Such are some of the numerous passages of Scripture which plainly

_require_ and _encourage_ prayer. Can any one who reads and believes the

Bible, doubt for a moment, that it is equally his _duty_ and his

_privilege_ to go daily to the throne of grace to supplicate for all the

temporal or spiritual good which he needs? I hope, my dear children,

you will not be disposed to say, notwithstanding such express and

positive declarations of God's word, in the language of profane

objectors of old--"Wherefore should we seek after God? Does he need to

be informed of our wants? Can we, by importunity, alter his purposes?

Where is, then, the advantage of asking for what we need? What profit

shall we have if we pray unto him?" If you should ever be tempted to ask

such a question, I would answer--"Much every way." God has connected our

asking for blessings with receiving them. He has promised to hear and

answer prayer. He has condescended to say, that he will regard with all

the tenderness of a parent's heart, the cries of his children. He has

said in his word, "Ye have not, because ye ask not." This is enough. But

it is not all that is worthy of our attention. Prayer is not intended to

inform God, but to benefit ourselves. It tends to remind us of our

dependence and unworthiness; to impress our hearts with a deeper sense

of the divine goodness and mercy; and to beget in our minds that humble,

grateful, tender sense of our own weakness, and of our obligation to the

Author of all good, which constitute the best preparation for receiving

the gracious gifts of our heavenly Parent.

While your precious, lamented Mother was alive, what a privilege did you

consider it to be allowed to go to her in all your troubles, and to

make known to her all your desires! How much greater the privilege to be

allowed every hour free access to your Father in heaven, with all your

anxieties and distresses, to pour out all your wants and wishes, your

hopes and fears into the bosom of an Almighty Friend, who is ever able

and ready to help!

Since, then, dear children, there are so many reasons prompting you to

prayer; since you are always weak, always dependant, always unworthy,

and always in need, can you doubt that it is your duty and your interest

to abound in prayer? Let me entreat you, therefore, never to suffer a

day to pass without engaging in this delightful and most reasonable

exercise. Set apart fixed times for the purpose, that you may form such

_habits_ as will aid your memory, and prevent your neglecting it. Retire

as soon as you can, after rising in the morning, to return thanks for

the mercies of the night, and to implore the protection, the guidance,

and the blessing of your heavenly Father, through the day. And in the

evening, before drowsiness overtakes you, retire again, to praise him

for the mercies of the day, and to ask for his guardianship during the

night watches. But are these the only subjects of prayer? Far from it.

They are numerous as the moments you live, and various as the objects

which you are called to contemplate. Pray in the morning, that God would

keep you from all evil in body or soul, through the day; that he would

create in you a clean heart, and renew within you a right spirit; that

he would guard your speech and behaviour at all times, and in every

situation; that he would enable you to mortify and subdue every sinful

affection, and to overcome every improper habit; that he would deliver

you from sloth, and pride, and vanity, and malice, and envy, and every

evil temper; that he would enable you to treat all around you in a

dutiful and becoming manner; in a word, that he would enable you to

spend the day in a manner profitable to yourselves, and to the benefit

of all around you. And in the evening pray, that he would pardon all the

deficiencies and infirmities of the preceding day; that he would make

you grateful for all the favours of his merciful Providence; that he

would watch over you during the hours of darkness and repose; and bring

you to the light of another day in health, in the exercise of your

reason, and in the enjoyment of his favour and love.

And while you thus pray daily for yourselves, it is your privilege and

duty to include in your petitions all with whom you are connected in the

various relations of life. You ought to pray continually for your

beloved _father_, who is engaged in such important labour for the

Church, and who loves you with an affection and solicitude which you can

never repay; for your _grandparents_, who are daily praying for you, and

who are falling more and more under the infirmities of age; for _one

another_, that you may be guided and blessed amidst all the temptations

and dangers of youth; for your _teachers_; for your _school-mates_; for

the _poor children_ around you, who have none of the advantages of

instruction and restraint which you enjoy; for your _friends_, and

_neighbours_, and all with whom you are acquainted. O, my dear children,

if you prayed as you ought every day for all these, how much happier

would you be! What a benign influence it would have on your whole temper

and conduct! It would make you kind, tender hearted, and forgiving

toward all with whom you conversed; and make all of them, in their turn,

love you as a friend and benefactor.

Let me make, on this subject, one more suggestion. Most people,

especially most young people, have no idea of engaging in prayer unless

at particular times when they retire for the purpose. I wish you all,

dear children, besides your stated seasons of prayer, morning and

evening, to form the habit of lifting up your thoughts and your desires

to God in any and every situation; when walking by the way; when

surrounded with company; when met by any call of duty, or by any

circumstance of a doubtful aspect, or perplexing character--be in the

habit of silently but devoutly looking up to God for wisdom and strength

to perform every duty. This kind of intercourse with God may be carried

on at all times, and in all situations; and, I will add, was never

sincerely adopted by any one without being connected with guidance and

consolations of unspeakable value. In this way the suggestion of the

apostle in writing to Timothy will be realized, that "_every thing_ be

sanctified by the word of God, and prayer."

LETTER VI.

CULTIVATION OF THE MIND.

DEAR CHILDREN:--That every human being is bound to cultivate, in the

best manner, the intellectual powers which God has given him, I hope you

will take for granted, anterior to all argument; and, although the moral

aspects of education are the most vitally important, yet as no one can

be a moral agent without some degree of intellect; so it may be said,

that the wisest and best culture even of our moral powers, depends more

on the discipline, the enlargement, and the furniture of the intellect,

than is commonly supposed.

The cultivation of the mind comprises two things, and two only, viz:

giving it proper habits of exercise, and filling it with useful

knowledge. The case is precisely similar with regard to the _body_. The

sum total of all that we are called to do for the benefit of the body,

is to secure its strength by constant and wholesome action or exercise,

and to furnish it with appropriate nourishment. On the one hand, were

its _exercise_ ever so abundant, if left without aliment, it would

speedily sink into weakness and death; and, on the other, if its aliment

be ever so plentiful and rich, yet if it be left wholly without

_exercise_, it will soon become a mass of disease and corruption.

Precisely so is it in the cultivation of the mind. Exercise and aliment

are equally indispensable, and must go together. If the mind be not

taught to think, and to feel an appetite for intellectual provision, all

the knowledge in the world, if introduced into it, would be of little

use. But, if it be taught only to think and feel, and be furnished with

none of the appropriate aliment of knowledge, it cannot grow either in

strength, or in a capacity to act its part in the world with dignity or

usefulness.

As these principles lie at the foundation of all intellectual culture,

so they are also adapted to instruct us with regard to the wisest and

best means of conducting that culture, with regard to the departments of

knowledge most worthy of being studied, and the relative stress which

ought to be laid on different pursuits. If you would be trained up

merely to be splendid butterflies, to shine and to please the

superficial and the empty, for a day, and, having done this, to die like

senseless insects; why, then, a corresponding plan of culture must be

adopted. But, if you wish to be regarded as rational creatures; to be

prepared for sober thought and action; to "serve your generation by the

will of God;" to die in peace, and to be remembered with love and

veneration when you are gone, then it is perfectly manifest a very

different method of training is indispensable.

I trust you will not hesitate a moment in deciding which of these

courses you ought to choose. I trust the way of practical wisdom, of

piety, and of usefulness, will be the object of your prompt and decisive

choice. If so, the course of mental culture which you ought to adopt,

cannot possibly be mistaken by a mind of the least reflection. If you

are to feel and act as moral accountable agents, and to consider human

life as a serious, momentous thing; then, doubtless, you will feel that

you are bound, first of all, and above all, to exercise your minds in

such a manner, and to store them with such branches of knowledge, as

will tend most effectually to enlarge them, to strengthen them, to

inspire them with practical wisdom, and to furnish them with the means

of the most solid and extensive usefulness.

Upon this principle, I would say, let your first and chief attention be

directed to those branches of knowledge which lie at the foundation of

all that is enlarged, liberal, and elevated in human pursuits; such as

Grammar, Rhetoric, Geography, the Latin, Greek, and French languages,

Natural and Moral Philosophy, the elements of Mathematical science,

Chemistry, and as many of the branches of Natural History as may be

within your reach, especially Botany and Mineralogy. These are all

proper for both sexes; and the more you gain of all of them, the better

fitted will you be both for enjoying life, and for fulfilling its

various and momentous duties. I grant, indeed, my dear grandson, that

with regard to what is denominated Classic literature, and Mathematics,

I wish _you_ to go more thoroughly to work, than would be desirable, or

perhaps proper, for your sisters. But I hope that neither of these will

be entirely neglected by _them_. For I have an impression, that the

careful study, to a certain extent, of the best of the dead languages,

and an intelligent acquaintance with the elementary principles of

Mathematics, ought to be omitted by none who can possibly attain them.

In my opinion, they are adapted to produce an effect on the mind, and to

diffuse an influence over all its other acquisitions, more happy and

more important than is commonly recognised, even by many of the educated

themselves.

Besides the popular sciences just mentioned, with which every human

being who can afford it, ought to seek some good acquaintance, there is

an extensive and important field of knowledge, which is defined by the

general term of _literature_, and, in our case, of _English Literature_.

There is a large class of writers, with whose works every one who claims

to be intelligent and well informed, must be familiar. To this

department belongs the whole subject of _History_, which, I trust, will

receive the serious attention of all of you; and about which I hope you

will take enlightened advice, as a number of the most attractive and

popular writers in this department, are unfit to be perused without

much reserve and caution. To these, of course, ought to be added, those

great writers, both in prose and poetry, which deserve to be ranked as

_English Classics_; and, with which, I feel confident, you will seize

the earliest opportunity of becoming acquainted. I refer to such writers

as Milton, Shakspeare, Dryden, Addison, Steele, Pope, Thompson, Gray,

Young, Goldsmith, Johnson, Cowper, Beattie, and a number of others, whom

I cannot pause to specify, but with whom it would be highly

discreditable not to have some intimate knowledge. Without an

acquaintance with these writers, you cannot appreciate the riches, the

beauties, or the purity of your vernacular tongue, or form for

yourselves a good style of writing. In these writers, too, you will find

a great store-house of fine sentiment, as well as diction, adapted

greatly to enlarge and elevate the mind, to impart to it its highest

polish, and to prepare it for its best efforts.

There are certain accomplishments commonly called _ornamental_, deemed

by many desirable for females, and by some considered as of much

consequence. Among these are dancing, music, painting, drawing,

embroidery, &c. With regard to _dancing_, your beloved grandmother and

myself never thought proper to permit any of our own children to be

instructed in this art; not because we thought the _act_ of dancing

itself criminal, but because we considered it as inseparably and almost

necessarily connected with the whole system of balls, dancing

assemblies, midnight parties, &c., all of which we deemed criminal, and

in a great variety of ways, hostile to the principles and the claims of

true religion. We do, indeed, find dancing spoken of in the Old

Testament Scriptures, as having been employed, even on occasions of

religious joy; but never on such occasions do we read of the midnight

dance, nor of promiscuous dancing, that is, of the sexes together. And

with respect to the New Testament, we read there of only one actual

dance, and that was performed by a profligate woman, and connected with

crime of the most atrocious and revolting character.

As to _music_, I am persuaded it is the duty of every one who is able to

do it, to acquire the power of uniting in the social praise of God with

excellence and efficiency. The cultivation of vocal music, and the

attainment of such a degree of skill in it as is essential to imparting

an interest in the exercise, are conducive to health and favourable to

moral and spiritual improvement. So far, I am confident you ought all to

go. And if my granddaughters should have a special taste and love for

instrumental music, I am by no means prepared to advise that they deny

themselves the pleasure. It is an elegant accomplishment, and when

wisely employed, may be connected with innocent pleasure, and sometimes

with benefit. But I should deeply regret to find them aiming at that

_exquisite skill_ in instrumental music, which cannot be attained

without great expense, much loss of time, and that intense and long

continued attention which cannot fail to engross the mind and stand in

the way of more worthy objects of pursuit, if it do not wholly exclude

them. This is so unworthy of a rational accountable creature, that I

would infinitely rather my dear grandchildren should know nothing of

music, than that they should carry their zeal for it, and their devotion

to it, to such an injurious length. And as to my dear grandson, while I

hope always to hear him unite in singing the praises of God in the

sanctuary with taste and skill, it would give me unspeakable pain to

hear that he was regarded as a highly acceptable and admired singer at

convivial meetings, and that his company was courted on that account. I

concur in opinion with the old Grecian sage, who, when a young gentleman

of his acquaintance, of respectable station and employment in society,

had performed on an instrument of music with consummate skill and

effect, said to him, "Are you not ashamed, my young friend, to play so

well?"

In conducting the intellectual culture of the young, there is one

question which I presume you will not fail to ask, and which I wish to

anticipate and answer in this little system of affectionate advices. The

question is, whether _Novels_ ought to have any place in the course of

reading prescribed for young people? This is a question of exceeding

great importance. When I was a youth it was far less interesting and

momentous, as a practical matter, than it has now become. Three quarters

of a century, and more especially a century ago, the number of this

class of writings was so small, and their popular circulation so

inconsiderable, that their influence was scarcely worthy of notice,

compared with that which they have more recently exerted, and which they

are daily going on to extend. Bear with me then, dear children, while I

dwell a little on this subject, and call your attention to some thoughts

which I pray God may be deeply impressed upon your minds.

That fictitious history is not in its own nature and necessarily

criminal, will probably be acknowledged by all. It _may_ be so construed

as to awaken curiosity, to excite sympathy, and to impress the

understanding and the heart in a salutary manner. Of course, to condemn

every thing of the kind _as such_, and however constructed or employed,

would be to pronounce an unjust judgment. Hence we find examples of this

mode of instruction in the holy Scriptures; and on the same principle,

some of the wisest and best human teachers in all ages, have used the

vehicle of lively and interesting fiction, known to be such at the time,

for insinuating into the mind moral and religious lessons, which in a

different form, might not so readily have gained admittance.

But the great error of modern times is two-fold; _First_, in

multiplying publications of this kind, until they bear an inordinate and

injurious proportion in the current literature of the day; and,

_Secondly_, in constructing them upon a plan adapted to degrade virtue

and piety, to recommend vice, and of course to prove seductive and

immoral in their whole influence.

Even when such works are perfectly unexceptionable in their character;

when they are wholly free from any thing improper, either in language or

sentiment, they may be productive of incalculable mischief, if, as now,

they are issued in excessive _numbers_ and _quantity_. Leaving the

_character_ of modern novels entirely out of the question, the enormous

number which for the last half century has been every day increasing,

has become a grievous intellectual and moral nuisance. As long as they

were _few_ in number, and were regarded not as the _substance_, but only

as the _seasoning_ of the literary feast, they occupied but a small

share of public attention. The chief time and attention of the reading

portion of the community were mainly devoted to works of substantial

value, fitted to strengthen, enlarge, and enrich the mind. But, within

the last twenty or thirty years, the number of novels has increased so

rapidly; they have become so prominent and alluring a part of the

current literature of the day; and by their stimulating and

inexhaustible variety, have so drawn away the minds of the aged as well

as the young from solid reading, that they have formed the principal

reading of a large portion of the community, and, of course, have become

a snare and an injury to an extent not easily calculated. As long as

exhilarating gases, or other stimulating substances, are administered

sparingly, and as medicines, they may be altogether harmless, and even

essentially useful. But, when those who have taken them for some time in

this manner, become so enamoured with them as to be no longer satisfied

with their moderate and salutary use, but make them their daily and

principal aliment, they become inevitably mischievous. They destroy the

tone of the stomach, and, in the end, radically undermine the health.

So it is with the insidious excitement of novels. Were the reader of

them to take none into his hands but those which might be safely

pronounced perfectly pure and innocent; and were he certain that he

would never be tempted to go beyond the most moderate bounds in seeking

and perusing even such, there would, perhaps, be little danger to be

apprehended. But no one can be thus certain of either. The general

stimulus of fictitious narrative is morbid and disorderly. It excites

the mind, but cannot fill or enrich it. The probability is, that he who

allows himself to enter on this course, will be led on, like the

miserable tippler, from one stage of indulgence to another, until his

appetite is perverted; his power of self-denial and restraint lost; and

his ruin finally sealed; or, at least, his mind so completely indisposed

and unfitted for the sober realities of practical wisdom, for the

pursuits of solid science and literature, as to be consigned to the

class of superficial drivellers as long as he lives.

The truth is, novels--even the purest and best of them--are adapted, not

to _instruct_, but only to _amuse_; not to _nourish_ and _strengthen_,

but only to _exhilarate_. They even enervate the mind; they generate a

sickliness of fancy; and they render the ordinary affairs and duties of

life altogether uninteresting and insipid. After wading through hundreds

of the most unexceptionable volumes belonging to this class--what has

been gained? What has been laid up for future use? Nothing. Not a trace

of any thing useful has been left behind. The days and nights devoted to

their perusal have been absolutely lost. What infatuation is it for a

rational creature who is sent into the world for serious and important

purposes, and who is hastening to the judgment seat, thus to waste

precious time; and, what is worse, thus to pervert his mind, and

disqualify himself for sober employments! The celebrated Dr. Goldsmith,

in writing to his brother, respecting the education of his son,

expresses himself in the following strong terms, which are the more

remarkable, as he himself had written a novel:--"Above all things, never

let your son touch a romance or novel. These paint beauty in colours

more charming than nature, and describe happiness that man never tastes.

How delusive, how destructive are those pictures of consummate bliss!

They teach the youthful mind to sigh after beauty and happiness which

never existed; to despise the little good which fortune has mixed in our

cup, by expecting more than she ever gave; and, in general, take the

word of a man who has seen the world, and has studied human nature more

by experience than precepts--take my word for it, I say, that such books

teach us very little of the world."[10] He might have gone farther, and

said--They teach us little of _any thing_; and so pervert the taste, as

to take away all relish for applying the mind to any thing sober or

useful. Often have I known young men and women so bewitched by novels,

that they could read nothing else. They sought for new works of this

class in every direction; devoured them with insatiable avidity; and

became less and less disposed for pursuing any study either prescribed

by their preceptors, or adapted to promote their ultimate enjoyment;

until their prospects for both worlds were irrecoverably overcast with

clouds and darkness.

[10] Life of Goldsmith, prefixed to his Miscellaneous Works.

Imagine not, dear children, that _you_ will exercise more resolution

than others, and thus avoid the snare of which I have spoken. You

cannot answer for yourselves in this matter, any more than the man who

is constantly exposed to the temptation of stimulating drinks can be

sure of escaping the danger. Rely upon it, the more confident you are of

your own wisdom and firmness in avoiding the evil in question, the

greater your peril. In this, as in many other things, the only complete

safety is to be found in wholly avoiding the dangerous territory.

But there is another source of evil in this department of literature,

still more serious and formidable. A very large proportion of modern

novels, are far from being innocent. They are positively seductive and

corrupting in their tendency. They make virtue to appear contemptible,

and vice attractive, honourable, and triumphant. Folly and crime have

palliative and even commendatory names bestowed upon them. The

omnipotence of _love_ over all obligations and all duties, is

continually maintained; and the extravagance of sinful passion

represented as the effect of amiable sensibility. Surely these

representations can have no other tendency than to pervert the moral

sentiments, and to corrupt the hearts of those who habitually dwell upon

them. And even though they be, at first, contemplated with abhorrence,

no one can tell how soon the mind may be gradually and insidiously

reconciled to them, by familiarity with the infectious influence.

For example; the novels of _Sir Walter Scott_ have been read with eager

delight by millions of the young and the old; and many pronounce them at

least innocent. But those who read them with intelligence, and with a

proper estimate of the times and the characters which he undertakes to

portray, will perceive that the writer arrays himself against the

patriotism and the piety of some of the best men that ever adorned the

history of his country; that he exhibits orthodoxy and zeal under the

guise of enthusiasm and fanaticism; that he strives to cover with

dishonour, men "of whom the world was not worthy;" and to elevate and

canonize their persecutors. In short, that his general influence is

wholly unfriendly to religion. These characteristics pervade the most

popular of his novels. Of course few of his readers, especially of his

youthful readers, are aware of his misrepresentation, and, therefore,

are not armed against the mischievous influence.

But there is a poison lurking in this field, still more virulent and

fatal. A large portion of novels may be charged with being seductive and

immoral, upon a more refined and deep laid plan. They are systematic,

and, in some instances, ingenious and plausible apologies for the most

atrocious crimes. In many modern productions of this kind, the

intelligent reader will recognise the following process of

representation: Corrupt opinions are put into the mouth of some

favourite hero, the splendour of whose character, in other respects, is

made to embellish the principles which he holds, and the force of whose

eloquence is employed to recommend the most unreasonable and mischievous

dogmas. When this hero commits a crime, and when, by this crime,

according to the fixed laws of the divine government, he is involved in

serious difficulty, if not lasting and fatal misery, the fashionable

novelist endeavours to throw the blame on the religious and moral

institutions of society, as narrow, illiberal, and unjust. When a

splendid but corrupt woman, has forsaken the paths of virtue, and when

she suffers in her reputation and her comfort, by such conduct, all this

is ascribed to "the wretched state of civilization"--to "the deplorable

condition of society." Every opportunity is taken to attack some

essential principle of morality, under the tide of a "prejudice;" to

ridicule the duties of conjugal and domestic life, as flowing from

"contracted" and "slavish" views; to stigmatize the sober pursuits of

honest industry, as "dull" and "spiritless;" and, in a word, to frame an

apology for robbery, murder, suicide, and the indulgence of every

propensity, for which a corrupt heart can plead an inclination.

Now, my dear children, when novels of this kind are placed on the

shelves of every circulating library, and strewed over every part of our

land, what security have youthful novel-readers that many of this class

will not fall into their hands, and that they may not imbibe the fatal

poison before they are aware? Is it any wonder that wise parents and

guardians are painfully apprehensive of such danger? Many amiable and

well-intentioned young people, who fancied they were gaining amusement

only, have been unwarily betrayed into opinions, and prepared for

practices which they would once have regarded with abhorrence, and which

ultimately led them into error, crime, and ruin. Since, then, there are

so many novels of this insidious and baneful character; and since it is

by no means easy for the young and inexperienced to distinguish between

the innocent and the vile, you will not wonder that I advise, nay,

entreat you to avoid the reading of novels altogether; never to allow

yourselves to take a volume of this kind into your hands at all. The

most innocent of them, as you have seen, are worthless, and the perusal

even of _them_, a waste of time; and if you allow yourselves to touch

any of them, you will be in danger of being led astray to an extent

which you can hardly be made to anticipate. I beseech you, dear

children, trust one who sincerely loves you; who understands the subject

of which he is speaking; and who would not deprive you of a single safe

or solid pleasure--trust him when he earnestly exhorts you, NEVER TO

READ A NOVEL.

You will, perhaps, ask, what is my opinion of what are called "religious

novels," that is, of fictitious narrative, designed to illustrate and

recommend religion? I am compelled to say, that my deliberate judgment

is unfavourable to _these_ also. They are neither edifying nor safe as

instructors in the great department of religion. I do not deny that

_some_ of this class may be adapted to do good, and may have been

actually useful. But this is not the question. The question is, whether,

as a system, it is better to instruct in religion through the medium of

fictitious narrative, and by means of thrilling incidents, or by plain,

sober, didactic, and exhortatory address. In general, I cannot help

deciding in favour of the latter. The reason why the large majority of

mankind prefer fictitious narrative is, that they love _excitement_; and

most youthful readers will be more likely to take interest in the

"story," than in the moral lessons which it conveys. Condiments and

stimulants are useful in our food; but to make our daily food consist

wholly or mainly of condiments and stimulants, would not, surely, be

wise or salutary.

But this is not the worst. Among the novels called _religious_, there

are various classes. Almost all the different religious denominations

have issued novels appropriate to their respective sectarian characters.

We not only have those which have been put forth by the friends of truth

and piety; but, also, many by the advocates of error. Socinianism is now

strenuously inculcated through the medium of fictitious narrative. Cold

Pelagianism on the one hand, and Antinomianism on the other, have been

presented in the same manner. Amidst these alternate pleadings of

orthodoxy and heresy, how shall the youthful learner discriminate? Were

he to take up a didactic treatise in favour of Socinian or Pelagian

opinions, he would see the error in a moment, and be on his guard

against it. But when he is borne away by the excitement of a stirring

narrative, and a spirited, eloquent dialogue, he may imbibe the poison

of error, before he is aware.

You must not, dear children, consider me as fanciful, if I express an

opinion, that the present prevailing state of mind of the religious

public has some connexion with that class of novels of which I am now

speaking. The most striking characteristic of the present time is _a

love of excitement_. The old and sober mode of proceeding in any thing

has become unpopular and intolerable. Our children can scarcely be

prevailed upon to read any thing unless it comes in the shape of a

striking story. If any one wishes a pious _tract_ to be read, he must

construct it in the form of a thrilling fictitious narrative. Every dish

must be highly seasoned; every draught must be a dram. Is it any wonder

that, in such a condition of the public taste, all old methods of doing

good should be despised, and the Church as well as the world filled with

new opinions, new estimates of things, and "new measures?"

Be assured, when your mind is brought, by any means, whether by an

insatiable love of fictitious narrative, or by any other form of

exciting composition, to relish nothing conveyed in the old form of

solid, didactic, direct instruction, it is high time to examine whether

you are not acquiring habits unfriendly to sober thought, to the best

mental culture, and to the acquirement of the most valuable knowledge.

How often have I met with young people, of both sexes, who could talk

fluently, and with apparent intelligence, of the volumes of Miss Burney,

Mrs. Radcliffe, Madame De Stael, Miss Edgeworth, and Scott, and Cooper,

and Bulwer, and even of the depraved and infamous Byron;--but, who were

struck dumb if you spoke to them of Shakspeare; of Bacon; of Milton; of

Addison; of Thompson; of Young; of Dryden; of Pope, and Johnson, and

Robertson, and Junius, and Cowper, and other English classics, of whom,

if they had ever heard, they seemed to know nothing! Is this the way to

cultivate the mind? Does this speak for or against the devourer of

novels?

The sum of my counsel, then, under this head, is, that if you wish

really to cultivate your minds, and to prepare them for healthful and

useful action, let your studies be solid, diligent, and persevering. Let

your reading be such as will fill your minds with the knowledge of

facts, principles, and sentiments of the enriching and elevating kind.

Let your first and most intimate acquaintance be with those authors

whose works will tend to fit you for answering the great purpose for

which you were sent into the world. Carefully avoid every species of

reading which tends to turn away your minds from sober, practical views

of life and duty. And remember that, for every book you read, and for

every mental influence which you invite, you have to render a solemn

account.

There is one more counsel, dear children, with which I will close this

letter. It is, that whatever subject you study--whatever book you read,

you do it _faithfully_ and _thoroughly_. Leave nothing until you

understand it well;--until you have, as far as possible, gone to the

bottom of it. You may rely upon it that no solid knowledge is to be

gained without patient, unwearied labour. Be not in haste, then, to pass

on to another subject or lesson, until you have completely mastered that

in which you may be engaged. Be not contented with merely enabling

yourselves to recite a lesson with plausible fluency. Be sure that you

thoroughly comprehend, not only its obvious meaning, but also its

elementary principles. Despise the indolence of those, who, in learning

languages, are constantly using the miserable crutches of

_translations_, instead of walking with the use of their own limbs; and

who, whenever a difficulty occurs in mathematics, or any other subject,

instead of delving it out themselves, ignobly ask help from some wiser

and better scholar. This is cheating yourselves. That which is gained

by your own efforts, and with considerable labour, will be better

understood, and more firmly lodged in the mind, than that which is

imparted gratuitously by others, without any vigorous mental exercise on

your part.

The fact is, the pursuit of knowledge may be compared to the task of one

who is called to cross a high and craggy mountain. If he is willing to

forego his own best interests, both as to bodily and mental health, he

may employ some sturdy, athletic assistant to take him up in his arms,

and bear him over the steep ascent, and deposit him in safety on the

other side, without the use of a muscle of his own. But what would he be

the better for it, at the end of his journey? His limbs would not be

braced. His chest would not be expanded. He would miss a thousand

interesting objects of attention which the use of his own feet would

have brought to his view. After a thousand such boasted expeditions, he

might live and die the same feeble, nervous dyspeptic, that he was when

he set out. Whereas, he who resolves to climb the same mountain by his

own efforts; who addresses himself to the task with patient persevering

labour; who takes step after step, slowly, but wisely and firmly; may

not gain the ascent quite as speedily as his weaker contemporary; but he

will gain it much more to his own profit and comfort, and, in the end,

find every power invigorated by the enterprise. O, if children and

young people could feel how foolish it is to procure themselves to be

borne up the mountain of knowledge by others, instead of climbing it

themselves, they would despise all the "labour-saving machinery" to

which many of them are so fond of resorting; and would remember that

what is gained by their own intellectual efforts, is more solid, wears

better, digests better, and is productive of richer fruit, both to

themselves and others.

It is a law impressed by our Maker on the intellectual, as well as the

physical man, that "if any will not work, neither shall he eat." It is a

real blessing, if we did but know it, to have labour connected with all

our attainments. Thus do we best answer the great end of our being; thus

do we invigorate every power, and become prepared most effectually to

"serve our generation by the will of God."

LETTER VII.

CULTIVATION OF THE HEART, AND THE MORAL HABITS.

DEAR CHILDREN:--By the _heart_, I mean the moral feelings, dispositions,

and affections. And by _cultivating_ the heart, I mean directing much

attention to restraining, regulating, and purifying all its exercises.

This may be said to lie at the foundation of all duty and all happiness.

Were your intellectual powers cultivated with all possible care and

success, and your moral faculties neglected, you might be polished and

elegant demons; but would be miserable yourselves, and a curse to

society. Whether, therefore, you regard your own present enjoyment, and

everlasting welfare, or the happiness of those around you, you cannot

too early remember the great purpose for which you were sent into the

world, and the relations which you sustain as rational, social, and

immortal creatures. You cannot too early or too diligently learn to

restrain your passions; to deny yourselves; and to cultivate those

benevolent, meek, humble, and amiable habits, which are indispensable to

tranquillity and peace of mind, and which alone can prepare you to adorn

and bless the social circles with which you may be connected. I draw

your attention the more earnestly to this great subject because I see so

many young people who appear never to think of the importance, or even

utility of this part of their education.

If you have not learned, dear children, that you are by nature prone to

be proud, vain, selfish, envious, irascible, sensual, malignant, and, in

a word, to indulge the various appetites and passions which tend to

destroy your own peace, and to invade the comfort of those around you;

if you have not discovered that this is the tendency of your nature, and

that resisting it will call for much self-denial, and continual, and

sometimes for agonizing effort, you have attended less to your own

feelings, and habits, and less to the character of your friends and

associates than I am willing to suppose.

Perhaps you will ask--Does not _religion_ cover all this ground? Where

the power of Christian principle reigns in the heart, will not every

thing intended to be included in this letter follow as a matter of

course? If the _plan of salvation_, treated in a former letter, be

received and obeyed, will not all the objects contemplated in the

present letter, be included and secured? Whence, then, the necessity, or

even the propriety, of making it matter of separate consideration? I

answer, the religion of Christ, in its spirit and power, does indeed

embrace all moral excellence. It does, in fact, where it bears

appropriate and entire sway, include every moral feeling, affection, and

habit, which can adorn and elevate human nature. And yet it is to be

lamented that many who cherish the Christian hope, are not as much aware

of this fact as they ought to be; and are not so careful to exhibit all

the _loveliness_, as well as the _purity_ of example which become them,

as is desirable. And, besides, I have always found that there is a great

advantage in pursuing rather more into detail the various branches of

the Christian temper, than is commonly done even in the best treatises

on religious character and duty. The French have a phrase which

expresses more exactly than any English one which I can recollect, my

meaning in the title of this letter. The phrase I refer to, is _Les

petites morales_; by which they appear to understand those _moral

delicacies_ of feeling, temper, and intercourse, which, though not

always found actually shining in every professing, or even every real

Christian, do really belong to the Christian code of ethics, and are

indispensable to a complete and exemplary character.

The duties which grow out of our relations to God, are generally

acknowledged by all professors of religion. However defective their

obedience, their obligations are seldom disputed. But if it be the law

of God, not only that we should "love Him with all our heart and soul

and strength and mind," but also that we should "love our neighbours as

ourselves," then the duties growing out of this great law are more

multiplied, tender, delicate and important than most of those who are

called religious people recognise in practice, or even in theory.

It is true, the root of all sound morality is religion. And it is

equally true, that the deeper sense any one has of the constraining love

of Christ, and of the holiness, majesty, omniscience, and omnipresence

of God, the more faithful he will be in the discharge of all moral

duties, both in private and in public. Labour then, day by day, to gain

a deeper impression of the claims of your Creator and Redeemer upon you.

Meditate much on the Divine glory. Cultivate a devout spirit. Study to

walk with God in the exercise of faith, and love, and prayer. And

endeavour to keep constantly before your minds his all seeing eye, his

infinite holiness, his judgment seat, and those righteous retributions

which he has in store for all his creatures, whether they be good, or

whether they be evil? This is cultivating the heart in the most

essential and radical sense. This is going to "the root of the matter."

That morality, and that alone, which is grafted upon this sanctified

stock, will be regarded with approbation by the Searcher of hearts, and

stand the test of the great day.

But while you labour with your hearts, that they may be habitually laid

open, with all the softness and tenderness of spiritual sensibility, to

the claims of your Creator and Redeemer; study with no less diligence to

cherish a deep sense of all the duties which you owe to your beloved

relatives, to your friends, to your neighbours, and to all with whom you

have intercourse. To perceive the theory of these duties, is the

province of the understanding; to enter into them, as a practical

matter, and under a solemn sense of obligation, is an affair of the

heart; and the more deeply your hearts are schooled both in the

principles and practice of these duties, the more they may be said to

partake of that culture which I am now recommending.

When I imagine to myself what an influence your precious Mother might

have had in cultivating your moral feelings and habits, if it had

pleased God to spare her to you; when I think of the happy power which

her delicate, forming hand, might, by the divine blessing, have exerted

over the heart of each of you;--the heart--as Mrs. Hannah More expresses

it--that "seat of evil propensities--that little troublesome empire of

the passions;"--I could sit down and weep afresh that you are never to

enjoy that culture. But, happily, there is a source of infinitely better

culture. Try to lay to heart your weakness and your wants, and implore

without ceasing the enlightening, subduing, and sanctifying power of the

Holy Spirit, and you will find "his grace sufficient for you."

There are special duties which you owe to your beloved surviving Parent,

and to all your domestic relatives, of the most peculiar and tender

kind; duties which it is equally your privilege and your honour to

discharge. These are veneration, love, gratitude, and a dutiful respect

to all their feelings, as well as their interests. Here children are

extremely apt to fail. Affection is generally found to descend from

parents to their offspring, and in general from elder to younger

relatives, in great strength; but from children to parents, or from the

young to the old, it seldom rises with equal vigour. Let not this be

said of you. Constantly cherish toward your beloved Father, and all your

elder relatives, not merely an outward respect, and dutifulness of

deportment, but a cordial and ardent affection; a sincere and lively

gratitude for all those anxious cares and labours on their part for your

benefit, for which you have been indebted ever since you were born, and

for which you can never make an adequate return. Try to please them by

the constant manifestation of love, confidence, and grateful veneration;

and let them see that you treasure up, to your profit, all their

instruction, reproofs, and warnings. When the _heart_, as well as the

outward conduct, is conformed to these sentiments, O, how endearing and

happy is the intercourse between parents and children! What a charm is

diffused over the whole aspect of domestic society!

Let me entreat you, also, early to learn the duty and the pleasure of

_living in affectionate harmony among yourselves_. I can scarcely

express to you the pain which I have sometimes felt when I have

perceived any thing like a spirit of strife and acrimony rising between

you, and leading to the exchange of angry looks and passionate language.

Surely three motherless children ought to feel more closely bound

together than to indulge in such a temper and conduct. If you do not

love one another, who can you expect will love you? Be careful, then,

continually to cultivate a spirit of brotherly and sisterly affection

toward each other. Let nothing interrupt this. When any contest arises,

let the only strife be, which shall be the first to yield, rather than

contend. On no account allow yourselves to employ harsh, much less

violent language toward each other. And if any contest arises which you

cannot settle between yourselves without violence, let a united appeal

to your Father, if he be present, or in his absence, to your

grandparents, terminate the controversy. Seldom does a conflict of this

kind arise without there being blame on both sides. And who so proper to

make the proper award, and to adjust every difficulty, as those who love

you all equally and dearly, and have age and experience on their side?

Let me enjoin on you to begin, as early as possible, to cherish a spirit

of _habitual benevolence_--a desire, wherever you go, to promote the

_happiness_ of all around you. Selfishness is the great master-sin of

human nature. "All seek their own." The _young_, especially, are apt to

be swallowed up in the excessive pursuit of their own enjoyment, and

that enjoyment is rarely sought or found in ministering to the wants,

and promoting the comfort of others. But rely upon it, dear children,

this is a narrow and altogether deceptive view of the best means of

happiness. Not only is it the divine command that we "love our neighbour

as ourselves," but it is equally certain that obedience to this great

law tends as directly to make ourselves happy, as it does to promote the

comfort of the objects of our benevolent attention. If you wish to be

happy yourselves, study continually to make all around you so too. The

luxury of doing good is the richest luxury of which we are capable. It

is the very spirit of Christ, who "went about doing good;" and the more

closely we commune with him in the exercise of the same spirit, the more

we secure true and rational enjoyment. Wherever you are, then, cultivate

a spirit of sympathy with the afflicted, and the habit of flying

spontaneously to the relief of suffering. You cannot begin too early to

feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to minister to the wants of the

sick and dying, to relieve distress of every kind, and to "please every

one for his good to edification:"--not by flattery, which is too

commonly the method of pleasing adopted; but by letting it be seen that

you seek, as much as in you lies, to make all around you truly happy.

Never promote mirth at the expense of others. Never allow yourselves to

"set others by the ears" as it is sometimes expressed, for the sake of

derision. Carefully avoid all those "tricks," which so many of the young

delight in, and by which so much suffering, and sometimes even

ultimately the loss of life, have been incurred. In a word,

conscientiously cherish the principle and the habit of never giving a

moment's pain to a human being, or even to a brute beast, unless it be

necessary for their real good; and wherever you see pain, by whomsoever

inflicted, do all in your power, consistent with other obligations, to

relieve it, and to give rational pleasure. There is nothing, be assured,

dear children, in all the splendour of fashionable display, in all the

gratifications of sense, in all the delirious joys of giddy dissipation,

once to be compared with the hallowed pleasure of habitually doing good

to all within your reach. Yes, make doing good your "ruling passion,"

and you will be among the happiest of mortals.

Let me beseech you to watch over your _temper_ with studious care. Few

things are more unhappy in a young person of either sex, than an

irritable, irascible temper. It betrays into a thousand indiscretions.

It poisons social intercourse. It alienates friends. It destroys the

comfort of the individual who indulges it; and it interferes with the

comfort of all with whom he converses. I have known this infirmity to

cast a cloud over the whole course of many persons who were otherwise

fitted to adorn and bless society. Watch and pray against it with the

utmost diligence. "He that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that

taketh a city." "Be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath." Learn

"by soft answers to turn away wrath," both in yourselves and others. Be

not ready to take offence, or to consider any one as "an offender for a

word." Never regard an honest difference of opinion from yourself as a

personal affront. Surely the indulgence of such a spirit is as

unreasonable as it is unhappy. Guard with the utmost vigilance against a

jealous, suspicious temper. Ill nature, peevishness, and a disposition

to take every thing by an unfavourable handle, and to indulge in satire

and sarcasm, are revolting in every human being, but especially in the

female sex. I have never known such a temper to be indulged without

diminishing both the respectability and happiness of its possessor. Let

a mild, amiable, conciliatory spirit reign in all your intercourse. Be

ever kind, tender hearted, and forgiving, even as you hope to obtain

forgiveness from the God of all grace. Let the spirit of benevolence,

and a desire to please, shine in your countenances, and be manifest in

your deportment in all companies; at home and on journies; in the public

hotel, and in the parlour of a friend; towards servants, as well as

towards your equals or superiors. In a word, in temper as well as in

conduct, "Whatsoever ye would that others should do unto you, do ye even

so to them, for this is the law and the prophets."

In forming your moral character and habits, I entreat you to lay great

stress upon cultivating a sacred and delicate regard to _truth_, in all

your social intercourse. Rely upon it, you cannot pay too conscientious

a regard to this point. A fault here is as dishonourable as it is

criminal. I do not allow myself to fear that my beloved grandchildren,

after the training they have received, will ever indulge in deliberate

falsehood. In this there is a meanness as well as a sin, which I hope

they will equally despise and abhor. But it is to be lamented that there

is much in social conversation, in which many people deemed respectable

are apt to indulge themselves, and which I hope you will make conscience

of sacredly avoiding. I mean all exaggeration in your descriptions; all

high-colouring in your statements; all indulgence in fabulous

narratives, even in jest, for the amusement of company. Aside from the

dictates of religion in this matter, which are sacred and conclusive,

there is something in these habits adapted to lower the character, and

to diminish the influence of those who indulge them, with all

sober-minded people. Whatever may be the consequence, let a regard to

the strictest verity, as if you were on oath, reign in all you say and

do. Avoid the meanness, as well as the sin of the slightest departure

from absolute truth. Let all underhand deceptive contrivances, all low

cunning, all habits of carrying your plans by disingenuous arts, be

abhorred and avoided. How gratifying would it be to those who love you,

to know that it had passed into something like a proverb among your

acquaintance--"The statement is from a Breckinridge--and therefore may

be depended on!"

Let me farther entreat you to guard against all indulgence of the spirit

of _pride_, or _vanity_. By _pride_, I mean such an inordinate and

unreasonable conceit of our own superiority in any respect, as leads us

to look down on others as beneath us, and to treat them with

haughtiness, or contempt. And by _vanity_, I understand that excessive

desire for the applause of others which leads to egotism, and such a

weak anxiety to attract the notice, and gain the approbation of those

around us, as are apt to betray into little and unworthy arts for

gaining the object. That both ought to be repudiated, as at once folly

and sin, I hope no formal argument will be necessary to convince you.

But still, they are both besetting sins, which cleave with deplorable

obstinacy to multitudes whose judgment is against them. Be assured, dear

children, pride is as foolish as it is criminal. Who made you to differ

from others? And what have you that you have not received? If you have

minds, or an education, or outward circumstances more favourable than

those of many others, who conferred them upon you? If, therefore, you

have received all, why should you glory as if you had not received them?

I know that we sometimes hear people talk of a "laudable pride," an

"honest pride," "a noble pride," &c. But such language is a grievous

abuse of terms, and ought to be forever banished from the vocabulary of

Christians. _Pride_ was "the condemnation and snare of the devil," and

is in all cases a weakness and a sin. To call a proper personal dignity

and self-respect by this odious name, is altogether incorrect and

deceptive. To speak of a disposition to avoid a mean action as "a noble

pride," is a perversion of language, as well as of moral principle. "Be

clothed with humility; for God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to

the humble." "Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit

before a fall; for when pride cometh, then cometh shame, but with the

lowly is wisdom." _Vanity_ is a passion still more childish and

degrading. It exhibits a rational creature hanging on the smiles and the

praise of his fellow worms for his importance and happiness. O, what

infatuation for miserable sinners, who deserve nothing at the hand of

God but wrath, and the overflowing of wrath, and who are dependant on

his bounty for every breath, to be puffed up with high thoughts of

themselves, and arrogantly to claim the incense of praise! Fly, then,

from pride and vanity with the utmost vigilance. Study to be "meek and

lowly in heart." "Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low

estate." "In lowliness of mind esteem others better than yourselves."

"Be not wise or great in your own conceits." Be not greedy of praise.

Despise all the unworthy arts of seeking and fishing for it. Rely upon

it, the lower you lie in the dust of abasement, the happier you will be.

The more you are disposed to love and honour all around you according to

their real character, the more infallibly you will secure their love and

confidence in return. And the less anxious you are to gain the applause

of men, the more likely you will be to attain it, if you are found

humbly and diligently performing your duty. In short, if I wished you to

gain the highest degree of esteem and honour among men, I would say--Do

not seek this object anxiously, or even directly at all. Never inquire

what others say or think of you. Speak of yourselves, in conversation,

as little as possible. Treat your superiors with uniform respect, but

not with fawning or flattery; and your inferiors, down to the lowest

servant or beggar, with undeviating condescension and kindness; trying

to benefit every one, and promote the happiness of every one; and you

will have as much of the love and respect of all as you really deserve,

and probably more. If you sincerely try to promote the happiness of all

around you, and do it with a kind and amiable manner, I believe it is

one of the cases in which our Lord's declaration never fails to be

fulfilled--"Give, and it shall be given unto you, good measure pressed

down and running over shall men give into your bosom."

Strive with sacred care against every feeling approaching to the passion

of _envy_. As you are now at an age when you are called daily to compete

with school and play-mates, you may be sometimes strongly tempted to

indulge in this passion. But it is a base passion. Beware of it. How

fiend-like, to sicken and repine at excellence! How base, to be

displeased and mortified when we contemplate the superior prosperity,

happiness, or accomplishments of others! When you witness such superior

attainments or excellence, let the only effort be to excite gratitude to

God for its existence, and a generous emulation of it in yourselves.

Guard with vigilance against a _talebearing_ and _tattling_ spirit. I

will not suppose you capable of deliberate _slander_, or cruelly

circulating reports to the injury of others without just evidence. This

is so base and mean, that I trust you will ever abhor and despise it.

But it is the infirmity of many, who intend thereby no injury, that they

delight in circulating news concerning their neighbours, and have not a

little of the true gossipping spirit. This is a bad habit. It degrades

the individual who indulges it, in the view of all wise, reflecting

people; often involves in painful explanations and difficulties; and is

frequently followed by consequences of the most perplexing and

disreputable kind. Never indulge the disposition to repeat idle stories

about neighbours. If they are repeated in your presence, listen to them

either in silence, or with a civil remark, which cannot possibly

implicate you, or be construed into an approval of the scandal. It was

an excellent appeal which was once made by a wise and benevolent man

whom I knew in early life--"Why can you not talk more about _things_,

than about _persons_?"

Let me farther exhort you, as a point of duty, to cultivate habitual

_cheerfulness_. When I say this, you will not understand me as

recommending a spirit of levity and frivolity. This is unworthy of

rational, accountable creatures, and indicates as much of weakness as of

sin. Those who spend their lives in gaiety and mirth, are "dead while

they live." But by cultivating habitual cheerfulness, I mean cherishing

a pleasant state of the animal spirits; as opposed to constitutional

gloom, mental depression, and settled, clouded taciturnity, I mean

habits, not of light, but of lively and affable conversation. Such a

state of mind does good like a medicine. It contributes to our own

enjoyment. It makes us more pleasant and useful to those with whom we

converse. It may even operate to promote health and prolong life; and in

various ways extend our power of doing good.

Guard with conscientious care against habits of _indolence_. A tendency

to this sin is one of the radical symptoms of the great moral disease of

our nature; and you cannot begin too early to labour and pray for

effecting a cure. Fly from idleness as a habit connected with a legion

of evils. Make a point of always having something useful to

do--something to fill up every moment left vacant between the larger and

more important tasks of life. I am aware that we all stand in need of

_recreation_; but this is often best attained by _a change of

employment_. When you have finished a sedentary task, which required

intense application of mind, think, for a moment, whether there be not

some other object to which you may attend for a short time, which will

require no mental effort, but by attention to which, you may promote

either your own health or comfort, or the advantage of others. Make it

your daily study to "redeem the time." Try to turn every moment to some

valuable account. For this purpose, form, as early as possible, a plan,

a systematic order in your daily tasks. Without such a plan, more or

less formally adopted, you will inevitably lose much time in passing

from one engagement to another. But if you manage always to leave

something useful with which to fill up every little interval; so as

never to be idle, and never to waste time with frivolous, or worse than

frivolous employments, you will be more happy, and live more to your

own true honour, and the benefit of your generation.

I have only to add on the subject of this letter, a single word on the

great importance of maintaining strict and habitual _temperance_ in all

your enjoyments. If you wish really to enjoy life, and to "live out all

your days," you must exercise moderation and self-denial in eating and

drinking, and in every department of indulgence. Temperance has been

defined--the moderate use of things useful, and total abstinence from

those which are pernicious. This is an excellent definition, which I

trust you will ever keep in mind, and make your daily and hourly rule.

To be thus temperate, is a divine command. It is eminently conducive to

health. It is highly advantageous to the activity and strength of the

powers of the mind. And it is an admirable defence against a thousand

irregularities and mischiefs which cloud the faculties, destroy comfort,

and lead to multiplied forms of disease, and to premature graves. If you

habitually restrain appetite, deny yourselves, and "let your moderation

be known" in all things, and to all men, you will avoid many evils which

continually beset those who act on the system of self-indulgence. Never

drink any thing but pure water, when in health; indulge in animal food

but _once_ in each day, and that in smaller quantities than most people

consider as temperate. Labourers in the open air may, not only with

impunity, but perhaps with profit, eat animal food more than once every

day; but I am persuaded few other persons can do it without disadvantage

to their health. My personal experience and observation in regard to

this point are very decisive. Nay, I would advise you to go one step

farther. Make the experiment of wholly abstaining from animal food at

least one day in each week, for the purpose of "giving nature a

holyday;" of clearing the body and the mind from crudities; and taking a

new start in refined feeling and unclogged activity.

In fine, let it be the object of your unceasing study and prayer, to

"keep under the body;" to "crucify the flesh with the affections and

lusts;" to subdue and restrain all irregular tempers; "if it be

possible, as much as lieth in you, to live peaceably with all men;" to

avoid wounding the feelings of any one with whom you converse, unless

required to do it by a pure sense of duty; to promote the happiness of

all around you; and to be continually seeking and improving

opportunities of doing good.

LETTER VIII.

MANNERS.

DEAR CHILDREN:--I wish it were in my power to give you a perfect and

vivid representation of the manners of your lamented Mother. There was

in them a sweetness, a gracefulness, and an attraction truly rare.

Wherever she went, they at once gained her friends. I am sure if you had

been old enough at her decease to appreciate them; or, if I could now

depict them to the life, you would have a deeper impression of the

importance of happy manners; of their value to their possessor; of their

benign influence on social intercourse, than I can now hope to impart.

As it is, I hope you will be willing to take on trust my statement of

the fact concerning her, and that you will be stimulated to seek a

similar accomplishment.

If it be true, as has been often said, that a good face is an "open

letter of recommendation," wherever its possessor appears; we may, with

quite as much emphasis, say the same of pleasant engaging manners. Nay,

we may go farther. The most beautiful face and form that ever existed,

if unaccompanied by agreeable manners, will soon be contemplated with

indifference, if not with disgust. While, on the contrary, where there

is an entire absence of personal beauty, there may be, and often are

found, such manners as captivate and win wherever they are seen, and

with a power felt by all, however remote they may be from the possession

of such manners themselves.

I shall not tax either your patience or my own, by entering largely into

the subject of manners. On this extensive subject I refer you to a

volume on "Clerical Manners and Habits" which I published a few years

ago, and in which considerable minuteness of detail is indulged. For

although that work was intended more particularly for the benefit of

clergymen, and especially of candidates for the sacred office; yet a

large portion of it is equally applicable to all classes and

professions, and to both sexes. I recommend the volume referred to, to

your serious attention, and to your careful study. And whatever may be

your situation in life, I think you will find much in it worthy of your

regard. At any rate, if it be not so, I have failed of gaining my main

object in its publication.

I will not, however, content myself with merely referring you to the

volume in question. It is my wish, in this little system of affectionate

advices, to call your attention to a few particulars on this subject

which may be considered as more immediately appropriate at your present

tender age, and, perhaps, on that account, more likely to dwell upon

your memory than the contents of a volume.

You will, perhaps, ask me, what I mean by those "good manners" which I

would recommend? I answer, by such manners I mean that mode of personal

address and deportment toward all with whom we converse which is

dictated by the meekness, benevolence, and purity of the Gospel. In a

word, "true politeness"--the most genuine politeness--that which I would

earnestly desire those whom I love to cherish and cultivate--is _the

religion of Christ acted out in the whole temper, conversation, and

deportment_. The simple, unembarrassed, gentle expression of mingled

respect and kindness toward all with whom we converse, from the hovel to

the palace, is the perfection of manners. These are manners which become

all times, places, companies, and circumstances, and which will carry

their possessor through the world with acceptance and comfort.

Perhaps, in your inexperience, you may be disposed to ask, what is the

great value of such manners as are here recommended? If you have any

doubt on this subject _now_, I am persuaded a little more knowledge of

the world will satisfy you that their value is unspeakably great. Few

people are adequate judges of those solid intellectual and moral

qualities which form a character of high excellence. But of personal

manners, all are judges; at any rate, all are capable of perceiving, and

in some degree estimating, their value. Only a small portion of those

with whom you converse are able to discern whether you are wise and

well informed; but every child can see whether you have a sweet voice, a

pleasant countenance, an amiable, kind and respectful mode of address,

or the contrary. Can there be, then, a more obvious dictate, both of

policy and duty, than to cultivate that which, to multitudes, is more

attractive than real merit; which secures to merit a hearing, and an

influence which it would not otherwise obtain; and which will be likely,

in many cases, to open a door to usefulness which, without it, would, in

all probability, have continued impenetrably closed? In repeated

instances have I known persons of weak minds, and of small information,

but of remarkably fascinating manners, carry all before them in circles

of society into which persons of far higher qualifications, both

intellectual and moral, but defective in the attractions of manner, were

scarcely able to obtain admittance, and very inadequately esteemed when

admitted. A soft, insinuating address has, a thousand times, rendered

its possessor every where acceptable and popular, when, on the score of

real merit, he ought by no means to have enjoyed so much public favour.

But this is not all. Pleasant attractive manners not only have a

paramount influence with the superficial and unthinking; but they have

more power even on the minds of the wise and the good than is commonly

imagined. To every human being, that which is intrinsically excellent,

appears doubly attractive when presented in a pleasing manner. Truth,

even to those who know it to be truth, finds a more cordial welcome; and

duty, even among its most sincere and enlightened friends, commands a

more ready obedience, when they are clothed in an attractive garb, and

speak in alluring accents. That the very same words, which, when uttered

by some, are intolerably offensive; when spoken in the mild, respectful

manner of others, are welcome, and even delightful--that the very same

action, which, performed by some, is censured; when performed by others,

of perhaps less talent or virtue, is lauded to excess; are among the

most notorious facts in human life; and that not in the circles of

ignorance and dissipation only, but also in those of the most estimable

portions of mankind.

To despise or undervalue the cultivation of _manners_, then, argues a

great want of practical wisdom. It is a subject worthy of your constant

regard. To neglect it, is equally to oppose reason and experience, and

to set at naught some of the most precious means of gaining access to

the human heart. And when I speak of cultivating good manners, do not

imagine that I mean the formal, showy, pompous manners which some

commend, and seem to aim at. The truth is, the perfection of

manners--the ultimate point which is the result of the very best

culture, is to attain that ease, simplicity, modesty, and gentleness of

deportment in every thing, which has nothing of the artificial, nothing

of display about it. But to be more particular.

The first characteristic of manners to which I would direct your

attention, as lying at the foundation of all excellence, is _benignity_.

Without the law of _benevolence_, reigning in the heart, and governing

the temper and the life, there may be much pomp and courtliness of

manner; many a heartless smile, and many a flattering form of address;

but there can be no genuine politeness. The essence of this consists in

the spirit of cordial good will and kindness shining in the countenance;

expressing itself in the language and tones of respect and benevolent

regard; and flowing through all the channels of human intercourse, and

all the minutiƦ of human life. This is the vital principle of good

manners. Just in proportion as you really desire to increase the

happiness of all around you; to consult their ease; to anticipate their

wants; and to promote their welfare--you will spontaneously manifest

these feelings in all situations and companies. Your whole deportment

will be pleasing, attractive, and graceful, without your having studied

artificial rules. This is the foundation and the sum of all; but it may

not be improper to trace the radical principle into some of its minute

details.

In all social intercourse, let _respectful attention_ mark your whole

manner. To turn away your eyes from the person who is addressing you;

or to manifest in any way that you are thinking, or wish to be thinking,

of something else, is a great breach of good manners; cannot fail of

giving pain to those with whom you converse; and must deprive you of a

large part of the benefit of conversation. When you look your companion

gently and respectfully, but firmly in the face, you manifest attention;

you enable yourselves to watch his countenance, and mark the impression

which you make on his mind; to say nothing of the power of the eye in

seconding and enforcing all that is said.

Cultivate _affability_ of manner. By this I mean that style of manners

which is distinguished by ease, simplicity, and courteousness; a

deportment opposed to haughtiness, reserve, coldness, or taciturnity; in

short, to every thing that is adapted to repel, or to prevent freedom

and comfort of approach. I am aware that constitutional temperament has

much to do with this. But still, it is equally true that affability may

and ought to be carefully cultivated; and that there are few things

better adapted to conciliate good will, to inspire confidence, to invite

freedom of communication, and to place at ease all with whom we

converse.

Study to exercise _gentleness_ and _mildness_ in all your deportment and

conversation. Guard against every thing harsh, severe, rough, abrupt, or

in any way repulsive in your language, voice, or manner. Let the

meekness and gentleness of wisdom appear in every look, tone, and

expression. By a mild, respectful address, you may at once reprove

impertinence, disarm violence, and put even brutality to shame. Give all

diligence, then, to be "gentle toward all men." Learn the happy art of

conversing with gentleness, of giving your commands with gentleness, of

arguing with gentleness, of contending with gentleness, and of even

reproving with gentleness. Both commands and reproofs, as well as

arguments, when dispensed in this manner, have not only more dignity,

but also more weight than when invested with an opposite character.

Few things are more opposed to good breeding than a _loud, boisterous_

manner in social intercourse. Whether this be indulged in laughter, or

in conversation, it is equally exceptionable as an offence against both

delicacy and dignity. With regard to _females_, an offence against this

rule, is peculiarly revolting. It is a sure sign of vulgarity, and ought

to be carefully avoided. But, in either sex, it is a blemish which well

bred people never fail to notice.

Closely allied to this is the habit of _rude familiarity_ which some

affect, and to which they give the name of social pleasantry. This is

undignified, and, to all delicate people, offensive. Mutual dignity and

respect are indispensable to the continued existence of Christian

intercourse, in its most pure, delicate, and profitable form. If you

wish to maintain such intercourse, be free and unconstrained; but never

indulge in coarse familiarity. Those who are worthy of your love will

certainly be repelled rather than attracted by it.

Remember, too, that all _interruption_ of any one with whom you are

conversing, or blunt _contradiction_ of his statements, is an offence

against delicate manners. However erroneous he may be, hear him out; and

however certain you may be that his representations are false, rectify

his mistake, not bluntly, but with kindness and respect.

Guard against _talking too much_ in company. He who is very talkative

incurs disadvantages of a very serious kind. He cheapens himself; tires

his hearers; and must, of course, diminish his usefulness. However rich

and instructive any one's talk may be, yet, if there be too much of it,

both his dignity and his influence cannot fail of being impaired. "A

fool's voice," says Solomon, "is known by the multitude of his words."

"In the multitude of words," says the same inspired teacher, "there

wanteth not sin; but he that refraineth his lips is wise." And again,

"He that hath knowledge, spareth his words."

But another extreme in social intercourse, is that of excessive

_reserve_ and _taciturnity_. Some from physical temperament; others from

abstraction or absence of mind; and a third class, perhaps, from still

more exceptionable causes, wrap themselves up in a chilling reserve in

company--never speaking but when addressed; and then answering as

briefly as possible, and relapsing into silence again. This is surely

unhappy in a social being, and ought to be carefully avoided. While you

avoid garrulity, then, sink not down into obstinate silence. If you find

yourselves, from any cause, prone to this, it is abundantly worth while

to take pains to counteract it, and to labour to have something ready to

say that shall be at once acceptable and instructive.

In regard to _uncleanly and vulgar personal habits_, I will not suppose

you capable of them: and, therefore, shall not dwell upon them. All

spitting on floors, lounging in your seats, putting up your feet on

chairs or stools, leaning with your elbows on tables--these, and all

similar habits, I hope, after the training you have had, you will avoid

with instinctive repugnance. But there is one habit which I would

earnestly recommend, as favourable not merely to good manners, but also

to _health_. Learn to _sit erect_, not only in company, but even in your

most private apartment. Reading or writing in a half-sunken or reclining

posture is unfriendly to a graceful carriage; is apt to betray unwarily

into similar postures in company; prepares the way for the sinking,

half-bent postures which disfigure so many of the feeble and aged; and

really tends to bring on premature decrepitude.

Do not affect _wit_ or _punning_ in conversation. So many of those who

try to make themselves acceptable by such attempts, not only fail, but

often render themselves a laughing stock by it, that there is little

probability of your succeeding as wits or punsters. But even with

respect to those whose talents in this way are ever so great, there is

so much danger of their indulging those talents unseasonably and

imprudently, so as to offend and alienate friends, that such powers

ought to be deprecated rather than desired, and their exercise, if

possessed, subjected to the severest restriction. I never knew more than

one person of wit who was strictly discreet and delicate in its use. But

I have known thousands who, by their miserable attempts to display what

they possessed either not at all, or in a very small degree, succeeded

only in exposing themselves to ridicule. And I have known many real

wits, who almost every day wounded feelings, and alienated friends by

their reckless effusions.

Do not indulge the habit in conversation of _talking of yourselves_.

Hardly any quality is more apt to appear in social intercourse than

personal vanity. This leads to egotism, so that the idea of _self_

appears to be ever present to the imagination. Hence we perpetually find

people talking of themselves; what they have done; what they have said;

what others have said and done to their honour; in short, bringing into

view something to their own advantage, or that of their family or

relatives. Rely upon it, if you have real worth, the less _you_ say

about it the better; and if you have it not, every claim of it, direct

or indirect, can only sink you lower in the estimation of those with

whom you converse.

Carefully form the habit of adverting to all the properties of _time_,

_place_ and _circumstances_ in conversation. When you are about, in

company, to make a remark, or to introduce a new topic of conversation,

look round on the circle, and ask yourself, whether there is any one

present whose feelings would be likely to be hurt by what you are about

to say, or who would be placed by it in embarrassing circumstances. Be

very sure for example, when about to make, in company, an unfavourable

remark on an absent person, that no relative or special friend of that

person is among your hearers. For, although you ought never to make a

remark on any one which the Christian spirit cannot justify; yet in

certain circumstances, a remark perfectly proper in itself, may be

unseasonable, and peculiarly painful to some who hear it. Guard against

the possibility of such an occurrence. This is a dictate of sound

worldly policy. A departure from it is a gross violation of true

politeness. But it may be said, still more emphatically, to be a

departure from the principles of Christian benevolence.

Avoid the too frequent _use of superlatives_ in conversation. The habit

of many, when they wish to express either approbation or censure, is to

employ the very strongest terms which the English language affords. If

they think favourably of the talents or the performance of any one, they

are apt to speak of them as "noble, admirable," as of "the first order;"

or in some terms expressive of the very highest excellence. And, on the

other hand, if they undertake to express disapprobation, the terms

"mean," "execrable," "detestable," are the softest that they think of

employing. This is a bad habit. It renders both the praise and censure

of those who indulge it of less value in the estimation of all

sober-minded and discriminating judges. If you wish your judgment to

pass for any thing in the view of the wise and reflecting, you must

learn to express opinions in that guarded and moderate manner which

indicates intellectual discrimination rather than undistinguishing

emotion. You know where it is said "Fools admire, where men of sense

approve."

Carefully avoid giving _unnecessary trouble_ wherever you are. The

difference between different persons in this respect is very

conspicuous. Some, when in the houses of their friends, have so many

little wants, so many errands to perform, and are so absorbed in their

own affairs, that, if permitted, they would keep several servants and

others constantly employed in waiting upon them. You may rely upon it

you can never be, long together, welcome visitants in families which you

subject to so much trouble. Make as few demands as possible on the time

and attention of those whose hospitality you are enjoying. Never call

upon their servants to wait upon you when it is practicable to avoid it.

Never allow the occupations or order of any family to be set aside or

disarranged on your account, where it is possible to prevent it. In

short, act universally on the principle of doing every thing that you

can for yourselves, and making as few demands as possible on the time

and labour of those around you.

In _calling on friends_ consult their convenience, as well as your own;

and in some cases in preference to your own. Many make their calls at

such hours, and sit so inordinately long, as to throw a whole family

into disorder, and inflict very serious pain. Never sit long in your

social calls at any time; but when you make them at times which may, by

possibility interfere with domestic meals, let them be _very short_; be

on the watch for every symptom of engagement or uneasiness on the part

of those whom you visit, and on the appearance of any thing of the kind,

instantly take your leave.

Constantly maintain the habit of _early rising_. Few things are more

conducive to health and activity both of body and mind. A disposition

to lie long in bed in the morning, is, at once, a symptom and a cause of

feeble digestion, of nervous debility, and of general languor. Go early

to bed. Avoid much night study. Quit your beds by dawn of day, and, in

winter, before the dawn, and thus secure several hours of unbroken time,

for devotion, for study, and for gentle exercise in the open air, before

breakfast, and before the interruptions of the earliest visitors

commence.

Cultivate habits of moderation in _dress_. You are never likely to be

able to indulge in very inordinate expense in bodily adorning; and I

will venture to say, this inability, wherever it exists, is a great

blessing. Few things evince more weakness of mind, and absence of

Christian principle, than extravagance and splendor in dress. In young

men it is a sad evidence of "dandyism" and folly; and even in young

females, an excessive indulgence in fashion, in finery, and the extreme

of _devotion_ to bodily adorning, never fails to depress their character

in the estimation of the wise and good. Try to set an example of sober,

dignified _moderation_ in regard to this whole subject. Always guard

against negligence of dress. Conscientiously avoid exposing yourselves

to the charge of careless, slatternly habits. But never make dress an

idol. Reject every thing dazzling, or what is commonly called "dashing,"

in outward ornament. Be not seen aping the extreme of fashion; and ever

remember how unworthy it is of Christians to be worshippers of external

adorning; and how peculiarly disreputable for the children of

_clergymen_ to bear such a character.

* * * * *

Thus, dear children, I have endeavoured, with brevity, to give you a few

paternal counsels, which, I would fondly hope, may, by the grace of God,

be made to promote your benefit, when the hand which penned them shall

be sleeping in the dust. You will perceive from the _order_ in which I

have placed my counsels, that I consider real heart religion as the most

indispensable and precious of all attainments; that my first and highest

wish concerning you is, that you may love your Father's and Mother's

God, and make it your daily aim to follow her to that world of bliss and

glory to which, as we trust, she has gone before us. Next to seeing you

real Christians, my desire is to see you enlightened, polished,

benevolent, amiable, attractive members of society, respected and

beloved by all who know you.

Remember, I beseech you, that the friends of your Parents will expect

much from you. The advantages which you have enjoyed, and are daily

enjoying, impose upon you a solemn responsibility in the sight both of

God and man. Many prayers have ascended to heaven on your behalf. Pray

without ceasing for yourselves, that you may be preserved from the

paths of sin and folly, and led in the ways of heavenly wisdom.

I have no doubt that the counsels I have given you will commend

themselves to your judgment, and that you will promptly form the

resolution to make them your constant guide. But you cannot rely upon

your own wisdom or strength to do this. Such are your own infirmities,

and so multiplied the temptations and allurements which surround you,

that you will need at every step, guidance and help from above. Happy

will it be for you if you habitually bear this in mind, and acknowledge

God in all your ways, that he may direct your steps.

And now, dear children, I bid you farewell. When I look forward, and

imagine to myself what may be your course in life--when I think of the

corruptions and perils with which you are surrounded, and what _may_ be

the result of them, I hardly know how to express my anxieties and fears:

but when I recollect the love and faithfulness of that God who blessed

your Parents, I feel willing to commit you into his hands, and to trust

his grace for your temporal and eternal welfare. May he guide you by his

counsel! May he guard you amidst all the dangers of youth and of riper

years; and finally, "present you faultless before the presence of his

glory with exceeding great joy!" O how unutterably precious the thought

of meeting you all at last--with those of our beloved family who have

already gone before us, and those who are yet to follow--around the

throne of our covenant God, and rejoicing forever in his presence and

glory! Such will be the prayer until his last breath, of your

Affectionate Grandfather,

SAMUEL MILLER.

PRINCETON, July 10, 1839.

THE END.