The Christian Father's Present to His Children

[airIam2worship]

Thus would I have a female qualified for her station as a wife, mother, and manager of a family—but this is not all; for mental improvement should be associated with a correct knowledge of household affairs. She who is to preside over a family, should be most intimately acquainted with everything that can preserve its order, or promote its comfort. That must be a most injudicious mother, who is not anxious to teach a daughter how to manage a family to the greatest advantage! And that must be a weak and silly girl, who is not willing to be taught. All the time, therefore, must not be given to books; for learned ladies, without neatness, without order, without economy, without frugality, "May do very well for maidens or aunts, but they'll never make good wives!"

A husband's home should be rendered comfortable for himself and his children—or else they are both very likely to wander from home for comfort. Cleanliness, neatness, frugality, order—are all of great importance in the habits of a wife, mother, and mistress, for the lack of which, no knowledge, however profound or extensive, can be a substitute. It is not at all requisite that a wife should be either an accomplished housemaid, or a perfect cook—but the lack of this ability has led many a man, who was blessed with a learned wife, to exclaim, with something between disgust and despair, "I now find, to my cost—that academic attainments, personal beauty, and ostentatious accomplishments—are poor a qualifications for a wife!"

Before I close this chapter, I must mention one or two DISPOSITIONS, which young females should assiduously cherish and unostentatiously exhibit.

The first is FILIAL OBEDIENCE; not that this is binding upon daughters only, for what son is he who honors not, loves not, comforts not, his father and his mother? Wherever Providence should cast his lot, or in whatever circumstances he should be placed, let him continue in every possible way to promote the happiness of his parents. Young people are but too apt to think, that the obligations to filial piety diminish in number and strength as years increase. I am afraid, that really one of the signs of the times, and it is no bright one—is the decrease of this amiable and lovely virtue. I think I see rising—I wish I may be in error—a spirit of independence, which is aiming to precede the period of manhood—the time when the yoke of parental control may be thrown off. This is neither for the comfort of the parents, nor the advantage of the children. It is not obedience only that should not be refused; for where this is denied, there can be neither true religion nor virtue—but all that public way of showing them honor, and all that private way of promoting their comfort, for which, opportunities are constantly presented. There is no period in the life of a father or mother, when the obligation to be in some measure subject to them, and in all measure to promote their happiness, ceases.

The following is the description of a daughter which I have somewhere met with—"MARIA received her unhappy existence at the price of her mother's life, and at the age of seventeen she followed, as the sole mourner, the coffin of her remaining parent. From her thirteenth year, she had passed her life at her father's sick bed, the gout having deprived him of the use of his limbs, and beheld the arch of heaven only when she went forth to fetch food or medicines. The discharge of her filial duties occupied the whole of her time and all her thoughts. She was his only nurse and for the last two years. She prepared his scanty meal, she bathed his aching limbs, and, though weak and delicate from constant confinement, and the poison of melancholy thoughts, she had acquired an unusual power in her arms, from the habit of lifting her old and suffering father out of and back into, his bed of pain. Thus passed away her early youth in sorrow; she grew up in tears, a stranger to the amusements of youth, and its more delightful schemes and imaginations. She was not, however, unhappy; she attributed no merit to herself for her virtues—but for that reason were they more her reward. 'The peace which passes all understanding,' disclosed itself in all her looks and movements. It lay on her countenance like a steady unshadowed moonlight; and her voice, which was at once naturally sweet and subtle, came from her like the fine flute tones of a masterly performer, which, still floating at some uncertain distance, seemed to be created by the player, rather than to proceed from the instrument. If you had listened to it in one of those brief sabbaths of the soul, when the activity and discursiveness of the thoughts are suspended, and the mind quietly eddies round instead of flowing onward (as at late evening in the spring, I have seen a bat fly in silent circles round and round a fruit tree in full blossom, in the midst of which, as within a close tent of the purest white, an unseen nightingale was piping its purest notes,) in such a mood, you might have half fancied, half felt, that her voice had a separate being of its own—that it was a living something whose mode of existence was for the ear only—so deep was her resignation, so entirely had it become the habit of her nature, and in all she did or said so perfectly were her movements, and her utterance without effort, and without the appearance of effort. Her dying father's last words, addressed to the clergyman who attended him, were his grateful testimony, that during his long and sore trial, his good MARIA had behaved to him like an angel; that the most disagreeable offices, and the least suited to her age and sex, had never drawn an unwilling look from her; and that whenever his eye had met hers, he had been sure to see in it either the tear of pity, or the sudden smile expressive of her affection and wish to cheer him. 'God,' said he, 'will reward the good girl for all her long dutifulness to me!' He departed during the inward prayer, which followed these his last words. His wish will be fulfilled in eternity!"

What daughter can read this and not admire, and if need be, imitate the conduct of MARIA? Few are called to these self-denying acts of filial piety—but who would not do all they could to sweeten, as far as may be, the 'dregs of life' to an aged mother, or a blind father? It has been observed, that a good daughter generally makes an exemplary wife and mother.

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[airIam2worship]

SENSIBILITY, when blended with a sound judgment, and guided in its exercises by good sense and prudence—is a lovely ornament of the female character. By sensibility, I mean a susceptibility of having emotion excited by external objects; a habit of mind, in which the affections are easily moved, by objects calculated and worthy to produce feeling. Of course, this is an evil or an excellence, according as it is united with other mental habits. An excess of sensibility, is one of the most injurious ingredients which can enter into the formation of character. Where it is united with a weak judgment, and a wild imagination, it exposes its possessor to the greatest possible dangers, and opens in her own bosom a perpetual source of vexation, misery, and self-torment. If we were to trace to their source many of those quarrels which have alienated friends, and made irreconcilable enemies—those hasty and imprudent marriages which have terminated in total wretchedness; those acts of profligacy, suicide, and even murder, which have stained the annals of mankind—we should find the seed of all these mischiefs, in an excess of morbid sensibility.

Feeling, like fire, is a good servant—but a bad master—a source of comfort, and a means of usefulness—if well governed. But if left to rage without control—it is an engine of destruction, and a cause of misery. Every heart should have an altar, on which this fire should be perpetually kept burning—but then prudence should ever be on the watch, lest it should consume the temple!

Young females are in imminent danger of being led away by the representation, that an unfeeling woman, though she be pure as a statue of marble, yet withal, if she be as cold, is a most unlovely character. This I admit, and therefore I class a well-governed sensibility among the decorations of the female character. But then, the tendency of this remark is certainly mischievous, since, according to the spirit in which it is usually both made and received, it means, that an excess of feeling rather adorns than injures the character. It will be found, generally speaking, that young people rather force the growth, than check the luxuriance of their feelings; which is just in the inverted order of nature, since the affections generally grow without culture—the judgment scarcely ever.

The voice of flattery, also, is all on the side of feeling. A warm-hearted girl, carried away by her feelings, and misled by a wild and ardent imagination, will find many more admirers than the sensible, prudent, and reserved one—and for this plain reason, because there are more fools in the world than wise men. Follow out the history of the two characters. It is the end that proves all.

Imprudent attachments, rash friendships, misdirected anxieties, eccentric charities, fickle schemes, groundless anticipations, mortifying disappointments, harassing litigations, with innumerable other evils—come in the train of excessive and ungoverned sensibility. Let young women therefore remember, that the 'understanding' is the queen among the faculties of the soul, beneath whose despotic sway, the imagination and affections may be as active and as ardent as they please, so that they never offend against the laws of their sovereign.

With these limitations, I will admit that sensibility is an ornament of female character. A cold, unfeeling, heartless woman—who has no tear for sorrow, no smile for excellence—who has no power but that of niggardly calculation—and no emotions but those which, by a sort of centripetal force, are all drawn to self as the center of gravity—is a libel upon her sex. She may have prudence—but it is likely to degenerate into cunning; frugality—but it will in all probability soon become avarice; caution—but it will be changed to suspicion; intellect—but it will be proud, censorious, and cynical.

Pure sensibility is the soil in which the generous affections grow—it cherishes that mercy which is full of good fruits; gives birth to all the enterprises of benevolence, and when touched and purified with a "live coal from the altar," will give a keener taste for the spirit of true religion, a richer enjoyment of its privileges, and a quicker zeal in discharging its duties. But then it must be feeling associated with principle, and guided in all its exercises by a sound judgment.

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[airIam2worship]

A RETIREDNESS OF DISPOSITION is also an exquisite ornament of the female character. Even the most distant approach to whatever is forward in manner, and vain in conversation, should be most studiously avoided. Delicate reserve, without awkward bashfulness—is a great part of the loveliness of every young female; especially in all her conduct towards the opposite sex. A lady who takes pains to be noticed, generally gains her object without its reward—for she is noticed—but at the same time she is despised. Nothing can be more disgusting than a bold obtrusiveness of manners in a female, except it be that 'affectation of retiredness' which retreats only to be followed.

Flippancy and pertness are sometimes mistakenly substituted, by their possessor, for smartness and cleverness. These latter qualities never look well when they are studied—they are never tolerable but when they are natural; and are among the last things which we should seek to 'acquire'—for when obtained in this way, they appear no better than ornaments stuck on, instead of being wrought in. I am not contending against that ease of manners which the most retiring female may and should adopt, even in the company of gentlemen—that artless and elegant freedom which is compatible with the most delicate reserve. But I deplore that obtrusive mode of address, which determines to attract attention.

A love of display has been thought to be among the blemishes which usually attach to female character in general. I do not now refer to the 'petty concerns of dress', for this is truly pitiable—and an individual silly enough to indulge such 'a butterfly, peacock taste' as this—is too weak to afford any rational hopes of having her follies corrected. Arguments are lost upon that little mind whose ambition cannot comprehend, or value, or covet—a distinction of greater worth, than a richer silk, a more graceful plume, or a more modern fashion. This Lilliputian heroine, armed at every point with feathers, flowers, and ribbons; supported by all her auxiliary forces of plumassiers, frisseurs, milliners, mantua makers, perfumers, etc., etc.—contending for the palm of victory, on the arena of fashion, must be left to her fate, to conquer or to fall—I have no concern with HER.

But there is vanity of another kind, against which I would caution young females, and that is a fondness for exhibiting their fashionable accomplishments or mental acquirements. Ostentation in a man is bad enough—but in a woman is still worse. Few things are more offensive than to see a female laboring to the uttermost to convince a company, that she has received a good intellectual education, has improved her advantages, and is really a sensible, clever woman!

Now observe, I am not contending against a woman's acquainting herself with intellectual subjects—for I reject with indignation the calumny that the female mind is unequal to the profoundest subjects of human investigation, or should be restricted in its studies to more feminine pursuits. Much less am I anxious to exclude the stores of female intellect, and the music of female tongues, from the feast of reason and the flow of soul. No! Too long have the softer sex been insulted by the supposition, that they are incapable of joining or enriching the mental communion and conversation of the drawing-room. I most unequivocally, unhesitatingly say, that they have a much smaller share of conversational communion than their natural talents, and their acquired information, entitle them to.

All I am contending against is, that love of display which leads some to force themselves upon the attention of a company, which is not contented with sharing—but is ambitious of monopolizing the time and opportunities of rational discourse. Some silversmith and jewelers, who wish to attract public attention, make a splendid display of gems and jewels in their window—but their window contains their whole stock, they have no store besides. There are others, who, making all proper exhibition, can conduct their customers from room to room within, each filled with stores of inestimable value. Not unlike the former, some people make a grand display in conversation—but their tongue, like the shop-window, exhibits all they possess—they have very little besides in the mind. But there are others who, like the latter tradesman, are not deficient in respectable display—but then, besides the ideas which they exhibit in conversation, they have a valuable stock of knowledge in the mind.

To conclude this long chapter, I must again remind you that true piety is the deep basis of EXCELLENCE; sound morality its lofty superstructure; good sense, general knowledge, correct feeling, the necessary furniture of the fabric; and unaffected modesty and  proper accomplishments its elegant decorations!

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[airIam2worship]

ON PRUDENCE, MODESTY, AND COURTESY

True religion, my dear children, is the first and the principal thing which I am anxious that you should possess—but it is not the only one. It is the basis of excellence which should be well laid, to bear whatever things are lovely, or of good report, or, changing the metaphor—it is that firmness and solidity of character which, like the substance of the diamond, best prepares it to receive a polish, and is rendered more beautiful and more valuable by being polished. The religion of some people is like the gem in the rough, the excellence of which is concealed and disfigured by many foreign adhesions—there is real principle at the bottom—but it is so surrounded by imprudence, crudeness, ignorance, slovenliness, and other bad qualities, that it requires a skillful eye to discern its worth. I most earnestly admonish you, therefore,to add to your piety

1. PRUDENCE. By prudence, I mean a calculating and deliberative turn of mind, as to the tendency of our words and actions; coupled with a desire so to speak and act, as to bring no inconvenience either upon ourselves or others. It is that right application of knowledge to practice, which constitutes wisdom. A person may have an immensity of knowledge, with scarcely a grain of prudence; and, notwithstanding the stores of his understanding, may always have his peace destroyed.

I am aware that prudence is too often regarded by the ardent and optimistic minds of the young, as a cold and heartless virtue; a sort of November flower, which, though regular in its growth, and mild in color, has neither glow nor fragrance—but stands alone in the garden as the memorial of departed summer, the harbinger of approaching winter. Youth are captivated by what is exciting and impetuous, even when it leads to "Headlong Hall." If by prudence I meant mere cold reserve, or that selfishness which chills the ardor of kindness, and freezes the spring of benevolence in the heart, you might well beware of a disposition so unlovely.

But when I simply mean a habit of thinking before you speak or act, lest your thoughtlessness should prove injurious to the comfort of your own mind, or the comfort of others; when I only require you to exercise that judgment upon the tendencies of your conduct, which is one of the chief distinctions of a rational creature; when I merely call upon you to put forth the power of foresight which God has planted in your nature—surely, surely, there is nothing unsuited either to your age, or to the most generous mind, in this. That rashness of speech, or of conduct, which is always involving a person, and his friends too, in difficulties, inconveniences, and embarrassments, has little to commend itself to your admiration, with whatever good temper or mirthful liveliness it may happen to be associated; society must be a chaos, if all its members were formed upon this model.

You must have seen, my dear children, the mischiefs which imprudence has brought in its train. What strifes have been engendered by a rash, unguarded use of the tongue; by people giving a hasty opinion of the character, conduct, and motives of others—I believe that half of the quarrels which exist, may be traced up to this source. If then you would journey along through life in honor and in peace, I cannot give you a more important piece of advice than this—"Be very cautious how you give an opinion of the character, conduct, or motives of others. Be slow to speak. For one that has repented of having held his tongue, myriads have bitterly grieved over the imprudent use of it." Remember what Solomon says, "A prating fool shall fall;" and almost all fools do prate. Silence is generally a characteristic of wise men, especially in reference to the concerns of others. I know not a surer mark of a little, empty mind—than to be always talking about our neighbors' affairs. A collector of rags is a much more honorable, and certainly a far more useful member of society, than a collector and vender of tales.

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[airIam2worship]

But let your prudence manifest itself in reference to your conduct, as well as to your words. Never act until you have deliberated. Some people invert the order of nature and reason; they act first, and think afterwards; and the consequence very generally proves, as might have been expected, that first impressions are fallacious guides to wise actions. I scarcely know anything against which young people should be more seriously warned than this habit of acting from first impressions; nor anything which they should be more earnestly advised to cultivate, than an almost instinctive propensity to look forward, and to consider the probable results of any proposed line of conduct. This calculating temper is to be preferred, far more than the knowledge of the rash; for it will preserve both the peace of its possessor, and that of others who have to do with him.

Multitudes, by a lack of prudence in the management of their financial affairs, have ruined themselves, plunged their families into poverty, and involved their friends in calamity. They have engaged in one rash speculation after another, and formed one unpromising connection after another; scarcely recovered from the complicated damage of one, before they were involved in the failure of the next—until the final catastrophe came in all its terrors, which might have been foreseen, and was predicted by everyone except the rash projector himself. When we consider that in such cases a man cannot suffer alone—but must extend the effects of his conduct to others, prudence will appear to be not only an ornament of character—but a virtue; and imprudence not only near to immorality—but a part of it.

Begin life, then, with a systematic effort to cultivate a habit of sound discretion, and prudent foresight; and for this purpose, observe attentively the conduct of others—profit both by the sufferings of the rash, and the tranquility of the cautious—render also your own past experience subservient to future improvement. I knew a person, who having imprudently engaged in a litigation which cost him a considerable sum of money, made the following entry in his diary, "March—Paid this day, one hundred and fifty pounds for wisdom." Experience, it has been said, keeps a costly school—but some people will not learn in any other, and they are fortunate who improve in this. I most emphatically recommend to you the diligent study of the book of Proverbs, as containing more sound wisdom, more prudential maxims for the right government of our affairs in this life, than all other books in the world put together!

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[airIam2worship]

2. MODESTY (that is, true humility) is a very bright ornament of the youthful character—without it the greatest attainments and the strongest genius cannot fail to create disgust.

Conceitedness, I have already stated to be one of the obstacles to youthful piety, and even where its evil does not operate so fatally as this, it certainly disfigures true religion. Young people should consider, that even if they have much knowledge—they have but little experience. Everything pert, flippant, obtrusive, and self-confident, is highly unsuitable in those who, whatever they may know of scholastic literature, have but little acquaintance either with themselves or mankind. Strong intellect and great attainments will soon commend themselves, without any pains being taken to force them upon our attention; and they never appear so lovely, nor attract us with such force, as when seen through a veil of modesty. Like the blushing violet, which discloses its retreat rather by its fragrance than by its color, youthful excellence should modestly leave others to find out its concealment, and not ostentatiously thrust itself on public attention.

I do not wish to inculcate that extreme demureness which makes young people bashful and timid, even to awkwardness and sheepishness; which prevents even the laudable exertion of their powers; and which is not only distressing to the subjects of it themselves—but painful to others. Nothing can be further from my views than this; for it is a positive misery to be able neither to speak nor be spoken to, without blushing to the ears, and trembling to the very toes. But there is a wide difference between this bashfulness and genuine modesty.

"Modesty is a habit, or principle of the mind, which leads a man to form a humble estimate of himself, and prevents him from ostentatiously displaying his attainments before others—bashfulness is merely a state of timid feeling. Modesty discovers itself in the absence of everything pretended—whether in look, word, or action; bashfulness betrays itself by a downcast look, a blushing cheek, and a timid air. Modesty, though opposed to self-conceit, is not incompatible with an unpretending confidence in ourselves; bashfulness altogether unmans us, and disqualifies us for our duty."

Modesty shields a man from the mortifications and disappointments which assail the self-conceited man from every quarter. A pert, pragmatical youth, fond alike of exalting himself and depreciating others, soon becomes a mark for the arrows of ridicule, censure, and anger. While a modest person conciliates the esteem of all, not excepting his enemies and rivals; he disarms the resentment even of those who feel themselves most injured by his superiority; he makes all pleased with him by making them at ease with themselves; he is at once esteemed for his talents, and loved for the humility with which he bears them. Arrogance can neither supply the lack of talents, nor adorn them where they are possessed.

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[airIam2worship]

It is of importance to cultivate modesty in youth, for if lacking then, it is seldom obtained afterwards. Nothing grows faster than  conceitedness; and as no weed in the human heart becomes more vigorous—so none is more offensive than this. I have known individuals, who, by their extensive information, might have become the delight of every circle in which they moved—have yet by their positive, dogmatical and overbearing temper, inspired such a dread, that their arrival in company has thrown a cloud-shadow on every countenance!

A disputatious temper is exceedingly to be dreaded. Nothing can be more opposed to the peace of society than that disposition, which converts every room into the arena of controversy, every company into competitors, and every diversity of sentiment into an occasion of discord. There are times when a man must state and defend his own opinions; when he cannot be silent, when he must not only defend—but attack. But even in such cases he should avoid everything dogmatical and overbearing; all insulting contempt of others, and all that most irritating treatment, which makes his opponent appear like a fool. Our arguments should not fall and explode with the noise and violence of thunderbolts—but insinuate themselves like the light or the dew of heaven.

Take it, my dear children, as the result of nearly a quarter of a century's observation and experience in no contracted circle of human life, that verbal controversy in company produces very little good, and a great deal of harm. In such a situation men contend for victory—not for truth. And each goes into the war of words, determined to avoid, if possible, the disgrace of a public defeat.

3. COURTESY is a most valuable disposition. This is required not only by those authors who are the law givers of the social circle—but by Him who has published laws for the government of the heart.

"Be courteous," says the word of God. By courtesy, I mean that benevolence of disposition which displays itself in a constant aim to please those with whom we associate, both by the matter and manner of our actions; in little things as well as great ones. Crabbe, in his English Synonyms, has given us this definition of courtesy and amiability—"Courtesy in one respect comprehends more than amiability; it includes the manner, as well as the action; it is, properly speaking, polished amiability. On the other hand amiability includes more of the disposition in it than courteousness; it has less of the polish—but more of the reality of kindness. Courteousness displays itself in the address and the manners—amiability in direct good offices. Courteousness is most suitable for strangers; amiability for friends, or the nearest relatives. Among well-bred men, and men of rank, it is an invariable rule to address each courteously on all occasions whenever they meet, whether acquainted or otherwise. There is a degree of amiability due between husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, and members of the same family, which cannot be neglected without endangering the harmony of their communion."

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[airIam2worship]

It is my earnest desire, my children, that you should be both courteous and amiable. The union of both these constitutes true politeness. True politeness is excellence carried to its highest polish.

Life is made up for the most part of petty interactions—and is checkered more by the light and shade of minor pains and pleasures, than by the deeper hues of miseries and ecstasies. Occasions rarely happen, when we can relieve or be relieved by the more splendid efforts of benevolence; while not a day, scarcely an hour, passes without an opportunity of giving or receiving gratifications of amiability.

"Politeness is one of those advantages which we never estimate rightly but by the inconvenience of its loss. Its influence upon the manners is constant and uniform, so that like an equal motion, it escapes perception. Wisdom and virtue are by no means sufficient without the supplemental laws of good breeding, to secure freedom from degenerating into crudeness; or self-esteem from swelling into insolence—a thousand incivilities may be committed, and a thousand offices neglected without any remorse of conscience, or reproach from reason."

The true effect of genuine politeness seems to be rather ease than pleasure. The power of delighting must be conferred by nature, and cannot be delivered by precept, or obtained by imitation. But though it be the privilege of few to ravish and to charm, every man may hope, by rules and cautions, not to give pain, and may therefore, by the help of good breeding, enjoy the kindness of mankind, though he should have no claim to higher distinctions.

"The universal axiom in which all amiability is included, and from which flow all the formalities that custom has established in civilized nations, is—that no man shall give any preference to himself. This is a rule so comprehensive and certain, that perhaps it is not easy for the mind to imagine an incivility, without supposing it to be broken."

Do not think, however, that politeness is only to be acquired by frequenting what is called fashionable company, and places of public entertainment. Amiability is the offspring of benevolence, the tiny daughter of kindness; and this may be found in the cottage, where I have often seen as much real courtesy as ever graced a mansion. Hear the testimony of Dr. Johnson on this subject—"I have indeed not found, among any part of mankind, less real and rational amiability—than among those who have passed their time in paying and receiving visits, in frequenting public entertainments, in studying the exact measures of ceremony, and in watching all the variations of fashionable courtesy.

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[airIam2worship]

"They know, indeed, at what hour they may be at the door of an acquaintance, how many steps they must attend him towards the gate, and what interval should pass before his visit is returned—but seldom extend their care beyond the exterior and unessential parts of civility, nor refuse their own vanity any gratification, however expensive, to the quiet of another."

By a neglect of amiability, many people of substantial excellence have deprived their virtues of much of their luster, and themselves of much kindness—of whom it is very common to have it said—"Yes, he is a good man—but I cannot like him." Surely such people, by their unamiable disposition, have sold the attachment of the world at too low a price, since they have lost one of the rewards of virtue, without even gaining the profits of wickedness.

4. ON ADMIRATION OF THE CHARACTERS OF OTHERS, I think it important to say a few things. To observe, admire, and imitate the excellences of those around us—is no less our duty than our interest. It is a just tribute to their moral worth, and the means of promoting our own. It is of great consequence, however, that our admiration of character should be well directed. For as we naturally imitate what we admire, we should take care that we are attracted and charmed only by real excellence. Do not be led astray, my children, by a mere spuriousness—or showiness of character. Let nothing be regarded by you as worthy your admiration, which is not in connection with moral worth. Courage, frankness, heroism, politeness, intellect, are all valuable—but unless they are united with genuine principle, and true integrity, they only render their possessor more dangerous, and invest him with greater power to do harm. Do not allow your imagination to be captivated by the dazzling properties of a character, of which the substantial parts are not approved by your judgment; nothing is excellent which is not morally so.

The polished dissolute person, the generous profligate, the witty and intelligent skeptic, are to be shunned as serpents, whose colorful and beautiful skin should have no power to reconcile us to their venom. You may be charged with lack of taste, or coldness of heart, for withholding your approbation—but it is a far sublimer attainment, and certainly a more difficult one, to have a taste and ardor only in the cause of holiness. Be cautious to examine every character which is presented to you for admiration, to penetrate the varnish of exterior accomplishments; and if you find nothing of genuine integrity and holiness beneath, withhold the tribute of your approbation, regardless of the sneers of those shallow minds who have neither the power to test the things that differ, nor the virtue to approve only such as are excellent.

It is a very important hint to give to young people, just setting out in life, to analyze character before they admire it; remembering that, to borrow an allusion from chemistry, a deadly poison may be held in solution by the most beautifully-colored liquid which the eye can behold.

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[airIam2worship]

5. AN EXTREME DREAD OF SINGULARITY, arising out of a morbid sensibility to shame—is a dangerous disposition of mind, to which young people are very liable.

There are some who are so ambitious to be thought singular, that they pretend distinction in folly, or even in vice. They can even bear to be laughed at, if it may be admitted that they are singular; and are content to be persecuted, provided it be for the sake of their singularity. These 'martyrs to strangeness' are in one extremity of character—of which the other is that great dread of being ridiculed as singular, which tries a man's attachment, even to the cause of virtue. There are some so acutely, so morbidly sensible to the least sneer, that they are put in dreadful peril of forsaking the cause of righteousness and morality, rather than take up the cross in the face of laughter. I have already in part considered this, and stated it to be one of the obstacles to early piety—but it not only obstructs the entrance—but the subsequent path of piety, and should therefore be most vigorously opposed by all who are subject to its influence.

A sense of shame, when felt in reference to what is wrong, is one of the guardians of virtue—in this meaning of the phrase, it can never be too acute, nor can it be too delicately susceptible of impression. When any one has ceased to be ashamed of doing what is wrong, and the last blush with which a tender conscience once suffused the countenance has vanished—the progress of sin is nearly completed, and the sinner may be considered as near the end of his wicked career. But when a person is so morbidly sensible to ridicule, that he shrinks from it, even in the performance of that which is right, he not only lets down his dignity—but endangers his principles.

There is something noble and heroic in that disposition, which can dare to be singular in the cause of true religion and morality; which with a mind conscious of doing right, can fight, single-handed, the battles of the Lord, against the army of scorners by which it may be surrounded. It is not a part of virtue to be indifferent to the opinion of others, except that opinion be opposed to the principles of truth and holiness—then it is the very height of virtue to act above it, and against it!

Ridicule is certainly not the test of truth—but it is one of the most fiery ordeals of that courage by which the truth is professed and supported. Many have been vanquished by 'scorn', who were invulnerable to 'rage'; for men in general would much rather have their hearts reproached than their heads, deeming it less disgraceful to be weak in virtue than deficient in intellect. Strange perversion! the effect of that pride which, being injected into our nature by the venom of the serpent in Paradise, still continues to infect and destroy us! Let us oppose this working of evil within us, and crucify this lust of the flesh. Let no ridicule deter us from doing what is right or avoiding what is wrong. Let us emulate the sublime example of the apostle, who exclaimed, "We are fools for Christ's sake." This is the noblest effort of human courage, the loftiest achievement of virtue to be "faithful found among the faithless," and willing to bear any ridicule rather than act in opposition to the convictions of our judgment, and the dictates of our conscience.

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[airIam2worship]

It is infinitely better to be scorned for doing what is right, than applauded for doing what is wrong. From the laughter of the wicked you may find a refuge in the approbation of your conscience, and the smile of your God. But in what a miserable situation is that poor cowardly wretch, whose dread of singularity has led him to sacrifice the convictions of his conscience, and who has nothing to comfort him under the frowns of Deity but the applause of fools!

Neither in little things, nor in great ones, allow your dread of singularity to turn your feet from the path of integrity. Arm yourself with this mind-set, to do what is right, though you can find neither companion nor follower!

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[airIam2worship]

REDEEMING TIME

It was a very important admonition which Paul delivered to the Ephesian church—"Redeeming the time, because the days are evil." The context in which it stands is equally striking—he had just admonished those to whom he wrote, not to walk as fools; thus implying that a man can give no greater proof of folly, nor more effectually act the part of a fool, than to waste his time—while on the other hand, a just appreciation and right improvement of time are among the brightest displays of true wisdom.

Seneca has somewhere observed that we are all of us complaining of the shortness of time, and yet have much more than we know what to do with. We are always mourning that our days are few, and yet acting as though there would be no end of them. This plainly proves that we neither value time correctly, nor improve it diligently. The late Henry Martyn was known at the University by the designation of "The man who never wasted an hour." Nothing can better explain what I mean by improving time; it is never wasting it—but always appropriating it to some useful purpose. Many considerations, my children, urge this upon us.

Time is the most precious thing in the world. In the bestowment of it, God differs from the manner in which he distributes most of his other gifts; in the latter he is profuse, in the former miserly. He can, of course, give us but a moment at a time—but that he does without ever promising another; as if to teach us highly to value, and diligently to improve the present moment, by the consideration that for anything we know, it may be the last.

Time, when once gone, never returns. Where is yesterday? "With the ages beyond the Flood," and we could as soon hope to bring back one as the other. We talk of fetching up a lost hour—but the thing is impossible. A moment once lost is lost forever; we could as rationally set out to find a sound that had expired in the air, as to find a lost moment.

There is much of our time which can be applied to no purpose—except preparing us for improving other portions of our existence. How much goes away in sleep, and in all the other demands of nature, for its refreshment and invigoration—this is not lost, if the subsequent periods be rightly applied, and diligently employed, any more than the time spent in oiling the wheels of a carriage impedes the journey, because the vehicle goes the faster afterwards. But then, if we sleep at night, it is that we might be busy in the day; if we eat and drink, it is that we might be better able to work; and certainly a recollection of the great portion of our time that is necessary for refreshment and repose, should be a stimulus to us to employ the remainder with the greater diligence. We should regard it as an infirmity of nature, that so much sleep and time for eating and drinking is necessary, and endeavor, by diligence in our waking working hours, to improve the surplus.

Then add to this the portions of time which are irresistibly engrossed by the 'tyranny of custom'—all that passes in regulating the superficial decorations of life, or is given up in the reciprocations of civility to the disposal of others; all that is torn from us by the violence of disease, or stolen imperceptibly away by lassitude and languor; that large portion which is spent amid the toys of childhood, and afterwards amid the imbecility of old age. I say, add up these things, and when you have subtracted the amount from the gross sum of man's life, how small is the remainder! Even the active and busy part of mankind apply a very little more than a third part of their existence to any valuable purpose. By this mode of calculation, the old man of eighty has lived but little more than twenty-six years; and the man of forty—but little more than thirteen. A most cogent reason for not wasting an hour!

cont

[airIam2worship]

We should never forget that our time is among the talents for which we must give account at the judgment of God. Time being not the least precious of these, will be required with a strictness proportionate to its value. Let us tremble at this idea, as well we may. We must be tried not only for what we have done—but for what we had time to do, yet neglected to do it. Not only for the hours spent in sin—but for those wasted in idleness. Let us beware of that mode of spending time which some call killing it, "for this murder, like others, will not always be concealed—the hours destroyed in secret will appear when we least expect it, to the unspeakable terror and amazement of our souls—they arise from the dead, and fly away to heaven, where they might have carried better news, and there tell sad tales of us, which we shall be sure to hear of again, when we hold up our hands at the bar, and they shall come as so many swift witnesses against us!"

It might stir us up to diligence in the improvement of our time, to think how much of it has been already misspent. What days, and weeks, and months, and years, have already been utterly wasted, or exhausted upon trifles totally unworthy of them. They are gone, and nothing remains of them but the guilt of having wasted them. We cannot call them back if we would; and all we can do is to let their memorial, like the recollection of any other dead friends whom we treated improperly while they lived, lead us to value more highly, and to use more kindly, those that remain.

How much of our time is already gone—and how little may be yet to come? The sands of our hour-glass may be almost out, without the possibility of having it turned. Death may be at the door. When you begin a day, you don't know that you shall end it! When you lie down, you don't know that you shall rise up! When you leave your house, you don't know that you shall ever return!

For what is your life? it is even as a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes! Life is a bubble that rises, and shines, and bursts! We know not in any one period of our existence—but that it may be the last. Surely, surely, we should then improve our time, when we may be holding, for anything we know, the last portion of it in our hands! With the absolute certainty of a life as long as Methuselah's, not an hour should be wasted!—how much less when we know not that there is a day in reserve for us!

cont

[airIam2worship]

But what are the PURPOSES for which time should be redeemed?

For the SALVATION OF THE SOUL, the business of true religion, the preparation for eternity. You are immortal creatures, my children, and must live forever in torment or in bliss; and certainly you cannot be forming a right estimate of the value of time, nor be rightly employing it, if the soul be forgotten, salvation neglected, and eternity left out of consideration! "For what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul; or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" A man may attain to the science of Newton, to the genius of Milton, to the learning of Bentley, to the wealth of Croesus, and to the fame of Alexander—but if the salvation of the soul be neglected, he will through eternity confess and curse his folly—in losing his time! Our great business in this world is to prepare for the next; time is capital given us to trade with for eternity; and that man who goes off the 'theater of life' without having attended supremely to the great business of true religion, will appear to the inhabitants of the unseen world, as well as to himself, an object of amazement for his unparalleled folly in wasting his time upon matters, which, compared with eternal happiness, were utterly insignificant!

We must redeem time for the pursuits of business, for it is ordained that men shall gain their bread by the sweat of their brow; for the improvement of our mind, so far as circumstances will allow, in all useful knowledge; and for the exercise of benevolence. These are the objects which we must ever keep in view, as the claimants who make their demands for the years and the days which God has given us upon earth.

cont

[airIam2worship]

And FROM WHAT is our time to be redeemed?

From SLOTH. How much of it is consumed by this lazy, slumbering, monster! How many golden hours are wasted upon the downy pillow! Late rising is the enemy of piety, of knowledge, of health, of affluence; and the cause of ignorance, irreligion, and poverty. Shall true religion, wisdom, benevolence—my dear children—be found knocking at your chamber door morning after morning, exclaiming, "Awake, you who sleep, and arise!"—and receive no other answer than, "a little more sleep, and a little more slumber!" A habit of early rising has, in many cases, been a fortune to the pocket, and in many more, a fortune to the mind. Reckoning that a day consists of ten hours' active employment, the difference of life between an individual who rises at six o'clock, and another who rises at eight o'clock, is, in the term of sixty years, no less than equal to twelve years, and those the best years of a man's existence. There is in this calculation that which proves late rising not only to be a loss—but a crime! It is so much deducted from a man's existence—and actually given to his grave!

Many of the most distinguished characters in the literary world, owe their eminence to early rising. It is recorded of Buffon, the celebrated natural historian, that wishing to acquire the habit of early rising—both from his love of knowledge and of fame—he promised to pay his servant extra money, for every morning which the servant would be able to get Buffon out of bed by a given time. The servant went most resolutely to work, under the commission that authorized him to drag Buffon, if necessary, out of bed—and, in spite of threats and ill-usage, which he often had to endure from his somnolent master, succeeded in getting him from his bed by the stipulated hour. And Buffon informs us, that to the unwearied perseverance of his servant, the world is indebted for his work on Natural History.

It is a most injurious practice to invert the order of nature, and sit up late instead of rising early. Nocturnal studies rapidly undermine the strongest constitution. Dr. Owen, a name dear to all who love sterling piety and profound theological learning, used to say, when suffering through his excessive application to study, "That he would gladly give up all the knowledge he had acquired after ten o'clock at night, if he could recover all the strength he had lost by studies carried on after that hour."

Let your sleep, then, be necessary and healthful—not idle and wasteful of time, beyond the needs and conveniences of nature; and sometimes be curious to see the entrance which the sun makes, when he is coming forth from his chambers in the east.

cont