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AUTHOR: 
 
 [HOLLAND, JOSIAH 
 GILBERT] 
 
 TITLE: 
 
 TITCOMB'S LETTERS 
 TO YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 PLACE: 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DA TE : 
 
 1859 
 
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 170 
 H7L93 
 
 (Holland, Josiah Gilbert] 181^1881. I 
 
 Titcomb's letters to young people, single and married. (By, 
 Timonthy Titcomb, esquii-e ipseud.^ New York, C. Scribner, 
 ^^^l859. 18th ed. 
 
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 THE LIBRARIES 
 
 From the library of 
 
 J^^saret Ladd-Fraaklin 
 
 r 
 
 ir 
 
 7o 
 
TITCOMB'S LETTERS 
 
 to 
 
 YOU]^a PEOPLE 
 
 SINGLE AND MARRIED. 
 
 TIMOTHY TITCOMB, Esquirk 
 
 EIGHTEENTH EDITION. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 OHAULES SGRIBNER, 
 
 No. 124 GUAND STREET. 
 1859. 
 
110 
 
 mm 
 
 Entered nccortlinp to Act of Conjrross, in the year 1888> b/ 
 
 CHAIILES SCKIIiNKK, 
 
 !■ the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States fo? tba 
 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 Titcomb's Letters. 
 
 "niBTTlOBiliyiYl^ 
 
 sj 
 
TO THE 
 
 REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER 
 
 » « 
 
 You have very kindly permitted me to dedi- 
 cate tins book to you. I do it with hearty j)lea- 
 sure, and with cordial thanks for your courtesy, 
 because it will do me good in several ways. First, 
 't will give me an opportunity to manifest the re- 
 spect and admiration which I entertain towards 
 one who, in the best way, is doing more than any 
 other American for the elevation of the standard 
 of Christian manhood and womanhood. Second, 
 it will save to me the awkward labor of writing a 
 
▼1 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 general preface. One can say to a friend, you 
 know, in a familiar way, wliat he would hesitate 
 to say directly to the public of his own perform- 
 ances. Third, it will show the public that yo 
 know the author of these letters, and that you 
 have confidence in his good intentions. 
 
 The Great Master taught you how to teach, 
 and, if we heed the lesson of His life. He will 
 teach us all. He assumed a sympathetic level 
 witli humanity, that He might secure the eye and 
 ear of the world. Through these lie obtained 
 the heart — a conquest preliminary to that of the 
 world's imderstanding and life. It was the divine 
 policy — ^rather, perhaps, I should say, the eternal 
 necessity — that He should be made in all points 
 like as we are, in order to a fitness for and the 
 fulfilment of his mission. It was the brother 
 that was in Ilim which touched humanity, and 
 became the medium of heavenly impulses and 
 inspirations ; and it is the brother in us, rathci 
 than the preceptor, which will enable us to reach 
 the hearts and minds that call for our ministra- 
 tions. 
 
 With this idea in mind, I cannot but think that 
 a general mistake has been made in the instruc- 
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 VU 
 
 * 
 
 
 tions given to the yoimg. Most writers have 
 chosen a standpoint distant from, and elevated 
 above, the warm, quick natures which they have 
 addressed. The young have been preached to, 
 lectured to, taught, exhorted, advised, but they 
 have rarely been talked to. My aim, in this tri- 
 ple-headed series of letters, is to give bro- 
 therly counsel, in a direct and pointed way, to 
 the young men and women of the country, upon 
 subjects which have immediate practical bearing 
 upon their life and destiny, and to give this coun- 
 sel witliout a resort to cant, or to the preceptive 
 formularies that so much prevail in didactic litera- 
 ture. I think I know the young, and know what 
 they need ; so I have addressed them with this 
 presumption, and with the same freedom — some- 
 times with the same earnest and emphatic abrupt- 
 ness — that I would use in talking to brothers and 
 sisters whose eyes were looking into mine, whose 
 hands I held. 
 
 Aflcr all, is there not an assumption of superi- 
 ority in this? Only that which is necessary for 
 decanting the experiences and the truths which 
 my heart holds into the hearts I seek to fill. A 
 pitcher may have an ear noticeable for length and 
 
www 
 
 nu 
 
 PEEPACE. 
 
 breadth, and its contents may occupy an inferior 
 level, yet it may brim a goblet witli pure water, 
 without other elevation than that which is neces-' 
 sary for the service. 
 
 You will notice that I address my lettere to the 
 young men, young women, and young married 
 people, as classes, with distinctness of aim and ap. 
 plication, while I inclose all in a single volume. 
 I have intended the whole book for each class. I 
 believe that each should know what I have to say 
 to the other. I have written nothing to one class 
 which it would not be well for the other to know. 
 The effort to maintain a divided interest and a' 
 divided sympathy between the sexes, to deny to 
 them partnership in a common knowledge of their 
 relationship, to hide them from each ot°her as if 
 they were necessarily enemies or dangerous asso- 
 ciates, and to obliterate the idea that they are 
 sharers in the same nature, and companions in a 
 common destiny, may spring from the purest mo- 
 tives, but it produces inhuman results. 
 
 I look around me, and I see the young of both 
 sexes with hearts bounding high with.hope, forms 
 ehistic with health, and eyes bright with the 
 enjoyment of life; and the thought of the stem 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 ; '^ 
 
 rilEFACE. 
 
 IX 
 
 discipline wliicli awaits tliem, touches me to tears. 
 Their dawning sun gilds only the mountain-tops 
 of life, and leaves the blind defiles and dismal 
 gorges for their weary feet to find, through years 
 of patient or fretful travel. To tell them how to 
 perform this journey worthily, and to do it hand 
 in hand, in harmonious companionship, I have 
 written these letters. It has been with me an 
 honest and earnest work, in the object of which I 
 am sure that you will sympathize. I only hope 
 that you will find little to criticise and nothing to 
 condemn, in the nature and style of the means by 
 wliich I have so\.glit to accomplish it. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 With respectful aficction. 
 
 The Author. 
 
 Hepudlican Office, 
 Springfiddj July 1, 18j8. 
 
 \ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTEES TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 L Getting iho Right Start, .... .13 
 
 n. Female Society — ^The "Woman for a "Wife, . . 22 
 
 III Manners and Dress, 81 
 
 r IV. Bal Habits, . 38 
 
 V. The Blessings of Poverty— Office and Effect of a 
 
 Profession, 45 
 
 VI. Food and Physical Culture, 54 
 
 VIL Social Duties and Privileges, 62 
 
 rm. Th6 Reasonableness and Desirableness of Religion. . Tl 
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 1. Dress — Its Proprieties and Abuses, . 
 
 IL The Transition from Girlhood to Womanhood, . 
 
 III. Acquisitions and Accomplishments, 
 
 IV. Unreasonable and Injurious Restraints, . 
 
 85 
 
 94 
 
 103 
 
 114 
 
xu 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTEB. 
 
 V. Tho Claims of Lovo and Lucre, 
 
 YI. Tho Prudent and Proper Use of Language^ 
 
 VII. Housewifery and Industry, 
 
 VIII. Tlie Beauty and Blessedness of Female Piety, 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 . 12-i 
 . 134 
 . 144 
 . 155 
 
 LETTEES TO YOUNG MAERIED PEOPLE. 
 
 I. The First Essential Duties of the Connubial Relation, 1G7 
 
 . in 
 
 . 188 
 . 198 
 . 208 
 . 219 
 . 229 
 . 339 
 
 II. Special Duties of tho Husband, 
 
 III. Special Duties of tho "Wife, 
 
 IV. Tho Hearing of Children. . 
 V. Separation — Family Relatives — Sen'ants, 
 
 VI. The Institution of Home, . 
 
 VII. Social Homes, and Blessings for Daily Use, 
 
 VIII. A Vision of Life and its Meaning. . 
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 GETTING THE RIGHT START. 
 
 In Idle wL-^hes fools supinely stay, 
 
 Be there a will, then wisdom finds a way. 
 
 BlTBNS. 
 
 I SUPPOSE tliat the first great lesson a young 
 man should learn is that he knows nothing; and 
 that the earlier and more thoroughly this lesson is 
 learned, the better it will be for his peace of mind and 
 his success in life. A young man, bred at home, and 
 growing up in the light of parental admiration and 
 fraternal pride, cannot readily understand how it is 
 that every one else can be his equal in talent and 
 acquisition. If, bred in the country, he seeks the life of 
 the town, he will very early obtain an idea of his 
 insignificance. After putting on airs and getting severely 
 laughed at, going into a bright and facile society and 
 finding himself awkward and tongue-tied, undertaking 
 
14 
 
 TITCOML'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 to speak in some public place and breaking down, and 
 paying his addresses to some gentle charmer and 
 receivinir for his amiable condescension a mitten of 
 inconvenient dimensions, he will be apt to sit down in 
 a state " bordering on distraction," to reason about it. 
 
 Tliis is a critical period in his history. Tlie result of 
 his reasoning will decide his fate. If, at this time, he 
 thoroughly comprehend, and in his soul admit and accept 
 the fact, that he knows nothing and is nothing ; if ho 
 bow to the conviction that his mind and his person are 
 but ciphers among the significant and cleanly cut 
 fio-ures about him, and that whatever he is to be, and is 
 to win, must be achieved by hard work, there is abun- 
 dant hope of him. If, on the contrar}^ a huge self- 
 conceit still hold possession of him, and he straighten 
 stifl3y up to the assertion of his old and valueless self; or 
 if he sink discouraged upon the threshold of a life of 
 fierce competitions and more manly emulations, ho 
 miffht as well be a dead man. Tho world has no uso 
 for such a man, and he has only to retire or be trod- 
 den upon. 
 
 When a young man has thoroughly comprehended 
 the fact that he knows nothing, and that, intrinsically, 
 he is of but little value, the next thing for him to learn 
 is that the world cares nothing for him ; — that he is tho 
 subjei't of no man's overwhelming admiration and cs* 
 
 GliXriNa THE RIGUT STAliT. 
 
 15 
 
 teem ; that he must take care of himself. A letter of 
 introduction may possibly procure him an invitation to 
 tea. If he wear a good hat, and tie his cravat with 
 propriety, the sexton will show him to a pleasant seat in 
 church, and expect him to contribute liberally wher 
 the plate goes round. If he be a stranger, he will find 
 every man busy with his own affairs, and none to look 
 after him. lie will not be noticed until he becomes 
 noticeable, and he will not become noticeable until he 
 does something to prove that he has an absolute value 
 in society. No letter of recommendation will give him 
 this, or ought to give him this. No family connexion 
 will "-ive him this, except among those few who think 
 more of blood than brains. 
 
 Society demands that a young man shall be some- 
 body, not only, but that he shall prove his right to tho 
 title ; and it has a right to demand this. Society will 
 not take this matter upon trust— at least, not for a long 
 time, for it has been cheated too frequently. Society is 
 not very particular what a man does, so that it prove 
 him to be a man : then it will bow to him, and make 
 room for him. I know a young man who made a place 
 for himself by writing an article for the North Ameri- 
 can lleview : nobody read the article, so iar as I know, 
 \)ut the fact that he wrote such an article, that it was 
 veiy long, and that it was published, did the business 
 
16 
 
 TITCOMB'S LETTEKS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 for him. Everybodj, however, cannot write articles for 
 the North American Kevicw — at least, I hope every- 
 body will not, for it is a publication which makes mo 
 a quarterly visit ; but everybody, who is somebody, can 
 do something. There is a wide range of effort between 
 holding a skein of silk for a lady and saving her from 
 drowning— between collecting voters on election day 
 and teaching a Sunday School class. A man must enter 
 society of his own free will, as an active element or 
 a valuable component, before he can receive the recog- 
 nition that every true man longs for. I take it that 
 this is right. A man who is willing to enter society as 
 a beneficiary is mean, and does not deserve recognition. 
 There is no surer sign of an unmanly and cowardly 
 spirit than a vague desire for help ; a wish to depend, 
 to lean upon somebody, and enjoy the fruits of the in- 
 dustry of others. There are multitudes of young men, 
 I suppose, who indulge in dreams of help from some 
 quarter, coming in at a convenient moment, to enable 
 aiem to secure the success in life which they covet 
 rhe vision haunts them of some benevolent old gentle- 
 nan with a pocket full of money, a trunk full of mort- 
 gages and stocks, and a mind remarkably appreciative 
 .>f merit and genius, who will, perhaps, give or lend 
 mem anywhere from ten to twenty thousand dollars, 
 with which they will commence and go on swimmingly. 
 
 GETHNG THE RIGHT START. 
 
 11 
 
 Perhaps he will take a different turn, and educate them. 
 Or, perhaps, with an eye to the sacred profession, tliey 
 d^ire to become the beneficiaries of some benevolent 
 Bociety, or some gentle circle of female devotees. 
 
 To me, one of the most disgusting sights in the world 
 IS that of a young man with healthy blood, broad shoul- 
 ders, presentable calves, and a hundred and fifty pounds, 
 more or less, of good bone and muscle, standing with 
 his hands in his pockets, longing for help. I admit that 
 there are positions in which the most independent spirit 
 may accept of assistance— may, in fact, as a choice 
 of evils, desire it ; but for a man who is able to help 
 himself, to desire the help of others in the accomplish- 
 ment of his plans of life, is positive proof that he has 
 received a most unfortunate training, or that there is a 
 leaven of meanness in his composition that should make 
 him shudder. Do not misunderstand me: I would not 
 inculcate that pride of personal independence which 
 repels in its sensitiveness the well-meant good ofiices 
 and benefactions of friends, or that resorts to desperate 
 hifts rather than incur an obligation. AVliat I con- 
 deum in a young man is the love of dependence; the 
 willinr^ness to b3 under obligation for that which his 
 own efforts may win. 
 
 I liave often thought that the Education Society, and 
 kindred organizations, do much more harm than good 
 
18 
 
 IITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOLAG MEN. 
 
 by inviting into the Christian ministry a class of young 
 men who are willing to be helped. A man who wil- 
 lingly receives assistance, especially if he has applied 
 for it, invariably sells himself to his benefactor, unless 
 that beneftictor happen to be a man of sense who is giv- 
 ing absolutely necessary assistance to one whom he 
 knows to be sensitive and honorable. Any youno* man 
 who will part with freedom and the self-respect that 
 grows out of self-reliance and self-support, is unmanly, 
 neither deserving of assistance, nor capable of making 
 good use of it. Assistance will invariably be received 
 by a young man of spirit as a dire necessity— as the 
 chief evil of his poverty. 
 
 When, therefore, a young man has ascertained and 
 fully received the fact that he docs not know anything, 
 that the world does not care anything about him, that 
 what he wins must be won by his own brain and brawn, 
 and that while he holds in his own hands the means of 
 gaining his own livelihood and the objects of his life, 
 he cannot receive assistance without compromising his 
 self-respect and selling his freedom, lie is in a fair posi- 
 tion for beginning life. When a young man becomes 
 aware that only by his own efforts can he rise into com 
 panionship and competition with the sharp, strong, and 
 well-drilled minds around him, he is ready for work, 
 and not before. 
 
 
 GETTING THE RIGnT START. 
 
 19 
 
 The next lesson is that ot patience, tborougbness of 
 preparation, and contentment with the regular channels 
 of business effort and enterprise. This is, perhaps, one 
 of the most difficult to learn, of all the lessons of life. 
 It is natural for the mind to reach out eagerly for im- 
 mediate results. As manhood dawns, and the young 
 man catches in its first light the pinnacles of realized 
 dreams, the golden domes of high possibilities, and the 
 purpling hills of great delights, and then looks down 
 upon the narrow, sinuous, long, and dusty path by 
 which others have reached them, he is apt to be dis- 
 gusted with the passage, and to seek for success through 
 broader channels, by quicker means. Beginning at the 
 very foot of the hill, and working slowly to the top, 
 seems a very discouraging process ; and precisely at this 
 point have thousands of young men mad(^ shipwreck of 
 
 their lives. 
 
 Let this be understood, then, at starting ; that the 
 patient conquest of difficulties which rise in the regular 
 and Ico-itimatc channels of business and enterprise, is 
 not only essential in securing the successes which you 
 seek, but it is essential to that preparation of your mind 
 requisite for the enjoyment of your successes, and for 
 retaining them when gained. It is the general rule of 
 Providence, the world over, and in all time, that un- 
 earned success is a curse. It is the rule of Providence, 
 that the ])ro«-ess of earning success shall be the prepara- 
 
20 
 
 TITCOilB'S LETTERS TO TOUXG MEX. 
 
 tion for its conservation and enjoyment. So, day by 
 day, and week by week ; so, month after montli, and 
 year after year, work on, and in that process gain 
 streng-tli and symmetry, and nerve and knowledge, tliat 
 when success, patiently and bravely worked for, shall 
 come, it may find you prepared to receive it and keep 
 it. The development which you will get in this bravo 
 and patient labor, will prove itself, in the end, the most 
 valuable of your successes. It will help to make a man 
 of you. It will give you power and self-reliance. It 
 will give you not oidy self-respect, but the respect of 
 your fellows and the public. 
 
 Xever allow yourself to be seduced from this course. 
 You will hoar of young men who have made fortunes 
 in some wild speculations. IMty them ; for they will 
 almost certainly lose their easily won success. Do not 
 be in a liurry for anything. Are you in love with some 
 dear girl, whom you would make your wife ? Give 
 Angelina Matilda to understand that she must wait ; 
 and if Angelina ^latilda is really the o-ood ijirl you take 
 er to be, she will be sensible enough to tell you to chooso 
 your time. You cannot build well without first lavinir 
 a good foundation ; and for you to enter upon a busi- 
 ness which you have not patiently and thorou«-hlv 
 learned, and to marry before you have won a character, 
 or even the reasonable prospect of a competence, is 
 n'tihiately to bring your house down about the ears of 
 
 t 
 
 GETTING THE RIGUT START. 
 
 21 
 
 Angelina Matilda, and such pretty children as she may 
 give you. If, at the age of thirty years, you find your- 
 self established in a business which pays you with cer- 
 tainty a living income, you are to remember that God 
 lias blessed you beyond the majority of men. 
 
 In saying what I have said to you in this letter, I 
 nave had no wish to make of you pattern young men ; 
 but of this I will speak more fully hereafter. The fash- 
 ion plates of the magazines bear no striking resem- 
 blance to the humanity which we meet in the streets. 
 I only seek to give you the principles and the spirit 
 which should animate you, without any attempt or de- 
 sire to set before you the outlines of the life I would 
 have you lead. In fact, if there are detestable things 
 which I despise above all other things detestable, they 
 are the patterns made for young men, and the young 
 men made after them. I w^ould have you carry all your 
 individuality with you, all your blood well purified, all 
 your passions well controlled and made tributary to 
 the motive forces of your nature ; all your manhood, 
 enlarged, ennobled, and uncorrupted ; all your piety, ren ^ 
 dering your whole being sensitively alive to your rela- 
 tions t^ God and man ; all your honor, your affections, 
 and your faculties— all these, and still hold yourselves 
 strictly amenable to those laws Avhich confine a true 
 success to the strong and constant hand of patient 
 uciiicvement. 
 
LETTER II. 
 
 FIMALE SOCIETY — TUE WOMAN FOR A WIFE. 
 
 O woman ! lovely woman ! Nature ma«le thee 
 
 To temper man : wo bad betn brutes without you. 
 Anguls are painted liiir tu look like yoa. 
 
 OXWAY 
 
 When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think that I should Hv« 
 UU I were married. Shakspekb. 
 
 IN many of the boolcs addressed to young men, a 
 great deal is said about the purifying and elevating 
 influences of female society. Sentimental young men 
 a!lcct this kind of reading, and if anywhere in it they 
 can find countenance for the policy of early marria^-c, 
 they are delighted. Now, while I will be the last to 
 deny the purifying and elevating influence of pure and 
 elevated women, I do deny that there is anythino- in 
 indiscriminate devotion to female society, which makes 
 
 FKMAXK SOCIEI'Y — ^TliE WOMAN FOE A WIFE. 23 
 
 a man better or purer. Suppose a man cast away on the 
 Cannibal Islands, and not in suflSciently good flesh to 
 excite the appetites of the gentle epicureans among 
 whom he has fallen. Siippose him, in fact, to be " re- 
 ceived into society," and made the private secretary of a 
 king without a liberal education. Suppose, after awhile, 
 he feels himself subsiding into a state of barbarism, and 
 casts around for some redeeming or conservative influ- 
 ence. At this moment it occurs to him that in the 
 trunk on which he sailed ashore were a number of books. 
 lie flics to the trunk, and, in an ecstasy of delight, dis- 
 cover that among them is a volume addressed to young 
 men. lie opens it eagerly, and finds the writer to de- 
 clare that next to the Christian religion, there is nothing 
 that willtend so strongly to the elevation and purifica- 
 tion of young men, as female society. lie accordingly 
 seeks the society of women, and drinks in the marvellous 
 influences of their presence. He finds them unacquaint- 
 ed with some of the most grateful uses of water, and in 
 evident ignorance of the existence of ivory combs. 
 About what year of the popular era is it to be supposed 
 •hat he will arrive at a desirable state of purification 
 and perfection! 
 
 Now, perhaps you do not perceive the force of this 
 illustration. Let us get at it, then. When you find 
 yourself shut out from all female society except that 
 
Ill 
 
 24 
 
 TlTCO^m'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 wliicli is bcncatli yon, that society will do you just as 
 niiicli and no more good than that of the fair cannibals, 
 especially if it be young. If, in all this society, you can 
 find one old woman of sixty, who has common sense 
 genial good-nature, experience, some reading, ahd 
 sympathetic heart, cherish her as you would her weigh'i 
 in gold, but let the young trash go. You will hear no- 
 thing from them but gossip and nonsense, and you will 
 only get disgusted with the world and youreelf. Inspi- 
 ration to higher and purer life always comes from above 
 a man ; and female society can only elevate and purify a 
 man when it is higher and purer than he is. In the 
 element of purity, I doubt not that women generally 
 arc superior to men, but it is very largely a negative or 
 unconscious clement, and has not the power and influ- 
 ence of a positive virtue. 
 
 Therefore, whenever you seek for female society, as 
 an agency in the elevation of your tastes, the preserva- 
 tion of your morals, and the improvement of your mind, 
 seek for that which is above you. I do not counsel you 
 to treat with rudeness or studied neglect such inferio 
 female society as you are obliged to come in contact 
 with. On the contrary, you owe such society a duty. 
 You should stimulate it, infuse new life into it, if possi- 
 ble, and do for it what you would have female society 
 do for yourself. 
 
 \ 
 
 FEMALE SOCIETY — I'UE WOMAN FOB A WIFE, 25 
 
 This matter of seeking female society above yourself 
 you should carry still further. Never content yourself 
 with the idea of having a common-place wife. You 
 want one who will stimulate you, stir you up, keep you 
 moving, show you your weak points, and make some- 
 thing of you. Don't fear that you cannot get such a 
 wife. I very well remember the reply which a gentle- 
 man who happened to combine the qualities of wit and 
 common sense, made to a young man who expressed a 
 fear that a certain young lady of great beauty and 
 attainments would dismiss him, if he should become 
 serious. "My friend," said the wit, " infinitely more 
 beautiful and accomplished women than she is, have 
 married infinitely uglier and meaner men than you are." 
 And such is the fact. If you are honest and honorable, 
 if your character is spotless, if you are enterprising and 
 industrious, if you have some grace and a fair degree of 
 sense, and if you love appreciatingly and truly, you can 
 marry almost anybody worth your having. So, to en- 
 courage yourself, carry in your memory the above 
 aphorism reduced to a form something like this : "In- 
 finitely finer women than I ever expect to marry, have 
 loved and married men infinitely meaner than I am." 
 
 The apprehensions of women are finer and quicker 
 \han those of men. With equal early advantages, the 
 woman is more of a woman at eighteen than a man ia 
 
26 
 
 TITCOMB'S LKTITEES TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 a man at twenty-one. After marriage, as a genera, 
 thing, the woman ceases to acquire. Now, I do not say 
 that this is necessary, or that it should be the case, 
 but I simply state a general fact. The woman is ab- 
 sorbed in family cares, or perhaps devotes from ten to 
 twenty years to the bearing and rearing of children — 
 the most dignified, delightful, and honorable office of 
 her life. This consumes her time, and, in a great multi- 
 tude of instances, deprives her of intellectual culture. 
 
 In the meantime, the man is out, engaged in busi- 
 ness. He comes in daily contact with minds stronger 
 and sharper than his own. IIo grows and matures, and 
 in ten years from the date of his marriage, becomes, in 
 reality, a new man. Now, if he was so foolish as to 
 marry a woman because she had a pretty form and face, 
 or sweet eyes, or an amiable disposition, or a pleasant 
 temper, or wealtli, he will find that he has passed en- 
 tirely by his wife, and that she is really no more of a 
 companion for him than a child would be. I know of 
 but few sadder sights in this world than that of mates 
 whom the passage of years has mis-mated. A woman 
 ought to have a long start of a man, and then, ten to 
 one, the man will come out ahead in the race of a long 
 life. 
 
 I suppose that in every young man's mind there exist 
 the hope and the expectation of raaiiiage. When a 
 
 11 i I 
 
 i 
 
 F£BIALE SOCIETY — ^TUE WOMAN FOE A WIFE. 27 
 
 young man pretends to me that he has no wish to marry, 
 and that he never expects to marry, I always infer one 
 of two things : that he lies, and is really very anxious 
 for marriage, or that his heart has been polluted by asso- 
 ciation with unworthy women. In a thousand cases wo 
 shall not find three exceptions to this rule. A young 
 man who, with any degree of earnestness, declares that 
 he intends never to marry, confesses to a brutal nature 
 or perverted morals. 
 
 But how shall a good wife be won ? I know that 
 men naturally shrink from the attempt to obtain com- 
 panions who are their superiors ; but they will find that 
 really intelligent women, who possess the most desirable 
 qualities, are uniformly modest, and hold their charms 
 in modest estimation. What such women most admire 
 in men is gallantry ; not the gallantry of couiis and 
 fops, but boldness, courage, devotion, decision, and re- 
 fined civility. A man's bearing wins ten superior wo- 
 men where his boots and brains win one. If a man 
 stand before a woman with respect for himself and fear- 
 essness of her, his suit is half won. The rest may safely 
 be left to the parties most interested. Therefore, never 
 be afraid of a w^oman. Women are the most harmless 
 and agreeable creatures in the world, to a man who 
 shows that he has got a man's soul in him. If you 
 have not got tlic spirit in you to conic up to a test like 
 
28 
 
 titcomb's lettees to young men. 
 
 this, you have not got that in you which most pleascfi 
 a high-souled woman, and you will be obliged to con- 
 tent yourself with the simple girl who, in a quiet way, 
 is endeavoring to attract and fasten you. 
 
 But don't be in a hurry about the matter. Don't ge 
 into a feverish longing for marriage. It isn't creditable 
 to you. Especially don't imagine that any disappoint- 
 ment in love which takes place before you are twenty- 
 one years old will be of any material damage to you. 
 The truth is, that before a man is twenty-five years old 
 he does not know what he wants himself. So don't 
 be in a hurry. The more of a man you become, and 
 the more of manliness you become capable of exhibit- 
 ing in your association with women, the better wife you 
 will be able to obtain ; and one year's possession of the 
 heart and hand of a really noble specimen of her sex, 
 is worth nine hundred and ninety-nine years' possession 
 of a sweet creature with two ideas in her head, and no- 
 thing new to say about either of them. "Better fifty 
 years of Europe than a cyck of Cathay." So don't bo 
 in a hurry, I say again. You don't want a wife now 
 and you have not the slightest idea of the kind of wife 
 you will want by-and-by. Go into female society if you 
 can find that which will improve you, but not otlicr- 
 wise. You can spend your time better. Seek the 
 society of good men. That is often more accessible to 
 
 FEMALK SOCIETY — THE A\ OMAN FOR A WIFE. 29 
 
 you than the other, and it is through that mostly that 
 you will find your way to good female society. 
 
 If any are disposed to complain of the injustice to 
 woman of advice like this, and believe that it involves a 
 wrong to her, I reply that not the slightest wrong is in- 
 tended. Thorough appreciation of a good woman, on the 
 part of a young man, is one of his strongest recommen- 
 dations to her favor. The desire of such a man to pos- 
 sess and associate his life with such a woman, gives evi- 
 dence of qualities, aptitudes, and capacities which enti- 
 tle him to any woman's consideration and respect. 
 Tliere is something good in him ; and however uncul- 
 tivated he may be — however rude in manner, and rough 
 in person — he only needs development to become wor- 
 thy of her, in some respects, at least. I shall not quar- 
 rel with a woman who desires a husband superior to 
 herself, for I know it will Le well for her to obtain such 
 an one, if she will be stimulated by contact with a higher 
 mind to a brighter and broader development. At the 
 same time, I must believe that for a man to marry his 
 inferior, is to call upon himself a great misfortune ; to 
 deprive himself of one of the most elevating and refin- 
 ing influences which can possibly affect him. I there- 
 fore believe it to be the true policy of every young man 
 to aim high in his choice of a companion. I have pre- 
 viously given a reason for this policy, and both that and 
 
30 
 
 TITCOMB'S LEllliaJS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 tills conspire to establish the soundness of my coun- 
 sel. 
 
 One thing more : not the least important, but the 
 last in this letter. No woman without piety in her 
 heart is fit to be the companion of any man. You may 
 get, in your wife, beauty, amiability, sprightlincss, wit, 
 accomplishments, wealth, and learning, but if that wife 
 have no higher love than herself and yourself, she is a 
 poor creature. She cannot elevate you above mean 
 aims and objects, she cannot educate her children pro- 
 perly, she cannot in hours of adversity sustain and com- 
 fort you, she cannot bear with patience your petulance 
 induced by the toils and vexations of business, and she 
 will never be safe against the seductive temptations of 
 gaiety and dress. 
 
 Then, again, a man who has the prayers of a piou? 
 wife, and knows that he has them — upheld by heaven 
 or by a refined sense of obligation and gratitude — can 
 rarely become a very bad man. A daily prayer from 
 the heart of a pure and pious wife, for a husband en- 
 grossed in the pursuits of wealth or fame, is a chain d 
 golden words that links his name every day with the 
 name of God. He may snap it three hundred and sixty- 
 five times in a year, for many years, but the chances are 
 that in time he will gather the sundered filaments, and 
 seek to re-unite them in an everhisting bond. 
 
 LETTER m. 
 
 MANNERS AND DRESS. 
 
 80 over violent, or over civil. 
 
 That every man with him was God or devlL 
 
 Dbtdsk 
 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
 But not expressed in fancy ; rich, not gaudy ; 
 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 
 
 Bhakspekk. 
 
 IT is well for young men to obtain, at the very start 
 of their career, some idea of the value of .politeness. 
 Some cannot be otherwise than urbane. They are born 
 80. One can kick them roundly and soundly, and they 
 will not refuse to smile, if it be done good-naturedly. 
 They dodge all corners by a necessity of their nature. 
 If their souls had only corporccal volume, we could see 
 them making their way through a crowd, like nice 
 little spaniels, scaring nobod}^, running between nobody's 
 
I 
 
 32 
 
 titcomb's letters to young men. 
 
 legs, but winding along slirinkingly and gracefully, see- 
 ing a master in every man, and thus flattering every 
 man's vanity into good-nature, but really spoiling their 
 reputation a& reliable dogs, by their undiscriniinating and 
 universal complaisance. Tliere is a sclf-forgetfulnesa 
 which is so deep as to be below self-respect, and such 
 instances as we occasionally meet with should be treated 
 compassionately, like cases of idiocy or insanity, except 
 when found in connexion with the post-office depart- 
 ment or among hotel waiters. 
 
 But puppyism is not really politeness. Tlie genuine 
 article is as necessary to success, and particularly to an 
 enjoyable success, as integrity, or industry, or any other 
 indispensable thing. All machinery ruins itself by fric- 
 tion, without the presence of a lubricating fluid. Polite- 
 ••oss, or civility, or urbanity, or whatever we may choose 
 to call it, is the* oil which preserves the machinery of 
 society from destruction. We are obliged to bend to 
 one another — to step aside and let another pass, to i<Tnore 
 this and that personal peculiarity, to speak pleasantly 
 when irritated, and to do a great many things to avoid 
 abrasion and collision. In other words, in a world of 
 selfish interests and pursuits, where eveiy man is pui-suing 
 Lis own special good, we must mask our real designs in 
 studied politeness, or mingle them with real kindness, in 
 order to elevate the society of men above the society of 
 
 HANNEBS AND DUESS. 
 
 3S 
 
 wolves. Young men generally would doubtless be 
 thoroughly astonished if they could comprehend at a 
 single glance how greatly their personal happiness, 
 popularity, prosperity, and usefulness depend on their 
 manners. 
 
 I know young men who, in the discharge of theii 
 duties, imagine that if they go through them with i\ 
 literal performance, they are doing all that they, under 
 take to do. You will never see a smile upon their faces, 
 nor hear a genial word of good fellowship from theii 
 lips ; and from the manner in which their labor is per- 
 formed you would never learn that they were engaged 
 in intercourse with human beings. They carry the 
 same manner and the same spirit into the counting-room 
 that they do into the dog-kennel or the stable. Every- 
 body hates such young men as these, and recoils from 
 all contact with them. If they have business with 
 them, they close it as soon as possible, and get out of 
 their presence. A man who, having got his vessel under 
 lieadway on the voyage of life, takes a straight course, 
 minding nothing for the man-of-war that lies in his path, 
 or the sloop that crosses his bow, or the fishing smacks 
 that find game where he seeks nothing but a passage, 
 or interposing rocks or islands, will be very sure to get 
 terribly rubbed before he gets through — and he ought 
 
 to be. 
 
 2* 
 
34 
 
 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 I despise servility, but true and uniform politeness is 
 the glory of any young man. It should be a politeness 
 fall of frankness and good-nature, unobtrusive and con- 
 stant, and uniform in its exhibition to every class ot 
 men. The young man who is overwhelmingly polite to 
 a celebrity or a nabob, and rude to a poor Irishman be- 
 cause 6e is a poor Irishman, deserves to be despised. 
 That style of manners which combines self-respect with 
 respect for the rights and feelings of others, especially 
 if it be warmed up by the fires of a genial heart, is a 
 thing to be coveted and cultivated, and it is a thing 
 that pays, alike in cash and comfort. 
 
 The talk of manners introduces us naturally to dress 
 and personal appearance. I believe in dress. I believe 
 that it is the duty of all men — young and old — to make 
 their persons, so far as practicable or possible, agreeable 
 to those with whom they are thrown into association. 
 I mean by this that they shall not offend by singularity^ 
 nor by slovenliness ; that they shall "make a conscience** 
 of clean boots and finger-nails, change their linen twico 
 9 week, and not show themselves in shirt-sleeves if they 
 can help it. Let no man know by your dress what 
 your business is. You dress your person, not your 
 trade. You are, if you know enough, to mould the 
 fashion of the time to your own personal peculiarities 
 —to make it your servant, and not allow it to be your 
 
 MANNERS AND DRESS. 
 
 35 
 
 master. Never dress in extremes. Let there always be 
 a hint in your dress that you know the style, but, for 
 the best of reasons, disregard its more extreme demands. 
 The best possible impression that you can make by your 
 dress is to make no separate impression at all ; but si 
 to harmonize its material and shape with your persona- 
 lity, that it becomes tributary in the general effect, and 
 so exclusively tributary that people cannot tell after 
 seeing you what kind of clothes you wear. They will 
 only remember that you look well, and somehow dress 
 becomingly. 
 
 I suppose that I shall be met here with a protest 
 from employers, and a kind of protest from the employ- 
 ed. Counsel to dress well is dangerous, is it ? But every- 
 body now dresses extravagantly ; and, as extravagant 
 dressing is usually very far from good dressing, I think 
 that the danger of exciting greater extravagance is very 
 small. It may be descending into pretty small particu- 
 lars, but it is proper to say that some men can dress 
 better on fifty dollars a year than others can on one hun- 
 dred, and for reasons which it is my duty to disclose. 
 There was something in the doctrine of the loafer who 
 maintained that "extremes justify the means," illus- 
 trating his proposition by wearing faultless hat and 
 boots and leaving the rest of his person in rags ; but 
 he had not touched the real philosophy of the matter. 
 
86 
 
 titcomb's letters to young men. 
 
 Tliere is on every man what may be called a dresS' 
 centre — a nuclens from which the rest of the dress 
 should be developed, and unfoldou. This dress-centre, 
 or primary dress idea, is different in different persons, 
 but it is always above the waist. The cravat, the vest, 
 the hat, the bosom, the coat-collar, may either of them 
 be this idea. It is always safe to locate it about the 
 neck and chest. A beautiful cravat, sustaining a fault- 
 less dicky, is about all a man can stand without damao^c. 
 
 to ' 
 
 in the way of elegant dress. Tliis should form the cen- 
 tre. The vest should harmonize, but be modest, and 
 all the other robing should be shaded off, until Jthere is 
 not an obtrusive feature. Extremities will then only 
 be noticed. These should be faultlessly dressed, but in 
 a manner rather to satisfy than attract attention. Every- 
 thing should be subordinated to this idea; the whole 
 dress should bow to the cravat. Any man who has 
 made dress a study knows very well that ten dollars a 
 year, spent about the neck, will go further than fifty 
 dollars spread upon the person. Coarsest clothes, deve- 
 loped from an elegant neck-tic, or an elegant central 
 idea of any kind, become elegant themselves, and rc- 
 ciiive and evolve a glory which costs absolutely nothing 
 at all, except a few brains, some consideration, and the 
 readinor of tl)i< loftor. 
 
 Om socs the demon stmt ion of this in travelling. We 
 
 i 
 
 MANNERS AND DBESS. 
 
 37 
 
 meet multitudes from all quartci-s and of different na- 
 tionalities. One, and he is usually a Yankee, wears the 
 best of broadcloth, and the costliest of coats, and looks 
 vulgar ; while another with a single stamp of good taste 
 upon him, at some central point, is a gentleman at half 
 price. Rich clothes are really a sign of mental poverty. 
 Let the secret of good dressing be thoroughly learned, 
 and we shall hear comparatively little of the cost of 
 dress. Let each young man choose his central idea, 
 plant it and develop it ; and if he lias good common 
 sense he will find that he can dress better tLan he 
 ever could before, with the expenditure of Mf tiho 
 money it haa usually cost him* 
 
LETTER IV 
 
 BAD HABITS. 
 
 There's srvtamg ill civn dwell in such * temple : 
 If the ill sp'.rit nave so fair a houio 
 Good things will strive to dwell with't. 
 
 SBAKsruta. 
 
 lie that has light within his own clear breast 
 May sit i' the centre and enjoy bright day ; 
 But he that hides a dark soul and fuul thoughtfl. 
 Benighted wallis under tlie mid-day sun. 
 
 MiLTOX. 
 
 IT is entirely natural for people to form habits, so tlint 
 if bad habits be avoided, the good ones will genu 
 rally take care of tliemseh cs. I had no intention when 
 I commenced these letters of saying anything npon 
 dogmatic theology, but I take the liberty of suggesting 
 to those who arc interested in this kind of thing that if 
 there be anything that demonstrates total depravity, it 
 
 • 
 
 BAD UABITS. 
 
 39 
 
 \s the readiness with which young men imbibe bad 
 liabits. I have seen original sin in the shape of " a short 
 six" sticking out of the mouth of a lad of ten years. It 
 is strange what particular pains boys and young men 
 will take to learn to do that which will make thciii 
 miserable, ruin their health, render them disgusting to 
 their friends, and damage their reputation. 
 
 Some of the fashionable bad habits of the day are 
 connected with the use of tobacco. Here is a drug 
 that a young man is obliged to become accustomed to 
 before he can tolerate cither the taste or the effect of 
 it. It is a rank vegetable poison ; and in the unaccus- 
 tomed animal produces vertigo, faintness, and horrible 
 sickness. Yet young men persevere in the use of it 
 ontil they can endure it, and then until they love it. 
 They go about the streets with cigars in their mouths, 
 or into society with breath sufficiently offensive to drive 
 all unperverted nostrils before them. They chew to- 
 bacco — roll np huge wads of the vile drug and stuff 
 their cheeks with them. They ejaculate their saliva 
 -.ipon the sidewalk, in the store, in spittoons which 
 become incorporate stenches, in dark corners of rail- 
 road cars to stain the white skirts of unsuspecting 
 women, in lecture-rooms and churches, upon fences, 
 and into stoves that hiss with anger at the insult. And 
 the quids after they are ejected 1 They are to be found 
 
40 
 
 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 in odd corners, in out-of-the-way places — great boul 
 ders, boluses, bulbs ! Horses stumble over them, dogs 
 bark at them ; they poison young shade-trees, and break 
 down the constitutions of sweepers. Tliis may be an 
 exaggeration of the facts, but not of the disgust with 
 which one writes of them. 
 
 Now, young men, just think of this thing! You arc 
 born into the world with a sweet breath. At a proper 
 age, you acquire a good set of teeth. Why will you 
 make of one a putrescent exhalation, and of the other a 
 set of yellow pegs ? A proper description of the habit 
 of chewing tobacco would exhaust the filthy adjectives 
 of the language, and spoil the adjectives themselves for 
 further use ; and yet, you will acquire the habit, and 
 persist in it after it is acquired ! It is very singular 
 that young men will adopt a habit of which every man 
 who is its victim is ashamed. There is, .probably, no 
 tobacco-chewer in the world who would advise a young 
 man to commence this habit. I have never seen 
 a slave of tobacco who did not regret his bondage ; 
 yet, against all advice, against nausea and disgust, 
 against cleanliness, against every consideration of 
 health and comfort, thousands every year bow the 
 neck to this drug, and consent to wear its repulsive 
 • yolvO. Tlicy will chew it; they will smoke it in cigars 
 and pipes until their bed-rooms and shops cannot bo 
 
 BAD HABITS. 
 
 41 
 
 breathed in, and until their breath is as rank as the 
 breath of a foul beast, and their clothes have the odor 
 of the sewer. Some of them take snuff ; cram the 
 fiery weed up their nostrils to irritate that subtle sense 
 which rarest flowers were made to feed — in all this 
 working against God, abusing nature, perverting sense, 
 injuring health, planting the seeds of disease, and insult- 
 iu"- the decencies of life and tlie noses of the world. 
 
 So much for the nature of the habit ; and I would 
 stop here, but for the fact that I am in earnest, and 
 wish to present every motive in my power to prevent 
 young men from forming the habit, or persuade them to 
 abandon it The habit of using tobacco is expensive. 
 A clerk on a modest salary has no right to be seen 
 with a cigar in his mouth. Three cigars a day, at five 
 cents apiece, amount to more than fifty dollars a year. 
 Can you afford it ? You know you cannot. You know 
 that to do this you have either got to run in debt or 
 steaU Therefore I say that you have no business to be 
 seen with a cigar in your mouth. It is presumptive 
 vidence against your moral character. 
 
 Did it ever occur to you what you are, what you are 
 made for, whither you are going ? That beautiful bcdy 
 of yours, in whose construction infinite wisdom ex- 
 hausted the resources of its ingenuity, is the temple of 
 a soul that shall live for ever, a companion of angels, a 
 
42 
 
 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUXQ MEN. 
 
 Bearcber into the deep things of God, a being allied in 
 essence to the divine. I say the body is the temple, or 
 the tabernacle, of such a being as this; and what do you 
 hink of stuffing the front door of such a building fuil 
 of the most disgusting weeds thai you can find, or set- 
 ting a slow match to it, or filling the chimneys with 
 snuff? It looks to me much like an endeavor to smoke 
 Dut the tenant, or to insult him in such a manner as to 
 nduce him to quit the premises. You really ought to 
 be ashamed of such behavior. A clean mouth, a sweet 
 breath, unstained teeth, and inoffensive clothing— are 
 rot these treasures worth preserving? Then throw 
 »way tobacco, and all thoughts of it, at once and for ever. 
 Be a man. Be decent, and be thankful to me for talk- 
 ng so plainly to you. 
 
 But there are other bad habits besides the use of 
 tobacco. There is the habit of using strong drink,— 
 not the habit of getting drunk, with most young men, 
 but the habit of taking drink occasionally in its milder 
 forms— of playing with a small appetite that only needs 
 sufficient playing with to make you a demon or a doit . 
 You think you are safe. I know you are not safe, if 
 you drink at all ; and when you get offended with the 
 good friends who warn you of your danger, I know you 
 are a fool. I know that the grave swallows daily, by 
 ■cores, drunkards, every one of whom thought he was 
 
 BAD UABITS. 
 
 43 
 
 safe while he was forming his appetite. But this is old 
 talk. A young man in this age who forms the habit of 
 drinking, or puts himself in danger of forming the habit, 
 is usually so weak that it doesn't pay to save him. 
 
 I pass by profanity. That is too offensive and vulgar 
 a habit for any man who reads a respectable book to 
 indulge in. I pass by this, I say ; to come to a habit 
 more destructive than any I have contemplated. 
 
 Youno" man ! you who are so modest in the presence 
 of women, — so polite and amiable ; you who are invited 
 into families where there are pure and virtuous girls ; 
 you who go to church, and seem to be such a pattern 
 young man ; you who very possibly neither smoke, nor 
 chew, nor snuff, nor swear, nor drink — you have one 
 habit ten times worse than all these put together, — a 
 liabit that makes you a whited sepulchre, fair without, 
 but within full of dead men's bones and all unclcanness. 
 You have a habit of impure thought, that poisons the 
 ?ery springs of your life. It may lead you into lawless 
 indulgences, or it may not. So far as your character is 
 concerned, it makes little difference. A young man wh 
 cherishes impure images, and indulges in impure con- 
 versations with his associates, is poisoned. There is 
 rottenness in him. He is not to be trusted. Hundreds 
 of thousands of men are living in unhappiness and 
 degradation to-day who owe their unhappy lives to an 
 
44 
 
 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG HEN. 
 
 early habit of impure thought. To a young man who 
 has become poisoned in this way, women all appear to 
 be vicious or weak ; and when a young man loses his 
 respect for the sex made sacred by the relations of 
 mother and sister, he stands upon the crumbling edge 
 of ruin. Ilis sensibilities are killed, and his moral na- 
 ture almost beyond the reach of regeneration. I believe 
 it to be true that a man who has lost his belief in wo- 
 man has, as a general thing, lost his faith in God. 
 
 The only proper way to treat such a habit as this is 
 to fly from it— discard it— expel it— fight it to the death. 
 Impure thought is a moral drug quite as seductive and 
 poisonous to the soul as tobacco is to the body. It 
 perverts the tone of every fibre of the soul. One should 
 have more respect for his body than to make it the 
 abode of toads and lizards and unclean reptiles of all 
 sorts. The whole matter resolves itself into this : A 
 young man is not fit for life until he is clean— clean and 
 healthy, body and soul, with no tobacco in his mouth, no 
 liquor in his stomach, no oath on his tongue, no snufF in 
 is nose, and no thought in his heart which if exposed 
 would send him sneaking into darkness from the presence 
 ot good women. I know a man who believes that the 
 regeneration of the world is to be brought about by a 
 thange of diet. If he will add the policy of utter clean- 
 Jness to his scheme, I will agree not to quarrel with him. 
 
 f' 
 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 TirE BLESSINGS OF POVERTY" — OFFICE AND EFFECT OF A 
 
 PROFESSION. 
 
 Tho labor wo delight in physics pain. 
 
 BnAKSPEBI. 
 
 Worth makes the man, and want of It tho fellow ; 
 The rest is all but leather and pranello. 
 
 POPB. 
 
 IF there is anything in the world that a young man 
 should be more grateful for than another, it is the 
 poverty which necessitates starting life under very great 
 disadvantages. Poverty is one of the best tests of hr 
 :nan quality in existence. A triumph over it is like 
 <yraduatinjr with honor from West Point. It demon- 
 strates stuff and stamina. It is a certificate of worthy 
 labor, faithfully performed. A young man who cannot 
 stand this test is not crood for anything. He can never 
 
46 
 
 HTCOMB'S LEITEES TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 rise above a drudge or a pauper. A young man whc 
 cannot feci liis will harden as the yoke of poverty 
 presses upon him, and his pluck rise with every difficulty 
 that poverty tlirows in his way, may as well retire into 
 
 ome corner, and hide himself. Poverty saves a thou- 
 sand times more men than it ruins, for it only ruins 
 those who are not particularly worth saving, while it 
 saves multitudes of those whom wealth would have 
 ruined. If any young man who reads this letter is so 
 unfortunate as to be rich, I give him my pity. I pity 
 you, my rich young friend, because you arc in dan;ror. 
 You lack one great stimulus to effoi-t and excellence 
 which your poor companion possesses. You will be 
 very apt, if you have a soft spot in your licad, to tliink 
 yourself above him, and that sort of thing makes you 
 mean, and injures you. With full pockets and full 
 stomach, and good linen and broadcloth on your back, 
 your hcai-t and soul will get plethoric, and in the race 
 of life you will find yourself surpassed by all the poor 
 boys around you, before you know it. 
 
 No, my boy, if you are poor, thank God and take 
 courage ; for he intends to give you a chance to make 
 something of yourself. If you had plenty of monev, 
 ten chances to one it would spoil you for all useful pur- 
 poses. Do you lack education ? Have you been cut 
 short in the text books » Remember that e«lucation. 
 
 '( 
 
 THE BLESSINGS OF POVERTY, ETC. 
 
 47 
 
 like some other things, does not consist in the multitude 
 of things a man possesses. What can you do ? That is 
 the question that settles the business for you. Do you 
 know your business ? Do you know men, and how to 
 deal with them ? Has your mind, by any means what- 
 soever, received that discipline which gives to its action 
 power and facility ? If so, then you are more of a man, 
 and a thousand times better educated, than the fellow 
 who graduates from a college with his brains full of 
 stuff that he cannot apply to the practical business of 
 life — stuff the acquisition of which has been in no sense 
 a disciplinary process, so far as he is concerned. There 
 are very few men in this world less than thirty years of 
 a<Te, and unmarried, who can afford to be rich. One of 
 the greatest benefits to be reaped from great financial 
 disasters, is the saving of a large crop of young men. 
 
 In regard to the choice of a profession, that is your 
 business, and not mine, nor that of any of your friends. 
 If you take to a trade or profession, don't t>e persuaded 
 out of it, until you are perfectly satisfied that you are 
 not adapted to it. You will receive all sorts of the 
 most excellent advice, but you must remember that if 
 you follow it, and it leads you into a profession that 
 starves you, those who gave the advice never feel bound 
 to give you any money. You have got to take care of 
 yourself in this world, and you may as well chooso 
 
48 
 
 TITCOilB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 your own way of doing it, always remembering that it 
 is not your trade nor your profession which makes you 
 respectable. This leads me to a matter that I may as 
 well dispose of here as anywhere. 
 
 I propose to explain what I meant in a previous letter 
 by the counsel to "let no man know by your dress 
 what your business is. You dress your person, not 
 your trade." As the proper explanation of this involves 
 a very important principle, I will devote the rest of this 
 letter to its development and illustration. The fault 
 found with this counsel is that it has always been con- 
 sidered best to dress according to one's business and 
 position. 
 
 Manhood, and profession or handicraft, arc entirely 
 different things; and I wish particularly that every 
 young man engaged in reading these letters should 
 understand the reason why. God makes men, and men 
 make blacksmiths, tailors, farmers, horse jockeys, trades- 
 men of all sorts, governors, judges, &c. The offices of 
 men may be more or less important, and of higher or 
 lower quality, but manhood is a higher possession than 
 office. An occupation is never an end of life. It is an 
 instrument put into our hands, or taken into our hands, 
 by which to gain for the body the means of living until 
 sickness or old age robs it of life, and we pass on to 
 the wcrld for which this is a preparation. However 
 
 THE BLESSINGS OF POVEBTY, ETC. 
 
 49 
 
 tlioroughly acquired and assiduously followed, a trade 
 is something to be held at arm's length. I can illustrate 
 what I mean by placing, side by side, two horses, — one, 
 fresh from the stall, with every hair in its right place 
 his head up and mane flying, and another that has been 
 worked in the same harness every day for three years, 
 until the skin is bare on each* hip and thigh, an inflamed 
 abrasion glows on each side of the back-bone where the 
 hard saddle-pad rests, a severe gall-mark spreads its 
 brown patch under the breast collar, and iall the other 
 marks of an abused horse abound. Now a trade, or a 
 profession, will wear into a man as a harness wears into 
 a horse. One can see the "trade mark" on almost 
 every soul and body met in the street. A trade has 
 taken some men by the shoulders and shaken their 
 Immanity out of them. It has so warped the natures 
 of others that they might be wet down and set in the 
 sun to dry a thousand times without being warped back. 
 Thus, I say, a man's trade or profession should be 
 kept at arm's length. It should not be allowed to 
 tyrannize over him, to mould him, to crush him. It 
 should not occupy the whole of his attention. So far 
 from thity, it should be regarded, in its material aspect, 
 at least, only as a means for the development of man- 
 hood. The great object of living is the attainment of 
 true manhood — the cultivation of every power of the 
 
50 
 
 tttcomb's lettees to toung men. 
 
 Boul and of every high spiritnal quality, naturally in- 
 herent or graciously superadded. The trade is beneath 
 the man, and should be kept there. With this idea in 
 your minds — and you may be very sure that it is tlie 
 correct idea — just look around you, and see how almost 
 everybody has missed it. You and I both know physi- 
 cians whose mental possessions, beyond their knowledge 
 of drugs and diseases, are not worth anything. We are 
 acquainted with lawyers who arc never seen out of their 
 offices, who live among pigeon-holes and red tape, and 
 busy their minds with quirks and quarrels so unremit- 
 tingly, that they have not a thought for other subjects. 
 They are not men at all ; they are nothing but lawyers 
 Often we find not more than five whole men in a town 
 of five thousand inhabitants. Those who pass for men, 
 and who really do get married and have families, are a 
 hundred to one fractional men, or exclusively machines. 
 Elihu Burritt cultivated the man that was in him 
 until his trade and his blacksmith's shop would not stay 
 with him. They ceased to be useful to him. He could 
 get a living in a way that was better for him. Benja 
 min Franklin was an excellent printer, but he used his 
 trade only as a means. The development of his mind 
 and his manhood went on above it. Printing with 
 him was not an end of life. If it had been, we should 
 have missed his words of wisdom ; some one else would 
 
 THE BLESSINGS OP POVERTY, ETC. 
 
 51 
 
 have built the kite that exchanged the first kiss with 
 electricity, and less able men would have been set to do 
 the work which he did so creditably in the manage- 
 ment of his country's affairs. It is not necessary that 
 you be learned blacksmiths or philosophical and diplo- 
 matic printers, but it is necessary that you be a man 
 before your calling, behind your calling, above your calU 
 ing, outside of your calling, and inside of it; and that 
 that calling modify your character no more than it 
 would were it your neighbor's. 
 
 If I have made my point plain to you, you can 
 readily sec that I attach very little value to the distinc- 
 tions in society based on callings, and still less to those 
 based on office. If a man be a man, let him thank his 
 stars that he is not a justice of the peace. Of all the 
 appetites that curse young men, the appetite for office 
 seems to me to be the silliest and the meanest. There 
 is nothing which fills me with greater disgust than to 
 see a young man eager for the poor distinction which 
 office confers. An office seeker, for the sake of honor, 
 8 constitutionally, necessarily, mean. I have seen men 
 begin at twenty-one as prudential committees in small 
 school districts, and stick to office until everybody was 
 sick of them. Whether it rained porridge or potatoes, 
 paving stones or pearls, their dish was always out. They 
 and their families always had to be cared for. 
 
52 
 
 titcomb's letters to toung men. 
 
 Office always brings obligation and a certain kind of 
 slavery. It brings something more than this — it brings 
 insanity. A young man who allows himself to get a 
 taste of it very rarely recovers. It is like tobacco, o 
 opium, or brandy, producing a morbid appetite ; anc 
 we need all through tlie nation, a new society of re 
 form. There should be a pledge circulated, and every- 
 where signed, promising total abstinence from office- 
 seiiking. To this every young man should put his 
 name. There are chronic cases that may be considered 
 hopeless, but the young can be saved. 
 
 Do not let me be misunderstood ; I have spoken of 
 the thirst for office for the sake of office. My belief is 
 that office should neither be sought for nor lightly re- 
 fused. The curse of our country is that office-seekers 
 have made place so contemptible that good men will 
 not accept it, but so far keep themselves removed from 
 politics that all the affairs of government fall into un- 
 worthy hands. When a young man is sought for to 
 fill a responsible place in public affaii*s — sought for and 
 elected on the ground of fitness — he should decid 
 whether he owes that duty to tlie public, and perform 
 it well if he does. Office was properly regarded in the 
 "good old colony times." Then it was considered a 
 hindrance to business, and almost or quite a hardship ; 
 «o much so that laws were passed, in some instances, 
 
 THB BLKBSINGS OP POVEETY, ETC. 
 
 5S 
 
 compelling men to accept office, or pay a fine. So I 
 would have you to do your duty to the public at all 
 times, and especially in seeing that office-seekers, by 
 profession or constant practice, are crowded from the 
 track, and worthy men put on. 
 
LETTER VI. 
 
 FOOD AND rUYSICAL CULTURE. 
 
 Han Is the noblest growth our realms supply, 
 And souls are ripened in our northern sky. 
 
 Mbs. Baxbavuk 
 
 I HAVE noticed tliat most writers of books for young 
 men have a good deal to say about diet and regimen, 
 and physical culture, and all that sort of thing, those 
 knowing the least of these important subjects invariably 
 being the most elaborate and specific in their treatment 
 of them. There have been some awful sins committed 
 in this business. All the spare curses I accumulate I 
 dedicate to those white-livered, liatchct-faced, thin- 
 blooded, scrawny reformers, who prescribe sawdust 
 puddings and plank beds, and brief sleep, and early 
 walks, and short commons for the rising generation. I 
 
 1 
 
 FOOD AND PHYSICAL CULTUEE. 
 
 55 
 
 despise them ; and if there is a being who always 
 touches the profoundest depths of my sympathy, it is a 
 young man who has become a victim to their notions. 
 It is a hard sight to see a young man with the pluck all 
 Uken out of him by a meagre diet— his whole natur 
 starved, degenerated, emasculated. 
 
 I propose to apply a little common sense to this busi- 
 ness. If 1 have a likely Durham steer, which I wish to 
 have grow into the full development of his breed, I 
 keep him on something more than a limited quantity 
 of bog hay. I do not stir him up with a pitchfork 
 before he has his nap out, and insist on his being driven 
 ten miles before he has anything to eat. I do not take 
 pains to give him the meanest bed I can find for him. 
 I know perfectly well that that animal will not grow up 
 strong and sound, fat and full, the pride of the farm and 
 the gem of the stall, unless I give him an abundance of 
 the best food, a clean and comfortable place to sleep in, 
 and just as long naps as he sees fit to take. The horse, 
 which in its organisation more nearly approaches man 
 than the steer, i^ still more sensitive to the influence of 
 generous living. How much pluck and spirit will a 
 horse get out of a ton of rye straw ? The truth is, that 
 a <rood and abundant diet is not only essential to the 
 highest physical health and development of man, but it 
 modifies very importantly the development and maiiifes- 
 
 L 
 
56 
 
 titcomb's letteks to young men. 
 
 tation of tLc soul. A man cannot acquire courage bj 
 feeding on theories and milk. An Englishman cannot 
 fight without beef in his belly ; and no more can any 
 of us. 
 
 It may be objected to this that we do not wish for a 
 great animal development in man. I say we do. I 
 declare that the more perfect a man can make his ani- 
 mal nature the better. That animal nature is the asso- 
 ciate — home — servant — of the soul. If it be not well de- 
 veloped, in all its organs and in all its functions, it will 
 neither give a generous entertainment to the spiritual 
 thing that dwells in it, nor serve it with vigor and effi- 
 ciency. If strong meat nurses your passions, let it ; it 
 docs not nurse your passions any more than it nurses 
 all the rest of you, and if you grow symmetrically where 
 is the harm? Besides, what would you be without 
 passions ? They are the impelling forces of life. A 
 man with no passion is as useless in the world as if he 
 were without brains. lie cannot even acquire the pos- 
 session of virtue, but is obliged to content himself with 
 innocence. If God gave passions to a man, he gave 
 them to him for a natural, full development ; and the 
 grandest type of man we see is that in which we find 
 fully developed and thoroughly trained passions ; and a 
 soul which has not these among its motive forces is like 
 a sailor out at sea, in a skiff without oars. Tliis idea 
 
 FOOD AND PHYSICAL CULTURE. 
 
 5^ 
 
 that the body is something to be contemned, that its 
 growth and development must necessarily antagonize 
 with the best growth and development of the soul, is 
 essentially impious. No matter where it started— it is 
 all wrong. A perverted and perverting passion is a 
 fearful thing, but a passion in its place is like everything 
 that God makes, " very good." 
 
 1 would have you properly understand this kind of 
 tnlk. I counsel the use of no food that tends to the 
 stimulation of one portion of your system more than 
 another, but I ask you to remember that the best food 
 is not too good for you, and that, unless you have a 
 perverted appetite, there is very little danger of your 
 eating too much of it. If I were to be charged with 
 the special mission of degrading a nation, in mind and 
 Ijody— stunting the form, and weakening in the same 
 proportion the mental and moral nature— there is no 
 way in which I could so readily accomplish my object 
 as through food. No nation can preserve its vitality, 
 and its tendency to progress, with a diet of pork and 
 potatoes. Nothing but the cerealia and the ruminantia 
 will do for this— nothing but bread and muscle. 
 
 I wish I could take you to one of those institutions 
 which will be found in nearly every State, where the 
 outcast and pauper children are gathered for shelter; 
 care, an<l culture. They come from the gutters, where 
 
 3* 
 
 L 
 
68 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 tliey have lived on garbage and cold potatoes. TLeil 
 eyes arc red around the edges and very weak, their 
 muscles are flabby, their skin is lifeless in color and in 
 fact. Their minds are as dull as the minds of brutes, 
 and their faces give the impression almost of idiotic 
 stupidity. In six months, wheat and corn bread give 
 them a new body, and a new soul ; and it would be 
 difficult to find a brighter set of faces than fill those 
 crowded halls and illuminate the noisy playgrounds. 
 
 Therefore, I say to you, young men, however falsely 
 you may deal with your back, be honest with your 
 stomach. Feed well— as well as you can afford to feed. 
 Sleep well. If Benjamin Franklin ever originated the 
 maxim, " six hours of sleep for a man, seven for a wo- 
 man, and eight for a fool," he ought uniformly to have 
 practised by the rule of the last number. Young man, 
 if you are a student, or engaged in any severe mental 
 occupation, sleep just as long as you can sleep soundly. 
 Lying in bed from laziness is another thing entirely. 
 
 Sleep is a thing that bells have no more business to 
 interfere with, than with prayers and sermons. God is 
 re-creating us. We are as unconscious as we were be- 
 fore we were born; and while he holds us there, feeding 
 anew the springs of life, ana mfusing fresh fire into our 
 brains, and preparing us for the work of another day, 
 the pillow is as sacred as a sanctuary. If any fanatic 
 
 FOOD AND PHYSICAL CULTURE. 
 
 50 
 
 has made you believe that it is good for you to be vio- 
 lently wakened from your sleep at an early hour, and to 
 go out into the damp, raw air, morning aftei morning, 
 with your fast unbroken, and your body unfortified by 
 tlie stimulus of food, forget him and his counsels, and 
 take the full measure of your rest. When you get your 
 breakfast down, take your exercise if you have time, or 
 wait until a later hour in the day. Just as much labor 
 can be accomplished in ten hours as in fourteen, with 
 more efficiency and less Migue, when rest and bodily 
 exercise are properly taken. 
 
 But physical culture— what is that ? A very impor- 
 tant thing, I assure you. Some of you get this in yoiu: 
 employments, and are growing up with manly frames 
 and strong arms. But there are others who are coming 
 up delicately, with spindling shanks, and narrow shoul- 
 ders, and flat chests, and weak arms— great babies, witli 
 soft hands and soft muscles, and not enough of physical 
 prowess to undertake to carry a disputed point with the 
 cook in the kitchen. How a woman ever makes up her 
 mind to love such a man as this is a mystery to me. A 
 feminine man is a masculine monster, and no woman 
 with unpervcrtcd instincts can love and marry him. A 
 true woman loves a pair of good strong arms, fastened 
 to a pair of broad shoulders, for they can defend her, 
 provide for her, and— but I wander from my subject. 
 
60 
 
 TTTCOMn'S LETl'ERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 Physical culture perfects a very impoilant portion of 
 the work which good feeding begins. The best mate- 
 rial supplied to the mouth, assimilated by the process 
 of digestion, and carried by the blood to the muscles 
 and all the other structures of the body, is essential ; 
 but these organs, when constructed and supplied, need 
 not only thorough training for the development ot 
 power and the acquisition of facility, but for the preser- 
 vation of their liarraony and health. God sets all the 
 little children playing for this. lie lays the necessity 
 of play upon them, and those restless little fellows that 
 are always sliding, or skating, or wrestling, or running, 
 are all inspired by a divine impulse. Those little bro- 
 thel's of yours who drive you half insane by their noise, 
 who will not sit upon your knee a minute without some 
 fresh twist of their bodies, are discharging their primary 
 Christian duties. 
 
 A new world, tossed into space by the Creative Hand, 
 informed with its laws of motion, and set spinning" ui 
 its axis and careering around its orbit, never stops. It 
 is only the boy who gets lazy as he grows older. God 
 puts him in motion at first, and teaches him to use every 
 physical power he possesses, and he does it faithfully at 
 first. Children who sit still do not live. The mission 
 of play does not cease with childhood. When labor is 
 not capable of doing for you what play lias done, and 
 
 FOOD AND PHYSICAL CULTITRE. 
 
 61 
 
 when you have no regular task for your bodily powers, 
 you are to play still. Walking and riding, boxing and 
 fencing, playing ball, pitching quoits, rowing and bowl- 
 ing — all these are as legitimate to the man as the sim- 
 pler sports are to the boy, and are in a degree essentia' 
 to his happiness and usefulness. 
 
 I should be unjust to the age were I to omit the 
 mention of a special point of " physical culture" which 
 has been long neglected. You find as you come into 
 man's estate, that hair has a tendency to grow upon 
 your face. It is the mark by which God meant that men 
 and women should be distinguished from each other 
 in the crowd. That hair was placed there in infinite 
 wisdom, but your fathers have been cutting it ofi^ from 
 their chins in small crops for thirty to fifty years, thug 
 impugning Nature's policy, wasting precious time, draw- 
 ing a great deal of good blood, creating a great deal of 
 bad, and trying to erase from their faces the difference 
 which was intended to be maintained between them and 
 those of women. If you are a man, and have a beard, 
 ^ear it You know it was made to wear. It is enough 
 *o make a man with a decent complement of informa- 
 tion and a common degree of sensibility (and a hand- 
 some beard) deny his kind, to see these smooth-faced 
 men around the streets, and actually showing them- 
 selves in female society ! Let us have one generation 
 of beards. 
 
SOCIAL DUTIES AND PRIVILEGES. 
 
 63 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 BOCIAL DUTIES AND PRIVILEGES. 
 
 Bay, shall my little bark attendant sail, 
 Porsuo the triumph and partake the gale ? 
 
 Pops. 
 
 The primal duties shine aloft like stars; 
 The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, 
 Are scatter'd at the foot of man like flowers. 
 
 ■WORDSWOBTn 
 
 I PROPOSE in this letter to talk to you concerniuj; 
 your relations to society. Many, and I may say 
 most young men fail for many years to get bold of tho 
 idea that tliey are members of society. Tbey seem to 
 suppose tbat tbe social macbinery of tbe world is self-ope- 
 rating. Tbey cast tbeir first ballot witb an emotion of 
 pride, perbaps, but arc sure to pay tbcir first tax witb a 
 groan. Tbey sec political organizations in active oxigt- 
 
 i 
 
 enco ; tbe parisb, and tbe cburcb, and otber important 
 bodies tbat embrace in some form of society aii men, 
 arc successfully operated ; and yet tbese young men 
 liavo no part nor lot in tbe matter. Tbey do not tbiuk 
 of giving a day's time to society. Tbey do not tbink 
 of giving anytbing to society. Tbey bave an idea tbat 
 tbe business of society is to look after tbem ; tbat tbey 
 are to be provided for, tbat seats are to be furnisbed to 
 tbem in tbe cburcbes gratis, tbat tbe Lyceum is to be 
 kept up for tbeir amusement — tbat all social movements 
 wbatsoever are to be organized and operated witbout 
 tbeir aid, and tbat tbey exist as legitimate objects of 
 tbeir criticism. Tbis is tbe very stupidity of selfisbness. 
 Some of you baven't known tbe fact until now, and arc 
 not very mucb to blame. It is one of tbe incidents of 
 wbat Fanny Kemble once called your " age of detesta- 
 bility." 
 
 One of tbe first tbings a young man sliould do is to 
 see tbat be is acting bis part in society. Tbe earlier 
 tbis is begun tbe better. I tbink tbat tbe opponents of 
 secret societies in collecres bave failed to estimate tlia 
 benefit wbicb it must be to every member to be obliged 
 to contribute to tbe support of bis particular organiza- 
 tion, and to assume personal care and responsibility as a 
 member. If tbese societies bave a tendency to tcacb 
 tbe lesson of wbicb I speak, tbey are a blessed tbing. 
 
64 
 
 TITCOMB'S LEITERS TO TOUNG MEN, 
 
 Half the ills of society originate in the fact that it^ bur 
 dens are unequally borne, and that the duties of indivi 
 duals to it are not discharged. Therefore I say to everjj 
 vouno" man, becfin early to do for the social institution! 
 in which you have your life. If you have intellect and 
 accomplishments, give them to the elevation and delight 
 of the circle in which you move. If you have none of 
 these, show an accommodating disposition by attending 
 the sewing circle and holding yarn for the girls. Do 
 your part, and be a man among men. Assume your 
 portion of social responsibility, and see that you dis 
 charge it well. If you do not do this, then you aro 
 mean, and society has the right to despise you just a? 
 much as it chooses. You are, to use a word more em- 
 phatic than agreeable, a sneak, and have not a claim 
 upon your neighbors for a single polite word. 
 
 Younor men have all noticed how easily some of theii 
 number get into society, and how others remain out of 
 a good social circle always. They are very apt to think 
 that society has not discharged its duties to them. No\> 
 all social duties are reciprocal. Society, as it is called, 
 is far more apt to pay its dues to the individual than 
 the individual to society. Have you, young man, who 
 are at home whining over the fact that you cannot get 
 into society, done anything to give you a claim to socia. 
 recognition ? Are you able to make any return for 
 
 SOCTAX DUTIES AND PEIVILEGES; 
 
 65 
 
 wcial recognition and social privileges ? Do you know 
 anything ? What kind of coin do you propose to pay, 
 in the discharge of the obligation which comes upon 
 you with social recognition ? In other words, as a re- 
 turn for what you wish to have society do for you, what 
 can you do for society ? This is a very important ques- 
 tion — more important to you than to society. The 
 question is, whether you will be a member of society 
 by right, or by courtesy. If you have so mean a spirit 
 as to be content to be a beneficiary of society — to re- 
 ceive favors and confer none — ^you have no business in 
 the society to which you aspire. You are an exacting, 
 conceited fellow. 
 
 You ask me what society would have of you. Any- 
 thing that you possess which has value in society. So- 
 ciety is not particular on this point. Can you act in a 
 charade ? Can you dance ? Can you tell a story well ? 
 Have yon travelled, and have you a pleasant faculty of 
 telling your adventures ? Are you educated, and able 
 to impart valuable ideas and general information ? Have 
 
 ou vivacity in conversation? Can you sing? Can 
 you play whist, and are you willing to assist those to a 
 pleasant evening who are not able to stand through a 
 party ? Do you wear a good coat^ and can you bring 
 good dress into the ornamental department of society ? 
 
 Are you up to anything in the way of private theatri- 
 
66 
 
 titcomb's letters to young men. 
 
 cals? If you do not possess a decent degree of sense, 
 can 3'ou talk decent nonsense ? Are you a good beau, 
 and are you willing to make yourself useful in wait 
 ing on the ladies on all occasions ? Have you a good 
 set of teeth, which you are willing to show whenever 
 the wit of the company gets oflf a good thing ? Are 
 you a true, straight-forward, manly fellow, with whose 
 healthful and uncornipted nature it is good for society 
 to come in contact ? In short, do you possess anything 
 of any social value ? If you do, and are willing to im- 
 part it, society will yield itself to your touch. If you 
 have nothing, then society, as such, owes you nothing. 
 Christian philanthropy may put its arm round you, as 
 a lonely young man, about to spoil for want of some- 
 thing, but it is very sad and humiliating for a young 
 man to be brought to that. Tliero are people who 
 devote themselves to nursing young men, and doing 
 them good. If they invite you to tea, go by all means, 
 and try your hand. If, in the course of the evening, 
 you can prove to them that your society is desirable, 
 you have won a point Don't be patronized. 
 
 Young men are very apt to get into a morbid state- 
 of mind, which disinclines them to social intercourse, 
 Tliey become devoted to business with such exclusive- 
 ness, that all social intercourse is irksome. They go 
 out to tea as if they were going to jail, and drag them- 
 
 r 
 
 SOCIAL DUTIES AND PEIVILEGES. 
 
 67 
 
 selves to a party as to an execution. This disposition 
 is thoroughly morbid, and to be overcome by going 
 where you are invited, always, and at any sacrifice 
 of feeling. Don't shrink from contact with anything 
 but bad morals. Men who affect your unhealthy minds 
 with antipathy, will prove themselves very frequently 
 to be your best friends and most delightful companions. 
 Because a man seems uncongenial to you, who are 
 squeamish and foolish, you have no right to shun him. 
 We become charitable by knowing men. We learn to 
 love those Avhom we have despised by rubbing against 
 them. Do you not remember some instance of meeting 
 a man or woman at a watering-place whom you have 
 never previously known nor cared to know — an indivi- 
 vidual, perhaps, against whom you have entertained 
 the strongest prejudices — ^but to whom you became 
 bound by a life-long friendship through the influence 
 of a three days' intercourse ? Yet if you had not thus 
 met, you would have carried through life the idea that 
 it would be impossible for you to give your fellowship 
 to such an individual. 
 
 God has introduced into human character infinite 
 variety, and for you to say that you do not love and 
 will not associate with a man because he is unlike you, 
 IS not only foolish but wrong. You are to remember 
 that in the precise manner and degree in which a man 
 
es 
 
 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO TOTING MEN. 
 
 differs from yon, do you differ from him ; and that from 
 his standpoint you are naturally as repulsive to him as 
 he, from your standpoint, is to you. So, leave all this 
 talk of congeniality to silly girls and transcendental 
 dreamers. Do your business in your own way, and 
 concede to every man the privilege which you claim 
 for yourself. The more you mix with men, the less 
 you will be disposed to quarrel, and the more chari- 
 table and liberal will you become. The fact that you 
 do not understand a man, is quite as likely to be your 
 fault as his. There arc a good many chances in favor 
 of the conclusion that, if you fail to love an individual 
 whose acquaintance you make, it is through your own 
 ignorance and illiberality. So I say, meet every man 
 honestly ; seek to know him ; and you will find that 
 in those points in which he differs from you rests his 
 power to instruct you, enlarge you, and do you good. 
 Keep your heart open for everybody, and be sure that 
 you shall have your reward. You shall find a jewel 
 under the most uncouth exterior ; and associated with 
 omcliest manners and the oddest ways and the ugliest 
 aces, you will find rare virtues, fragrant l>**le humani- 
 ties, and inspiring heroisms. ^^ * 
 
 Again : you can have no influence , ^ 38s you arc 
 social. A strictly exclusive man is as devoid of influ- 
 ence as an ice-peak is of verdure. If you will take a 
 
 SOCIAL AND MORAL FBIYILEGES. 
 
 69 
 
 peep at the Hudson river some bright morning, you will 
 see, ploughing grandly along towards the great metro 
 polis, a ma2;nificent steamer, the silver wave peeling off 
 from her cutwater, and a million jewels sparkling in 
 her wake, passing all inferior barks in sublime indiffer 
 ence, and sending yacht and skiff dancing from her 
 heel. Right behind her, you shall see a smaller steamer, 
 the central motive power of a plateau of barges, loaded 
 to their edges with the produce of thousands of well 
 tilled acres. She has fastened herself to these barges 
 by lines invisible to you. They may be homely things, 
 but they contain the food of the nation. Her own 
 speed may be retarded by this association, but the w^ork 
 she does for commerce is ten fold greater than that 
 accomplished by the grand craft that shuns abrasion as 
 misfortune, and seeks to secure nothing but individual 
 dignity and fast time. It is through social contact and 
 absolute social value alone that you can accomplish any 
 great social good. It is through the invisible lines 
 which you are able to attach to the minds with which 
 you are brought into association alone that you can tow 
 society, with its deeply freighted interests, to the great 
 haven of your hope. 
 
 The revenge which society takes upon the man who 
 isolates himself, is as terrible as it is inevitable. The 
 pride which sits alone, and will do nothing for society, 
 
^0 
 
 titcomb's leiteks to young men. 
 
 because society disgusts it, or because its possessor doe? 
 not at once have accorded to Lim bis position, will have 
 the privilege of sitting alone in its sublime disgust till it 
 drops into the grave. The world sweeps by the isolat- 
 ed man, carelessly, reraorsely, contemptuously. He 
 has no hold upon society, because he is not a part of it. 
 Tlie boat that refuses to pause in its passage, and tlirow 
 a line to smaller craft, will bring no tow into port. So 
 let me tell you, that if you have an honorable desire in 
 your heart for influence, you must be a thoroughly 
 social man. You cannot move men until you are one 
 of them. They will not follow you until they have 
 heard your voice, shaken your hand, and fully learned 
 your principles and your sympathies. It makes no dif- 
 ference how much you know, or how much you are 
 capable of doing. You may pile accomplishment upon 
 acquisition mountain high ; but if you fail to be a social 
 man, demonstrating to society that your lot is with the 
 rest, a little child with a song in its mouth, and a kiss 
 for all, and a pair of innocent hands to lay upon the 
 knees, shall lead more hearts and change the direction 
 of more lives than you. 
 
 LETTER VIIL 
 
 THE REASONABLENESS AND DESIRABLENESS OF RELIGION. 
 
 Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends I 
 
 Ilath he not always treasures, always friends, 
 
 The great good man ? Three treasures, love and light, 
 
 And calm thoughts, regular as infants' breath; 
 
 And three Arm friends, more sure than day and night — 
 
 Ilinjself, his maker, and the angel death ? 
 
 COLKKIDGE. 
 
 YOUNG men, I hate cant, and I do not know exactly 
 how to say what I wish to say in this letter ; but 
 I desire to talk to you rationally upon the subject of 
 relio-ion. Now don't stop reading at the mention of 
 this word, but read this letter through. The fact is, it 
 is the most important letter I have undertaken to write 
 to you. I know you, I think, very thoroughly. Life 
 looks so good to you, and you are anticipating so much 
 
12 
 
 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 from it, that religion comes to yon, and comes over yon 
 like a shadow. You associate it with long faces, and 
 prayer meetings, and psalm -singing, and dull sermons 
 and grave reproofs and stupidity. Your companions arc 
 gay, and so are you. Perhaps you make a jest of reli 
 gion ; but deep down in your heart of hearts you know 
 that you are not treating religion fairly. You know 
 perfectly well that there is something in it for you, and 
 that you must have it You know that the hour will 
 come when you will specially need it. But you wish to 
 put it off, and "enjoy life" first. This results very 
 much from the kind of preaching you have always lis- 
 tened to. You have been taught that human life is a 
 humbug, that these things which so greatly delight you 
 are vain and sinful, that your great business in this 
 world is to be saved, and that you are only to be saved 
 by learning to despise things that you love, and to love 
 things which you despise. You feel that this is unnatu- 
 ral and irrational. I think it is, myself. Now let me 
 talk to you. 
 
 Go with me, if you please, to the next station-house, 
 and look off upon that line of railroad. It is as straight 
 as an arrow. Out run the iron lines, glittering in the 
 Bun, — out, as far as we can see, until, converging almost 
 to a single thread, they pierce the sky. What were 
 those rails laid in that way for ? It is a road, is it ? 
 
 THE KEASONABLENESS OF BELIGION. 
 
 13 
 
 Try your cart or your coach there. The axletrces are 
 too narrow, and you go bumping along upon the sleep- 
 el's. Try a wheelbarrow. You cannot keep it on the 
 rail. But that road was made for something. Now go 
 with me to the locomotive shop. What is this ? We are 
 told it is a locomotive. What is a locomotive ? Why, 
 it is a carriage moved by steam. But it is very heavy. 
 Tha wheels would sink into a common road to the axle. 
 That locomotive can never run on a common road, and 
 the man is a fool who built it. Strange that men will 
 waste time and money in that way ! But stop a mo- 
 ment Why wouldn't those wheels just fit those rails ? 
 We measure them, and then we go to the track and 
 measure its gauge. That solves the diflSculty. Those 
 rails were intended for the locomotive, and the locomo- 
 tive for the rails. Tliey are good for nothing apart. 
 The locomotive is not even safe anywhere else. If it 
 should get off, after it is once on, it would run into rocks 
 and stumps, and bury itself in sands or swamps beyond 
 recovery. 
 
 Young man, you are a locomotive. You are a tiling 
 that goes by a power planted inside of you. You arc 
 made to go. In fact, considered as a machine, you are 
 very far superior to a locomotive. The maker of the 
 locomotive is man ; your maker is man's maker. You 
 are as different from a horse, or an ox, or a camel, as a 
 
74 
 
 titcomb's lettees to young men. 
 
 locomotive is different from a wheelbarrow, a cart, or a 
 coach. Now do you suppose that the being who made 
 you — manufactured your machine, and put into it the 
 motive power — did not make a special road for you to 
 run upon ? My idea of religion is that it is a railroad 
 for a human locomotive, fiid that just so sure as it 
 undertakes to run upon a road adapted only to animal 
 power, will it bury its wheels in the sand, dash itself 
 among rocks, and come to inevitable wreck. If you 
 don't believe this, try the other thing. Here are forty 
 roads : suppose you choose one of them, and see where 
 you come out Here is the dram-shop road. Try it. 
 Follow it, and see how long it will be before you come 
 to a stump and a smash-up. Here is the road of sen- 
 sual pleasure. You are just as sure to bury your 
 wheels in the dirt as you try it. Your machine is too 
 heavy for that track altogether. Here is the winding, 
 uncertain path of frivolity. There are morasses on each 
 side of it, and, with the headway that you are under, 
 you will be sure, sooner or later, to pitch into one of 
 them. Here is the road of philosophy, but it runs 
 through a country from which the light of Heaven is 
 shut out ; and while you may be able to keep your ma- 
 chine right side up,. it will only be by feeling yoii way 
 along in a clumsy, comfortless kind of style, and with 
 no certainty of ever arriving at the heavenly station- 
 
 THE REASONABLENESS OF RELIGION. 
 
 78 
 
 house. Here is the road of scepticism. That is cover- 
 ed with fo<r, and a fence runs across it within ten rods. 
 Don't you see that your machine was never intended to 
 run on those roads ? Don't you know that it never was, 
 and don't you know that the only track under heaven 
 upon which it can run safely is the religious track ? 
 Don't you know that just as long as you keep your 
 wheels on that track, wreck is impossible ? Don't you 
 know that it is the only track on which wreck is not 
 certain ? I know it, if you don't ; and I tell you that 
 on that track which God has laid down expressly for 
 vour soul to run upon, your soul will find free play for 
 all its wheels, and an unobstructed and happy progress. 
 It is straight and narrow, but it is safe and solid, and 
 furnishes the only direct route to the heavenly city. 
 Now, if God made your soul, and made religion for it, 
 you are a fool if you refuse to place yourself on the 
 track. You cannot prosper anywhere else, and your 
 machine will not run anywhere else. 
 
 I suppose that a nice casuist would say that I had 
 thus far talked only of morality — only of obedience to law. 
 But I was only dealing with the subject in the rough, 
 and trying to show you how rational a thing religion is, 
 and to bring to your comprehension your natural rela- 
 tion to it. I know that the rule of your life is selfish- 
 ness. I know that you are sinful, polluted, wilful, and 
 
^6 
 
 tttcomb's lettebs to young men. 
 
 that you act from low motives. I know that the i-ace 
 to which you belong have all fallen from innocence, and 
 that they have so thoroughly put out the light that God 
 meant should light every man who comes into tho 
 world, that, supplementary to the natural moral system, 
 He has, in great benevolence, devised a scheme of reli- 
 gion, embracing salvation. This is Christianity, and its 
 purpose is to get you back upon the track where the 
 race first started. It is a divine contrivance, or plan, for 
 accon)plishing this purpose. 
 
 Jesus Christ saw the whole mass of human machinery 
 off the track, and going to irremediable ruin just so 
 truly as he did pot interfere to prevent it. He came 
 and told us all how to get back, through repentance, 
 faith, reformation, the surrender of will, the abnegation 
 of self, and the devotion of the heart in love to God 
 and good will to men. He placed himself upon the 
 track and ran over it, not only showing us how to get 
 there ourselves, but showing us how to run when there. 
 In other words, he exhibited to us a tnie human life. 
 Then, when he had cleared away all the rubbish from 
 the track, shown us how to get upon it again, how to run 
 when we get there, how to avoid and repair accidents by 
 the way, — when he had done all this, and set his agents 
 at work in carrying out his plans, he went back to Hea- 
 \'en, and now looks down to see how the work goes on. 
 
 THE REASONABLENESS OF EELIGION. 
 
 11 
 
 Young men, / believe this. I know it is true, and I 
 know, and God knows that this plan which he has 
 devised to save you and make it possible for you to 
 lead a true human life, which shall ultimate in life's 
 highest issues, is the only one which can save you. I 
 know that you can never be happy until you have 
 heartily and practically accepted this religion ; and for 
 you to go on, year after year, carelessly, thoughtlessly, 
 spoiling yourself, growing harder, meaner, more polluted, 
 with no love to God and outgushing benevolence to men, 
 is an insult to Jesus Christ and a brutal wrong to that 
 which he came to save. The fiict is that sin is the most 
 unmanly thing in God's world. You never were made 
 for sin and selfishness. You were made for love and 
 obedience. If you think it is manly to reject religion, 
 and the noble obligations it imposes upon you, it only 
 shows how strong a hold the devil has upon you. It 
 shows how degraded you are ; how the beast that is in 
 vou domineers over the soul that is in you. 
 
 Young man, your personal value depends entirely 
 upon your possession of religion. You are worth to 
 yourself what you are capable of enjoying; you arc 
 worth to society the happiness you are capable of 
 imparting. To yourself, without religion, you are worth 
 very little. A man whose aims are low, whose motives 
 tre selfish, who has in his heart no adoration for the 
 
i ^8 
 
 TITCOMB'S LEITERS TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 great God, and no love of bis Christ, whose will is not 
 subordinate to the Supreme will — gladly and gratefully 
 — who has no faith, no tenable hope of a happy immor- 
 tality, no strong-armed trust that with his soul it shall 
 be well in all the future, caftnot be worth very much t< 
 himself. Neither can such a man be worth very much 
 to society, because he has not that to bestow which 
 society most needs for its prosperity and its happiness, 
 A locomotive off the track is worth nothing to its 
 owner or the public so long as it is off the track. The 
 conditions of its legitimate and highest value are not 
 complied with. It cannot be operated satisfactorily to 
 the owner, or usefully to the public, because it is not 
 where it was intended to run by the man who made it. 
 Just look at the real object of religion, and see how 
 rational it is. It is the placing of your souls in har- 
 mony with God and his laws. God is the perfect, 
 supreme soul, and your souls arc the natural offspring 
 of that soul. Your souls are made in the image of his, 
 and, like all created things, are subject to certain 
 inamutablo laws. The transgression of these laws 
 damages your souls, warps them, stunts their growth, 
 outrages them. Do you not see that you can only be 
 manly and attain a manly growth by preserving your 
 true relations and likeness to the father soul, and a 
 strict obedience to the laws of your being ? God has 
 
 THE KEASONABLENESS OP RELIGION. 
 
 19 
 
 given you appetites, and he meant you should indulge 
 them, and that they should be sources of happiness to 
 you; but always in a way which shall not interfere 
 with your spiritual growth and development. He gave 
 you passions, and they are just as sacred as any part of 
 you, but tbcy are to be under the strict control of your 
 reason and your conscience. He gave you desires for 
 earthly happiness. He planted in you the love of 
 human praise, delight in society, the faculty to enjoy all 
 his works. He gave you his works to enjoy, but you 
 can only enjoy them truly when you regard them as 
 blessings from the great Giver, to feed and not starve 
 your higher natures. There is not a true joy in life 
 which you are required to deprive yourself of, in being 
 faithful to him and his laws. Without obedience to 
 law, your souls cannot be healthful, and -it is only to a 
 healthful soul that pleasure comes with its natural— its 
 divine aroma. Is a nose stuffed with drugs capable of 
 perceiving the delicate fragrance of the rose ? Is the 
 soul that intensifies its pleasures as an object of life 
 capable of a healthful appreciation of even purely sen- 
 Bual pleasures? The idea of a man's enjoying life 
 without religion is absurd. 
 
 I have been thus particular upon this point, because 
 I love you, and because I know that without it, or 
 independent of it, all my previous talk has very littl 
 
80 
 
 titcomb's letters to toxtng hen. 
 
 Bignificance. I have reasoned tlie thing to you on its 
 merits, and I urge it upon your immediate attention, as 
 a matter of duty and policy. Tlie matter of duty you 
 understand. I do not need to talk to you about that 
 Now about the policy. It will not be five years, proba- 
 bly, before every one of you will be involved, head and 
 ears, in business. Some of you are thus involved 
 already. You grow hard as you grow older. You get 
 . abits of thought and life which incrust you. You 
 -ecome surrounded with associations which hold you, 
 o that the longer you live without religion the worse 
 will be for you, and the less probable will be your 
 doption of a religious life. If you expect to be a man, 
 70U must begin now. It is so easy, comparatively, to 
 lo it now ! 
 
 With this paragraph I cease to direct my words par- 
 ticularly to you. What I have said to you, I have said 
 heartily and conscientiously. I shall see you some 
 time. We are none of us to live very long, but if wo 
 all act the manly part we were sent here to act, and are 
 true to God and ourselves, we shall be gathered into a 
 great kingdom, whose throne will be occupied by tlie 
 founder of our religion. During some golden hour of 
 that cloudless day, sitting or straying upon some 
 heavenly hill, watching upon the far-stretching plains 
 the tented hosts of God's redeemed, or marking the 
 
 THE reasonableness OF RELIGION. 
 
 81 
 
 shadow of fui angel's flight across the bright mirror of 
 the river of life, I shall say something about these let- 
 *>crs to you. I shall look you in the face as I say it, to 
 vje if you are moved to an emotion of gratitude or 
 of gratification ; and if you should happen to tell me 
 that they made you better, that they led you to a 
 higher development, that they directed you to a manly 
 and a godly life, I should press your hand, and if I 
 should keep from weeping it would be more than I can 
 do now. 
 
LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 L 
 
 DRESS — ITS PROPRIETIES AND ABUSES, 
 
 A creature not too bright or good 
 For human nature's daily food ; 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 
 
 A perfect woman, nobly planned 
 To warn, to comfort, and command. 
 
 WOEDSWOKTH. 
 
 I have observed, among all nations, that the women ornament them 
 
 •elves more than the men. 
 
 John Lebtabdw 
 
 I ACCOUNT a pure, beautiful, intelligent, and well- 
 bred woman, the most attractive object of vision 
 and contemplation in the world. As mother, sister, and 
 wife, such a woman is an angel of grace and goodness, 
 and makes a heaven of the home which is sanctified 
 and glorified by her presence. As an element of society 
 she invites into finest demonstrations all that is good in 
 
86 TITCOMB'S LEITEKS TO YOUNG AVOMEN. 
 
 the lieai-t, and shames into secresy and silence all that 
 is unbecoming and despicable. There may be more of 
 greatness and of glory in the higher developments of 
 manhood, but, surely, in womanhood God most delights 
 to show the beauty of the holiness and the sweetness 
 of the love of which he is the infinite source. It is for 
 this reason that a girl or a young woman is a very 
 sacred thing to me. It is for this reason that a silly 
 young woman or a vicious one makes me sigh or shud- 
 der. It is for this reason that I pray that I may write 
 worthily to young women. 
 
 In getting at a piece of work, it is often necessary, as 
 a preliminary, to clear away rubbish ; and I say at firs*, 
 that I do not write to masculine young women. I 
 deem masculine women abnormal women, and I there- 
 fore refer all those women who wish to vote, who 
 delight in the public exhibition of themselves, who 
 bemoan the fate which drapes them in petticoats, who 
 quarrel with St. Paul and their lot, who own more 
 rights than they possess ; and fail to fulfil the duties 
 ol their sphere while seeking for its enlargement — ^I 
 refer all these to the eight letters recently addressed to 
 young men. They will find some practical remarks in 
 those letters upon masculine development and a manly 
 discharge of life's duties. My theory may be very un- 
 sound, but it is my belief, that the first natural division 
 
 DBESS — ^iTS rnoriUETiKs Jlsd abuses. 
 
 87 
 
 of the human race is marked by the line that distin- 
 guishes the sexes. I believe that a true woman is just 
 as difi'erent from a true man as a true man is different 
 from a true woman. The nature and the constitution 
 of the masculine are one, and the nature and constitu- 
 tion of the feminine are another. So of the glory 
 attached to each ; so of the functions ; so of the sphere 
 Therefore, if there bo "strong-minded women" who 
 read these letters, I bid them, with all kindness, to turn 
 to the other series for that which will most benefit 
 them. 
 
 I shall talk first of that thing which, worthily oi 
 most unworthily, engages the minds of all young wo- 
 men, viz. — DRESS. I speak of this first, because it is 
 part of the mbbish which I wish to get out of the way 
 before commencing more serious work ; and yet this is 
 not altogether trivial. I believe in dress. I believe 
 that God delights in beautiful things, and as he has 
 never made anything more beautiful than woman, I 
 believe that that mode of dressing the form and face 
 which best harmonizes with their beauty, is that which 
 pleases him best. I believe the mode of female 
 dress prevalent among the Shaker women is absolute 
 desecration. To take anything which infinite ingenu- 
 ity and power have made beautiful, and capable by the 
 gracefulness of its form and the harmony of its parts 
 
88 TITCOMB'S LETTEKS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 of producing the purest pleasure to the observer, and 
 clothe it with a meal bag and crown it with a suo-ar- 
 scoop, is an irreverent trifling with sacred things which 
 should be punished by mulct and imprisonment. | 
 
 It is a shame to any woman who has the means to 
 dress well, to dress meanly, and it is a particular shame 
 for any woman to do this in the name of religion. I have 
 seen women who, believing the fashionable devotion to 
 dress to be sinful, as it doubtless is, go to that extreme in 
 plainness of attire which, if it prove anything touching 
 the power that governs them, proves that it is a power 
 which is at war with man's purest instincts, and most 
 elevated tastes. I say it is a shame for a woman to 
 dress unattractively who has it in her power to dres» 
 well. It is every woman's duty to make herself 
 pleasant and attractive by such raiment and omameni 
 as shall best accord with the style of beauty witt 
 which she is endowed. The beauty of woman's per- 
 son was intended to be a source of pleasure— the 
 fitting accompaniment of that which in humanity is the 
 most nearly allied to the angelic. Surely, if God plants 
 flowers upon a clod they may rest upon a woman's 
 bosom, or glorify a woman's hair! 
 
 But dress is a subordinate thing, because beauty is 
 not the essential thing. Beauty is very desirable ; it is 
 a very great blessing ; it is a misfortune to possess an 
 
 t 
 
 DBEss — ^rrs PROPBiErnKS and abuses. 
 
 89 
 
 unattractive person ; but there are multitudes of women 
 with priceless excellences of heart and mind who are 
 not beautiful. Beauty, so far as it is dependent upon 
 form and color, is a material thing, and belongs to the 
 grosser nature. Therefore, dress is a subject which 
 should occupy comparatively few of the thoughts of a 
 true woman, whether beautiful or not. To dress well, 
 becomingly, even richly, if it can be afforded, is a wo- 
 man's duty. To make the dress of the person the ex- 
 ponent of personal taste, is a woman's privilege. But 
 to make dress the grand object of life ; to think of 
 nothing and talk of nothing but that which pertains to 
 the drapery and artificial ornament of the pei-son, is 
 but to transform the trick of a courtesan into amuse- 
 ment for a fool. There are multitudes of women with 
 whom dress is the all-prevalent thought. They think 
 of it, dream of it, live for it. It is enough to disgust 
 one to hear them talk about it. It goes with them 
 from the gaiety of the ball-room into the weeds of the 
 house of death. They use it as a means for splitting 
 grief into vulgar fractions," and are led out from great 
 bereavements into the consolations of vanity, by the 
 hands of numerators and denominators. They flat- 
 ter one another, envy one another, hate one another — 
 all on the score of dress. They go upon the street to 
 «how tho^'r dresses. They enter the house of God to 
 
90 titcomb's leitebs to young women. 
 
 display their bonnets. Tliey actually prize themselvc& 
 more highly for what they wear than for any charm of 
 person or mind which they may possess I 
 
 One of the most vulgar and unbecoming things in 
 the world is this devotion to dress, which, in many 
 minds, grows into a form of insanity, and leads to the 
 worship of dry goods and dress-makers. Now it will be 
 impossible for me to give you special directions upon 
 this subject of dress. Your dress-maker and your 
 books, and, better than all, your own taste and expe- 
 rience, will tell you what colors become your complex- 
 ion, what style of make best accords with your form 
 and style of movement. I shall only speak generally ; 
 and I say, first, dress modestly. It is all well enough 
 for little girls to show their necks, but for a woman to 
 make her appearance in the society of young men with 
 such displays of person as are made in what is so mis- 
 takenly called " full dress," is a shame to her. I know 
 what fashion allows in this matter, and fashion has 
 many sins to answer for. Thousands of girls dress in a 
 manner that they would discard with horror and dis 
 gust, if the^ knew the trains of thought which are sug- 
 gested by thfe.'r presence. I know young men, and I 
 know there is not one in one hundred who attends a 
 " full dress party," and comes out as pure and worthy a 
 man as he went in. There is not one' in one hundred 
 
 
 I 
 
 DRESS ^ITS PEOPKIETIES AND ABUSES. 
 
 91 
 
 who does not hold the secret of a base thought 
 suggested by the style of dress which he sees around 
 him. This may tell very badly for young men. Doubt- 
 less it does ; but we are obliged to take things as we 
 find them. The millennium has not dawned yet, and we 
 have receded to a considerable distance from the era of 
 human innocence. I tell you a fact ; and, if you arc 
 modest young women, you will heed its suggestions. 
 If you choose to become the objects of foul fancies 
 among young men, whose respect you are desirous of 
 securing, you know the way. 
 
 Again, shun peculiarities of dress which attract the 
 attention of the vulgar. Just now the red petticoat is 
 the talk of the newspaper world. It is the inspiring 
 theme of many a sportive pen, and when one of these is 
 seen upon the street, it attracts the attention of the pru- 
 rient crowd. A modest woman will shun a notoriety 
 like this, until it ceases to be such. I should deprecate 
 the appearance upon the street of a sister of mine with 
 such a garment, ostentatiously displayed, as a calamit} 
 to her ; and yet I do not believe I am a squeamish man 
 I know that a young woman can dress in such a way as 
 to excite a chaste and worthy admiration among her 
 own sex as well as mine, and my judgment tells me 
 that that is the proper dress for her to wear. I feel that 
 it is right and well for her to dress like this, and 
 
92 
 
 TITCOMB'S LEITEBS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 that it is not right and well for her to dress other* 
 wise. 
 
 Again, dress in such a manner that your attire will 
 not occupy your thoughts after it is upon you. Let 
 every garment be well fitted and well put on— ugly in 
 no point, fussy in no point, nor made of such noticeable 
 material that you necessarily carry with you the con- 
 sciousness that people around you are examining it. 
 Make it always subordinate to yourself — tributary to 
 your charms, rather than constituent of them. Then 
 the society in which you move will see you, and not 
 your housings and trappings. " Jane was dressed very 
 becomingly," or "how well Jane looked," are very 
 much more complimentary comments than " that was a 
 splendid dress that Jane wore ;" and a tolerably acute 
 mind may gather from these expressions the philosophy 
 of the whole thing. 
 
 There is, as a general thing, no excuse for attire 
 which is not neat and orderly, at any time :n the day. 
 A thoroughly neat and orderly young woman is pre- 
 sentable at any hour, whether she be in the kitchen oi 
 parlor ; and I have seen specimens of womanhood that 
 were as attractive at the wash-tub, with their tidy haii 
 and their nine-penny calico, as in their parlors at a later 
 hour, robed in silk and busy at their embroidery. Ma- 
 terials may bo humble, but they may always bo tasto- 
 
 
 DBESS — ITS PEOPErETEES AND ABUSES. 
 
 93 
 
 fully made and neatly kept. There are few habits that 
 a young woman may acquire which, in the long run, 
 will tend more to the preservation of her own self- 
 respect than that of thorough tastefulness, appropriate- 
 ness, and tidiness of dj^ss, and certainly very few which 
 will make her more agreeable to others. 
 
 So, I say, dress well if you can afford it, always 
 neatly, never obtrusively, and always with a modest 
 regard to rational ideas of propriety. Scorn the idea of 
 making dress in any way the great object of life. It is 
 beneath yon. A woman was made for something 
 bigner than a convenient figure for displaying uiy- 
 goods and the possibilities of millinery and mantua- 
 making. 
 
h 
 
 \l 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 •HE TRANSITION FROM OIRLHOOU TC WOMATmO^>» 
 
 O mhtn and Innocence I milk aui woter I 
 Ye happy mixtures of more bappy days I 
 
 Btkov. 
 
 "We figure to ourselves the thing wo like, and then we build It up a« 
 chance will have it, on the rock or sand. ' . 
 
 HXNBT TaTLOS. 
 
 EVERY young woman who has arrived at twenty 
 years of age has passed through three dispensa- 
 tions — the chaotic, the transitional, and the crystalline. 
 The chaotic usually terminates with the adoption of the 
 lono- skirt. Then commences the transitional dispen- 
 satioE, involving the process of cryg*«llization. This 
 process may go on feehly for years, or it may proceed 
 BO rapidly that two years will complete it. In some 
 
 TEANSmOK FBOM GIRLHOOD TO WOMANHOOD. 95 
 
 women, it is never completed, in consequence of a lact 
 of inherent vital force, or a criminal disregard of the 
 requisite conditions. This transitional dispensation, 
 which is better characterized by calling it the silly 
 dispensation, is so full of dangers that it calls for k 
 separate letter ; and this I propose to write now. 
 
 The silly dispensation or stage of a young womanS 
 life is marked by many curious symptoms, some of 
 them indicative of disease. As the cutting of the 
 natural teeth is usually accompanied by various dis- 
 orders, so the cutting of the spiritual teeth in women is 
 very apt to exhibit its results in abnormal manifesta- 
 tions. They sometimes eat slate pencils and chalk, and 
 some have been known to take kindly to broken bits 
 of plastering. Others take a literary turn, and, not 
 content witlr any number of epistles to female acquain- 
 tances, send in contributions to the press, which the 
 friendly and appreciative editor kindly and carefully 
 returns, or as kindly and carefully loses, or fails to 
 .receive. Othei-s still take to shopping and dawdling 
 with clerks who have dawning beards, red cheeks, aud 
 frock coats with outside pockets, from which protrude 
 white handkerchief-tips. Still others yoke themselves 
 in paii-s, drawn together by sympathetic attraction, and 
 by community of mental exercise on the subject of 
 beaux. You shall see them walking through the 
 
M TTTCOMB'S LEITERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 Streets, locked arm in arm, plunging into the most 
 charming confidences, or, if you happen to sleep in the 
 house with them, you shall hear them talking in 
 their chamber until, at midnight, the monotonous hum 
 of their voices has soothed you into sleep ; and the 
 same voices, y^ith the same unbroken hum, shall greet 
 your ears in the morning. Others take to solitude and 
 long curls. They walk with their eyes down, murmur- 
 ing to themselves, with the impression that everybody 
 is looking at them. 
 
 If a young woman can be safely carried through this 
 dispensation, the great step of life will have been gained. 
 This is the era of hasty marriages, deathless attach- 
 ments which last until they are superseded, and deli- 
 berately formed determinations to live a maiden life, 
 which endure until the reception of an offer of marriacre. 
 It during this period, a young woman be at home, en- 
 gaged more or less in the duties of the household, or, 
 if she be engaged in study, with the healthful restraints 
 and stimulus of general society about her, it is very well 
 for her. But if she be among her mates constantly, with 
 nothing to do, or if she be shut up in a boarding-school 
 conducted on the high pressure principle, where imagina- 
 tion is stimulated by restraint, and disobedience to law 
 is provoked by its unreasonableness, it is indeed very 
 bad for her. 
 
 TRANSITION FBOM GIELHOOD TO WOMANHOOD. 97 
 
 It is probable that the theatre is a school of vice 
 rather than of virtue, that the ball-room is a promoter 
 of dissipation, and that indiscriminate society has its 
 temptations and its dangers; but a female boarding- 
 school, shut off from general society by law, its mem- 
 bers lacking free exercise in the open air, denied the 
 privilege of daily amusements, and presided over by 
 teachers who fail to understand the nature of the pre- 
 cious material they have in charge, is as much worse 
 for mind and morals than all these combined, as can 
 well be imagined. I know female boarding-schools that 
 are properly conducted, whose teachers know what a 
 girl is, and what she needs, and who contrive to lead 
 her through this transitional passage of her life into a 
 healthful and rational womanhood ; and I know others 
 whose very atmosphere is that of fever. I know board- 
 ing-schools where beaux arc the everlasting topic of 
 conversation, and where an unhealthy imagination is so 
 stimulated by irrational restraints and mutual fellow- 
 foeding, that the foundation of nearly every character is 
 necessarily laid in rottenness. 
 
 If any young woman, in a boarding-school or out of 
 
 it, should find herself a subject of any of the diseases 
 
 wnich I have pointed out, she should seek a remedy at 
 
 once. If she finds herself moved to go shopping for 
 
 the simple purpose of talking with the clerks, let her 
 
 5 
 
98 titcomb's lettees to young women. 
 
 remember that she is not only doing an immodest and 
 unbecoming thing, but that she is manifesting the 
 symptom of that which is a dangerous mental disease. 
 To begin with, she is doing a very silly thing. Again, 
 she is doing that which compromises her in the eyes of 
 all sensible young men. If she finds herself possessed 
 with unaccountable proclivities to a mineral diet, or a 
 ^^SoY out-reaching for something or other that mani- 
 fests itself in profound confidences with one similarly 
 afflicted, or any one of a hundred absorbing sentimen- 
 talisms, let her remember that she is mentally and 
 morally sick, and that, for her own comfort and peace, 
 she should seek at once for a remedy. Her only safety 
 is in seeking direct contact with a liealthier and moro 
 advanced life, and by securing healthful occupation for 
 all her powers, intellectual and physical. Dreams, 
 imaginations, silly talk and twaddle about young men, 
 yearnings after sympathetic hearts, tlie dandling cf 
 precious little thoughts about beaux on the knees of 
 fancy, and all that sort of nonsense should be discarded 
 —thrust out of the sacred precincts of the mind — as 
 if they were so many foul reptiles. Get out of this 
 feverish and unhealthy frame just as soon as possible, 
 and walk foilh into a more natural, dignified, and 
 womanly life. 
 
 A young woman at this age should remember tliat 
 
 TRANSITION FBOM GIBIHOOD TO WOMANHOOD. 99 
 
 her special business is to fit herself for the duties of life. 
 I would not deny to her the society of young men, 
 when she has time for it, and a proper opportunity, but 
 she should remember that she has nothing to do with 
 oeaux, nothing to do with thoughts of and calculations 
 for marriage, nothing to do but to become, in the 
 noblest way, a woman. She should remember that she 
 18 too young to know her own mind, and that, as a 
 general thing, it is not worth knowing. Girlish attach- 
 ments and girlish ideas of men are the silliest things in 
 all the world. If you do not believe it, ask your 
 mothers. Ninety-nine times in a hundred they will 
 tell you that they did not marry the boy they fancied, 
 before they had a right to fancy anybody. If you 
 dream of matrimony for amusement, and for the sake 
 of killing time, I have this to say, that, considering the 
 kind of young men you fancy, you can do quite as well 
 by hanging a hat upon a hitching-post, and worshipping 
 it through your chamber window. Besides, it is during 
 this period of unsettled notions and readily shifting 
 
 ttachments that a habit of flirting and a love of it are 
 generated. 
 
 I suppose that coquetry, in its legitimate form, is 
 among a woman's charms, and that there is a legitimate 
 sphere for its employment, for, except in rare natures, 
 
 t is a natural thing with your sex. Nature has 
 
100 titcomb's letteks to young women. 
 
 ordained that men shall prize most that which shall 
 cost an effort, and while it has designed that you shall 
 at some time give your heart and hand to a worthy 
 man, it has also provided a way for making the priz 
 he seeks an apparently difficult one to win. It is a 
 simple and beautiful provision for enhancing your value 
 in his eyes, so as to make a difficult thing of that which 
 you know to be unspeakably easy. If you hold your- 
 selves cheaply, and meet all advances with open willin<y- 
 ness and gladness, the natural result will be that your 
 lover will tire of you. I introduce this subject here, 
 not because I wish to, but because I am compelled to, 
 in order to explain what I have to say upon the habit 
 and love of flirting. 
 
 To become a flirt is to metamorphose into a disgust- 
 ing passion that which by natural constitution is a 
 harmless and useful instinct. This instinct of coquetry, 
 which makes a woman a thing to be won, and which I 
 suppose all women are conscious of possessing in some 
 degree, is not a thing to be cultivated or developed, at 
 all. It should be left to itself, unstimulated and unper- 
 verted, and if, in the formative stage of your woman- 
 hood, by initiating shallow attachments and heartlessly 
 breaking them, or seeking to make impressions for the 
 Bake of securing attentions which are repaid by insult 
 and negligence, you do violence to your nature, you 
 
 ■ 
 
 TEANSmON PROM GIRLHOOD TO WOMANHOOD. 101 
 
 make of yourself a woman whom your own sex despise, 
 and whom all sensible men who do not mean to chea* 
 you with insincerities as mean as yours, are afraid o( 
 They will not love, and they will not trust you. Thi 
 instinct, then, is not a thing to be harmlessly player 
 with ; and I know of few more unhappy and disgusting 
 sights than a girl bringing into her womanhood thii 
 passion — harmful alike to herself and others. 
 
 The natural and inevitable influence of the devotion 
 of your thoughts — spoken, written, or unexpressed — to 
 beaux and the subject of marriage, while your mind is 
 undergoing a process of crystallization, is to deter that 
 process, to vitiate it, and to make you unworthy in 
 many ways. It is all-important to you at this time to 
 have the counsel of a good, sensible woman, who shall 
 be your senior by at least ten years. She should be a 
 married woman, and, by all means, your mother, unless 
 there be some natural bar to entire communion between 
 you. Do nothing, and give a cherished entertainment 
 to no thoughts which you are unwilling to reveal to 
 this woman. If your companions persist in keeping 
 subjects of this character before your mind, leave 
 them — cut them. 
 
 It is necessary that, while your education is activciy 
 in progress, your perceptions be kept healthful, and 
 your sentiments nnperverted by thoughtless tampering 
 
102 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 with a subject which you will some time come to know 
 is one of the most serious moment. It spoils a girl to 
 get the idea into her head, that marriage is the chief 
 end of woman, that education is but a preparation for 
 matrimony, and that accomplishments arc nothing but 
 contrivances for catching a husband. And now, vounir 
 woman, whose eye traces these lines, I ask you to decide 
 how much of this letter belongs to you. IIow arc you 
 living? What is the principal subject of your thoughts? 
 I know that I reveal some young women to themselves; 
 and I only fear that they will find themselves so bound 
 to their seductive thoughts and fancies— so dissipated 
 and enervated by them — that they have not mom 
 strength enough left to break away from them. 
 
 
 L 
 
 LETTER m. 
 
 ACQUISITIONS AND ACCOMPLISUMlirTS, 
 
 Show ns how divine a thing 
 A woman may be made. 
 
 WOEDSWOBTD. 
 
 r' is a matter of special importance to you that you 
 comprehend and thoroughly appreciate the differ- 
 ence between accomplishments and scientific and literary 
 acquisitions. A woman may have many acquisitions, 
 and no accomplishments, in the usual meaning of that 
 word, and vice versa. As the life of woman goes in this 
 countrj^ these acquisitions perform their most important 
 office in the process by which they are achieved ;— that 
 is, the great work which they do for a woman is that of 
 training and disciplining her mind. Many a woman 
 thoroughly learned Algebra at school, with decided 
 
104 titcomb's lettees to yoctng women. 
 
 advantage to herself, who never makes a practical use 
 of Algebra. She may have been a good Latin or Greek 
 scholar, but, having no important use for her acquisi- 
 tion in practical life, she suflfers her knowledge of thoso 
 languages to fade out. In short, there are very few of 
 her text-books which, in five years after leaving school, 
 she would not be obliged to review with the severest 
 study before she could re-acquire the credit she won in 
 her last examination. A woman may have a pet 
 acquisition which she transforms, by her manner of 
 treatment, into an accomplishment. Botany is thus 
 transformed, not unfrequently, into a very graceful thino". 
 
 An accomplishment differs from a science, or a sys- 
 tem of truth of any kind, acquired during the process of 
 education, in that it needs to be permanent, and so far 
 as possible perfect, to be of any use to the individual or 
 to society. Music, drawing, conversation, composition, 
 the French language, dancing— all these in America are 
 regarded as accomplishments ; yet of fifty women who 
 acquire either of them, or all of them, not more than 
 two retain them. 
 
 Miss Georgiana Aurelia Atkins Green was an intimate 
 friend of mine, or, rather, perhaps I should say, her 
 mother's brother boarded my horse, and I bought my 
 meat of her father. It was the determination of Mrs, 
 Green that her daughter should be a finished lady. 
 
 ACQUISITIONS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 106 
 
 During the finishing process I saw but little of her. It 
 occupied three years, and was performed at a fashiona- 
 ble boarding-school, between the ages of fifteen and 
 eighteen, regardless of expense. When she was finished 
 off, she was brought home in triumph, and exhibited on 
 various occasions to crowds of admiring friends. I went 
 one evening to see her. She was really very pretty, 
 and took up her role with spirit, and acted it admira- 
 bly. I saw a portfolio lying upon her piano, and know- 
 inn^ that I was expected to seize upon it at once, I did 
 60, against Miss Green's protestation, which she was 
 expected to make, of course. I found in it various pen- 
 cil drawings, a crayon head of the infant Samuel, and a 
 terrible shipwreck in India ink. Tlie sketches were not 
 without merit. These were all looked over, and praised, 
 of course. Then came the music. This was some 
 years ago, and the most that I remember is that she 
 played Dolce Concento with the variations, and the 
 Battle of Prague, the latter of which the mother 
 explained to me during its progress. The pieces were 
 cleverly executed, and then I undertook to talk to the 
 young woman. I gathered from her conversation that 
 Mrs. Martinet, the principal of the school wherv^ she had 
 been finished, was a lady of " so much style !" that Miss 
 Kittleton of New York was the dearest girl in the 
 
 school, and that she (Georgiana) and the said Kittleton 
 
 5* 
 
106 TITCOMB'S LETTEKS to young WOMEN". 
 
 were such friends tliat they always dressed alike ; and 
 that Miss Kittleton's brother Fred was a magnificent fel- 
 low. The last was said with a blush, from the embar- 
 rassments of which she escaped gracefully by stating ihat 
 the old Kittleton was a banker, and rolled in money. 
 
 It was easy to sec that the parents of this dear girl 
 admired her profoundly. I pitied her and them, and 
 determined, as a matter of duty, that I w ould show her 
 just how much her accomplishments were worth. I 
 accordingly asked of my wife the favor to invite the 
 whole family to tea, in a quiet way. They all came, on 
 the appointed evening, and after the tea was over, I 
 expressed my delight that there was one young lady in 
 our neighborhood who could do something to elevate 
 the tone of our society. I then drew out, in a careless 
 way, a letter I had just received from a Frenchman, and 
 asked of Miss Georgiana the favor to read it to me. 
 She took the letter, blushed, went half through the first 
 line correctly, then broke down on a simple word, and 
 confessed that she could not read it. It was a little 
 cruel ; but I wished to do her good, and proceeded with 
 my experiment. I took up a piece of music, and asked 
 her if she had seen it. She had not. I told her there 
 was a pleasure in store for both of us. I had heard the 
 song once, and I would trj^ to sing it if she would play 
 iJie accompaniment. She declared she could not do it 
 
 ACQUISITIONS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 107 
 
 without practice, but I told her she was too modest by 
 half. So I dragged her, protesting, to the piano. She 
 knew she should break down. I knew she would, and 
 gne did. Well, I would not let her rise, for as Mr. and 
 Mrs. Green were fond of the old-fashioned church music 
 and had been singers in their day, and in their way, I 
 selected an old tune, and called them to the piano to 
 assist Miss Green gave us the key, and we started off 
 in fine style. It was a race to see which would come 
 out ahead. Georgiana w^on, by skipping most of the 
 notes. She rose from the piano with her cheeks as red 
 as a beet. 
 
 " By the way," said I, " Georgiana, your teacher of 
 drawing must have been an excellent one." I did not 
 tell her that I had seen evidence of this in her own 
 efforts in art, but I touched the right spring, and the 
 lady gave ine the teacher's credentials, and told me 
 what such and such people had said of her. " Well," 
 said I, " I am glad if there is one young woman who 
 has learned drawing properiy. Now you have nothing 
 to do but to practise your delightful art, and you must 
 do something for the benefit of your friends. I promised 
 a sketch of my house to a particular friend, at a dis- 
 tance, and you shall come up to-morrow ancl make one. 
 I remember that beautiful cottage among your sketches ; 
 and I should prize a sketch of my own, even half as 
 
108 titcomb's letters to young women. 
 
 well done, very liiglily." The poor girl was blushii.g 
 again, and from the troubled countenances of hei 
 parents, I saw that they had begun indistinctly to com- 
 prehend the shallowness — the absolute wcrthlessness — 
 of the accomplishments that had cost them so much. 
 Georgiana acknowledged that she had never sketch e(' 
 from nature — that her teacher had never required it ot 
 her, and that she had no confidence that she could 
 sketch so simple an object as my house. The Greenp. 
 took an early leave, and I regret to say a cool one. 
 They were mortified, and there was not good sense 
 enough in the girl to make an improvement of th6 
 hints I had given her. 
 
 The Green family resided upon a street that I alwaya 
 took on my way to the post-ofl5ce, and there was rarely 
 a pleasant evening that did not show their parlor alight, 
 and company within it. I heard the same old varia 
 tions of Dolce Concento evening after evening. The 
 Battle of Prague was fought over and over again. Tlie 
 portfolio of drawings (such of them as had not been 
 expensively framed) was exhibited, I doubt not» to 
 admiring friends until they were soiled with thumbino- 
 At last, Georgiana was engaged, and then she was 
 married — married to a very good follow, too. lie loved 
 music, loved painting, and loved his wife. Two years 
 passed away ; and I determined to ascertain how the 
 
 ACQxnsrnoNS and accomplishments. 109 
 
 pair got along. She was the mother of a fine boy 
 whom I knew she would be glad to have me see. I 
 called, was treated cordially, and saw the identical old 
 portfolio, on the identical old piano. I asked the favor 
 of a tune. The husband with -a sigh informed me that 
 Georgiana had dropped her music. I looked about the 
 walls, and saw the crayon Samuel, and the awful ship- 
 wreck in India ink. Alas ! the echoes of the Battle of 
 Pra^-ue that came back over the field of memory, and 
 these fading mementoes around me, were all that 
 remained of the accomplishments of the late Miss 
 Georgiana Aurelia Atkins Green. 
 
 Now, young woman, I think you will not need any 
 assurance from me that I have drawn a genuine por- 
 trait, for which any number of your acquaintances may 
 have played the original. What do you think of 
 accomplishments like these ? How much do they 
 amount to ? My opinion of them is that they are the 
 shabbiest of all things that can be associated with a 
 woman's life and history. I have told you this story in 
 order to show you the importance of incorporating 
 vonr accomplishments with your very life. It is com- 
 paratively an easy task to learn a few tunes by rote ; to 
 get up, with the assistance of a teacher, a few drawings; 
 to go through with a few French exercises ; but it is not 
 w easy to learn the science of music, and go through 
 
110 titcomb's letteus to young women. 
 
 the manual practice necessary to make the science 
 available under all circumstances. It is not easv to 
 sketch with facility from nature. It is not easy to 
 comprehend the genius of the French language, and so 
 to familiarize youi-sclf with it that it shall ever remain 
 an open language to you, and give you a key to a new 
 literature. A true accomplishment is won only by hard 
 work ; but when it is won, it is a part of you, which 
 nothing but your own neglect can take away from yon. 
 
 And now let me tell you a secret Multitudes of 
 married men are led to seek the society of other wo 
 men, or go out among their own fellows, and often into 
 bad habits, because they have drunk every sweet of 
 life which their wives can ijive them. Thev have heard 
 all their tunes, seen all their efforts at art., sounded their 
 minds, and measured every charm, and they sec that 
 henceforth there is nothing in the society of their wives 
 but insipidity. Tliey married women of accomplish- 
 ments, but they see never a new development — no 
 improvement. Their wives can do absolutely nothing. 
 The shell is broken ; the egg is eaten. 
 
 Tlie first accomplislimcnt that I would urge upon 
 you, is that of using the English language with cor- 
 rectness, elegance, and facility. Tlierc are, compara- 
 tively, few young women who can write a good note. 
 I know of hardly one who can punctuate her sentences 
 
 .'t 
 
 acquisitions and accomplishments. Ill 
 
 properly. I beg of you never to write affection with a 
 single /, or friendship without an i in the fii-st sylUible. 
 Such slips destroy the words, and the sentiments they 
 represent If you accomplish yourselves in nothing 
 else, learn thoroughly how to use your mother tongue 
 I remember one young woman with whom, when in 
 youth, I had the misfortune to correspond. In the 
 barrenness of subjects upon which to engage her pen, 
 she once inquired by note whether I ever saw such " a 
 spell of wether," as we had been having. I frankly 
 informed her that I never did, and that I hoped she 
 would never indulge in such another, for it made me cool. 
 She took the hint, and broke off the correspondence. 
 
 There are many who can write tolerably well, but 
 who cannot talk. Convei*sation I am inclined to rank 
 among the greatest accomplishments and the greatest 
 arts. Natural aptness has much to do with this, but no 
 woman can talk well who has not a good stock of defi- 
 nite information. I may add to this, that no woman 
 talks well and satisfactorily who reads for the simple 
 purpose of talking. There must exist a genuine in- 
 terest in the affairs which most concern all men and 
 women. The book, magazine, and newspaper literature 
 of the time, questions of public moment, all mattei-s 
 and movements relating to art, affaii-s of local interest 
 — all these a woman may know something of, and 
 
112 'IITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 know something definitely. Of all these she can talk 
 if she will try, because there is something in all which 
 excites feeling of some kind, and shapes itself into opi- 
 nion. 
 
 But whatever accomplishment a young woman at- 
 tempts to acquire, let her by all means acquire it 
 thoroughly and keep it bright. Accomplishments all 
 occupy the field of the arts. They are things which 
 have no significance or value save in the ability of 
 doing. They become, or should become, the exponents 
 of a woman's highest personality. They are her most 
 graceful forms of self-expression, and into them she can 
 pour the stream of her thoughts and fancies, and 
 through them utter the hijjhcst lanijuajre of her na- 
 ture and her culture. Accomplishments make a wo- 
 man valuable to herself. They greatly increase her 
 pleasure, both directly in the practice, and indirectly 
 through the pleasures which she gives to society. A 
 truly accomplished woman — one whose thoughts have 
 come naturally to flow out in artistic forms, whether 
 through the instrumentality of her tongue, her pen, 
 her pencil, or her piano, is a treasure to herself and 
 to society. Such a woman as this would I have you 
 to be. There may be something to interfere with 
 your being all this ; but this you can do : you can 
 acquire thoroughly every accomplishment for which 
 
 ACQUISITIONS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 113 
 
 you have a natural aptitude, or you can let it alone. 
 Do not be content with a smattering of anything. 
 Do not be content to play parrot to your teachers, 
 until your lesson is learned, and then think you are 
 accomplished. Do not be content with mediocrity 
 in any accomplishment you undertake. Do not \4 
 content to be a Miss Georgiana Aurelia Atkins Greiri» 
 
LETTER IV. 
 
 VmiEASOKABLE AND INJURIOUS RESTRAINTS. 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of tme minds 
 Admit impediments. 
 
 Bhakspkks. 
 
 I SUPPOSE that most men have observed the follow- 
 ing facts, from which I propose to draw a lesson : — 
 First, that young married women have a peculiar 
 charm for unmarried young men, and that a young 
 man's first love is almost uniformly devoted to a woman 
 older than himself. 
 
 A marriageable young woman occupies, or is made to 
 occupy, a position of peculiar hardship. Our theory is 
 that a woman should never make an advance towards 
 the man she loves and would marry. Such a step is 
 deemed inconsistent with maiden modesty, I do not 
 
 UNREASONABLE AND INJURIOUS RESTRAINTS. 115 
 
 quarrel with this, but the eflfect has been to make young 
 women, who possess sensitive natures, hypocrites. It 
 ought not to do it, but it does. Every modest young 
 woman, possessing a good degree of sagacity, plays a 
 pai-t, almost always, when in the society of young men. 
 The fear is that by some word, or look, or act, she shall 
 express such a degree of interest in a young man as 
 shall lead him to believe that she is after him. Young 
 women study the effect of their language, they often 
 shun civilities, they put on an artificial and constrained 
 style of behavior, for fear that some complacent fool will 
 misconstrue them, or some gentleman whom they wish to 
 please will deem them too forward, and so become dis- 
 gusted. The result is, that a man rarely finds out either 
 the best or the worst points of his wife's character 
 before he marries her. Social intercourse is carried on 
 under a kind of protest, which places every young 
 woman in a position absolutely false before the eyes 
 of young men. Many a woman owes a life of celibacy 
 and disappointment to the fact that she never felt at 
 liberty to act out herself. 
 
 With these statements, it is very easy to understand 
 the attractions which a young married woman has for 
 a bachelor, and to explain the phenomenon of a young 
 man fallin<y in love with a woman older than himself 
 In the first instance, a married woman becomes 
 
116 tttcomb's lettebs to young women. 
 
 agreeable because she becomes perfectly natural anc 
 unconstrained, her circumstances allowing all the more 
 grateful forms of politeness — the cordial greeting, the 
 complimentary attentions, and the free conversation 
 — without the danger of being misconstrued. In the 
 latter instance, the woman throws off her constraint in 
 the same manner, because she is in the society of one 
 whom she regards as, in reality, a boy. She finds, very 
 much to her surprise, that she has won the boy's heart ; 
 but it was the most natural thinir in the world. He had 
 never had a sight of a woman's nature before. Tlie 
 girls with whom he had associated had always worn a 
 mask. The real hearts behind it he had thus far failed to 
 apprehend. There is a very general impression among 
 the young men whose affections are not engaged that 
 the best women are married, and that those who are 
 left do not amount to much. They will think differently 
 some time or other. 
 
 Now my idea is that this universal mask-wearing sys- 
 tem should be broken up. It does injustice to all par- 
 ties. If there is, in society, any poor creature in the 
 form of a man whose vanity is so open to flattery that a 
 young woman cannot treat him with natural, cordial 
 politeness, without his thinking that she would like to 
 marry him, and is trying to ensnare him, let him think 
 BO, and trust to time and circumstances for justice. 
 
 UNKEASONABLB AND INJUEIOUS EESTEAINTS. 117 
 
 Such men are of too little account in the world to pay 
 for carrying a deceitful face, and despoiling the inter- 
 course of the young of its sweetest charms. If you like 
 the society of young men, take no pains to conceal it^ 
 but treat them with frank cordiality. No true gentle- 
 man among them will misconstrue you. It is not neces- 
 sary for you to tell them that you calculate to live a 
 maiden life. They know you lie. It will not do to 
 indicate to any man of sense that you do not like the 
 attentions and society of gentlemen, for he knows better. 
 He knows, at least, that you ought to like them, and that 
 it you do not, there is something wrong about you. Don't 
 practise deception of any kind. A man who is frank 
 and open-hearted with you, deserves to be met with a 
 frank and open heart by you ; and in ninety-nine cases 
 in every hundred, men will be honorable and manly 
 with you, if you will lay aside suspicion, and trust them. 
 If a man prove himself unworthy of your confidence, 
 you have your remedy. Cut him, or tell him what you 
 think of him, and bring him upon his knees. 
 
 I have given my advice withoat many qualifications, 
 but do not misconstrue me. I wiite upon the supposi- 
 tion that you have common sense, and know what I 
 mean. Some people, I suppose, would present you 
 with a formula by which to conduct all your intercourse 
 with young men. 1 know a large number of fiithers 
 
 L 
 
118 TITCOMB'S LEnTEES TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 and mothers who will think that, upon this subject, I 
 ought to guard my language, and be more particular ; 
 but I know very well that if you have not sense and 
 prudence enough to take this general counsel, and use 
 it judiciously, no qualifications that I could make would 
 be of any service to you. 
 
 /trust you, I believe you are virtuous young women, 
 with pure hearts and true intentions ; and I know there 
 is no danger to you until you cease to be such. You 
 nave an instinct — God's word in your own souls — that 
 tells you when a man takes the first wrong step towards 
 you ; and if you do not repel that step in such a manner 
 that it will never be repeated, do you suppose that anything 
 I could say to you would do you any good ? I say this : 
 that perfect frankness and cordiality in the treatment of 
 young men are entirely consistent with the safety of any 
 true woman from iusult or oflbusive familiarity. Is 
 your father afraid to tnist you out of his sight ? I am 
 not. If I were, I would be ashamed to confess it, par- 
 ticularly if you were a daughter of mine. I believe in 
 you, and I believe, moreover, that if this contemptible 
 idea that men are your natural enemies, and that you 
 must cheat them and look out for them, could Ikj got 
 out of the way, and a free and unconstrained social inter- 
 course established between you and them, they would 
 be much better, and you altogether safer for it. 
 
 s \ 
 
 UNREASOXABLB AND INJUEIOUS RESTRAINTS. 119 
 
 There is another subject, more or less intimately asso- 
 ciated with this, which may as well be treated here. It 
 is very natural for young women to get in the habit of 
 treating only those young men politely whom they hap- 
 pen, for various reasons, to fancy. They " don't care " 
 what the majority of young men think of them, provided 
 they retain the good will of their particular pets. They 
 arc whimsical, and take on special and strong likes or 
 dislikes for the young men whom they meet. One is 
 "perfectly hateful," and another is "perfectly splen- 
 did," and so they proceed to make fools of themselves 
 over both parties. Now there is nothing upon which a 
 young man is so sensitive as this matter of being treated 
 with polite consideration by the young women of his 
 acquaintance ; and I know of nothing which will tend 
 more certainly to make a young man hateful than to 
 treat him as if he were so. There is a multitude of 
 young men whose self-respect is nurtured, whose ambi- 
 tion is quickened, and whose hearts are warmed with a 
 genial fire, by those considerate recognitions on the part 
 of their female acquaintances which assure them that 
 they have a position in the esteem of those with whom 
 they associate the sweetest hopes and happiness of life. 
 To be cut for no good cause is to receive a wound which 
 is not easily healed. 
 
 The duty, therefore, which I would inculcate is that 
 
120 TITCOMB'S LETTEKS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 of systematic politeness. If you know a young m&n, 
 bow to him when you meet him. He will not bow to 
 you first, for he waits for your recognition. He does 
 not know whether you esteem him of sufficient value to 
 be recognised. If you pass him without a recognition, 
 you say to him, in a language which he feels with a 
 keenness which you cannot measure, that you consider 
 him beneath your notice. You plant in his heart imme- 
 diately a prejudice against yourself. You disturb him. 
 You hurt him, and this, too, let me admit, very fre- 
 quently without design. You are sensitive yourself, and 
 are afraid he has forgotten you. You think, perhaps, 
 that he would not like to notice you, and would not 
 like to have you notice him. There is a good deal of 
 this kind of thing, doubtless, but it is all wrong. There 
 is no man who will not return your bow, and feel the 
 better for your smile ; and if the young man receiving 
 the attention is poor, and has his position in the world 
 to win, and feels that he has not as many attractions, 
 personal or circumstantial, as others, you have made his 
 heart light, and awakened towards yourself a feeling of 
 cordial good will, akin in many instances to gratitude. 
 
 A young woman who is afraid of compromising her 
 position by recognising men out of her set, or out of a 
 certain line of genteel occupations, shows by how frail a 
 tenure she holds her own respectability. I could name 
 
 
 UNBEASONABLB AND INJURIOUS RESTRAINTS. 121 
 
 to you women who have not only a recognised but a 
 commanding position in the best society, who are as 
 uniformly and systematically polite to the clerk who 
 sells them silks, as to the pets of their circle ; who have 
 % bow and a smile for all with whom they have ever 
 been thrown into personal relations, and who, by this 
 very politeness, more than by any other self-expression, 
 vindicate their place among those whom society calls 
 ladies. Tlierc is a kind word for them in every young 
 man's mouth : and no young man would ever think of 
 I resuming upon such politenesses for the indulgence of 
 an oflfensive familiarity. Such women have a sacredncss 
 in his eyes that no other women possess, and he would 
 offend them in no way, for the world. 
 
 The advice I have given you in these matters is 
 partly for the benefit of your sex, and partly for mine. 
 I believe that there should be a far more rational mode 
 of intercourse between young men and young women 
 than at present exists. I believe that every legitimate 
 attraction that your society has for young men should 
 be free and unconstrained. I believe that there is no 
 ^ood reason why a young married woman should be 
 more attractive to a bachelor than yourselves, and that 
 in the degree in which they are more attractive, do you 
 wrong yourselves and the young men of your acquaint- 
 ance. I believe that it is well for you, and well for 
 
 6 
 
 J 
 
122 titcomb's letteks to young women. 
 
 young men, that tliey sliould be attracted to you by a 
 frank behavior on your pai% which will place them at 
 their ease, and exercise upon them all that good influ- 
 ence which a pure, strong, outspoken female nature ia 
 so well calculated to exert. 
 
 Young men and young women, to use a cant phrase 
 of the day, arc " in the same boat." But a few years 
 will pass away before they will be the bosom compa- 
 nions of each other, and the fathers and mothers of the 
 land. It matters everything to them that they under- 
 stand each other ; and to this end, in my judgment, an 
 intercourse between them should be established upon a 
 very different basis from that which is now maintained 
 by society. It should be more simple, more ample, 
 more natural, more trustful, and more heartily consider- 
 ate. There is nothing in the history of the race to 
 prove that anything has ever been preserved or won to 
 virtue by a system of essential falsehood, or a policy of 
 arbitrary constraint. Many a girl feels this, and will 
 feel it to her dying day. To tie a young woman up to 
 the meanly cautious conventionalisms of the day, is to 
 prepare her as a helpless sacrifice to the first designing 
 villain who insinuates himself into her confidence. 
 Many a woman groans to-day in bondage to a drunkard, a 
 libertine, or a dolt, who only needed to have been allowed 
 to know men better to have secured a proper companion. 
 
 i 
 
 1 1 
 
 UNREASONABLE AND INJURIOUS BESTEAINTS. 123 
 
 I say, then, to you, young women, reform this thing 
 altogether. It is in your hands. I give you the idea : 
 I leave you to carry it into practice. You do not need 
 that I should tell you how to do it. If you are not 
 vicious, there is nothing for you, in your mind and 
 heart, to conceal. Be simply yourselves, taking all 
 possible care to make yourselves what you should be. 
 Learn to think kindly of all young men, save those 
 who you have reason to believe possess black •hearts 
 and foul intentions — those who are enemies of your sex 
 and social purity. Treat every young man well, both 
 for his sake and your own. You shall thus be the 
 light of many eyes, and your kind heart, thorough good 
 manners, and transparent nature, cannot fail to attract 
 to you those whose true nobility is the most strongly 
 touched by that which is best in womanhood. One of 
 those will become your companion, I am inclined to 
 think, if human nature, meanwhile, do not suffer some 
 remarkable change. 
 
LETTER V. 
 
 THE CLAIMS OF LOVE AND LUCRE. 
 
 Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, 
 
 And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair. 
 
 Btboh. 
 
 "Y^U calculate when you are married to be married 
 1 to tlie man you love, and no other; yet there are 
 a good many chances that you will be influenced in 
 your choice by other considerations. But you should 
 never think of manying a man simply because you love 
 him. You may love a man who has pei-sonal habit? 
 that will make you miserable. You may love a man so 
 lazy or so inefficient that your whole life will be neces- 
 sarily a continued struggle with poverty. You may 
 love a man who has no adaptation to you— who is surly 
 and stupid and unresponsive; who can give no satisfac 
 
 it.' 
 
 t 
 
 ;i 
 
 THE CLAIMS OP LOVE AND LUCRE. 
 
 125 
 
 tory return of your affection, and who will repulse every 
 demonstration of your fondness. You may love a man 
 who is supremely selfish. When you become bound 
 for life to a man, he should be one who can make you 
 happier than you would be alone. There are doubtless 
 some instances of a love so noble and so self-sacrificing 
 that it will welcome poverty and want, with the object 
 of its desire, as being far better than riches without it. 
 I will not quarrel with this. I only say that, generally, 
 competence (I do not mean wealth) is necessary to that 
 degree of comfort without which love fails of its sweetest 
 exercises and most grateful rewards. Love for a man 
 is only one reason why you should marry him. There 
 may be a round dozen of reasons why you should not. 
 
 A woman's heart is a very queer thing, on the whole. 
 It falls in love in the most unaccountable way, with the 
 most unaccountable men. It is a hard thing to reason 
 with, and a much harder thing to reason about, yet 
 there arc some things which may be said to those whose 
 judgment is not yet blinded by a passion that contemns 
 reason. You should marry a man to whom you will 
 be willing to bend, or one whom you know you can 
 manage without his knowledge, or with his consent. 
 The instances arc very rare in which two strong wills 
 can harmonize in close companionship. They must 
 both be governed by principle, and be mutually forbear- 
 
126 titcomb's letters to young women. 
 
 iDg from principle. I have seen noble instances of tliia, 
 but not often. The law of nature is that the wife shall 
 bend to the husband — that her will shall, at last, be 
 subject ; yet there are instances of true affection between 
 man and woman when subjection on the part of the 
 man becomes the law of nature, the woman's judgment 
 being the best, and her will the strongest. In these 
 cases, the female mind possesses masculine characteris- 
 tics and the male mind feminine characteristics ; and it 
 is just as proper that her mind should govern in these 
 instances as that the male mind should govern in others. 
 But there is something unnatural in this, after all — or 
 something, I should say, out of the common order of 
 things. 
 
 If a woman sincerely believe that there is no man to 
 whose will she can gladly subordinate her own, let her 
 seek out a feminine man, and make suit for his hand. 
 A noted female vocalist, whom all of us love, had the 
 credit of doing this. He gave up even his religion for 
 her, though that may not have cost him much. I pre- 
 sume that she governs him, and I have yet to learn that 
 the union is not thoroughly a happy one. After all, if 
 the lady were a graceful subject of a kingly intellect, I 
 cannot help thinking that she would be in a more 
 natural position, and one in which she would be hap- 
 pier than she is now. 
 
 THE CLAIMS OP LOVE AND I.UCKE. 
 
 121 
 
 You are placed in a position of peculiar temptation. 
 You have ambitions to be something more than pretty, 
 accomplished, and loved— at least, some of you have. 
 You want a career. As a woman, you see that yo 
 cannot have one, save through a matrimonial connexion 
 You wish to do something— to be something — to be 
 mistress of an establishment, or to be associated with one 
 who has the public eye, or the public consideration. It 
 is thus that wealth and position come to you with very 
 great temptations. A man of wealth or a man of power 
 offers you his hand, and, unless he is absolutely repul- 
 sive, he will generally get it. You will try to love him, 
 or learn to love him, or think you love him ; or perhaps 
 you will take a mercenary or a worldly view of the 
 whole thing, and marry him for what of wealth and 
 position he can bring you. Now all this marrying for 
 money, or for position, or for any other consideration, 
 when genuine love is absent, is essential prostitution. I 
 know of no difference between selling one's self for a 
 lifetime, and that sale of the soul and body which is 
 made in the house of her whose steps take hold on hel' 
 If you find yourself willing to give up yourself to a nv. 
 m a life-long connexion for the house he gives you, for 
 the silks and furs with which he clothes you, for the 
 society into which he introduces you, for the position 
 with which he endows you, then, whether you know it 
 
■1 
 
 128 htcomb's lettees to young women. 
 
 or not, you become the sister of the drab whom von 
 so inconsistently spurn from your side. In fact, the 
 motives that have made her what she is may be white 
 by the side of yours. Mariying for love may seem to be 
 a very silly thing to a woman of the world ; but marry- 
 ing without love, for a consideration, is wicked. " Love 
 in a cottage " is laughed at by very "judicious people," 
 but it is a very sweet thing by the side of indifference 
 in a palace. I know of nothinnr more disjnistinsr in all 
 the world than that mercenary tie which, under the 
 name of marriage, binds a woman to the bosom of one 
 who bought her with his money. 
 
 I know what the world says about this matter, and I 
 very heartily despise the world for it. When I ask the 
 world if Jane has "made out well" by her union, and 
 am told that she has done finely, and married a man 
 worth a hundred thousand dollars, I am tempted to b€ 
 profane. When I ask the world how Kate has settled, 
 and am informed, as the essential portion of the reply, 
 that her husband is "an excellent provider," I arc 
 tempted to spit in its face. The conventional idea of fi 
 happy and proper matrimonial connexion is so mean 
 and so arbitrary, that it is no wonder that unsophisti- 
 cated girls sacrifice themselves. I pity them from tho 
 bottom of my heart. They cannot have even the repu 
 iation of marrying well unless they allow base motives 
 
 THE CLAIMS OP LOVE AND LUCEB. 
 
 12; 
 
 to enter into their calculations. They learn early to aim 
 at wealth or position as primary and supremely desira- 
 ble things. A brilliant match, in the eyes of the world 
 atones for low morals, uncongenial tastes, and luke- 
 warm hearts. 
 
 Now, if you must make calculations, let me help you. 
 Make genuine affection the first thing. This is abso- 
 lutely indispensable. It takes precedence of everything 
 else. You are not at liberty to consider anything before 
 this. A union based upon anything else, is, as I have 
 already told you, essential prostitution. It is against 
 nature — against God's most wise and benevolent inten- 
 tions. You can make no union with a man, not based 
 on this, that will give you happiness. Friendship alone 
 will not do. Esteem alone will not do. The idea of 
 giving yourself to a man simply because you esteem 
 him, and respect him, is disgusting. The union of the 
 curient of your life with that of a man is the grea; 
 event of your history, and if this be not through those 
 natural aflSnitics, sympathies, and partialities — that pas- 
 sion of your soul which heaven intended should bo 
 called into exercise by manhood — then is it only a con 
 ventional union, and no union in fact. Love, then, I 
 Bay, is the essential thing, and yet love, as I have said 
 before, is only one thing. There may be in the man 
 
 who excites the holiest and strongest passion of your 
 
 6* 
 
130 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 nature many things which, if you vahie peace — if you 
 value your own purity, even — should lead you to pluck 
 that passion from your breast, and turn your back upon 
 its object, that God's light may rest upon your brow, 
 even if sorrow make darkness in your heart. 
 
 It is hard to examine character, and profit by the 
 study, after the heart has become the seat of an absorb- 
 ing passion ; but it is indispensably necessary to do it 
 sometimes. It is far better that the passion be excited 
 by the influence of character, disposition, and bearing, 
 but when study becomes necessary, it should be entered 
 upon conscientiously; for the second requisite for a 
 happy union is sound character. A woman possessing 
 the best elements of womanhood cannot be happy with 
 a man who has not a sound character. lie may have 
 a good disposition, he may be intelligent, he may have 
 wealth and honor, but if his character be weak or faultv, 
 she has no reliance ; and she must ultimately lose her 
 respect for him. When respect is gone, slie may love, 
 she may pity, she may forgive, but she cannot be happy 
 Disposition comes in for consideration in the third place, 
 *nd worldly circumstances in the fourth, or perhaps still 
 lower in the scale. I might speak of another thing, 
 requisite to happiness in the highest degree, but I will 
 lot, now and hero. 
 
 In the considci-ation of worldly circumstances, b« 
 
 THE CLAIMS OF LOVE AND LUCKB. 
 
 131 
 
 wise. Remember that if your lover be intelligent, 
 healthy, the master of a business or a profession, he 
 stands many more chances to die in the possession of 
 wealth or competence than he would if rich now, and 
 without a settled business and settled purposes. I hav 
 watched the results of many matches, and I have seen 
 ten which started with a fortune to be acquired, turn out 
 well in a worldly point of view, where I have seen one 
 result happily, starting with the fortune made. If a 
 young man is honorable, intelligent, industrious, and 
 manly in every respect, and you love him, marry him. 
 There is no power under heaven that has a moral right 
 to stand between you and your happiness. Many a 
 poor girl who married for money now pines in poverty, 
 and covets the position of girls whose wiser choice she 
 once contemned. 
 
 I speak in this way for two reasons. The first is, that 
 it is not only your right but your duty to consider 
 whether a life of certain poverty will be compensated by 
 a life of association with the man you love. Tho 
 second is, that when you take this matter into conside- 
 ration you should make your judgment upon a sound 
 basis. Wealth in hand, without business habits, busi- 
 ness tastes, and business interests, is the most unreliable 
 thmg in the world. It may even spoil a good lover, 
 and in time transform him into a loafer or a sot. On 
 
132 titcomb's letters to young women. 
 
 the contrary, good business habits, good character, 
 enterprise, ambition — all these combined — are almost 
 sure to secure competence and success. If you would 
 rely on anything, rely on these, for tht»y are the only 
 reliable things. Misfortune may deal b'wshly with these, 
 but that is the business of Providence. 
 
 I fancy one reply that may be made to all this wise 
 talk. Women practically have comparatively little 
 choice in the matter. They grow up from the cradle 
 with the idea that it is a horrible thing to live and die 
 an old maid. That, in the minds of lialf the girls, is the 
 most terrible thing in all the world. They can abide 
 anything better than that So they feel a kind of obli- 
 gation to jump at the fii-st oflfer, they are so much 
 afraid they shall never have another. Let them remem- 
 ber that a mismated match is much worse than an 
 unmatcd life. I believe that marriage 'n the true condi- 
 tion, and that no man or woman can fully enjoy life 
 unmarried ; but I know they will be more unhappy if 
 they are badly matched than if not matched at all But 
 women have more choice than they think, and avou1(? 
 have still more than they do, if their intercourse with 
 young men were placed upon the basis indicated in mj 
 last letter. 
 
 Most young women study the character of men bul lit 
 tie, because they have but little opportunity. They see 
 
 THE CLAIMS OF LOVE AND LUCRE. 
 
 133 
 
 comparatively few, and, through the character of their 
 intercourse, know them very incompletely. It is a sin 
 and a shame that young women enjoy such inferior 
 opportunities of learning the character of young men, — 
 of weighing, comparing, and judging them. It is a 
 shame that they have no more opportunities for a choice. 
 My own wife very fortunately got an excellent hus- 
 band, but it is something for which she is to be grateful 
 to an overruling Providence, for her own knowledge had 
 very little to do with it. I could have cheated her 
 beyond all account I tell you, men want studying for 
 some years, before you find them out, and it becomes 
 you to run fewer risks than the most of your sex run in 
 this business. It is a good deal of a step — this getting 
 married, and I am very anxious that you shall know a 
 great many men, that you shall get the one you love, 
 that he shall be worthy of you, and that you sha-1 be 
 happy all the days of your life. 
 
LETTER VI. 
 
 THE PRUUSNl . SD PROPER USE OF LANGUAGS. 
 
 Of all the griefs that harass the distressed^ 
 Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest. 
 
 Saxcki. iTomnioM. 
 
 And lovelier things have mercy shown 
 To every failing but their own, 
 And every woe a tear can claim 
 Except an erring sititcr^s shame. 
 
 I HAVE met with a good many young women, first 
 and last, whose intellects were of that keen, quick 
 variety which delights in uttering sharp things — often 
 very hard things. They do it, at first, playfully ; they 
 produce a laugh which flatters them ; and they soon 
 get to doing it wantonly. They acquire an appetite 
 *br praise, and they become willing to procure it at 
 
 THE PBOPEB USE OP LANGUAGE. 
 
 135 
 
 whatever expense tc others. Genuine wit in a man is 
 almost always genial ; wit in a woman, however genial 
 it may be at first, almost always gets into personalities, 
 sooner or later, which makes it very dangerous and very 
 hateful. Man is held in restraint, whatever his tendeu 
 cies may be, by the consideration that, as a man, he will 
 be held responsible for his words; women presume 
 upon the fact that they are women, in taking license to 
 say what they choose of each other, and of men in par- 
 ticular. There is not always — perhaps there is not 
 generally — malice in these sharp and hard speeches, but 
 they poison, nevertheless. They poison her who utters 
 them, and they poison those who suffer from them. 
 The utterer becomes the student, for a purpose, of the 
 weak points of her friends, and they learn to hate her. 
 I have known not a few w^omen whose personal witti- 
 cisms were enjoyed by the gossip-loving crowd around 
 her, every man of whom would as soon think of marry- 
 ino" a tigress as the one he was flattering by the applause 
 of his laugh. 
 
 Therefore I say that to be a witty woman is a very 
 dangerous thing. To be a witty woman is to be the 
 subject of very great temptations, for personality forms 
 the ver}'' zest of gossip — an employment of which most 
 women, I think, know something by experiment. Men 
 are afraid of witty women, especially those who delight 
 
13G tttcomb's letttees to young women. 
 
 in making cutting speeches. They say, very rationallv, 
 that if a woman will secure praise at the expense of one 
 friend, she will also at the expense of others, and that 
 no one can be safe. There is nothing in my eyes more 
 admirable in a woman than an honest wish to hear no 
 one spoken against — than that consideration for the 
 feelings of others which leads her to treat all faults with 
 tenderness, and all weaknesses and natural unpleasant 
 peculiarities with indulgence. One of the most attrac- 
 tive sights in the world, to any young man of common 
 sensibility, is that of a young woman who not only will 
 neither say nor hear ill of any one, but who takes spe- 
 cial pains to notice those whom the crowd neglect. 
 Such a woman is the admired of all whose admiration is 
 worth securing. And now, young woman, if you are 
 one of the sharp ones, and arc tempted to say sharp 
 things, remember that you are in very great danger ot 
 injuring yourself, not only in your own soul, but in the 
 eyes of all those whom you imagine you are pleasing. 
 
 I think, as a general thing, that women arc haider in 
 their judgments of their own sex than men are of theirs 
 or even of them. This arises partly from jealousy — 9 
 wish to stand among the uppermost in the populai 
 esteem. The praise of women, poured into the cars of 
 other women, is not usually gratefully received. The 
 disposition of women to judge harshly of each other is 
 
 THB proper use OP LANGUAGE. 
 
 137 
 
 Been particularly in those instances in which a woman 
 has taken a false step. Here the fact is patent; — a 
 woman forgets, or forgives, much less promptly than a 
 man. However deep the repentance, however decided 
 the reformation, a woman never forgets that her sister 
 has sinned, notwithstanding the fact that weakness and 
 misfortune and a hundred mitigating if not exculpating 
 circumstances plead in her behalf. It is the same with 
 less important lapses of behavior, in a corresponding 
 decree. I do not know but this is one of the safe- 
 guards which God intended should be around a woman's 
 path, but it seems to me a very unwomanly and a very 
 unchristian thing. It seems to me, too, to be a very 
 unnatural thing. I judge that, much more than a man, 
 a woman should be interested in securing justice for her 
 own sex ; and that if a sinning or a silly woman should 
 find a charitable defender anywhere, it should be among 
 those who, like her, are exposed to the temptations, and 
 particulariy to the uncharitable misconstructions, of a 
 captious world. 
 
 What I would insist upon, is, that you not only do not 
 wound the feelings of your own sex by sharp criticisms, 
 but that you be heartily enlisted in maintaining their 
 honor. Do not think that you do this while putting 
 down this one and that, in order to make your own im- 
 maculatcness the more conspicuous. Believe what is 
 
138 TTTCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 generally true, that those who sin &re those who sin 
 rather through weakness than vicious tendency ; that 
 villains who wear cravats and waistcoats — the very men 
 whom you are by no means particular enough to exclude 
 from your company — are those who most deserve you 
 reproaches. 
 
 And now that I am upon this subject of talk, it will 
 be well to say all I have to say upon it It is a very com- 
 mon thing for young women to indulge in hyperbole. 
 A pretty dress is very apt to be " perfectly splendid ;" a 
 disagreeable person is too often " perfectly hateful ;" a party 
 in which the company enjoyed themselves, somehow be- 
 comes transmuted into the " most delightful thing ever 
 seen." A young man of respectable parts and manly 
 bearing is very often " such a magnificent fellow !" Tlie 
 adjective "perfect," that stands so much alone as never 
 to have the privilege of help from comparatives and 
 superlatives, is sadly over-worked, in company with seve- 
 ral others of the intense and extravagant order. The 
 result is that, by the use of such language as this, your 
 opinion soon becomes valueless. 
 
 A woman who deals only in superlatives demonstrate* 
 at once the fact that her judgment is subordinate to her 
 feelings, and that her opinions are entirely unreliable. 
 All language thus loses its power and significance. The 
 same words are brought into use to describe a ribbon in 
 
 ! 
 
 THE PKOPEB USB OP LANGUAGE, 
 
 139 
 
 a milliner's window, as are employed in the endeavor to 
 do justice to Thalberg's execution of Beethoven's most 
 heavenly symphony. The use of hyperbole is so com- 
 mon among women that a woman's criticism is generally 
 without value. Let me insist upon this thing. Be more 
 economical in the use of your mother tongue. Apply 
 your terms of praise with precision ; use epithets with 
 some degree of judgment and fitness. Do not waste 
 your best and highest words upon inferior objects, and 
 find that when you have met with something which 
 really is superlatively great and good, the terms by which 
 you would distinguish it have all been thrown away upon 
 inferior things— that you are bankrupt in expression. If 
 a thing is simply good, say so ; if pretty, say so ; if very 
 pretty, say so ; if fine, say so ; if very fine, say so ; if 
 grand, say so ; if sublime, say so ; if magnificent, say 
 so ; if splendid, say so. These words all have difi'ercnt 
 meanings, and you may say them all of as many diff'erent 
 objects, and not use the word " perfect" once. That is 
 fa very large word. You will probably be obliged to save 
 it for application to the Deity, or to his works, or to that 
 serene rest which remains for those who love him. 
 
 Youn(^ women are very apt to imbibe another bad habit, 
 namely, the use of slang. I was walking along the street 
 the other day when I met an elegantly dressed lady and 
 gentleman upon the sidewalk. My attention was the 
 
140 HTCOMB'S LEITEltS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 more attracted to them because they were evidently 
 strangers. At any rate they impressed me as being very 
 thoroughly refined and genteel people. As I came with- 
 in hearing of their voices — they were quietly chatting 
 along the way — I heard these words from the woman's 
 lips : " You may bet your life on that." I was disgusted. 
 I could almost have boxed her ears. I remember once 
 being in the company of a belle — one who had had a 
 winter's reign in Washington. Some kind of game was 
 in progress, when, in a moment of surprise, she exclaimed, 
 ** My Gracious !" Now you may regard this as a finical 
 notion, but I tell you that woman fell as flatly in my 
 esteem as if she had uttered an oath. A lady, fresh 
 from Paris, once informed me tliat it would do the resi- 
 dents of a certain quiet village a great deal of good to 
 be " stirred up with a long pole." Let us see how you 
 like this kind of talk. 
 
 If you wish to be an " A No. 1 " woman, you have 
 got to " toe the mark," and be less " hifalutin." " You 
 may bet your head on that" You may sing " slightu- 
 ally " " like a martingale," you may " spin street yarn " 
 at the rate of ten knots an hour, you may " talk like a 
 book," you may dance as if you were on " a regular 
 break-down," you may " turn up your nose at common 
 folks," and play the piano " mighty fine," but " I-tell- 
 youj^ you " can't come to tea." " You may be hand 
 
 THE PEOPEB USE OP LANGUAGE. 
 
 141 
 
 some, but you can't come in." You might just as well 
 " cave in," first as last, and " absquatulate," for you can't 
 " put it through," " any way you can fix it." If you 
 imagine that you may " go it while you are young, for 
 when you are old you can't," you won't " come it," " by 
 a long chalk." " Own up," now, and " do the straight 
 thing," and Til " set you down " as " one of the women 
 we read of." If you can't " come up to the scratch," 
 why I must "let you slide." But if you have a 
 " sneakin' notion " for being a " regular brick," there is 
 no other way — " not as you knows on " — " no sir-ree- 
 hoss ?" If a young man should " kind o' shine up to 
 you," and you should " cotton to him," and he should 
 hear you say " by the jumping Moses," or " by the liv- 
 ing jingo," or "my goodness," or "I vow," or "go it, 
 Betsey, I'll hold your bonnet," or " mind your eye," or 
 " hit 'im agin," or " take me away," or " dry up, now," 
 or " draw your sled," or " cut stick," or " give him par- 
 ticular fits," he would pretty certainly " evaporate." 
 
 I would by no means insinuate that all young women 
 ttso slang as coarse as this, but I acknowledge to have 
 heard some of these phrases from friends whom I really 
 esteem. Is not the use of these phrases, and of phrases 
 like them whose number is legion, a very vulgar habit ? 
 It seems so to me, and I can hear them from the lips 
 of no pretty woman except w?th pain, and a certain 
 
142 titcomb's letteks to toung women. 
 
 degree of diminution of my respect for her. The habit 
 certainly detracts from womanly dignity. It can be 
 dropped without the slightest danger of going into that 
 extreme of precision in the use of language, which takes 
 out all the life and freedom from social intercourse. 
 Slang is bad enough in young men, and they indulge in 
 far too much of it ; but in a young woman, it is disgust- 
 ing. It is not the outgrowth of fine natures ; it is not 
 accordant with refined taste. Any young woman who 
 indulges in it does it at a very sad expense to her mind, 
 and manners, and reputation. Therefore, beware of it ; 
 discard it ; guard the door of your lips, and leave it to 
 those coarse specimens c ^ your sex of whose natures and 
 habits of thought it is the natural and fitting expression. 
 One more bad habit of your tongues, and I conclude. 
 It is very common for young women to imagine that al. 
 tradesmen have a desire to cheat them. They will talk 
 to the provision dealers and peddlers who call at their 
 doors, and to tradesmen in their shops, with a harshness 
 that would not be forgiven in a man. Men become 
 har Icned to this kind of thing, and expect it; and veiy 
 naturally choose those who suspect them, and accuse 
 them of cheatii.g — who chaffer, and cheapen, and find 
 fault — for the victims of their sharpest operations. A 
 young woman who treats every man with whom she 
 trades as a gentleman, giving him lier confidence, and 
 
 TUB PEOrEB USE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 143 
 
 throwing herself upon his honor and generosity, will 
 stand the best possible chance to be fairly dealt by. I 
 except Jews with China ware, and men of Celtic origin 
 with short pipes in their mouths. It is always safe to 
 close a bargain with such persons before entering into 
 any operations; but even this may be done without 
 loss of self-respeet. If you see that a man designs to 
 cheat you, it is not lady-like to put yourself upon a 
 footing with him, and undertake to extort a bargain 
 from him. Dismiss him without a word. You cannot 
 afford to waste any breath or self-respect upon him. 
 
 Because a man has a thing to sell — ^because he stands 
 behind a counter, or drives a cart, he is not necessarily 
 BO gentleman. As a general thing, those men deserve 
 just as considerate politeness at your hands as if they 
 were in your parlor. You have no right to banter 
 them. You have no right to suspect them— to say 
 harsh things to them — to depreciate their wares, and to 
 place them practically in the position of sharpers and 
 knaves. It is not lady-like for you to put their polite- 
 ness to the test. They will not insult you, and in that 
 very fact vindicate their claim to your good opinion 
 and polite treatment. You may get the credit with 
 them of being sharp, hard customers, but they will dis- 
 like you, and if they speak of you, will not say anything 
 to flatter you. 
 
M^ 
 
 LETTER Vn. 
 
 HOUSEWIFERY AND INDUSTRY. 
 
 tte ^jreth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the dIstAff. • • 
 Bhe is not afraid of the snow for her household ; for all her household are 
 clothed with scarlet ♦ ♦ ♦ Strength and honor are her clothing, and abe 
 •hall rejoice in time to come. 
 
 80LOXOK. 
 
 AMONG the more homely but most essential accom- 
 plishments of a young woman is that of house- 
 wifery. There are many things at the present day to 
 interfere with its acquisition, but the fact that it is essen- 
 tial should lead you to subordinate to it those which are 
 not We hear a great deal about the laziness of the pre- 
 sent generation of girls. I think the accusation is unjust 
 Girls who acquire a really good education now, accom- 
 plish much more genuine hard work than those in "the 
 
 HOUSEWIFERY AND INDUSTEY. 
 
 145 
 
 good old times " who only learned to read and write, 
 and occupied the most of their time in the kitchen 
 and dairy. Nothing that can be called education and 
 accomplishment can be achieved without great labor 
 and, in my opinion, the principal reason why good 
 housewifery is so much neglected, as an accomplishment, 
 is, that the time is so much occupied in study. Lazi- 
 ness is very apt to come with wealth, and there arc 
 undoubtedly a great many more lazy girls now than fifty 
 yeara ago. They are certainly a very undesirable arti- 
 cle to have about, and I pity the poor fellow who gets 
 one of them for a companion ; but I say candidly that 
 I do not think there are any more naturally lazy girls 
 in the world than usual. 
 
 You expect, one of these days, to be the mistress of 
 a house. Your comfort and happiness, and the comfort 
 and happiness of your husband, will depend very much 
 upon your ability to order that house well. If your 
 companion be in humble circumstances, you will very 
 likely be obliged to do the most of your work yourself. 
 In this case, a thorough knowledge of, and taste for 
 housewifery will be very necessary to you. If you 
 marry a man of competence or wealth, a knowledge of 
 good housewifery is quite as essential to you as if you 
 were required to do your own work. Tlie expenses of 
 your house will be large or small, as you are a bad or a 
 
1 
 
 143 TITCOMB'S IXTTERS TO YOITNG WOMEN. 
 
 good housekeeper. If you do not tuow liow to do tho 
 work of the house ; if you have no practical knowledge 
 of all the offices and economies of an establishment, you 
 will be dependent. So far from being the mistress of 
 your house, you will be only its guest. Your servants 
 will circumvent you, they will cheat you, they will 
 ^ make you miserable. If they do not perform their 
 work properly, through wilfulness or ignorance, you 
 cannot tell them better. You will scold them for 
 things which you cannot tell them how to mend, you 
 will be unjust, and you will not keep them. Many a 
 really good servant is constantly suffering from griev- 
 ances growing directly from' the ignorance of her mis- 
 tress. Unless you arc willing to take up for life with a 
 boarding-house — a place for people to vegetate in — you 
 must be a good housewife. It matters not whether you 
 are rich or poor. You need a practical knowledge of 
 cookery, of the laundry, of the prices and qualities of 
 provisions, of chamber work — of everything that enters 
 into the details of home life. 
 
 Of course, if you have no mother who is capable of 
 teaching you these things, you are in a measure excusa- 
 ble for not learning them. I pity a family of girls whose 
 mother is a know-nothing and a do-nothing. I do not 
 blame girls for not wishing to put themselves under the 
 tuition of the cook and the maid-of-all-work. But even 
 
 HOUSEWIFERY AND INDUSTRY. 
 
 147 
 
 when you find yourselves under disadvantages like these, 
 you cannot afford to become a woman without knowing 
 something of the homely utilities of life. Your own 
 aptness of mmd — your own good sense and ready inge- 
 nuity — will give you a clue to the mysteries which prac- 
 tice will ultimately make plain. Your comfort, youi 
 independence, your reputation, your husband's respect 
 for you, depend so much upon your ability to keep 
 house well, that I cannot leave the subject without 
 insisting upon the importance of your learning to do it 
 while you have the chance. There are few higher 
 compliments that can be paid to a young woman than 
 that which accords to her the character of an excellent 
 housekeeper. There is no reputation which will more 
 thoroughly tend to confirm a young woman in the 
 esteem of young men, or more forcibly commend her to 
 their esteem than that of being acquainted, practically* 
 with the details of the kitchen and the economies of 
 housekeeping. 
 
 This naturally introduces me to a discussion of the 
 benefits of physical industry, and the assumption of 
 resrular household duties. There is no better relief to 
 study than the regular performance of special duties in 
 the house. To feel that one is really doing something 
 every day, that the house is the tidier for one's efforts, 
 and tho comfort of the family enhanced, is the surest 
 
.l,m». 
 
 ■ ■ mma w i 
 
 148 IITCOMB'S LETTEES TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 warrant of content and cheerfulness. Tlicre is some* 
 thing about this habit of daily work — this regular per- 
 formance of duty — ^which tends to regulate the passions, 
 to give calmness and vigor to the mind, to impart 
 healthy tone to the body, and to diminish the desire fo. 
 life in the street and for resort to gossiping companions. 
 Were I as rich as Croesus, my girls should have some- 
 thing to do regularly, just as soon as they should be- 
 come old enough to do anything. They should, in the 
 first place, make their own bed, and take care of their 
 own room. They should dress each other. They 
 should sweep a portion of the house. They should learn, 
 above all things, to help themselves, and thus to be inde- 
 pendent in all circumstances. A woman, helpless from 
 any other cause than sickness, is essentially a nuisance. 
 There is nothing womanly and ladylike in helplessness. 
 My policy would be, as girls grow up, to assign to them 
 special duties, first in one part of the house, then in an- 
 other, until they should become acquainted with all 
 housewifely offices ; and I should have an object in this 
 beyond the simple acquisition of a knowledge of house 
 wifery. It should be for the acquisition of habits of 
 physical industry — of habits that conduce to the health 
 of body and mind — of habits that give them an insight 
 into the nature of labor, and inspire within them a 
 genuine sympathy with those whose lot it is to labor. 
 
 nOUSEWIFEEY AND INDUSTRY. 
 
 149 
 
 All young mind is uneasy if it be good for ai.y thing. 
 There is not the genuine human stuff in a girl who is 
 habitually and by nature passive, placid, and inactive, 
 ^Thc body and the mind must both be in motion. If 
 this tendency to activity be left to run loose — undirected 
 into channels of usefulness — a spoiled child is the result. 
 A girl growing up to womanhood, is, when unemployed, 
 habitually uneasy. The mind aches and chafes because 
 it wants action, for a motive. Now a mind in this con- 
 dition is not benefited by the command to stay at home, 
 or the withdrawal from companions. It must be set to 
 work. This vital energy that is struggling to find relief 
 in demonstration should be so directed that habits may 
 be formed, — habits of industry that obviate the wish for 
 change and unnecessary play, and form a regular drain 
 upon it. Otherwise, the mind becomes dissipated, the 
 will irresolute, and confinement irksome. Girls will 
 never be happy, except in the company of their play- 
 mates, unless home becomes to them a scene of regular 
 duty and personal usefulness. 
 
 There is another obvious advantage to be derived 
 from the habit of engaging daily upon special household 
 duties. The imagination of girls is apt to become ac- 
 wive to an unhealthy degree, when no coiTcctive is cm- 
 ployed. False views of life are engendered, and labor 
 is rcirarded as menial. Ease comes to be looked upon 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
150 titcomb's letteks to young women. 
 
 as a supremely desirable thing, so that when the real, 
 inevitable cares of life come, there is no preparation for 
 them, and weak complainings or ill-natured discontent 
 are the result. 
 
 And here I am naturally introduced to another sub 
 ject. Young women, the glory of your life is to do 
 something and to be something. You very possibly 
 may have formed the idea that ease and pereonal enjoy- 
 ment are the ends of your life. This is a terrible mis- 
 take. Development in the broadest sense and in the 
 highest direction is the end of your life. You may 
 possibly find ease with it, and a great deal of precious 
 personal enjoyment, or your life may be one long ex- 
 perience of self-denial. If you wish to be something 
 more than the pet and plaything of a man ; if you 
 would rise above the position of a pretty toy, or the 
 ornamental fixture of an establishment, you have got a 
 work to do. You have got a position to maintain in 
 society ; you liave got the poor and the sick to visit ; 
 you may possibly have a family to rear and train ; you 
 have got to take a load of care upon your shoulders ana 
 bear it through life. You have got a character to sus- 
 tain ; and I hope that you will have the heart of a hus- 
 band to cheer and strengthen. Ease is not for you. 
 Selfish enjoyment is not for you. Tlie world is to be 
 made better by you. You have got to suffer and to 
 
 r 
 t 
 
 I 
 
 If 
 
 i 
 
 ! 
 i 
 
 } 
 
 t 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 HOUSEWIFERY AND INDUSTRY. 
 
 151 
 
 work; and if there be a spark of the true fire in you, 
 your hearts will respond to these words. 
 
 The time will come when you shall see that all your 
 toil, and care, and pain, and sorrow, and practical sympa- 
 thy for others has built you up into a strength of woman- 
 hood which will despise ease as an end of life, and pity 
 /hose who are content with it. Get this idea that your 
 ^reat business is simply to live at ease out of your head 
 at once. There is nothing noble and ennobling in it. 
 Your mental and- physical powers can only give you 
 worthy happiness in the using. They were made for 
 use ; and a lazy woman is inevitably miserable. I do 
 not put this matter of enjoyment before you as the 
 motive for action. I simply state the fact that it is a 
 result of action— an incident of a life worthily spent. 
 
 When you have properly comprehended and received 
 this idea, the recreations of life and the pleasures of 
 social intercourse will take their appropriate positions 
 with relation to the business of life— its staple duties. 
 Recreation will become re-creation-simply the renewal 
 of your powers, that they may all the better perform 
 the work which you have undertaken, or which circum- 
 Btances have devolved upon you. Social pleasure will 
 rise into a sympathetic communion with natures and 
 lives earnest like your own, upon the subjects nearest 
 your hearts, and it will give you strength and guidance. 
 
V 
 
 r 
 
 152 TITCOMB^S LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 Tlie pleasures of life will become the wells,scattered along 
 the way, where you will lay down your burdens for the 
 moment, wipe your brows, and drink, that you may go 
 into the work before you refreshed in body and mind. 
 In these quiet hours you will feel a healthy thrill of 
 happiness which those who seek pleasure for its own 
 sake never know. 
 
 There are few objects in tliis world more repulsive to 
 me than a selfish woman — a woman who selfishly con 
 suits her own enjoyments, her own ease, her own plea- 
 sure. K you have the slightest desire to be loved ; 
 if you would have your presence a welcome one in 
 palace and cottage alike ; if you would be admired, re- 
 spected, revered ; if you would have all sweet human 
 sympathies clustering around you while you live, and 
 the teai-s of a multitude of friends shed upon your 
 grave when you die, you must be a working woman- 
 living and working for others, denying yourself for 
 others, and building up for yourself a character, strong, 
 symmetrical, beautiful. If I were you, I would rather 
 be that insensate and quietly gliding shadow which the 
 wounded soldier kissed as the noble Florence NiMitin- 
 gale passed his weary pillow, than the pampered crea- 
 ture of luxury, who has no thought above her personal 
 ease and personal adornment. 
 
 Po not seek out for yourselves any prominent field 
 
 '», 
 
 l^i 
 
 I 
 
 HOUSEWIFERY AND INDUSTRY. 
 
 153 
 
 i\ 
 
 of service where you will attract the attention of the 
 world. Remain where God places you. Some of the 
 noblest heroisms of the world have been achieved in 
 humble life. The poor ye have always with you. The 
 miserable are always around you. You can lighten 
 vour father's burdens. You can restrain your brothers 
 /fom vicious society. You can relieve your failing and 
 fading mother of much care. You can gather the rag- 
 ged and ignorant children at your knee, and teach them 
 something of a better life than they have seen. You 
 can become angels of light and goodness to many 
 stricken hearts. You can read to the aged. You can 
 do many things which will be changed to blessings upon 
 your own soul. Florence Nightingale did her work in 
 her place ; do your work in yours, and your Father who 
 sccth in secret shall reward you openly. 
 
 I would be the last one to cast a shadow on your 
 brows, but I would undeceive you at the first, so that 
 you may begin life with right ideas. Life is real — it is 
 a real and earnest thing. It has homely details, painful 
 passages, and a crown of care for every brow. I seek to 
 inspire you with a wish and a will to meet it with a 
 womanly spirit. I seek to point you to its nobler mean- 
 ings and its higher results. The tinsel with which your 
 imacnnation has invested it will all fall off of itself, so 
 Eoon as you shall fairly enter upon its experiences. 
 
 1* 
 
 ^ 
 
I. 
 
 »4~— 
 
 154 titcomb's letters to young women. 
 
 Then if these ideas have no place in you, you will be 
 obliged to acquire them slowly and painfully, or you 
 will sink into a poor, selfish, discontented creature — and 
 be, so far as others are concerned, cither a nonentity, 
 or a disagreeable hanger-on and looker-on. So I say, 
 begin to take up life's duties now. Learn something 
 of what life is, before you take upon yourself its graver 
 responsibilities. 
 
 i<: 
 
 I 
 
 LETTER VIIL 
 
 THE BEAUTY AND BLESSEDNESS OF FEMALE PIETY. 
 
 The cross, If rlglitly borno, shall be 
 No burden, but support to thco. 
 
 WnrrriKB. 
 
 YOUNG women, this is my last letter addressed spe- 
 cially to you ; and as I take your hand, and give 
 you my adieu, I wish to say a few words which shall bo 
 worth a great deal to you. It is my opinion that to a 
 certain extent, in certain directions, God meant that you 
 should be dependent upon men, and that in this depend- 
 ence should enst some of your i)rofoundcst and sweetest 
 attractions and your noblest characteristics. Your 
 bodies are smaller than those of men. You were not 
 made to wrestle with the rough forces of nature. You 
 were not made for war, nor commerce, nor agriculture 
 
 MMiKni^M 
 
 I W W ! m <w» m ^w-^0mm'»»^ 
 
 -:i.^L^ 
 
156 TITCOMB'S IJjTITERS to YOUJSG WOMIIN. 
 
 In all these departments, the iron wills and the roc 
 muscles of man are alone at home. The bread yoh cat, 
 and the fabrics you wear, arc to be gathered from the 
 earth by men. You are to be protected by men. 
 They build your houses ; they guard your persons. It 
 is entirely natural for you to rely upon them for much 
 that you have. You give, or may give, great rewards 
 for all this. It is not a menial relation, nor one which 
 detracts from your dignity in the least. The circle of 
 human duties is only complete by the union of those of 
 man and woman. Man has his sphere — woman, hers. 
 We cannot talk of superiority among spheres and duties 
 that arc alike essential. Suffice it that, in the degree 
 in which you are dependent upon man for support and 
 protection, does he owe support and protection to you. 
 He is bound to do for you what you, through the pecu- 
 liarities of your constitution, are unable to do for your- 
 self. You are never to quarrel with this arrangement 
 You will only make yourself unhappy by it, because, bj 
 quarrelling with God's plans, you essentially unsex your- 
 self, and become a discord. Therefore, recognise you* 
 dependence gladly and gracefully. Be at home in it 
 for in it lies your power for influence and for good. 
 
 This advances us a step towards the point to which 
 I wish to lead you. Now, if you will go with me into 
 ft circle of praying Christians, or if you will take up 
 
 ■rw. 
 
 TUE BLESSEDNESS OF FEMALE PIETY. 
 
 157 
 
 with me a list of the members of any church, I will 
 show you a fact which I wish to connect with the facta 
 stated in the preceding paragraph. You will find, I 
 euppose, that at least two-thirds of the members of the 
 prayer-meeting are women, and that the church regis- 
 ter will show a corresponding proportion of female 
 names. Why is this ? Is it because women are weaker 
 than men, simply ? Is it because women are subject to 
 smaller temptations than men? Is it because their 
 passions are less powerful than those of men ? Not at 
 all — or not in any important degree. It is because a 
 feeling of dependence is native in the female heart. It 
 is because the pride of independence has little or no 
 place there. It is because the female mind has to 
 undergo comparatively a small revolution to become 
 religious. Rather, perhaps, I should say, that one pow- 
 erful barrier that stands before the path of every man 
 in his approach to the valley of humiliation does no^ 
 oppose the passage of the true woman. I suppose it is 
 very rare that those who are denominated "strong- 
 minded women " become religious. Tlie pride of per- 
 sonal independence is built before them by their own 
 hands. 
 
 So sweet and so natural a thing is piety among 
 women that men have come to regard a woman with- 
 out it as strange, if not unhealthy. The coarsest and 
 
IftS TnCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 most godless men often select pious wives, because they 
 see tliat piety softens, and deepens, and elevates every 
 natural grace of person, and every accomplishment of 
 mind. Now my opinion is that Heaven, seeing how 
 important it is for you to be its own children, in profes 
 sion and in spirit, has given special favors to your sex, 
 through this simple fact or principle of dependence. It 
 is your work to soften and refine men. Men living 
 without you, by themselves, become savage and sinful. 
 The purer you are, the more are they restrained, 
 and the more arc they elevated. It is your work to 
 form the young mind, — to give it direction and 
 instruction— to develop its love for the good and the 
 true. It is your work to make home happy — to nou- 
 rish all the virtues, and instil all the sentiments which 
 build men up into good citizens. The foundation of our 
 national character is laid by the mothers of the nation. 
 I say that Heaven, seeing the importance to the world 
 of piety in you, has so modified your relations to man 
 that it shall be comparatively easy for you to descend 
 into that valley, over which all must walk, before their 
 feet can stand \ipon the heights of Christian experience, 
 between which and Heaven's door the ascent is easy. 
 
 For my own part, I shrink with horror from a godless 
 woman. There seems to be no light in her — no glory 
 Pfoceeding from her. There is something monstrous 
 
 
 THE BLESSEDNESS OP FEMALE PIETY, 159 
 
 about her. I can see why men do not become religious. 
 It is a hard thing— it is, at least, if experience, and 
 observation are to be relied on — for a man whose will 
 has been made stern by encounters in the great battle 
 of life, who is conscious of power and accustomed t( 
 have the minds around him bend to his, who possesses 
 the pride of manhood and the self-esteem that springs 
 naturally in the mind of one in his position, to become 
 ** as a little child." Woman has only to recognise her 
 dependenc3 upon One higher than man, and, in doing 
 this, is obliged to do but little violence to her habits of 
 thought, and no violence at all to such sentiments of 
 independence as stand most in the way of man. So I 
 say that a godless woman is a monstrous woman. She 
 is an unreasonable woman. She is an oflfensive woman. 
 Even an utterly godless man, unless he be debauched 
 and debased to the position of an animal, deems such a 
 woman without excuse. He looks on her with suspicion. 
 He would not have such an one to take the care of his 
 children. He would not trust her. 
 
 I do not propose to offer you any incentives to piety 
 drawn from a future condition of rewards and punish- 
 ments. I leave it to the pulpits whose ministrations you 
 attend to talk of this matter in their own way. My 
 whole argument shall relate to the proprieties and 
 necessities of the present life. It is proper that you 
 
160 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 serve the Being who made you, and that you love the 
 One .who redeemed you. It is proper that to all youi 
 graces you add that of unselfishness. It is proper that 
 all the elements of your character be harmonized and 
 sublimated by the tenderest devotion to the " On^ 
 altogether lovely." It is proper that your heart be 
 purified, so that all the influence which goes out of it, 
 tlirough the varied relationships of life, be good, and 
 only good. I mean by the word " proper " all that 
 the word proper can mean. It is eternally and immuta- 
 bly fit I mean that it is improper and unfit that you 
 should fail of piety. I mean that by carrying with you 
 a rebellious and cold and careless heart, you introduce 
 among the sweet harmonies of the world, a harsh dis- 
 cord, which it is not fit and proper that you should 
 introduce. You are a wandering star. You arc a 
 voiceless bird. You are a motionless brook. The 
 strings of your soul are not in tune with those chords 
 which the Infinite hand sweeps as he evolves the music 
 of the universe. Your being docs not respond to the 
 touch of Providence ; and if Beauty, and Tnith, and 
 Goodness, and Love, conae down to you, like angels out 
 of heaven, and sing you their sweetest songs, you do not 
 see their wings, nor recognise their home and parentage. 
 I say that it is not proper — it is inexpressibly unfit that 
 you — a woman — with delicate sensibilities, and pure 
 
 THE BLESSEDNESS OP FEMALE PIETY. 
 
 161 
 
 instincts and a dependent nature, should ignore the 
 relations which exist between your soul and God, and 
 put a veil of blackness between the light which he 
 has lighted within you, and that Infinite fountain of 
 ight still open and ready to fill all your being with its 
 divine radiance. 
 
 Then, as to your necessities : Fii-st, remember what 
 you are. You are really the consolers of the world. 
 You attend the world in sickness ; you give all its 
 medicines ; your society soothes the world after its toil, 
 and rewards it for its perplexities ; you receive the in- 
 fant when it enters upon existence ; you drape the cold 
 form of the aged when life is past ; you settle the little 
 difficulties, and assuage the sorrows of childhood ; you 
 minister to the poor and the distressed. Do you sup- 
 pose that out of the resources of your poor heart, you 
 can supply all the draughts that will be made upon your 
 sympathies and their varied ministry ? Do you believe 
 that you carry within your own bosom light for the 
 dying, hope for the despairing, consolation for the bereft, 
 patience for the sick ? Nay, do you believe that you 
 have light and hope and consolation and patience suffi- 
 cient for your own soul's wants, while performing the 
 ministries to which, in Ileaven's economy, you are 
 appointed ? Piety is, then, an absolute necessity to you. 
 You can no more perform these offices to which you are 
 
162 TITCOMB'S letters to young WOMEN". 
 
 called, properly and eflSciently, without piety, than a bird 
 can fly witliout wings. You would bo trying to make 
 bricks without straw. Think of a woman by the side 
 of a dying sister, or a sick child, or a sorrowing friend, 
 or a broken-hearted and broken-spirited man, without a 
 word of heaven in her mouth — without so much as the 
 ability to whisper " Our Father," or even to point her 
 finger hopefully towards the stars ! 
 
 Again, your life and duties arc peculiar, as your sphere 
 IS distinct. If you lead a worthy, womanly life, it will 
 be a home !ifc- -ffce from great excitements. The cur- 
 rent of your tlio aghts will flow in retired channels. You 
 will hear, outside, the braying of trumpets, and the roll 
 of drums, and the din of wheels, and the rush and roar 
 of the world's great business. Oftentimes, when you 
 are busy with your modest affairs, and going through 
 the wearying routine of your life, you will be tempted 
 to repine at their quietness and insipidness. Many a 
 woman does the work of her life without being seen or 
 noticed by the world. The world sees a family reared 
 to virtue — one child after another growing into Chris- 
 tian manhood and womanhood, and at last it sees them 
 all gathered around a grave where the mother that bore 
 them rests from her labors. But the world has never 
 seen that quiet woman laboring for her children, making 
 their clothes, providing their food, teaching them their 
 
 THB BLESSEDNESS OF FEMALE PIETY. 
 
 163 
 
 prayers, and making their homes comfortable and 
 happy. 
 
 The world knows nothing, or does not think, of the 
 fears, the pains, and the anxieties inseparable from the 
 mother's office. She bears them alone, and discharges 
 her peculiar responsibilities without assistance. No in- 
 dividual in the world can do a mother's work for her 
 A family of young immortals is committed to her hands. 
 The rearing and training of these form a business to 
 which she has served no apprenticeship. If divine 
 guidance and support be necessary to any one in the 
 world, they are necessary to the wife and mother. It 
 is a sad, sad thought to any son or daughter that his or 
 her mother was not a woman of piety. The boy that 
 feels that his name is mentioned in a good mother's 
 prayers, is comparatively safe from vice, and the ruin to 
 which it leads. The sweetest thought that N. P. Willis 
 ever penned grew out of a reference to his pious mother's 
 prayers for him. Tossed by the waves, in a vessel which 
 was bearing him homeward, he wrote : 
 
 " Sleep safe, wave- worn mariner, 
 Nor fear to-night nor storm nor seal 
 The ear of Heaven lends low to her; 
 He comes to shore who sails with me /" 
 
 Will not piety be necessary to you ? Will not your 
 piety be necessary to your children ? 
 
164 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG WOMEN. 
 
 And now, young women, a few closing words. I have 
 no doubt many of you Lave read these lettei-s with care, 
 and with an earnest wish to profit by them. They have 
 been written in all honesty and sincerity, and I leave 
 them with you. The opinions I have given you liave 
 not been hastily formed, nor has the counsel 1 havo 
 urged upon you arisen from anything but a conscien- 
 tious conviction of your wants, and a desire to help you 
 to a womanhood, the noblest to be acliieved in this 
 world. Your happiness is very much in your own hands ; 
 80 are your usefulness and your good name. I do not 
 ask you to be anything but a glad, sunny woman. I 
 would have no counsels of mine recommended by lon*^ 
 faces and formal behavior. I would have you so at 
 peace with Heaven, with the world and with youreelf, 
 that tears shall flow only at the call of sympathy. I 
 would liave you immaculate as light, devoted to all 
 good deeds, industrious, intelligent, patient, heroic. And 
 crowning every grace of person and mind, every ac- 
 complishment, every noble sentiment^ every womanly 
 'acuity, every delicate instinct, every true impulse, I 
 would see religion upon your brow— the coronet b} 
 token of which God makes you a princess in his familv 
 and an heir to the brightest glories, the sweetest plea- 
 sures, the noblest privileges, and the highest honors of 
 his kingdom. 
 
 »i^p — ■ ^ii' ^1 >iifci,i, . —. — . 
 
 »— - >Ow »— iufcl 
 
 Letters to Young Married 
 
 People. 
 
1 
 
 I 
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED 
 
 PEOPLE. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 THE FIRST ESSENTIAL DUTIES OF THE CONNUBIAL RELATION 
 
 O let hb walk the world, so that onr loye 
 Burn like a blessed beacon, beautiful, 
 Upon the walls of life's surrounding dark! 
 
 GeKALD MjISSET. 
 
 YOU are married, and it is for better or for worse. Yon 
 are bound to one another as companions for life. 
 Did it ever occur to you that this is a stupendous, a 
 momentous fact ? Did you ever think that since you 
 amo into the world, a precious lump of helpless life, 
 there is no fact of your history which will so much 
 aflfect your destiny as this ? I do not propose to inquire 
 into the motives which led you to this union. You 
 may have come together like two streams, flowing 
 natui-ally towards one point, and then mingling their 
 
p 
 
 168 tttcomb's letters to young married people, 
 
 waters with scarcely a ripple, to pass on together to tho 
 great ocean. You may have come together under thtf 
 wild stress of passion, or the feeble attractions of fancy, 
 or the sordid compulsions of interest, or by force of a 
 love so pure that an angel would think liimself in 
 heaven while in its presence. But the time for con- 
 sidering the motives which have united you is past. 
 You are married, for better or for worse. The word is 
 spoken. The bond is sealed ; and the only question now 
 is — " how shall this union bo made to contribute tho 
 most to your happiness and your best development ?" 
 It is to answer this question as well as I can, that I write 
 this series of letters. 
 
 You have but one life to live, and no amount of money, 
 or influence, or fame, can pay you for a life of unhap- 
 piness. You cannot afford to be unhappy. You cannot 
 afford to quarrel with one another. You cannot afford 
 to cherish a single thought, to harbor a single desire, to 
 gratify a single passion, nor indulge a single selfish feel- 
 ing that will tend to make this union anything but a 
 source of happiness to you. So it becomes you, at 
 starting, to have a perfect understanding with one an- 
 other. It becomes you to resolve that you will be happy 
 together, at any rate ; or that if you suffer, it shall bo 
 from the same cause, and in perfect sympathy. You 
 arc not to let any human being step between you, under 
 
 w 
 
 i 
 
 THE DUTIES OP THB CONNUBIAL RELATION. 169 
 
 ^ny circumstances. Neither father nor mother, neither 
 brother nor sister, neither friend nor neighbor, has any 
 right to interfere with your relations, so long, at least, 
 as you are agreed. You twain are to be one flesh — 
 identified in objects,- desires, sympathies, fortunes, posi- 
 tions — everything. You are to know no closer friend. 
 Now I care not how pure and genuine may be the love 
 which has brought you together, if you have any charac- 
 ter at all, you will find that this perfect union cannot 
 be effected without compromises. Human character, 
 by a wise provision of Providence, is infinitely varied, 
 and there are not two individuals in existence so entirely 
 alike in their tastes, habits of thought, and natural apti- 
 tudes, that they can keep step with one another over all 
 the rough places in the path of life. So there must be 
 a bending to one another. I suppose the brides are few 
 who have not wept once over the hasty words of a hus- 
 band not six months married ; and I suppose there are 
 few husbands who, in the early part of their married 
 life, have not felt that perhaps their choice was not a 
 wise one. 
 
 Breaches of harmony will occur between imperfect 
 men and women ; but all bad results may be avoided 
 by a resolution, well kept on both sides, to ask the 
 other's pardon for every offence — for tho hasty word. 
 
 the peevish complaint, the unshared pleasure — overy- 
 
 8 
 
1 70 titcomb's letters to yofng married people. 
 
 thing that awakens an unpleasant thought, or wounds a 
 sensibility. This reparation must be made at once 
 and if you have a frank and worthy nature, a quarrel is 
 impossible. My opinion is that ninety-nine one-hun 
 dredths of the unhappiness in the connubial relation, is 
 the absolute fault, and not primarily the misfortune, of 
 the parties. You can be happy together if you will ; 
 but the agreement to be happy must be mutual. The 
 compromise cannot be all on one side. It is a mulish 
 pride in men, and a sensitive will in women, that make 
 the principal diflSculty in all unhappy cases. I say to 
 every man and woman, if you have done anything 
 which has displeased your companion, beg her or his 
 pardon, whether you were intentionally guilty or not. 
 It is the cheapest and quickest way to settle the busi- 
 ness. One confession makes way for another, and the 
 matter is closed — closed, most probably, with the very 
 sweetest kiss of the season. 
 
 Be frank with one another. Many a husband and 
 wife go on from year to year with thoughts in their 
 hearts, that they hesitate to reveal to one another. If 
 you have anytliing in your mind concerning your com- 
 panion that troubles you, out with it. Do not brood 
 over it. Perhaps it can be explained on the spot, and 
 the matter for ever put to rest. Draw your souls closer 
 and closer together, from year to year. Get all obstacles 
 
 the duties op the connubial relation. 17X 
 
 out of the way. Just as soon as one arises, attend to it. 
 and get rid of it. At last, they will all disappear. You 
 will become wonted to one another's habits and frames 
 of mind and peculiarities of disposition ; and love, res- 
 pect, and charity will take care of the rest. 
 
 I insist on this, because it is the very first essential 
 thing. I insist on it, because I believe that if there be 
 suflScient aflSnity between two pei*sons to bring them 
 together, and to lead them to unite their lives, it is their 
 fault if they fail to live happily, and still more and more 
 happily as the years advance. I will go go far as to say 
 that I believe there are few women with whom a kind, 
 sensible man may not live happily, if he be so dis- 
 posed ; and I know that woman is more plastic in her 
 nature, and more susceptible to love than man. So, 
 when I hear of unhappy matches, I know that some- 
 body is to blame. 
 
 Tliis intimate association of husband and wife — nay, 
 this identity — can never, be preserved while either is 
 blabbing of the other. A man who tells his neighbors 
 that his wife is extravagrant, that she is wasteful, that 
 he never finds her home, that she will never go out 
 with him, or that she is or does anything which he desires 
 her not to be or do, does a shameful thing, and a cruel 
 thing, besides making a fool of himself. A woman who 
 bruits her husband's faults, who tells the neighbors how 
 
172 TITCOMB'S LETTEKS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 much he seeks the society of other women, how much 
 he spends for cigars, how late he is out at night, how 
 lazy he is, how little he cares for what interests her, 
 how stingy he is with his money, and all that sort of 
 thing, sins against herself, and consents, or voluntarily 
 enlists, to publish that which is essentially her own 
 shame. A husband and wife have no business to tell 
 one another's faults to anybody but to one another. 
 They cannot do it without shame. Their grievances 
 are to be settled in private, between themselves ; and 
 in all public .places, and among friends, they are to 
 preserve towards one another that nice consideration 
 and entire respectfulness which their relation enjoins. 
 For they are one in the law ; and for a man or woman 
 to publish the truth, that they are not one in fact, is to 
 acknowledge that they are living in the relation of an 
 unwilling lover and a compulsory mistress. 
 
 A great deal of evil might be prevented between you 
 if you would allow your aflfection to give itself natural ex- 
 pression. I know of husbands so proud and stiff and &ur\y 
 that they never have a kiss or a caress, or a fond wora 
 for their wives whom they really love. I know such 
 husbands who have most lovable wives — wives to whom 
 a single tender demonstration, that shall tell to their 
 hearts how inexpressibly pleasant their faces and their 
 iociety are, and how fondly they are loved, would be 
 
 THE DUTIES OP THE CONNUBIAL RELATION. 173 
 
 better than untold gold — ^wives, to whom caresses are 
 sweeter than manna, and fond words more musical than 
 robin-songs in the rain. They go through life starving 
 for them — ^bearing buds of happiness upon their bosoms 
 that must be kissed into bloom, or wither and fall. Yet 
 the cast-iron husband goes about his business without 
 even a courteous " good morning," eats his meals with 
 immense regularity, provides for his family exemplarily, 
 imagines that he is an excellent husband, and entertains 
 a profound contempt for silly people who are fond of 
 one another. 
 
 Heaven be thanked that there are some in the world 
 to whose hearts the barnacles will not cling ! Heaven 
 be thanked for the young old boys and the young old 
 girls — ^boys and girls for ever — who, until the evening 
 of life falls upon them, interchange the sweet caresses 
 that call back the days of courtship and early marriage! 
 Thank Heaven that my wife can never grow old ; that 
 BO long as a lock adorns her temples, brown or grey, my 
 finger shall toy with it ; that so long as I can sit there 
 shall be a place for her on my knee ; and that so long 
 as I can whisper and she can hear, she shall know by 
 fond confession that her soul is next to mine — linked to 
 mine — ^mine ! 
 
 I wish in this letter to impress upon you the idea 
 which ^cw married people apparently thoroughly com- 
 
1 74 TTTCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUiJ^G MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 prebend, that you — husband and wife — arc one, — that 
 you have no separate interests, that you can have no 
 separate positions in society, that you should desire 
 none, and that it is within your ability, and is most im- 
 peratively your duty to t>e happy together. In ordei 
 to be what you should be to each other, and in order to 
 be happy yourselves — in your own hearts — you should 
 begin right. You should be willing at all times to bear 
 one another's burdens ; and in fact, I know of no better 
 rule for accomplishing the end I seek for you than by 
 your constantly studying and ministering to the happi- 
 ness of each other. Selfishness is the bane of all life, 
 and especially of married life ; and if a husband and 
 wife devote themselves to one another's happiness, re- 
 linquishing their own selfish gratification for that end, 
 the task is accomplished — the secret solved. The path 
 of such a pair is paved with gold. Their life is a song 
 of praise. All good angels are about them, bearing 
 consolations for every sorrow, antidotes for every bane, 
 rewards for every labor, and strength for every trial. 
 That is essential marriage ; and, as Paul Dombey said 
 when Mrs. Pipchin told him there was nobody else like 
 her, " that is a very good thing." 
 
 I suppose there is a modicum of romance in most 
 natures, and that if it gather about any event, it is that 
 of marriage. Most people marry ideals. There is 
 
 TIIE DUTIES OF THE COXNUBIAX RELATION. 176 
 
 more or less of fictitious and fallacious glory resting 
 upon the head of every bride, which the inchoate hus- 
 band sees and believes in. Both men and women ma- 
 nufacture perfections in their mates by a happy process 
 of their imaginations, and then marry them. This, of 
 course, wears away. By the time the husband has seen 
 his wife eat heartily of pork and beans, and, with her 
 hair frizzled, and her oldest dress on, full of the enter- 
 prise of overhauling things, he sees that she belongs to 
 the same race with himself. And she, when her hus- 
 band gets up cross in the morning, and undertakes 
 to shave himself with cold water and a dull razor, 
 while his suspenders dangle at his heels, begins to see 
 that man is a very prosaic animal. In other words, 
 there is such a thing as a honeymoon, of longer or 
 shorter duration ; and while the moonshine lasts, the 
 radiance of the seventh heaven cannot compare with it. 
 It is a very delicious little delirium— a febrile mental 
 disease — which, like measles, never comes again. 
 
 When the honeymoon passes away, setting behind 
 dull mountains, or dipping silently into the stormy sea 
 of life, the trying hour of married life has come. Be 
 tween the parties, there are no more illusions. The 
 feverish desire of possession has gone— vanished into 
 gratification— and all excitement has receded. Then 
 begins, or should begin, seriously, the businesi> of adap- 
 
1 76 TITCOMB'S LETTEES TO YOUNG MAEBIED PEOrUS. 
 
 tation. If they find that they do not love one anothei 
 as they thought they did, they should conscientiously 
 and earnestly foster and strengthen every bond of attach- 
 ment which exists. They should double their assiduous 
 attentions to one another, and be jealous of everything 
 which tends in the slightest degree to separate them. 
 Life is too precious to be thrown away in secret regrets 
 or open differences. 
 
 I say to any married pair, from whom the romance 
 of life has fled, and who are discontented in the shVht- 
 est degree with their condition and relations, begin this 
 work of reconciliation before you are a day older. 
 Renew the attentions of earlier days. Draw your 
 hearts closer together. Talk the thing all over. Acknow- 
 ledge your faults to one another, and determine that 
 henceforth you will be all in all to each other ; and, ray 
 word for it, you shall find in your relation the sweetest 
 joy earth has for you. There is no other way for you 
 to do. If you are unhappy at home, you must bo 
 unhappy abroad. The man or woman who has settled 
 down upon the conviction that he or she is attached for 
 life to an uncongenial yoke-fellow, and that there is no 
 way of escape, has lost life. There is no effort too 
 costly to be made which can restore to its setting upon 
 their bosoms the missing pearl. 
 
 r" 
 
 LETTER n. 
 
 SPECIAL DUTIES OP THE HUSBAND. 
 
 ne that loveth his wifo loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated hii 
 own flesh ; but noarishetb and chcrisheth it, even as the Lord the church. 
 
 St. Vxjju 
 
 YOUNG husband, this letter is for you. Have you 
 an idea that you have anything like a just com- 
 prehension of the nature of the being whom God has 
 given you for a companion ? If you have, you labor 
 under a very serious mistake. You may live with her 
 until, amid grey hairs and grandchildren, you celebrate 
 your golden wedding, and then know but a tithe of her 
 strength and tenderness. I believe in such a thing as 
 sex of soul. A woman's happiness flows to her from 
 sources and through channels, different from those which 
 
 give origin and conduct to the happiness of man, and, 
 
 8* 
 
1 18 ITTCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 in a measure, will continue to do so for ever. Her 
 faculties bend their exercise towards ditFcrent issues; 
 her social and spiritual natures demand a different ali- 
 ment. What will satisfy you will not satisfy her. That 
 which most interests you is not that in which her soul 
 finds its most grateful exercise. Ilei ove for you may 
 bring her intimately into sympathy with your pursuits, 
 through all their wide range, from a hotly driven politi- 
 cal contest to breaking up a piece of wild land, or even 
 to the cultivation of an unthrifty whisker; but it will 
 only be because they interest the man she loves above 
 all others. She is actuated by motives that do not 
 affect you at all, or not to the extent that they do her. 
 If she be led into sin, you renounce and denounce her 
 as a thing unclean ; yet, through all your debauchery, 
 your untruth to her, your beastly drunkenness, your 
 dishonor, your misfortune, she will cling to you. Tliero 
 is in her heart a depth of tenderness of which neither 
 you nor she herself has any conception. Only the cir- 
 ;umstances and exigencies of life will reveal it ; and 
 this is why a licalthy female soul is always fresh and 
 new. Longfellow, in his "Spanish Student," gives a 
 hint of this — and a pretty deep one — in the language 
 he puts into the mouth of Preciosa's lover : — 
 
 " Wliat roost I prize in woman 
 la her aflfections, not her intellect 
 
 SPECIAL DUTIES OP THE HUSBAND. 17S 
 
 The intellect is finite ; but the affections 
 Are iutinite, and cannot be exhausted." 
 
 * The world of the affections is thy world ; — 
 Not that of man's ambition. In tliat stillness, 
 "Which most becomes a woman, calm and holy, 
 Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart, 
 Feeding its flame." 
 
 "The affections are infinite, and cannot be exhaust- 
 ed ;" and it is through her aflections, and through the 
 deepest of all affections, that happiness comes to the 
 bosom of your wife. The world may pile its honors 
 upon you until your brain goes wild with delirious 
 excitement ; wealth may pour into your coffers through 
 long years of prosperity; you may enjoy the fairest 
 rewards of enterprise and excellence ; but if all these 
 things are won by depriving your wife of your society 
 — ^by driving her out of your thoughts, and by inter- 
 ferino- witli the constant sympathetic communion 
 of your heart with hers, she cannot but feel that what 
 enriches you impoverishes her, and that your gain, 
 whatever it may be, is at her expense. She may enjoy 
 your reputation and your wealth, your successes and 
 good fortunes, but you and your society arc things that 
 are infinitely more precious to her. She depends upon 
 you, naturally and by force of circumstances. Friends 
 may crowd around her ; but if you come not^ she is not 
 
i 80 TITCOMB'S LETTEKS TO YOUNG MAKBIED TEOPLE. 
 
 satisfied. She may have spread before her a thousand 
 delicacies ; but if they are unshared with you, she would 
 exchange them all for an orange which you bring home 
 to her as an evidence that you have thought of her. 
 The dress you selected when in the city is the dearest, 
 though she may acknowledge to herself that she would 
 have chosen different colors and material. In shoi% it 
 is from your heart, and the world coming through your 
 heart, that she draws that sustenance and support which 
 her deepest nature craves. 
 
 Now, how are you dealing by this wife of yours? 
 Do you say that you have all you can attend to in 
 your business, and that she must look out for herself? 
 Do you forget that she lives in the house, away from 
 the excitements of the world which so much interest 
 you, and that the very sweetest excitement of the day 
 is that which throws the warm blood in her heart into 
 eddies as she hears your step at the door ? Do you for- 
 get that she has no pleasure in public places unless you 
 are at her side ? Are you unmindful that she has no 
 such pleasant walks as those which she takes with her 
 hand upon your arm ? Do you ignore the fact that she 
 has a claim upon your time ? Do you fail to remember 
 that you took her out of a pleasant family circle, away 
 from the associations of her childhood, and that she has 
 DO society in all the wide world which she prizes so 
 
 
 SFECIAL DUTIES OP THE HUSBAND. 
 
 181 
 
 highly as yours? Do you forget that you owe youi 
 first duty to her, and that you have no right to give to 
 society, or to your own pleasure, the time which neces- 
 sarily involves neglect of her ? • To come to a practical 
 point — is it one of the aims of your life to give to your 
 wife a portion of your tune and society, so that she shall 
 not always be obliged to sit alone, and go out alone ? 
 
 There are some poor specimens of your sex in the 
 world who not only do not feel that their wives have 
 any special claim on their consideration and their time, 
 but who take the occasion, when in the presence of their 
 wives, to make themselves generally despicable. I 
 know a man whose appearance when in society, or 
 minjrlins: in the common affairs of business, has all the 
 blandness and fragrance of newly mown hay. lie 
 touches his hat to the ladies whom he meets in the 
 street with a grace which a D'Orsay would honor with 
 admiration, and gives them a smile as genial and 
 radiant as a harvest moon. He bears with him all the 
 polish and grace of a gentleman. The concentrated 
 virtues of all the lubricating oils could not add to the 
 ease of his manners. People cannot imagine how such 
 a man could be anything but the best of husbands ; but 
 he is not any such thing. If I were a Jew, and not 
 particularly fond of bacon, I should say that he was a 
 hog in his own house. He is, there, domineering, peevish, 
 
182 titcomb's LKTtiaft ro young married people. 
 
 exacting, and hateful. I have never known him tc 
 speak an aflfectionate or pleasant word to the best of 
 wives. Nothing is out of place in the house for which 
 she is not reproached in fretful and insulting language, 
 Nothing goes wrong out of doors for which he docs net 
 take revenge, or show his spite, by finding fault with the 
 companion of his life. He criticises her cooking and 
 her personal appearance, and, in short, lets off upon her 
 wounded but patient ear all the foul accumulations of 
 his miserable nature and most contemptible disposition. 
 Although some powerful impressions received in early 
 life have induced me to oppose corporeal punishment 
 on principle, I have sometimes wondered whether I 
 should be entirely inconsolable if he should, some time, 
 be cowhided, kicked, cuffed, maimed, and otherwise 
 shamefully entreated. 
 
 But this is an extreme case, you say. Well, it ought 
 to be; but will you just stop for a moment, and ask 
 yourself where it is that you show the worst side of 
 your nature ? Where is it that you feel at the greatest 
 liberty to exhibit your spleen, to give way to your 
 fretfulness, to speak harsh words, to make hateful little 
 speeches that are contemptible from their unprovoked 
 bitterness ? Is it among your fellows, and in the society 
 of other ladies that you take occasion to say your 
 meanest things ? No, sir ! You go home to your wife ; 
 
 SPECIAL DUTIES OF THE HUSBAND. 
 
 183 
 
 you go home from those who care no more for you than 
 they do for a thousand others, to the woman whom in 
 the presence of God and men you have promised to 
 love and cherish above all others ; to the woman who 
 loves you, and who regards you as better than all else 
 earthly ; to a woman who is unprotected save by you, 
 and wholly unprotected from you, and spit your spleen 
 into her ear, and say things to her which, if any one 
 else were to say, would secure him a well deserved 
 caning. Are you not ashamed of this? You say 
 things to her which you would not dare to say to any 
 other lady, however much you might be provoked. 
 You say them — courageous friend ! because nobody 
 has the right to cowhide you for it. Isn't that brave 
 and manly ? As the good mothers of us all have told 
 us a thousand times, " don't you never let me hear of 
 your doing that again." It isn't pretty. It is ineffably 
 wicked and dastardly. 
 
 Tliat husbands and wives may entertain perfect 
 sympathy, there should be the closest confidence be- 
 tween them. I need not tell the wife to give her hus- 
 band the most perfect confidence in all affairs. She 
 does this naturally, if her husband do not repulse her. 
 But you, young husband, do not give your wife your 
 confidence— you do not make her your confidante — ^you 
 have an idea that your business is not your wife's busi- 
 
1 84 tttcomb's leiters to young mabbied people. 
 
 ness. So you keep your troubles, your successes — 
 everything — to yourself. Numberless disturbances of 
 married life begin exactly at this point. Your wife 
 receives the money for her personal expenses, and for the 
 expenses of the house, at your hands. You do not tell 
 her how hardly it has been won; with how much 
 diflSculty you have contrived to get it into your purse, 
 and how necessary it is for her to be economical. You 
 often deceive her, out of genuine love for her, into the 
 belief that you are really doing very well ; and yet 
 you wonder the woman can give ten dollars for a hat 
 and thirty dollars for a cloak. Perhaps you chide her 
 for her extravagance, and so, in course of time, she 
 comes to think you have got a niggardly streak in you, 
 and very naturally rebels against it. She will not be cur- 
 tailed in her expenditures. She dresses no better than 
 her neighbors. So you run your fingers through your 
 hair, and sigh over the fact that you have got an 
 extravagant wife, while she, in turn, wonders how it is 
 possible for a loving husband to be so selfish and stingy 
 Thus for life, perhaps, a hostility of feeling and 
 nterest is established, which might all have been pre- 
 vented by a free and full statement of your circum- 
 stances. This would interest her in, and identify her 
 with, all your trials. It is entirely rational and right 
 that your wife should understand the basis of all your 
 
 SPECTAL DUTIES OP THE HUSBAND. 
 
 186 
 
 requirements of her; and, when she does this, the 
 chances are that she will not only be economical her- 
 self, but will point out leakages in your prosperity for 
 which you are responsible rather than herself. It is 
 ^possible that you have a companion as much troubled 
 by figures as the child-wife, Dora, was. If so, I am 
 sorry for you ; but, if so, very luckily she will do what 
 you require of her without a reason. 
 
 I understand perfectly the desire of a young and 
 sensitive husband to give his wife all the money she 
 wants. You would fulfil her wishes in all things; 
 especially would you allow her those means that will 
 enable her to gratify her tastes in dress and household 
 equipage. You dislike to appear unthrifty, inefficient, 
 or mean, and you are willing to sacrifice much, that no 
 care, no small economies, no apprehension of coming 
 evil, should cloud the brow of tha one you love. Well, 
 I honor this feeling, for it has its birth in a sensitive, 
 manly pride ; but it may go too far — very much too 
 far. It has carried many a man straight into the open 
 llroat of bankruptcy, and ruined both husband and 
 wife for life. No, you must tell her all about it. She 
 must know what your objects and projects are. She 
 roust know what your income is, and the amount of 
 your annual expenses. Then, if she be a good wife, 
 and worthy of a good husband, she will become more 
 
1 86 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MAERIED PEOPLE. 
 
 thoroughly your partner, and " cut her garment accord- 
 ing to the cloth.'' The interest which you thus secure 
 from her in your business affairs, will be the greatest 
 possible comfort to you. She will enjoy all your sue 
 cesses, for they become her own. She will sympathize 
 in all your trials, and you will find great consolation in 
 feeling that there is one heart in the world that under- 
 stands you. 
 
 And this matter of confidence between you and your 
 wife must be carried into everything, for she is your life 
 partner — ^your next soul. There is no way by which 
 she can understand fully her relations to the commu- 
 nity and its various interests, save by understanding your 
 own. So I say in closing, that to your wife you owe a 
 reasonable portion of your time and society, the very 
 choicest side of your nature and character when in her 
 society, and your fullest confidence in all the affairs con- 
 nected with your business, your ambitions, your hopes, 
 and your fears. In the fierce conflicts of life you will 
 find abundant recompense for all this. Your wife will 
 soften your resentments, assuage your disappointments^ 
 pour balm upon your wounded spirit, and harmonize 
 and soften you. At the same time, the exercise of heart 
 and soul which this will give her, will make her a nobler, 
 freer, better woman. It will give her greater breadth 
 and strength of mind, and deepen her sensibilities. To 
 
 SPECIAL DUTIES OP THE HUSBAND. 
 
 is:? 
 
 a pair thus living and acting, may well be applied a 
 couplet which occurs in that charming picture painted 
 by Pinckney, of the Indian husband and his pale-faced 
 
 wife: — 
 
 " She humanizes him, and he 
 
 Educates her to liberty." 
 
LETTTER III. 
 
 8PECIAL DUTIES OF THE WIFE. 
 
 And ^hen the King's decree which ho shall make shall bo published 
 througlout all his empire (for It Is great), all the wives shall give to their 
 husbands honor, both to great and small. 
 
 Book or Estheb. 
 
 Teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love 
 their children, to be discreet, keepers at home, good, obedient to their 
 own hosbandSb 
 
 St. Paul. 
 
 YOJJNG wife, I talked to your husband in my last let- 
 ter, and now I address you. I told him that you 
 have a claim on his time and society. There are quali- 
 fications of tliis claim which concern you particularly, 
 and so I speak to you about them. Your husband labors 
 all day— every day— and during the waking hours, be- 
 tween the conclusion of his labor at night and its com- 
 mencement n the morning, he must have recreation of 
 
 SPECIAL DUTIES OP THE WIFE, 
 
 189 
 
 gome kind ; and here comes in your duty. If you do 
 not make his home pleasant, so that the fulfilment of 
 his duty to you shall be a sweet pleasure to him, you 
 cannot hope for much of his company. "What his 
 nature craves it will have — ^must have. lie cannot be 
 a slave all the time — a slave to his work by day and a 
 slave to you by night He must have hours of free- 
 dom ; and happy are you if, of his own choice, he take 
 the enjoyment you offer in the place of anything which 
 the outside world has to give. I suppose there are few 
 men who, when their work is over, and their supper 
 eaten, do not have a desire to go down town " to meet 
 a man," or visit " the post-office." There is a natural 
 desire in every heart to have, every day, an hour of 
 social freedom — a few minutes, at least, of walk in the 
 open air and contact with the minds of other men. 
 This is entirely a natural and necessary thing ; and you 
 should encourage rather than seek to prevent it, unless 
 your husband is inclined to visit bad places, and asso- 
 ciate' with bad companions. 
 
 Precisely here is a dangerous point for both husband 
 and wife. The wife has been alone during the day, and 
 thinks that her husband ought to spend the whole 
 tjvening with her. The husband has been confined to 
 his labor, and longs for an hour of freedom, in whatever 
 direction his feet may choose to wander. Perhaps the 
 
1 90 titcomb's uetteks to young mabbued people. 
 
 wife thinks he has no business to wander at all, and that 
 his custom is to wander too widely and too long. She 
 complains, and becomes exacting. She cannot bear to 
 liave her husband out of her sight for a moment, after 
 he quits his work. Now, if there be anything in all this 
 world that will make a husband hate his wife, it is a 
 constant attempt on her part to monopolize all his lei- 
 sure time and all his society, to curtail his freedom, and 
 a tendency to be for ever fretting his ears with the 
 statement that "she is nothing, of course," that he 
 " does not care anjrthing about her," and that he dis- 
 likes his home. Treatment like this will just as certainly 
 rouse all the perverseness in a man's nature as a spark 
 will ignite gunpowder. Injustice and inconsiderateness 
 will not go down, especially when administered by a 
 man's companion. He knows that he loves his home, 
 and that he needs and has a right to a certain amount 
 of his time, away from home ; and if he be treated as 
 if he possessed no such necessity and right, he will soon 
 learn to be all that his wife represents him to be. ^ tell 
 you that a man wants very careful handling. You must 
 remember that he can owe no duty to you which does 
 not involve a duty from you. You have the charge of 
 the homo, and if you expect him to spend a portion, or 
 all of his evening in it, you must make it attractive. If 
 you expect a man, as a matter of duty, to give any con- 
 
 SPECIAL DUTIES OF THE WIFE. 
 
 191 
 
 siderable amount of time to your society, daily, through 
 a lono" series of years, you are to see that that society 
 is worth something to him. Where are your accom- 
 plishments ? Where are your books ? Where are your 
 subjects of conversation? 
 
 But let us take up this question separately : how shall 
 a wife make her home pleasant and her society attrac- 
 tive ? This is a short question, but a full answer would 
 make a book. I can only touch a few points. In the 
 first place, she should never indulge in fault-finding. I» 
 a man has learned to expect that he will invariably bt 
 found fault with by his wife, on his return home, and 
 that the burden of her words will be complaint, he has 
 absolutely no pleasure to anticipate and none to enjoy. 
 There is but one alternative for a husband in such a 
 case ; cither to steel himself against complaints, or be 
 harrowed up by them and made snappish and waspish. 
 They never produce a good effect, under any circum- 
 stances whatever. There should always be a pleasant 
 ,word and look ready for him who returns from the toils 
 of the day, wearied with eaining the necessaries of the 
 family. If a pretty pair of slippers lie before the fire, 
 ready for his feet, so much the better. 
 
 Then, again, tlie desire to be pleasing in person should 
 never leave a wife for a day. The husband who comes 
 home at night, and finds his wife dressed to receive him, 
 
192 TTTCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED TEOPLK. 
 
 —dressed neatly and tastefully, because she wishes to 
 be pleasant to his eye, cannot, unless he be a brute, 
 neglect her, or slight her graceful pains-taking. It is a 
 compliment to him. It displays a desire to maintain 
 the charms which first attracted him, and to keep intact 
 the silken bonds which her tasteful girlhood had fiastened 
 
 to his fancy. 
 
 I have seen things managed very diflfcrently from 
 this. I have known an undressed head of "horrid hair** 
 worn all day long, because nobody but the husband 
 would see it I have seen breakfast dresses with sugar 
 plantations on them of very respectable size, and most 
 disagreeable stickiness. In short, I have seen slatterns, 
 whose kiss would not tempt the hungriest hermit that 
 ever forswore women, and was sorry for it I have 
 seen them with neither collar nor zone,— with a person 
 which did not possess a single charm to a husband with 
 his eyes open, and in his right mind. This is all wrong, 
 young wife, for there is no being in this world for whom 
 it is so much for your interest to dress, as for your hus- 
 band. Your happiness depends much on your retaining 
 not only the esteem of your husband, but his admiration. 
 He should see no greater neatness and no more taste in 
 material and fitness, in any woman's dress, than in 
 yours ; and there is no individual in the world before 
 whom you should always appear with more thorough 
 
 BPECX/Oi DUTIES OF THE WIFE. 
 
 193 
 
 tidiness of person than your husband. If you are care 
 icss in this pai'ticular, you absolutely throw away some 
 Df the strongest and most charming influences which 
 vou possess. What is true of your person is also true 
 of your house. If your house be disorderly ; if dust 
 cover the table, and invito the critical finger to write 
 your proper title ; if the furniture look as if it were 
 tossed into a room from a cart ; if your table-cloth have 
 a more intimate acquaintance with gravy than with soap, 
 and from cellar to garret there be no order, do you 
 blame a husband for not Avanting to sit down and spend 
 his evening with you ? I should blame him, of course 
 on general principles, but, as all men are not so sensible 
 as I am, I should charitably entertain all proper 
 excuses. 
 
 Still again, have you anything to talk about — any- 
 thino" better than scandal — with which to interest and 
 refresh his weary mind ? I believe in the interchange 
 of caresses, as I have told you before, but kisses are only 
 the spice of life. You cannot always sit on your hus- 
 band's knee, for, in the first place, it would tire him, 
 and in the second place, he would get sick of it. You 
 should be one with your husband, but never in the 
 shape of a parasite. He should be able to see growth 
 in your soul, independent of him ; and whenever he 
 
 truly feels that he has received from you a stimulus to 
 
 9 
 
194 titcomb's leiteks to young markied people. 
 
 progress and to goodness, you have refreshed him, and 
 made a great advance into his heart. 
 
 He should see that you really have a strong desire to 
 make him happy, and to retain for ever the warmest 
 place in his respect, his admiration, and his aflfcction. 
 Enter into all his plans with interest. Sweeten all his 
 troubles with your sympathy. Make him feel that there 
 is one ear always open to the revelation of his experiences, 
 that there is one heart that never misconstrues him, 
 that there is one refuge for him in all circumstances ; 
 and that in all wearinesses of body and soul, there is 
 one warm pillow for his head, beneath which a heart is 
 beating with the same unvarying truth and affection, 
 through all gladness and sadness, as the faithful chrono- 
 meter suffers no perturbation of its rhythm by shine or 
 shower. A husband who has such a wife as this, has 
 little temptation to spend much time away from home. 
 He cannot stay away long at a time. He may " meet 
 a man," but the man will not long detain him from his 
 wife. He may go to " the post-ofBce," but he will not 
 call upon the friend's wife on the way. He can do 
 better. The great danger is that he will love his home 
 too well — that he will neither be willing to have you 
 visit your aunts and cousins, nor, without a groan, accept 
 an invitation to tea at your neighbor's. 
 
 But I leave this special point, to which I have devo- 
 
 1 
 
 SPECIAL DUTIES OP THE WIFE, 
 
 195 
 
 ted my space somewhat improvidently. There is one 
 relation which you bear to your husband, or one aspect 
 of your relation to him, to which I have not alluded 
 sufficiently. You are not only the wife of his bosom^ 
 the object of his affections, but you have a business 
 relation with him — you are his helpmate. To a very 
 great extent you are dependent upon him, but you are 
 also his assistant, — ^bound to use his money economically, 
 and to aid, so far as you can, in saving and accumulat- 
 ir\(f it. The woman who feels that she has a right to 
 spend every cent that " the old man " allows her, and 
 tliat all she gets out of him is hers to lavish upon her 
 vanities, takes a very low view of her relations to him. 
 It is simply the view of a mistress, and is utterly dis- 
 honorable—utterly mercenary. The money which he 
 puts into your hand endows you simply with a steward- 
 ship. You have no right to waste it, or to part with it, 
 for anything but such values as are consistent with his 
 means. You have consented to be the partner of his 
 life, and you have no more right to squander his money 
 than his business partner has. It is your duty to hus- 
 band it; and happy are you if your companion has 
 Buch confidence in your faithfulness to him and his 
 interest, that he puts money into your hand always 
 willingly, believing that it will be parted with judicious- 
 ly, »»jd with discreet and conscientious regard to his 
 
196 TTTCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE, 
 
 means and abilities. If your liusband has no confidence 
 In your economy and discretion, and consequently stinta 
 you, and absolutely feels obliged to place you in the 
 position of a favorite dependent and pensioner — a play 
 tiling or a housekeeper for whom he has got to pay— 
 you are not happy by any means. 
 
 You can do very much in your character of helpmate 
 to lighten your husband's cares, and relieve him from 
 anxieties. If he finds you looking closely after his in- 
 terests, buying economically the food for his table, and 
 never wastefully sacrificing your old dresses in conse- 
 quence of your thirst for new, always counting the cost 
 of every object which you may desire, you relieve his 
 mind from a load of care which no man can carry with- 
 out embarrassment. A man who feels that there is ii. 
 his own house a leak which will absorb all he may earn, 
 be that little or much, and that he has got to suffer it, 
 and suffer from it, or institute restrictions that will pro 
 bably make him appear mean in the eyes of his wife 
 (wasteful wives are very apt to have mean husbands) 
 the great stimulus and encouragement of his industry 
 are taken away from him. 
 
 Tlie full appreciation of your character, as your hus- 
 band's helpmate, depends upon the thorough identifica- 
 tion of yourself with him. Of this I have talked before, 
 and call it up again for the purpose of showing you that 
 
 SPECLiL DUTIES OP THE WIFE. 
 
 197 
 
 there is absolutely no aspect of your relation to him 
 which can be considered legitimate and complete that 
 does not involve his identification. It is an equal thing. 
 You are interested in your husband's expenditures ; and 
 he is interested in yours. You have cast in your lot 
 together — your whole lot ; and he has no more right 
 to expend his money in such a way as to embarrass you 
 and deprive you of what you need, than you have to 
 squander the means which he places at your disposal. 
 It is a partnership concern, and if you succeed in man- 
 aging your department of it in such a way as to secure 
 your husband's confidence, fairly considering the cost of 
 every cent to him, he will feel that he is appreciated, 
 honored, and loved. Very likely he will understand 
 this better than tasteful comforts and tender demonstra- 
 tions of a lighter nature — demonstrations that involve 
 no self-denial. 
 
LETTER IV. 
 
 THE REARING OF CHILDRSV 
 
 Once tboa vrcrt hidden in her pafnfUl side, 
 
 A boon unknown, a mystery and a fear; 
 
 Btrantre pangs she bore for thee ; bnt He whose name 
 
 Is everlasting Love hath healed her pain; 
 
 And paid her suffering hours with living joy. 
 
 Henrv Aipoi 
 
 Hall, wedded Love I mysterious law ; true source 
 Of human offspring 1 
 
 MlLTOK. 
 
 M' 
 
 "Y theory of life is that it is a school of mental 
 and moral development — that God intended that 
 each soul should pass under a series of influences, whose 
 oflBce it should be to evolve all its faculties, and soften 
 and harmonize them. To this end, he has laid upon 
 each a sweet necessity to adopt the ordinances he has 
 contnvcd. When I speak of necessity, I do not mean 
 
 
 THE REARING OP CHILDREN. 
 
 199 
 
 compulsion, save in a limited sense — compulsion entire- 
 ly consistent with individual election. Thus I believe 
 that there is a very material portion of mental and 
 moral development which cannot be achieved out of 
 the marriage relation ; and, to bring men and women 
 into this relation, he, has given them the sentiment of 
 love, and the desire of mutual personal possession. This 
 sentiment and desire are made so strong that they may 
 hardly be resisted, so that all shall choose to be joined 
 in conjugal relations. Thus the strong arc softened by 
 the weak, and the weak are invigorated by the strong ; 
 and the influences of men and women upon each other 
 become the most powerful agencies for their mutual 
 harmonious growth. But this is not all. When a pair 
 have become united in wedlock, there rises in each 
 healthy heart a desire for off'spring. Nothing is more 
 natural than this desire, and nothing more imperative. 
 Its germ is seen fiir back in childhood. The boy's love 
 of pets is but a manifestation of the primary outrcach- 
 ings of this desire, which fasten at first upon the only 
 • possible objects ; and there probably never lived a little 
 girl that did not love her doll beyond all other play- 
 things. She takes it first, and retains it the longest of any. 
 This brings me to the subject of children, as legiti- 
 mately something to be talked about in these letters. 
 'i'!:e bavins and the rcariiii^ of children form one of 
 
200 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MATtR TTST^ PEOPLE. 
 
 God's ordinances for making you what you should be— 
 w^at he wishes you to be. Tliey are as necessary tc 
 you as you are to them. You can no more reach the 
 highest and most hafmonious development of which 
 you are capable without children, than you can develop 
 a muscle without exercise. Without them, one of the 
 most beautiful regions of your nature must for ever 
 remain without appropriate and direct culture. The 
 offices of children in the culture of their parents are 
 manifold. In the first place, they are a conservative 
 and regulating force. A pair living together without 
 children naturally become selfish. A pair unwatched 
 by innocent eyes are often thrown off their guard in 
 their language towards, and treatment of, each other. 
 They lose one great stimulus to industry, and do not 
 possess that which is, perhaps, the strongest bond, under 
 all the circumstances of life, which can bind husband 
 and wife together. There can be no tnie development 
 of heart and mind where pure selfishness is the predo- 
 minant principle ; so God ordains that in each house 
 there shall be little ones, more precious than all else, 
 who shall engage the sympathy, tax the efforts, and 
 absorb the love of those who sustain to them the rela- 
 tion of parents. The law is irreversible that our best 
 individual progress in mental and moral good shall bo 
 attained by efforts devoted to others ; and in children, 
 
 1 
 
 THE REARING OP CmLDREN. 
 
 201 
 
 each parent finds the nearest objects of such devotion. 
 And there is, perhaps, nothing which so tends to soften 
 the heart, to develop the kindlier affections, and to un- 
 lock and chasten the sympathies of men and women, as 
 the children which sit around their table, and frolic 
 upon their knees. 
 
 When I see a man stop in the streets to comfort 
 some weeping child, or to get a kiss from a pair of 
 juvenile lips, I know that he has passed through a 
 blessed experience with children. A helpless little head 
 has been laid upon his shoulder, in some hushed and 
 hallowed room where the great mystery of birth has 
 been enacted. Some feeble, wailing boy, pressed to his 
 breast, has been borne, night after night, with weary 
 arms, back and forth in the dimly lighted chamber, 
 while the mother caught her short half hours of rest. 
 More likely still, some precious warbler, her eyes closed, 
 her lips for ever stilled, her golden curls parted away 
 from a marble forehead, a white rose in her hand, has 
 been laid in the grave, and the sod that covers her has 
 been fertilized by his tears. Oh 1 there is something in 
 loving dependent children, in tender care for them, and 
 in losing them, even, which bestows upon the soul the 
 most enriching of its experiences. Tliey make us ten- 
 der and sympathetic, and a thousand times reward us 
 
 for all we do for them. We cannot get along without 
 
 9* 
 
202 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 them ; you cannot get along without them. You can- 
 not afford to do it. They are cheap at the price of 
 pain and sickness, and care and toil. 
 
 What do I mean by talk like this ? What do I mean 
 by the utterance of common-place like this ? I mean 
 simply to reveal some of the considerations upon which 
 I condemn a great and growing vice among the youn^v 
 married people of this country — a vice which involves 
 essential murder in many instances, and swells the 
 profits of a thousand nostrum venders. And what do I 
 mean by this ? I mean that in thousands of American 
 homes children have come to be regarded cither as 
 nuisances or luxuries. I mean that, in these homes, to 
 have children is deemed a great misfortune. They are 
 the bugbear that threatens people away from the mar- 
 riage relation, and frightens them when in it I mean 
 that men and women, more and more in this country, 
 hug to themselves their selfish delights, cherish their 
 selfish case, and consult their selfish convenience, with- 
 out a consideration of their duties as men and women, 
 and without a comprehension of the fact tliat they can 
 only find their highest enjoyment by obedience to the 
 laws of God, natural and revealed. I mean that there 
 are multitudes who envy those unblcst with children, 
 and congratulate them upon their poverty. I mean tlia 
 there are husbands who giiulge every charm lost b- 
 
 
 M^ 
 
 THE REARING OP CHILDREN. 
 
 20S 
 
 their wives in the duties and sacrifices of matcraity, 
 and that there are wives who are made spiteful and 
 angry by the intorference of children with their indo- 
 lent habits, their love of freedom and self-indulgence, 
 and their vain pursuits. I mean that the number i 
 increasinjr of those who receive the choicest earthly 
 blessings God can confer with ingratitude and wilful 
 complainings. That is precisely what I mean ; and I 
 do not hesitate to say that it is all a very shabby and 
 sinful thing, and that it is high time that those who are 
 guilty were ashamed of it. 
 
 A woman who, by cool and calculating choice, is no 
 mother, and who congratulates herself that she has no 
 "young ones" tied to her apron strings, is either very 
 unfortunately organized, or she is essentially immoral. 
 A man who can tip up his feet, over against his lonely 
 wife, and thank his stai-s that he has no "squalling 
 brats " around to bother him, is a brute. It is time 
 that some one protest, and I hereby do protest, against 
 one of the great sins and shames of the age,— a sin 
 which deadens the conscience, bestializes the affections, 
 and ruins the health of the mistaken creatures who 
 practise it,— which cuts the channel from one end of 
 the land to the other of a broader Ganges than that 
 which bubbles along its heathenish bank with the ex- 
 piring breath of infancy. 
 
204 titcomb's letteks to young aiaimued peoplk 
 
 There is growing up a cowardly disposition to shirk 
 trouble and responsibility in this matter. "I don't feel 
 competent to bring up a family of children." Who 
 does ? It is a part of your education to acquire compe- 
 tence for this work. " But I don't feel like assuming 
 such a responsibility." That responsibility is precisely 
 what you need to keep you in the path you ought to 
 walk in. " But I can't afford it." Are there two pairs 
 of hands between you, and not suflScient patience, cou- 
 rage, and enterprise to do the duties of life ? " But 1 
 am afraid that I should lose my children. Tliey are 
 liable to so many accidents that it would be very 
 strange if I should be able to raise a family without 
 losing one or two." The sweetest and truest couplet 
 that the Queen's laureate ever wrote tells the story upon 
 this point : — 
 
 " 'Tis better to have loved and lost 
 Than never to have loved at all." 
 
 Ask the father and the mother, weeping over the 
 coffin of their first-born and only chikl, whether they 
 regret that the child was born. Ask them the same 
 question in after years, when that little life has come to 
 be a thread of gold running through all their expe- 
 riences. If they give an afiirmative answer, I will be 
 tilent. No, my married friends — you who shrink from 
 
 THE REARING OF CHILDREN. 
 
 20£ 
 
 accepting the choicest privilege bestowed upon you — 
 you are all wrong ; and if you live, you will arrive at a 
 period where you will see that there are rewards and 
 punishments attached to this thing. What is to sus- 
 tain you when, in old age — the charms of youth ail 
 past, desire extinguished, and the grasshopper a burden 
 — ^you sit at your lonely board, and think of the stran- 
 gers who are to enjoy the fruit of your most fruitless 
 life ? Who are to feed the deadening affections of your 
 heart and keep life bright and desirable to its close, but 
 the little ones whom you rear to manhood and woman- 
 hood ? What is to reward you for the toils of life if 
 you do not feel that you — your thoughts, your blood, 
 your influence — are to be continued into the future ? 
 Do you like the idea of having hirelings, or those who 
 are anxious to get rid of you, about your dying bed ? 
 Is it not worth something to have a family of children 
 whom you have reared, lingering about your grave, with 
 tears on their cheeks and blessings on their lips — 
 tears for a great loss, and blessings on the hallowed 
 influence which has trained them in the path of duty, 
 and directed them to life's noblest ends ? 
 
 This is a subject which has not been talked about 
 much publicly, but it is a very serious thing with me, 
 and it ought to be with you. I love the family life. I 
 esteem a Christian family — the more numerous the bet- 
 
206 TITCOMB'S LETTEIIS TO YOUNG MARUIED PEOPLE. 
 
 THE REAPJNG OF CHILDREN. 
 
 20? 
 
 tor— one of the most beautiful subjects of contemplation 
 the earth affords. A fother, thoroughly chastened and 
 warmed in all his affections, and a mother overflowinfr 
 with love for the dear children God has given hv; 
 devoted to their welfare, and guiding them by lier ten- 
 der counsels, sitting at their board with the sprightly 
 forms and bright eyes of childhood around the table, or 
 all kneeling at the family altar, form a sight more 
 nearly allied to heaven than any other which the world 
 presents. Do you suppose such a father would be what 
 he is but for his children ? Do you believe such a 
 mother would be the blessed being she is but for the 
 development which she receives in her maternal office ? 
 No, you know that both have been chastened, elevated, 
 purified, made strong, and essentially glorified, by a 
 relation as sanctifying as it is sacred. 
 
 So I say, in closing, that you can never realize the 
 very choicest and richest blessings that Heaven intends 
 for you, in your relations as husband and wife, without 
 children. Whom God deprives of these, he has other 
 thought for, and I have nothing to say to them ; but to 
 the multitude, I say, give welcome to each new comer 
 whom God has lighted with a spark of his own divinitv 
 to grow in glory till it shall outshine the star beneath 
 which it entered existence, such greeting as you would 
 give an angel. Clothe him in white, bear him to the 
 
 t.„ „.. 
 
 I 
 
 baptismal font, rejoice over him as a testimonial that 
 God remembers you, and celebrate the day when he Avas 
 given to your arms in such a manner that he shall know 
 that it is a blessed thing to be born. Sing to him plea 
 sant songs, and scatter roses upon his cradle. " Of such 
 is the kingdom of heaven,'' and in such the Saviour has 
 given to you those to whose pure, simple, and innocent 
 likeness he would have you confonn your heart. You 
 arc to rear your boy to manhood, and educate him to 
 be a man ; and he, in tuni, is to educate you to be a 
 child, and protect your helpless years. It is an even 
 thinrr, and a beautiful exhibition of that wonaerful 
 machinery by which all arc made to Dear equal uurden 
 in evolvmg the noblest life of tae race. 
 
i 
 
 t 
 
 f 
 
 ' 
 
 1 :' 
 
 i ; 
 
 i ■ 
 
 1 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 SEPARATION FAMILY RELATIVES SERVANTB, 
 
 Whate'er the uplooking soul admlrei, 
 "W hato'er the senses' banquet be, 
 Fatigues, at last, with vain deslrei, 
 Or sickens by satiety. 
 
 But, truly, my delight was more 
 In her to whom I'm bound for aye 
 Yesterday than the day before. 
 And more to-day than yesterday 1 
 
 Tub Akgel in tuk Uousk. 
 
 THERE are so many subjects wliicli call for notice 
 in my letters to you that one letter, at least, must 
 be a piece of patchwork. I propose that this one shall 
 bear such a character. 
 
 It is doubtless a general experience that a husband 
 and wife, after living together for a time, become in a 
 
 SEPARATION — ^FAMILY RELATIVES — SERVANTS. 209 
 
 measure tired of one another's company Before 
 marriage, they were essential to each other ; after lonp^ 
 months of intimacy, a sense of monotony creeps upon 
 them, and a separation for a few weeks is regarded as 
 desirable, or not to be regretted. The husband would 
 like a little more freedom ; the wife, perhaps, pines for 
 the associations of her free and careless girlhood. 
 "When this feeling comes upon a married pair, the time 
 for a temporary separation has arrived, and the quicker 
 it is instituted the better. The object and end of it is 
 to prove to both that they cannot be happy when 
 separated. Tlie first week will pass off very pleasantly ; 
 the second will find them rather longing for one 
 another's society again ; the third will burden the mails 
 with tender epistles in which the romance and ardor of 
 courtship will be revived ; the fourth will convince the 
 wife that she has the very dearest husband in the world, 
 and the husband will i irry his package of letters in his 
 breast pocket and sigh ; the fifth will find a day set for 
 the greatly longed-for re-union, about which both will 
 .0 thinking all the time ; and the sixth will bring the 
 wife home, with all her precious beauty and band-boxes ; 
 Hud such a meeting will take place as well might make 
 an observing old bachelor commit suicide. "Well, they 
 have learned a lesson which they will remember as long 
 as they shall live. It is proved to them that they can- 
 
 • 
 
210 TITCOMIJ'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED TEOI'LE. 
 
 not be happy apart, and that separation will always be 
 a calamity. 
 
 « 
 
 Various circumstances spring up in the course of life 
 which seem to dictate a temporary separation, on the 
 score of economy or profit. A man will desire to ^3 
 into a distant city, for a sojourn of months and perhaps 
 yeai-s, that he may buy and sell and get gain. The wife 
 may not go, as it would interfere with the profits. Tliis 
 is one case ; and there may be a thousand others in 
 wliich policy dictates a like temporary separation. My 
 counsel is to regard all such inducements for separation 
 as temptations of the devil. It is morally degrading 
 for a husband and wife to live apart from each other. 
 It is the rupture of a sacred tie— the denial of a sacred 
 pledge— the breaking up of a relation into which reli- 
 gion, aff'ection, and habits of thought and life have all 
 become intimately interwoven, leaving both man and 
 woman loosely floating among new influences, and freed 
 from the restraints to which their lives had becomo 
 conformed. 
 
 Separation for the time being destroys the comfoit 
 and withholds the rewards of married life. It is a loii<»- 
 dreary, monotonous, or anxious episode, for which neither 
 fame nor money can compensate. It is this, or worse; 
 for, certainly, nothing can compensate for the acquisition 
 of that indifference on either side which proves that 
 
 SEPARATION — FAMILY RELATIVES — SERVANTS. 211 
 
 separation is not a calamity. A broken bone, too long 
 left w ithout setting, can never again make a firm junction. 
 Separation which shows that a pair cannot live apart is 
 well ; separation which proves that they can, is one ol 
 the worst things that can happen. Therefore I say to 
 every man, that the circumstances should be most ex- 
 traordinary which will leave him at liberty to break up 
 his home, or justify him in separating from his wife. 
 If you cannot take the wife of your bosom with you, 
 you are to believe, generally, that your plans have not 
 the favor of Providence. 
 
 It is the habit of some husbands and wives to have 
 intimate friends whom they cherish and correspond with, 
 independently. I have known very good husbands to 
 carry on limited flirtations with girls, to be the reposi- 
 tories of secrets belonging to such, and to act as their 
 very agreeable next friends. Very pleasant connexions 
 are these, to a young husband, who has time to attend 
 to them, but very dangerous in the long run. Similar 
 connexions on the other side of the house have made a 
 great deal of difficulty since the worid began. They 
 are very harmless things at first ; but there is nothing 
 but danger in the intimacy of a married heart with an 
 unmarried one, unless there be other relationships which 
 justify it. A man or a woman who, from the most in- 
 noQijnt motives originally, plays with such an intimacy 
 
» 
 i 
 
 212 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MAREIED PEOPLE 
 
 as this, is toying witli a very dangerous instrument. It 
 leads to the establishment of secrets between husband 
 and wife— itself a bad thing— and too frequently leads 
 to their estrangement, more or less pronounced. You 
 should never write a letter, or give occasion for the re- 
 ceipt of one, which you are unwilling to show to your 
 companion. Under none but extraordinary circum- 
 stances should you consent to receive a secret from a 
 friend which he or she may be unwilling your companion 
 should know. 
 
 If you have friends, they should be the friends of 
 your companion ; and this should be carried outside of 
 the circle of your intimacies. You have no business 
 with a fi-iend who refuses to be your companion's friend; 
 and again you have no business with a friend whom, fof 
 a valid reason, your companion refuses to know. Yoi 
 may have come together from different classes of society 
 The wife or the husband may be proscribed by a class 
 while her or his companion may be a favorite of thi 
 same chiss. A husband or a wife, who is willinjr to io-non 
 his proscription and distinction, demonstrates a lack of 
 spirit and self-respect that is utterly contemptible. A 
 husband or a wife acting thus dishonors his or her owi 
 flesh and blood. You go together ; you are to be re- 
 ceived together or not at all ; and an insult to one is an 
 insult to both, always, and under all circumstances. 
 
 SEPARATION — ^FAMILY RELATIVES — SERVANTS. 213 
 
 And now that I have spoken of your mutual relations 
 to intimates and friends, it is proper that I speak of youi 
 relations to your respective blood connexions. Very 
 fruitful causes of disturbance, between husbands and 
 wives are the relatives of the married pair. Not unfre- 
 quently the parents of the husband are brought into his 
 family, and not unfrequently those of the wife. Doubt- 
 less there are instances in which it is impossible to get 
 along without difficulty with these, but if you have fully 
 apprehended my course of reasoning with you, and ad- 
 mitted its validity, there is but one course for you to 
 pursue. You arc one. The husband's parents are the 
 wife's parents, and the wife's parents are the parents of 
 the husband. You are to receive and treat thcni as your 
 own — not with constraint and as a matter of duty, but 
 willingly and affectionately. You are to learn to love 
 and respect them, — to bear with their frailties, to com 
 fort them in their passage to the tomb, to treat them in 
 no sense as dependents, and to make them feel that they 
 are not only welcome to your kindly offices, but that 
 they have a right to the home which they have with 
 you. You are young, and they are old. It is for the 
 honor of your companion that his or her parents have 
 support at his or her hands, and what is y6ur com- 
 panion's honor is yours. Besides, this world is a world 
 of compensations, more nicely adapted and more cer- 
 
214 TITCOMll'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 tain than you know. Tlic time will pass away, and tlio 
 children now on your knee will Lave grown to manhooJ 
 and womanhood, and will have chosen their companions 
 as their fathers and mothers chose theirs before them 
 The home which yon now enjoy may be broken np 
 Your companion will be taken from you, and your onh 
 resort may be the home of your child. The treatment 
 which you would wish to receive from your son's wife, 
 or your daughter's husband, is precisely the treatment 
 which you now owe to those who hold to you the rela- 
 tion which you will then sustain to them. 
 
 The same rules which govern you in regard to the 
 parents should extend to the circle of your otiier rela- 
 tives. Of course, your ability to maintain dependents 
 is a consideration ; but I regard personal and family 
 lionor as most inseparably involved in this thing. A 
 son or a daughter who, with the power of maintaining 
 without impossible self-sacrifice a father and mother, 
 allows them to finish their life in an alms-house, or to 
 live on the charity of those upon whom they have no 
 peciul claimji, is a brute. There are a few such miscrar 
 Die creatures in the world, who ought to be hoote<l at 
 and cut by all decent people. In a measure the same 
 thing is {rue of all l\imily relatives. It is a matter of 
 personal and family pride, as I have said. It is some- 
 thing more than thi.^. The poor we have* always with 
 
 REPARATION — ^FAMILY RELATIVES — SERVANTS. 215 
 
 US, and we owe a duty to them, unless we ourselves are 
 equally poor ; but when a man has poor relatives who 
 must be dependent, more or less, upon some one, it is 
 a? if God's finger had kindly pointed out to him the 
 very objects upon which his benefactions should be 
 
 bestowed. 
 
 I am aware that this is rather serious doctrine for 
 some minds. I am aware that relatives are often proud 
 as well as poor ; that they will be dependent rather than 
 labor ; that they become insufferable drones and bores, 
 and haunt your homes with a most oflfensive and vexa- 
 tious presence. There ought to be some short method 
 of treating such, but I do not possess it. If you cannot 
 make them useful, there are several ways of making 
 them uncomfortable which may be safely left to the 
 invention and discretion of the suftering parties. My 
 plea is for a thorough identification of fiunily feeling 
 and family pride between husband and wife. If it 
 entail disagreeable and unjust burdens, through the 
 laziness or extravagance of dependent relatives, it is a 
 misfortune ; but misfortunes are incident to all relations. 
 Better bear them than leave your motives open to 
 suspicion, or bring disgrace upon your family name. 
 
 I cannot close this letter better thanby saying a word 
 or two upon the subject of servants. The general pro- 
 position that the quality of the servant is dependent 
 
216 ' ^tcomb's letters to young married people. 
 
 pon the quality of the mistress is a sound one. If a 
 »voman who frets at and scolds her servants ever has a 
 good servant, it is in spite of the treatment she receives. 
 In order to be a good mistress, it is necessary to believe 
 in a few fundamental truths, which may be briefly stated 
 as follows : First servants are human beinjrs, and con- 
 sequently have souls; second^ servants, having souls, arc 
 consequently controlled by the motives which address 
 themselves to a common humanity ; third, being human, 
 servants have rights which no amount of service money 
 can buy ; and /owr/A, transcendent intellectual endow 
 ments, a physical development of fifty-horse power, the 
 broad circle of the Christian graces and virtues, a fault- 
 less disposition, a knowledge of French cookery, and 
 elegant habits, cannot be obtained for nine Yankee 
 shillings a week. A mistress admitting generally the 
 truth of these propositions possesses a basis for securing 
 service that shall be reasonably satisfactory to l»r. 
 
 There is quite too much of the feeling among mis- 
 tresses that they have a right to use a servant as a fitst 
 boy uses a hired hoi*se. They are to get the most out 
 of them that they can for the money they pay. They 
 take no personal interest in them, — extend to them no 
 matronly care and kindness. They forget that a servant 
 is a social being. They forget that she has humble 
 loves and hopes, lias desires for freedom and lecreation, 
 
 SEPARATION — ^FAMILY RELATIVES — SERVANTS. 217 
 
 as importiint to her as the higher love and hopes and 
 
 desires of the more favored girls who occupy the parlor. 
 
 They forget that the labors of the kitchen are tedious ; 
 
 that the confinement of the kitchen is irksome. They 
 
 become exacting, — strict in rules, rigid in discipline, and 
 
 peremptory in their commands. It is not in human 
 
 nature to stand this kind of thing, so the servant gets 
 
 hardened at last, or wilfully careless. She receives no 
 
 praise, any way, and therefore tries to get none. A 
 
 servant, generally speaking, whose feelings as a humble 
 
 woman are appreciated by her mistress, who is praised 
 
 for what she does that is well, and kindly and patiently 
 
 instructed to correct that which is not well ; who is 
 
 treated to sympathetic and considerate words, and 
 
 indulged in that liberty which is absolutely essential to 
 
 her bodily and mental health, will love her mistress, 
 
 and have a desire to please. This, in all good and tole- 
 
 ral ly sensible natures, will settle the matter. A girl 
 
 exuTcised by this love and this desire will be a good 
 
 seivant ninety-nine times in a hundred. It is under 
 
 ' i-elations like these that attachments are formed which 
 
 are as tender as humanity and as lasting as life. 
 
 There is a broad view in which this and all kindred 
 
 mattcre are to be regarded. The mistress is quite as 
 
 dependent upon the servant as the servant upon the 
 
 mistress. She renders an equivalent for what you give 
 
 10 
 
218 Til comb's LETTEllS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 her, and her service is as essential to you as your money 
 is to iier. You cannot get along without her, nor can 
 she get along without you. Your position, to be sure, 
 is superior to hers, but she owes you nothing, save faith 
 ful service and respect. The obligations are not al 
 upon one side. It is just as much your duty to be a 
 kind mistress and friend to her, as it is her duty to give 
 faithful service and respectful treatment to you. If, 
 therefore, you fail in your duty, you must not blame 
 her for failing in hei*s. I have never yet seen a good 
 senant who had not either a good mistress, or one who 
 was actually inferior to herself. Human nature is very 
 prevalent among women, and especially among maids 
 of all-work. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 THE INSTITUTION OF HOME. 
 
 Home of our childhood ! IIow affection clings, 
 And hovers round thee with her seraph wings ! 
 
 O. W. IIoLina. 
 
 For there are two heavens, sweet. 
 
 Both made of love — one inconceivable 
 
 Even by the other, so divine it is ; 
 
 The other far on this side of the stars 
 
 By men called Home, when some blest pair have met, 
 
 As wo are now. 
 
 LKion Hunt. 
 
 THE French have no word into which the English 
 word home may be legitimately translated; yet 
 it is sufficiently evident that many of the French people 
 have the thing without the name, while a large portion 
 of the American people have the name without the 
 thing. There are comparatively few who have an adc- 
 
220 titco:mb's letters to young maeried people. 
 
 quale idea of wLat home is, as an institution. It is 
 recognised as a house, containing a convenient number 
 of chairs and tables, with a sufficiency of chamber fur- 
 niture and eatables, a place to eat and sleep in, simply. 
 It is not unjust to say that half of the young married 
 people of America have no higher conception of homo 
 than this. What they call their homes are simply 
 boarding-houses, where, for purposes of economy and 
 convenience, they board themselves. 
 
 In my idea, home rises to the dignity of an institu- 
 tion of life, and, like everything legitimately to be called 
 an institution of life, is both an outgrowth of life, and a 
 contributor to its development. Like all institutions, it 
 has its external form and internal power and signifi- 
 cance. Like the church, it has its edifice and appoint- 
 ments not only, but its membership, its bonds of spirit- 
 ual fellowship, and its germinal ideas, developing them- 
 selves into influences that bear flowers and fruits to 
 charm and feed the soul. It is into the meaning of tho 
 word Home that I would introduce you first, my friends, 
 and then into the home itself. Marriage is the legiti- 
 mate basis of a genuine home. A husband is its priest 
 and a wife its priestess ; and it is for you, young husr- 
 band and young wife, to establisl; this institution, main- 
 tain it, beautify it in its outward form, fill it with all 
 good influences, devclope its capacities, make it the ex- 
 
 THE iNSTrnjnoN or home. 
 
 221 
 
 pression of your best ideas of intimate social life, and to 
 use it as an instrument of genial power in moulding 
 such outside life as may (iome into contact with it. Its 
 outward form and its internal arrangements should, sc 
 far as your means will permit, be the outgrowth of your 
 finest ideas and the expression of your best tastes, com- 
 bined with the practical ingenuities which may be ren- 
 dered necessary by a wholesome economy. 
 
 It is not the elm before the door of home that the 
 sailor pines for when tossing on the distant sea. It is 
 not the house that sheltered his childhood, the well 
 that gave him drink, nor the humble bed where he used 
 to lie and dream. These may be the objects that come 
 to his vision as he paces the lonely deck, but the heart 
 within him longs for the sweet influences that came 
 through all these things, or were associated with them ; 
 for the heart clings to the institution which developed 
 it— to that beautiful tree of which it is the fruit. 
 Wherever, therefore, the heart wanders, it carries the 
 thought of home with it. Wherever, by the rivers of 
 Babylon, the heart feels its loss and loneliness, it hangs 
 its harp upon the willows and weeps. It prefers home 
 to ite chief joy. It will never forget it. For there 
 swelled its first throb. There were developed its first 
 affections. There a mother's eyes looked into it ; there 
 a mother's voice spoke to it; there a mother's prayers 
 
222 titcomb's lettees to touxg married people. 
 
 blessed it. Tlierc tlie love of parents and brothers and 
 sisters gave it precious entertainment. Tliere bubbled 
 up from unseen fountains life's first eficrvescing liopes 
 There life took form, and color, and consistence. From 
 that centre went out all its vounor ambitions. Toward 
 that focus return its concentring memories. There it 
 took form, and fitted itself to loving natures and plea- 
 sant natural scenes; and it will carry that impress 
 wherever it may go, unless it become perverted by sin 
 or make to itself another home, sanctified by a new and 
 more precious affection. 
 
 It is in the little communities which we call Ameri- 
 can homes that the hope of America rests. It is here 
 that subordination to wholesome restraint and respeci 
 for law are inculcated. It is here, if anywhere, that 
 the aftoctions receive their culture, that amiable dispo- 
 sitions are developed, that the amenities of life are 
 learned, that the mind and the body are established in 
 healthful habits, that mutual respect for mutual rights is 
 engendered, and here that all those fiiculties and quali- 
 ties are nurtured which enter into the structure of wor 
 thy character. In the homes of America are born the 
 children of America, and from them go out into Ame- 
 rican life American men and women. They go out 
 with the stamp of these homes upon them, and only as 
 these homes are what thcv should be, will they be what 
 
 THE INSTITUTION OF HOME. 
 
 223 
 
 they should be. It is with this in view that I offer a 
 few suggestions touching the establishment of this insti- 
 tution by you. 
 
 Just as soon as it is possible for you to do so, buy a 
 house, the ground it stands on, and as much land 
 around it as your business, convenience, or taste may 
 require. A home can never be all that it should be to 
 you and yours, unless you own it. This is doubtless 
 impossible to a great multitude who will read this let- 
 ter, but let not such be discouraged. A beautiful home 
 life may be developed, even by a tenant at will ; though 
 the security and fixedness of proprietorship are greatly 
 tributary to home's permanent influences. If the home 
 Is owned, see that its exterior represent you faithfully. 
 What you cannot afford in architecture, you can sup- 
 ply in vines and flowers. The interior should receive 
 the impress of all the order, neatness, taste, and inge- 
 nuity that are in you. Your home is the temple of your 
 sweetest human love. It is in this temple that young 
 immortals are born. It is here that characters are shaped 
 into manhood and womanhood— the highest earthly 
 estate. It is here that you are to work out the problem 
 of your lives. It is a place of dignity. Therefore give 
 it honor ; make it beautiful ; make it worthy ! 
 
 All this, however, only relates to the location— the 
 shell of your home. The ordering of its internal life is 
 
224 TITCOMB'S LETTEES to young 3IABBIED PEOPLE. 
 
 of still greater importance. The greatest danger of 
 home life springs from its familiarity. Kindred hearts, 
 gathered at a common fireside, are far too apt to relax 
 from the proprieties of social life. Careless language 
 and careless attire are too apt to be indulged in when 
 *he eye of the world is shut off, and the ear of tho 
 world cannot hear. I counsel no stiffness of family eti- 
 quette — no sternness of family discipline — like that 
 "which prevailed in the olden time. The day is past for 
 that, but the day for thorough respectfulness among the 
 members of a home — the day for careful propriety of 
 dress and address — will never pass. For it is here that 
 the truest and most faultless social life is to be lived ; it 
 is here that such a life is to be learned. A home in 
 which politeness reigns is a home from which polite 
 men and women go out ; and they go out directly from 
 no other. 
 
 The ordering of a home life is so intimately connected 
 with the treatment of children, that this subject should 
 be treated definitely. Firet, every child born to you 
 should learn among the first things it is capable of learn- 
 ing, that in your home your will is supreme. Tho 
 earlier a child learns this, the better ; and he should 
 learn, at the same time, from all your words and all 
 your conduct, that such authority is the companion of 
 the tenderest love and the most genial kindness. Play 
 
 THE REARING OF CHILDREN. 
 
 225 
 
 with your children as mucli as you please ; make your- 
 selves their companions an J sympathizers and confidants ; 
 but keep all the time the reins of your authority steadily 
 drawn, and never allow yourselves to be trifled with. It 
 is only in this way that you can keep the management 
 of your home in your own hands, and retain the affec- 
 tionate respect of those whom you love as you do 
 yourselves. 
 
 Again, make your home a happy place — a pleasant 
 place. Much can be done towards this end by beautify- 
 ing it in the manner I have already pointed out. Much 
 more can be done by providing food and amusement for 
 the minds of your children. These minds you will find 
 to be active, restless, and greedy for new impressions. 
 This restlessness is a heaven-implanted impulse. You 
 have neither the power nor the right to repress it ; but it 
 is your duty to give it direction, so far as possible, and to 
 nuide it to lejritimate ends. You will find one of three 
 things to be true of your children. They will be happy 
 at home, or discontented at home, or they will seek for 
 happiness away from home. In tho ignorance of the 
 nature of childhood on the part of parents has origin- 
 ated the ruin of millions of men and women. Bursting 
 from an unnatural and irrational restraint, they have 
 rushed from the release of parental authority to perdi- 
 tion ; or, allowed to seek for happiness away from home 
 
 10* 
 
226 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOU J4G MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 and away from restraint, they have contracted habita 
 which curse them and their parents while they live. So 
 I tell you that the only way for you to save your chil- 
 dren is to make a home so pleasant to them — to pro 
 vide such grateful changes for their uneasy natures — as 
 shall make their home the most delightful spot on earth, 
 a spot to be loved while they live in it, and a spot to 
 be recalled with grateful memories when they leave it 
 Profoundly to be commiserated is that child who looks 
 back upon his home as upon a prison-house ; upon his 
 youth as a season of hardship; upon his parents as 
 tyrants. If such a child ever become a good and genial 
 man or woman, it will be in spite of a bad home. 
 
 I am veil aware that the homes of America will not 
 become what they should be until a true idea of life 
 shall become more widely implanted. The worship of 
 the dollar does more to degrade American homes and 
 the life of those homes than anything — than all things 
 — else. Utility is the God of almost universal worship. 
 Tlie chief end of life is to gather gold, and that gold is 
 counted lost which hangs a picture upon the wall, which 
 purchases flowers for the yard, which buys a toy or a book 
 for the eager hand of childhood. Is this the whole of 
 human life ? Then it is a mean, meagre, and a most un- 
 desirable thing ! A child will go forth from such a home 
 as a horse will iro from a stfill — I'lad to find free air and a 
 
 THE REARING OF CHILDREN. 
 
 22/ 
 
 wider pasture. The influence of such a home upon him m 
 after life will be just none at all, or nothing good. Thou- 
 sands are rushing from homes like these every year. They 
 crowd into cities. They crowd into villages. They swarm 
 into all places where life is clothed with a higher signifi 
 cance; and the old shell of home is deserted by every 
 bird as soon as it can fly. Ancestral homesteads and 
 patrimonial acres have no sacredness; and when the 
 father and the mother die, the stranger's money and 
 the stranger's presence obliterate associations that should 
 be among the most sacred of all things. 
 
 I would have you build up for yourselves and for 
 jour children a home which will never be lightly parted 
 with— a home which shall be to all whose lives have 
 been associated with it the most interesting and precious 
 spot upon earth. I would have that home the abode of 
 dignity, propriety, beauty, grace, love, genial fellowships 
 and happy associations. Out from such a home I would 
 have good influences flow into neighborhoods and 
 communities. In such a home I would see noble 
 ambitions taking root, and receiving all generous cul- 
 ture. And there I would see you, young husband and 
 young wife, happy. Do not deprive yourselves of such 
 influences as will come to you through an institution 
 like this. No money can pay you for such a depriva- 
 tion. No circumstances but those of utter poverty can 
 
228 TITCOMB'S LirriERSTO YOUNG MAKRIKD PEOPLB. 
 
 justify you in denying thusc inlluonccs to your chil 
 ciren. 
 
 It is to the institution of home, as developed in it? 
 best fonn and power, under the letter and spirit of 
 Christianity, that I point when the socialist approaches 
 ma with liis sophisms, the New Lights with their loose 
 theories of marriage, and the infidel with his howl over 
 the basis of American civilization. It is the history of 
 this home, since Christ lived, that is one of the strono-est 
 testimonials to his divine authority. In whatever land, 
 under whatever system, by whatever men and women, 
 the Christian home has been set aside for fanciful inven- 
 tions, society has degenerated towards or into beastliness. 
 As I have said before, the hope of America is the homes 
 of America. If you to whom I write will each for 
 himself and herself make these homes the noble institu- 
 tions Heaven designs they shall be, this generation 
 shall not pass away before the worid shall look upon a 
 people the like and the equal of which it has never 
 seen. A generation shall take possession of the land 
 full of dignity, love, grace, and goodness, glowing with 
 a patriotism as true as their regard for home is sacred, 
 and sljowing that the strcnirth of the nation is foro-ed 
 under the smoke that rises from its happy household 
 tires. 
 
 LETTER VIL 
 
 SOCIAL HOMES, AND BLESSINGS FOR DAILY USB. 
 
 llow sweet, Low passing sweet, is Solitude! 
 But grant mo still a friend in my retreat 
 Whom I may whisper, Solitude is sweet 1 
 
 COWPKB. 
 
 The good he scorned, 
 
 Stalked off reluctant, like an ill used ghost, 
 
 Not to return. 
 
 ItOBEBT Blaib. 
 
 I HAVE talked to you of your duties to each other, tc 
 your relatives, and to your servants. It remains to 
 me to speak of your duties to society, as heads of fami 
 lies and rulers of homes. 
 
 I have insisted on the thorough identification of hus- 
 band and wife in feeling, pride of character and family, 
 pursuit, and interest ; yet I am aware that this identifica- 
 tion may be perverted into a most senseless and selfish 
 
230 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 devotion to one another, and an exclusivencss of com- 
 munication, which are destructive of social life. I am 
 acquainted with too many husbands and wives who, 
 though all the world to each other, are nothing to tha 
 world. Their whole life is within their home. They 
 gather comforts about them, they bear dainties to each 
 other's lips ; they live and move and have their whole 
 beino" in each other's love ; and, shutting out all the 
 world, live only for themselves. I say I know too many 
 such pairs as these. They are far too plenty. Tliey 
 cannot bear to be torn from their homes for an after- 
 noon. They take no interest in others. They never 
 call friends and neighbors around their board, and they 
 consider it a hardship to fulfil the common offices of 
 social politeness— to say nothing of hospitality. It is 
 not unjust to say that this is one of the most dangerous 
 and most repulsive forms of married life. It is selfish- 
 ness doubled, associated, instituted; and it deserves 
 
 serious treatment. 
 
 Homes, like individuals, have their relations to each 
 other ; and, as no man liveth to himself alone, no home 
 should live to itself alone. It is through the medium 
 of homes that the social life-blood of America is kept 
 in circulation— through this medium almost exclusively. 
 Every home should be as a city set upon a hill, that 
 cannot be hid. Into it should flock friends and friend- 
 
 SOCIAL HOMES, AND BLESSINGS FOR DAILY USE. 231 
 
 ships, bringing the life of the world, the stimulus and 
 the modifying power of contact with various natures, 
 the fresh flowers of feeling gathered from wide fields. 
 Out of it should flow benign charities, pleasant ameni 
 ties, and all those influences which are the natura 
 offspring of a high and harmonious home life. Inter- 
 communication of minds and homes is the condition of 
 individual and social development, and failing of this 
 no married pair can be what they should be to each 
 other. Exclusive devotion to business by day, and 
 exclusive devotion to selfish home enjoyments at night, 
 will dry up, harden, and depreciate the richest natures 
 in the course of a few years ; and, so soon as the man 
 withdraws from the business of the world, the world 
 has seen the last of him and his family for life. They 
 have no outside associations. It is as if they did not 
 live at all. Wlien they die, nobody misses them, for 
 they have been nothing to society. As many doors 
 arc open as before, and social life feels no ripple upon 
 its surface when the sand is thrown upon their coffins. 
 There should glow in every house, throughout the 
 land, the light of a pleasant welcome for friends. On 
 every hearth should leap the flame that irradiates the 
 forms and faces of associates. Neighborhood should 
 mean something more than a collection of dark and 
 selfishly-closed hearts and houses. A community should 
 
r 
 
 232 TITOOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MAERIED PEOPLE. 
 
 be soraetliing better than an aggregation of individuala 
 and homes governed by the same hiws, and sustaining 
 equal civil burdens. Neighborhood should be the name 
 of a vital relationship. A community should be a com- 
 munity in fjict — informed with a genial, social life, in 
 which the influence of each nature, the power of each 
 intellect, the wealth of every individual acquisition, the 
 force of every well-directed will, and the inspiration of 
 every high and pure character, should be felt by all. A 
 neighborhood of homes like this, would be a neighbor- 
 hood indeed ; and none other deserves the name. 
 
 The fact is, that selfishness is the*bane of all life. It 
 cannot enter into life — individual, family, or social — 
 without cursing it. Therefore, if any married pair find 
 themselves inclined to confine themselves to one ano- 
 ther's society, indisposed to go abroad and mingle with 
 the life around them, disturbed and irritated by the col- 
 lection of friends in their own dwelling, or in any way 
 moved to regard their social duties as disagreeable, let 
 them be alarmed at once. It is a bad symptom — an 
 essentially morbid symptom. They should institute 
 means at once for removing this feeling ; and they can 
 only remove it by persistently going into society, persis- 
 tently gathering it into their own dwelling, and pereis- 
 tently endeavoring to learn to love, and feel an interest 
 HI, all with whom they meet. The process of regenera- 
 
 SOCIAL HOMES, AND BLESSINGS FOR DAILY USE. 233 
 
 tion will not be a tedious one, for the rewards of social 
 life are immediate. The heart enlarges quickly with 
 the practice of hospitality. The sympathies run and 
 take root, from point to point, each root throwing up 
 leaves and bearing flowers and fruit like strawberry 
 vines, if they are only allowed to do so. It is only 
 sympathies and strawberries that are cultivated in hills, 
 which do otherwise. The human face is a thing which 
 should be able to bring the heart into blossom with a 
 moment's shining, and it will be such with you, if you 
 
 will meet it properly. 
 
 The penalties of family isolation will not, unhappily, 
 fall entirely upon yourselves. They will be visited with 
 double force upon your children. Children, reared in a 
 home with few or no associations, will grow up either 
 boorish or sensitively timid. It is a cruel wrong to chil- 
 dren to rear them without bringing them into continued 
 contact with polite social life. The ordeal through 
 which children thus reared are obliged to pass, in 
 gaining the ease and assurance which will make them 
 at home elsewhere than under the paternal roof, is one 
 of the severest ; while those who are constantly accus- 
 tomed to a social life from their youth, are educated in 
 all its forms and graces without knowing it. 
 
 Great multitudes of men and women, all over the 
 country, are now living secluded from social contact. 
 
234 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MAUKIED PEOPLE. 
 
 simply from their sensitive consciousness of ignorance 
 of the forms of graceful intercourse. They feel that 
 tliey cannot break through their reserve. There is, 
 doubtless, much that is morbid in this feeling, and yet 
 it is mainly natural. From all this mortification and 
 this deprivation, every soul might have been saved by 
 education in a home where social life was properly 
 lived. It is cruel to deny to children the opportunity, 
 not only to become accustomed from their first con- 
 sciousness to the forms of society, but to enjoy its in- 
 fluence upon their developing life. Society is food to 
 children. Contact with other minds is the means by 
 which they arc educated ; and the difference in families 
 of children will show at once to the accustomed eye, the 
 different social character of their parents. But I have 
 no space to follow this subject further ; and I leave it 
 with you, with the earnest wish that you will con- 
 sider it, and profit by the suggestions I have given 
 you. 
 
 I must talk to you in this letter (for I have but one 
 nore to write) in regard to your way of living, and 
 /our main objects of life. Are you stretching every 
 nerve and straining every muscle to get gold ? Have 
 you associated respectability with wealth? Are you 
 denying to yourself a free and generous life now in 
 your youth, m order to enjoy such a life when youth 
 
 SOCIAL HOMES, AND BLESSINGS FOR DAILY USE. 235 
 
 shall have passed away ? Are you scrimping yoursclven 
 and your fj\milies by mean economies which grudge 
 every sixpence that escapes you, and make of your life 
 a hard and homely thing ? I know of many young 
 married people who arc living a life like this, and I pity 
 them more than I blame them, because they are vic- 
 tims of false ideas, very probably inculcated by thrifty 
 parents or by most thriftless philosophers. If you are 
 an unsocial pair, the probabilities are that you are 
 cno-agcd in precisely this business. 
 
 Now I wish to tell you of something very much bet- 
 ter than this. I am not going to advise you to adopt 
 a luxurious style of living. I am not going to tell you 
 to spend all you get, and to run in debt for that which 
 you arc unable to pay for. But I say that for every 
 capable and healthy man, and every clever and sensible 
 woman, both of whom are industrious, there is enough 
 to be won in the work of life to afford a generous living, 
 and leave a sufficient margin for independent compe- 
 tence. The years of your life will be few, at the most ; 
 nd for you to throw away the enjoyment of their pass- 
 ing days for a good which may never come, to be en- 
 joyed in a life that is uncertain, is to throw away for 
 ever the blessings which God intends for your present 
 food. God's blessings are not cumulative. The manna 
 that fell in the wilderness came every day, and spoiled 
 
236 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 with the keeping. You may lay up wealth for age, but 
 age, with its teeth gone, its sensibilities killed, and with- 
 out employment, cannot enjoy it. So, I tell you to 
 enjoy your wealth while you are earning it. I do not 
 mean by this that you are to lay up nothing. I do no 
 mean that you shall be imprudent or improvident. I 
 only counsel that use of your money, from day to day, 
 which will give you generous food, tasteful dress, and 
 pleasant surroundings, and which will tend to make life 
 comfortable and beautiful. 
 
 But some will read this who are in poverty, who do 
 not hope to obtain even independence. I am not writ- 
 ing to you, my friends, but to your neighbors, less happy 
 than you, who have taken it into their heads to get 
 rich. Perhaps they may be your employers. At any 
 rate, they are very unenviable people. I write to those 
 who have the power to make money, and who ignore 
 the present blessings of their lot— who enjoy no present 
 blessings. I write to those who wait for wealtli to 
 make their first contributions to public charities, to aid 
 in the support of social and religious institutions, to 
 mingle in that neigliborhood life which involves a 
 genial hospitality, to fill their library with books and 
 their halls with pictures, to resort to the concert and 
 exhibition rooms for refining amusement, to give em- 
 ployment to the poor, to make their homos the cmbodi- 
 
 SOCIAL HOMES, AND BLESSINGS FOR DAILY USE. 237 
 
 ment of good taste and substantial comfort, and to pro- 
 vide for health and pleasant recreation. 
 
 I believe that twice as much may be enjoyed in this 
 life, as is now enjoyed, if people would only take and 
 use the blessings which Heaven confers on them for pre- 
 sent use. AVe strive to accumulate beyond our wants, 
 and beyond the wants of our families. In doing this, 
 we deny to ourselves leisure, recreation, culture, and so- 
 cial relaxation. When wealth has been won, our power 
 to enjoy it is past, and it goes into the hands of children 
 whose industry and entei-prise it kills and whose best 
 life it spoils. It is not often that great accumulations 
 of wealth do anybody good. They usually spoil the 
 happiness of two generations— one in the getting, and 
 one in the spending. 
 
 I love the man who earns his money with the special 
 design of spending it— the man who regards money 
 only as a means of procuring that which shall supply 
 the passing w^ants of his nature— of his whole nature — 
 and for securing education to ffis children, and comfort 
 to his old age. It is to such that men go for subscrip- 
 tions to worthy objects. It is by the fireside and at the 
 board of such that I am happy. It is with the free and 
 generous souls of such that I delight to come in contact 
 It is for such souls that life is made. Such men as these 
 go on from year to year, building up their homes, mak- 
 
238 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE, 
 
 ing tliem abodes of beauty and plenty, and places of 
 refreshment for five hundred cordial hearts. AVher- 
 ever they go, hands of warm good fellows are held out 
 to tlicm. They have the blessing of the helpless, and 
 the envy of no man. Sometimes, perhaps, their wives 
 are envied by the wives of other men, but it is proba- 
 Uy out of the power of cither party to help that 
 
 LETTER VIIL 
 
 A VISION OF LIFE AND ITS MEANIN0. 
 
 Here manhood struggles for tho sake 
 Of mother, slitrr, daughter, wife, 
 The graces and tho loves which make 
 The music of the march of llfo ; 
 And woman, in her daily round 
 Of duty, walks on holy gioundl 
 
 WmrnxK. 
 
 And so, 'twixt joy, 
 And love, and tears, and whatsoever pain 
 Man fitly shares with man, these two grow old; 
 And, if Indeed blest thoroughly, they die 
 In the same spot, and nigh the same good hour ; 
 And setting suns look heavenly on their grave ! 
 
 Leigu Hunt 
 
 THIS is my twenty -fourth and last letter to the young. 
 As a preliminary to its composition, I have re-read 
 every previous letter, and the subject of this has been 
 suggested by the perusal. T have asked myself " what 
 
240 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MABRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 kind of men and women will these letters make, if there 
 happen to be any who adopt their counsels?" The 
 reply comes to rae in the form of a vision which I will 
 unfold to you. 
 
 I see a young man standing at the opening gates o 
 life, and with earnest eyes scanning the landscape that 
 stretches before him. Flowers are springing at his feet 
 among the velvet grass; brooks are drafr<^in<r their 
 
 DO O 
 
 chains of flashing silver over the rocks, and passing in 
 careless frolic towards the sea; biids are fluttering like 
 wind-tossed blossoms amid the ovcrhangmg tbliao-e, and 
 breathing their fragrant melody upon the air ; breezes 
 full of love are fanning his cheek, and filling him with 
 a sense of intoxicating pleasure, and the sky is bending 
 over him with no break of blue save where, in the ex- 
 alted perspective, golden clouds sit like crowns upon 
 golden mountains. His heart is bold, his limbs are 
 strong, his blood is healthful, and his whole susceptible 
 and sensuous nature throbs with responses to the appeals 
 of the beauty and music and sweetness around and before 
 him. 
 
 lie takes a st3p, and Pleasure comes from her secrc^« 
 bower, and invites him to her banquet of delights. H« 
 pauses for a moment, shivers with the stress of the 
 temptation, puts her resolutely aside, and passes on. 
 Idleness, lolling beneath a shade, points to a vacant scat, 
 
 A VISION OP LIFE AlJD ll^S MEANING. 
 
 241 
 
 and closes her languid eyes; but with disgust he leaves 
 her and presses forward. Ambition beckons from some 
 sudden summit, but he heeds her not. Then Duty 
 comes, and standing before him — a firm and earnest 
 fiirire — points to a burden and bids him take it up, and 
 bear it as he journeys onward. He pauses, looks 
 around, ahead, above, then lifts it to his shoulder, and 
 with muscles firmly strained presses forward with new 
 vio-or. Soon he becomes accustomed to the load, and 
 then Duty comes again, and bids him add to it. lie 
 willingly takes on the new burden, and as he does so, 
 finds his heart warming with cheerfulness, and his voice 
 bursting into song. Revellers, steeped with wine and 
 wild with hilarity, look up from their vine-covered table 
 at the sound of the healthy lay, and laugh and scoff, 
 but they do not approach him. Temptations that 
 throng the path of the weak and pithless slink away 
 from him without attack-, or, if one scatter its charms 
 upon him, they slide off like dew from bronze. 
 
 So Duty becomes to him a guiding angel. Wherever 
 she leads he follows. In her steps he drops into 
 deep ravines, hidden from the light of the sun; he 
 plunges into streams whose billows affright and chili 
 him, and crosses them by a might which grows with every 
 «tru^Me ; he scales mountains that lie in his path, piled 
 with huge discouragements, and sees from the summit 
 
 11 
 
w 
 
 1 
 
 242 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO Tft)UNG MARRIED PEOPLE- 
 
 of acliieveracnt, shimmering in the distance, the streams 
 of great reward, winding among meadows of heavenly 
 recompense. At last he comes to a point in his way 
 where he pauses, and looks around him. In the pause, 
 he listens to the beating of his own heart. It is the 
 thrill and rhythm of manhood which that heart is strongly 
 telling. lie sees that he has made progress towards the 
 golden mountains, with their crowns of golden clouds. 
 The noise of the revellers has died upon his car. Pleasure 
 and Indolence are far back, and the temptations of youth 
 are past, and he is, so for, safe. He sees how the bur- 
 dens he has borne and the struggles he has put forth 
 have knit his muscles, and strengthened his will, and 
 developed his power. He sees how each constituent of 
 the manhood that has now become his choicest posses- 
 sion was won by toil and fatigue, and self-denial and 
 patience and resistance of temptation. lie sees that it 
 could have been won in no other way, and gives honest 
 thanks to the Providence which has thus transmuted 
 the evil of life into good. 
 
 There we leave him standing, and change the scene. 
 At another gate a maiden enters. The rose sits upon 
 her check, and the lily upon her bosom. Good angels 
 arc hovering all about her; and seeking some secret 
 recess, she kneels and dodicatus herself to Heaven. As 
 9he comes into the i)ath, the Tempter looks at her, and 
 
 A VISION OP LIFE AND ITS MEANING. 
 
 243 
 
 slinks away from her sweet and unsuspicious eyes, as 1^ 
 they were windows through which he had caught a 
 glimpse of God. She is conscious from the first that 
 life has meaning in it, and that the soul which informs 
 her has a duty and a destiny. She knows that that soul 
 is to be strengthened and enriched, — that it is to be kept 
 pure, and beautified with all precious graces. Fashion 
 and Frivolity flaunt their gewgaws before her eyes, but 
 she puts them aside. They seek to divert her into vain 
 pursuits, but she has a steady purpose and keeps a steady 
 path. Flocks of seductive thoughts hover about her 
 head, and tease her bewildered eyes; but she repels 
 them until they leave her. She gathers the flowers of 
 life that bloom by the way, and places them in her hair. 
 Kind words and smiles go out from her, and come back 
 wino-ed blessings to nestle on her breast. Little deeds 
 of charity and mercy, dropped by the way, change into 
 pearls, and seek her hand again. The mother leans upon 
 her shoulder, and the sister clings to her arm. Up 
 weary slopes she toils to gather fruits from the tree of 
 knowledge. Down into valleys of suffering she walks, 
 bearing balsams for the sick. She thinks of ease but to 
 scorn it^ and finds in the exercise of her faculties and 
 the play of her sympathies and the development of her 
 powers such healthful joy as only the worthy know. 
 And thus she passes on — a creature of beauty, a bearer 
 
244 THCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MABRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 of purity, a being of modest graces and noLle aptitudes, 
 of fine instincts and self-denying heroism, until hei 
 nature brims — a golden goblet — with the wine of woman- 
 hood, and she meets the companion for whom God 
 designed her — whom God designed for her. 
 
 Thus our third scene is prepared for us. Manhood 
 and womanhood meet, and lives that were separate 
 melodies become a harmony. Uow it may seem to 
 others I know not, but true love between man and 
 woman — the love that gives its all for life, for the sim- 
 ple rewards of congenial companionship, seems to mo 
 the most lovely outgrowth of human nature. God and 
 all good things breathe benisons upon it. It is the ad- 
 vent of a heart into another heart, — the entrance of one 
 spiritual nature into the spiritual nature of another, 
 giving, I doubt not, a foretaste of the exquisite bliss 
 which thrills the soul as it passes into the gate of Para- 
 dise. And there stand our young man and youn<y 
 woman, her head upon his shoulder, and her car drink- 
 ing in the tender confessions of an afiection to which 
 her happy heart responds in gentlest numbers. " What 
 God hath joined together let no man put asunder,*' 
 falls from the sky where the evening star is glowing. 
 They look up, and a pledge, heard in heaven and on 
 earth, falls from their lips. Friends flock around them, 
 and kisses fall upon the young wife's cheek amid the 
 
 A VISION OP LIFE AND ll-S MEANING. 245 
 
 bf;t>ti..m of teai-s. Golden finiits are borne to their lips, 
 and the twilight air is full of the pleasant jargon oi 
 happy human voices. Oh ! brightly gleam the golden 
 mountains in the last rays of the sunken sun ; and the 
 golden clouds that crown them blaze with more than a 
 solar glory. 
 
 And now begins the united life. Hand in hand and 
 heart to heart they resume their passage up the long 
 incline. In the early morning, I see them kneeling 
 side by side, worshipping the God of their life, confess- 
 ing their weakness and their sin, and praying for that 
 spiritual nourishment which shall build them up into a 
 saintly estate. At evening, before they lie down by the 
 wayside for repose, I see them kneel again, and commune 
 with the Good Father whose spirit dwells within them. 
 If one takes up a cross, it is lightened by the other's 
 hand. If one gathers a joy from the boughs of Heaven's 
 munificence, the other is called to share it. With no 
 heart-wanderings, no untruth, no repinings, no selfish 
 monopoly of delight, they pass on for months till now I 
 see that the wife has become a mother, and bears a 
 little babe upon her bosom. It is a gift of God^ pre- 
 cious beyond all price ; and when they kneel again they 
 thank God for it, — for all the joy it brings them, for 
 all the care it imposes upon them, for all the hallowed 
 syuipathios it calls into play, f'jr the new springs oi 
 
 
246 TITCOMB'S LETTERS TO YOUNG MARKIED PEOPLE. 
 
 pleasure and life which it uncovers to them. Soon the little 
 one is on its feet, and dances along the way, while another 
 takes its place in the maternal arms. And as the years 
 pass away, another and another are added to the pilgrim 
 group, till they look like a band of attendant cherubim. 
 Meanwhile, I see that the limbs of the pair arc 
 growing weary. The way is hard and rough, and both 
 are laden with a burden of care, accumulating as they 
 go ; and now they pass into a cloud. Dimly throuo-h 
 the vapor gathering before my own eyes, or enveloping 
 them, I see them bowing by the way. One of the little 
 ones — its fingers full of life's roses — lies stretched upon 
 the sand. They kiss his marble cheek, and the little 
 group bend over him and weep trickling teai-s, like 
 statues at a fountain. I hear the mother say — " Oh, 
 but for these, would I had died for thee, my son !" 
 From the far height I hear the tone of a bell : — is it on 
 earth or in heaven ? Is it a sad bell or a glad bell ? 
 I know not ; but I see that after they have hollowed a 
 little grave, and deposited their treasure, and knelt upon 
 it and said, " Thy will, not mine," the cloud is dnink 
 up by the unseen spirits of the air, and away, on the 
 pinnacle of the golden mountains, stands a little form 
 with its fingers full of roses, beckoning ! Tliere is a 
 stir in the golden clouds above him, and he is received 
 tip out of their sight 
 
 A VISION OP LIFE AND ITS MEANING. 24** 
 
 Years come and go till the little ones have become 
 men and women. The father's beard and the father's 
 hair, so black and heavy at first, have become thin and 
 white. He leans upon his staff, and totters manfully 
 on. Son and daughter press around the mother and 
 sustain her feeble form. An atmosphere of love envelops 
 them all. And so they rise higher and still higher, 
 until, in other than earthly light, they stand glorified 
 upon one of the golden summits. They stand upon the 
 mount of vision, earth below and heaven above them. 
 They gaze down upon the long and weary path they 
 have trodden, and see that their life has been one long 
 process of education and purification. That which was 
 but a path of thorns in the passage is changed to a 
 pavement of gold in the retrospect. Flying over the 
 shining track, they see the Angel of God's Providence ; 
 and now they know, what once they could not wholly 
 see, that the darkness which had so often passed over 
 them as they journeyed was but the shadow of his 
 blessed wings. But there comes a sound of chariots 
 and hoi-scs ; the children press up to bid them adieu, 
 the mountains grow radiant with a descending light ; a 
 little voice, never forgotten, breaks through the purpling 
 silence like an arrow of silver ; and at the sweet word 
 ** come," they are withdrawn into the opening glory. 
 
 That, my friends, is my vision. Is it all fancy ? Is 
 
•218 TITCOMB^S LETTEKS TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 it all imagination? Is it all poetry? Have you an 
 idea that fancy, or imagination, or poetry can do justice 
 to the grandeur, beauty, and essential glory of a true 
 life ? I have only felt, in painting it, how utterly poor 
 I am in the endeavor to express my conception of the 
 hiirhest life of man and woman, by the use of language. 
 Tliat little creed of Mrs. Browning, uttered impulsively 
 in a flash of inspired conviction, has a world of meaning 
 in it that the slow soul does not perceive. " I do believe 
 in God and love," said the sweet songstress ; and so do 
 I. With God and love in human life, it becomes essen- 
 tially a noble and beautiful thing. To live a life thus 
 informed is a peerless privilege — no matter at what 
 cost of transient pain or unremitting toil. It is a thing 
 above professions and callings and creeds. It is a thing 
 which brings to its nourishment all good, and appropri- 
 ates to its development of power all evil. It is the 
 greatest and best thing under the whole heaven. Place 
 cannot enhance its honor; wealth cannot add to its 
 value. It is the highest thing. Its course lies through 
 true manhood and womanhood, through true father- 
 hood and motherhood, through true friendship and 
 relationships, of all legitimate and natural sorts whatso- 
 <iver. It lies through sorrow and pain and poverty, and 
 all earthly discipline. It lies through unswening tnith 
 to God and man. It lies through patient, self-dunying 
 
 A VISION OP LIFE AND ITS MEANING. 24t 
 
 heroism. It lies through all heaven-prescribed and 
 conscientious duty, and it leads as straight to heaven'? 
 brightest gate, as the track of a sunbeam to the bosom 
 of a flower. 
 
 As I look around me, and see how poor, how frivolous^ 
 how weak and drivelling a thing life is, as it is lived by 
 the mass of those who are married, I confess that I am 
 filled with wonder and with pity. Marriage is too much 
 a convention, — its habits and duties are too much con- 
 ventional. That it is only to be made something better 
 by a change in the general estimate and idea of life, I 
 have said in previous letters. That a man and woman 
 who live to eat, and dress and make money; whose 
 ends of life are answered in the satisfaction of appetite 
 and ambition, and a thirst for gold and equipage and 
 position, should marry for a higher motive than fancy 
 and convenience, is not to be expected. The structure, 
 therefore, of a true married life, must be laid upon the 
 basis of a true individual life. When men and wo- 
 men have conceived and accepted the idea that all 
 ood in earth and heaven is intended to minister directly 
 and indirectly to individual growth, and that that which 
 we call evil — toil, poverty, sorrow, pain, and temptation 
 to sin — is intended for the development of power and 
 tlie discipline of passion ; when they see that life tends 
 
 upwards, and is only a preparation for another sphere 
 
 11* 
 
r' 
 
 250 tttcomb's letters to young married people. 
 
 and a better, and that all that surrounds tlicm is perisha- 
 ble — food and shelter and ministry by the way — then 
 they can have a conception of what true marriage is. 
 The relation is illuminated with its full significance onl^ 
 by this true idea of individual life. Tlie masculine and 
 feminine nature come together for mutual stimulus and 
 mutual fcedinor. All that is G^ood in each becomes the 
 property of the other, and all that is bad in each is 
 neutralized by the other. Like the acid and the alkali, 
 when brought together, their united life becomes a 
 beaded draught, bland as the juice of nectarines, and fit 
 to sparkle on the lips of an angel. 
 
 And now, my friends, farewell ! Life is before you, — 
 not earthly life alone, but life — a thread running inter- 
 minably through the warp of eternity ; and while I 
 wish you all manly and womanly joy, and all healthful 
 delight^ I do not wish that no pain come on you, no 
 care oppress you, no toil weary you, no sorrow swim in 
 your eyes, no temptations beset you ; but I wish that 
 you may bear what God puts upon your shoulders, and 
 bear it well. I wish that it may not be necessary t( 
 chasten you overmuch ; but you can hardly grow stiong 
 without trouble, or sympathetic without sorrow. It 
 was necessary that the only true human life ever lived 
 should be made " perfect through suff'ering ;" and it is 
 strange presumption for you to think that yon ran bo 
 
 A VISION OP LIFE AND ITS MEANING 
 
 25. 
 
 made perfect without it. I wish you many years upon 
 the earth — as many as will minister to your growth and 
 happiness—for life is a sweet as well as a great and 
 wonderful thing. I wish you a family of precioufc 
 children to fill your homes with music, and enrich your 
 hearts with love. And when, in the evening of life, 
 the golden clouds rest sweetly and invitingly upon the 
 golden mountains, and the light of heaven streams 
 down through tlic gathering mists of death, I wish you 
 a peaceful and abundant entrance into that world of 
 blessedness, where the great riddle of life, whose mean- 
 ing I can only hint at, will be unfolded to you in the 
 quick consciousness of a soul redeemed and purified. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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