The Christian Father's Present to His Children

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Let me now set before you the DANGERS to be apprehended from bad company.

By bad company I mean all those who are destitute of the fear of God; not only the infidel, the profligate, the profane—but those who are living in the visible neglect of true religion. Now these are no fit companions for you. They may be respectable and noble as to their rank in life; they may be graceful and proper in their manners; they may be people of fine taste, and cultivated minds; humorous, and polished wit—but these things, if connected with ungodly habits, only make them the more alarmingly and successfully dangerous. They are like the fair speech, and lovely form, and glowing colors, which the serpent assumed when he attacked and destroyed the innocence of Eve. Look through these gaudy ornaments, pierce this dazzling exterior, and recognize the fang and the venom of the wily foe! The more external accomplishments any one has, if he be without the fear of God—the greater is his power to do evil. And remember, that when you have listened to his wiles, and feel the sharpness of his tooth, and the deadly agony of his venom, it will be no compensation, nor consolation—that you have looked on his gaily-colored skin, and have been ruined by the fascination of his charms! The companions you are to avoid, then, are those who are obviously living without the fear of God.

Consider the many dangers arising from such associates—you will soon leave all sense of serious piety, and lose all the impressions you may have received from a religious education. These you cannot hope to preserve; you may as soon expect to guard an impression traced with your finger in the sand from being effaced by the tide of the Atlantic ocean. Even they whose religious character has been formed for years, find it hard to preserve the spirituality of their mind in ungodly company. "Throw a blazing firebrand into snow or rain, and its brightness and heat will be quickly extinguished, so let the liveliest Christian plunge himself into sinful company, and he will soon find the warmth of his zeal abated, and the tenderness of his conscience injured."

How, then, can you expect to maintain a sense of true religion, whose habits are scarcely formed, and whose character has yet so much of the tenderness and suppleness of youth? Do consider your proneness to imitate; your dread of singularity; your love of praise; your morbid sense of shame. Can you bear the sneer, the jest, the broad, loud laugh? With none to defend you, none to join in your reverence for piety, what are you to do singly and alone?

In such company you lay yourselves open to temptation, and will probably be drawn into a great deal of guilt. In private and alone, the force of temptation and the power of depravity are very great—but how much greater when aided by the example of intimate friends. As united fires burn the fiercer, and the concentrated virus of many people thrown into the same room infected with the plague, renders the disease more malignant—so a sinful community grows in impiety, as every member joins his brother's pollution to his own. Nothing is so contagious as bad morals! Evil communications corrupt good manners. Multitudes have committed those sins without scruple in society, which they could not have contemplated alone without horror. It is difficult indeed to wade against the torrent of evil example, and, generally speaking—whatever is done by the group—must either be done or approved by every individual of which it is composed.

In such company you will throw yourselves out of the way of repentance and godliness. The little relish you once had for devotional exercises will soon be lost. Your Bible will fall into disuse, the house of God will be neglected, and pious friends carefully shunned. Should an occasional revival of your serious feelings take place under a sermon, or the remonstrances of a friend, they will be immediately lulled again to repose, or banished from your bosom by the presence and conversation of an ungodly companion.

In many cases, evil society has destroyed forever even the temporal interests of those who have frequented it. Habits of self-indulgence, amusements, folly, and extravagance—have been acquired; character has been ruined, business neglected, poverty and misery entailed. But if this should not ensue, the influence of evil association will go far to ruin your souls and sink you to eternal perdition! A companion of fools shall be destroyed; their path is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death. Yes—if you connect yourselves with them, they will drag you into the vortex of their own ruin, as they sink into the gulf of eternal perdition. Is there the companion on earth whose society you will seek to retain at this dreadful hazard? Is there one, for the sake of whose friendship you would be willing to walk with him to the bottomless pit?

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What though you could have the society of the best poets, philosophers, wits, and fashionables of the age—and yet were to lose your own souls—what would this profit you? Will it soothe the agonies of your spirit in those regions of horrible despair, to remember that you joyed in the company of your mirthful companions on earth? Alas! alas! all that rendered your communion on earth delightful, will then come to a final end. There will be no opportunities granted you to gratify your sensual desires together; no delicious food, no intoxicating liquors; there are no amusing tales; no merry songs there; no coruscations of wit will enliven the gloom of hell; no mirthful pleasure will brighten the darkness of eternal despair; no sallies of humor shall illumine the darkness of everlasting night. "But there shall be weeping, and wailing and gnashing of teeth—the worm that never dies, and the fire that is never quenched."

What mind but His, who comprehends the universe in his survey, can count the multitudes that have been ruined for both worlds, by the influence of bad company. Their names have been recorded on every roll of infamy, and found in every memorial of guilt and wretchedness. The records of the workhouse and the hospital; of the jail and the prisons; of the gallows and the morgue, would declare the mischief—and could we look into the prison of lost souls, a crowd of miserable spectres would meet our eye, who seem to utter in groans of despair, this sad confession, "We are the wretched victims of evil companions!"

In the large and populous town where Providence has fixed my lot, I have had an extensive sphere of observation; and I give it as my decided conviction, and deliberate opinion, that improper companions are the most successful means which are employed by Satan for the ruin of men's souls!

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[airIam2worship]

The advice then which I offer is this:

1. Be not over anxious about getting friends. Do not take up the opinion that all happiness centers in a friend. Many of you are blessed with a happy home and an agreeable circle round your own fireside. Here seek your companions—in your parents, and your brothers and sisters.

2. Determine to have no companion, rather than have an evil one. The one case is but a privation of what is pleasant—the other is a possession of a destructive evil.

3. Maintain a dignified—but not proud reserve. Do not be too open and naive. Be cautious of too hastily attaching yourselves as friends to others, or them to you. Be polite and kind to all—but communicative and familiar with few. Keep your hearts in abeyance, until your judgment has most carefully examined the characters of those who wish to be admitted to the circle of your acquaintance. Neither run nor jump into friendships—but walk towards them slowly and cautiously.

4. Always consult your parents about your companions, and be guided by their opinions. They have your interest at heart, and see further and better, than you can.

5. Cultivate a taste for reading and mental improvement; this will render you independent of living for society. Books will always furnish you with intelligent, useful, and elegant friends. No one can be dull who has access to the works of illustrious authors, and has a taste for reading. And after all there are but comparatively few, whose society will so richly reward us, as this 'silent converse with the mighty dead'.

6. Choose none for your intimate companions but those who are decidedly pious, or people of very high moral worth. A scrupulous regard to all the duties of morality; a high reverence for the scriptures; a belief in their essential doctrines; a constant attendance on the means of grace, are the lowest qualifications which you should require in the character of an intimate friend.

Perhaps I shall be asked one or two questions on this subject, to which an answer ought to be returned. "If," say you, "I have formed an acquaintance with a young friend, before I had any serious impressions upon my mind, ought I now to leave his society, if he still remains destitute of any visible regard to true religion?" First try, by every effort which affection can dictate, and prudence direct, to impress his mind with a sense of true religion—if, after awhile your exertions should be unavailing, candidly tell him, that as you have taken different views of things, and acquired different tastes to what you formerly possessed; and that as you have failed to bring him to your way of living, and can no longer accommodate your pursuits to his, conscience demands of you a separation from his society.

Sir Matthew Hale, one of the most upright and able judges that ever sat upon the bench, was nearly ruined by his dissolute companions. When young, he had been very studious and sober—but the players happening to come to the town where he was studying, he became a witness of their performance, by which he was so captivated that his mind lost its relish for study, and he addicted himself to dissipated company. When in the midst of his associates one day, it pleased God to visit one of them with sudden death. Matthew was struck with horror and remorse. He retired and prayed, first for his friend, that if the vital spark had not fled, he might be restored; and then for himself, that he might never more be found in such places and company as would render him unfit to meet death. From that day he left all his wicked companions, walked no more in the way of sinners—but devoted himself to piety and literature.

Young people of good habits should take great heed that they do not, by insensible degrees, become dangerous characters to each other. That social turn of mind, which is natural to men, and especially to young people, may perhaps lead them to form themselves into little societies, particularly at the festive season of the year, to spend their evenings together. But let me entreat you to be cautious how you spend them. If your games and your talks take up your time until you entrench on the night; and perhaps on the morning too, you will quickly corrupt each other. Farewell, then, to prayer, and every other religious exercise in secret. Farewell, then, to all my pleasing hopes for you, and to those hopes which your pious parents have entertained. You will then become examples and instances of all the evils I have so largely described.

Plead not that these things are lawful in themselves; so are most of those in a certain degree which, by their abuse, prove destruction to men's souls and bodies. If you meet, let it be for rational and Christian conversation; and let prayer and other devotions have their frequent place among you—and if you say or think that a mixture of these will spoil the company, it is high time for you to stop your career, and call yourselves to an account; for it seems by such a thought, that you are lovers of pleasure, much more than lovers of God. Some of these things may appear to have a tincture of severity—but consider whether I could have proved myself faithful to you, and to him in whose name I speak, if I had omitted the caution I have now been giving you. I shall now only add, that had I loved you less tenderly, I should have warned you more coldly of this dangerous and deadly snare!

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ON BOOKS

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The invention of the art of printing, forms an era in the history of mankind, next in importance to the promulgation of the law, and the publication of the gospel. Until this splendid gift was bestowed upon man, books, which were all in manuscript, were circulated within a comparatively narrow sphere, and knowledge was in the possession of only a privileged few. This invaluable art, however, rendered the fountains of information accessible to all, and gave opportunity to the poorest of our race, to slake their mental thirst at the deepest and purest streams of truth. There was a time when ignorance was rather a misfortune than a reproach; and when, indeed, a craving after information would, with many, have been rather a calamity than a benefit—since the means of satisfying the appetite were beyond their reach. The state of things is altered now, and almost a whole circle of science may be purchased for a few shillings.

Education is also much improved and extended. Under these circumstances, ignorance is a deep reproach; and a young person who can allow days and weeks to pass without taking up a book, is a pitiable spectacle of doltish insipidity. Cultivate, then, my children, a taste for reading; and, in order to this, there must be a thirst after information. "Knowledge," says Lord Bacon, "is power;" and if it were not power—it is pleasure. Knowledge gives us weight of character, and procures for us respect. Knowledge enables us to form an opinion with correctness, to state it with clearness, to offer it with confidence, and to enforce it with argument. It enlarges the sphere of our usefulness, by raising the degree of our influence. Other things being equal, that man will be the most useful, who has the greatest measure of information. Here I shall offer some directions for your guidance in the selection of books.

The BIBLE of course occupies the supreme place, an elevation exclusively its own. It is, as its title signifies, THE BOOK—the standard of all right sentiments; the judge of all other works. Sir William Jones, that prodigy of learning, wrote on the fly-leaf of his Bible these remarks—"I have carefully and regularly perused these holy Scriptures, and am of opinion that the volume, independently of its divine origin, contains more sublimity, purer morality, more important history, and finer strains of eloquence, than can be collected from all other books, in whatever language they may have been written." Salmasius, the learned antagonist of Milton, said on his death-bed, "That were he to begin life again, he would spend much of his time in reading David's Psalms and Paul's Epistles." Whatever books you neglect, then, my children, neglect not the Bible. Whatever books you read, read this. Let not a day pass without perusing some portion of holy writ. Read it devoutly; not from curiosity, nor with a view to controversy—but to be made wise unto salvation. Read it with much prayer. Read it with a determination to follow its guidance wheresoever it leads.

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[airIam2worship]

As to that class of books denominated novels, I join with every other moral and religious writer in condemning, as the vilest trash, the greater part of the productions, which, under this name, have carried a turbid stream of vice over the morals of mankind. They corrupt the taste, pollute the heart, debase the mind, demoralize the conduct. They throw prostrate the understanding, sensualize the affections, enervate the will, and bring all the high faculties of the soul into subjection to an imagination which they have first made wild, insane, and uncontrollable. They furnish no ideas, and generate a morbid, sickly sentimentalism, instead of a just and lovely sensibility. A wise man should despise them, and a godly man should abhor them.

As to religious novels, they are rarely worth your attention. I would be sorry to see this species of writing become the general reading of the Christian public. Symptoms of a craving appetite for this species of mental food have been very apparent of late. These are far more likely to lead young people of pious education to read other kinds of novels, than they are to attract the readers of the latter to pious tales. They have already, in many cases, formed a taste for works of fiction, which is gratifying itself with far more exceptionable productions. They have become the harbingers, in some families, of works, which, until they entered, would have been forbidden to pass the threshold.

It is very evident that the taste of the present age is strongly inclined for works of fiction. I am not unacquainted with the arguments by which such productions are justified, nor am I by any means prepared to pronounce a sweeping sentence of condemnation upon them all. Genius is elicited and cherished by writing them; and taste is formed, corrected, and gratified, by reading them. Provided they are totally free from all unscriptural sentiments and immoral tendencies, they form a recreation for the mind, and keep it from amusements of a worse character. I am also aware that they may be, and have been, made the vehicle of much instruction. Johnson tells us that this, among many other arts of instruction, has been invented, that the reluctance against truth might be overcome. And as medicine is given to children in confections, biblical precepts have been hidden under a thousand appearances, that mankind may be bribed by a pleasure to escape destruction.

Will not history and biography answer all the ends of fiction, unattended with its injurious effects? Here all is life, variety, and interest. Here is everything to amuse, to recreate. Here the finest moral lessons are inculcated in the details of facts. Here are passions, motives, actions—all forming the most exquisite delineations of character, set home upon the heart with the aid of the powerful conviction that these are facts. I am sure that none can have attended to the more secret and subtle operations of their own minds, without perceiving that a display of virtue or vice, embodied in fact, has inconceivably more power over the mind, than the same character exhibited by the most extraordinary genius in a fiction. While reading the latter, we may have been deeply affected, we may have glowed with anger at the sight of vice, melted with pity at the display of misery, or soared in rapture at the exhibition of excellence—but when the book is laid down, and the mind recovers from the illusion, does not the recollection, that all this was the creation of imagination, exert a cold and chilling influence upon the heart, and go far to efface almost every favorable impression, until, by a kind of revenge for the control which a fiction has had over us, we determine to forget all we have felt. We cannot do this in rising from a fact.

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[airIam2worship]

Fiction is generally overwrought. It is vice in caricature, or virtue in enamel; the former is frequently too bad to be dreaded as likely to happen to us; the latter too high to be an object of expectation. All the attendant circumstances are too artificially contrived. There is little that is like it in real life. Our passions are too much excited, our hopes are too much raised. And when we come from this ideal world into the every-day scenes of ordinary life, we feel a sense of dullness, because everything looks tame and commonplace. The effect of such works is great for the time—but it is not a useful effect—it is like the influence of ardent spirits, which fit men for desperate adventures—but not for the more steady and sober efforts of ordinary enterprise.

Observe then, although I do not totally condemn all works of fiction, for then I would censure the practice of Him who spoke as never man spoke, whose parables were fictitious representations; yet I advise a sparing and cautious perusal of them, whether written in poetry or prose. History, biography, travels, accounts of the manners and customs of nations, will answer all the ends of fiction; they will amuse, and they will in the most easy and pleasing way instruct. They will exhibit to us every possible view of human nature, and every conceivable variety of character. They will introduce us to a real world, and exhibit to us the feelings and the excellences of men of like passions with ourselves; and who, according to the complexion of their character, may be regarded as beacons to warn us, or the polar star to guide us.

Again, and again, I say, cultivate, my children, a taste for the acquisition of knowledge; thirst after information as the miser does after wealth; treasure up ideas with the same eagerness as he does pieces of gold. Let it not be said, that for you the greatest of human beings have lived, and the most splendid of human minds have written—in vain. You live in a world of books, and they contain worlds of thought. Devote all the time that can lawfully be spared from business to reading. Lose not an hour. Ever have some favorite author at hand, to the perusal of whose production, the hours, and half-hours, which would otherwise be wasted, might be devoted.  Time is precious. Its fragments, like those of diamonds, are too valuable to be lost. Let no day pass without your attempting to gain some new idea. Your first object of existence, as I have already stated, should be the salvation of your soul; the next, the benefit of your fellow-creatures; and then comes the improvement of your mind.

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Our literature is public domain—use it in any way you desire.
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AMUSEMENTS AND RECREATIONS

It is a trite remark, that the mind, like a bow, will lose its power by being always strained; and that occasional relaxation from the cares of business is necessary to preserve the vigor and elasticity of the human faculties. Allowing this to be true, it becomes a question, in what way recreation may be lawfully sought; or, in other words, what kind of amusement may be innocently resorted to. Here TWO RULES may be laid down.

1. All recreations are improper which have an injurious influence upon the moral and religious character. This is an axiom. No reasoning is necessary to support it—no eloquence is requisite to illustrate it—none but an atheist can oppose it.

2. All recreations are improper which, by their nature, have a tendency to dissipate the mind, and unfit it for the pursuit of business; or which encroach too much on the time demanded for our necessary occupations. This rule is as intelligible and as just as the former.

These two directions, the propriety of which all must admit, will be quite sufficient to guide us in the choice of amusements.

First, there are some diversions, which, by leading us to inflict pain—produce 'cruelty of disposition'.

A reluctance to inflict misery, even to an insect, is not a mere decoration of the character, which we are left at liberty to wear or to neglect—but it is a disposition which we are commanded, as matter of duty to cherish. It is a necessary part of virtue. It is impossible to inflict pain, and connect the idea of gratification with such an act, without experiencing some degree of mental hardening. We are not surprised that he who, while a boy, amused himself in killing flies, should, when he became a master, exhibit the character of a cruel and remorseless tyrant. To find pleasure in causing animals to fight and devour each other, is a disposition truly diabolical; and the man who can find delight in dog-fighting, cock-fighting, bull-baiting—is quite prepared to imitate those cannibals who sported with the mangled carcases and palpitating limbs of their murdered victims, and dragged them about with their teeth in their gardens.

Horse-racing, in addition to the cruelty with which it is attended, is generally a means of assembling on the course, all the gamesters, swindlers, and vile characters in the neighborhood—and is the cause of much drunkenness, debauchery, and ruin. All field sports, of every kind, are, in my view, condemned by the laws of humanity. Shooting, hunting, fishing—are all cruel. What agony is inflicted in hooking a worm or a fish; in maiming a bird; in chasing and distressing a rabbit. And to find sport in doing this, is inhuman and unchristian. To say that these animals are given for food, and must be killed, is not a reply to my argument. I am not contending against killing them, or eating them—but against the act of killing of them for sport!

The infliction of death, under any circumstances, and upon any creature, however insignificant in the scale of creation, is too serious a matter to be a source of amusement. No two terms can be more incongruous than death and sport. It seems totally monstrous, that after having subjected the irrational creation to the terrors of death by his sin, man should experience pleasure in executing the sentence. Death is the enemy even of animals. And irrational creates manifest symptoms of instinctive horror at man's approach. For one to find delight in throwing the shuddering victim to the devourer, is shocking. I would extend these remarks to all animals, and say, that it is unlawful to find sport in killing such as are harmful. Wolves, bears, serpents, are to be destroyed when their continuance endangers human life—but to find pleasure in the act of killing even these, has a hardening tendency on the human heart.

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[airIam2worship]

Secondly. Some amusements tend to cherish selfish and avaricious feelings—and at the same time tend to produce that gambling taste which leads to the utter ruin of both the temporal and eternal interests of mankind. Billiards, cards, dice, have this tendency—and indeed, all other games that are played for money. The object of the player in these games is to get money, by a speedy process. What arts of fraud and deception are often resorted to, in order to avoid the loss and shame of defeat—and secure the gain and honor of success! What anger and ill-will are often produced in the mind of the unsuccessful party! Even the rules of decorum observed in polished society, are not sufficient, in many cases, to restrain the passionate invective, and the profane oath. I may here most confidently appeal to the frequenters of the card-table, for the truth of what I say, when I affirm, that the lack of success during an evening at whist is a trial of temper, which few are able to bear with honor to themselves, or the comfort of those around them. Passion, petulance, and sullenness are always waiting under the table, ready to appear in the person and conduct of the loser.

I have had scenes described to me by spectators of them, which I would have thought a disgrace to the vulgar company assembled at an alehouse, much more the polite party in the drawing-room. Have not the most serious misunderstandings arisen from this source between man and wife! What wrath and fury has the latter, by her tide of ill success, brought down upon her head from her irritated husband. The winner sees all this, retains his ill-gotten gain, and knows not all the while, that a chilling frost of selfishness is upon his heart, freezing up the generous feelings of his nature.

Nothing is more bewitching than the love of gambling. The winner having tasted the sweets of gain, is led forward by the hope of still greater gain; while the loser plunges deeper and deeper into ruin, with the delusive expectation of retrieving his lost fortune. How many have ruined themselves and their families forever by this mad passion! How many have thrown down the cards or dice, only to take up the pistol or the poison; and have rushed, with all their crimes about them, from the gambling-table to the—fiery lake of hell!

To affirm that these remarks are applicable only to those who play high, is nothing; because it is the nature of vice to be progressive. Besides, it is a fact, that many tradesmen, and even laboring people, have ruined themselves by the love of gambling. It is, as I have said, a most ensnaring practice, leading us from one degree to another, until multitudes who begin with only an occasional game, end in the most confirmed and inveterate habits of gambling.

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[airIam2worship]

Thirdly. Some amusements tend to foster vanity and pride, while, at the same time, they generate a distaste for all the serious pursuits of true piety, and the sober occupations of domestic life.

If I mistake not, these remarks will apply to balls, games, and concerts. I am not quite sure that the morals of society have not suffered considerable deterioration by such assemblies. Circumstances are connected with this species of amusement, the tendency of which is more than questionable. The mode of dress adopted at these fashionable resorts; the nature of the employment; the dissipating tendency of the music, the conversation, and the elegant uproar; the lateness of the hour to which the dazzling scene is protracted; the love of display which is produced; the false varnish which is thrown over many a worthless character, by the fascinating exterior which he exhibits in a ball room—have a tendency to break down the mounds of virtue, and expose the beholder to the encroachments of vice.

And if it were conceded, which it certainly cannot be, that no immoral consequence results to those who occupy the upper walks of life, who are protected by the decorum of elegant society, yet what mischief is produced to their humble imitators, who attend the assemblies which are held in the barn or the ale-house!

I look upon dancing, among these, to be a practice fraught with immorality; and my soul is horrified at this moment by remembering the details of a most tragic event which occurred in this neighborhood a few years since, to an young female, who, after having lost her virtue on the night that followed the dance, was found, a few hours after, murdered, either by her seducer or herself. Have nothing to do then with this fascinating, though injurious species of amusement. Besides, what an encroachment does it make upon time, which is demanded for other pursuits! How does it dissipate the mind, and poison it with a vain and frivolous taste for dress and personal decoration! How completely does it unfit the soul for piety, and even the necessary occupations of domestic life! Let there be a love once acquired for these elegant recreations by any female, and, from my heart, I pity the man who is destined to be her husband!

cont

[airIam2worship]

My opinion of the STAGE I shall reserve for a separate chapter; in the meantime I shall reply to a question which, no doubt, before this, you are ready to ask, "What amusements I would recommend?"

I do not hesitate at once to observe, that young people stand in much less need than is supposed, of any amusement properly so called. Their spirits are buoyant, their cares are light, their sorrows are few, and their occupations rarely very fatiguing to the mind. What more is necessary beyond mere change of employment, I should say, may be found in activities both strengthening to the body, and improving to the mind. A country ramble amid the beauties of nature, where, surrounded by sights and sounds which have awakened and cherished the spirit of poetry, we may admire the works of God and man together, will, to every mind of taste or piety, be quite enough to refresh and stimulate the wearied faculties.

The perusal of an entertaining and instructive book, where our best authors have said their best things, and in their best manner too, will have the same effect. My children, acquire a taste for reading. Aspire to an independence of the 'butterfly pursuits of the pleasure hunter'. Seek for that thirst after knowledge, which, when the soul is jaded with the dull and daily round of secular affairs, shall conduct her to the fountains of thought contained in the well-stocked library—where, as she drinks the pure perennial streams of knowledge, she forgets in their murmurs the toils of the day. And where young people are happily situated beneath the wing of their parents, the pleasures of home, the agreeable communion of the domestic circle are no base or insufficient recreation from the fatigues of business.

But perhaps many a youthful bosom will at this thought heave a sigh, and sorrowfully exclaim, "I am not at home. In that beloved retreat, and with its dear inhabitants, I would need no further amusements. My father's greeting smile; my mother's fond embrace; the welcome of my brothers and my sisters; the kind looks, the fond inquiries, the interesting though unimportant conversation of all, would recruit my strength, and recreate my mind. But I am far from these. I am in a distant town, a stranger in a strange place; a mere lodger, where the attentions which I receive are all bought and paid for. Wearied and dispirited, I ofttimes return from the scene of labor, and find in the cold and heartless salutation of my employer, and in the dreary solitude of my own chamber, that I am, indeed, not at home. Often and often, as I sit musing away the hour that intervenes between business and sleep, and carrying out into painful contrast my lodging and my home.

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[airIam2worship]

Who can wonder that in such a situation I should occasionally pay a visit to the theater, or the concert, and seek to forget that I am not at home—by amusements which have a tendency to drown reflection and divert my mind. Oh! give me again the pleasures of home, and I will make a cheerful surrender of all that I have adopted as their substitutes."

I feel for such young people. I too have been in their situation; I have felt all that they feel. I have wept at the contrast between being a stranger—and a happy child at home. I too have returned at night to meet the silent look, or cheerless greeting of the hostess, instead of the smiling countenance and fond expression of the mother who bore me, the father who loved me. I too have retired to my room to weep at thoughts of home. I can therefore sympathize with you. And shall I tell you how, in these circumstances, I alleviated my sorrows and rendered my situation not only tolerable—but even sometimes pleasant? By the exercises and influence of true piety; by the communion of a holy fellowship with pious companions; and by the assistance of books. Try, do be persuaded to try the same means.

"RELIGION, what treasures untold
Reside in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford."

This will find you a home, and a father and friends—in every place. It will soften your banishment, and open to you springs of consolation, which shall send their precious streams into your forlorn abode. It will render you independent of the theater and the ball-room. It will guard you from vices, which, where they are committed, only serve to render the recollection of home still more intolerable. It will give you an interest and a share in all the pious institutions which are formed in the congregation with which you associate, and will thus offer you a recreation in the exercise of a holy and enlightened philanthropy.

Amusements, in the usual acceptance of the word, are but the miserable expedients resorted to by the ignorant and unsanctified mind of man for happiness; the ineffectual efforts to restore that peace which man lost by the fall, and which nothing but true piety can bring back to the human bosom. In departing from God, the soul of man strayed from the pasture to the wilderness, and now is ever sorrowfully exclaiming, as she wanders on, who will show us any good? To relieve her sense of need, and satisfy her cravings, she is directed to amusements—but they prove only the flowers of the desert, which, with all their beauty, do not satisfy.

No, no. It is the return of the soul to God through faith in Jesus Christ which can alone give true and satisfying delight. Believing in him—we have peace which passes understanding—the mind is at rest in the contemplation of saving truth—and the heart in the enjoyment of the chief good. Peace with God, attended by peace with conscience, producing peace with the world, and affording a foretaste of peace beyond the grave—gives a feast to the soul, compared with which worldly pleasures are but as noxious and gaudy flowers around the food of an hungry man, adding nothing to its relish by their colors, and only spoiling all by their odors. True religion conducts us to the fountain of living waters, and shows that these things are but broken cisterns that can hold no water.

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Amusements are but expedients to make men happy without piety. The mere husks, which they only crave after, and feed upon, who are destitute of the bread which comes down from heaven; and which are rejected by those who have their appetite satisfied with this celestial manna.

In addition to this, cultivate a taste for reading. Employ your leisure hours in gaining knowledge. Thus even your situation will be rendered comparatively comfortable, and the thoughts of home will neither destroy your happiness, nor send you for consolation to the polluting sources of worldly amusement.

But there are some who will reply, "I have neither taste for true religion nor reading, and what amusements do you recommend to me?" None at all. What, that man talk of amusement, who, by his own confession, is under the curse of heaven's eternal law, and the wrath of heaven's incensed King? AMUSEMENT! what, for the poor wretch who is on the brink of perdition, the verge of hell, and may the next hour be lifting up his eyes in torment, and calling for a drop of water to cool his parched tongue! Diversion! what, for him who is every moment exposed to that sentence, "Depart from me, accursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels!" What, going on to that place where the worm dies not, and the fire is never quenched; where there is weeping and wailing, and gnashing of teeth—and calling for amusements! Oh monstrous absurdity! We have heard of prisoners dancing in their chains—but who ever heard of a poor creature asking for amusements on his way to the place of execution? This is your case. While you have no taste for true piety, you are certainly under sentence of eternal wrath. You are every day traveling to execution. Yet you are asking for amusements! And what will be your reflections in the world of despair, to recollect that the season of hope was employed by you, not in seeking the salvation of the soul, and everlasting happiness—but in mere idle diversions, which were destroying you at the very time they amused you! Then will you learn, when the instruction will do you no good, that you voluntarily relinquished the fullness of joy which God's presence affords, and the eternal pleasures which are to be found at his right hand, for the joy of fools, which as Solomon truly says, is but as "the crackling of thorns beneath the pot." Before you think of amusement seek for true piety!

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[airIam2worship]

ON THEATRICAL AMUSEMENTS

I do not hesitate for a moment to pronounce the THEATER to be one of the broadest avenues which lead to destruction. Fascinating, no doubt it is—but on that account the more delusive and the more dangerous. Let a young man once acquire a taste for this species of entertainment, and yield himself up to its gratification, and he is in imminent danger of becoming a lost character—rushing upon his ruin! All the evils that can waste his property, corrupt his morals, blast his reputation, impair his health, embitter his life, and destroy his soul, lurk in the confines of a theater. Vice, in every form, lives, and moves, and has its being there! Myriads have cursed the hour when they first exposed themselves to the contamination of the theater. From that fatal evening, they date their destruction. Then they threw off the restraint of education, and learned how to disregard the dictates of conscience. Then their decision, hitherto oscillating between a life of virtue and of vice—was made for the latter. But I will attempt to support by arguments and facts these strong assertions.

The theater cannot be defended as an amusement; for the proper end of an amusement is to recreate without fatiguing or impairing the strength or spirit. It should invigorate, not exhaust the bodily and mental powers; should spread an agreeable serenity over the mind and be enjoyed at proper seasons. Is midnight the time, or the heated atmosphere of a theater the place, or the passionate, tempestuous excitement of a deep tragedy the state of mind, that comes up to this view of the design of amusement? Certainly not. But what I wish particularly to insist upon is, the immoral and anti-christian tendency of the theater. In order to judge of this immoral and anti-christian tendency, let us look at the precepts of God's word. Here I will select a few out of many passages of the Holy Scriptures.

Texts which relate to our conversation, or the right use of SPEECH–

You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless, who takes his name in vain. Exod. 20:7.

I say unto you that every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give an account thereof in the day of judgment, for by your words you shall be justified, and by your words you shall be condemned. Matt. 12:36, 37.

Be not deceived, evil communications corrupt good manners. 1 Cor. 15:33.

Let no corrupt communications proceed out of your mouth—but that which is good to the use of edifying that it may minister grace to the hearers. Ephes. 4:29.

Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt. Col. 4:6.

But above all things, my brethren, swear not. James 5:12.

It is evident then, from these passages, that the Bible forbids all conversation which is idle, impure, or obscene—and commands us to employ the gift of speech in no other way than that which is good and to the use of edifying. Now I confidently ask if there is scarcely one popular play ever performed which is not polluted, in very many places, with the grossest and most shocking violations of these sacred rules. What irreverent appeals to heaven, what horrible abuse of the thrice holy name of God, what profane swearing, what filthy conversation, what lewd discourse, are poured forth from the lips of almost every actor that comes upon the stage. Can it be a lawful entertainment to be amused by hearing men and women insult God by cursing, swearing, and taking his holy name in vain? It is nothing to say that this is only done by the actors and, not by the spectators, because we are commanded not to be partakers, even by attendance and support, of other men's sins.

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[airIam2worship]

Passages which condemn all impurity of MIND and CONDUCT–

Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God. Matt. 5:8.

I say unto you that whoever looks on a woman to lust after her, has committed adultery with her already in his heart. Matt. 5:28.

Now the works of the flesh are these—sexual immorality, impure thoughts, eagerness for lustful pleasure, and envy, drunkenness, revellings, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God. Galatians 5:19-21

It must be evident to every one who reads with impartiality the word of God, that the most remote approach to lewdness is forbidden by the scriptures, even the excursions of the imagination, and the wanton exercise of the senses. It is obviously the design of the Bible to form a character of the most elevated and refined purity, in which the lustful passions shall be in a state of entire subjection to undefiled piety. Now, I ask, is it possible to comply with this design, if we attend the theater, where, in every possible way, appeals are made to these carnal propensities of our nature? Will any man in his senses contend that a playhouse is the place where men are taught to be pure in heart, and assisted to oppose and mortify "those fleshly lusts which war against the soul?"

"It is as unnecessary to tell the reader, that the playhouse is in fact the sink of corruption and debauchery; that it is the general rendezvous of the most profligate people of both sexes; that it corrupts the neighborhood; and turns the adjacent places into public nuisances; this is as unnecessary as it is to tell him that the marketplace is a place of business."

Let me set before you also, a few passages which are given in scripture to regulate our GENERAL CONDUCT–

"Lead us not into temptation—but deliver us from evil."

"Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God."

"If you live after the flesh you shall die."

"Flee youthful lusts."

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness."

"Pray without ceasing."

"Watch the heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life."

"Add to your faith virtue, to virtue knowledge, to knowledge temperance, to temperance patience, to patience godliness, to godliness brotherly kindness, brotherly kindness charity."

"Let your affections be set on things above, and not on things on earth."

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[airIam2worship]

"To be spiritually-minded is life and peace—but to be carnally-minded is death."

From these passages it is evident that the spirit enjoined and the character to be formed by Scripture, consist of humility, meekness, purity, spirituality of mind, heavenliness of affection, devotion, watchfulness against sin, caution not to go in the way of temptation. Now it would be to insult the common sense of every one who is conversant with the theater, to ask if such dispositions as these are enjoined and cherished by dramatic representations. I suppose no one ever pretended, that these saintly virtues are taught by the tragic or the comic actor. If our Lord's sermon on the mount, or the twelfth chapter to the Romans, or any other portion of inspired truth, be selected as a specimen and a standard of Christian morals, then certainly the theater must be condemned. Light and darkness are not more opposed to each other, than the Bible and the theater. If the one be good the other must be evil; if the scriptures are to be obeyed, the theater must be avoided. The man who at church on the Sabbath day, responds to the third or the seventh commandment, "Lord have mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law;" who presents so often on that day the petition, "Lead us not into temptation—but deliver us from evil," is, to say the least of his conduct, the most glaring instance of absurdity in the world—if he on other days attends the theater.

The only way to justify the theater, as it is, as it ever has been, as it is ever likely to be, is to condemn the Bible—the same individual cannot defend both. The one is too strict, or the other is too lax.

Now the Bible, the Bible, my dear children, is the standard of morals. No matter by what plausible arguments a practice may be defended; no matter by what authority it may be sanctioned, if it be in opposition to the letter or the spirit of the Bible, it is wicked and must be abandoned. Even were the theater as friendly as its warmest admirers contend, to the cultivation of taste; if in some things it tended to repress some of the minor faults or vices of society—yet if, as a whole, its tendency is to encourage immorality—it must be condemned, and abandoned, and deserted! All I ask you is to weigh its pretensions in the balance of the sanctuary, and to test its merits by the only authorized standard of morals, the Bible, and sure I am you will never hesitate for a moment, to pronounce it unlawful.

It is an indubitable fact that the theater has flourished most, in the most corrupt and depraved state of society—and that in proportion as sound morality, industry and true religion, advance their influence—the theater is deserted. It is equally true, that among the most passionate admirers, and most constant frequenters of the theater, are to be found the most dissolute and wicked of mankind. Is it not too manifest to be denied, that piety as instinctively shrinks from the theater, as human life does from the point of a sword, or the draught of poison? Have not all those who have professed the most elevated piety and morality, borne an unvarying and uniform testimony against the theater? Even the more virtuous pagans have condemned this amusement, as injurious to morals, and the interests of nations—Solon, Xenophon, Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, Livy, Valerius Maximus, Cato, Seneca, Tacitus—the most venerable men of antiquity—the brightest constellation of virtue and talents which ever appeared upon the hemisphere of philosophy—have all denounced the theater as a most abundant source of moral pollution, and assure us that both Greece and Rome had their ruin accelerated by a fatal passion for these corrupting entertainments.

William Pyrnne, a satirical and pungent writer, has made a catalogue of authorities against the theater, which contains every name of eminence in the heathen and Christian world—it comprehends the united testimony of the Jewish and Christian churches; the deliberate acts of fifty-four ancient and modern, general, national, provisional councils and synods, both of the Western and Eastern churches; the condemnatory sentence of seventy-one ancient fathers, and one hundred and fifty modern Christian authors; the hostile endeavors of philosophers and even poets; with the legislative enactments of a great number of pagan and Christian states, nations, magistrates, emperors, and princes.

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