewy vapours shall replace " this sensible, warm motion," and
death shall spread my couch and weave my shroud ; when the
winding-sheet shall be my sole vesture, and the close-sealed
sepulchre my only home, and I shall have no familiar companion,
and no rejoicing friend but the worm ; O, thou cold hand of
death, unlock for me then the portals of eternal life, that

^.m

408

DEATH.

"whilst my body rests in its bed of earth, my soul may recliaa
on the bosom of God !

" Life I we've been long together,
Through pleasant and cloudy weather ;
Tis hard to part, when friends are dear ;
Perhaps 'twill cost a aigb, a tear ;
Tlien steal away, give little warning,
Ofaoose thine own time,

8«y not, good-night, bnt in soiaa brightor olutw
Bid me good morning, "

iW^

WHAT THEY SAY OF IT.

-c>- 't^ ♦■

tar. John Pctts, D D., in the Introduction,

" ' The Royal Path of Lifo ' will be found,
■ >n examination, to be well entitled to the
naine it b«ani. ... In this »ge of tiasby
•nd p«tnidou8 literature, when bo many uf
the young people of the laud are becoming in-
tellectually enfeebled and morally poiaoued,
the advent of a book like tbia uLouid be hailed
with Joy by all who feel an interent in the
social and relij^ou.-) pro^Tetw of our country.
I rejoice to have the honour of introducing it
to the Canadian public, and wish for it a sale
worthy of the theme it »o beaiitifully an-
fol.la."

Bev. w. T. Smithett, D.D., Incujnl"'8nt «f
Lindsay, and Burai Dean, eays :

" ' The Royal Path of Life ' is an excellent
book, wv)rthy of public confidence and sup-
port, it combines in the various examples
of in«rit and self- discipline the lessons of ti"*
'Men who have Itisen,' and 'The Women of
Worth,' while it risea higher in the cultiva-
tion of nf>t only temftoral principles of honour,
virtue, .%nd success, but of luan's spiritual in-
terest, in securing his practical Christian
walk here, and his citizenship in the kingdom
of God hereafter. An arriuaiDtHnce with
many of the signatures recomnitncling its cir-
culation gives me an additional interest in
wishing it success."

««v. Welliafton Jeffers, 0.D., Lindsay, says :
" I am pleased to nnd that the ' Koyal
Path of Life' does not, like many with sim-
Oar title, deal in mere indefinite i<entiment,
but with actual facts and situations ^hicn
people have to face and feel in their practi-
cal life experience. It contains ^many elo-
quent pieces, and many wnicK are richly il-
Iwitratcd by historical and Wographical ex-
amples, we>' '?ai''".lated to inspire the mind of
Ifouth. It wculd have a fine effect in a fam-
«^ *«r ?na "< Ite memr>en «> read aloud to

the iest, one of these beantifnl short cnmf,
on each of the long winter evenings. Such a
practice would yield excellent results. **

BeT. St. OeoTge CaulfelU, LImD., Reetor o(
Ail Saints Church, Windsor, says :

" 'The Royal Path of Life* opens up a
world of thought and reflection to oar jrouth
of both sexes. Well would it be for them if
its carefully selected precepts were implanted
in their minds tiefore making a selection of
their future in life. And well would it be
for the future of our country to have a youth
so instructed."

The Editor of the "Daily Qlobe" says:

" This handsome volume, ' Tlie Royal iPath
at Life,' contains nelections from a great va-
riety of sources, ancient and modern, such aa
are eminently fitted to secure success and hap-
P'ntrsii ic life, if their teachings are accepted
ai:d the precepts practised. The subject*
treated of are varied, including almost every
i part of man's moral and intellectual character.
j The style, howevei, is ..^y and graceful, and
j the length of the essays judiciously deter-
{ mined by the topic discussed. The sentimente
I are invari.ibly of the highest order, so that
I tliP book can be cordially commended to all
j '.lawies of readers. It contains a carefully
piepared introduction by the Rev. Dr. Potts,
I of the Metropolitan Methodist Church of thia
city."

Rev. John J. Seddett, Pastor M- B. Chnreb,

Lindsay, says :

" From a cursory examination oi * The
Royal Path of Life,' I am impretwed with
its variety and brevity, and apprehend that
it is eminently designed to promote medita-
tion and counteract much of the ill efiects of
pernicious literatur*. ! vould heartily f*-
commeud it to all."

n« ««▼ Wm. laslla, tmat of fh« *'Cuad»

«r«BT)y tertan." aays :

" We welrome * The Hoy*! Path of Lifts '
M a c.oDtribntion to the supply of oue of the
moat serious wantii of the present time — that
of a wboldsoiBe secnlar literature. It ia a
v-ompilation of over one hundred extracts
trom various authors, all having a great bear-
ing upon character and conduct in one or an
other of the relations of lUe. In view of the
enorxnou-" cpiantity of pernicious reading mat-
tar provided by unscrupulous publibhers who
Jfctfci for a depraved taate and fotster its de-
velopraent, the publication of such books aa
that nmv before ns nrufbt to be encourage<L
The material, printing, and binding of the
volume am creditable to all ooncemed. "

"«*e Editor of the "Essex Record," of Wind-
sor, says:

"The Oanadian edition (illustrated) of the
* Royal Path of Life, or Aims and Aids to
Success and Happiness,' compiled from the
best authors, ancient and modern, wirti an in-
troduction by Rev, Dr. Potts, of Toronto,
whilst containing just the same matter tu, the
Anioricaii edition, yet sells for about half the
price of the latter, thus placing it within the
reach of all, and giving subscribers the bene-
fit of low prices. We have examined the
work and cheerfully unite with the great num-
ber of prfjsidents, professors of colle^'es, emi-
nent divines and others who have highly re-
oommended it as a book which ought to be in
every family in the land. Its influence ia
good and only good wherever found. A pros-
pectus cannot do it justice, or can an agent
overstate its real morth in a family. It will
prove an invaluable treasure to all, especially
to every young man and woman who may
read and heed its ennobling counsel. No one
should miss the opportunity of getting it
The biK>k will pay good interest for the small
sum invested in it. Add it to your librarise "

Engb JbhnstoS) B. D., Pastor Bt. James St
Church, Montieal, says :

•• I heartily commend * The Royal Path of
Life ' as a royal book tot the household, for
every young peraoa. Pure in oentiment and
grapihic in style, its topics embracing a wide
range and selected from various world -known
authon ; there is yet a marked unity of par-
pose and dtisiini of practical worth."

Ber. John O. laird, Methodist MlaletM
parrle, says:

" Having examined, with dsep interest,
• The Royal Path of life,' T unhetdtatingly
recommend it as a most valuable addition to
the library of every christian iauiily. The
great variety of important and practical sub-
jects therein discussed must rf:nder it very
attractive and useful to all classes ; especially
to young people. The vast amount of wi •
and moral counsel and instruction it coutoiu
cannot fail to impress the mind and heart of
those who carefully st^dy it, prompting them
to noblec deeds aud a purer life. It ought to
be in every home in our land. We taope it
will have an extensive circulation. "

George Dickson, B. A.. Principal of tlM OA.
leglate Institute, Hamilton, says :

" Some time ago I had the pleasure of read-
ing the American edition of ' The Royal Path
of Life,' and am very glad to learn that you
contemplate the publicatioa of a Canadia*
edition at a reduced price. It is a book oi
great value. A glance at the table of oon>
tents shows that it treats of a variety of sub.
jects that concern <»»v every day life. Its
elevated tone and ch*)«te style of expreuicn
make it a repertory of rich and useful thought
A copy ol this book should be in evei7
libraiy."

Rev. John A. Wtmams, EZ-PnaldeBt London
Oonference, Oodericb, says :

" I have at my leisure examined ' Thi
Royal P?^th of Life ' and find it belongs to s
olaas of books, the circulation of which I
should very much like to encourage. Sr
much of the current literature of the day i»
either trashy in style or looee in morals ; there
is a p'< asure to find a work so pleasantl*
written upon topics of sudi practical impor-
tance as those di^ussed in thL> vr'ume. I r^
gard ' The Royal Path of Life * as one of tbf
most judicious and senxibU bo<4[8 of its class
that has come under my notice. The taste,
culture and t^amestness of purpose which have
been displayed in the compilation of this
volume is seen in ever;' "hapter, and the hi^
literary diaracter and pun» moral tone must
mare it a ifavourite volume and a sonros ctf
pleasure and profit in any family. I hm*
heartiiy ret^'tmmfod it to ^ ciaasM of socael •' '

o»-

lA"*

to b0 of isUnrt an' profit to any on*
hooMtly niiliiBa to foUow bk th* tra« p»t>Ji ot

t^t*atimM mat*-

amw. W. H. Wltbrow, M.A., Editor of tb*
"QuuuUan ]fetho<UBt Hagasln*," Baya:

'* Bocki of wi»e cntmRtil are Houitttinies Tery
inU rMfdios. ' Tlw Bo^ftl I'atb of Juiix' U a |
jraarinbto azMplhML It nidtM, bi a v*-!*^?^-^^.
►tit*'**''* decree, wit with windom, intoniie
fetmst with BoUa value. It gives th« views 1 " 'Tm B»,^ FkJi of life ' it aa raoenent
rfaomoof tLegr«at«itmiiidiiofth«worldon;t>o<J' cootahuag Tahiable ii«tniction on a
■ome of the moiit important question* of life. | ""nety td mbjfcta. Its «hort, pithy eesays
The book is pervaded by Ugh moral principle. ™*y »n*»i* •«» ?*««* n»i«»d »n<i l»«*rt, when

tar. VaOmf, n^:

Ita viewg are baaed, not upon what ia axpe- ^
dicnt or what is fashionable, but what ii \
ri^it. Among the many subjects treated ar- :
the following : Home, Habits, As8(x:iatea,
Kducation, Reading, Oocnpation, Energy.
Lock and Pluck, Economy, Industry, Drees,
Faaniun, Maiuiers, Friendahip, Courtship,
Marria^, Trials, Debt (not that it is in -
riauated that these last are the consequeuoe
af marriage), Prayer, Religion, Ohl Age,
Death. These Important themes are tr«ate>l
with marked gt od acnse, and with no small
legree of literary ability."

only wpt* momenta are i|Mnt in reading."

'Brtti3b WUc ' Klncston.

TtM Editor of tba
i aaj»

i " • The It-ral Path of Life."— Mr. John B.
1 Magum, of ToK^oto, baa published a Cana^
dian editioa at thia truly royal work. The
I introdofltita bf the R«v. John Potts, of
I Ttvonto, I iMiiiiaaila it warmly to Camwlian
'. readera. It ia a viiry sug^restive and useful
' hook for yoaag people, while the aentimenta
i will not be toat oa those of mature age, but
I will form a text book of lessons for those
whom they hare tc iBatroct. The tone of the
!•▼. Jamas Hastie, Presbjrterlaji Minister, , *'***''^ "• healthful, «arnf?t and inspiring. The
UiulBay, says: ' volume baa aeorly dOO pages, and is hand-

" The ooDtaateaad character of 'The Bcy^ { *o^«': '««1 »»* printed, being an undoubt.
/MfcolLlfa' aB«tSeit to be eaUad • Apples | «* ««'^ •«» H»*«, lioea Ic Oa., reimaent*
af Gold in Pictures of Silver,' as Solomon ; *»'«• ^' CaaadJaa art in the pi inters' estate^
pafea it. Not a chapter can be spai-ed— scarce j ^^«^ **« rawcriptiooa fot the work are be-
a senten:^ can be improved. Here ore found i "^ *^*° "» KiafBton we hope to see a long
anne of the finest passages in the English i ^*^ I' ^*^ • morul certificate to the
langnaf^a. The contributors embrace such pl*<*-*
priuoes of the pen a.s i:\jnot, Bushnel, Weaver, j

cte. The topics sweep the whole domain j *•'- Cl»»- Kali. Paator of IL COmrcb, Ovea
of monJa sod ethics, and are expressed so i ^*'''™*« '^^ ■

amtentiuusly that a littlo library is boiled i " ' Th* Royal Path jI Life ' is suited to all
down into one volume. What a boon were ' oU s Bna and oonditionfl of men ; it is intereat-
thia handsome rolume to find its way into '• i^> tnstructiTe and imtpiring ; highly calcu-
erery family 1 What a luxury were a chap- ' lated to pctsDote the best interests of human-
ter yerred up to the mind thrice a day as its ; i^7 ^or bodi wotlda May it have a wide dr-
litwary rapast 1 In fine, this book is one of j cilatii-n, aa I am aare a rich benediction moat

the beat ' Eclectics ' extant. After a thorough
examination I give it my most hearty oom-
laaTidatii'rn *

attend it whereerer it ^oet."

ftafT. Jo7in Oray, Pastor of St Androw's
dninfli, Windsor, says :

"•The Royal Path of Life.' The name
gives to thia book L very suggestive of its
real character. A very careful election from
the meditatious and experience of the wke ' great deal tiM batter of it.

The Editor of the Ktacston " Dally News
aaya:

" • The Royal Path of Life * is compiled

from the beat aatbora, ancient and modem,

and is pare ia sentiir ent, beautiful in style,

and eminently practical in its teachings.

^ Every penua who nads the work must be a

The contents an

and gnod men of every age, upon more than ; varied
OBn hundred subjects of great interest and | n

I ia t a ge at ing, and written in tha
attnGtiva atyla We kope it wil' h«v«

oraetv^i imoortancs The book caniiot fai^ ; a lar^ imU> "

:;\i^i^iiiScl''M

¥?

ftAV. J B. Jaaufl*. niX, PB-Dl. Pnaideiit of
Albert College^ and vuTumty. BaUBTllle.
says:

-' • llie lloyt^ P*tli ol Life' pparkleH with
f'ema of the t)i»t wiUer. ErFnr i^-&t^e ^.ttraciii
the eye and eoiidhM the nuiiX n« mm utu
well overestiiuat* Uie T&lae of sach • book in
the home."

al«x. Bartlett. Eau.. PoUoe Ms^istnte, Wliid-

scr.'sayi:

" DkaE Sib,~I hare carefrlly Wked over
the book entitled ' The K<>> ai P*th of Life'
and confidently recommend it to the careful
coni<ideration of the youth of our land as well
as thoee of matorer yean. It b a selection
of a great many of the best thoughts of
eminent authors on subjects well calculated
to elevate and adorn the human chaiacter.
I wish you success in yi-ur venture to spread
sbroad a boolc of gnch aendmsnts throoghout
the land."

Rev. John Gray. Mstor tt 81 AndrsWs
Church, Windsor, safs :

" The Koyal Path of Life.' TKe name given
to this book is very ra£ge«tiv« oi5 its real
chai-acter. A very careful selettMin from the
meilitationa and experience of ihe wise and
good men of every age, u^-an mere than one
ftundred subjecw of great aiveiest and practi-
wl iuiiiortaace. lite book i^aanot fail to be
if interest ami fiuik t» •••y a»s hc«4aitlr
seeking to follow in the true path of life."

" A further readingjof the ' Koyal Path of
life ' has more than confirmed my opinion
previously exptessed. It is a royal book on
a royal ^lubject. It is briiliaiit and pro-
found. If it i> eomfaledfrom ihebeetauthon,
ancient and modem, the material is ui-ed with
Wondrous akilL All tiie |>rrcii.ut- *ti»nes from
many mines are wron^'hi uit<> the vyvunetiy
of a palace that astuiu>he» u^ by its ricbnebs
and vatitness. O^nthelxM'kanywhere.andany
tliou(^htful mind will be iuictantly speli-bound.
The Royal Path of Life "ught to be on the
table in company with the P:bie and PilgrimV
Progreus. The mind that cannot bo itirred
with nobis aspirations by readiiig such a
book is to be i>itit;iL I hope our Canadian
{teotile will so patronise this bo<ik, that the
pubii;^lier will be compelled to run hi« nresseri
day ami uight for muulh» to come. ThiH is
one of the beast thin£i> I ouuld wish for ' this
Canada of oont.' "

Professor J. G. Cross, A.II,. of Nortb>W«st«iM
College, pays :

" flere is a breeiy and spicy, intereF.tiug
an<l inatnictive, earnest and elevating, gootL
Wautif ul Mid ti-ue book. £«pecially shouli*
the youat SMbd it. Its I'ln— sis are golde«
and will, ny their charming freshness, fattea
in the soul, to elevate, purify and savour it.
It is well named, and I draw three hooaoutaJ
lines bsneath the woid ' XloyaL' "

R. EL. Moore, Mayor, CindsnattL O.. myB:

'* With great care I have attentively po-
ruxed the work ' The Eoynl Path of Life/
and consider it one of the most entertaining I
have ever read. It iti full of good maxims
and Bound preoeptn, exactly suited to the
scholar, the household, and youth of both
sexes. It is an admirable work, and should be
be found in the library or parlour of every
family."

John O. McWyn, A.M.,'PrincliMa of Sactae

Academy, Radne, Wis., says :

" I wish those who desires good book would
subscribe for this one, 'The Royal Patn of
Life.' It is full of thoughts, beautiful and
grand, and it will influence thoee who read it
only for good. The young men ani. younf^
women of our country ought to form theii
characters Mlder the inftimnso wrh a boc|
wiUexail^*'

rresidens oeo. as. steele, «. »., «i uiwrenos
University, says :

" I have partially examined the book, en*
titled ' The Royal Path of Life,' and find II
full of wkoleaomt thought, tovnd countel, and
lalutary inttruction. It is written in plain,
clear style, and illustrated with tuperior en*
f/ravings. It seems to me to be an taarWfewl
and pr'.^|S(<iWe book for the household."

PresidoHt Jobs Baiicom, D D., LL> D., «f UnlTenity
of Wisconsin, Madison, sayi <

" ' The Royal Path of Life ' seems to be a
book full of moral and practical wisdom ; and
would be likely to help stronp^lv tb« good feel*
ing and discipline of huuseholua."

President H- OiliilMMk D- 0-. sTGalssrille Uairer-
aity. Wis., say^s :

'"The Boyal Fath of life' it just the
hook for the faniily— for h^er uid mother,
and brothers and sisters. Its table of con-
tents is enowdi u> recommend it to all advo-
cates of sound morals, d(>Ui«^tic hapitiness,
inte>rrity of chankcter, public and private
virtues

" The work »ham/d, Aenfore, be ezUnsivtlp
luld, cartfuilg rtyd, and tff fiM akmg i JuUkftJly
ItractittU."

£ev. E. Cleveland, Pastor of Congregational Oharoh.
Author of "The BUeim rf Xim^" Lavraaos,
Mich, tayit

" 1 have examined ' The Royal Path of
Life.' The title shows the :mj>oitance of the
work. The inliuence of thislxxik will lie ginid
wherever it is circulated ; I therefore recom.
mend it to the public as one of its beet bene-
factors."

Lecnsrd F- Parker, A. H-, Prefesscr cf tht QnA
Lsjignags aud Literatare, is ih» Stat* Uu varsity
of Iowa, lays >

" • The Koyal Path of Life ' is exceUent in
thought and style, and abaonds in uost vahi
able suggeatioas."

Tsr

I*''

ir«f.tiug

fattet
,voar it.
ijaouUJ

vely p«-

^{ I.if«/

aiiiiiig I

ni&xims '
id V/ th«

of '»th
ihou^dba

of «v«ry

t BadiM

)ok would
1 Patn of
jtiful and
ho read it
at. younf
orm theil
•^ a booi

laawresoa

B book, en-
ind find it
ountel, and
n in i>lwi»»
mperior ct»»
xa excelkai
>ld."

if UslveTsity

sms to be a

isdom ; and
]« ifood faal-

denal Ohnrah.
I," La«ieM*>

>yal Path of
I tance of the
wi'.l l«e giwd
ef(»re recom-
Its b«at beaft'

, of tV,4 Owek
(ato Utu*«nity

8 exceli«Bk in
tin moal ▼•)»

I'of. H. lii»5, AM., of ihe lioutfl wwiern B«p
tilt DniTemitf. JaokaoD, lonu.. «ayi :
•• ' Thu Royal Path of T Jfe ' is full of read-
able matter. Imletnl, two or three M«a,//« of
\0e1t telectioiitwill git>t /<w/ t.n the rf^iertit^htiul
Vint will bt a ftUi cuinptiuatitm jor (A< cott of
the whoU Ux/k."

Ber. A. H. Thorapem. O.D.. PiwMMteT Otterbeia
UaiTtnitr, Weiterrille, , uys :

'• 'The Royal Path of Life' is a book which
«■ worthy the attent.iin of all pcrsmns. By ita
careful hints, wise atiil jiuticioii!! course, it
helps to prepare for th- trials ami «liitiesthat
*wait ns all. If car«fully read and tl»e ttiach-
in^ praciisAd, it will be tit the owner a source
of iuculculable benefit."

J, B- Helwig, Frealdeat of WUttenWg Oellege,
Sprisf field. 0-, gayi :

" I have no hesitation in cominen<Un[; the
book, ' The Royal Path of Life.' In lansjuiige
ami in sentiments I reifard it as truthful, jx-
cellent and healthful.

"If pi»ssil)le, it should have a place in every
family and he read by every yountr man and
woumn in the laud. It.^ nior^i iutiuuuce c^u
be none other than beneticial. "

/• T. PtRf, Editor. Oinoinnati. 0- Quette, says

" ' The Royal Path of Life * ia a vohiine so
-■tt.raet.ive in form that it will gain immediate
'avoiir from every lover of the printer's and
oiuilers art It well deserves its taslt-ful
dre.is, for its contents cannot fail to awaken
healthful thoujht, and diruot the mind to the
<x>ntemplatiun of the nobler pha<itMi of life."

, B. Ohiokoiiif^OUakorinf lastitito. Oiaoinaattl,
0.. jays :

" 'The Royal Path of Llff ' is a book re-
□lete with instructions and snyrujestions, and
its persual cannot fail to aiou.sa truer and
purer thoughts and purposes in life. Itn pre-
cepts are KDi/id ; it points constantly to the
true I\tth, and overy T>;tL,'e aiiound.s with prac-
tical Life maxims. He who reads and prac-
tises its preceptd will find hiiuaelf every day
an the Hojfol Fath 0/ Life."

Riobard Nohow. Principal Kalscn's BMMOHOoIleg*.
Oicciiinati. Ohio, laj* :

"I have examined 'The Royal Path of
Life ' and recognize in ita useful and inter-
esting book for youth or aye. It is a c<jm-
t^ndiura of valnalde inforuiAtion, philosophy
and ivdvice, relating to the conimuu topics of
every-day life, served up in a style that is at
once clear, simple and attractive. As an aid
and stimulus in the formation of character, I
consider it superior to any secular work I
Uave examined PaitiUts who can alford it
>uKht "-lO add it to th« attrauUon ul iL»w^i.a

A MiMT Gr^irvo'.d. of CiiMaanati Itet Bljfht'i
".Fat Ceutnbowr." aji :

" • The Royal Path of Life ' is a royal good
bo«ik, and the path of life would be much
inore eaey and agreeable were the e.xcellent
j>rt^;«.-pts wl.ich it contains t.rea«<ured carefully
in the hear*- and live<l up to. The cxoellenl
selertion of eesays ui-on a great vanety of
subjects written by the best authors, xhows a
master hand in the compilation there if.
P>ery household in the land ocgbt to poaseM
this matchless work."

W. J. Stevens, Prof, of Natnral Soionoos. National
Hnrrmal Schcol. Lebanon. 0., says :

" If the ^>recepta laid down in ' The Roy.-»l
Path of Life' were followed, life would in-
deed l»e worth the livinjj. The tone of tho
book is Wi.>ral and elevating. Everyone thould
be f ami/tar with its content*. "

3- D. MoGabe, LLD., Professor of Theology, of Ok
Weeleyan Univorsity, Delavare, 0- . says :

" I am glail tocummeud to the people ' The
Royal Path of Life' as a work so rich in
thought and illmitrations that it cannot fad
to be a blessing to any family so fortunate
as to obtain a copy thereof."

B. F. Keek, A.M., Prof, of English Literatnre is
the Alabama State Uoiveisity, Tuscaloosa, AJa.

" A glance at the table of (contents of ' Tlio
Royal Path of Life'hax I'onvincetl Toe that
it is a work of much int«?re>'t and value. It*
articles are of a high moral character, full of
' wit and wisilom,' and are upon subjects <d
great concern to the youthful and the aged.
Due must be made v'umt and better by its
perusal"

" I take great pleasurs in eniioraiog tho
foregoing statement of Prof. Meek.

" Pkof. John K. Lannk.\u,
" Prt$t Ala. liapliet Cmtml Female Colltge."

a me

(This testimony was voluntarily given by
!mb«r of tho largost Book rublishiafi
Uoa-o of the West)

" I could say nothing of ' The Rt>yal Path
of Life' without a tliorongh examinutiou
and I now rise from it with as thorough admi
ration. Such a book shapes a generation
Tiiey aro seed-capsule* breaking over a mil-
lioD minds and hearts, and Utting fa.ll into
them ill their quickening spring-time th»
ineradicable germs of th->u(bts, principles,
Life.

" It is no slight thing to commend a lK>ok,
and when I express my admiration of this,
for the choiceneas of its selections, their ele-
vation and beauty of style, thoir copiounauHO
of range, their generous i>atriotism and phii
antropy of sentiment, their unadulterated
morality, their liberality and freedom froro
sectarianism, I do it under a sense of my ao-
countability for these words; nor let-s 0/ our
oountry's obligations tu Um ooupilers wn'
OabiioheFB of Utia work."

Pr«etd«nt LnauiA Hon. ot UolTvnlty of Ib-
<Uaiia, wye ;

" I lmv« lookwl thnniBh ' Th« lioval Path
of IJfo,' with very great intereHt. Tho Ixiok
MwtnH to be well iiaine<L The concuftion ii
» h&ppy oae ; the topicx diacuMed are appro*
priate and practiual ; the laagunije ia, fur the
moiit inurt, simple and pure ; the ioudU U^im
ia elevutea and elevnting, and the roliirionn
teurhiai< ia the lympathetic arul tanctifj/iny
tenchimi of Jenui CkHst. It ia a book for the
hotixehold for liU ag«H and ail H<.-aa<ina, and ah
■uuh I can heartily recdiaiueud it"

President Rob«rt Allyn. Sonthera Ullnola
Normal, saya :

" 1 hare brietly examiue<l ' The Koyal P»th
of Jjife,' convincing me that it ia a work of
much real merit, and I very cordially com-
mend it."

A. & Morey, Portor Fitth Preabyterian Ohvoli,
Oiaoinoati, Q., tayi:

" 'The Royal Path of Life' ia rich in
bright, beautiful thoii^hta, It lea^la one up
into a better life. It la Miiggeative, Htiinulat*
in^, atrengthening. It ought td brighten up
many a home. It will oome like a gleam of
Bunahine ucroau any life whoa« pathway ia
rough and abadud. "

President A- Holbrook, Matlooal Nomial
School, Lebanon, 0. sayi:

" ' The lioyal Path of Ufe' i* a valuable
book, and will take a place with ' The Book'
on every centre table or book ahelf . It ia not
an eaay taak to dnd rearlable material on
moral topics, but the compilera have wolved
tho problem : and thin l»ook, onco taken up.
the aucceHaion of intereHtiug themea will hola
the attention of even the caaual reader. "

Btojamin ; Bnttenrorth, Oongreasmaa l^eet. Fin
Diitriot, Oinoinaati, 0-, tsyi i

" l have examined with oare ' The Royal
Path of Life.' I know of no book that would
serve a more useful purpose in tlie homo cir-
cle. It contaioa ju<)tthoRetratha which every
member of a household ought to know, and
which if known, ivnd applied to every day
life, would add K'rcatly to the aum of human
happiness. "

PitHident 0. H. Payne, LL. 0-, iT Ohio Wesleyaa
Qniversity, Delaware, , says :

" * The Royal Path <if Life' is a volume
tilled with the beat thoughtaof many authors
relating to a true and succebsful life.

" The queation how to live right is of para-
mount uaportaace to all. Anytliing that will
•Mlp one to aolv.) that pre-eminent question
Is of priceleaa value. This boik of excenits
is calculated tc render valuable aid in tiiis
•iirootion."

Bsbbt Dr. Liliaathai, Mound Stmt BynagorM.
Ilnoinimli, . nayii

" It iti witli great pleiMure that I raoom
mend the book euti^.led ' The lioyal Path d
Ijife.' It ia full of practical wisdom, stem
frank, exceUeut maximx, and re<ninda me oi
tlie proverlw of tho Bible. The book nhould
a<lom every family table. Young and old
should reiul it. Ponder over the exoellimt a»
saya and try to oome up Ui the teaching!
It contains no sectarian doctrine. It is hu-
man in the best nenae of the word, and if it*
rules are carried out, peace and good vill
among men, charity and love toward lill wol U
be thereby largely advancod. Again I heartii,'*
arul sincerely recommend this book as a staa
dard book for every household.''

Presidout David A. Wallaoe, D. D., ot Momnotlk
Oollaga, says :

" I have examined ' The Royal Path o<
Life,' and am free to recommend It 'm a kooo
book, full of sound and valuable maxims. '

Profesitor J H- Brovmlee, of Bouthem Uliaois
Noroiai, says i

" I have careftilly examined the work !•-
suetl by the Wt-atem Publiahing House of
Chicago, entitled ' The Royal Path of Life,'
and am highly pleoaed with it. It ia a very
entertaining ana inxtructive work. The typo-
graphical work is excellent. In short, it in
worthy to be commended, and I cheerfully
testify t<i its merit."

Frost. Joseph Hoort. Barlhamj OoUsga, BlotuDoodt
Ind., says :

" I can cheerfully reoommend ' The Itoyai
Path of Life ' to the public as a b<K>k calcu-
lated to elevate the moral and social tone of
society wherever it is read."

President D- L Tresaler, A-M., Ft D., of Oar
thage College, lays •

*' A right royal book is ' The Royal Path
of Life,' an exo< 'it vade meeumtor Pilgrim*
in ' The King's i .,^ way of holiueaa,' showing
it to be a ' way of pleatarUiteu' and a 'path of
peace.' "

President W. 0- Whitford, A. K.. of Milton Od<
lege, says :

" I have examined with considerable oars
the work entitled ' The Royal Path of Life,'
published in Chicago. The topics presented
are well selected^nd have a practical intere.-i*
to all readers. The tone which iiervades th«
whole Ijook ia earnest, healthful and inspiring.
The choicest and most suggestive maxims and
illuatrationa on the various aubjeota di<*cu8aMl,
have been gleaned from the boat sources, anci
arrange<1 in an attractive form. The work
was evidently written with the design of
.aiding young ptoj)!© to obtain a clearer,
broA^ler, and luster vi«w •£ th« irxtst vnlu«bl*
iiitoroMts in Uf*."

TUkgon*

noom

I'atb o<

li, Htem

d» me 01

tthoitld

1 old

It is hu

ami if it«
UDod vill

I heartii.''

M BiltMl

I'ath ot
n» i\ t^ooo
xltns. '

rn miaoif

work U-

Houue of
,h of Life;
t iH a very

The typo-
ihort. it la

cheerfully

, EiotuDond.

Tbe Itoyal
book cttlcu-
cial tone of

D., of Ow

Eoyal Patb
for rilgrim*
WH,' Bhowing
da 'jyathof

t Milton Ool-

iderable c»r«
>atb of Life,'
licB presented
:itical int«re!«t
l)ervadeH thv
andinsiiiring.
e niHxinm and
iots dltcuswdt
t Bources, and
n. The worit
the di!ftfi,'n of
in a clearer,
Quwt valu»bl«

barlM H. Fowler. D D . LLD , Ex-PrniklenC
Of Mortli-WMftcin OolverBity. ujra':

•• • Th « Royal Path of Life' »op«i b«for»
mt. If^ pracliotl HO'l vugrifMve iiu>iiect.> in-
vite attuntlon, and the manner iu winch they
»re hand1e<l rutain it. Itn principloa and hu)^-
geetiiinM itppli«<i %bUI eecun* Hni-cuitn.

" On>i idea to a man in tbo bet^nnin^ of life
ii worth mnni/ hooki. Thin imti book will fwr-
ni»h many idfiu. Brother man t Read it."

Pr«sid<mt Hon Hewton Bat«inan, A.M., LLD.,
Ex-Supt Public iQBtrucUon, and Prast
Knox CoUege, says :

" ' Tlie Itoyal Path of Life ' ia written for
a Worthy poriKwa, and in a pleasing Mtyle. It
U devilled in mnral tone, ana ahoundM in uise-
ful prteepU and i«u:{|^eMti<>nM for tbu practical
conduct of life. I think it may safely be com-
mended n» a good book — one oalculated to in-
spirf! young penone to cKooM wijiely attd ael
wdl in the various rd/iUont of lift."

Jotb. B. Barmt, Bdltor Olndnnatl Sally
TtBiM. Mjrs:

" • The Iloyal Path «f T Jie ' \t a book which
nii({ht prxiitably be read in every houjehold
ni the land — ourr<H:t in principle, OLTmiable in
iityle, jir.'vctical in ite teacblnf^, every pai<e of
thu work conuaina lomething Ut interest
readers ot' evory claM, young or oM. If it
oould 1>e made to tak<< thu place of u larKc
share of th j light roiulini^' whic h fimls favour
with the riHinvr treneratiou, Hociety would be
greatly benent«<l by the change. In my
! opinion thix -fork deserves the hij^h couimen
I dation it Iti** receive<l from ro many of the
I>romiuent professional and practicat men of
the country."

I PrMident W. H. H- Adams, of Illioois Woa DoiTor
ilty. sayi ;

•"The Royal P»th of Life ' I regard as a
most valuable ttonk for all clMtieB and all a^fn
in life. It ia finely written, and diocuHHea
themes that are ot vital interest to alL"

Pi-oresaor George Cburchlll, A.M., of Knox
College, says:

" ' ITie Royal Path of Life ' ft the path we
all, old and young, are soekini.;, and all aids
in finding it are to be desired. In tiiiH volume
art) many finger boards pointing thithf^rward.
Follow and fin<L "

i. L. Sclimlta;, Oerman ProfesBor, National
Monuai Sdiool, Lebanon. 0., saya :

" I have examined ' The Royal Path of
fjife,' and while 1 find much that is oom-
mendable. I iind nothing to condemn. Were
the lesuonit followed which it teaclu^, there Ih
no doubt but that sf»ciety would become
purer, and public . sentiment would have a
healthier moral tone. It is a book I can
heartily recommend, and I would we had
moro of its kind."

R. Hoyt, D. D., Editor Western Christian
AilTocate, Cincinnati, 0.. says :

'" The Royal I'ath of life' impresses uie
nuite favourably as a verv suggestive anduse-
Rd book for young people. The sentiments
and i>rinciple» wliich it embodies and enforces
iu a pleasing style, commend it both to the
young and those of maturer age. For the
former •'« is rich in tragpatians, which, if
heeded <riU prove of iDcatcnlable advantage ;
to the latter it is a text book of the leHsons
which they should impress upon the minds
of those under their direction and inHuence "

Pnsident U- it- Brown, of ladiasa Mormal School,

ays:

" The book entitled ' The Royal Path of
life ' contaim mart valuuMe information for
the monep tMa any other book publithtd. After
reading, no qm would regret haviii}.' mnde
the purchase.

DS wouiu rvgrer. nayinu iiino
It shoaid l)e in every family.

Presidont B J. Bradford, k K., of fioraka Collsgs,
says :

" It seems to i>e a work of excellent tone and,
character, loth in a literary and mr*ral a$pecf:
The ijlates are fine and lifelike in design and
execution."
" I fully concur in the above."
D. M. Rlanb,

Prof, of Greek.

" I fully concur in the fore>,'oing."
E. M. Dickenson,

Prof, of Mathem/itict.

"I know no reason why the cmmiundHtion
of Pres. Bradford is nut a dimntern.sti.'d and
fair Htatement of the merits of thi8 work. "

.fAMEH KlllK,

Prof, of Natural Snencen.

" I have examined this book, .md cfieer-
fuUjf enilorae the above i:M)mineudations."
J. M. Ku.KH,
Prof, of Latin and JSrujUak Literature.

' ' I unhesitatingly endorse the above com-
mendations. "

Chah. Johans,
Prof, of Mwiern iMnguagm.

President A. k- Smltta; of Morlli-Western Col-

laffe. sara:

" I have oxamined yonr work, ' 'I'be Royat
Path of liifo,' with no little interest. I rugurd
it as of i)^-eat value and w(jrthy of a place in
every family. It aboaads in mitnd maximi,
wiM counteit and in rare yena of Uiow/kt. The
publication an<l circulation of such liooks are
benefits to the c«)mniunity which can tcarcdy
be ttver-etUnuUed. Tlu-ir perusal aud study
by the young cannot fail to make a lowp im-
pression upon their minds, and so tc shapa
their course of life, *ihat they shall h« (Simu-
lated to noble deeds, ar<d be led on U konnnr.

Hn<'c*'«'> "»"

1 v,..,r:

Pr«i<4eDt J. G. Pvina. «f n*Mlng OoHafff*. mft :

"I have oxwnlnwl "Tlie K'-yol "'Hth of
Lifts' an<l c:»n rhtorfully pwojuifumd ir. ah a
w<.rk nf f/rent ,ncrit. ItH nMn i* pleiwirnj , ita
DiAttorMcriturtAiniiig, aixl it,s |il-iri HyBtuuiutio.
TVu tuiik ouffht tobt in tvery JainU)i.

Preeldent J> BiMohard. of WbmMn OolI«ge, txjt '■

" The exo«n«?ncy of the work, ' The Royal
I'alh of liifc," coiiwiHts in thin, that the table
of contuntM containk a multiturie of pructiral
topi.tH, and hoihu excellent ideas and thoiixhtB
on thoHo toi»icfl, which the niHKHfm of American
dtiy.eru" are coinncllt'd to consider. Thin will
give, M it ouiitit, a wide fK)pulat-ity to the
nook. ; while the >!xe<:ution and make up of
the Volume are Ruch an to render it as oma-
meulal and useful, in the Uonss."

Pr«Bi(t9nt A. A. Bmitb, of NorUl<WeBtem Col*
lege, ft»78 :

" I have oxaminAd your work, ' The Roy.-vl
Path of Lifo,' with no little Int^rfRt. 1 re-
gard it an of ortat valve and worthy of a f)l:ic«
ni every family. It abounds in tiound max-
tmi, in voiM connuls, and in rare gemt of
thought. The publication ard i:irculation of
•uch hookB fa a benefit to the community
which can scarcelp be aver-atimnUd. Their
perusal and study by the ynuug can not fail
to iiiiike a deep impression upon their niindH,
»!id CO to Rha):>e thuir course of life, that they
■hall be Htimulated to noble deeds, and be led
ou to honour, 8uo<:ess and happiness."

L Fraaoh. Attornoy-ai-Uiw, OIneiimatl. 0.

says:

*' I take groat, pleasuro In saying that I
have rea<l Avith mnch interest the book sold
me several weeks ago, ' The Royal Path of
Life,' and from ^eara spent In the literary,
•ocial and professional training of youth, and
the raising of a family of my own, I have read
and examinod many book's for information
QIKU) these subjects, hut I can frankly nay
none that supplies as useful reiidinii in so
practical form as the above outitltd book ;
and it should be many times duolioated in all
our public libraries, and should be la vitry
household in our land."

B«T- 8- 8. Warraa, FArmiaftoB, Mleh., layi :

" Having examined ' The Reyal I'ath of
Life,' I can say unhesitatingly, that to my
mind it is one of the most readable aud proRt-
able family books ever published. The very
IgneX variety of subjects and the manner in
which they are treated make it wonderfully
\ttractive both to old aud younif, and it seems
to rao no on* can read it without bring wiser
and better."

BoT. I. W. ^naxt, DetMR. moh., oajm :

" ' The KoviJ Path of /.if « ' is the btd book
tsjiid* from the liiblo) I over Haw."

R«v. A. M. Towlo, Parmlnfftmt. Kloh , My*

" I have read with caie and intense intere«
tbir, bonk, and confidently say tli><t f ki.ow >>.
no other work of this kind so well calculate)^
to h>-]p the mind to find the true [>ath to cot-
net life as 'The Royal Path of Life.' li
needs no outside puff or I.elp, It will recoin
mend itself to any retloctive mind. It« xen
tenons are short, conclusive, practical and
finished. Its maxims are so many jeneU set
ill gold to fit one fur any position in society.
) love this book."

Preston H. Miller, A.M-, ft>MM«nt of MeKou-
lie College, Tenn., saya :

" 'The Royal Path of Life ' in a collection
of rich and useful thoughts. It does not only
foreithadow the path of happiness, but also
oiH-ns to view ' the narrow way.' brilli:vntly
illuminated by expciience aud the 13ible. I
cheerfully recommend it t« the soljer.
thoughtful man and woman of every day ana
place. *|

B«T. W. B. ThonM, D.D., sayi :

'• * The Royal Path of Life * possesses the
merit of discussing in a brief, practical way, a
largH number of important topicx, mnking it
a valuable work for the home and the fiieside.
The chapter on courUhip alone, if placed in the
hanih of youth at Uie proper time, ia worth far
tnurc than tlte coU of the wlioU wtrk."

BoT. David WaUL, ti D. . Paator of tha Cluis-
tlan Cburch, MempUiu, Tenn., saya :

" I oan conscientiously commend ' The
Royal Path of Life.' I do not write this In
order to ' get rid of the agent,' but because I
be.ie vo it to be the truth. ' A good book U thf
best friend.' Whoover is fortunate enough tf>
noHsess himself of tiiis book, will luaui a
friend that will never deceive liiiA."

The Re7. B. LanOrum, DD., Paator of llw
Central Baptist Oibarch, Uemphia, T«tin.
■ajra:

" I have read ' The Royal Path of Life '
and give it my cordial commendation. It is
a book specially adapted for families—very
valuable to the young, and indeed to jieiHoui
of all ages. I desire very much the sale of a
book so pure and stiinulaling in its character. "

ProaidentOoo W Jarmaa, A.1I., of 8out]|>
western Baytlat VnlTtraity, JaoksM^
TeuL, aaya :

" I take great pleaenre In recommending
' The Rov&l Path of Life ' to all persons who
desire to be profited by good reading. It ia
worthy a place in the librarv of every Chris*
tian familT, aud cannot fail to be a messing
to thone wao reflect upon the mai^ exoelleuH
sentiiuenta therein ooataiuadL"

/i.i^

kr.ciw >w
lalculat*''!
th to ctti-
Lif«.' It
ill recoin
It« «eit
tical uui

n liociety.

collection
s not only
I, bnt ftluo
brilliantly
IJible. 1
he io))er.
:y di»y &au

MefMCR the
.icftl way, a
, in«kinj< it
he tireMde.
)IacfU in thi
■« wvrth far

til* cutis-
ays:

neml 'The
rite ttjis In
it becauao 1
d bonk it thf

/ill make >

rfWH^Mi CteriM A. iemf. ef AtM* deiiMU Deaoeu
WtnoaA. Itiaa., mj» i

" 1 hsrti exAinincd the book wtti^ed ' Tlie
Rny»l Path oi liif«),' and ^ am ifl&d to coin-
iiieiid it U> ihts retwlioK puhlio. Its »>hort,
Hrite ftnd utrong fMrmys upon vital tuptcH M>e
(ni)(Milat«d in ftwuk«a tLuught ftud do luuclt
good."

Piofewor g. If . Etter, BoperinteiUMit of Pablio U-
•trootion of State, Spriogfleld. 111., wyi i

"It i« with great nleasare T reoomniend
"ThH Hoyal Path nf Life.' It should Hiid a
plaoo in overy inU'lii^^eiit hrwHehnld. No one
can read thi»l>eautifiilly writViu volume with-
out iiulruotion AM well aitpleature. Few hookti
ef a purely didaciio charartor are mo attran-
tive. It gives that hatud thiti^; advice bo lov-
ingly that oue feeln the prutHtrtce and oonvoniv
of a very dear friend."

Pniident A. L. Qbufbu ef Beloit OeUegv, Boloit,
Wb-,fa7ti:

" Fr(»m a cursory examination of ' The
Royal Path of hife,' I receive the iniprension
khat it preHetits in a clear and pleiwing Btylo,
mudi a<nnid, practir-al tmUom, adapted especi-
ally to promote the purity and poaoe of family
life."

freiideat 0. B- AlhM. «f Bute Horatal, OihkoBh.
Wi«-, layi J

"I hare exairdned carefully many nelec-
tlona from 'The lloyal Path of Life.' There
can he but one opinion regarding the pure
character and noble puipone of the work. In
a limple Rtyle it iiupreesea the important
truth* tliat lead to worthineai or tend to evil
Ml plainly tliat axxr warped natures cannot
RUfuoderHtaiul. 1 vihIi it mlylii be tWutfhi-
IttUy read im •v«igr laniiMi''

hHltat Wm- r. nietpi. (
Whitewater, WU , tayi :

" Having examined with WMDe care the vol
ume entitled * 'l')>o Koyal PatH of Life/ I can
commend it with «ntir«« oouiidtiiice as « work
of -anuuerit in rtM{rf)ct t<> tlioitoundneas of ite
teacliings, it* moral tone, an<i it« pure and d»
vot«d Btyle a* a litentry pnxluction. / hiom
of no book WtUr iuittd to the aninU tif the p<»-
pie, and I trntit it may find a place in even
family in thu UufL"

Preoident J- Ecterbrook, r. Miohinn. State Rern^aL
YpillanU. layi;

"I have oxamlnod with pleasure 'The
Royal Path of T,ife.' The liook wntama •
RHAat variety of wjll written topiiw, on coiidi-
tioud of HU'.-oeaH in life. / think it an excellent
vork. Itn circulation will do g«Kxi *o old and
young. Buy it and Htudy it."

Prof. John 0- Eidpath, tbj Historian. Asbbary
Vuivenity, ln&.. layi i

"I have ma-le a cureory examination ol
' The lloyal Path of Life,' and find it a work
of couhidurrible intiTe»t. It in well comixieed
in a otylo half familiar and half didactic To
all those who are intureijled— and who is not?
— in the iiractivil ethica of lifo, 1 rocummond
tlie book aa wfdl worthy of i>oriuiaL"

Prof. 0. A. Fisher. Plymoath, Mich., mjt :

" I have oxamiiied * The K.)yal Path ol
Ijfe.' The OHttayH contained in it are of ster-
ling raiirit, maiiy <f them containiuK the beat
thoui^hts of our beat author*. To those who
1 like rdoioe rea-liiig they will repay a iieniaaJL
' I wiMb our yfwng folu would reail more ot
i »v«ii NMUer at that c:uuitauied in thix woik. "

kctor of itn
ptalB, T«ua

,th of liife •
ition. It w
milieii--very
sd to pe.iHOue
the Hale of a
a character."

1., of lOtttH-

r, jaMtKm,

scommendlnf
I jieniona who
lading. It it
every (Jlirie*
be ft oleiiMing
tatf exoeUeut