superfluities of garniture and equipage. The flowers will fall of
themselves when the root that nourishes them is destroyed. We have
nothing of which we should be vain, but much to induce humility. If we
have any good qualities they are the gift of God. Let every one guard
against this all-pervading principle, and teach their children that it
is the shadow of a shade.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: SELFISHNESS.]
[Illustration]
There is nothing in the world so malignant and destructive in its nature
and tendency as selfishness. It has done all the mischief of the past,
and is destined to do all the mischief of the unseen future. It has
destroyed the temporal and eternal interests of millions in times past,
and it is morally certain that it will destroy the interests of millions
yet to come. It is the source of all the sins of omission and commission
which are found in the world. We shall not see a wrong take place but
that the actor is moved by his own private, personal, and selfish
nature.
Selfishness is a vice utterly at variance with the happiness of him who
harbors it, for the selfish man suffers more from his selfishness than
he from whom that selfishness withholds some important benefit. He that
sympathizes in all the happiness of others perhaps himself enjoys the
safest happiness, and he who is warned by all the folly of others has
perhaps attained the soundest wisdom. But such is the blindness and
suicidal selfishness of mankind that things so desirable are seldom
pursued, things so accessible seldom attained. The selfish person lives
as if the world were made altogether for him, and not he for the world;
to take in every thing, and part with nothing.
Selfishness contracts and narrows our benevolence, and causes us, like
serpents, to infold ourselves within ourselves, and to turn out our
stings to all the world besides. As frost to the bud and blight to the
blossom, even such is self-interest to friendship, for confidence can
not dwell where selfishness is porter at the gate. The essence of true
nobility is neglect of self. Let the thought of self pass in, and the
beauty of a great action is gone, like the bloom from a soiled flower.
Selfishness is the bane of all life. It can not enter into any
life—individual, family, or social—without cursing it. It maintains
its ground by tenacity and contention, and engenders strife and discord
where all before was peace and harmony.
Few sins in the world are punished more constantly or more certainly
than that of selfishness. It dwarfs all the better nature of man. It
takes from him that feeling of kindly sympathy for others' good, which
is one of the most pleasing traits of manhood, and in its stead sets up
self as the one whose good is to be chiefly sought. It makes self the
vortex instead of the fountain, so that, instead of throwing out, he
learns only to draw in. These withering effects are to be seen not only
in the high roads and public places of life, but in the nooks and
by-lanes as well. Not alone among conquerors and kings, but among the
humble and obscure; in the dissembling artifices of trade; in the
unsanctified lust of wealth; in the devoted pursuit of station and
power; confederated with the worst feelings and most depraved designs.
In proportion as we contract and curtail our feelings, so do we confine
and limit our minds. If all our thoughts, plans, and purposes tend only
to the advancement of self, we may be sure they will become as
insignificant as their object, and instead of embracing in their scope
the welfare of many, rendering us an object of endearment to others,
they will become dwarfed and conceited, and fall far short of the
liberality and public spirit by which we attach others to our cause.
Unselfish and noble acts are the most radiant epochs in the history of
souls, points from which we date a larger growth of thought and feeling.
When wrought in earliest youth, they lie in the memory of age, like the
coral islands, green and sunny, waving with the fruits of a southern
clime amidst the melancholy waste of water.
The vice of selfishness displays itself in many ways. In an extreme form
it is termed avarice, and shows itself in an insatiable desire to gather
wealth. As heat changes the hitherto brittle metal into the elastic,
yielding, yet deadly Damascus blade, so, when the demon of avarice finds
lodgment in the heart of man, it changes all his better nature. It may
find him delighting to do good and relieving the wants of others; it
leaves him one whose whole energy and power are turned to the
advancement of self alone. This is the grand center to which all his
efforts tend. There is no length to which an avaricious man will not go
in his mad career. In order that wealth may be his he will run almost
any risks, stand any privation, and will sacrifice not only his own
comfort and happiness, but that also of his friends and associates, or
even of his own family circle. His mind is never expanded beyond the
circumference of the almighty dollar. He thinks not of his immortal
soul, his accountability to God, or of his final destiny. Selfishness in
its worst form has complete possession of his heart. It is the ruling
principle of his life. One strange feature about this form of
selfishness is that it ultimately defeats its own ends. Its possessor is
an Ishmael in the community. He passes to the grave without tasting the
sweets of friendship or the comforts of life. Striving for wealth in
order that he may have wherewith to procure happiness, he ends with the
sacrifice of all the means of enjoyment in order that he may augment his
wealth more rapidly.
The closing hours of a life of selfishness must be clouded with many
painful thoughts. Chances for doing good passed unimproved. In order
that some slight personal advantage might be gained kindly feelings were
suppressed. The heart, which was intended to beat with compassion for
others, has become contracted to a narrow circle, and life, that
inestimable gift of Providence, instead of drawing to its close a
rounded and complete whole, has been stinted and dwarfed, and passes on
to the other world but illy prepared for the great changes wrought by
the hand of death.
[Illustration: OBSTINACY.]
[Illustration]
Obstinacy and contention are common qualities, most appearing in and
best becoming a mean and illiterate soul. They arise not so much from a
conscious defect of voluntary power, as foolhardiness is not seldom the
disguise of conscious timidity. Obstinacy must not be confounded with
perseverance; for obstinacy presumptuously declines to listen to reason,
but perseverance only continues its exertion while satisfied that good
judgment sustains its course. There are few things more singular than
that obstinacy which, in matters of the highest importance to ourselves,
often prevents us from acknowledging the truth that is perfectly plain
to all.
There is something in obstinacy which differs from every other passion.
Whenever it fails it never recovers, but either breaks like iron or
crumbles sulkily away like a fractured arch. Most other passions have
their periods of fatigue and rest, their suffering and their care; but
obstinacy has no resources, and the first wound is mortal. Narrowness of
mind is often the cause of obstinacy; we do not easily believe beyond
what we see. Hence it is that the more extensive one's knowledge of
mankind becomes, the less inclined is he to the vice of obstinacy; and
an obstinate disposition, instead of denoting a mind of superior
ability, always denotes a dwarfed, ignorant, and selfish disposition. An
obstinate, ungovernable self-sufficiency plainly points out to us that
state of imperfect maturity at which the graceful levity of youth is
lost and the solidity of experience not yet acquired.
Obstinacy is not only a result of a narrow, illiberal judgment, but it
is a barrier to all improvements. It casts the mind in a mold, and as
utterly prevents it from expanding as though it were a material
substance encased in iron. A stubborn mind conduces as little to wisdom,
or even to knowledge, as a stubborn temper to happiness. Whosoever
perversely resolves to adhere to plans or opinions, be they right or be
they wrong, because they have adopted them, raises an impassable bar to
information. The wiser we are the more we are aware of the extent of our
ignorance. Those who have but just entered the vestibule of the temple
of knowledge invariably feel themselves much wiser than those who meekly
worship in the inner sanctuary. Positiveness is much more apt to
accompany the statement of the superficial observer than him whose
experience has been vast and profound. Sir Isaac Newton, who might have
spoken with authority, felt as a child on the shore of the great sea of
human knowledge. Doubtless many of his followers feel as though far out
on the tossing waves; for they act as if their opinion could by no
possibility be wrong.
Sometimes obstinacy is confounded with firmness, and under this misnomer
is practiced as a virtue. But the line between obstinacy and firmness is
strong and decisive. Firmness of purpose is one of the most necessary
sinews of character, and one of the best instruments of success. Without
it, genius wastes its efforts in a maze of inconsistencies. Firmness,
while not suffering itself to be easily driven from its course,
recognizes the fact that it is only perfection that is immutable, but
that for things imperfect change is the way to perfect them. It gets the
name of obstinacy when it will not admit of a change for the better.
Firmness without knowledge can not be always good. In things ill it is
not virtue, but an absolute vice. It is a noble quality; but unguided by
knowledge or humility, it falls into obstinacy, and so loses the traits
whereby we before admired it.
Society is often dragged down to low standards by two or three who
propose, in every case, to fight every thing and every idea of which
they are not the instigators. There is nothing harder for a man with a
strong will than to make up his mind not always to have his own way; to
submit, in many cases, rather than to quarrel with his neighbors. One
must certainly make up his mind to lose much of happiness who is not
willing to give way at times to the wishes of others. We must learn to
turn sharp corners quietly, or we shall be constantly hurting ourselves.
But we must not, in decrying obstinacy, overlook the fact that, while it
certainly is a great vice and frequently the cause of great mischief,
yet it has closely allied with it the whole line of masculine virtues,
constancy, fidelity, and fortitude, and that in their excess all the
virtues easily fall into it. Yet it is ever easy to determine the line
of demarkation where these virtues end and obstinacy begins. The
smallest share of common sense will suffice to detect it, and there is
little doubt that few people pass this boundary without being conscious
of the fault. The business of constancy chiefly is bravely to stand by
and stoutly to suffer those inconveniences which are not otherwise
possible to be avoided. But constancy does not adhere to an opinion
merely for the sake of having its own way, wherein it differs from
obstinacy.
There are situations in which the proper opinions and modes of action
are not evident. In such cases we must maturely reflect ere we decide;
we must seek for the opinions of those wiser and better acquainted with
the subject than ourselves; we must candidly hear all that can be said
on both sides; then, and then only, can we in such cases hope to
determine wisely. But the decision once so deliberately adopted we must
firmly sustain, and never yield but to the most unbiased conviction of
our former errors. But when such conviction is secured, it is the part
of true manliness to acknowledge it, and of true wisdom to make the
required change. There is no principle of constancy or of perseverance
or of fortitude that requires us to continue in our former course when
convinced that it is wrong.
[Illustration: SLANDER.]
[Illustration]
There is nothing which wings its flight so swiftly as calumny; nothing
which is uttered with more ease; nothing which is listened to with more
readiness, or dispersed more widely. Slander soaks into the mind as
water soaks into low and marshy places, where it becomes stagnant and
offensive. Slander is like the Greek fire, which burned unquenched
beneath the water; or, like the weeds which, when you have extirpated
them in one place, are sprouting vigorously in another; or, it is like
the wheel which catches fire as it goes, and burns with fiercer
conflagration as its own speed increases.
The tongue of slander is never tired; in one form or another it manages
to keep itself in constant employment. Sometimes it drips honey and
sometimes gall. It is bitter now, and then sweet. It insinuates or
assails directly, according to circumstances. It will hide a curse under
a smooth word and administer poison in the phrases of love. Like death,
it "loves a shining mark," and is never so available and eloquent as
when it can blight the hopes of the noble-minded, soil the reputation of
the pure, and break down or destroy the character of the brave and
strong.
No soul of high estate can take delight in slander. It indicates lapse,
tendency toward chaos, utter depravity. It proves that somewhere in the
soul there is a weakness—a waste, evil nature. Education and refinement
are no proof against it. They often serve only to polish the slanderous
tongue, increase its tact, and give it suppleness and strategy.
He that shoots at the stars may hurt himself, but not endanger them.
When any man speaks ill of us we are to make use of it as a caution,
without troubling ourselves at the calumny. He is in a wretched case
that values himself upon the opinions of others, and depends upon their
judgment for the peace of his life. The contempt of injurious words
stifles them, but resentment revives them. He that values himself upon
conscience, not opinion, never heeds reproaches. When ill-spoken of take
it thus: If you have not deserved it you are none the worse; if you
have, then mend. Flee home to your own conscience, and examine your own
heart. If you are guilty it is a just correction; if not guilty it is a
fair instruction; make use of both; so shall you distill honey out of
gall, and out of an open enemy create a secret friend.
That man who attempts to bring down and depreciate those who are above
him does not thereby elevate himself. He rather sinks himself, while
those whom he traduces are benefited rather than injured by the slander
of one so base as he. He who indulges in slander is like one who throws
ashes to the windward, which come back to the same place and cover him
all over. To be continually subject to the breath of slander will
tarnish the purest virtue as a constant exposure to the atmosphere will
obscure the luster of the finest gold; but in either the real value of
both continues the same, although the currency may be somewhat impeded.
Dirt on the character, if unjustly thrown, like dirt on the clothes,
should be let alone awhile until it dries, and then it will rub off
easily enough. Slander, like other poisons, when administered in very
heavy doses, is often thrown off by the intended victim, and thus
relieves where it was meant to kill. Dirt sometimes acts like fuller's
earth—defiling for the moment, but purifying in the end.
How small a matter will start a slanderous report! How frequently is the
honesty and integrity of a man disposed of by a smile or a shrug! How
many good and generous actions have been sunk in oblivion by a
distrustful look, or stamped with the imputation of proceeding from bad
motives by a mysterious and seasonable whisper! A mere hint, a
significant look, a mysterious countenance, directing attention to a
particular person, is often amply sufficient to start the tongue of
slander.
Never does a man portray his own character more vividly than in his
manner of portraying another's. There is something unsound about the man
whom you have never heard say a good word about any mortal, but who can
say much of evil of nearly all he is acquainted with. Never speak evil
of another, even with a cause. Remember we all have our faults, and if
we expect charity from the world we must be charitable ourselves. Most
persons have visible faults, and most are sometimes inconsistent; upon
these faults and mistakes petty scandal delights to feast. And even
where free from external blemishes envy and jealousy can start the
bloodhound of suspicion—create a noise that will attract attention, and
many may be led to suppose there is game where there is nothing but thin
air.
A word once spoken can never be recalled; therefore it is prudent to
think twice before we speak, especially when ill is the burden of our
talk. Give no heed to an infamous story handed you by a person known to
be an enemy to the one he is defaming; neither condemn your neighbor
unheard, for there are always two sides of a story. Hear no ill of a
friend, nor speak any of an enemy. Believe not all you hear, nor report
all you believe. Be cautious in believing ill of others, and more
cautious in reporting it.
There is seldom any thing uttered in malice which returns not to the
heart of the speaker. Believe nothing against another but on good
authority, nor report what may hurt another, unless it be a greater hurt
to others to conceal it. It is a sign of bad reputation to take pleasure
in hearing ill of our neighbors. He who sells his neighbor's credit at a
low rate makes the market for another to buy his at the same rate. He
that indulges himself in calumniating or ridiculing the absent plainly
shows his company what they may expect from him after he leaves them.
Deal tenderly with the absent. Say nothing to inflict a wound on their
reputation. They may be wrong and wicked, yet your knowledge of it does
not oblige you to disclose their character, except to save others from
injury. Then do it in a way that bespeaks a spirit of kindness for the
absent offender. Evil reports are often the results of misunderstanding
or of evil designs, or they proceed from an exaggerated or partial
disclosure of facts. Wait, learn the whole story before you decide; then
believe what the evidence compels you to, and no more. But even then
take heed not to indulge the least unkindness, else you dissipate all
the spirit of prayer for them, and unnerve yourself for doing them good.
On many a mind and many a heart there are sad inscriptions deeply
engraved by the tongue of slander, which no effort can erase. They are
more durable than the impression of the diamond on the glass, for the
inscription on the glass may be destroyed by a blow, but the impression
on the heart will last forever. Let not the sting of calumny sink too
deeply in your soul. He who is never subject to slander is generally of
too little mental account to be worthy of it. Remember that it is always
the best fruits that the birds pick at, that wasps light on the finest
flowers, and that slanderers are like flies, that overlook all a man's
good parts in order to light upon his sores. Know that slander is not
long-lived, provided that your conduct does not justify them, and that
truth, the child of time, erelong will appear to vindicate thee.
[Illustration: IRRITABILITY.]
[Illustration]
Few characteristics are more unfortunate in their effects on the
character of their possessor than irritability, few more repulsive and
annoying to those with whom circumstances bring him in contact.
Irritable people are always unjust, always exacting, always
dissatisfied. They claim every thing of others, yet receive their best
efforts with petulance and disdain. This habit has an unfortunate
tendency of growth, until it renders a person wholly incapable of
conferring happiness upon others. As the morning fog renders the most
familiar objects uncouth in appearance, so it distorts the imagination
and disorders the mental faculties, so that truth can not be
distinguished from falsehood or friendship from enmity.
It is one great spring-source of envy and discontent, poisoning the
fountain of life; it is a moral Upas-tree, scattering ruin and
desolation on every side. Its origin is not difficult to trace; activity
and energy are its correctives. Those who habitually occupy their minds
about things serviceable to others and to themselves are seldom peevish
or irritable; but those whose powers are enervated by inertia, whose
mental pabulum is fiction generated in a disordered fancy, become
misanthropic or grumblers, and speedily give way to incessant
fault-finding, as annoying as it is unjust. Did irritable people know or
could they feel the effect of their conduct upon others, they would
doubtless seek to refrain from the habit; but the possessor of such a
turn of mind is as selfish as he is unjust, and cares for no one but
himself. For others he cares nothing. While he claims the greatest
deference for himself, he will not defer to the wishes of others in the
slightest degree.
The personal sin of fretting is almost as extensive as any other evil,
and if not universal, it is at least very general. It is as vain and
useless a habit as any one can harbor. It is a direct violation of the
law of God, and its direful effects are fearful to contemplate. Nothing
so warps a man's nature, sours his disposition, and, sooner or later,
breaks up the friendly relationship of the domestic circle. It is sinful
in its beginning, sinful in its progress, and disastrous in its results.
Such a spirit in the family, in the school or Church is sure to become
contagious, and result in great injury.
A fretting, irritable disposition will not fail of finding frequent
opportunities for indulgence. It is not particular as to time, place, or
cause. Occasions literally multiply as the habit increases in strength.
Nothing seems to go right with its possessor. Instead of conquering
circumstances they control and conquer him. Fretting weakens one's
self-respect, dissipates the regards of others, and breaks asunder the
bonds of affection. If a scolder should, through deception and ignorance
of his true character, be for a time loved, still the canker is there,
the mine is sapped, and, sooner or later, the affections will be
sundered. Such a habit too frequently indulged in has drawn the best of
husbands into dissipation, rendered the most affectionate of wives
miserable, and estranged members of the same family circle. It ruins all
the relationships of life, it is a most pernicious disposition, a
dreadful inheritance.
It is ever the disposition of human nature to pattern more easily after
the evils by which we are surrounded than the good. There is also an
unfortunate disposition on our part to criticise the faults of those
around us which displease us. Did we always do this in a spirit of true
kindness it were well; but a confirmed grumbler is at heart so
thoroughly selfish that the spirit of charity is utterly foreign to his
complaints. Instead of earnest endeavor to discover and pattern after
the perfection of those by whom they are surrounded, they seem bent only
on learning the faults of others, and to take positive pleasure in
making them public. Such a spirit only displays our own weakness; it
shows to all keen observers that we have not patience enough to bear
with our neighbor's weakness. It defeats its own ends, and instead of
exposing the faults of our neighbors, serves only to call attention to
our own irritable, peevish, unlovable disposition.