Practical Hints from a Father to His Daughter

Practical Hints from a Father to His Daughter

William Sprague, 1835


Introduction

Independence of Mind

Forming the Manners

Conversation

Amusements

Interaction with the World

Practical Religion

Self-Knowledge

Self-Government

Humility

Improvement of Time

Preparation for Death



Early Friendships

Marriage

Forming Religious Sentiments

Proper mode of treating Religious Error

Education, general directions

General Reading

Education, various branches

Education, domestic economy

Practical Hints from a Father to His Daughter

William Sprague, 1835



PREFACE
The following work was originally designed to be preserved in manuscript, as a legacy to a motherless child. The circumstances which have resulted in its being given to the world, it is unnecessary to state. The author has only to add his earnest prayer that it may be read with some degree of advantage by young girls into whose hands it may chance to fall; and especially by those whom the righteous providence of God has deprived of the benefit of maternal care and instruction.

The following pages contain one of the most practical and truly valuable treatises on the culture and discipline of the female mind, which has hitherto been published.

There is surely no judicious American parent who would not rejoice in the possession of this unpretending work, not merely as a lesson of wisdom for a beloved daughter on entering the unattempted trials of life, but as an invaluable monitor to the adult ear.

The subject is a serious one to a reflecting mind, and the writer has dwelt upon it in seriousness — yet it is seldom indeed that anyone has succeeded so well in exciting and sustaining the deepest interest of the reader.

'Practical Hints from a Father to His Daughter' is a work that we can most sincerely recommend to the perusal of every parent and every daughter in our country! And it is our earnest hope and belief that it will produce a beneficial influence upon the character of the rising generation.
Boston, May, 1833.



INTRODUCTION

It is for the heart of the parent alone, adequately to conceive the tender responsibilities that belong to the parental relation. It is impossible, if he have the feelings of a man — much more of a Christian — that he should contemplate a beloved child coming forward into life, and beginning a career for eternity, without agitating in his own bosom the question of what the probable condition of that child may be in the future stages of existence.

And, if I mistake not, there are some special reasons why the solicitude of a parent should be awakened by contemplating the condition of a daughter, during the critical period to which I have referred. In addition to all the other circumstances which render her an object of deep interest, and in which she shares in common with children of the other gender, she is, in a higher degree than they, dependent on parental aid. There is a sort of natural defenselessness in her condition, independently of the fostering care of those from whom under God she received her being, that makes an appeal to a parent's heart, which, if it is not a heart of stone, he will strive in vain to resist.

That you may be the better prepared to estimate the importance of the various topics to which I intend to direct your attention, I beg you to remember that what you are at the age of eighteen or twenty, you probably will be, making due allowance for the change of circumstances, in every future period of life. In other words, your character will, by that time, in all probability, have acquired a fixed direction — a direction which will last through all the scenes of your prosperity and adversity to your dying hour. I admit that there are many exceptions from this remark; but I appeal to the records of human experience, I appeal to the observation of any individual who has been accustomed carefully to notice facts on this subject, whether the general truth is not as above stated — that in the great majority of cases, the character of a young girl, at the close of her education, is formed for life — of course, formed for eternity!

I am sure this consideration cannot fail, if you duly estimate it, to give deep interest to every effort, and especially every parental effort, that is made to form you to virtue and happiness.

I am aware that much has been written on the subjects upon which I am to address you, and with a degree of ability to which I can make no claim. Nevertheless I am constrained to say that most of the books with which I am acquainted, designed for the special benefit of young girls, have seemed to me either deficient in some important topics of instruction, or to contain views on some other points from which an intelligent Christian parent would be compelled to dissent. Far be it from me, to intimate that I expect to supply all the deficiencies, or correct all the mistakes, of those who have gone before me. I only promise that the views which I communicate shall be such as, after mature reflection, appear to me to be consonant with reason, experience, and Scripture.

I have no ambition to say anything that shall appear new or striking — but my whole object is to give you plain parental advice on topics which do not lose their importance with their novelty. And it is a thought upon which I dwell with some interest that, though you might read the writings of a stranger with indifference — you will peruse these hints with attention and perhaps advantage, when the heart that dictates them, shall have ceased to beat; and the hand by which they are penned, shall have moldered into dust.

Practical Hints from a Father to His Daughter

William Sprague, 1835

Independence of Mind


There is scarcely any quality which is more frequently the theme of praise among all classes, than that which is to constitute the subject of this chapter. The good and the bad, alike, will extol something, which each calls independence of mind; and all will agree that the quality which is indicated by this language, is an essential element in a truly noble character. But it is worthy of remark that the expression has a variety of meaning with different individuals; that with some it indicates what is truly great and noble, with others, what is unlovely, and even odious. It becomes therefore a matter of importance that you should distinguish the precious from the vile; that you should take care to cultivate genuine independence of character, and not deceive yourself with something which has been unjustly complimented with the name.

Let me apprise you, then, in the first place, that true independence is something entirely different from rashness. There are those who pride themselves on forming a hasty opinion, and adopting a course of conduct, even in relation to subjects of great importance, without stopping to reflect at all on probable consequences. It matters little with them, though they act entirely in the dark, provided only their movements are so rapid and boisterous as to excite attention. People of this character, you will always find, run themselves into a thousand needless difficulties. Even if they chance to go right, every judicious person will consider it a matter of mere accident, and to say the least, will give them far less credit of virtuous conduct than if they had adopted the same course with forethought and deliberation.

True independence of mind is equally unlike obstinacy — another quality with which it is often confounded. When a person has once formed an opinion, and expressed it, especially with a great degree of confidence, and perhaps with some publicity — he is under strong temptation, from the pride of consistency, to retain that opinion, even in spite of light which ought to induce him to abandon it. The secret feeling of his heart is, that it would be a bad reflection either upon his discernment or his firmness, to avow a change in his convictions. And hence he endeavors to shut his eyes upon the evidence which might be likely to work such a change; or if the light is irresistible, and the change is forced upon him — he will refuse to acknowledge it; and will even act in a manner which he knows to be contrary to his own interest — rather than confess that he has been in a mistake! This is nothing short of the most pitiable obstinacy! And whoever exhibits it, exposes himself to deserved contempt. Remember that it is an honor to confess an error as soon as you discover it, and as publicly as you may have avowed it. All will think the better of you for doing so; or if there are any exceptions, they are those whose praise is censure, and whose censure, praise.

Equally remote is the quality which I would recommend from a contempt of the opinion of others. It is not uncommon to find people, who seem to regard their own opinion as infallible, and who treat the opinion of others with proportionate disrespect. No matter though the subject is one, in respect to which they may be utterly ignorant — they will deliver their opinion with dictatorial confidence, and will treat every objection, and every query — as if it were of course, the offspring of folly or impertinence.

True independence, so far from giving its sanction to this spirit, disdains not to ask advice of the wise, and always treats their opinions with respect, though it does not yield to them an implicit consent. You need not fear that you will forfeit your character for decision, by asking judicious friends to counsel you on any important subject on which you may be called to act. Indeed a neglect to do so, would justly expose you to the charge of vanity and presumption.

On the subject of asking advice, however, let me give you two brief directions. One is that you should consult only those whose advice is worthy of your attention; the other is, that you should never consult anyone, after your decision is formed. It is nothing better than an insult to a friend to go through the formality of asking his advice, and subjecting him to the trouble of giving it — when your opinion is decisively made up, and you only wish him to sanction it. You cannot adopt this course without some danger; for if the individual whom you consult happens to reveal the secret, he must be a good-natured person indeed, not to be vexed at it. If he happens to advise you contrary to your predetermination, then you subject yourself to the unpleasant necessity of acting contrary to his opinion, after you had formally sought it. It is wise to seek counsel of proper people; but it should always be to assist one to form an opinion — not merely to strengthen it after it is formed.

The independence which I wish you to cultivate — is that quality which leads us to form all our opinions deliberately, and from the best light which we can gain — and then to adhere to them firmly and practically — until there shall be sufficient evidence to reverse our convictions.

This quality reveals itself in the very formation of opinions or principles. It keeps the mind steady, amidst the conflicting views which may be presented before it. It causes it to look attentively at the evidence on every side, to resist the undue influence of circumstances, and to form its conclusions after intelligent and impartial inquiry. If you have genuine independence, it will keep you from inconsiderate and hasty judgments. It will save you from being enslaved to the opinions of others, and from adopting notions merely because they are current in the community around you. In short, it will subject you to the labor of forming your own judgments; but when they are once formed, it will ensure to you, the satisfaction of thinking that they are your own.

But this trait of character reveals itself, not only in the process by which we arrive at our convictions of what is true and right — but also in an intelligent adherence to those convictions after they are attained. It usually happens that those opinions which are formed most inconsiderately — are relinquished most easily; whereas, those who have come to their conclusions by a process of deliberate and independent thought — rarely have occasion to change their views; and never — but upon the most patient and mature reflection.

I have spoken of an independent mind as it reveals itself in forming and holding fast its own opinions. Let me add, that it is not less conspicuous in reducing principles to practice — in other words, in steadily persevering in what we believe to be duty. It requires far less strength of purpose to avow good principles, even in times of trial — than practically to exhibit those principles in an unyielding course of action. But as principles are nothing without practice — so it is the noblest office of genuine independence, to carry the mind forward in a course of action corresponding with its own convictions; to keep the hands nerved for effort, when there may be a thousand pleas for relaxing exertion; and to give to this activity that direction only, which conscience approves, when the strongest temptations offer themselves to an opposite course.

You may dream of your own independence as much as you please — but unless it be of this practical kind which influences conduct as well as opinions, and which is carried out into all the departments of human duty — you have much reason to believe that neither you nor the world will be the better for your having possessed it.

The advantages of an independent mind will readily occur to you upon a moment's reflection. It is especially in consequence of the lack of this quality, that so many young people become victims to the most practical and fatal errors. They are placed in circumstances in which it is fashionable to think lightly of true religion, or fashionable to disbelieve its truths; and though at first, conscience may remonstrate against their throwing themselves into the current — yet they have not strength of purpose to resist it. And principles which were at first adopted tremblingly, and with severe compunction — are soon rendered more than tolerable by habit; and soon they become the governing principles of the life.

A proper share of independence would keep you from adopting any opinions, without due consideration. And if error in any of its forms should be proposed to you, and you should stop to canvass it, and should determine that you would not receive it but upon deliberate and intelligent conviction — there is good reason to believe that you would not receive it at all; for there is no fundamental error in true religion or morals, which is not seen to be such, by anyone who examines it with due attention and impartiality.

It is another advantage of genuine independence, and ought to be with you a powerful motive for cultivating it — that it is fitted to give you a proper degree of self-respect. If you see an individual who betrays great indecision of character, and is a slave to the opinion of everybody, having no opinion of his own — you cannot regard that individual other than with a species of pity, which borders well near upon contempt. And the same must be true in respect to yourself — if you are conscious that you have no stability of purpose, and that your opinions of characters and things are not your own — but are taken upon trust, and that you do not think your own thoughts even upon the most common subjects — you may try to respect yourself — but you cannot. And moreover, you will be compelled to feel the mortifying conviction that others do not respect you. Whatever you or others may wish in regard to it — it is not in human nature that it should be otherwise. As you desire, therefore, to live in the favorable estimation of others, or even of yourself — cultivate this trait which I am recommending.

And I may add — that this quality is not less essential to your usefulness. The fact that you have lost self-respect, would destroy, in a great degree, your power of exertion; or, what is the same thing, would diminish the motives to it. And the fact that you had lost the respect of others, would not only operate in the same manner — but would tend to a similar result by diminishing your opportunities of usefulness. And, moreover, let your efforts be what they might, little real good could be expected from them, so long as they were not subject to the direction of an independent mind; for if you should labor for a good object one day, there could be no security that you would not abandon it for an evil one the next; or if you should seem to be laboring successfully for awhile, it is quite probable that you might soon defeat your purpose by some eccentric and ill advised movement.

Under how much greater advantages will your efforts be made, if you cultivate a suitable spirit of independence! The fact that you are conscious of doing right will render your exertions easy and unembarrassed. The fact that you have the respect and confidence of those around you, will multiply your means of doing good. And the fact that you are acting with reflection and firmness — will impart an energy and efficiency to your whole deportment. As you would be spared the reproach of living to little or no purpose, let me say again — cultivate a truly independent mind!

Practical Hints from a Father to His Daughter

William Sprague, 1835

Forming the MANNERS


Next in importance to the culture of your heart and understanding, is the formation of your manners. You shall have the grounds on which I form this opinion.

There are multitudes who will have no other criterion than your manners — by which to judge of your character. In the varied interaction of society, you meet many people, perhaps only for a single time in the course of your life. They of course form some opinion of you; and that opinion is built upon what they witness of your general appearance. With good manners, you may leave an impression upon a stranger from a casual meeting with him, which may cause him to hold you in grateful remembrance through life. With manners of an opposite character, you would either be passed unnoticed, or perhaps remembered only as a glaring specimen of affectation or crudeness.

It deserves also to be borne in mind, that in nearly every case, the first impressions of the character are gathered from the manners — and every one knows that first impressions are not easily eradicated!

Instances are not uncommon in which an individual, on the first introduction to another, has been struck with some apparent defect of disposition, as indicated by the manners; and though he may have been subsequently convinced that the impression was a mistaken one — he has found it next to impossible to forget it, in the estimate he forms of the character. If your manners are as they should be — it will give you this great advantage in respect to every acquaintance you form — that the individual, from the beginning, will be biased in your favor. If otherwise, the best you can hope is, that in finding your way ultimately into the favorable regards of other people, you will have to encounter a mass of negative prejudice.

But, leaving first impressions out of view, there is something in the very constitution of human nature which inclines us to form a judgment of character from manners. It is always taken for granted, unless there is decisive evidence to the contrary — that the manners are the genuine expression of the feelings. And even where such evidence exists, that is, where we have every reason to believe that the external appearance does injustice to the moral dispositions, or, on the other hand, where the heart is too favorably represented by the manners — there is still a bias forced upon the mind, by what passes under the eye, which it is not easy to resist.

You may take two individuals of precisely the same degree of intellectual and moral worth, and let the manners of the one be gracious and attractive, and those of the other distant or awkward — and you will find that the former will pass through life with far more ease and comfort than the latter. For though good manners will never effectually conceal a bad heart, and are, in no case, any atonement for it — yet, taken in connection with amiable and virtuous dispositions, they naturally and necessarily gain upon the respect and good will of mankind.

You will instantly perceive, if the preceding remarks are correct, that it is not only your interest to cultivate good manners, as you hereby recommend yourself to the favorable regards of others — but also your duty — as it increases, in no small degree, your means of usefulness. It will give you access to many people, and give you an influence over those, whom you could otherwise never approach, much less whose feelings and purposes you could never hope, in any measure, to control.

There is yet another reason why this subject is deserving of your attention. It is, that as the manners derive their complexion in a great degree from the feelings — so the feelings are in turn influenced by the manners. Suppose, from your partiality to some friend, you should undertake to adopt some weak peculiarity in her deportment — it is more than probable, if the foolish experiment should succeed, that you would find yourself, at no distant period, with a set of feelings strongly assimilated to those of the individual whom you had sought to copy. Cultivate good manners then, as one means of improving your dispositions, and imparting real excellence to your character!

That you may attain the object which I am recommending, let me advise you to lay the foundation aright — by cultivating good and amiable feelings. Without these, though you should attain what may pass with the world for good manners — they will only serve to convict you of hypocrisy! For, however it may be with others — you must yourself know that they do not indicate your real character. Endeavor then to banish from your heart all evil dispositions — and to nourish every temper that is loving and praiseworthy. Resist with unyielding firmness — the operations of pride, envy, jealousy, and every other bad passion.

There are, indeed, infinitely higher motives which urge you to this course, than are derived from its influence in forming your manners; though it is with reference to this exclusively, that I direct your attention to it now.

In connection with the cultivation of benevolent feelings, it is necessary that you should acquire that habit of self-possession which will enable you at all times to act out your feelings without embarrassment. Where the manners indicate amiable moral qualities, and a gentle and kind spirit — this will go far to atone for any lesser imperfections by which they may be marked. Nevertheless, it is desirable that you should appear not only amiable, but unconstrained; that you should feel at ease yourself, and be able to put others at ease around you.

You will be placed, almost of course, in a variety of situations — so it is important that you should have that habitual self-command which will enable you readily to accommodate yourself to the peculiarities of each situation — and at least to conceal from those around you, the secret that you are not perfectly at home. I do not say that this is essential to your passing in good society — but it certainly is essential to the perfection of good manners.

I must not omit to mention that it is of great importance to the formation of good manners — that you should be accustomed to mingle in good society. I do not mean that you should select all your associates from the more elevated walks of life; for this would be likely to unfit you for mingling with ease and advantage among the less refined; but I would have you so much in cultivated society, that you shall feel perfectly at home, and that your manners shall appear to have been formed upon a model of elegance and refinement. It is a rare instance indeed, that a young girl, who is habitually accustomed to society of a crude or groveling character — ever becomes graceful or dignified in her own manners. And on the other hand, where her intimate associates are people of intelligence and refinement — it is almost a matter of course that she becomes conformed, in a good degree, to the models with which she is conversant.

But while you ought highly to estimate the privilege of good society, as a means of forming your manners — you cannot too cautiously guard against servile imitation. You may have a friend, whose manners seem to you to combine every quality that is necessary to render them a perfect model; who unites elegant simplicity with generous frankness, and dignified address with winning condescension; who, in short, is everything, in this respect, that you could wish to be yourself. But after all, it would be unwise in you to become a servile copyist even of such good manners. For you are to remember that a certain cast of manners suits a certain cast of character; and unless your character were precisely that of the individual whom you should imitate — you would, in attempting to assume her manners, deservedly expose yourself to the charge of affectation.

You will therefore do yourself much better service by looking at good models in a general manner, and by endeavoring to become imbued with their spirit — than by making any direct efforts to become exactly conformed to them. Indeed, it may be doubted whether you will not reap every possible advantage, by simply mingling in their society, without even thinking of them as models.

Let me caution you here more particularly, to be on your guard against affectation. This is very easily acquired, and is so common a fault — that the absence of it is always remarked as a great excellence. I have known girls of many amiable qualities, and considerable intelligence — who have been absolutely spoiled for society, by attempting to assume in their manners, what did not belong to them. Wherever anything of this kind exists, it requires but little sagacity to detect it; and even those who are not exactly sensible where the evil lies, are still aware that there is something which needs to be corrected. It happens, however, too frequently, that what is quite palpable to everybody else, escapes the observation of the individual who is the subject of it! And I have known glaring cases, in which the kindest intimation of the fact, from a friend, has been met with expressions of resentment. I beg that you will not only have your ears open to any admonition you may ever receive on this subject — but your eyes open, to inspect narrowly your own conduct, that you may detect the fault, if it really does exist. Affectation is always regarded, and justly regarded — as an indication of consummate folly. And unless it happens to be associated with an unusual cluster of real excellencies, it brings upon the individual little less than absolute contempt. Let your manners be as much improved as they may — but regard it as an essential matter, that they should be your own.

Beware also of an ostentatious manner. By this, I mean that kind of manner . . .
which savors too much of display;
which indicates a disposition to make yourself too conspicuous;
and which, in short, is the acting out of a spirit of self-conceit and excessive self-confidence.

This appears badly enough when revealed in a man; but in a female, and especially in a young female — it is absolutely intolerable. Not that I wish to see you awkwardly bashful, or liable to embarrassment from every slight change of circumstances; but between this, and the ostentatious manner which I am condemning — there is a happy medium, consisting of a due mixture of confidence and modesty, which will be equally pleasant to yourself and those with whom you associate. But if you must err on either extreme, I had rather it would be on that of shyness, than of ostentation. I had rather you should excite, by your bashfulness — a feeling of compassion; than by your excessive confidence — a feeling of disgust.

But while you are carefully to avoid ostentation, you are to guard with no less caution against a studied reserve. We sometimes meet with people whose manners leave upon our minds the painful impression that they are afraid to trust us; and that they regard both our actions and words with suspicion. Wherever this trait appears, it is almost certain to excite anger or disgust. Most people will bear anything with more patience, than to be told, either directly or indirectly — that they are unworthy of trust.

A significant smile, or nod, or look, with a third person, which is intended not to be understood by the individual with whom you are conversing — is a gross violation of propriety, and has often cost a deeply wounded sensibility, and sometimes a valued friendship. While you studiously avoid everything of this kind, let your manners be characterized by a noble frankness which, in whatever circumstances you are placed, shall leave no doubt of your sincerity.

I will only add, that you should avoid every approach to a haughty and overbearing manner. It is an exhibition of pride, which is one of the most hateful of all dispositions — and of pride in one of its most odious forms. If you should be so unhappy as to furnish an example of it, whatever variety of feeling it might excite among your associates — you may rely on it, that they would all agree to despise you. I entreat you, therefore, as you value your character or usefulness, that you will always be courteous and kind.

If I should point you to the finest model of female manners which it has ever been my privilege to observe, and one which will compare with the most perfect models of this or any other age — I should repeat a venerated name, that of Mrs. Hannah More. It was my privilege, a few years ago, to make a visit to the residence of this distinguished female; a visit which I have ever since regarded as among the happiest incidents of my life. At that time she numbered more than eighty years old; but the vigor of her intellect was scarcely at all impaired; and from what she was, I could easily conceive what she had been when her sun was at its meridian. In her person she was rather small — but was a specimen of admirable symmetry. In her manners she united the dignity and refinement of the court, with the most exquisite courtesy and gentleness which the female character in its loveliest forms ever exhibited. She impressed me continually with a sense of the high intellectual and moral qualities, by which she was distinguished — but still left me as unconstrained as if I had been conversing with my beloved child! There was . . .
an air of graceful and unaffected ease,
an instinctive regard to the most delicate proprieties of social fellowship,
a readiness to communicate — and yet a desire to listen,
the dignity of conscious merit — united with the humility of the devoted Christian.

In short, there was such an assemblage of intellectual and moral excellencies beaming forth in every expression, and look, and attitude — that I could scarcely conceive of a more perfect exhibition of human character!

I rejoice that it is the privilege of all to know Mrs. More through her written works; and I can form no better wish for you than that you may imbibe her spirit, and walk in her footsteps!

Conversation


Is the preceding chapter, I have given you some general directions in respect to the formation of your manners. The subject on which I am now to address you, is closely connected with that — but yet, if I mistake not, is sufficiently distinct to justify a consideration of it in a separate section.

I am well aware that the gift of conversation is originally possessed in very unequal measures; and that while some have a native aptitude for social interaction — others seem to be constitutionally deficient in ease and fluency. But notwithstanding this original diversity, there is perhaps no talent that is more susceptible of improvement, than the talent for conversation. And though you should possess it in ever so moderate a degree, you may still, by a suitable degree of attention, render yourself, in this respect — decent and respectable.

The first requisite for conversing well, is a well-stored and cultivated mind. Without this, I acknowledge that you may talk fluently, and talk abundantly, and if you please, talk humorously — but you can never be qualified to hold your part to advantage in intelligent social interaction. If you move in the walks of cultivated society, you will find that a great variety of topics will come up, beyond the mere commonplaces of the day; and unless you have become considerably conversant with the various departments of knowledge — you will be subjected to the humiliation of showing your ignorance — either by saying nothing, or by saying that which is not to the purpose.

There is no subject of importance, the slightest knowledge of which may not be of advantage to you in conversation; for even though it should be too limited to enable you to impart anything to those with whom you converse — it may be of great use in assisting you to prosecute your inquiries with intelligence, and thus to increase your own stock of information. I would say, then, be studious to gain knowledge on every important subject, and do not regard even the fragments of information as too unimportant to be treasured up and retained.

Endeavor, as far as possible, to make your conversation a source of improvement. The gift of speech like every other endowment, was bestowed for an important purpose; and that purpose can never be answered, unless it is made the vehicle for communicating, or the means of obtaining — useful knowledge or good impressions. Wherever it is in your power to command the conversation, make it a primary object to give it such a turn — that it shall serve the intellectual and moral advantage of those who are engaged in it!

It may be well for you, with reference to your own improvement — to endeavor to introduce such topics as may best suit the taste or talents of those with whom you converse; topics upon which they will be most at home, and will be most likely to throw out thoughts that may be useful to you. It has often happened that an individual, from one conversation with an intelligent friend, has gained more light on a particular subject, than would have been gained by weeks, or even months, of reading or reflection.

And let me say, that there are scarcely any circumstances in which you can be placed, in which you may not render the conversation a source of some advantage, either to yourself or others. If you are thrown among the illiterate and vulgar — you may, in a single half hour, do something to enlighten them; you may even be instrumental in giving a new direction to their thoughts, and ultimately of forming their character in a better mold. And notwithstanding their ignorance on most subjects, there may be some on which they may be able to instruct you; and thus, after all, you may be mutually benefitted by your fellowship.

Let me caution you to beware of talking too much! If you cannot talk to edification — then the less you say the better! But even if your conversation can be uplifting; and if besides, you are gifted with the best powers of conversation — it will be wise for you to guard against the imputation of excessive loquacity.

I would not, by any means, have you yield to a prudish reserve; but I know not whether even that, were a more offensive extreme than to monopolize the conversation of a whole circle.

You are to remember that as the gift of speech is common to all — so there are a very few, who are not inclined to speak at all. It is a rare case indeed, that you will meet an individual who will feel satisfied to sit down and hear another talk continually, and have the conversation addressed to himself — without bearing any part in it. But, at any rate, you are never to make yourself very conspicuous in conversation, without due regard to circumstances. If, for instance, you are among people who are your superiors in age or standing in society — there must be strong circumstances to justify you in bearing more than a moderate share in the conversation. And if you should actually take the lead in the conversation — let it appear manifest that it is not because you are predisposed to do so — but because it is the wish of others that you should.

If you talk out of proportion to your relative circumstances, even though it should be to the amusement or edification of those who listen — it is more than probable that it will be set down to the score of vanity. It were far better to leave a circle wishing, from what you have actually said — that you had said more; than be irritated with you for having talked so much.

It is only an extension of the thought to which I have just adverted, when I remark further, that you should beware of talking without reflection, or when you have nothing to say. It is far better to be silent, than to talk in this manner, or in these circumstances. For you cannot hope to edify anyone, and you certainly expose your ignorance. Let the subject be what it may, accustom yourself always to reflect before you speak! In other words, to have thoughts — before you utter them. You cannot look around in society, without perceiving that incautious speaking is one of the most fruitful sources of mischief. Whether you are discussing a serious subject, or talking about the most familiar occurrences of life — let it be a rule from which you never deviate, to say nothing without reflection! You may easily form this habit, and the advantage of it will be incalculable. Or you may perhaps, with still greater ease, form the opposite habit — and it will subject you to serious evils as long as you live!

Take care that you never subject yourself to the charge of egotism. This is apt to be a consequence of excessive garrulity; for there are few people who talk a great deal — who do not find it convenient to magnify their own importance. And let me say that this is a foible which is more likely to escape the observation of the person who is subject to it — than almost any other! And yet there is perhaps no other person, which is more easily detected by everyone else! And, I may add — no other person excites more universal disgust!

Guard your lips, then, whenever you find it in your heart to make yourself the heroine of your own story! Never say anything of yourself which even indirectly involves commendation — unless under circumstances of very rare occurrence. If you watch the operations of your heart, you will probably be surprised to find how strong is the propensity to bring one's self into view — as often and to as great advantage as possible.

Whenever you can illustrate any subject on which you may be conversing by a reference to the experience of anyone else — it is better, in all ordinary cases, to avail yourself of it, than to refer even indirectly to your own. I have known some people, who have manifested a strange kind of egotism, in speaking freely and unnecessarily of their own past errors — when it appeared to me that genuine humility should have led them to silent repentance. You may rest assured, that it is an exceedingly difficult thing to allude much either to one's own faults or excellencies; difficult, I mean, without leaving an impression that it is the offspring of a foolish self-delight. In other words — without getting, and deservedly getting, the reputation of an egotist!

Avoid even the appearance of ostentation of learning. If you are conversing with people of very limited attainments, you will make yourself far more acceptable as well as useful to them — by accommodating yourself to their capacities, than by compelling them to listen to what they cannot understand.

I do not say that you may not in some instances, awe them with your supposed wisdom, and perhaps they may even see you as an oracle of learning; but it is much more probable that even they will smile at such a prideful exhibition, as a contemptible weakness.

With the intelligent and discerning, this effect certainly will be produced; and that whether your pretensions to learning are well founded or not. The simple fact that you aim to appear learned, that you deal much in allusions to the classics or the various departments of science, with an evident intention to display your familiarity with them — will be more intolerable than even absolute ignorance! If you are really a proficient in the topic being discussed — you need have no apprehension that your acquisitions will not be known without your making a formal proclamation of them. If you are only a superficial student, and make pretensions to learning which your acquirements do not justify — you will inevitably have to encounter a mortifying defeat! For you may set it down as a fact, that in cultivated society — you will pass for nothing more than you are really worth!

My advice to you is, to acquire as much useful information as you can, and to use it in conversation where there is manifestly occasion for it. But in no case whatever to volunteer a learned remark where there is no higher purpose to be answered, than mere personal display!

And never venture on a subject, especially with an air of confidence and learnedness, upon which you are conscious your attainments are too shallow to justify it. It is an experiment always fraught with danger; and many instances I have known in which it has resulted in a humiliating exposure both of ignorance and weakness. You are at liberty, indeed, to converse upon subjects on which you are not well informed; this, as I have elsewhere intimated, is one important means of increasing your information. But, in every such case, do not attempt to get more credit for intelligence, than you really deserve — do not assume the air of a teacher, when you are conscious that the attitude of a learner belongs to you. In this respect, as well as in every other, honesty is the safest and best policy!

Let me caution you still further against a habit of light conversation. I have known young girls with whom this habit had become so confirmed, that it seemed as if they could scarcely speak, but to trifle; and who would even choose to remain silent, rather than join in conversation in which their favorite passion could not be indulged. You cannot contract such a habit, but at the expense of forfeiting the esteem of the wise and good, of sacrificing true dignity of character, and throwing yourself into a current of temptation in which there is every probability that you will be irrecoverably lost.

Scarcely any habit more effectually than this, imparts a disrelish for the society of all except triflers — and hardens the heart against the influences of true religion.

I do not wish ever to see you gloomy, or austere, or dull; but as you value all that is most precious in time and eternity — I beg you never to give yourself up to a habit of levity. Avoid even the most distant approach to it; for it is the nature of every habit, and especially of this — to make an insidious beginning, and to grow strong by indulgence.

If you are thrown into company in which it is the fashion to trifle — get out of it as soon as possible! And while you are in it, have decision enough to let it appear that you are not in your favorite element. And if you should have so much decision as to express your disapprobation, and to administer a gentle yet dignified reproof — I venture to say, that the greatest trifler in the circle would respect you the more for it. There is no apology to be made for such a habit on the ground of constitution, education, or anything else. And if you yield to it, I must again remind you that you do it at the expense of character, usefulness, and happiness!

Be careful also how you indulge in sarcasm. If you are constitutionally inclined to this — you will find that there is no point in your character which needs to be more faithfully guarded. There are but few cases in which severe irony may be employed to advantage — cases in which vice and error will shrink before it, when they will unhesitatingly dismiss every other species of opposition.

But it too often happens, that those who possess this talent use it too indiscriminately, and perhaps even more frequently to confound modest and humble virtue — than to abash bold and insolent vice. But be assured that it is a contemptible triumph that is gained, when, by the force of sarcasm, the lips of a deserving individual are sealed, and the countenance crimsoned with blushes.

And there are only a few cases — cases in which the cast of character is peculiar — that will warrant the use of this weapon against vice itself. You may take it for granted, in all ordinary cases in which a sarcastic remark has done its office — that you have excited feelings of no very friendly character towards yourself. You may be flattered by the compliment which you imagine those around you are paying to your wit — but it were more reasonable for you, to grieve at the reflection that you may have lost a friend.

In connection with sarcasm as displayed towards those with whom you converse, let me say a word in respect to your treatment of absent people. Never volunteer unnecessarily, in speaking badly of anybody. You may indeed be placed in circumstances in which it may be proper and even necessary that you should express an unfavorable opinion of people — that you should state facts concerning them of the most disagreeable nature. But what I object to is, that you should do this when circumstances do not require it — and when no good will be likely to result from it. For it at once indicates a bad disposition, and is a means by which that disposition will gain strength.

But in no case allow yourself to make any unfavorable representation of a person — unless you have ample evidence that it is accordant with truth. By neglecting to observe this direction, you may do an injury to an innocent person, which it will afterwards never be in your power to retrieve — and acquire for yourself the reputation of a slanderer!

There is an idle way of discussing people, in which less is usually meant than meets the ear — and which often seems to be resorted to merely for the sake of filling up the time. Remember that if you allow yourself to join in this kind of conversation — you always do it at the hazard of making enemies for yourself. For though your remarks may be made with perfectly harmless intentions, and may convey no bad impressions to the individual to whom they are addressed — yet when they reach the ear of the person who is the subject of them, unaccompanied by the manner in which they were uttered, and perhaps in an exaggerated form — they will almost of course be interpreted as indicating diminished friendship, if not decided hostility!

Above all, never venture censorious remarks upon people, when you are thrown among strangers. Many instances have occurred in which an individual who has ventured upon this experiment has afterwards made the mortifying discovery that the person who was the subject of his remarks — was actually listening to them; or if not, that they were heard by some near relative or friend. The only prudent course in such circumstances, is to say nothing which will expose your own feelings or the feelings of others — in view of any disclosure that may be made.

There is a sacrilegious and irreverent use of sacred things, against which I wish especially to guard you. For a girl to be absolutely profane, would be to render herself at once an outlaw from decent society; nevertheless I have observed with pain, that some young ladies, who would doubtless shrink from the charge of profaneness, allow themselves in exclamations, and in irreverent and ludicrous applications of Scripture, which border very closely upon it! Beware how you even approach this dangerous ground. Such exclamations as those to which I have referred, in which either the solemn name of the Divine Being, or one of his attributes is lightly introduced — are fitted to destroy your reverence for everything sacred, and to nourish within you, a spirit of absolute impiety. Never allow anything of a sacred nature to be on your lips — without a corresponding sentiment of reverence in your heart. And if those with whom you are accustomed to associate, indulge themselves in this sinful habit of which I have spoken — then think it a sufficient reason for declining their society!

I will only detain you farther by suggesting a caution to nourish a most sacred regard to truth. There is a habit which many people have of dealing artfully and evasively; saving their consciences by some expression which may admit of double construction — but which nevertheless in its obvious construction is contrary to truth. There are others who have a habit of exaggerating. With them, the simple truth is too dry to be relished. They allow their imaginations to supply the defects of their memories — and never seem to breathe freely, but in the region of embellishment and exaggeration.

And I am constrained to say, that much of the civility of fashionable life savors strongly of deception. I refer here not only to the habit which some ladies have of sending word to visitors that they are not at home, when they are only busy — but to the 'painful regrets' that are often expressed at the distance between calls; at the 'unspeakable joy' which is manifested on meeting a fashionable acquaintance; at the 'earnest importunity' that is exhibited for an early visit — when the truth is in each case — that the real feeling is that of 'absolute indifference'!

Now, I beg you will guard against duplicity in all its forms. Rely on it — it is not necessary to true politeness. And if it were — you ought not, as an accountable and immortal creature, even to ponder the question whether you shall yield to it.

There are cases, I know, in which the temptation to equivocate is powerful, in which to speak the honest truth must involve severe personal sacrifices; but in all cases of this kind, the only proper alternative is, either to speak out your real sentiments, or to say nothing. And you are not even at liberty to remain silent — when silence will convey a wrong impression, and of course is virtual falsehood.

You will gain nothing if you indulge yourself in a habit of exaggeration; for this feature in your character, will soon be understood, and your statements will all be received with a corresponding reticence.

In a word, let it be a principle with you, never to be violated, that in whatever circumstances you are placed — that all that you say shall be characterized by the simplicity of truth. In this way, you will secure the approbation of your own conscience, and commend yourself to the confidence and regard of all who know you.

AMUSEMENTS



There is scarcely any subject on which it is more important that you should form correct notions, and in relation to which a mistaken view is of more practical and dangerous tendency — than that of amusements. Many a young girl, who might have been an ornament to her gender, and a blessing to the world, has, by yielding to the dictates of a wayward inclination, and setting aside the decisions of sober reason on this subject — not only rendered herself of no account in society — but clouded all her prospects both for this world and eternity. In contemplating this subject, I wish you to feel that you are standing by the grave of female character and hopes, and to heed the warning voice that issues from it, charging you to beware how you tread in the footsteps of the fallen and ruined!

The grand reason why so many girls have fallen victims to the love of amusement is, that they have judged erroneously of the end which it is designed to answer. They have taken up the opinion, (and it must be acknowledged that it has too often received the sanction even of parents,) that a portion, especially of early life, was designed to be frittered away in idle and foolish indulgences; that they are at liberty during this period to regard the gratification of the senses as an ultimate object; and to think of nothing in connection with amusement beyond the mere momentary enjoyment with which it is connected. With this impression, they have asked no question with so much interest — as how they may most effectually be amused. And this passion has increased by indulgence, until they have acquired an utter disrelish for the sober concerns of life! Who would suppose that beings could be employed in these idle pursuits . . .
who are destined to an immortal existence,
who are accountable for the improvement of all their time, and
are liable every hour, to enter on an exact and eternal retribution?

The legitimate end of amusement, is not answered in mere personal gratification — but in refreshing and invigorating the powers for the more successful discharge of duty. The constitution of the human mind is such, that it will not bear to be intensely employed on the same object for a long time without interruption. The effect of an attempt to keep it thus employed, would be that far less would be accomplished than might be with occasional relaxation. And also, the energies of the mind, instead of being quickened and improved — would gradually be diminished. Hence some amusement becomes necessary, in order to secure the greatest usefulness.

In this view, you will perceive not only, that amusement is designed to prepare you for the discharge of duty — that is, for an attention to the serious concerns of life — but that it is itself an important part of duty; and like everything else in which you engage, ought to be subject to the direction of conscience. You have no right to forget your accountability or to refuse to acknowledge God in selecting your amusements, or in yielding yourself to them — than you have when you enter the closet or sanctuary, to engage in private or public worship.

You will perceive, moreover, if the preceding remarks are correct, that the whole purpose of amusement, may be answered by mere change of employment! It is by no means necessary, as the popular notion is, that the change should be from an employment that is useful — to one that is useless or even worse! But the object may be even better accomplished, by a change that shall keep the mind still employed to advantage.

If your ordinary employment is one that lays your mental faculties under severe usage — then that to which you resort for amusement, ought undoubtedly to require moderate mental exercise. And in cases of unusual mental exhaustion — it may be proper to give the mind a respite for a short season. But in all ordinary cases, you will find that in unbending from severe exertion of mind, with reference to renewing that exertion with greater success — you need not yield to total inaction, or occupy yourself with anything that is trifling — but may still be doing something for the benefit of yourself or your fellow creatures.

If you regulate your amusements by a regard to this principle, you will find it a most effectual means of redeeming time, and will have the pleasure to reflect that even your hours of relaxation — are hours of usefulness.

There are several tests by which you may judge whether any particular amusement is innocent:

Of course, the amusement must be safe and moral for you to indulge in it. Inquire whether before engaging in it — if you dare ask God to accompany it with his blessing. Do not think that this is an unreasonable suggestion. Rely on it, it is fully accordant with enlightened reason and conscience. We have no right to use our faculties in any way which our Maker and Judge does not approve; and if we are conscious of using them aright, we shall at once feel our need of his blessing, and be encouraged to ask it.

Let me add, that you cannot innocently indulge in any amusement — which will not fit you for the better discharge of the ordinary duties of life. If this be not the effect — then the time which is thus occupied is worse than lost. For not only is there no good accomplished — but the faculties, by this means, acquire, or are confirmed in, a wrong direction! And thus habits are often formed, both intellectual and moral — which are alike inconsistent with dignity, happiness, and usefulness. Is it not lamentably true, that a large part of the amusements which prevail in the world, instead of invigorating the faculties for the more faithful discharge of duty — actually unfit the mind for useful exertion on the one hand; and create a disrelish for useful exertion on the other hand? I need not repeat the caution, that you will have no part with any of these scenes of unprofitable indulgence!

That you may not misapprehend my meaning, I will descend a little to particulars, and give you my opinion in few words, of some of the fashionable amusements of the day.

I will begin with parties of pleasure. You already know that I am in favor of your cultivating the social graces. Instead of objecting to your meeting occasionally a circle of friends, for an agreeable interchange of kind sentiments, and for purposes of intellectual and moral improvement — I would encourage such meetings with all my heart! And if you choose to call them parties of pleasure — you have my consent for doing so.

But those scenes which usually pass in the world under this name — scenes of mere conviviality and trifling — in which there is nothing to enlighten the mind, or to refine or elevate the affections — I am constrained to regard as utterly unworthy a rational and accountable being! It is not the fact that the occasions to which I refer, usually collect a large number? This constitutes the ground of my objection to them; for a large number may as well be occupied in a profitable manner, as a small one! But it is the fact that the very purpose for which they come together, is to fritter away time in idle and foolish conversation.

It is this circumstance, which gives to the parties to which I refer, their distinctive character; and whether they consist of many or few, their tendency is perhaps equally pernicious! They not only answer no good purpose — but serve to dissipate the mind, and throw open the doors of the heart to every temptation!

Another amusement which has been very common, and which still prevails to a considerable extent, is dancing. To this, considered as a mere exercise — no objection certainly can be made. And if it were cultivated with exclusive reference to this, nothing worse could be said of learning to dance, than that it is not the most profitable way of spending time. And I will go further, and add, that if a few girls were disposed to stand up together for a half hour, and dance for recreation — I cannot conceive that there could be any immorality in it.

But all this, you are perfectly aware, is very remote from the amusement as it actually exists. Everyone knows . . .

1. that dancing brings the sexes together in circumstances, to say the least, not the most favorable to the cultivation of female delicacy;

2. that the mind is usually engrossed for a considerable time, in preparation for dancing;

3. that, for the most part, dancing occupies hours which should be given to repose;

4. that dancing is fitted to nourish a spirit of vanity, and work up the mind to a feverish and useless excitement;

5. and that dancing is followed by a state, both of mind and body, which, for a time at least, forbids anything like useful exertion.

I am confident that I might appeal to any young girl who is accustomed to dance in balls and assemblies, and if she were honest, she would confirm from her own experience — all that I have said.

I have been struck with the fact, that in every instance in which I have ever heard a young girl, under serious impressions, speak of that part of her life which she has devoted to this amusement — she has said unhesitatingly, that, more than anything else, it served to give her an aversion to more serious matters. Such testimony, rendered in such circumstances, ought surely to be regarded as decisive.

The only other amusement, in relation to which I shall at present offer an opinion, is the theater. The great argument which is urged in favor of this is, that it is a school in which you may study to advantage the human character; inasmuch as the various operations of the heart, under different circumstances, are here successfully exhibited. This argument is worth nothing; for it were far better to study human nature, as it is acted out in the every day realities of life around us — than as it appears in the highly dramatic and overstrained representations of the stage; just as it would be desirable to contemplate any object of interest, rather than a picture of it, even though it might be drawn by the most skillful artist.

And as for the objections to this amusement, they are so obvious that I scarcely need allude to them. The vulgarity, the immorality, the impiety connected with it, are proverbial! And if the fact did not stare us in the face — we would say that it was impossible that ladies professing the utmost delicacy, and who, in private, would be offended by an indecent allusion — will nevertheless deliberately and habitually expose themselves to all the profaneness and immorality of the theater!

And what renders this still more surprising is, that in being present on these occasions, they consent to mingle with the most profligate part of the community — with people who are at home only in the atmosphere of moral corruption, and whom common decency cannot behold without a blush! This is a fact in the history of your gender, for which I own myself utterly unable to account.

If the thought should occur to you that I am abridging your liberty too far, by depriving you of amusements which are regarded by many as innocent — let me entreat you, before you indulge such a reflection, to pause and refer the several species of amusement, of which I have spoken — to the tests which I am sure your reason and conscience have already approved.

Upon which of them, let me ask — could you upon your knees, humbly invoke the blessing of God? Which of them could you indulge — and not feel an increased aversion to the more serious concerns of life? In which of them should you be willing to engage — if you were to be assured by a messenger from the invisible world, that you were spending your last day on earth. In relation to which of them, can you say, that it would serve to prepare you the better for your various personal and relative duties? I am sure that I need only propose these questions to your conscience, to satisfy you that there is no unreasonableness in the advice which I have given you in respect to these several amusements.

But I know you will ask, if the fashionable amusements of the day are forbidden — then what are those in which you may safely and innocently indulge. I answer in general by repeating what I have already said, that there is scarcely any employment, different from your ordinary one — which requires comparatively little mental effort, in which you may not find legitimate recreation. You may amuse yourself by various kinds of reading, which, at the same time, will exert a favorable influence on your mind and heart. You may amuse yourself by the study of natural science; especially by arranging the flowers of the field, and calling them by their names; or by carrying your curious researches into the mineral kingdom, and deciphering the evidences of the Creator's handy work in the mountain rock, and the insignificant pebble, and every degree of mineral existence between them. You may amuse yourself by cheerful and yet useful conversation with some entertaining friend, or even by walking abroad in solitude, and breathing the fresh air, and looking at the moon and the stars as they shine forth in silent grandeur on the face of the sky — or in contemplating the bright verdure that covers the earth in spring — or in listening to the sound of a distant brook, as it rushes down a steep mountain, and buries itself in a deep forest. The contemplation of these various objects, and of all the variegated scenery of nature, opens a most legitimate field for amusement, while it is fitted also to enlarge our conceptions of the Creator's works, and to foster a spirit of elevated devotion and rational piety!

Interaction with the WORLD


In several of the preceding chapters, I have taken for granted that you are to mingle, in a greater or less degree, in society. It is equally essential to your respectability and usefulness — that you should not live the life of a recluse. The constitution of your nature, and the circumstances of your condition — clearly indicate that you were made to be social. As it is a subject, however, in relation to which there is a strong tendency to extremes, and on which you will be in great danger of being misled — I shall suggest a few thoughts in the present chapter which may serve to aid in forming your opinions and directing your conduct.

I begin my advice to you on this subject, by a caution that you should not make your entrance into society at too early a period. It too often happens that girls, long before they have completed their education, and even at a comparatively early stage of it — have contracted a strong relish for being in the world. And unless prevented by the influence of parents or instructors, they are found thus prematurely in the mirthful circles of fashion. The consequence of this is that at best, a divided attention is rendered to their studies; that their opportunities for intellectual improvement are enjoyed to little purpose; and that the period in which should be laid the foundation of a solid and useful character — is perverted to the formation of a habit of mental inaction, and not improbably, to nourish a spirit of intolerable vanity.

Now I do not insist that you should actually decline all society up to the time of completing your education; but I wish that your visiting, previous to that period, should be, for the most part, of an informal character; and that you should not generally consider yourself at liberty to accept invitations, even if you should receive them, to mingle in set circles. This accidental interaction of which I have spoken, is all that will be necessary during the period of your education, to aid you in the formation of your manners. And anything beyond it will almost inevitably interfere with your intellectual improvement, and of course detract from your ultimate estimation in society.

Let me assure you too, that you will be far less acceptable in society, if you make your appearance prematurely, than if you wait until a proper period. The common sense of the world is quick to discern any impropriety on this subject; and if, while you are yet a child, you are seen among those of mature age, virtually claiming to be as old as they — you can expect nothing else but that you will be set down as deficient either in modesty or good sense. Better for your reputation that you should come too late into society — than too early. For though in the one case you might lose something in point of manners — yet in the other case, you would lose more, in the estimation of the world, on the score of delicacy and correct judgment.

It is not more important that you should avoid going into society too early, than it is, that when you do enter it — you should avoid mingling in it too much. One bad effect of this would be, that it would leave you with too little time for the discharge of your private and domestic duties. The culture of your mind and heart, in connection with the ordinary cares of domestic life — requires that a large part of your time should be spent at home; and you cannot, without great injustice to yourself, and those with whom you are connected, neglect these more private duties, for the sake of being always in the bustle of the world.

It is a rare thing that you will find a lady who devotes an undue proportion of her time in visiting — but that if you follow her into the domestic circle, to the chamber and the fireside — you will find that she evinces a proportional neglect of some of her domestic duties. She is either neglecting to cultivate her mind, or neglecting to keep her heart, or neglecting to use the means which Providence has put into her hands for the intellectual and moral improvement of those with whom she is immediately connected.

Recollect also, that the error against which I am endeavoring to put you on your guard, would not only prevent your attention to more important duties, by occupying the time which should be allotted to them — but it would serve actually to give you a distaste for those duties. Indulge yourself in a constant round of company, even for a short period — and it will be strange indeed if you do not begin to feel that company is your only element; if you do not, in a great degree, lose your relish for the pleasures of the domestic fireside; if you do not find yourself complaining of boredom, when you happen for a season to be providentially shut up at home. I need not stop to show how entirely such a habit of feeling, must disqualify a girl for the most important relations she can ever sustain.

Moreover, an extravagant fondness for society, and an excessive indulgence of this inclination — are almost sure to create a habit of dissipation, both as it respects the intellect and the moral feelings.

The mind, by being constantly conversant with the ever varying scenes of social life — loses, in a great degree, the command of its own powers; and the attempt to concentrate them on any particular subject, were scarcely more likely to succeed, than would be an attempt to collect every mote that was floating in the surrounding atmosphere, while the atmosphere was agitated by a whirlwind.

The moral feelings too are subject to a similar influence; for not only is there usually an entire absence of self-reflection, and all that secret discipline of the affections, which is essential to the right keeping of the heart — but too often there are the levities of the world, scenes from which there is a studied exclusion of true religion, and even a designed introduction of much that is fitted to bring piety into contempt. I do not say that this evil, in its whole extent, is commonly found in any of the walks of decent society; but I do say that it sometimes exists in the frightful dimensions which I have attributed to it; and that it commonly exists in so great a degree, as to render an excessive interaction with the world a fruitful source of mischief!

You will anticipate me when I say, in this connection, that it befits you to use the utmost caution in selecting the circle with which you are to associate. I hardly need admonish you to set it down as a fixed purpose — that you will never, intentionally, be found in any circle in which there is anything to encourage immorality, or any lack of reverence for the sacred principles and precepts of true religion.

I would have you, moreover, beware of mingling in the mirthful crowd; in scenes which are designed to produce an unnatural and feverish excitement of the spirits, which are fraught with no intellectual or moral advantage, and in which the introduction of grave or useful discourse — would be the signal for disquietude or disgust! I do not, by any means, insist that your associates should all be from the number of those who are professedly or actually pious; nor do I object at all to your interaction with them being of a cheerful, and sometimes, if you please, an amusing character. But I do insist that they should be people of correct moral views and habits, and that your associating with them should be for some higher purpose than merely to kill time, or to cultivate a spirit of trifling!

It were desirable, too, as I have had occasion elsewhere to remark concerning your particular friends, that the circle with which you chiefly associate, should possess a good degree of intelligence — that thus your social interaction may be instrumental in improving not only your heart, but your understanding. If you take due precautions on this subject, the time that you pass in society, instead of being lost — may subserve, in a high degree, your most important interests. While the neglect of such precautions, will render the same hours a mere blank.

There is one other point involved in the general subject of this chapter which is too important to be omitted — I refer to the deportment which it befits you to maintain towards the other gender. The importance of this, both as it respects yourself and others — you can scarcely estimate too highly. On the one hand — it has much to do in forming your own character. And I need not say that any lack of prudence in this respect, even for a single hour, may expose you to evils which no subsequent caution could enable you effectually to repair!

On the other hand, the conduct of every girl may be expected to exert an influence on the character of every gentleman with whom she associates. And that influence will be for good or evil, as she exhibits, or fails to exhibit, a deportment that befits her. Indeed, so commanding is this influence, that it is safe to calculate upon the character of any community — from knowing the prevailing standard of female character; and that can scarcely be regarded as an exaggerated maxim, which declares that 'women rule the world!'

Let me counsel you then, never to utter an expression, or do an act — that even looks like soliciting any gentleman's attention. Remember that every expression of civility, to be of any value, must be perfectly voluntary; and any wish on your part, whether directly or indirectly expressed, to make yourself a favorite, will be certain to awaken the disgust of all who know it. I would not recommend to you anything like a prudish or affected reserve; but even this is not so unfortunate an extreme — as an excessive forwardness. While you modestly accept any attentions which propriety warrants, let there be no attempt at artful insinuation on the one hand, or at taking a man's heart by storm on the other.

Do not be ambitious to be considered a 'belle' — a lady of superior beauty to be admired. Indeed I had rather you would be almost anything else, than this. It is the fate of most belles that they become foolishly vain, think of nothing, and care for nothing, beyond personal display, and frequently sacrifice themselves in a mad bargain, which involves their destinies for life.

The more of solid and enduring esteem you enjoy, the better; and you ought to gain whatever of this you can by honorable means. But to be admired, and caressed, and flattered for mere physical qualities, which involve nothing of intellectual or moral worth — ought to render any girl who is the subject of it, an object of pity! You are at liberty to desire the good opinion of every gentleman of your acquaintance; but it would be worse than folly in you, to be ambitious of a blind admiration based on your looks!

I will only add that you ought to be on your guard against the influence of flattery. Rely on it, the man who flatters you, whatever he may profess, is not your friend! It would be a much kinder office, and a real mark of friendship — to admonish you tenderly, yet honestly, of your faults. If you yield a little to flattery, you have placed yourself on dangerous ground! If you continue to yield — you are probably undone!

Practical Religion


In a preceding chapter I have endeavored to impress you with the importance of correct views of the great truths of religion. Such views unquestionably lie at the foundation of every right exercise of the affections, and of whatever is truly good in the life. Nevertheless, correct opinions are in themselves of comparatively little importance — unless they are allowed to exert their legitimate influence in forming and elevating the character. You may have "all knowledge and all faith" — you may be unwavering in your conviction of the truth, and even be able to confound gainsayers — and yet if in all this, there is nothing which reaches the heart and influences the conduct — your character in the eye of God is no better than that of an unbeliever!

You may indeed pass for a Christian with the world, or at least with the undiscerning part of it; and possibly you may imagine yourself to be a Christian; but the hour of affliction, and the hour of death, and above all the light of eternity, which will put your Christianity to the test — will prove it to be a mere name, an idle speculation — not a solid, practical, and sustaining principle of the heart.

I have said that practical religion has its beginning in the understanding. Religious truth being apprehended by the mind, spreads its influence over the affections, and through them, that influence is carried out into every department of action. There is no mystery in all this — no departure from the common operation of the principles of human nature. On the contrary, it is conformed to all the analogies of experience.

You believe that a beloved friend is wandering unconsciously on the verge of a precipice, and liable every moment to an irrecoverable and fatal plunge. This conviction operates irresistibly upon your affections, stirring up in your bosom the deepest compassion and anxiety. And these same feelings which cause your heart to throb on account of the danger of your friend — will lead you to rush toward the fearful precipice, and admonish your friend of her perilous circumstances; and if need be, even to lay hold of her, and rescue her from destruction.

Now this is a fair illustration of what I mean by practical religion. It is important here to remark, that it belongs to genuine religion, to take practical control alike the affections, and the external conduct. There are those who will have it, that to be religious is merely to be susceptible of a warm glow of feeling — to be able to weep profusely under the solemn and affecting truths of the gospel; and to talk with fervor and sensibility of the progress or the decline of true religion around them; while the every-day duties of the Christian life, which require action as well as feeling, are unhappily regarded as not among the weightier matters of religion.

And there are those, on the other hand, who seem willing to have their hands put in action — while yet they practically claim a dispensation for the heart. They cheerfully perform every deed of justice and charity which devolves upon them in their interaction with their fellow men, and are even models of external morality — who nevertheless seem to regard repentance, and faith, and devotion, as not being essential to the religious character.

Now both these classes are equally in a mistake. Practical religion does not assert its claims exclusively either over the heart or the life — but alike over both. The truths which you believe must exert their influence in the production of holy affections; and those affections must exert their influence in leading to a holy life. If you make your religion consist merely in feeling, or merely in action — it is at best a partial religion, and will never answer the great purpose of your acceptance with God.

Such is the natural perverseness of the heart, that it never yields up its rebellion, and becomes transformed into the divine likeness — until it is wrought upon by the almighty agency of God. But this agency, let it be always remembered, is of such a character as not to supersede — but to involve the exercise of the human faculties. Notwithstanding it is sovereign in its nature, (for the very idea of salvation by grace implies sovereignty,) it is in perfect accordance with all the laws of moral action. So that the sinner actually makes his very highest efforts — precisely at the time when he is the subject of the most powerful divine agency. The moral actions he performs at the period of his transformation into the divine image, are as truly his own, as if he were in every sense an independent agent; and yet God works as really, though not in the same manner, as he did in the original creation. This is the uniform doctrine of Scripture; and perhaps there is no single passage in which it is more clearly contained, than that in which the apostle exhorts the Christians, to whom he was writing, to work out their own salvation with fear and trembling, giving it as a reason that it was God who worked within them, both to will and to do, of his good pleasure.

But you will ask, perhaps, whether there is not here something of mystery; and will inquire for an explanation of this concurrence between the agency of the Creator and the agency of the creature, in the production of this wonderful result. I answer unhesitatingly, that I know nothing on this subject, and expect to know nothing in this world, beyond the simple fact.

That it is so is amply proved, not only by Scripture but experience; but how it is so, is a problem which, to say the least, must be reserved to exercise the faculties in a higher state of existence. To reject a fact of which we have all the evidence of which it is susceptible, merely because we cannot explain everything that is connected with it — would certainly be the height of infatuation. Upon this principle, we would resign ourselves to a universal skepticism; for what object is there in nature, which, when subjected to a rigid examination, does not present mysteries, before which the highest human reason must own itself confounded.

Practical religion is begun and sustained through the influence of the truth, the doctrines and precepts of the Bible — and retains a perfect identity of character in every variety of circumstances. It conforms the human character everywhere to the same standard. Everywhere, it is accompanied by the same joys and sorrows, the same fears, and hopes, and aspirations. You may bring together people from the most opposite walks of society, and if you please from opposite sides of the globe; people whose feelings and habits on other subjects have little or nothing in common, and let each of them have a principle of genuine religion, and if they speak the same language, they will recognize each other as brethren, and they will be able to report a common experience, and the same spirit of love to their master; and love to each other, and love to their fellow men, will glow in the bosom of each; and they will be looking forward alike to Heaven as their final home!

The most cultivated mind, and the most uncultivated, may be brought together, and, supposing both to be deeply imbued with genuine religion, they will feel at home in each other's society. There will be one point, though there is only one, at which they can meet on the same level, and hold intelligent and delightful communion.

It is another attribute of true religion, that it is practical and enduring. Who does not know how fugitive and uncertain are the possessions of the world —
how riches take to themselves wings and fly away;
how the voice of human applause is often changed, almost in an instant into the voice of execration;
how pleasure turns into pain in the very moment of enjoyment;
how even natural affection itself will grow cold and shy, and finally give place to deep rooted enmity and bitter resentment!

But not so with true religion! Let the change of external circumstances be what it may, let the fate of other possessions be as it will — this is sure to remain through every vicissitude! A principle of true religion, once implanted in the heart — can never be eradicated, and can never cease to exert its influence! It will live in every climate; it will survive every calamity; and it will brighten into a higher and holier perfection in the better world!

And not only is true religion something which will endure — but something which, even here, is destined to increase. The principle of saving grace, when first implanted in the heart is indeed feeble in its operations; and if we were to form our opinion without the aid of experience, and without recourse to the divine testimony — we would decide unhesitatingly that there was little reason to expect that this principle could ever reach a full and strong maturity. But it is the ordinance of God that it should be so; and the truth is illustrated and confirmed by every Christian's experience. There may indeed be seasons of occasional declension, and there may be seasons of so much darkness as to create the most painful apprehension that the heart has never yet practically recognized the claims of true religion; nevertheless, on the whole, there is a constant progress in the Christian's experience. Though his steps may be feeble and faltering — he is still gradually . . .
growing in grace;
gaining new victories over indwelling corruption;
enlarging the sphere of his benevolent activity; and
coming nearer and nearer the likeness of Christ!

It is said by an inspired writer, with equal truth and beauty, that "The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, shining ever brighter till the full light of day!" Proverbs 4:18

There are two distinct views in which we may regard practical religion, as it stands connected with the trials of life; as triumphing over them, and yet as being advanced and strengthened by them. When you talk of human suffering, there is a cord in every bosom which vibrates in a response to the truth of what you say. The trials of mankind are indeed almost infinitely diversified; there are scarcely two individuals whose cup of sorrow is composed of precisely the same ingredients. But there is not a solitary individual whose personal experience does not furnish ample testimony, that this world is a valley of tears!

There are those, it may be, who, to the surrounding world, always bear a cheerful aspect, and who might almost leave an impression, by the uniform gladness of the countenance — that the sorrows of life had never invaded their hearts! But if you could know all that passes within their hearts — if you could, even for a single week, have access to every secret thought and feeling — you would no doubt find that, though the countenance seemed always to beam with joy — yet the heart was often overburdened with sadness!

There are comparatively few who do not, at some time or other, become the objects of sympathy, from being openly buffeted by the storms of adversity. And there are none who do not experience any trials! And sometimes those trials which bring into the heart the keenest anguish — the world knows nothing of.

Now I say with confidence, that true religion confers upon its possessor — a glorious triumph amidst the sorrows of life. Suppose poverty comes with its train of calamities. Or suppose slander points its barbed arrows against a blameless character. Or suppose bereavement cast a withering shadow upon the best earthly hopes and joys. Or suppose disease, which mocks the highest efforts both of friendship and of skill — makes its lodgment in the very seat of life. Or suppose, if you please, that this whole tribe of evils come marching in fearful array to assail an individual at once — I am sure that I do not say too much for true religion, when I declare to you that it will enable its possessor to meet them all in serenity and triumph! To do this must require a high effort of faith, I acknowledge; but such an effort as has been exemplified in the experience of thousands.

Oh! when I have stood amidst such scenes, and witnessed the sweet aspirations of hope, and seen the bright beams of joy irradiate the countenance over which sorrow had thrown her deepest shadows, just as the rainbow casts its brilliant hues upon the dark cloud — I have looked upon true religion as a bright angel come down from Heaven to exercise a sovereign influence over human calamity. And I have offered a prayer at such a moment, that this good angel may be his constant attendant through this valley of tears.

But while there is an energy in true religion to sustain the soul amidst the calamities of life — this energy, instead of being lessened, is increased by the influence of these calamities. Let true religion emerge from a scene in which she has kept some child of distress from sinking in the deep waters, or in which she has bound up some heart that has been smitten by the rod of God — and you shall see her more healthful and vigorous for having performed these offices of mercy.

In other words, nothing is so well adapted to purify and brighten the Christian graces — as the furnace of affliction! And hence we look for the noblest specimens of Christian attainment, not among those who have been always surrounded with the sunshine of prosperity — but among those who have had to struggle hard with the calamities of life.

Not every Christian, whose lot is peculiarly marked by adversity, experiences, at least in the degree which he might — the happy effects of which I have spoken. But the reason is, that he does not receive his afflictions with a right spirit. Every Christian who is severely tried — may and ought to be the better for it; and if he is not so, I do not say that he may not be saved — but let him take heed lest it should be so as by fire.

I have spoken of the triumph of true religion in affliction; but she triumphs still more gloriously in death. Yes, in that hour when the clustering symptoms of dissolution proclaim that all is over; when friends sit down and weep in silence, because they have done everything, and yet the beloved object must die; when there is nothing now thought of either by the dying or the mourning — but the winding-sheet, and the grave, and the region that lies beyond it. I say in that hour — as dark, and portentous and terrible as it seems — true religion still triumphs. You may trace her footsteps amid that scene of desolation — in expression of hope, and peace, and joy — and frequently in the serene and seraphic smile which she has left upon the countenance, after she has ascended with the spirit to a brighter world.

Infidelity may be brave in life — but she is a coward in death. True religion is never more courageous, than when she is acting as a guide in the dark valley; when with one hand she opens the door of the sepulcher, as a safe though temporary resting-place for the body — and with the other hand, the gate of the heavenly city, as the everlasting residence of the soul.

There is still more to be said for true religion — for her noblest triumph is in eternity. In the religion of the heart and life, as it exists here — there is the germ of that exceeding and eternal weight of glory, which is to he the Christian's portion hereafter.

Let no one talk of the brilliancy of an earthly crown — when compared with the immortal splendors of a crown of life. Let no one value earthly treasures — when compared with the incorruptible treasures which true religion secures at God's right hand. Let no one set a high estimate upon earthly friendship — when viewed in comparison with an everlasting communion with the spirits of the just made perfect, and with the angels who blaze before the eternal throne, and even with the infinitely perfect and redeeming God! When we speak of the joys of Heaven, we speak of that, the full extent of which it has not entered the heart of man to conceive! It is in that world, that true religion will sit enthroned, in the majesty of a blessed and perpetual triumph.

I have rarely seen the legitimate operations of true religion in forming the character so sublimely exemplified, as in the case of a revered friend, whom, not many years ago, I followed to the grave. He was a man upon whom nature had bountifully bestowed her choicest gifts, and who combined every intellectual and moral quality which was necessary to stamp the seal of greatness upon his character. But above all, he was a practical Christian. I knew him when his locks were silvered with years, and his eyes were dim with age, and his limbs tottered beneath their burden. On his furrowed cheek, sat the smile of contentment — the living image of peace and joy. He could hardly open his lips but in some expression of penitence for his sins, or of thankfulness for his mercies. While he was cheerful in the enjoyment of temporal blessings — the eye of faith and hope was fixed on Heaven!

I saw him when the fatal impressions of disease had fastened upon his countenance; when the symptoms of dissolution were advancing in slow but certain progress, and when eternity was opening its doors to receive his almost disenthralled spirit. I watched him to see if I could discover a symptom of terror or agitation, anything like the shrinking-back of the soul from the grasp of death — but all was calmness and triumph. Just as he had reached the boundary between earth and Heaven, I said, "My father, are you dying in peace?" and his animated expression told me that the songs of seraphs were already trembling on his ear. His dying eye shot forth a beam of rapture, and told, in language more than mortal — the vigor of a spirit on the wing for immortality. Never before, did I behold Christianity march with so much triumph into the territories of Death! The scene is imprinted upon my memory, and I would gladly carry the impression of it to the grave!

Self-Knowledge


I have already endeavored to inculcate upon you the importance of your becoming a proficient in various branches of useful knowledge. There is, however, one branch of which I have hitherto said nothing, which is incomparably more important to you than all human science — I mean the knowledge of yourself. To this deeply interesting subject allow me now, in a few brief hints, to direct your attention.

In self-knowledge I include, in the first place, a knowledge of your intellectual powers. It implies that you understand the particular bent of your own mind; in which of the faculties, if any, you are especially deficient — and in which of them, if any, you are particularly gifted; whether there is a good degree of harmony naturally pervading the powers of your mind — or whether there is reason for special effort to give to those powers their due balance. It implies also that you understand for what department of mental action your constitution is best adapted — and in what field your efforts will be most likely to be successful.

In the knowledge of which I am speaking, there is also included an acquaintance with your moral temper. There is perhaps as great a variety of temper among mankind, as of countenance; there being scarcely two individuals whose natural feelings, when subjected to a rigid analysis, are not found to be, in some respects, different. These original qualities constitute, in a great degree, the germ of the character; and in most instances, whatever good or evil is accomplished, whatever happiness or misery is experienced — no doubt is to be traced, either directly or indirectly, to the leading tendencies of our nature.

With these tendencies, as it respects yourself, you should be familiarly acquainted: you should know what evil dispositions you are most prone to indulge; at what point you are most susceptible of being successfully assailed by temptation; and at what point you are capable of encountering temptation with the best hope of success.

In self-knowledge is farther implied, a knowledge of your conduct. It would seem at first view, that every individual must know this as it respects himself, whether he desires it or not; but the real fact is, that there is much in the conduct of most people, of which, though it is perfectly open to the world — they contrive to keep themselves in ignorance! Not that they are unconscious of their actions as they perform them; but they allow them to pass out of remembrance, and never make them a subject of deliberate review, and still less do they think of connecting them with each other with a view to ascertain the habit of their life.

If you would know yourself, you must be familiar with the tenor of your conduct from day to day — of your conduct in all the circumstances in which you are placed, and in all the relations which you sustain. Whether it is such as conscience approves or condemns, it must not be allowed to escape your observation, or to slide prematurely out of your remembrance.

You must know your motives also — the principles by which your conduct is governed. Not only the general habit of feeling — but the particular motives which prompt to particular actions, should be well understood. For it is possible, that many an action, which with the world passes for a splendid deed of benevolence — may, with Him who inspects the motive, be nothing better than an act of gross hypocrisy! And on the other hand, that actions which to the world bear a suspicious character — may, to the Searcher of the heart, appear praiseworthy and excellent.

In short, every action derives its moral-character, not from the external form which it may happen to assume — but from the motive by which it is dictated. If you are ignorant of your motives — then your ignorance is radical. If you do not know your motives — you probably know less of yourself, than those who have an opportunity of inspecting only your external conduct.

You must know the various duties which devolve upon you in the different relations of life — duties which you owe both to God and man; and the momentous considerations by which these duties are enforced.

In a word, whatever relates to your character as an intellectual, moral, and immortal being — you ought distinctly to understand; and the whole extent of this enters into the true idea of self-knowledge.

It is the tendency of self-knowledge, to promote your usefulness and assist you to select a proper field for your activity. If an individual happens to get into a sphere for which he is particularly disqualified, let his intentions be as good as they may, and let his activity be ever so great — it is not improbable that greater injury than benefit, will result from his exertions. Whereas the same amount of effort, in a field for which Providence had fitted him — might exert a blessed influence on many successive generations. Self-knowledge is the grand security against mistaking in this matter. If you know well the peculiarities of your own mind and temperament, the weak as well as the strong points in your character — you will be in little danger of engaging in enterprises for which God never designed you. And on the other hand — you will be likely to employ your powers on the most suitable objects, and with the best effect!

Self-knowledge is fitted moreover to promote your usefulness, as it imparts to you stability of character. If you know little of yourself, you will almost of course be liable to a sudden adoption of opinions respecting truth and duty — and to an equally sudden abandonment of them! And this will produce a habit of instability both of feeling and action, which will injure your usefulness by weakening the confidence of others in your judgment, and by rendering your efforts feeble and inefficient.

On the other hand, an intimate acquaintance with your own heart, as it will keep you from engaging in rash enterprises — will also make you resolute and stable in respect to those in which you actually engage; and your facilities for doing good will be increased by the favorable regard which this habit of stability will secure to you from the surrounding community.

Is it not manifest then, that self-knowledge is one of the best pledges for well directed activity and usefulness?

But how is this most desirable attainment to be made? It is within the reach of every individual — and yet there is reason to fear that the multitude remain strangers to it. The reason is, that they shrink from the effort necessary for knowing themselves, on the one hand — and dread the result of an examination on the other hand!

If you would know yourself, it is essential that you should habitually and faithfully perform the duty of self-communion. You must not be contented with looking merely at the external act — but faithfully investigate the motives and principles of your conduct. You must compare your actions, not with any human standard — but with the rule of duty which God has revealed in his word. You must let your examination be conducted with great vigilance, with due deliberation, with unyielding resolution, and with entire impartiality. You must examine the operations of your mind and heart, in different states of feeling, and in every variety of circumstances — and must compare the result at one time with the result at another; that thus you may be able to ascertain the general tenor of your thoughts and feelings.

A superficial and occasional inspection of your heart, will contribute little to your stock of self-knowledge, and may even expose you to fatal self-deception. But an examination, conducted in the manner which I have described, cannot fail in the end to render you intimately acquainted with yourself.

Judicious and free conversation with Christian friends, is another important means of acquiring self-knowledge. The truth is, that we often by our conduct — exhibit feelings and traits of character which we are not conscious of possessing; and thus put it in the power of our friends, to reveal to us the secrets of our own hearts. And though this is a matter upon which we ought not to converse too indiscriminately — yet it may very safely and properly become a subject of conversation with those in whom we repose special confidence. And they may be of immense advantage to us, by giving us their honest impressions in respect to that part of our conduct which falls under their observation.

Nay, we may often learn important lessons in respect to ourselves — by watching the conduct of others towards us. For it is more than probable, if they knew us intimately, that they judge correctly respecting our character, and their treatment of us will almost certainly reveal their true opinion. If, for instance, the careless world treats a professing Christian habitually as if he were one of themselves — you may calculate, with absolute assurance, that he has become a backslider! And many a professor, no doubt, if he would — might learn from the treatment which he receives from the world, that he is beginning to wander, while he has scarcely begun to suspect it from observation upon his own conduct, or from an examination of his own heart!

Reading the Scriptures and prayer are among the most important of all the means of self-knowledge. The Scriptures, by exhibiting in the divine law a perfect standard of duty, and by exhibiting the character of man in every variety of condition and under every kind of influence — brings us acquainted, more than all other books, with the most secret springs of human action! Prayer secures God's blessing upon every other effort — while it brings to our aid a direct divine illumination. Study the Bible then daily and diligently, and pray without ceasing for the enlightening influence of God's Spirit — and you will soon be a proficient in self-knowled

Self-Government


Perhaps there is nothing in which true religion displays a more heavenly triumph, than in the power which she gives us of controlling ourselves. The shock of "the fall" has given a wrong direction to the moral principles of our nature; and all the power which reason and conscience can exert, without the influence of true religion — is insufficient to subdue and control our native sinful propensities. Practical Christianity, however, is powerful enough to deliver us from this unhappy thraldom. It is by her omnipotent and all-pervading influence, that . . .
the thoughts are disciplined to flow in a holy channel,
the passions and appetites subjected to the control of reason,
and the tongue bridled against sinful levity and unhallowed speech.

But inasmuch as true religion regards you as a rational and accountable being, she accomplishes this not by any magical or arbitrary process — but by subjecting you to laws which are altogether fitted to your moral nature. If then you will escape from the dominion of unhallowed thoughts and tempers . . .
you must surrender yourself to the practical influence of the gospel;
you must resolutely break away from the enchanted ground of temptation;
you must be daily be filled with that almighty power, which alone can arm you for a conflict with yourself;
you must learn to detect the deceitful and wandering imagination, and station a vigilant sentinel at every watchtower of your heart.

To think of acquiring a habit of self-government independently of the influence of true religion — would be as wild as to think of assuaging the weather by a word, when it is wrought up to the fury of a tempest.

The most important part of self-government, respects the thoughts. It is a delusion into which we easily fall, that if our external deportment is correct and exemplary — that it matters little what the secret operations of the mind are. The thoughts, because they are invisible — are regarded as being beyond our control. And no doubt many a mind finds an excuse for habitual and sinful wanderings, in a sort of indefinite conviction that the imagination was made to have its own way — and therefore it is in vain to attempt to restrain it. So long as the tongue is kept from giving utterance to the evil thoughts which occupy the mind — it is most unwarrantably concluded, that they may be indulged without injury!

But the thoughts, let it be remembered, are among the primary elements of moral action. If they are habitually wrong, the feelings will be so also. The thoughts and feelings together constitute, in the view of God — the whole moral character. The moment you yield to the conviction that no restraint is needed here, you resolve on a course which must make you odious in the sight of God — and nothing but the well-sustained and undetected character of a hypocrite, can save you from being odious in the view of the world!

I acknowledge that the duty to which I am urging you — that of exercising a suitable control over your thoughts — is one of the most difficult to which you can be called; and it were in vain to think of discharging it without severe effort. You should endeavor habitually to realize that you are as truly responsible to God for the indulgence of a vain imagination — as you would be if every evil thought that rises in your heart, were embodied in the form of a palpable action! You should guard against the beginning of such an evil habit; for if it were once firmly established there is scarcely any other habit which might not with less difficulty, be broken up. And for this reason especially — that this is invisible, and of course not to be affected by any considerations drawn from external circumstances. You should guard against all those scenes and occasions which may be likely to throw you into the power of these invisible tyrants, or to lead you even in the smallest degree, to relax your circumspection.

You should especially guard the senses — for these are the principal avenues through which vain thoughts find their way into the soul. But let the effort necessary to the government of the thoughts be as severe as it may — let nothing tempt you to neglect it. For you may rest assured that it constitutes, in an important sense, the keystone to a virtuous character!

But you must not only look well to the government of the thoughts — but also of the passions and affections. This especially is the department of the soul, in which motives operate, and where are fixed all the springs of human accountability. It is indeed at the torch of the imagination — that the passions are usually kindled; and this is a reason why the imagination should be kept with all diligence. But the passions will never be held in subjection, unless there is employed in reference to this object, a great amount of direct effort. So active and powerful are they, that they will often plead their own cause, not only eloquently but successfully, against reason, conscience and character! And many an individual has sacrificed at the shrine of passion — everything dear on earth, and everything glorious in eternity!

As there is a great variety in the human constitution, the different passions will be found to exist, in different individuals — with very unequal degrees of strength; insomuch that what constitutes the ruling passion of one — may operate with comparatively little strength in another. It becomes therefore a matter of great importance to each individual — to apply the most active restraint where it is most demanded. We should not indeed to be negligent in respect to any of the passions — but to be specially armed for a conflict with those which are the most formidable.

Guard against the indulgence of ANGER. The evil of giving way to hasty and violent tempers is always great, and sometimes irretrievable! You thereby deprive yourself for the time, of the power of regulating your own conduct, while yet you must be responsible for all its consequences; for neither common sense nor conscience, the law of God, nor the law of man — excuses a bad action, because it has been performed in a fit of passion.

You may, by a single word, spoken at such a moment — leave a sting in the heart of a friend, which no acts of subsequent kindness may be able fully to extract! A friend too, it may be, for whom, in an hour of reflection — you would have done or suffered anything.

Or you may needlessly subject yourself to the ridicule and sneers of others — of those who are upon the look-out for your foibles, and stand ready to make the most of them. Nay, you may bring yourself into sad disrepute with all around you, and may greatly cloud your worldly prospects, and prepare for yourself a scene of mortification and disgrace, which will last while you live, and then be entailed upon your memory. In short, if you exercise little or no self-control in this respect — you can have no security for your comfort — no security for your character.

If I were to prescribe one of the best remedies for an angry spirit, I would say — accustom yourself to be silent under provocation. It is a maxim with some, that the best way of encountering insult — is to speak out whatever is in the heart, and thus let an angry spirit exhaust itself in a torrent of reproach. Precisely the opposite of this — is the course which I would recommend. If you begin to talk while you are in a passion, the effect will almost certainly be that your feelings will become more and more excited; for while there is a tendency to such, a result in the very act of uttering your feelings — you will be in danger of saying things which will bring back upon you still heavier provocation. If, on the contrary, when you feel the first risings of resentment, you make it a rule to pause and reflect on the evil consequences of such a spirit, and on the guilt as well as the folly of indulging it — you will probably have occasion to pause but a moment before reason will assume her dominion — and you can converse with composure and moderation.

And it is worthy of remark, that while such recourse will exert the happiest influence upon yourself — it will, more than anything else, disarm others of a spirit of provocation, and thus secure you from insults and injuries. Mark it as often as you will, and you will find that the individual who is most calm and patient in the reception of injuries — is the very one who has the fewest injuries to endure!

In connection with a spirit of anger, I may mention a kindred passion — that of REVENGE; for experience proves that revenge sometimes deforms and blackens even the female character.

Anger is most commonly the exercise of a rash and hasty spirit; and it often happens that, though it may be followed by the most lasting evils — yet it passes away in an hour or even in a moment.

Revenge is more thoughtful, more deliberate; its purposes are indeed usually conceived in anger; but often executed with coolness, and sometimes even in the dark! Whatever injuries you may receive — never allow yourself for a moment to meditate a purpose of retaliation. You are not indeed required tamely to surrender your rights to everyone who may choose wantonly to invade them; for that would be little less than to court injuries; but you are never, under any circumstances of provocation, to depart from the golden rule, "So in everything — do to others what you would have them do to you!"

You are never to form a design, nor even to harbor a wish — to return evil for evil. Nothing is more noble than to be able to forgive an injury — instead of inflicting injury back. You remember that most beautiful and touching instance in which the Savior, in the very act of death, commended his enemies and murderers, to the forgiveness of his Father. Who ever contemplated this incident in his life, without a deep impression of reverence and moral sublimity? Who ever doubted that the imitation of such an example, would not confer true dignity of character?

There is ENVY too — one of the basest of all the passions, and yet it too often gets a strong lodgment in the heart. You mistake, if you imagine that this is confined chiefly to people in the lower walks of life; it is, for anything I know — just as common among the more elevated as the more obscure; and there is nothing in external circumstances which can prevent its operation. It is alike offensive in the sight of God, and of man.

If the object towards which it is exercised is wealth, or splendor, or anything connected with the pride and circumstance of life — it is unreasonable, because nothing of all this, is essential to human happiness. And if God in his providence places these temporal possessions beyond our reach — we ought to conclude that it is best that they should be withheld from us.

If the object be intellectual strength or culture — this passion is unreasonable still; for it implies either a dissatisfaction with the abilities and opportunities which God has given us — or else an unwillingness to use the exertion necessary for making the best of them.

And even if the object of envy is moral excellence — the unreasonableness of indulging this feeling is not at all diminished. For whatever is elevated in moral or Christian character — every individual is commanded to attain — and to each one God is ready to give the necessary helps for doing so.

Envy is not only an unreasonable, but a foul malignant spirit! It looks with an eye of hatred upon a brother, for no other reason than because he is, or is supposed to be — a special favorite of God's Providence. If this hateful passion ever rises in your heart — banish it as one of the worst enemies of your happiness, your character, and your soul!

I would rather say: cultivate such a habit of feeling as shall be an effectual security against it. Think how many reasons there are why you should delight in the happiness of your fellow creatures; and let those considerations operate not only to keep you from being envious — but to make you grateful, when those around you are in any way the special objects of the divine goodness.

The various BODILY APPETITES ought also to be kept in rigid subjection. These physical appetites were given us for important purposes; but who does not know that in a multitude of instances, instead of accomplishing the end for which they were designed — they actually become the ministers of death? Many, even of your own gender, and those too, the circumstances of whose birth and education might have been expected most effectually to shield them from such a calamity — have resigned themselves to a habit of intemperance, and have ultimately sunk to the lowest point of degradation! Once they would have been startled with horror by the thought of their present condition; but the almost imperceptible indulgence with which they began, gradually increased — until they plunged into gross dissipation, and exiled themselves not only from decent society — but from the affections of their own kindred. What young girl can contemplate examples like these, and quietly repose in the conviction that she is beyond the reach of danger?

I must not omit to speak here of the government of the TONGUE. If your thoughts, and passions, and appetites, are kept in due subjection — the proper regulation of the tongue will be a matter of course; for "out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks."

There is the deceitful tongue — which deals in misrepresentation and falsehood. There is the loquacious tongue — which monopolizes the conversation of every circle, and tires by its perpetual garrulity. There is the vulgar tongue — which throws out indecent allusions, and finds its element in groveling subjects. There is the inflamed tongue — which busies itself in the propagation of scandal, and loves to array friends against each other, and keep neighborhoods in commotion. And there is the flattering tongue — which would pour into your ears the sweetest strains of applause, and would make you think that you are better than you are, and are as lovely and beautiful as an angel.

Take heed that your tongue is never prostituted to any of these unworthy purposes!

And recollect that while the thoughts, and passions, and appetites, control the movements of the tongue — the tongue in its turn exerts an influence upon them either for good or evil. If you cherish a habitual impression of the presence of God, and in all that you say endeavor to keep yourself subject to the dictates of an enlightened and wakeful conscience — then your tongue will indeed be the glory of your frame, and a source of blessing to yourself and others. But if not, take heed lest it should prove a world of iniquity — and should be the instrument of bringing upon you a fearfully aggravated condemnation.

In respect to the importance of self-government, I surely need not enlarge. You cannot fail to perceive that it is essential to all true dignity of character, and to all that enjoyment which is worthy of your rational and immortal nature. Without it, you may imagine yourself free — but you are really in the most degrading vassalage. Without it, you may consider yourself respectable — but all virtuous people will regard your character with pity and abhorrence. With it, you will rise up to the true dignity of a rational being, and act in consistency with your immortal hopes.

HUMILITY


It is one of the most distinguishing and lovely features of Christianity, that it not only inculcates — but actually produces and nourishes, the grace of humility. So remote is humility from the spirit of paganism, even in its least exceptionable forms, that the language of the nation more enlightened than any other at the time of Christ, did not have a word expressive of what we mean by humility! It belongs to the gospel to have made the discovery, that there is a species of self-abasement which, while it is befitting our character as sinners — is intimately connected with the highest moral dignity.

There is, however, much that more or less passes current in the world for humility — which does not deserve the name! And in respect to this, as of all the other graces of the Christian — it is important that you should be able to detect its counterfeits.

There is for instance, an abject spirit, which is groveling in its nature, and finds its appropriate element amidst a corresponding set of objects. Whereas true humility lifts the soul from the dust, and brings it in contact with some of the most glorious objects in the universe.

There is also a desponding spirit, which lives upon doubts and anxieties in respect to personal religious experience, and turns away from the promises as if they were made only for those who could appropriate them with absolute assurance. This cannot be genuine humility; for it is the legitimate offspring of unbelief — and humility is always connected with living faith.

There is, moreover, a timid spirit, which attempts little, and therefore accomplishes little, on the ground perhaps that there may be danger of overrating one's own powers. But humility is perfectly consistent with forming large plans, and entering upon the most extensive field of action — provided it is from Christian motives.

It is a mistake into which many people fall, that pride is always the accompaniment of rank — and that humility is found almost of course among the lower classes. There may be more, I acknowledge in the one case than the other, to foster a spirit of pride; though even in this respect, on account of the different standards which exist among various classes, there may be less difference than might be imagined. But the truth undoubtedly is, that you may be very humble in any station to which Providence can raise you — or you may be very proud in the obscurest situation to which you can be reduced!

But there is nothing in which a spirit of false humility reveals itself more decisively — than in speaking more unfavorably of one's self than facts will warrant. Expressions of this kind almost uniformly fail of their object; for it requires but little discernment to detect the unworthy motive.

If you attribute to yourself faults with which you and the world know that you are not chargeable — instead of being taken as a mark of humility — it will be regarded as an indication of a weak mind, and an unworthy attempt to provoke commendation which you do not deserve!

One of the most common, and to me one of the most painful exhibitions of this spirit, consists in the indiscriminate and often somewhat public confessions of professed Christians in respect to their own spiritual coldness and neglect of duty — when they manifest no disposition to be more active and faithful. All this kind of self-righteous gossiping is often found a most convenient substitute for doing one's duty; and, if I mistake not, many a lukewarm Christian has found in these unmeaning confessions an opiate to his conscience, in the strength of which he has gone many days.

And I am constrained to express my conviction that this same base spirit frequently operates in prayer; and that acknowledgments of grievous backsliding are attempted to be poured into the ear of mercy — which are really very little felt, and which are scarcely designed to answer any other purpose (I almost shudder to say it) than to lessen the remorse which attends a habit of sinning! Wherever you see active efforts to forsake sin and to rise to a higher tone of pious feeling and action — there you may take it for granted is true humility. But where nothing appears but confessions of delinquency, however deep or often repeated, you may rely on it — genuine humility is not there!

True Christian humility is one of the effects of divine grace operating upon the heart. The apostle has beautifully described it in few words, as a disposition which leads us not to think more highly of ourselves than we ought to think. True humility reveals itself in heartfelt expressions of abasement before God — and in the modesty of our appearance, conversation, and pursuits, before the world.

The motives for the cultivation of humility are so numerous, that I can only glance at a few of them. One of them is to be found in the fact that this grace is an essential and prominent part of Christian character; and that you have so much and only so much of true religion — as you have of true humility. One of the fathers said, "If I were asked, what is the first grace of the Christian, I would say, Humility. If I were asked, what is the second, I would say, Humility. If I were asked, what is the third, I would still say, Humility."

No doubt pride in some form or other, is the ruling principle of the corrupt heart. If then you would reach a high point in sanctification, guard against pride in all its forms, and be always clothed with the garments of humility. "All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble." 1 Peter 5:5

And if humility is so important a part of Christian character, I hardly need say, that it is essential to the Christian's comfort. Everything in the universe is part of a system; and when it is in the place appointed for it, it is either at rest or in harmonious motion. This is true of ourselves; but pride disturbs this harmony, and by removing the soul out of its proper sphere, makes it restless and unhappy. The great secret of true happiness in any station, is to have a principle of humility introduced, and in exercise, which will restore harmony to the passions, and will relieve us from the conflicts and tumults they occasion.

Not a small part of the unhappiness which exists in the world, results immediately from the operation of pride. Where in the annals of woe — will you find characters that have been subjected to deeper suffering than Pharaoh, and Nebuchadnezzar, and Herod? But, in each of them, pride was emphatically the ruling passion, and to it they sacrificed everything valuable in time and eternity.

And a similar result, we have seen in many cases that have fallen under our own observation: people who have gloried in their imagined superiority to those around them — a superiority perhaps which has been conferred by the glitter of wealth, or the breath of applause — have at length been permitted to fall, not only into entire insignificance — but the deepest degradation; thus verifying the divine declaration that 'he who exalts himself — shall be abased.'

On the other hand, wherever genuine humility appears, whatever the external circumstances may be — there you may look with confidence for true happiness. Even under the darkest cloud of adversity, humility diffuses a sweet peace, and sometimes an unutterable joy through the soul. Who has not seen the humble Christian breathing out his life in triumph? Who has not seen the proud worldling dying without consolation, and without hope?

Let me say too that a spirit of humility will go far towards rendering you acceptable and useful in your interaction with the world. The conduct in which a proud spirit reveals itself, is almost sure to revolt even the proud themselves, when they witness it in others. And as for the humble, they cannot fail to regard it as an odious quality, though they may pity those who are the subjects of it. The usefulness of the proud man must be limited, not only because his pride will probably keep him within a narrow sphere — but because the efforts which he actually makes, being prompted by a wrong spirit, will not be likely to draw down upon them the blessing of God. It were worth while to be humble, if it were only for the advantages which humility secures in the present life.

Remember that a proud spirit cannot be concealed. If it exists in the heart — all the means you can use to conceal it from the world, will be in vain. It will reveal itself in your conversation and deportment, and will give a complexion to your whole character. I have known instances in which the manners of people have been formed in the morning of life under the influence of a principle of pride; and though they afterwards gave evidence of true piety, the haughty and overbearing manner which they had early acquired, in spite of all their exertions to the contrary, continued to the close of life. Wherever this proud spirit is acted out in the manners — it is always odious; but where it appears in the manners of a female, it receives, from the world at least, a double condemnation.

Improvement of TIME


The subject upon which I am now to address you, may be considered as including in a general sense, much to which I have already directed your attention; for you will instantly perceive that, as your time is given you to be filled up with the discharge of duty — so the right improvement of it must involve a faithful attention to all the duties connected with your various relations. The general subject however is of so much importance, that I do not feel willing to pass it over without bringing it distinctly before you.

There is a habit which prevails too extensively among all classes, of killing time. And as this is an evil into which many people fall without being aware of it — it may not be amiss that I should put you on your guard, by mentioning some of the ways in which life is frittered away without the accomplishment of its object.

One very effectual means of killing time is by sleep. It is true indeed, that a certain degree of sleep is necessary alike to the physical and intellectual constitution. Sleep is the kind restorer of the human faculties from a state of exhaustion — and is an evidence of the wisdom and goodness of God.

No doubt also, an individual may err in taking too little repose — as he may thus not only abridge his period of usefulness — but his amount of exertion during that period. For if he brings to his work faculties which have lost their elasticity through the lack of sleep, he may indeed keep himself busy — but there is reason to fear that he will be busied in a way that will be little better than killing time.

But the error to which I designed here to refer, is that of excessive indulgence in sleep. And the evil of this in respect to the loss of time is twofold: not only the time which is occupied by sleep is lost — but the mind acquires a habit of drowsiness or indolence, which greatly abates the vigor of all its operations. That different constitutions may require different degrees of rest, there can be no doubt. How much is necessary in any given case, is to be ascertained only by experiment; and everyone ought to make it a matter of conscience to consume as little time in this way as is consistent with the most healthful and vigorous state of the faculties.

Another means not less effectual of killing time, is the indulgence of a wandering imagination. It is an employment to which some minds are exceedingly attached, to allow their thoughts to wander uncontrolled, in any direction they may happen to take. Sometimes they may fall into one channel, and sometimes into another; but let them assume whatever course they may — no effort is made to direct or restrain them. To say nothing of the fact that where such a habit exists, there must be many trains of thought which could not be uttered without an offence to the purity and even the decorum of virtue — there can be no doubt that nearly all these operations of the mind partake deeply of vanity, and are unworthy of an accountable and immortal being. At the same time, useless and sinful as this employment is in itself — it occupies the fleeting moments of man's probation — moments that were given him to prepare for eternity.

I may instance vain conversation as another means of frittering away time. The social principle which was implanted for the most important purposes — is too often brought into operation for purposes which God, and reason and conscience, unitedly condemn. But to say nothing of the more flagrant vices of the tongue, who does not know how strong is the tendency, I may say, in most people — to indulge in idle and frivolous discourse? Such a habit is exceedingly fitted to dissipate the mind; but the least you can say of it is, that it is attended by a criminal waste of time. It is robbing one's understanding and heart — it is also robbing God.

And the same evil is accomplished by light and foolish reading. I have elsewhere dwelt so much upon this, that I allude to it here only as it stands connected with the loss of time. And there are no people probably who are more liable to fall into this error, than young girls! Many of them will even consent to deprive themselves of sleep for the sake of going through with some ridiculous love-story, or following out the fortunes of some imaginary hero, as they are depicted in a novel. If you should ever find yourself engaged in this miserable employment, just pause, at least long enough to inquire of your conscience, whether that is the purpose for which your precious time was given you.

But if you would do your whole duty on this subject, you must not only avoid the evil of which I have been speaking — but you must actually use your time to the best advantage. Here again, allow me to give you two or three directions.

Be careful that your time is employed upon objects of actual utility. It is possible that an individual may be very active, and in a certain way, may bring much to pass — and yet after all, may have no good account to render of his time, inasmuch as it has been bestowed upon objects of little or no importance. It is not enough that the object to which your efforts are directed, should not directly interfere with the interests of any of your fellow creatures, or that it should exert no positively evil influence upon yourself: it should be something from which you or they may reap some positive advantage. In selecting a sphere in which to occupy your time — you ought indeed to have respect to your peculiar talents; but you should be certain that it is a sphere of real usefulness.

If you would use your time to the best advantage, I hardly need say that you must form a habit of persevering diligence. This is essential, not only because you thus crowd into a given period, the greatest amount of useful exertion — but because the faculties are thereby improved, and rendered capable of more vigorous and successful exercise.

Make it a rule, therefore, never to allow yourself to be idle, when your health and circumstances will permit you to be active. If you once form an industrious habit — you will never afterwards be able to content yourself in a state of inactivity. And on the other hand, if you begin life with a habit of indolence — you will probably never after acquire a relish for vigorous exertion. In whatever circumstances divine Providence may place you, take care that the whole of your time be employed. And consider the first inroads of indolence as a melancholy harbinger of the wreck of your usefulness, and the loss of your reputation.

There is one caution, however, which I would suggest in connection with this point — it is that you should never allow yourself to be in a hurry. Let the demands upon your time be ever so numerous, endeavor to keep your mind perfectly composed, and address yourself to your various avocations as calmly as if you were insensible of their pressure. The moment you become agitated by care — you well near lose the power of doing anything to purpose. Your thoughts, under such an influence, will fly off to the winds; and a distracted state of feeling will ensue, which will effectually palsy every effort. Be as diligent as your health will admit — but never allow your exertions to be embarrassed by the apprehension that you have more on your hands than you shall be able to accomplish.

And this leads me to say, that very much will depend on your having your duties, so far as possible, reduced to system. There is a way, which many good people have of taking things at random; seeming to be satisfied, if they are only in a field of usefulness, whether they are laboring to the best advantage or not. Instead of taking a deliberate survey of the field into which they are cast, and the various duties which devolve upon them, and assigning to each set of duties an appropriate time — they take everything as it happens to rise; and as a matter of course, they frequently find themselves overwhelmed by such an accumulation of cares, that they are in precisely the state of which I have just spoken — they know not to which duty to give the precedence. If you take care to cultivate order in the discharge of your duties — you will not only accomplish more, and accomplish it with greater ease. And there will grow out of it a beautiful consistency of character, which will of itself be an important means of usefulness.

If you need motives to urge you to the faithful improvement of your time, let me remind you of your responsibility to God. Your time is one of the talents which he has entrusted to you, and for which he will before long call you to an account. Each moment is part of the precious deposit; and it bears its report for or against you to the bar of your final judge. Remember that he requires that your whole time should be spent in his service, and to his glory. If you would meet him to render an account of your stewardship with confidence and joy — see to it that you practically recognize his claim, and live under an abiding sense of your obligation.

Recollect too, that the improvement of your time, is immediately connected with the improvement of all your other talents. If your time is wasted — so also is the vigor of your intellect; your powers of speech are perverted; your moral and religious privileges abused; and your whole influence turned into an improper channel. If you waste your whole time — you of course throw yourself into a current that will bear you rapidly to perdition! Just in proportion as you waste your time — you accumulate materials for a fearful reckoning.

Remember farther, that the time is short. Should your life be protracted to the period of old age, you will say, at its close, that it was only 'as a watch of the night, as a dream when one awakes.' But of this you can have no assurance; and the only conclusion which reason warrants is, that you will probably not reach an advanced period. And need I say that even now, some of your last moments may be on the wing? Has the improvement of your past life been such that you can review it with peace and approbation?

Preparation for Death


There is scarcely anything in human experience which at first view strikes the mind as so difficult to be accounted for — as the utter insensibility which the mass of mankind manifest on the subject of death. That death is an event of most solemn and momentous import, whether it be regarded in its physical or its moral bearings — no rational mind can question. Nature herself renders a testimony to this truth in that shrinking and shuddering which the spirit feels, when it is actually entering into communion with this king of terrors. But who, with an eye upon the world, can fail to perceive that death is but little thought of? And though the grave itself is continually speaking forth its rebuke to human thoughtlessness and foolishness; and though friendship, strong and tender in death, often pours out its earnest expostulations to the living to prepare to die — yet the mass of the world slumber on, until they are startled by the footsteps of that messenger whose mandate they cannot resist!

This surely is not wisdom. It shows the desperate madness of the human heart. It shows that man is guilty, that he is afraid to think upon the future, to enter into the secret chambers of his own soul, and ponder the prospect of a final retribution.

But if the great majority of mankind manifest an absolute aversion to the contemplation of death — it must be acknowledged that even those who profess to be the disciples of Christ, and to regard death as gain — do not live as might be expected, in view of it. They think of it too little, converse about it too little, and prepare for it too little. Here again, the secret of this is — that they love this world too well, and even though they are partially sanctified, they have too little sympathy with the objects, and interests, and glories of the world which the eye of faith sees beyond it.

You cannot fail to perceive that it is a matter of infinite importance, that you are prepared to die — prepared in such a sense that the thought of death shall never be unwelcome, and the approach of it, however unexpected, instead of filling you with alarm, shall be hailed as the harbinger of heavenly glory. I am sure that you aim at something higher, than even to die safely; you desire that your death may speak forth the all-sustaining power of the gospel; that in dying you may bring some honor to Him whose death is the price of all your hopes and joys, of your entire redemption. Let me then give you two or three brief DIRECTIONS to aid you in making this most desirable attainment.

Meditate frequently and solemnly upon death. If it comes up before the mind only occasionally, and at distant intervals, the certain consequence will be, that it will be regarded with chilling apprehension; and your thoughts will be likely to fly from it, even though reason and conscience strive to detain them. Let no day, especially let no evening pass — which does not witness to your visiting 'death' in thought. Endeavor to become familiar with this subject in its various parts and bearings. Meditate on the certainty of the change; on the nearness of its approach; on the circumstances which will probably attend it — the parting with friends, the dropping of the earthly tabernacle, the pains, the groans, the dying strife, which may be crowded into the last hour; and on the amazing scenes which must open upon the spirit, the moment death has alone its work, and on the riches of that grace which secures to the believer a complete victory in his conflict, and a triumphant entrance into Heaven.

Let this course of meditation be conducted in the most practical manner possible; let it all come home to your own bosom as a matter of personal concern; and the effect of it will be to make the world appear in its true light, and to transfer from time to time, some new affections from earth to Heaven.

Beware of the world! Beware of its seductive flatteries, its pestilential maxims, its unhallowed practices. Remember that the spirit of the world is directly opposed to the spirit of the gospel; and that both cannot find a permanent lodgment in the same bosom. If the world attempts to seduce you by its smiles — do not dally with the tempter for a moment! If the world attempts by its frowns to wither your holy purposes and bring you into subjection — then in the strength of almighty grace, march forward to the conflict, and the world will retire and leave you the victory. Have as little to do with the groveling and polluted scenes of earth as you can, in consistency with your duty. Rise above the world, and try to breathe the pure atmosphere of Heaven. Thus you will use the world, as not abusing it; and all that you have to do with it, instead of retarding, will actually advance your preparation for the grave!

Early Friendships


The development of the social principle, is one of the earliest exhibitions of human nature. This, in connection with the benevolent affections, constitutes the foundation of friendship. Hence we find that strong attachments often exist between children, long before the judgment is sufficiently developed to decide in respect to the qualities which should enter into the character of a friend. A glance at your own experience, will convince you that it has been conformed to this law of our condition. You will find, on a review of your childhood, that you have formed many friendships, without much discrimination; some of which may have already given place to others; while some, perhaps, may continue to the evening of life.

The importance of early friendships is to be estimated by the influence which they exert in forming the character. That this influence must be very great, no one can question who has considered either the constitution of our nature, or the actual results which are found in experience. We are originally constituted creatures of habit, subject in a high degree to the influence of example. And though many of the impressions which the mind receives in childhood, are necessarily worn out in its progress to maturity — yet those which remain are wrought into the very texture of the character, and become the most efficient principles of action. Every person who attentively examines his own character, or who is intimately acquainted with the process by which the characters of others have been formed — will find sufficient proof of the reality and extent of this influence.

Who has not heard on witnessing the wreck of parental hopes in a ruined and wretched child — that it was the melancholy result of bad early associations? And who, on the other hand, has not watched with delight the gracious influence of a virtuous friendship upon the unfolding faculties of the mind and dispositions of the heart?

If so much importance is attached to the friendships which you form in early life, you will at once perceive that the choice of your friends ought to be a matter of the most deliberate caution. For though your earliest attachments must necessarily result from circumstances not within your control — yet, in respect to those which are formed subsequently to the period of childhood, you may call to your aid judgment and reflection.

A rule on this subject which you should never fail to observe is: not too hastily to offer your confidence — not to consent to an unreserved intimacy with anyone, until you have gained a thorough knowledge of the character! The effect of disregarding this rule, would be to expose you, at least, to the charge of imprudence, and not improbably, to many more serious evils. You may safely calculate that considerable suspicion is to be attached to professions which are made by those who have had little opportunity to know you; while you may reasonably expect, on the other hand, that a friendship which is the result of an ultimate acquaintance, will be a lasting source of pleasure and advantage.

In respect to the character of your particular friends, I hardly need say that you are not to expect to find those who are free from imperfection or sin. You will recollect that in common with yourself, they belong to a race of fallen beings; and it would be strange indeed, if there should not be occasion, both on your part and theirs — for mutual condescension to each other's infirmities, and mutual forgiveness of each other's errors.

But you ought, in no case, unnecessarily to contract an intimate friendship with one whose example, on the whole, you would not choose to imitate; for this obvious reason, that the tendency of such a friendship to assimilate its subjects is so strong, that there is little probability, in any given case, of its being counteracted.

One quality which is of great importance in an intimate friend, is an amiable temper. Everyone knows how much of the unhappiness of life results from the haughty, irritable, and unkind feelings of those with whom we are even remotely associated. Of course, the evil becomes greater in proportion to the nearness of the relation which we sustain to them. A person of an unamiable temper was never formed either to enjoy or impart the highest pleasure connected with friendship. For though one of this character may be sincerely attached to you, and may be, on the whole, quite desirous of promoting your happiness — it would be very strange if your interaction with her should not frequently be embittered by hasty or unkind expressions.

I advise you, therefore, in the selection of your friends, to have particular reference to the natural disposition; and, as a general rule, not to admit to your unreserved confidence any who would be likely often to wound your sensibility, and whose feelings are not, and cannot be attuned to the enjoyments of a refined friendship.

Another trait which it is desirable that your intimate friends should possess, is a good and cultivated mind and understanding. I do not mean that you are to consider it indispensably requisite that a friend should be possessed of uncommon genius, or should have made great attainments in any of the departments of science or literature. But there is a wide difference between the accomplishments of which I now speak, which fall to the lot of comparatively few, and that intellectual barrenness which must give an effectual barrier to all pleasant or useful interaction.

One important purpose which you ought to propose to yourself in an intimate friendship, is the culture of the understanding; for besides the advantages for improvement which are connected with an unreserved interaction, it would be obviously wrong that so much time as that interaction would probably occupy should be spent, without contributing, in any degree, to the strength or development of the intellectual faculties.

If your most intimate associates are people of good sense and a good degree of improvement — you can hardly fail to derive some intellectual advantage from mingling in their society. You will breathe an atmosphere which will operate almost insensibly to invigorate the powers of your mind. But if, on the other hand, you are most conversant with those, whose minds are cast in an inferior mold, and whose opportunities of mental cultivation are very narrow — you will not only lose much positive advantage — but it will be strange if your own mind do not gradually come to sympathize in the imbecility and barrenness with which it is so constantly brought in contact!

As another quality which you ought to regard in the choice of your friends, I would mention discretion. This is something quite distinct from genius — but though it is a less dazzling quality — it is probably more important both to happiness and usefulness. Many a girl of a brilliant and cultivated mind, has sacrificed her own character and the comfort of her friends, to indiscretion. If your most intimate friends are of this character — the evil to yourself will be twofold: you will partake of the unhappiness which they will frequently bring upon themselves, and you will often yourself be subject to embarrassment and perplexity in consequence of their imprudence.

Never be attracted, then, in the selection of a friend, by any appearance of eccentricity. In almost every case, you will find it associated with some kind of indiscretion; and wherever this exists in any considerable degree — it will be enough to poison the most intimate friendship. Let your friends be those who have the reputation of being prudent and judicious. Better that they should possess these qualities, than every artificial accomplishment.

I will only add in respect to the character of your particular friends, that it is exceedingly desirable that they should be people who maintain a serious regard for true religion, and who live under its practical influence. In the formation of your friendships, as well as in everything else, you are to recollect that you are an immortal and accountable creature — and to keep in view your preparation for a future world. Nothing will serve more effectually to prevent or banish all serious impressions, than an unrestrained interaction with the vain and careless! Whatever other attractions such people may possess, you may rest assured that the single fact that they treat the Gospel with levity or indifference, is a sufficient reason why they should not be your chosen friends!

Indeed, the more engaging they are in other respects — the more reason would you have to dread their influence as companions; because they would throw around an impious life, so many more dangerous attractions. Let your intimate friends therefore be, at least, people who pay a conscientious regard to the duties of true religion; and if they have deeply felt its power — you ought to regard it as an additional recommendation. If you rightly improve the privilege, you will not have occasion at the close of life, to lament that your most intimate associates were people of exemplary piety. But if you should choose friends of an opposite character, you have great reason to fear that the remembrance of it will embitter your closing hour with unavailing regrets!

Let me here remark, as a direction which you will do well always to keep in mind, that your particular friends should not be very numerous. My reasons for this advice are the following. To meet all the claims which many intimate friendships would involve, would require too much of your time; and would necessarily interfere with the duties connected with your station in life. You could derive no advantage from having many intimate friends, which would not be as well secured to you by a smaller circle, and indeed just in proportion as the number is extended beyond a moderate limit — you will defeat the purposes which such a friendship is designed to answer.

For it is impossible, from the nature of the case, that you should bestow the same degree of confidence and affection upon a great number, as upon a few. And as the advantage to be derived is in some measure in proportion to the strength and intimacy of the friendship, it is obvious that the more numerous is your circle of particular friends — the less satisfaction and benefit you can expect to receive.

It is equally true, on the other hand, that the greater the number to whom you offer your confidence — the less will your confidence be valued in each particular case; for there is no exception here from the general rule, that things are cheap in proportion as they are common. Be satisfied, then, with a few choice friends, and do not be ambitious to be the confidant of all your acquaintances.

Another suggestion closely connected with the one which I have just made is, that you should not be fickle in your friendships. Do not hastily give up one friend — for the sake of gaining another. Wherever this disposition is revealed, it is sure to excite disgust and to attach suspicion to any subsequent professions. Be as cautious as you will in forming your attachments — but when they are once formed, never let them be broken, unless on some ground that you can justify to your reason and conscience! One single instance of the unreasonable desertion of a friend, would do an injury to your character, which time could scarcely wear out, or future fidelity retrieve.

It only remains that I suggest a FEW HINTS in respect to the manner in which your interaction with your friends should be regulated.

That you should treat them with a high degree of confidence, is implied in the fact that you extend to them your intimate friendship. Never wound them by any unreasonable expressions of distrust, or by withholding from them anything which they have a right to know. Be particularly cautious not to excite curiosity by dropping a hint in relation to subjects which, from any consideration — you do not feel willing fully to explain. Such mysterious allusions often excite painful suspicions in the mind, and have frequently been instrumental in separating best friends. It would be too paltry a consideration for which to wound the feelings, or to expose yourself to the loss, of a valued friend — that you might be amused by witnessing the common operations of curiosity.

But while I would have you as unreserved in your interaction with your friends, as the relation which you bear to them demands — I would also have you beware of the opposite extreme of pouring into their ears everything which you may happen to know, without discrimination! In your interaction with a censorious world, it would be strange if you would not sometimes hear bad remarks upon their character, which, however unmeaning in themselves, could not be repeated in their hearing, without giving pain. Make it a rule, therefore, never to carry any unfavorable report to a friend — unless you believe that it will in some way or other, be productive of good.

A great part of the evil rumors which exist in society, are to be traced to a habit of gossiping, rather than to any settled purpose to slander. And if you should carry everything of this kind that you hear to your friends to whom it relates — no doubt they would often be severely wounded, where there was no positive intention of attacking their character.

I would say, too, that in your interaction with each of your friends, you ought to maintain a scrupulous reserve, in respect to what may have been confidentially entrusted to you by others. Your duty requires that you should pay a sacred regard to the confidence which each reposes in you; and none of them can reasonably claim that you should betray another, for their gratification. If you have several intimate friends, who are not, at the same time, the intimate friends of each other — you should bear in mind that, in disclosing to one a secret which has been committed to you by another — you violate a fundamental principle of good friendship. For, however you may confide in the prudence and good faith of the person to whom you make the disclosure — you obviously assume a right which does not belong to you — that of giving notoriety to the private concerns of an individual beyond what you have reason to believe were her intentions and wishes.

And the case is not materially different in this respect, even where the friend who confides a secret to you, and the friend to whom you confide the same — are intimate with each other. There might be many reasons which would render it desirable that it should not be known to a third person, however friendly, which might not exist in respect to yourself. And at any rate, your friend does not feel, and ought not to feel, when she entrusts a private concern to your keeping, in which, perhaps, she alone is interested — that she thereby relinquishes the privilege of deciding whether or not it is to be communicated to others. You will, therefore, consider the secrets of each one of your friends as a separate and independent trust, which you are faithfully and sacredly to regard.

There is one duty of great delicacy, to which you may sometimes be called in your interaction with your friends. I mean that of reproof or admonition. Though I have advised you to set your standard high in selecting your intimate associates, and to choose those whom you believe to be the best models of character — you should not be disappointed to find them sometimes in the wrong. Nor ought you to make every foible which you may notice in them, the subject of censure.

At the same time, it admits of no question that occasions may arise, which will not only warrant — but imperatively demand, that you should take the attitude of a reprover; and on which to remain silent, would be a gross violation of the obligations of friendship. There was a mutual pledge virtually given when your friendship was formed, that you would sacredly endeavor to promote each other's best interests. And you surely do not redeem this pledge, if you allow gross errors to pass unreproved!

The great secret of discharging this duty successfully, is to choose a proper time and place, and to do it in the spirit of gentleness and affection. Whenever you take this attitude, instead of appearing to have thrown off the character of a friend, and assuming an air of cold severity — you should let every expression and look testify, that you are, if possible, more under the influence of genuine friendship than ever. If you only succeed in making an impression that the reproof is the honest dictate of true kindness — you will be in little danger of failing of your object. But if you leave the impression that your reproof proceeded from personal irritation, or from an unreasonable misconstruction of your conduct — it would he strange indeed, if you should realize a happy result.

In general, I would say that you ought to make all your interaction with your friends as profitable as you can — both to yourself and them. It is inevitable that the friendships which you form, should be to you a source of great good, or great evil.

If the time which you spend with your intimate associates is chiefly devoted, as it should be, to the improvement of the intellect and the heart — you will never review it but with feelings of approbation. But if, on the other hand, it is given to levity and vanity, and if those whom you regard with most affection, are co-workers with you in murdering the hours which were given for better purposes — then you have reason to expect that the friendships which you now form, instead of being the channel of blessings — will serve to poison your moral sentiments, and to accumulate anguish for a dying hour!

Marriage


The event of marriage marks an important era in the life of a young girl. It introduces her to some new and most interesting relationships. It devolves upon her a set of cares, and duties, and responsibilities, to which she has hitherto been unaccustomed. It usually lays the foundation for increased happiness — OR for bitter, and enduring, and unavailing regrets.

I begin my advice to you on this subject, by suggesting a caution against forming this connection prematurely. There is scarcely anything that indicates a greater lack of discretion, than for a young girl, at a time when she ought to be giving her thoughts to her books, and thus laying the foundation for respectability and usefulness, to be giving her heart to some admirer, and entering into an arrangement for speedily giving him her hand. The consequence of this is, that she is only imperfectly educated, and frequently, is subjected through life, by her deficiencies — to serious inconvenience and chagrin. She enters the marital state miserably qualified to sustain its responsibilities; and not improbably acquires a cast of character in that relation, which, unfortunately, is too enduring, and which is alike unfavorable to her own enjoyment, and that of those with whom she is immediately connected.

I advise you, therefore, as you value your prospects of happiness for life, that you leave all matrimonial arrangements to a period subsequent to the completion of your education. Even if proposals of marriage should be made to you, and of an eligible kind, previous to that time — it must be an extraordinary case indeed in which you would be warranted to accept them. The very fact of your forming such an engagement, and especially of your allowing it to arrest your education, would be set down to your disadvantage. It would be regarded as indicating at least an unfortunate weakness in your character, which would be no favorable prognostic of a solid and enduring reputation.

Another evil which you should avoid, in connection with this subject, is that of forming this relation, or pledging yourself to it, without due deliberation. Everyone knows that there is no department of human experience which is so fruitful in misery as this; and one of the most singular of them all is the fact, that many a young lady commits herself for life, to a man with whom her acquaintance has been limited to a few weeks. I admit that there may be solitary cases of this kind in which the result is favorable; but no girl, who makes the rash experiment has a right to calculate upon anything else, than that the result will be most disastrous. If there is one instance in which there has proved to be a congeniality of thought and feeling favorable to domestic happiness — there are many in which the most opposite tempers and habits have been brought into an unnatural union, and the grave of marital happiness has opened beneath the very altar at which the marital union was consummated!

I would have you then on your guard against taking a rash step in relation to this important matter. Bear in mind that the decision which you form on this subject is to affect your interests for life vitally; and not only yours, but at least those of one other individual. The consequences of an erroneous decision, you will not be able to avoid — they will meet you, and follow you, and attend you, through the whole of the rugged path which conducts you to the grave.

Another point of great importance, connected with this subject, is the character of the man with whom you are to be united. There are some qualities which may be desirable enough — but are not indispensable. There are others which should be regarded as absolutely requisite, and the opposites of which as absolutely disqualifying for this connection.

I regard fortune, as it stands related to the marriage of a young lady, in nearly the same light as family. Great riches are desirable only as a means of doing good. As a means of enjoyment, independently of the opportunity they furnish for the exercise of a benevolent spirit — they are really worth very little; and are in no respect to be preferred to a fair competence. If I have any wish that you should be rich, it is not that I may see you in circumstances of splendor — but that I may see you setting a noble example of benevolence; not that you may outshine those around you in the magnificence of your dwelling, or the costliness of your furniture or equipage — but that you may deservedly bear the palm in doing good to the wretched and perishing.

But when I remember how often riches become a snare to their possessors, and how many girls have been ruined by a sudden elevation to a fortune — I cannot say that I have a wish that you should ever encounter the temptations incident to that condition. It is certainly desirable that there should be a competence on one side or the other; so much as to furnish adequate means, in connection with the avails of some honest and honorable calling, for the support of a family; but within this limit, any lady may reasonably circumscribe her wishes.

Do not marry a fop (a vain man of weak understanding and much ostentation; one whose ambition is to gain admiration by showy dress; a mirthful trifling man). There is in such a character, nothing of true dignity; nothing that commands respect, or insures even a decent standing in the community. There is a mark upon him, an affected elegance of manner, a studied particularity of dress, and usually a singular inanity of mind, by which he is known in every circle in which he moves. His very attitude and gait tell the stranger who he is, though he only passes him silently in the street. To unite your destiny with such a man, I hardly need say, would be to impress the seal of disgrace upon your character, and the seal of wretchedness upon your doom!

Do not marry a spendthrift. No, not if he has ever so extensive a fortune; for no degree of wealth can secure such a man from the degradation of poverty. I have in my eye at this moment, an accomplished girl, (and it were easy to adduce a thousand similar cases,) who married a man of vast wealth — but of prodigal habits. Years have passed away since that immense fortune has gone to the winds; and the last remains of it were squandered amidst the tears, and in spite of the tender and earnest expostulations of a suffering family. And now if I would look for that once rejoicing and apparently fortunate bride — I would go to an obscure cabin of wretchedness, and should find her laboring with her own hands to provide bread for her more than orphan children, and she would tell me a tale of woe, which, however familiar to me, would make me sit down and weep. This same man, who has plunged her and her little ones into so much wretchedness, possesses many naturally amiable qualities, and is gifted with enviable powers of mind — but unhappily in early life he became a spendthrift; and on this rock, the fortunes of himself and of his family were wrecked. If you should ever give yourself to a man of similar character, you need not be disappointed if you should experience a similar destiny.

Do not marry a miser. Such a man may be rich, very rich — but you could expect that his riches would yield you little else than misery. It is probable that you might have the mortification of being compelled not only to refuse every call of charity — but to abridge, in a great degree, your own personal comforts, and of knowing at the same time that there were ample means within your reach which yet you were forbidden to appropriate! If you must marry a miser, I would say, better marry one that is poor than one who is rich; for in the former case, to whatever inconvenience you might be exposed, you would be saved the disheartening reflection, that you were poor in the midst of abundance. As I would have you always cultivate a noble and liberal spirit, I beg you will never for a moment think of forming a connection, that shall subject you in this respect to the least embarrassment.

Do not marry a man whose age is greatly disproportioned to your own. I will not say that circumstances never exist which justify a deviation from this rule; or that there are no cases in which it is violated, which result favorably to the happiness of both parties. But I am constrained to say that such connections present, at least to my own eye — a violation of good taste, and seem contrary to the dictates of nature.

Besides, it is an exceedingly awkward thing for a young girl to be going round with a man of triple her own age as a husband, and puzzling all who see them together to decide whether she is the granddaughter or the wife! And a greater evil still is, that there must needs be in many respects — an entire lack of congeniality between them. He has the habits and feelings of age, she the vivacity and buoyancy of youth; and it were impossible that this wide difference should not sooner or later be painfully felt. And she may reasonably expect that some of her best days will be spent, not in sustaining the infirmities of an aged father — but in ministering to the necessities of a senile husband! And it would not be strange if the burden should be increased by her being compelled to encounter the spirit of complaint and petulance by which old age is often attended. I confess that, whenever I see a respectable girl, in the meridian of life, in these circumstances, I regard her with pity; and though I venerate her for the affectionate and faithful attentions which she renders to the man whom she has accepted as her husband, I cannot but wish, for the sake of her own happiness, that those attentions had devolved upon some other individual.

Do not marry a man who is not industrious in some honorable vocation. It is bad for any individual to be without some set employment — the effect of it is very apt to be, that he abuses his talents, perverts his time to unworthy purposes, and contracts a habit of living to little purpose but that of selfish gratification. A man without property, and yet without an employment — no girl could ever think of marrying, unless she had made up her mind to sell herself to the lowest bidder!

A rich man may have retired from active business, after accumulating an estate, and yet may find employment enough in the supervision and management of it. But if a man has become rich by inheritance, and has never acquired a habit of industry, and has been brought up in abundance, to live only as a drone — I would say that it were scarcely more safe to marry him, than if he were actually poor; for this indolent habit is a pledge of the speedy dissipation of his property. A habit of industry once formed is not likely to be ever lost. Place the individual in whatever circumstances you will, and he will not be satisfied unless he can be active. Moreover, a habit of industry will impart to his character, an energy and efficiency, which can hardly fail to render him an object of respect.

I would regard your prospects for life as far better, if you should marry a man of very limited property, or even no property at all, with an honest vocation and a habit of industry — than if I were to see you united to one of extensive wealth, who had never been taught to exercise his own abilities.

Do not marry a man of an irritable, violent, or overbearing temper. There is nothing with which domestic enjoyment is more intimately connected, than a naturally amiable and affectionate disposition; and the absence of this, is sure to render a delicate and sensitive girl, in no small degree, unhappy. To be compelled to witness frequent ebullitions of angry passion — to hear her well-intended actions often complained of, and her purest motives bitterly impeached — to feel that the stern hand of power is stretched over, rather than the soft arm of kindness laid beneath her — this is a lot from which it would seem the gentleness of female character ought to claim an exemption. I say then, as you value your comfort — venture not to form this connection with a man of an unamiable temper.

Do not marry a man who is deficient in understanding, or in mental acquisitions. I do not mean that you should look for an intellect of the highest order, or that you should consider yourself entitled to it; but I mean that a woman of decent intelligence can never be happy with a fool. If you were united to a man of inferior endowments, you would not only lose the advantage which might result from an unreserved interaction with one of a different character, but you would also be subject to a thousand painful mortifications from the awkward mistakes and ridiculous opinions which would result from his ignorance. There is scarcely anything more painful, than to observe a lady and her husband in society, when every one feels the superiority of the former to the latter; and when the wife herself is manifestly so much impressed with his inferiority, that the opening of his lips is a signal for the dropping of her head, or for a blush to diffuse itself over her countenance. It were certainly a mark of imprudence for any lady to many a man, whom she would be ashamed to introduce into any circle to which she would have access.

Do not marry a man who is skeptical in his principles. If he be an avowed infidel, or if he holds any fundamental error in religion, and yet has every other quality which you could desire — it would be an act of sheer infatuation in you to consent to become his wife. You cannot, upon any principles of reason, calculate that, if you do this, you will escape injury.

I know an instance in which a young girl, who had had a religious education, married an infidel; and the consequence of the connection has been, that she has plunged with her husband into the gulf of infidelity, and now openly reviles the Savior, and ridicules the most sacred and solemn truths of religion. I know another instance in which the husband of a lady of established religious principles, and of apparently devoted piety, became a zealous advocate of one of the grossest systems of error; and though at first she halted, and thought she could never yield, and even expostulated with her husband to retreat from the verge of the precipice — yet she herself at length tremblingly approached, and finally took the fatal leap; and now, instead of hearing her talk of her reliance on Christ, you will hear her speak of him as only a good moral teacher, and of her own salvation, as if the glory of it all belonged to herself.

And I doubt not that these instances furnish a fair illustration of the influence of such a connection on the female character. You may rest assured that you cannot be the constant companion of an infidel, without breathing an atmosphere that is strongly impregnated with moral corruption; and it were little short of a miracle if you should breathe such an atmosphere, without inhaling the elements of death. If I were to see you in these circumstances, though I would still commend you to a God of mercy, I could scarcely forbear to weep over your lot.

Do not marry a man of questionable morality. However correct may be his moral and religious opinions — if he is addicted to only a single species of vice, you have no security that he will not sink into the vortex of profligacy. If he is a profane man, he certainly cannot have the fear of God before his eyes, and of course cannot be under the controlling influence of moral obligation. If he allows himself to be occasionally found at the gaming table, or if he is addicted in the slightest degree to intemperance — there is a melancholy probability that he will, before long, become a desperate gambler, and a shameless sot! Think what it would be to be obliged to recognize such a man as your nearest friend — a man whose character is rendered odious by the very loathsomeness of depravity. I say, then, if there is a single exceptionable point in the moral character of the man who offers himself to you — reject his proposals without hesitation! To accept them would in all probability, be to prepare for yourself a cup of unmingled bitterness, and possibly to exile yourself from the society of your own friends.

Forming Religious Sentiments


I have now gone through with a consideration of a number of those topics which I deem important to you in practical life. There is one subject, however, which concerns you more deeply than any other, which remains to be considered. It is the subject of true religion. It is this which is identified with all your interests as an immortal creature. A deficiency in other respects may indeed occasion you much inconvenience in the world; but a radical deficiency here must extend its influence beyond the grave.

The first branch of this momentous subject to which I wish to call your attention, is the formation of your religious sentiments. It has been a doctrine unhappily current in modern times, that our religious characters do not, in any important sense, derive their complexion from our religious opinions; and the practical influence of this doctrine has been exhibited in confounding the most important distinctions in true religion, and in annihilating, in a great measure, the importance of Christian faith.

There are no doubt some truths in religion, concerning which, a mistake does not constitute a fundamental error; but it is equally true that there are other great and commanding truths which form the very soul of piety, the belief of which must enter radically into our claim to the Christian character. For why have the truths of the Bible been revealed — if it is not that they should be believed. And of what use can a revelation be to us — if it be not so explicit that, with the proper application of our faculties, we can ascertain what are its leading and essential features? Moreover, it is the system of divine truth that is the basis of the whole fabric of practical religion. If true religion consist exclusively in being a good neighbor, and in discharging the duties arising from our social relations — I will admit that faith in its doctrines may be dispensed with, and yet no very perceptible chasm be made in the system. But if it is vastly more comprehensive in its demands; if it has respect to the manner of our reconciliation with an offended God; if it embraces all the mighty machinery of Providence with respect to our redemption, and all the duties which we owe to God as well as man — then it would be as absurd to suppose that you can discharge the great duties of practical religion, while you are indifferent to the truths of the Bible, as that the man should calculate the distances of the planets, or conduct a ship through the ocean, who was either ignorant or incredulous in respect to the elementary principles of navigation or astronomy.

It is the practical reception of truth, which constitutes the very essence of piety; and though there may be a speculative belief of it without a particle of vital godliness — be assured there can be no such thing as genuine practical religion, without an intellectual assent to the truth of its doctrines. So far from being unimportant, then, faith is one of the essential elements of piety.

It is then a question of great consequence, in what manner you shall become possessed of a correct system of religious opinions. To aid you in this important matter, let me suggest the following brief directions.

Let your opinions be drawn directly from the Bible. I know it is the ordinance of Heaven that the first impressions of divine truth which children receive, should ordinarily be from their parents; and it befits parents to take heed that those first impressions are correct. But even if your parents should inculcate error, you can no longer be innocent in holding it, while you are capable of referring their opinions to the law and the testimony. The fact that certain doctrines may have been taught you by the lips of parental tenderness, is certainly a reason why you should not lightly cast them from you; but it is due to your own personal responsibility, that you should receive no doctrines ultimately on mere human authority.

So also you may derive much advantage from studying the writings of uninspired men; but you are to bear in mind that they are fallible like yourself, and that in adopting their opinions as your own, without examination, you not only refuse the privilege which God has given you, of thinking for yourself — but you needlessly run the hazard of embracing error.

Having satisfied yourself that the Bible is a revelation from God, you are to receive implicitly whatever it contains, however humbling to the pride of the intellect, or opposed to the strongest propensities of the heart.

But you will perhaps ask whether, inasmuch as great minds have arrived at different and opposite conclusions in respect to what the Bible contains, it is a difficult matter to ascertain its genuine doctrines; so difficult even as to discourage exertion, and furnish some apology for an indolent acquiescence in human authority.

I answer, the fact to which I have adverted may indeed be a reason for not taking up any opinions rashly — but it is also an important argument for not taking them upon trust; for if equally gifted minds have rushed into opposite extremes, it is certain that fine intellectual powers, unless guided by the Holy Spirit, do not furnish the shadow of a security against error.

The best interpreter of Scripture, and the only safe one — is good common sense, under the direction of an humble and teachable temper, and guided by the Holy Spirit. Let there be an honest desire to know the truth, and let that desire be directed to the author of all spiritual illumination, and let it be accompanied with a diligent use of the means which are within our reach — and we need have no fear of being left to any fundamental error. If a powerful intellect were essential to the right understanding of Scripture, you perceive at once that to the mass of the world, who possess only common minds, it would be a mere dead letter. But as no higher intellectual powers are necessary than fall to the common lot of man, in connection with the spirit of teachableness and dependence on divine illumination, which all may, if they will, possess, it is manifest that the Bible is fairly open to all; and that every individual is as truly responsible for his religious opinions, as for his moral conduct.

In endeavoring to ascertain the doctrines of the Bible, it were desirable that you should bear in mind that the obvious meaning of a passage is generally the correct one; for if it were not so, it would be impossible for mankind in general ever to gain an intelligent notions of its truth. And, if I mistake not, one of the most fruitful sources of error, is found in a disposition to overlook the obvious meaning and search for something hidden — something that shall bear the impression of novelty or of mystery. Far be it from me to question that the Bible is an inexhaustible treasury of wisdom; and it is one of its glorious peculiarities that it will supply materials for reflection to the noblest intellect, and will reward its most diligent researches, through every period of its existence. Nevertheless, its leading doctrines are fairly within the reach of common minds in common circumstances; and if you approach it, satisfied to receive the obvious sense as the true sense — there is no danger that you will be left to adopt the speculations and vagaries of a false theology. A system of error is never deduced from the Bible easily and naturally — but only by being subjected to the torture of a false construction.

The true system of religion must, in every respect, correspond with the character of God. As true religion includes the great system of the divine administration, it is impossible but that every part of it must be agreeable to his infinitely perfect nature. Any system of doctrine then, which tarnishes any of the divine attributes, which is inconsistent with the highest exercise of wisdom, goodness, justice, faithfulness, or holiness — cannot be true, and of course, can never have been revealed by a God of truth. I admit that in the manifestation of these perfections, there may be depths which the line of no human understanding can fathom; and hence the Bible may and does, in a certain sense, contain mysteries. But any doctrine which is perceived to be irreconcilable with the free and perfect exercise of any of these attributes, any doctrine which exhibits them at variance with each other, and which would of course leave the divine character to suffer in the view of the intelligent creation — must be the product of proud and erring reason. It will be well for you to inquire in respect to every doctrine that is proposed to you — what is its bearing upon the character of God? Is it honorable or dishonorable to any or all of the divine perfections? And if you can decide this question satisfactorily, you need not hesitate as to the ultimate conclusion.

But if the true system of religion must be agreeable to the perfections of God, equally certain is it that it must be accommodated to the condition of man; for one grand design of it is to secure and perfect human happiness. To say nothing of man as a social being, and of the fact that the gospel might be expected to supply rules for the regulation of his conduct in this capacity — it requires but little knowledge of one's self, and little observation on the conduct of others — to arrive at the conclusion that man is a sinner, and as such has exposed himself to the displeasure of God.

Most unquestionably then, no system of religion could be suited to the actual exigencies of human nature — but one that should offer a twofold deliverance — a deliverance from the punishment of sin, and from the dominion of sin; for even if the sinner's guilt were cancelled — yet if he were still left the slave of evil propensities, forgiveness itself would be no blessing. You perceive that a system of religion which would merely prescribe a course of external morality, however it might be accommodated to man as a social being — would be very inadequate to the higher necessities of his sinful condition. Any system short of that which brings peace to the laboring conscience, and sanctification to the polluted soul, in consistency with the honor of the divine character and government — as it could never answer the purpose for which true religion was designed, were no better than a mockery of human woe. I need not say, that a God of love has never thus trifled with the needs of his creatures.

The true system of religion must also be rational. There may be, and there are, as I have already intimated, doctrines, which in some of their lofty and intricate bearings, we may not be able to comprehend. But even these doctrines, so far as they are practical in the present state of our existence, commend themselves both to the understanding and the conscience. That they are above human reason certainly cannot be questioned; but that they are contrary to it, never has been, and never can be shown. God addresses us in the Bible as rational beings; of course the truths which he reveals and requires us to believe, must be conformable to the reason which he has given us, and to which he primarily addresses the revelation. To receive any doctrine that is contrary to reason — were to insult the dignity of our own nature. To reject any doctrine merely because it is above reason, were to claim a right to sit in judgment on the decisions of the most high God.

The true system of religion must be consistent with itself. Truth is always consistent; and as we have a right here to assume that whatever the Bible contains is truth — it follows that there must exist a perfect harmony among its various doctrines. There are indeed some portions of Scripture which may be hard to be understood, and may seem susceptible of some variety of interpretation; but in every such case the true rule is, to judge of what is doubtful — by what is clear.

And if there are some passages which seem at first view to be inconsistent with the leading doctrines of the gospel, it is right to presume that these constitute an exception from the general remark, that the obvious meaning is the true meaning; and in every such case it is probable that a more attentive examination of the passage in its connection, will disclose some other sense than that which lies most upon the surface, which is consistent with the general tenor of revealed truth.

The true system of religion must be adapted to make men better. It is impossible, but that an infinitely holy God should desire that his intelligent creatures should be holy — and it were absurd to suppose that he should have given them a system of religion which is not adapted to make them so. Accordingly, one grand argument for the divine origin of Christianity, is found in the holiness of its doctrines — in the fact that it exhibits the lines of moral purity in such boldness and strength, that it could have been no other than a heaven-born system. If this is so, it follows that no doctrine which is fitted in any way to loosen the bands of moral obligation, or to license any of the evil propensities of the heart either directly or indirectly — can be a genuine doctrine of the Bible.

It is safe to presume that that system which fosters a habit of indifference to practical godliness, and supplies the human heart with arguments for sinful indulgence — is a system of error.

It is equally safe to conclude that that system which makes men humble and meek before God, benevolent and useful to their fellow-creatures, which exerts an influence, silent indeed — but certain to bring up the human character toward the standard of divine perfection — is the system which bears the signature of Heaven, and in the practical reception of which, men become wise unto salvation.

Before I close this chapter, let me urge you in the adoption of your religious sentiments, to keep in view the solemnities of a dying hour. Nothing will be more likely than this, to guard you against fatal error. If your opinions are formed not only in the season of health — but with reference to the continuance of health and of life, there is great danger that they will prove to be another gospel, and will be so many thorns in your dying pillow. There is danger that you will take up with some wretched system of error, which will serve as a present opiate to the conscience — but which will leave conscience to rise upon you at last, when you can do nothing to silence her accusations.

But if in all your inquiries for the truth, you keep in view the last hour of your probation; and if, before adopting any doctrine or system of doctrine, you ask yourself how you will be likely to regard it when the current of life is ebbing away — whether it will come up to your mind then as a minister of peace or a minister of wrath — I say, if you deal thus honestly with yourself, you can hardly fail to draw from the Bible those precious truths which holy men of God spoke as they were moved by the Holy Spirit.

The Proper Mode of Treating Religious Error


Notwithstanding I have advised you to search the Scriptures as the only infallible standard of religious faith, and to admit no doctrine into your creed, merely upon human testimony — you cannot suppose that I am indifferent as to the result of your religious inquiries. I have indeed no fear, if you read the Bible with an honest heart, and with a sincere desire to know the truth — that you will fall into any fundamental or dangerous error. But after all, it must be acknowledged, that not a small number of those, who have made the Word of God their constant study, and have employed all the power of genius, and all the apparatus of criticism, in their biblical pursuits — have given us the result of their labors in systems of religion, which have nothing to sanctify or elevate the affections; nothing to hush the clamors of conscience; nothing to illumine the cheerlessness of affliction, or the desolation of the grave.

Make it a rule never to withhold your charity on any slight or equivocal evidence. To declare your conviction that a person holds 'another gospel', is a thing of too much importance to be hazarded on any grounds which are not the most satisfactory. Better far to err on the extreme of forbearance — than intolerance. Mild measures are much better fitted to exert a reclaiming influence, than severe ones. A little severity may place a religious errorist forever beyond your reach; whereas, a kind treatment of him may be the means of dissipating his errors, and establishing him in the truth.

Moreover, I would advise you never to impute to others, doctrines which they disavow, because they may appear to you to form an essential part of their general system. Cheerfully give them credit for every truth they will acknowledge; and be very slow to decide that the connection between a fundamental doctrine, and one which is not so, is so close, that the latter may not be given up, while the former is with some degree of consistency retained. The system of religious truth is indeed perfectly harmonious; but its parts are not all equally important. It is a structure from which you may remove some remote appendage — and you will only injure its proportion, or deface its beauty; but take away one of its main pillars — and the whole fabric tumbles to ruins.

Set it down as a principle, therefore, that all minor differences in religious opinion are to be treated with candor and leniency. It is a reproach to the Christian cause, that the jealousy and intolerance of its professed advocates have erected so many walls of partition to exclude each other from the affectionate interchange of Christian love. And it is a fact upon which my eye now fastens, as the day-star of millennial glory, that the little strifes and jealousies which have prevailed among different denominations, to the distraction of the church — are beginning to lose themselves in a growing attachment to the common cause.

It is our duty indeed to endeavor to reclaim the wandering from every species of error; but the boundary of our Christian charity must be nothing less than that sacred line which encircles the fundamental doctrines of the gospel. If we deliberately exclude from Christian fellowship those who hold the grand peculiarities of our faith — we do it at the peril of rejecting those whom God has accepted!

But while I make all these concessions in favor of tolerance of minor differences — far be it from me to leave an impression on your mind, that it were safe to receive to the hallowed embrace of Christian charity — those who reject any of the fundamental truths of religion. With Christian forbearance in respect to doctrines that are not fundamental — you must combine Christian decision with respect to those that are. Every Christian ought to shrink from any act which implies indifference to the great foundation of the gospel scheme — as he would shrink from the guilt of betraying his Master with a kiss.

The only consistent course for those who build their hopes of Heaven upon the great truths of the Bible — the only course which their own principles will justify — is to take their stand by the cardinal doctrines of the gospel; and whoever may lift the standard of persecution, or whoever may chant the praises of tolerance — to guard these truths with the most sacred vigilance!

But notwithstanding, you are to be decided in your treatment of fundamental error. You should be on your guard, even in respect to this — against every approach to a bitter and censorious spirit. It is not this spirit which will recommend your religious views to others, or which can furnish to yourself any evidence of their correctness from their practical tendency. Besides, as I have already intimated, no person was ever reclaimed from error — by being insulted or reproached — but many have, by such a course, been steeled against conviction, and driven to the extreme of heresy.

The person whom you may not be able to treat as a Christian — you may still treat with the kindness and courtesy of a friend. You may mingle with him in the kind offices and charities of life. You may cautiously avoid reproaching him with his errors. You may go, like an angel of mercy, to his sick bed. You may keep him constantly under the influence of your gentle and winning deportment. And who knows, but that in this way you may save a soul from death and hide a multitude of sins?

I will only detain you farther on this subject with one word relative to religious controversy. I do not care how much theological knowledge you acquire, and I will not say that circumstances may never occur, in which it may be proper for you to use it in defense of the truths of the gospel; but I beg that nothing may ever tempt you needlessly to enlist in any religious dispute!

When a woman takes up the weapons of theological warfare, unless at the imperative call of duty — the native loveliness of female character is instantly eclipsed. The modest and retiring virtues which are the peculiar ornament of your gender — can never find a place amidst the din and clashing of religious combatants.

It was my lot, not long ago, to encounter a sturdy female debater in a stagecoach; and I must confess that, after a little while, she succeeded in driving me effectually from the field; not because I was apprehensive of being crushed by the weight of her arguments — but because, when I came to reflect, it cost me less mortification to yield to her the honor of an apparent triumph, than to keep the attitude which I had incautiously taken of discussing the most momentous of all subjects, in such circumstances, with a talking girl, whose element was controversy. I confidently trust that the time will never come, when the cause of truth will require the polemic influence of females.



I have dwelt thus minutely on the several points involved in the subject of this chapter, not from a conviction that they would all be of the same importance to you as they might be to a minister of the gospel — but because I wish you, on every subject connected with practical life, to have some fixed principles, which will always be ready for application.

Education
GENERAL DIRECTIONS



In this and some following chapters, I design to give you my views briefly on the subject of education. I say briefly, for the subject is of such extent, and has so many important connections, that one could scarcely think of doing justice to it in anything short of an extended treatise. I shall confine myself to such hints as I think may be most useful to you in prosecuting your own education.

For all the noble faculties with which you are gifted — you are indebted to the same Being who gave you your existence. On Him also you are dependent for their preservation; and it is a first dictate of reason, that your faculties should be employed in his service. But these faculties are evidently susceptible of high cultivation; and without cultivation, they can never accomplish the purpose for which they are designed.

The object of education then is twofold:
1. to develop the faculties,
2. to direct the faculties — to bring out the energies of the soul, and to bring them to operate to the glory of the Creator.

In other words, the object of education, is to render you useful to the extent of your ability.

From this view of the design of education in general, it would seem that no one, certainly no Christian, could dissent. But who does not know that in the education of females, even this fundamental principle has too often been overlooked — and that too, by parents who have professed to regulate their whole conduct by a regard to Christian obligation! Especially has this capital error been committed in substituting what is called an ornamental education — for a solid education; in taking more care to form the person — than to form the mind. And the consequence of this, has been that many a girl of fine natural talents, has come forth to the world and shown us the fruit of a long and expensive education — in the marvelous dexterity she has acquired in the use of her hands and feet! (music and dancing)

But are not girls gifted with the exalted attribute of reason as well as the other gender? And where has Providence intimated that in one gender this gift is to be cultivated with the utmost care — and in the other is to be left in all the wildness and barrenness of nature?

What if the sexes have not in all respects, the same occupations? What if man is destined to stand forth in the bolder walks of society; and what if woman has her station allotted her more exclusively, amidst the retired scenes of domestic life? This may be a reason why their education should in some respects be differently conducted; but it can never be an argument for leaving the mind of the girl to rust with ignorance — or molding her into an animated plaything. If it is desirable that the mind of men should expand and strengthen by exercise, it must also be desirable that the female mind should share in some degree the same cultivation. Otherwise the dearest, tenderest connection of life, which ought to be but another name for the most absolute community of interest and feeling, will be converted into an unequal, unnatural league between intellectual refinement — and intellectual barbarism.

You perceive then, that the object of female education cannot be attained, without careful attention to the culture of the intellect. And let me say that this must extend to the intellect in all its powers — to the perception, the judgment, the memory, the reasoning faculty, etc. This is important, not only because each of these various faculties has its distinct office, and just in proportion as it is allowed to remain dormant, or turned out of its proper direction — the end for which it is designed is defeated. But because the different faculties have a mutual dependence upon each other, and like the parts of a well adjusted machine, operate most legitimately and most effectually where the balance is carefully preserved.

It is true indeed, that much respect should be paid to the peculiar constitution of the mind; and it should be trained to put forth its most commanding efforts by means of its strongest powers; nevertheless there are none of your faculties which you have a right to neglect — and even the feeblest of them should be cultivated at least so far that the mind may attain its fair and just proportion.

It is also desirable, in order that you may attain the true end of education, that you should, as far as possible, adopt a course which will combine particular and general utility. That is, the various branches which you pursue, should be such as may be turned to some practical use, while they minister to the general culture of the mind, and give it the easy command of its own powers. The most interesting view of the education of the mind, is that which regards it as a system designed to bring out its powers, and carry it forward from one degree of strength to another. What though you may gain ever so much knowledge, if every new degree of it is not a new degree of intellectual power, you do not reap the legitimate fruit of your mental toil.

That this important object may be gained, accustom yourself in every branch of study, to independent reflection, and let your mind freely think its own thoughts, and be not afraid to presume that the textbook itself, where it is anything else than the Bible, may be wrong. Not that I would encourage in you a habit of intellectual arrogance: that, in any youth is disgusting — in a young girl, it is intolerable. But that habit of modest inquisitiveness which asks for a reason for whatever it assents to, and which unostentatiously pushes its inquiries beyond authority, or even in the face of authority — is always to be commended. And is fitted above almost any other habit of mind, to give you a knowledge of your powers on the one hand, and a command of them on the other.

Let me here say a word in regard to the use and abuse of text-books. That you may derive from them important aid in the prosecution of your studies, there can be no doubt; and there is as little question that they are capable of being perverted as auxiliaries to mental inaction. The true use to be made of them is, not to supersede — but to assist reflection; not merely to communicate information — but to give an impulse to the intellect, by suggesting hints and principles which it may follow out to their legitimate results.

But the danger is that while your memory will be laid under contribution to gather up whatever is said in the textbook, your other faculties will find a ready dispensation; and that in your recitation you will be satisfied to confine yourself to the very letter of your author. In order to guard against this evil, let what is said in the text book be regarded as only the basis of what you are to learn; and let it serve as a guide to conduct you into other fields of thought; and accustom yourself to scrutinize every principle, and seek for a solution of every difficulty, that may present itself. Such a use of text-books, while it will not expose your mind to be enslaved by authorities, or leave any of its faculties to rust through inaction, will secure every positive advantage which a record of the labors of other minds can impart.

But while you should keep in view the general culture of your mind, it is important that each particular branch that you pursue, should be of practical utility.

It cannot be denied that the intellectual labors of many of the schoolmen, previous to the revival of learning in Europe, were of great extent, and were fitted to produce a high degree of mental acumen. But everyone who has looked into their writings, knows that the subjects upon which they employed their faculties, were of little practical consequence; and that they would often pour out a world of learned nonsense to establish a point, which after all was not worth establishing! They indeed, by this means, acquired an extraordinary power of discrimination; and this the true theory of education certainly does not overlook. But it aims at this end by employing the mind upon subjects of practical utility; subjects which it can turn to some account in the every day affairs of life.

And let me say that it is important not only that the knowledge which you acquire should be practical — but that you should also gain the ability of carrying it out, as you may have opportunity, in the various departments of human action. You might have every variety of learning, and if notwithstanding, you had not learned to reduce it to practice — you could never rise above an educated dunce! Whereas, a much less degree of knowledge with the ability of applying it, would render you at once respectable and useful.

I have cautioned you against an improper reliance on text — books. It is equally important that you should guard against depending too much on instructors. Why is it that many a girl of good natural talents, after enjoying the best advantages of education for years, comes away from school a mere smatterer in most branches included in her course — and thoroughly versed in none? The reason often is, that she has contented herself with being in a literary atmosphere, and going through the daily routine of recitations; and while she has depended upon her instructor to solve every difficulty, has hardly taxed herself with the labor of so much thought as was necessary to apprehend his explanations.

Now I wish you to be deeply impressed with the truth that all the instruction in the world will never make you a scholar, independently of your own efforts. There is no such thing as thinking by proxy, any more than breathing by proxy; intellectual acquisitions must be the fruit of intellectual labor; and whoever will not encounter the one — must be satisfied to remain destitute of the other. I say then, listen attentively to all that is communicated by your instructors, and endeavor to make the best use of it. But that this may be the case, let their thoughts become incorporated with your own, just as you do, or as you ought to do, in relation to the thoughts of the authors whom you study. Your instructors may indeed co-operate with you in the cultivation of your mind; but if you undertake to throw the whole burden upon them, the result may indeed witness to their fidelity — but it certainly will witness to your folly and chagrin.

Closely connected with the faithful exercise of your own faculties, independently of text books and teachers, is a habit of diligence. I do not mean that your whole time is to be occupied in study; this, while it would expose your health, would impair the vigor of your faculties, and thus diminish your amount of acquisition. I would have you exercise your mind closely in study, when you exercise it at all; and exercise it as constantly as is consistent with keeping it in the best state for successful application. While you profess to be a student, regard study as your main business; and make your amusements subordinate — and so far as possible, subservient to it.

I have just alluded to the fact, and I wish here to bring it more distinctly before you, that in order that you may study to the most advantage — part of your time must be devoted to relaxation and exercise — how large a part, your own judgment and experience must decide. Many a young girl of great promise has laid the foundation of disease that has carried her prematurely to the grave — by neglecting bodily exercise during the period of her education. And not only has she sacrificed her life to this unfortunate habit — but her intellectual acquisitions have actually been less, than if a due proportion of her time had been devoted to the exercise of her bodily powers.

Whether therefore you regard the preservation of your life and health, or your success in the various branches of study — I earnestly entreat you to subject yourself to a course of daily, systematic, exercise. In following this advice you will be surprised to find how much you will gain in respect to elasticity of spirits and vigor of thought; and that you will often accomplish more mental labor in a single hour — than under other circumstances you will accomplish in a day or even a week. And more than this, instead of leaving school with a constitution whose resources are more than half exhausted, and with an ominous paleness on your cheek which seems to say that the grave is ready for you — you will probably come away in the bloom of health, and with strength and resolution to engage in the duties of the station in which Providence may place you.

Let me say a word in this connection, in regard to the treatment which is due from you to your instructors. Next to your parents, your instructors, if they are faithful — are most actively engaged in the formation of your character; and they watch over you with a degree of solicitude inferior only to that which belongs to the parental relation. It is obvious therefore, that not only common propriety but gratitude requires that you should treat them with great deference and respect.

You are not indeed bound to receive every or any opinion they may express without examination; and you are at liberty, unless for particular reasons they should choose to forbid it, modestly to propose difficulties which may be suggested even by their own instruction; but you are always faithfully to consult their wishes, and yield a ready obedience to their requisitions, and by your kind and respectful deportment, to do what you can to diminish the burden of care and perplexity that is inseparable from their employment. I should do you injustice, to suppose it possible that you should be guilty of such indecorum as deliberately to trifle with the feelings of your instructors, or incur their open and direct censure. But your conduct towards them would never satisfy me, unless it should be such as to secure their positive and uniform approbation.

General Reading


In the course of your education, and after it is completed, you will occasionally find leisure to devote to miscellaneous reading. As this is one of the principal means by which you will become acquainted with the sentiments of others, you will readily perceive that it cannot but exert, either for good or evil, an important influence on your character. It is the design of this chapter to furnish you some hints which may assist you to regulate this employment — so that it shall be at once the most useful and the most agreeable.

And the first suggestion which I would offer on this subject is, that all your reading should be, as far as possible, with some definite object, other than merely to occupy your time. If you have no object in view — you may be sure that you will accomplish none! And thus your reading will be at best a mere waste of time, and not improbably, will be fraught with intellectual or moral evil. When you take up a book, decide if you can, from its title, or its table of contents, what good purpose you can accomplish by reading it; what faculties of your mind it will be likely to improve; or what moral dispositions to refine or elevate; and having settled this point, if the book is worthy of your attention, you can hardly fail to be benefitted by reading it.

Another remark closely connected with the preceding, is, that you should never allow yourself to read without reflection. There is no habit more easily acquired, than that of occupying the eye merely upon a page, and leaving the mind to its own wanderings! And there is scarcely any habit, which in the end, more completely unstrings the intellect, and renders it incapable of commanding its own powers. The legitimate design of reading is, not to supersede — but to assist reflection; not to put the faculties to sleep — but to brighten them by active exercise.

Different books, it is acknowledged, require different degrees of mental exertion; but you may take it for granted, that a book which is not worth the labor of some thought — is not worth the labor of reading. Whatever book you may have in hand, let your mind be just as intensely employed as is necessary to enable you to realize the full advantage of reading it; that is, to enable you to comprehend its full meaning, and to give it, so far as may be desirable or practical, a lodgment in your memory.

If you find your thoughts, at any time wandering obstinately from your author, and if no effort will bring them under your control, so that you can read to advantage, (and such cases will sometimes occur from mere physical derangement,) better lay aside your book than to continue reading in this attitude of mental vacancy. You will be none the wiser for what you read — and you may be forming an intellectual habit which will diminish your power of acquiring wisdom in more favorable circumstances.

It follows, from the remark just made, that you should be on your guard against reading too much. There is such a thing as a diseased intellectual appetite, which craves an excess of food, and is only satisfied with devouring everything that comes in its way. But to indulge such an appetite, were just as preposterous as to think of nourishing the body by taking a quantity of food, which should altogether exceed the digestive powers of the system. If you would read to advantage — you must incorporate what you read with your own thoughts, and gather from it materials for future reflection. But this you can never do, if your whole time be occupied in reading, or if you take up one volume after another, in such rapid succession that your mind can retain no distinct impression of the contents of any of them.

Some of the minds which have shone most brilliantly, have been but little occupied with books — being far more conversant with their own thoughts, than the thoughts of others. Remember that a few books carefully read, and thoroughly digested, and used as helps to intellectual exertion — will be of far more use to you than scores of volumes which are gone through with little thought, and the contents of which, either instantly pass out of the mind — or remain in it, an undigested mass of materials.

But while you should avoid reading too much, it is desirable, that of the books which you do read — you should form a habit of selecting, and treasuring up those parts which are most important. You cannot expect to retain the whole of any book; and if you should attempt it, you would probably lose the whole by tasking your memory so severely; but even if it were possible, it would ordinarily be to no good purpose; as there is much in almost every book, which might be in your mind without at all increasing your stock of useful knowledge.

That you may possess the substance of what you read, make it a point to review your author before you lay him aside, and form an analysis, at least in your own mind, of all that you have been reading. It will be well, too, if you commit to paper a general outline of every important book you read; or at least, that you make references on a blank page, to those parts to which you may afterwards wish to recur. Some such expedient as this, will be of great use in assisting your recollection; and will help you to retain stores of knowledge which would otherwise be inevitably lost from your memory.

You will, moreover, find great advantage in having the different departments of literature and science, with which you are conversant, so far systematized in your mind, that you will be able to refer every book that you read to some one of them. In this way, your mind will become an intellectual store-house, accommodated to the reception of every kind of useful materials; and its various apartments arranged with so much skill and order, that you will never be at a loss where to deposit any new article of knowledge, or where to find any you had previously deposited.

On the other hand, if you read without any regard to order, as it respects your previous acquisitions, the impressions which are made upon your mind will be vague and indistinct; and after a little while the severest efforts will be ineffectual to recall them.

Having thrown out these few hints in respect to the manner of your reading, allow me now to add some brief suggestions in respect to the selection of books.

And, first of all, let me say to you — never allow yourself, from any consideration, to read books of immoral tendency. A bad book, like a bad friend, may exert an influence which an established habit of virtue will scarcely be able to resist. And where a corrupt association is once formed in the mind, it is exceedingly difficult to destroy it — it remains there, a leprous spot. What though a book of this character may fall into your hands, which is rendered peculiarly attractive by a refined and fascinating style? You are to bear in mind, that these literary embellishments can no more disarm false principles of their fatal tendency — than poison can lose its virulence by being mingled with honey! Nay, these very attractions give to bad books much of their dangerous influence; for while they recommend them to the attention of the incautious and inexperienced, they too often serve as a channel through which the most deadly impressions are conveyed to the mind. And if the reading of such books were the only way in which you could gain the refinement of literature, then I would say, better remain in ignorance forever — than hazard the wreck of your moral principles, or admit into your heart the elements of destruction.

But while you carefully avoid all works, which are fitted, in any degree, to corrupt the principles, or sully the purity of the mind — I would have you select those, which, on the whole, are best adapted to increase your stock of useful knowledge and practical wisdom. In the wide range of elegant literature, there is a great variety of authors, which will at once enlighten your understanding, improve your taste, and exert an influence upon your heart, favorable to virtue and piety.

It is an error, against which you should be on your guard in the selection of your reading, to confine yourself exclusively to books of a particular kind. The effect of this would be to corrupt your taste, to destroy the proportion which exists among the various powers of your mind, and, as the case may be, to expose you to serious inconvenience and chagrin.

That you may avoid this evil, endeavor to be conversant with those authors who have been most conspicuous in the various departments of literature. Such a course will be likely to give you a correct taste, at the same time that it will impart a general consistency and vigor to your intellectual character.

Though I have no wish that you should be an enthusiast with regard to poetry, I would still have you, in some degree, familiar with the best poets both of ancient and modern date. The immortal works of Milton, Cowper, and Thomson, may be read with great advantage to the heart as well as the understanding. But there are others, usually associated in the same cluster of poetical genius, who, however exquisite their poetry, cannot be safely recommended as guides to youthful virtue. Much of the modern poetry, I am sorry to say, is chargeable with the same immoral tendency.

Byron, with a genius to which few, whether of ancient or modern days, can lay claim — has clouded his brilliant and beautiful conceptions — with the dark hue of infidelity and moral death; and so long as his writings last, they must stand as a monument of a noble intellect prostituted to the worst of all purposes — that of corrupting and destroying his fellow men.

Moore, with less of genius than Byron, has written, for the most part, for no better purpose; and it were far worse than a waste of time to employ yourself upon his productions. Even the poetry of Walter Scott, though it has much in it to delight the imagination, is greatly deficient in moral sentiment, and seems scarcely fitted for any higher purposes than to furnish a light kind of amusement. James Montgomery belongs to an entirely different class; or rather he stands nearly alone; and I have no hesitation in assigning to him a pre-eminence among the poets of the present day. With an invention uncommonly fertile in whatever is chaste and beautiful, he unites a deep and strong pious sensibility; and in reading his poetry, you see not less of the Christian, than of the poet. You feel that your imagination, and all your powers, are in communion with an exalted genius, while you seem to breathe a pure moral atmosphere, and to have your soul attracted towards a region of perfect purity. So too I might speak of Mrs. Hemans, whose poetry is the subject of much and deserved praise; and of many others, of various degrees of merit, all of whom are unexceptionable in their moral tendency.

But it is unnecessary that I should enlarge on this subject, as I have no doubt that, with the hints already given, I may safely leave it to your own taste and judgment.

As for dramatic writers, I cannot say that I am desirous that you should cultivate a taste for them. The plays of Shakespeare are incomparably the finest specimen of dramatic genius, which the English language preserves; and it cannot be denied that they exhibit human life and manners with great power, and beauty, and effect; but it is equally unquestionable that there is much in them to call into exercise the worst passions of human nature, to tarnish the purity of the mind, and to beget a kind of profane familiarity with things of high and sacred import. Addison, Young, and a few others have written plays, which may perhaps be considered unexceptionable; but I must confess, I would feel no regret, if you should think it best to dispense with this class of authors altogether.

But there is no species of reading to which young girls are usually more inclined, or from which they are so much in danger, as that of novels. I will not say that there are no works of this kind which indicate a tone of correct moral feeling, and which are of unexceptionable moral tendency. Nor will I take it upon me to pass severe judgment upon many people of great excellence, who have indulged in this kind of reading, on the ground that it furnishes many important lessons in respect to the operations of the human heart.

But I must say, after an attentive consideration of this subject, and withal, after having once held a somewhat different opinion — that I do not wish you ever to read a novel. For admit that the novels of Richardson and some of the modern novels of Scott, and a few others, abound with critical views of human nature, and contain many specimens of eloquent writing; and in their direct moral influence may be regarded as harmless — I cannot doubt that the time which you would occupy in reading them might be employed to better purpose in studying the actual realities of life, as they are exhibited by the biographer or the historian. And moreover, there is danger, if you begin to read works of fiction, with an intention to read but few, and to confine yourself to the better class — that your relish for these productions will increase, until you can scarcely feel at home unless the pages of a novel are spread out before you; and what is still more to be dreaded, that you will read indiscriminately, the most corrupt as well as the least exceptionable.

You may rest assured that a character, formed under the influence of novel reading — is miserably fitted for any of the purposes of practical life. The imagination being hereby wrought into a feverish state, gains the ascendency over the judgment, and a thousand bright visions rise up before the mind — which experience proves to be unreal. This species of reading moreover inspires a disgust for the sober and practical realities in which we have to mingle; and what is worse than all — it often closes every avenue through which the solemn truths of true religion can be conveyed to the heart.

I say then, as you would avoid forming a character which combines all the elements of insipidity, corruption, and moral death — beware of the reading of novels! Many a young girl has been obliged to trace to this cause, the destruction of her principles, her character, and ultimately her life! And if she have escaped these greater evils — she is still unfitted for solid intellectual enjoyment, and for a life of practical usefulness.

I would have you bestow considerable attention on the periodical publications of the day, though you ought here, as much as in any department of literature — to read with discrimination. Of these publications you need not be told that there is every variety, from the dignified quarterly, that exercises an almost unlimited sway in the region of taste and letters — down to the contemptible catch-penny paper, that lives by circulating slander and falsehood.

It would be well, if your circumstances would permit, that you should accustom yourself regularly to read some of the best Reviews. But in reading these publications, even the best of them, you ought not tamely to surrender your own judgment of an author, to the dictation of these literary censors; but to let their opinion pass for only what it is worth; and if it have been formed under the influence of partiality, or prejudice, to let it pass for nothing.

Of religious periodicals it may be well for you to select one from each of the most important classes; as for instance, one that is devoted to theological review and discussion, one to missionary news, etc, etc. By selecting your reading of this kind with care, and keeping yourself within certain limits — you will gain far more information, and with much less labor, than if you were to devour, indiscriminately, every periodical that should fall in your way.

You will find it a useful employment occasionally, to read judicious books of travels. It happens, unfortunately, that most works of this kind seem to have been written with too little regard to truth; and instead of having the sober results of actual experience, we have had the wild, and wonderful, and sometimes, ridiculous sallies of the writer's imagination. There is probably no species of writing, in respect to which you ought to make more abatement from glaring and marvelous statements, than this; not only because authors of this kind, from their rapid observations, are often liable to mistake — but because certainty has such an advantage over conjecture, that they are under a strong temptation not only to speak — but to speak positively, where it would be honest for them to confess that they know nothing. We are perfectly aware how much the character of our own country has been traduced, and held up to ridicule, by travelers from abroad; and it is fair to conclude that much that professes to be the record of travels in other countries, is equally at war with truth and justice.

Biography is a species of reading which is well fitted to amuse, while it instructs you. It brings out before you the human character, and often in circumstances of the deepest interest; and holds up a mirror in which you may see the operations of your own heart. I regret to say that well executed and attractive works of this kind, are far less common in the English language than could be desired. Within a few years, however, the number has considerably increased, and there is reason to hope that this deficiency in our literature will, before long, be supplied.

Whenever you engage in this kind of reading, endeavor to turn it to some account in the improvement of your heart. Whatever excellence you discover in the character you are contemplating — endeavor to make it your own. Whatever error you discover in the character — fortify yourself against it with renewed vigilance whatever weakness, see whether it is not the besetting infirmity of your own nature. Whatever victory over temptation, whatever serenity amidst sorrow, whatever triumph in death — let it lift your eye and your heart upward, for that Almighty grace by which those blessings are secured. The reading of biography in this way, I most cordially recommend, as it cannot fail to make you wiser and better.

I wish you to read attentively at least one system of Theology. You will also occasionally employ yourself in reading sermons. As your first object here, should be the improve your heart — you should select those which are distinguished by an earnest and practical exhibition of divine truth. But it is perfectly consistent that you should combine, with the culture of your affections, the improvement of your mind. And for this purpose you should choose those which are composed with the best taste, and with the greatest degree of intellectual vigor. The sermons of Barrow and Jeremy Taylor, though they partake much of the spirit of the age in which they were written, are specimens of a vigorous and powerful eloquence, to which modern times have hardly furnished a parallel. The sermons of Archbishop Tillotson are fertile in weighty and impressive sentiment, and on subjects connected with natural religion, are exceeded by few in the language. Bishop Sherlock's sermons, though in some minor points, not exactly accordant with my own views of religious truth, are certainly a monument of an elegant and active mind, which posterity can never cease to admire. The sermons of the immortal Jonathan Edwards, though wholly destitute of ornament, are in the highest degree instructive, and contain perhaps the most powerful appeals to the heart and conscience, which are to be found out of the Bible. President Davies, Chalmers, Hall, etc. sermons have justly acquired a high celebrity for a dignified, forcible, and solemn exhibition of divine truth, and for a devotional fervor which cannot fail to impress the heart. The sermons of Robert Walker, are fine specimens of an evangelical spirit, and admirably adapted to promote the influence of practical religion. Jay's sermons are full of truth, and life, and beauty, and are fitted to be alike gratifying to a refined taste, and an elevated piety. The sermons of Dr. Chalmers can hardly fail to be read with interest, as the offspring of an inventive and powerful mind; and as containing a lucid exhibition of divine truth; though it were much to be desired that the style in which they are written had been less diffuse and involved. Robert Hall is, in my opinion, the first writer of sermons of the age. The irresistible force of his reasoning, the beauty and grandeur of his thoughts, and the dignified and graceful manner in which they are expressed, in connection with the truly evangelical spirit which pervades them — render his sermons as perfect specimens of this kind of writing, perhaps, as the world may expect to see. I might extend this list almost indefinitely — but I am willing to leave much to your own judgment; and those which have been mentioned are probably enough to occupy as much leisure as you will be able to give to this kind of reading.

I cannot conclude this chapter without urging you to a diligent and daily perusal of the Holy Scriptures. Remember that this is the great fountain of wisdom; that it contains an infallible record of the dispensations of God towards our world; that it faithfully exhibits the character of man, and opens up a way by which he may attain to a glorious destination!

Education
VARIOUS BRANCHES


Having, in the preceding chapter, called your attention to some general views on the subject of education, I intend in this, to enumerate some of the various branches which will naturally be included in your course, and to give you my opinion of their comparative importance. Whatever relates to the selection and order of your studies, I am willing to leave in a great measure to your instructors, not doubting that they will direct you with good judgment — and I am willing too to leave something to your own taste and inclination. But as this is a subject which deeply involves the improvement of your mind, and the formation of your character, and in which a parent must of course feel a deep interest — you will not wonder that I am disposed to give you briefly the result of my experience and reflection.

You need not be startled, when I go back to the very elementary branches of an education, and begin to talk to you on the simple matter of learning to read.

My first advice is, that you should adopt in every respect, your natural tones — the tones which you are accustomed to use in common conversation. Almost every child contracts at a very early period, what is commonly called a reading tone — a monotonous habit of utterance, which, while it outrages taste and nature, is generally with great difficulty broken up. If you have already contracted this tone in any degree, make it your first object to get rid of it! When you sit down to read, do not think it necessary to assume a more formal or stately mental attitude, than if you were sitting down to converse.

And endeavor to utter the sentiments of your author in his language, in the same easy and familiar manner that you would talk of the same sentiments in your own. This of course implies that you read intelligently; that you are able to enter into the spirit of your author, and readily and fully to apprehend his meaning. You can never attain what I wish in this respect, by the study of rules; though these may be of some assistance to you — you can only do it by understanding well what you read, and giving yourself up to the simple dictate of your natural tone. And by often repeated exercises of this kind, you will acquire the habit which I am recommending.

Be careful also that you utter each sentence, and every part of each sentence, with perfect distinctness, and in so loud a tone that all you say shall not only be heard — but heard without effort.

Guard, on the one hand, against fatiguing the attention of those who listen to you by the excessive rapidity of your utterance, and, on the other, against furnishing them with an apology for going to sleep by your extreme deliberation. In a word, let it be your aim to read in such a manner, as most deeply to impress the sentiments of your author; and of course, most effectually to secure the attention of your hearers.

Next to reading, comes the equally simple art of spelling. It is true of this as of every other elementary branch, and if I mistake not, in a higher degree than of any other, that if it is not learned at a very early period, it will probably never be learned at all; and hence it is not uncommon to find men whose early education was neglected — but who by their own subsequent exertions have risen to the most elevated stations, leaving evidence through life upon everything they write, that they do not understand the art of making words out of letters.

This indeed may be excused where there has been the lack of early advantages; but nothing else can render it tolerable. I beg you will make it a point, therefore, as early as possible, to possess yourself of a correct system of spelling. This is a thing to be learned partly by rule — but in a much greater degree, by practice; and without much of the latter, I assure you that you can never arrive at much perfection in this simple but necessary department of knowledge.

Let me advise you in writing never to run the hazard of committing an orthographical error in a case in respect to which you are in doubt. Always settle the point on the spot where it is practicable, by a reference to some standard authority. In this way you will acquire a habit of correctness, and a particularity of information, which will soon make you independent of dictionaries; whereas by adopting the opposite course, you will not only run the hazard of committing an error in a case in which an error, to say the least, is hardly decent — but you will acquire a habit of inattention to your spelling which may ultimately make it a task for a literary friend to read your composition.

As for penmanship, I cannot say that I regard it so important that you should attain to high excellence in it, as in either of the preceding branches; and yet I am desirous that your attainments in this department should, at least, be respectable. I would be glad to see you write an easy and graceful hand, and above all I would have it possess the attribute of being legible. A more odd conceit never entered a human head, than seems to have got possession of some at the present day — that a hand which puts one's invention to the torture, is a sure mark of genius. If that be the test, I will only say that I choose to have you run the hazard of being considered a dunce, rather than torment me and your other friends with illegible communications!

How much truth there is in the doctrine held by some, that the handwriting indicates the intellectual or moral character — I will not undertake to decide. But I earnestly hope that you will take up no doctrine nor practice on this subject that will prevent you from being a neat, plain, and, if you please, elegant writer.

I hardly need say that you can lay no claim to the character of an accomplished scholar — until you can speak and write with correctness your own language. And in order to this, you must gain a thorough knowledge of English Grammar and Rhetoric. These branches should be so familiar to you, that you will, as a matter of course, and without even being conscious of it at the time — judge every composition you read or hear by grammatical or rhetorical rules; that you will as instantly detect an error in syntax, or an error in taste, as a delicate ear would notice a confusion in musical sounds.

I know indeed there have been those who have written with great power and even beauty, who have known nothing of Rhetoric or Grammar, except as they were taught by nature; whose minds would pour out thoughts that breathe in words that burn, with the same apparent ease that a stream flows from its fountain; but there is no reason to doubt that even these pre-eminently gifted individuals would have done better with the knowledge of which I am speaking than they did without it; and at any rate they are exceptions from a general rule, and therefore furnish no ground for any general conclusion.

It is hardly necessary to say that a habit of easy and elegant composition is not to be acquired in ordinary cases without much attention and long continued practice. If you should find, therefore, that your first efforts are rather tame and feeble, it will be no reason why you should be discouraged; for no doubt there are many now on the list of fine writers, whose first efforts were as tame and feeble as yours. Nothing will serve more effectually to improve your taste, and to give you an easy command of thought and expression, than an intimate acquaintance with the English classics.

You will also, especially in your earlier essays at composition, find it a useful exercise, after you lay aside your book, to commit the thoughts of your author to paper in your own language; though I hardly need say that you are never to attempt to pass off anything that you produce in this way as your own, in any higher sense than it actually is so; for to say nothing of the immorality of such an act, which I would hope would be sufficient to deter you from it, there is no character in the literary world regarded with more odium than a plagiarist.

Remember that to form a good writer, the first requisite is good thoughts — the second, a good style. If you can command thoughts which are striking and original — it is all the better, provided they are appropriate; but endeavor always to be appropriate at any rate. A striking thought, introduced merely because it is striking, and with nothing in the connection to justify it — is a blemish, and not an ornament; an indication both of the lack of judgment and of taste.

Whenever you have selected your subject, and have possessed yourself of the necessary information in respect to it, revolve it thoroughly in your mind, and see what appropriately belongs to it; and then select such thoughts or trains of thought, as may seem to you on the whole most pertinent and useful.

Arrange your thoughts, so far as may be, before you begin to write; and then you will proceed with far more ease, and probably with far more success. Let your subjects he chosen, so far as possible, with reference to the general culture of your mind. It is too much the fashion of the day for girls, in writing their compositions, to imagine themselves surveying some beautiful moonlight scene, or listening to the sound of some magnificent cataract, or contemplating nature in some other of her wild or sweet or majestic forms. All this may be well enough for an occasional exercise of imagination; but in general, I advise you to select subjects of more practical interest; subjects which are adapted to exercise the judgment, the reasoning faculty, and other powers of the mind, and not merely to awaken or improve the imagination. The secret of forming a good style, is to throw into it a due proportion of gracefulness and strength. There are a thousand good models which I might recommend to you — but I am not desirous that you should closely study any model as such. The true mode is, to be conversant with as many good writers as you can, and to let your mind operate in its own way, unembarrassed by the peculiarities of any. I am always delighted to read a book on which I can see the very image and superscription of the author's own mind.

Of the various kinds of composition, there is none perhaps to which young girls generally are more inclined, and for which they find more occasion, than letter writing; and I must do your gender the justice to say that in this respect they greatly exceed ours under the same advantages. Without saying anything here of the propriety of your cultivating a more extensive or a more limited correspondence, I would urge upon you the importance of acquiring a good letter writing style, for this, among other reasons, that it is an accomplishment which is well fitted to make you agreeable to your friends.

And the only particular direction which I would give you for acquiring it, supposing you to be attentive to the general culture of your mind, is — that you should throw your thoughts on paper with the same ease with which they fall from your lips. When you sit down to write a letter, imagine that you are sitting down to talk to a friend; and if you adopt a style of elegant conversation, you will adopt the very best style for a correspondence.

You will not understand me as prescribing any exact order for your studies, when I mention, next, Arithmetic. I need hardly say that this is important, not so much, in the common acceptance of the word, as an accomplishment, as it is for the every day practical purposes of life; so that there is hardly a condition in which you can suppose yourself placed — but that your ignorance of this branch must, at some time or other, subject you not only to sad mortification — but sore inconvenience.

Of the new mode of calculating, commonly called mental Arithmetic, I am unable to speak from much practical knowledge; but I must confess that the results of this mode of teaching which I have witnessed, even in small children, have surprised me; and I have no doubt that it is the most easy and successful mode of communicating this kind of knowledge which has yet been discovered. But leaving to your instructors to decide in respect to the best manner of your studying Arithmetic, I must insist that you make thorough work of it; insomuch that no calculation which you will have occasion to make, will ever embarrass you.

As to the higher branches of Mathematics, if you have even a common relish for them, I think you may pursue them to some extent with advantage. If you are passionately fond of them, I would say unhesitatingly, better prosecute them so far as inclination may dictate and opportunity admit. But if your taste points you decidedly to a different course of study, and you find nothing in this branch to attract or interest you, why then, I would consent that your mathematical studies should be arrested at almost any point you please, after you have become thoroughly acquainted with common arithmetic.

Algebra and Geometry, however, it were certainly desirable, should come into your course; and if you have intelligently advanced thus far, it is more than probable that your inclination will lead you still further. It is scarcely possible that you will ever be placed in circumstances in which these higher branches will come into direct use; nevertheless you may advantageously study them simply as a matter of intellectual discipline. It is an admirable way of learning to think on general subjects with precision, and to reason with clearness and force.

Of Geography, I surely need not say anything to you, in the way of urging its importance or recommending it to your attention. When studied intelligibly and with the proper helps, it possesses attractions to most minds which are irresistible. And to say nothing of the interest which belongs to it in itself considered, it is, as I think Lord Chesterfield remarks, one of the eyes of history. You will make yourself familiar with the earth, not only as it is known to the moderns — but as it was known to the ancients; as a preparation for the study both of ancient and modern history.

It were scarcely necessary to add that your acquisitions in this department of knowledge, must be made principally from the map or the globe; as all impressions which you derive in any other way will be comparatively feeble and evanescent. The construction of maps also you will find a pleasant exercise, while it will serve to render your geographical knowledge more distinct and abiding.

I have adverted to History. This I would have you study not merely with a view to gratify curiosity — but as containing an instructive record of human actions, and as furnishing an important means of becoming acquainted with the operations of the human heart; for what the nature of man has been, so it is now; and its operations are the same, making due allowance for diversity of circumstances.

In your attention to this branch, I would advise you first to make yourself thoroughly acquainted with some judicious outline of History; and so far as possible, to fill up every part of the outline by your subsequent reading. In no branch of study will you need the aid of system more than this; and though you may accumulate materials without end — yet if you fail to reduce them to order, so that they shall be in your mind as so many distinct and well arranged classes of facts — you will be able to use them to little advantage. While I would have you familiar with every part of History, both ancient and modern, I would recommend a special attention to the history of your own country.

Next to History, perhaps, may properly come Mental and Moral Philosophy. These are indeed distinct branches — but as they both relate to the essential constitution of man, they may properly enough be noticed together. If you will prosecute them with success, you must bring to your aid much patient reflection; for you may rest assured that any superficial attention to these branches will be to no purpose. Every principle laid down in your text book — you must test by a reference to your own intellectual or moral constitution; and if you find a disagreement between the principle as it is stated by your author, and as it exists in your own bosom — you have reason to inquire whether your author is not in the wrong; for the original principles of human nature, and the operation of these principles, are substantially the same in people of every class. The study of these branches conducted in this way, you will readily perceive, is only the study of human character and human duty; and surely this cannot be unworthy to employ your faculties, whether as an intellectual being, or as a probationer for eternity.

Some degree of attention you may properly bestow upon Sciences. These, while they answer important practical purposes, are adapted to enlarge our views of the wisdom, and power, and goodness of the Creator. If your circumstances should permit, and your taste should incline you, to bestow some attention upon several of the branches of natural science, I should not object to it — but if you should confine yourself to one or two, Mechanical Philosophy and Chemistry would probably best reward your efforts.

As to modern languages, I am not particularly desirous that you should aim at very high attainments. Of the French I would be glad to have you acquire so much knowledge that you can read it with fluency and correctness; but as for Spanish, Italian, and other modern languages, there is so little in them which it were worth your while to read, that you have my full consent for never opening a grammar of either. The dead languages I do not regard as constituting an important part of female education; and yet if your taste should incline you to it, I confess I would be gratified to see you able to converse with the mighty dead of Grecian and Roman fame.

I cannot conclude this list of studies without recommending to you a careful attention to the evidences of Christianity; and I rejoice to find, that in some of our female seminaries, this is already recognized as a distinct branch of education. Every part of this subject is full of interest; but no part of it perhaps grows upon the mind so much on reflection, as that which relates immediately to the world itself — what is popularly termed the internal evidence.

Nearly identified with the study of this, is the study of the doctrines of the gospel; and I earnestly hope the time is not far distant when a knowledge of some outline of Scripture truth, or what perhaps is still better, the Bible itself, will be considered essential to a complete female education.

You perceive I have said nothing of merely ornamental branches. The reason is, not that I regard them as absolutely unimportant — but only comparatively so. I am willing, if your circumstances admit, that you should attend to Drawing, Painting, or Music, or all of them — provided only you have a natural taste for them, and do not allow them to interfere with your improvement in more important branches. I say, if you have a taste for them; for nothing seems to me more ridiculous than for a girl utterly destitute of taste, to spend months in trying to learn the use of the pencil, while neither she nor her friends are to reap any other reward of her labors, than is found in the awkward result of having a few pictures to amuse, or, as the case may be, to frighten, her younger sisters!

If you have a talent for music, I am more than willing that you should cultivate it; for it will not only supply you with innocent, and I may say, elegant, amusement — but it may often banish melancholy from your mind, and refresh and invigorate the spirits of your friends. But I repeat, let every accomplishment of this kind be suffered to hold only its proper place. If you find that your attention to these or any kindred branches is at any time making you indifferent to the more solid parts of your education, especially if you find that it serves to nourish in you a spirit of vanity, and to diminish your interest in the realities of true religion — you need no better evidence that it has become excessive, and that, however innocent these things may be in themselves, there is danger that you will pervert them to your injury or ruin!

DOMESTIC ECONOMY


However much you may be distinguished for intellectual cultivation, or for proficiency in the more refined and ornamental branches — you can make no claim to a complete education, unless you are well acquainted with Domestic Economy. I am aware that this is a subject which, from some cause or other, many young girls regard with strong aversion; and there is reason to fear that, in too many instances, this aversion is heightened by receiving in some degree of parental sanction. But you may rely on it, there cannot be a greater mistake on the subject of female education, than to suppose that this branch of it may with safety be neglected. With regard to the extent to which you should be informed on this subject, I would say in general that you ought to have so much knowledge of it, as will enable you to regulate with advantage the concerns of a family. There are indeed some of the domestic arts which you can hardly be expected to acquire; and which, in the ordinary walks of domestic life, may not be important; but whatever relates to the immediate superintendence and direction of household concerns, you cannot neglect, without exposing yourself to inconvenience which no future exertions may be able completely to remedy.

It is important that you should cultivate a taste for the management of domestic concerns as early as possible. As no part of your education is more practical than this, it were unsafe to neglect it even for a short period; as the consequence of such neglect would probably be, that you would form other habits uncongenial with domestic employments, and which perhaps might give you an aversion to them which you would never overcome. Do not consider it a hardship therefore to be placed in circumstances which favor your attention to this subject, and even demand your active exertions. Every item of this kind of knowledge which you gain, you will be able, hereafter, to turn to some practical account, which will compensate many fold for the labor of attaining it.

It is not uncommon for young girls in the higher walks of life to satisfy themselves in the neglect of this branch of education, on the ground that their lot is cast in circumstances of opulence and splendor. If this excuse could ever be sustained, you have no right to expect that your condition in life will allow you to avail yourself of it: but the truth is, that it cannot be admitted in any case. For what if Providence should actually place you in circumstances of wealth, and what the world calls independence? Would you not still be as truly accountable to God for all your possessions, as though you had been limited to a moderate competence? Nay, would not your responsibility be increased, just in proportion to the abundance which had been bestowed upon you? This, therefore, instead of being an argument for the neglect of the domestic part of your education — is actually a reason why you should attend to it with the greater care. For if a profusion of the bounties of Heaven are entrusted to your management, and you are responsible for the proper improvement of them all — is it not pre-eminently desirable that you should possess that knowledge which will enable you to acquit yourself as a faithful steward?

But if you leave the idea of accountability entirely out of the question, there are still other reasons of great weight why this part of your education should not be neglected. Without a proper attention to it, you can never be qualified to preside in the concerns of a family. Though you should be placed in a station which might enable you to command all the conveniences and assistance which opulence can furnish — you will never feel at home m your own house, unless you have yourself that practical knowledge which will enable you to keep your house in order. You cannot realize half the value of your domestic aid, unless you are capable of exercising a general superintendence, and giving proper directions. And without such ability — you will be liable to constant impositions from those to whom you will be obliged to confide interests which ought to remain exclusively in your own hands. Many a large estate has been squandered, and many a family reduced to poverty, in consequence of a deficiency in this part of female education.

Let me add, if Providence should ever place you at the head of a family, and you are obliged from ignorance of domestic economy, to entrust its concerns to another — you cannot maintain the dignity which appropriately belongs to such a station. You will be subject to a thousand painful mortifications from discovering that your concerns are improperly managed, and yet being unable to suggest the proper remedy. And though you may try to flatter yourself that your ignorance on this subject may pass for evidence of a genteel education, it is more than probable that the unsavory food, which will sometimes chance to be placed before your guests, will lead them to regret that you happened to possess so unfortunate an accomplishment.

What I have said hitherto on this subject, has been principally upon the supposition that you are to be placed in circumstances of ease and affluence. But I hardly need say that this is, by no means, certain. Even if your prospects in this respect should be fair at the commencement of domestic life, there are a thousand changes which may await you, any one of which may cast around you the gloom and desolation of heart-breaking poverty. I could tell you of many, who have begun life without a cloud being seen to settle upon their temporal prospects, and have closed it in all the degradation and wretchedness which the most abject want could occasion. As it is impossible to tell what scenes of adversity the changes of life may bring with them, it is unquestionably the part of wisdom that you should be prepared for any lot to which Providence may call you.

What then if you should be destined in a few years to the obscure and humble walks of poverty? What if, from a comfortable competence — you should sink to a condition upon which you have hitherto been scarcely able to look, without feelings of compassion and tears of sympathy? What if you should see around you a little defenseless family, and all the dreaded evils of poverty clustering upon them in melancholy profusion? And what if, in the midst of all these circumstances of external depression, you should be found incapable of devising a plan or lifting a hand for the relief or comfort of yourself and family?

In supposing this case, believe me, I am not dealing in fiction. I have seen an elegant, accomplished girl, brought up in the lap of luxury, in these very circumstances — and who knows but that such a case may be their own? Sure I am, that another argument cannot be necessary to impress you with the importance of the subject I am endeavoring to urge.

And now if I have gained your conviction to the importance of this branch of education — let me repeat the request that you will begin without delay to make it a practical matter. I know indeed that much depends in this case on maternal attention and effort; but I know too, that there is in some young girls an aversion to domestic employments which a mother's persevering exertions do not overcome; and I also know that little improvement can reasonably be expected in any department of knowledge, in which the mind does not act not only without constraint — but with alacrity. And I beg you to bear in mind that the knowledge of which I am speaking is to be acquired only in one way; and that is by actual experience. You may study the science of domestic economy as carefully as you will, and you may receive lessons from experienced and skillful managers, and after all, you will be little wiser, until you come down to the actual reality of participating in the every-day concerns of a family. When you actually put your hand to the work — you will begin to learn; but unless you put your hand to it frequently, and learn to think it no dishonor to engage in anything appertaining to the economy of a family — you can never expect to become an accomplished housekeeper.

In a preceding chapter I have urged upon you the importance of taking a good degree of exercise; let me here say, that you cannot comply with that direction to better purpose than by spending a part of every day in domestic employments. And while it will secure to you the benefit of relaxation from your studies, and of the exercise of your bodily powers, it will be an effectual — the only effectual means of preparing you to appear with honor and usefulness in this department, as the head of a family.

In connection with this general subject, I have a word to say in respect to the regulation of your expenses. In all your dealings, I would have you avoid even the appearance of being stingy. Let no one ever have just occasion to say, in respect to any financial transaction of yours, that it has not been perfectly liberal and honorable. Nevertheless there is an ostentation of liberality which I would have you carefully avoid; for it is really a contemptible quality — and so the world regards it.

There is also in some young girls a spirit of extravagance — a disposition to incur expenses which their condition in life neither demands nor justifies — another quality which deserves severe reprobation. Let your expenditures be regulated, not merely by a regard to your ability — but to your accountability as a steward of the divine bounty. Regard economy as a virtue — and never be unwilling to be seen in the practice of it. It is honorable to contract your personal expenses as far as you may — that you may thereby have the more ability to support the needy and distressed.

I will close this chapter by suggesting a hint or two on the subject of dress; as it is in relation to this, more perhaps than anything else, that most young girls are tempted to indulge in extravagance. I would always have you appear in this respect neat and decent, and do not care how much correct taste you display; but I beg you to avoid all gaudy and superfluous ornament. It is a good rule to follow the fashion in dress, just so far that you shall not be marked as singular. But you may rely on it, that a disposition to take the lead in fashions, to shine forth in splendid apparel, and a gaudy glare of lace and gold — is always taken with discerning people, as proof of a weak head or a proud heart!