Produced by Irma
LETTERS,
&c.
ADVICE TO A YOUNG MAN
UPON
FIRST GOING TO OXFORD,
IN
TEN LETTERS,
FROM AN UNCLE TO HIS NEPHEW.
* * * * *
BY THE
REV. EDWARD BERENS, M.A.
LATE FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. G. & F. RIVINGTON,
ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD,
AND WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL.
* * * * *
1832.
LONDON:
GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
St. John's Square.
I have long thought that a book was wanted, of the nature of that which
I have here attempted. How far I have succeeded in the attempt, the
public will determine.
I have had,--have at present,--and (if I live,) expect to have
hereafter,--several nephews at Oxford; all having to make their own way
in the world, and all, consequently, having abundant reason for being
economical, both of their time and of their money, during their
residence at the University. These Letters were not addressed to any one
of them in particular, but are intended, like some official documents,
"for all whom they may concern." Perhaps I had more especially in view,
those of them who are destined for my own profession.
E. B.
CONTENTS.
LETTER. PAGE.
I. Sense of Religion 1
II. Choice of Friends 13
III. Conversation 27
IV. Against yielding to the Influence of Numbers 45
V. Improvement of Time 55
VI. Punctuality 72
VII. Amusements 85
VIII. Expenses, and running into Debt 99
IX. Temperance 114
X. English Reading 137
LETTER I.
SENSE OF RELIGION.
MY DEAR NEPHEW,
It gives me sincere pleasure to hear that you have actually become a
member of the University of Oxford. This satisfaction, perhaps, may in
some degree be attributed to the pleasing recollection of my own Oxford
life, but certainly it arises principally from anticipation of the
substantial benefits which you, I trust, will derive from your connexion
with that seat of learning. At the same time, I will own that my
satisfaction is not entirely unmixed with something like apprehension.
An University education has many and great advantages, but it also is
attended with many temptations;--temptations to which too many young men
have yielded, sometimes to the great injury of their character, and the
utter ruin of all their future prospects.
In fact, you are now entering upon the most important period--the
_turning point_--of your whole life. You have become, in a great
measure, your own master. For though you will be under a certain degree
of discipline and _surveillance_, yet in a multiplicity of cases you
will have to act for yourself--to take your own line. You will have to
contend against the allurements of pleasure and dissipation, and you
have just reached the age when the natural passions and appetites become
most impatient of restraint. At the same time, you will be exposed to
the influence both of the example and of the solicitations of lively
young men, who will try to carry you along with them in their career of
thoughtlessness and folly, and who will think it strange, and _show_ you
that they think it strange, if you run not with them to the same excess
of riot. Against all these moral trials and temptations, your best
safeguard will be found in a strong sense of religion, kept habitually
present to your mind. You must endeavour, according to the language of
Scripture--(and in writing to you I shall always gladly make use of the
very words of Scripture, when they suit my purpose, as having a force
and an authority which no other words can possess)--you must endeavour
to _set the Lord always before you_. Never for a moment forget that you
are continually in the presence of that awful Being, who can, and who
will, call you to a strict account for all that you do amiss. Nothing
can excuse your forgetting Him.
If you at all believe in a Supreme Being, the Creator and Governor of
the world; if you believe that God is, and that he is a rewarder of them
that diligently seek him, and at the same time an avenger to execute
wrath upon every soul that doeth evil, the least particle of common
sense or common feeling will tell you, that nothing should be put in
competition with his will. When his will is clear, it _must_ be obeyed
without hesitation. I am sure that you will assent to this. If religion
is any thing, it is _every thing_. It is, indeed, the one thing needful,
in comparison with which every thing else sinks into insignificance,
into nothingness.
Endeavour, then, to keep up in your mind and heart this habitual sense
of religion by every means in your power. It will require from you
considerable care and attention. The lively spirits natural to your time
of life, and the thoughtless levity of some of the young men into whose
society you will be thrown, will have a tendency to make you think less
of religion, if not to induce you entirely to forget it. Be ever on your
guard against thus swerving from your allegiance to your Creator.
Nothing will contribute more to preserve you from this danger than
regularity and earnestness in your private devotions. When you rise in
the morning, seek from God spiritual strength to enable you to resist
and overcome the temptations to which you may be exposed during the day.
Every night implore his forgiveness for your many failings and
transgressions, and his protection against the dangers which surround
you. Suffer nothing to induce you to neglect private prayer.
You will of course be required every day to attend chapel. Consider
such attendance not as an irksome duty, not as a mere matter of routine
and college discipline, but try to regard it as a privilege, and to take
a real interest and pleasure in it. Acquire the habit of joining
fervently in the prayers, and of constantly deriving from the lessons
and other portions of Scripture, the doctrinal and practical instruction
which they were intended to convey. Many college chapels are furnished
with Greek Testaments and Septuagints. You will judge from experience,
whether following the lessons in the Greek assists in fixing your
attention, or whether it diverts it from the matter to the language. My
own opinion is in favour of the practice.
Make a point of giving to Sunday as much of a religious character as
you can. I am not recommending a Jewish strictness. Let Sunday be a day
of cheerfulness; but let your reading and your thoughts, as far as may
be, partake of the sacred character of the day.
The study of the Scriptures constitutes an important part of your
preparation for your degree. This study will furnish an appropriate
employment for a considerable portion of the Sunday. Always attend the
University Sermons. I recommend this not merely as a branch of
academical discipline, but as a means of religious and intellectual
improvement. The sermon will generally, I believe, be worth attending
to. The select preachers are chosen, for the most part, from the ablest
men in the University; men, several of whom are likely hereafter to fill
the highest stations in the Church. You will seldom be driven to have
recourse to the advice of the pious Nicole in his Essay, "_des moyens de
profiter de mauvais sermons_." The various modes in which different
preachers enforce or illustrate the same great truths, and the
diversities of their style and manner, may afford you matter--not of
ill-natured criticism--but of useful reflection. Some colleges require
their under-graduates to give every week in writing a summary of the
sermon which they have heard at St. Mary's. If you adopt this practice,
you will find it contribute greatly to fix your attention, and to give
you a habit of arranging and expressing your ideas with facility and
readiness. Of course, some preachers deserve this steadiness of
attention much more than others.
It is, I trust, unnecessary to remind you of the duty of receiving the
Lord's Supper, whenever it is administered in your college chapel. In
some colleges, nearly all the under-graduates partake of this ordinance;
in others, I believe, almost all neglect it: at least this was the case
formerly. In such and similar cases, you must be guided, not by common
practice, not by the example of numbers, but by what you know to be your
duty. If you feel any doubt or difficulty, frankly mention it to your
tutor. There are, I am persuaded, few tutors now in Oxford, who would
not be able and willing to assist you with their advice.
This attention to your religious duties need not be attended by any
preciseness or austerity of manner. On the contrary, I should wish you
to be at all times cheerful and good humoured, ready to take part in any
innocent gaiety. My object is to impress upon you the absolute necessity
of always putting religion in the _first place_. If you really believe
what you profess to believe, do not hesitate as to shewing it in your
conduct. Never be so weak as to be ashamed of doing what you know to be
your duty. Never be guilty of such unmanly cowardice as to be ashamed
of avowing your allegiance to your Creator and your Redeemer.
I remain,
My dear Nephew,
Your affectionate Uncle.
LETTER II.
CHOICE OF FRIENDS, AND BEHAVIOUR IN SOCIETY.
MY DEAR NEPHEW,
Among the many advantages of an University, few rank higher, both in
general estimation and in reality, than the opportunity which it affords
of forming valuable and lasting friendships. Indeed this advantage can
hardly be rated too highly. I look back to the intimacies which I
contracted at college, as among the greatest blessings of a life, which
has been eminently blessed in various ways. I still hold intercourse
with many of my Oxford friends, whose characters and attainments do
honour to the place where their education and their minds were matured.
And even the recollection of most of those, who have been removed from
this lower world, is attended with a soothing melancholy, which partakes
more of pleasure and thankfulness for having enjoyed their society, than
of pain. _The memory of the just is blessed[14:1]._
I hope, my dear nephew, that you will improve this advantage to the
utmost. In your intimacies, however, endeavour to be guided rather by
judgment than by mere fancy. Sameness of pursuits, similarity of
dispositions and inclinations generally contribute much to throw men
together; but be careful not to attach yourself to any man as a
_friend_, unless he is a man of moral worth, and of real religious
principle. Intimacy with a man who is unrestrained by religion, _must_
be attended with great danger. Your own natural appetites will
continually solicit you to forbidden indulgences, and will not be kept
in due subjection without difficulty. If their solicitations are
seconded by the example and by the conversations of an intimate
associate, your peril will be extreme. Intimacy with a man of bad
principles and immoral character, may utterly blast all your prospects
of happiness both in this world and the next.
You will of course have the greater power of _selection_, if your
general acquaintance is pretty extensive. I acknowledge, that my opinion
is rather in favour of your forming an extensive acquaintance, provided
that you never suffer it to encroach upon your time, or to lead you into
any compromise of religious principle. Going to the University
constitutes a sort of entrance into the world, an introduction to manly
life; but this advantage is lost if you seclude yourself altogether from
society. In order, however, to acquire or to retain such an
acquaintance, your manners and general demeanour must be acceptable or
popular.
One of the first requisites, in order to be thus acceptable, is the
neglect, the forgetfulness of _self_--a readiness to put _self_ in the
back-ground. Any obtrusion of self, any appearance of self-love,
self-interest, self-conceit, or self-applause, tends to expose a man to
dislike, perhaps to contempt.
One way in which this disregard, this abandonment of self, must show
itself, is real unaffected humility. Most of the external forms and
modes of modern politeness, its bows and obeisances, its professions of
respect and service, its adulations, are nothing but an affectation of
such humility, and bear witness to its value when it exists in reality.
When it does so exist, and still is free from any servility of manner,
any unworthy compliances, nothing contributes more to make a man
acceptable and popular in society. It inflicts no unnecessary wounds on
any one's pride or self-love. And, you will observe, that it is the
temper and behaviour, inculcated by the general spirit and by the
particular precepts of religion, which bids us _in honour to prefer one
another_; and says, _in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better
than himself_.
Another requisite is, a willingness to please and to be pleased. Some
men seem to think it beneath them, and a mark of littleness of mind, to
wish or to try to please any body, and wrap themselves up in a cold
superciliousness. Others seem determined never to be pleased with any
thing or any person, but are always finding fault. They have no eye
for, no perception of, merits or beauties, either external or internal,
but are keen and quick-sighted in detecting blemishes, and eloquent in
exaggerating them[20:1]. If any person's good qualities, or any work of
art or of genius is commended, they are sure to throw in some
observations calculated to depreciate and disparage them. And with
respect even to the works of Nature, and the dispensations of
Providence, they are more ready to see and to point out evils, than to
acknowledge advantages. This temper--this habit of disparagement--is
certainly very unamiable; and justly offensive, not only to those who
are run down by it as its immediate objects, but to all who witness it.
A man who consults his own comfort, or the comfort of those with whom he
associates, should be disposed to make the best of every thing. I would
by no means wish him in the slightest degree to compromise truth, or to
make the remotest approach to flattery; but I would have him see every
thing in the most favourable point of view, and disposed to pursue and
to dwell upon what is good rather than upon what is bad. Too much of
that which is bad is sure to be forced upon our attention, without our
taking any pains to look out for it.
Be always on your guard against hurting the feelings, or even shocking
the prejudices, of those with whom you associate. A little observation,
and some attention to your own feelings in similar circumstances, will
soon teach you what is likely to be annoying to others. Make every
allowance for their self-love, and for attachment to their own opinions.
Never give unnecessary pain or mortification. It is _unnecessary_, when
it can be avoided without compromising the consistency of your own
character, or hazarding the interests of religion and of truth.
In short, my dear nephew, if you will study St. Paul's account of the
nature and properties of charity, and regulate your temper and your
behaviour accordingly, you will want little in order to be a perfect
gentleman, in the highest sense of the word. I will not enter upon this
account in detail, but must refer you to Fenelon's excellent book on
this subject, if it should come in your way, or even to my own
Sermon[22:1]. Give me your attention, however, for a minute or two, to a
few slight remarks upon charity--merely as it bears upon our conduct in
society.
_Charity suffereth long_--μακροθυμει--it bears patiently with other
men's defects of temper, discourteousness of behaviour, and awkwardness
of manner; and is _kind_, gentle, and obliging--χρηστευεται.
Charity envieth not--ου ζηλοι. It is free from those little jealousies,
and rivalries, and emulations, which, where they are admitted, sometimes
give sourness to the temper, and bitterness to the behaviour.
Charity _vaunteth not itself_--ου περευεται; it is not rash or over
hasty; it is not overbearing, positive, and peremptory, in language or
manner; _is not puffed up_--ου φυσιουται; is not inflated with an
opinion of its own worth or consequence; and, that being the case, it
doth not behave itself unseemly--ουκ ασχημονει; it does not treat
other men with disdain and superciliousness.
Charity _seeketh not her own_--ου ζητει τα ἑαυτης--that is, she is not
_selfish_. Charity neglects not altogether her own concerns, or her own
interests, but does not attend to them exclusively; does not _so_ attend
to them, as to be unmindful of, or inattentive to, the interests and
welfare of others.
Charity is not easily provoked--ου παροξυνεται. Nothing more
disturbs the peace and comfort of society than the being easily
provoked. When a man is touchy and waspish, he is always looking out
for, and catching at, occasions of offence.
Charity rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; it does
not take pleasure in hearing of misdoings and evil conduct, but
delights in accounts of praiseworthy actions, and in the spread of sound
religious principles.
Charity _beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things,
endureth all things_; παντα στεγει, παντα πιστευει, παντα ελπιζει, παντα
ὑπομενει.
I will not, my dear nephew, lengthen a long letter, by endeavouring to
point out the precise meaning of these expressions. You may understand
from them, that charity is patient of ill-usage; that instead of being
suspicious and disposed to cavil and carp at every thing, it is open and
ingenuous, ready to give men credit for speaking the truth, when there
is no good reason to think otherwise; and that it is disposed to hope
the best, to think as favourably as it can of those with whom it comes
in contact; and if it cannot actually think well of them at present, to
_hope_ for their amendment and reformation.
I think you will agree with me, that a man influenced by this spirit
would be an acceptable man in society, and that the best practical
Christian would be the best gentleman[26:1].
I remain,
Your affectionate Uncle.
FOOTNOTES:
[14:1] Prov. x. 7.
[20:1] See Numbers 72, 74, and 98, of the Rambler.
[22:1] See Village Sermons.
[26:1] See Jones's Letters from a Tutor to his Pupils.
LETTER III.
CONVERSATION.
MY DEAR NEPHEW,
I take it for granted, that upon first going from school to Oxford, and
entering into society different, in many respects, from any that you
have hitherto been accustomed to, you feel some of that shyness which
belongs to the character of most Englishmen. I should be sorry if you
did not. You probably feel diffident, too, of your ability to bear your
part in general conversation, and an apprehension of being, on that
account, set down as a stupid fellow. But don't be uneasy. More young
men, I am persuaded, hurt themselves by talking too much, than by
talking too little. When a fresh-man, at first starting, is quite at his
ease, and talks readily upon any subject that happens to be uppermost,
some of his companions may be amused at his coolness, but most of them
will be disgusted. If, by your look and manner, you show that you are
alive to what is said by others, and now and then throw in a remark, not
destitute of meaning, you will be more generally popular than one of
those random talkers. Men of a certain standing, qualified by their
liveliness or by their information to bear a leading part in
conversation, do not like to see an undue share of it engrossed by
others, especially by a mere youngster. They greatly prefer a good
listener to a ready talker.
Young practitioners in Doctors' Commons have, I believe, to pass through
their year of silence, before they are allowed to speak. During the
period of silence, they quietly observe, and become acquainted with, the
usages and practice of the court. Something similar to this period of
quiet observation, might not be inexpedient for a noviciate in society.
At all events, never talk for talking's sake; never speak unless you
have something to say worth attending to.
You will, I am sure, my dear nephew, take it in good part, if I point
out a few of the conversational faults, of which young men are apt to be
guilty. It is natural that we should talk most of that in which we are
most interested. Now, of all things in the world, a young man feels most
interested in _himself_. But if, in consequence of such feeling, he
ventures to talk much of himself, of his own habits, his own pursuits,
his own feelings, his own achievements, he will very soon be set down as
a bore and a conceited coxcomb. A young man naturally feels a strong
interest, an interest increased by separation, in his own immediate
family. This feeling, with some young men, is so deep, that they shun
the mention of any thing closely connected with their _home_ as a sort
of profanation, a desecration of things sacred. With others, this
feeling takes the opposite direction, and leads them--_celebrare
domestica facta_--to introduce the concerns of their own nearest
relations into the conversation of a mixed party. Take care that you
never are guilty of such a violation of good taste and correct judgment.
Interesting as your home and its inmates are to _you_, nothing can well
be less interesting to those, who are unacquainted with them. It will be
a stretch of courtesy and good-nature, if they tolerate the mention of
them without some expression either of ridicule or of distaste. If you
speak of your home-concerns at all, let it be only to one or two
intimate friends, who, from the regard which they feel for _you_, may be
supposed to take an interest in all belonging to you.
Be on your guard against getting into the habit of telling long stories:
they generally are tiresome. Many circumstances, in addition to the
feeling that you have them to tell, may give them a consequence in your
eyes, which they do not in reality possess. Lively anecdotes, or short
narratives, told with spirit, are among the most amusing ingredients in
conversation; but even with them, if you often meet the same company,
there is considerable danger of falling into repetition.
Never be guilty of falling into the too common practice of indulging in
scandal, the practice of talking of men disparagingly, of running down
their character behind their backs. I by no means wish you to flatter
any man, whether present or absent, or to speak favourably of character
or of conduct which does not deserve it. But beware of _detraction_.
Nothing is more unamiable in any man, especially in a _young_ man; and,
what is of infinitely more consequence, nothing is more opposite to the
spirit and the precepts of religion, which repeatedly enjoins us to
_speak evil of no man_. Bear in mind the advice of one of the most
sagacious and penetrating observers of human nature:--_Whether it be to
a friend or foe, talk not of other men's lives; and if thou canst,
without offence, reveal them not[34:1]._ _If thou canst without
offence_;--circumstances may require that the truth should be
revealed,--that the real truth should be spoken and made known, even
though it should be injurious,--though it should be absolutely fatal to
another man's character. But do not take pleasure in telling any thing
to another's prejudice; do not make the tearing of a character in pieces
a matter of amusement. By such conduct you would not only be guilty of a
gross violation of Christian charity, but will probably bring yourself
into many scrapes in a worldly point of view. In a mixed company, there
may chance to be some friend or connexion of him, whom you are running
down; or, at all events, what you say will be repeated,--_a bird of the
air will carry the matter_,--till it comes to the ears of the injured
person. And what will be the consequence? A feeling of aversion and
dislike, a spirit of hostility to you, will, not unnaturally, be
engendered, both in him and in such of his friends and connections as
are acquainted with the circumstance.
One of the most unwarrantable kinds or forms of detraction, is the
attributing of any man's conduct to corrupt or unworthy motives. A man's
real motives are known only to God and to himself; indeed, very often
to God _alone_, as from the deceitfulness and intricacy of the human
heart, a man himself is sometimes ignorant as to what his real motives
actually are. Certainly it is rash and presumptuous for any other man to
pretend to decide upon them, and most uncharitable and unjust to
pronounce them to be corrupt, when they are capable of a favourable
interpretation. Express your disapprobation of unworthy actions as
strongly as you please; but beware of rash and uncharitable censure, and
especially beware of the presumption of imputing to any corrupt and evil
motives.
As I have cautioned you against violating Christian charity in
conversation, so I must warn you against infringing on Christian
purity. You have arrived at a period of life, when your utmost care and
vigilance will be requisite, to keep your natural passions and appetites
within proper bounds. Indeed, all your care will be ineffectual unless
assisted by Divine grace. Do not take part in conversation which is
calculated to add to their importunity or to their strength. Thoughtless
young men, under the influence of these feelings, sometimes indulge in
_foolish talking and jesting_[37:1], of most pernicious tendency, and
most inconsistent with the Christian character. Avoid and discourage
conversation of this nature, so far as you possibly can. Do not add
fuel to a flame which already burns but too fiercely. _Fools make a mock
at sin_[38:1]; and none but _fools_ should be capable of making a joke
of temptations and vices, which in themselves are awfully serious, which
lead on to eternal ruin.
I hope you will never be so unfortunate, as to fall much into the
company of men, who make a jest of religion, or of any thing connected
with religion. Those who are bent upon following the guidance of their
own appetites, and their own wills, naturally dislike that which would
check and restrain them. They are consequently apt to become
_scoffers_, and to attempt to turn religion and its sanctions into
ridicule. Avoid the society and conversation of such men, as you would
avoid the plague. If unhappily thrown among them, discountenance them to
the utmost.
Do not indulge yourself in a habit of raillery or banter. Raillery is a
difficult thing to manage well, and very apt both to give pain to him
who is the object of it, and to reflect discredit on him who attempts
it. Sometimes you see one or two young men, of more liveliness than
sense, picking out some quiet person in company as a _butt_, at which
they may point their wit, and carrying on an attack of banter and
ridicule. This is, probably, not only annoying to him, but tiresome and
painful to all the right feeling men who chance to be present.
I am glad to join in, or to witness, a honest hearty laugh, when any
thing really calls for it. Beware, however, of the practice of laughing
when there is nothing to laugh at. Some people fall into a way of giving
the accompaniment of a laugh to almost every thing that they utter,
especially if they have any direct intention to be jocular. This habit
is disagreeable to most of those who witness it. It proceeds, I believe,
generally from a sort of shyness and awkwardness contracted in early
youth, and is, as I know from experience, difficult to get rid of. It
certainly is inconsistent with the manners and habits of good society.
Be always the last to laugh at your own jokes, or your own _good_
stories. If they are really worth laughing at, the company will find it
out, and by premature or excessive laughter you will mar their effect.
As you get on in society, you will probably often fall into discussion
and argument. When this is the case, take care not to be too positive or
peremptory in your manner. Be solicitous to allow their full weight to
the arguments of your antagonist. Do not suffer the impression of the
force and correctness of your own reasoning, to render you blind to what
is urged against you. Above all, keep your temper. If you lose your
temper, victory will be deprived of its credit, and defeat will be more
disgraceful. At the same time you will run a double chance of being
defeated, without having the wit to see, or the manliness to own it.
Believe me, my dear nephew, (to adopt the very words of one of the most
sagacious and distinguished of modern statesmen) "that the arms with
which the ill dispositions of the world are to be combated, and the
qualities by which it is to be reconciled to us, and we reconciled to
it, are moderation, gentleness, a little indulgence to others, and a
great deal of distrust of ourselves; which are not qualities of a mean
spirit, as some may possibly think them, but virtues of a great and
noble kind, and such as dignify our nature as much as they contribute to
our repose and fortune; for nothing can be so unworthy of a
well-composed soul, as to pass away life in bickerings and litigations,
in snarling and scuffling with every one about us. Again and again, my
dear,--we must be at peace with our species; if not for their sakes, yet
very much for our own[43:1]."
But my letter grows long, and I must hasten to conclude it. Read
repeatedly Cowper's lively poem on conversation, which seems to me to
have much of the spirit and accurate moral taste of Horace, with the
elevation derived from Christianity. Read, too, if you can lay your hand
on it, Bishop Horne's paper on conversation, in the Olla Podrida. In
these two essays you will find many of the sentiments which I have
expressed, only given in a much more engaging manner. In the 78th and
83d Numbers of the Idler, many common faults in conversation are exposed
with a degree of humour, in which our great moralist did not very
frequently indulge.
I remain,
My dear Nephew,
Your affectionate Uncle.
FOOTNOTES:
[34:1] Ecclus. xix. 8.
[37:1] Ephes. v. 4. and Coloss. iii. 8.
[38:1] Prov. xiv. 9.
[43:1] Prior's Life of Burke, p. 215. Second edition.
LETTER IV.
AGAINST YIELDING TO THE INFLUENCE OF NUMBERS.
MY DEAR NEPHEW,
When I advised you to fall in, so far as you reasonably can, with the
wishes and inclinations of those with whom you associate, you
understood, I trust, that compliance should never go so far, as to
involve the slightest sacrifice of truth or of principle. When carried
to this culpable extent, it becomes an instance of weak and unmanly
cowardice.
One of the greatest dangers to which young men are exposed upon their
first entrance into the world, is that which arises from their readiness
to be swayed by the example or by the persuasion of their companions.
The example, and still more the persuasion, of a single individual, is
sometimes not without difficulty resisted, and the difficulty of
resistance is greatly increased by the influence of numbers. A young man
dreads the imputation of singularity. He cannot bear to stand out
against the example, perhaps the solicitations, of those among whom he
lives. He suffers himself, therefore, to be carried along by the stream,
and led into conduct, of which, in his conscience, he utterly
disapproves.
Never, my dear nephew, do you be guilty of such weakness. Avoid
singularity, whenever it can be avoided with innocence: an affectation
of singularity for singularity's sake, generally proceeds from conceit
or self-sufficiency. But where the path of duty is clear, let no example
or persuasion induce you to swerve from it. Keep ever impressed upon
your mind the admonition of Scripture, _Thou shalt not follow a
multitude to do evil_.
Never suffer yourself to be laughed out of what is right. Never be
ashamed of adhering to what you know to be your duty. In matters of duty
keep in mind the words of Scripture, _Fear ye not the reproach of men,
neither be afraid of their revilings_. Never expose yourself to the
censure justly cast upon those who value the praise or the approbation
of men,--of giddy, thoughtless, sensual men, more than the praise of
God. Remember, my dear nephew, the solemn warning of our Lord: _If any
man shall be ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful
generation, of him shall the Son of man be ashamed when he cometh in his
glory with his holy angels_.
In your steady adherence to the dictates of conscience, you will always
find some who will respect you for it; or, even if you should stand
alone, like Abdiel, "among the faithless, the only faithful," you will
be supported by the testimony of your own heart, and by an humble
confidence in the approbation of the Almighty. One or two instances may,
probably, make my meaning more clear.
Perhaps a few joyous spirits have devised some scheme of irregular,
sensual gratification,--of Bacchanalian revelry;--or, perhaps, two or
three dunces, whose intellects and moral feelings are of such a stamp,
as to render them rather impracticable subjects for academical
discipline, have contrived some plan of impotent resistance to the
college authorities, or some plot of petty and vexatious annoyance, in
order to give vent to their mortification, when such silly resistance
has been proved to be ineffectual. Wishing for the screen or protection
of numbers, they will try to persuade their companions, that they will
be wanting in manly spirit, or in social feeling, if they refuse to join
them. And is there, after all, any thing so very _spirited_, any thing
of high-minded and noble daring in behaviour, which seeks to screen
itself by concealment and subterfuge, and which, if detected, braves,
not any personal danger or suffering, but merely the terrors of an
imposition? If the offence is so aggravated as to entail the heavier
penalty, rustication, or expulsion, such punishment inflicts, indeed,
severe grief upon the parents and friends of the offender; but he
himself, with the short-sightedness of folly, perhaps almost enjoys the
idleness and the freedom from academical restraint, to which rustication
consigns him. A young Oxonian is apt to feel very indignant if not
treated by deans and tutors, as a man and as a gentleman; but has he any
right to expect to be so treated, if he condescends to adopt the
practices of a mischievous or a truant school boy?
I am no friend to the unnecessary imposition of oaths; but, I own, I do
not see how any thing like deliberate and systematic opposition to
academical authority, can be reconciled with the oath of academical
obedience taken by every freshman. I know well that the usual
construction of that oath,--(I doubt not the legitimate
construction)--is, that the person who takes it will obey the statutes,
or submit to the penalty imposed upon the infraction of them. I am
aware, too, that the violation of the strict letter of many of the
statutes is acquiesced in, and almost sanctioned, by those in authority;
but surely a _deliberate_ and _contumacious_ contravention of the
statutes, accompanied by a natural endeavour to evade punishment, is
hardly consistent with the spirit of the oath. Certainly it is
inconsistent with the spirit of Christianity, which everywhere
inculcates a dutiful submission to the constituted authorities; a
compliance, in all things lawful, with the regulations of the place in
which we are, and of the society which has received us among its
members. No man is compelled to go to the University; but if he does go
thither, he should make up his mind to comply with its rules, during the
short period of his residence.
Perhaps, my dear nephew, you may think that I have all this time been
combating, or, rather, seeking to _lay_, a phantom of my own raising;
that I have been making mole-hills into mountains; or, like Don Quixote,
turning wind-mills into giants: but, in my long Oxford life, I have
heard of so many instances of the silly behaviour of which I have been
speaking, that I wish to put you on your guard against it. True
manliness consists in adhering to what you think to be right. In
keeping steadily to the path of duty, notwithstanding the solicitations,
or the taunts, or the ridicule of your associates, there is more proper
spirit and moral courage, than in braving the rebuke or the impositions
of a dean or a proctor.
I remain,
My dear Nephew,
Your affectionate Uncle.
LETTER V.
IMPROVEMENT OF TIME.
MY DEAR NEPHEW,
I trust that you are now hard at work. I can figure you with your
Herodotus before you, your Scapula on one side, and your maps on the
other, _setting-to_ in good earnest. You have, I am sure, fully
determined to make the most of your time. The time which you must
necessarily pass in Oxford, in order to take your bachelor's degree, is
but little after all. Your whole actual residence, during the three
years, will probably not much exceed a year and a half. Certainly, of
this _modicum_ of time you cannot afford to waste any portion. Make a
point of devoting it to real study, to real strenuous exertion. You owe
this to yourself--to your own credit and character; you owe it to your
parents, who have probably put themselves to some pecuniary
inconvenience, in order to give you the advantage of an Oxford
education; you owe it to God, to whom you are responsible for the
employment of your time, as well as for the proper use of your other
talents. Fix in your mind and memory the lesson taught you by the
sun-dial in the Quadrangle at All Souls--"_Pereunt et imputantur_;" or
that of another similar monitor--"_Ab hoc momento pendet æternitas_."
Take time for exercise; take time for relaxation; but make steady
reading your object and your business. Do not be so weak, or so unmanly,
or so vain, as to be ashamed of being known to read. You went to Oxford
on purpose to study; why should you be ashamed of keeping that purpose
in view?
In the choice of your studies, be guided implicitly by the advice of
your tutor. Very likely you may not see the use of some branches of
science, or of reading some particular books. But do not fancy that in
such matters you are wiser than older men, who have maturely considered
these things again and again. If you mean to be your own guide and your
own teacher, you had better have staid away from Oxford altogether. It
is one great advantage of academical education, that a definite course
of reading is marked out for you. When a young man,--indeed, when _any_
man,--is left entirely to his own choice, he is apt to be distracted by
the many different branches of study, the many different books, which
present themselves, and to fall into a habit of desultory reading,
productive of little lasting benefit. You are saved from this
distraction and perplexity, throwing upon other shoulders the trouble
and responsibility of making a proper choice.
I believe almost every tutor now in Oxford, will direct his pupils to
devote a certain portion of their time to the highest of all
studies--the study of religion. Some knowledge of religion is absolutely
indispensable, in order to pass your examination for your degree. But
independently of all academical objects, you cannot help feeling
satisfied that time so employed, is employed well and wisely. Such
study, with the blessing of God upon it, will be beneficial to you
through the whole of your future existence, both in this world and the
next.
Among the many advantages of an university education, must be reckoned
the opportunity of attending public lectures, such lectures especially,
as are illustrated, by an expensive philosophical apparatus, or by the
inspection of actual specimens. The experiments conducted by means of
such apparatus, and the handing round of specimens, are not only
absolutely essential, oftentimes, to the comprehension of the science to
which they belong, but contribute powerfully to fix it in the memory. If
you can spare the time from your severer studies, and if your tutor does
not disapprove, I should strongly advise you to attend in succession the
lectures on natural philosophy,--on chemistry,--on mineralogy,--and on
geology. Some acquaintance with these sciences, is in itself so
interesting and useful, and is now so general, that you ought not, I
think, to miss your present opportunity of acquiring it: so favourable
an opportunity you will hardly meet with again.
Much may be done by a judicious distribution of your time. When you have
made such a distribution, keep to it steadily. Be peremptory with
yourself in adhering to it, and be peremptory in preventing others from
encroaching upon it,--from encroaching upon it, at least, unnecessarily.
I suppose that, upon the average, you may get four or five hours' steady
reading before dinner, and three or four after. This will leave you
abundant time for exercise, for relaxation, and for society. Certainly
it will not spare you any for mere _lounging_; either for lounging
yourself, or being lounged upon by others. If you cannot avoid the
latter by any other means, you will be reduced to the alternative of
shutting your door, or, if that term is still in use, of _sporting oak_
against them. If they reproach you, set them, as their punishment, to
read the paper in the Idler on the robbery of time[62:1].
Either of your time, or of your money, waste as little as possible upon
newspapers. I admit, that of all periods of history, the time in which
we actually live is, _to us_, the most interesting. I admit that, both
with a view to your taking part in the conversation of general society,
as well as upon other accounts, some knowledge of passing events is
desirable, or even necessary. For such purposes, a rapid glance at the
newspaper, or even what is picked up by hearsay, will, generally
speaking, be sufficient. While reading for your degree, however, you
really cannot spare time to read the newspapers _through_. The most
important portions of them are, perhaps, the debates during the session
of parliament, and the trials. Of the debates, a considerable part is
very trifling and unprofitable; and, in order to read with real
advantage those speeches which are most deserving of attention, it is
necessary to be possessed of a considerable portion of that knowledge of
history, of legislation, of political economy, of mercantile and
financial transactions, the _foundations_ of which you are at Oxford
engaged in laying. It is not to be wished that an under-graduate should
affect to be an experienced politician, prepared to give a strong and
decided opinion upon subjects, upon which able and experienced men,
possessed of ten times his knowledge, find a difficulty in making up
their mind. In the reports of trials, many curious facts, and much
interesting information are to be found. In order to understand many of
them, however, it is requisite to have a more intimate acquaintance with
the rules of English jurisprudence, and with the practice of the courts,
than can be expected in a young man as yet hardly set free from the
eggshell of school. Upon the subject of newspapers, however, I will say
no more. I well know, that in merely touching upon it, I tread upon
delicate and debateable ground.
Take sufficient time for relaxation; but let your relaxations, as far as
you can, be intellectual and improving.
Oxford now presents opportunities, both of acquiring some knowledge of
natural history, and of cultivating a taste in the fine arts, which it
by no means possessed when I was an under-graduate. For these we are
principally indebted to those two admirable brothers[66:1], who have so
long devoted their time, their money, their distinguished talents, and
their various attainments, in the first place, to plans of beneficence,
and in the next, to the advancement of science and the cultivation of
taste. It is to them that we owe the enlargement, the arrangement, and
in fact the greater part of the contents, of the Museum, which now
contains a very interesting collection of specimens, particularly in
British ornithology. To them we are indebted for the excellent casts (in
the Radcliffe Library) from the most perfect specimens of sculpture, and
for the beautiful models (in the Picture Gallery) of the most celebrated
remains of ancient architecture. The Picture Gallery itself contains
many paintings, which, if not of any great excellence as works of art,
yet are well deserving of attention on very many accounts; and the
copies from the Cartoons, especially if you can be assisted with a few
hints from Richardson or Sir Joshua Reynolds, are most interesting
objects of study and contemplation. I am surprised that the young men in
Oxford make so little use of these advantages. Many of them seem hardly
to be aware of their existence.
Among other modes of relaxation, not unconnected with intellectual
improvement, I should advise you to make yourself a little acquainted
with our early English architecture. If you can buy or borrow either
Bentham's Essay on Gothic Architecture, or Milner's accurate and elegant
Treatise on the Ecclesiastical Architecture of England during the middle
ages, you will need no other assistance, excepting, indeed, a friend
disposed to go along with you in this pursuit. Oxford and its immediate
neighbourhood will furnish you with many interesting specimens from the
Saxon and Norman, in the cathedral, St. Peter's in the East, and Iffley
church, down to the utter depravation of the art, or rather the total
change of style, in the time of Henry the Eighth.
These interesting pursuits, however, I mention, as you must follow them,
if you follow them at all, merely _by the by_. They must not be suffered
to interfere with your severer studies. When engaged in those studies,
give them your whole undivided attention. _Whatsoever your hand, or your
head, findeth to do, do it with all your might._
The habits of study and of intellectual improvement, which you acquire
at Oxford, you should carry with you into the vacation. During the
vacation, you may, perhaps, take more time for society--the society
especially of your own immediate family--and more for relaxation; but
still do not _waste_ your time; still consider yourself as responsible
for the right employment of it. Make sure of the ground which you gained
during the term, by going over by yourself, what you then read with your
tutor. Improve your acquaintance with the standard writers of our own
country, and acquire some knowledge of modern history. In short, make
the most of your leisure. Read Bishop Home's sermon on redeeming the
time, and the papers in the Spectator and the Rambler to which he
refers. Read, _and learn by heart_, what is said on the loss of time in
the second of Young's Night Thoughts:
"Part with it as with money, sparing; pay
No moment but in purchase of its worth."
But my letter grows long, and (you will say) tedious.
I remain,
My dear Nephew,
Your affectionate Uncle.
FOOTNOTES:
[62:1] Vol. I. No. 14.
[66:1] John Duncan, Esq. and Philip Duncan, Esq. of New College.
LETTER VI.
PUNCTUALITY.
MY DEAR NEPHEW,
I ventured to give you some advice respecting the employment of your
time; perhaps I ought to follow up that letter with a few remarks upon
PUNCTUALITY. Unless you acquire the habit of punctuality, you will be
apt, not only to lose your own time, but to make unjustifiable inroads
upon the time of other persons.
Endeavour, therefore, to _keep to your time_ in every appointment,
whether the appointment be made by yourself or by others, (the college
authorities for instance,) whether it be with a superior, an equal, or
an inferior. Whether it be in a matter of business or in a matter of
pleasure, try always to be true to it. Let this be your system and your
habit. Some deviations from punctuality may now and then be unavoidable;
but do not let them occur unless they _really are_ unavoidable in
fairness and reason. If you have yourself made an appointment, your word
is, to a certain degree, pledged to your keeping to it. The case is in
some measure the same, when, though the appointment is actually made by
others, you have acceded to it.