DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2017 with funding from Duke University Libraries https://archive.org/details/lifeatfireside01thay LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. A. LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. f) BY WILLIAM M. THAYER, AUTHOR OF “spots IN OUR FEASTS OF CHARITY,” “ MOUNING STAR,” “pastor’s WEDDING GIFT,” ETC. “God setteth the solitary in families.” — Psalm Ixviii. 6. “ I WILL BE THE GOD OF ALL THE FAMILIES OP ISRAEL, AND THEY SHALL BE MY PEOPLE.” — Jeremiah xxxi. 1. BOSTON. CONGREGATIONAL BOARD OF PUBLICATION. NO. 16 TREMONT TEMPLE. 1657 . Er.toi'e^l according to Act of Congreps. in the year ISoT, by S E tv A L L HARDING, In the Clerk's OlHce of tlxe District Court of the District of Massachusetts. CAMBRIDGE : ALLEX AXD FAKXH.t.M, SIEREOTTl'ERS AND PRINTERS. TO THE FIVE MILLION FAMILIES IN MY NATIVE LAND, THE HOPE OF C H U K C H AND ST A T E , THIS V0LU3IE IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. W. M. T. A* (v) PREFACE. This work first appeared bearing the title, “ Hints FOR THE Household.” Two editions having been exhausted, it was thought best that the third should appear with the new and better title. Life at the Fireside. It has undergone a thorough revision, and been enlarged by the addition of two chapters. In its present improved and enlarged form, it is offered to the public, with the hope that it may prove a blessing to the families which welcome it. W. M. T. C 0 N T ENTS I. T n F. FAMILY ON EARTH. Its ties — home — Luther — associations of home — importance of the family relation — its influence upon Alfred the Great, Cecil, Baxter, and others — relation of the family to the State — policy of Greece and Rome — the family a State in miniature — its power for good and evil — good citizens made in the family — the real cause of pauperism and crime in the family — its relations make men patriotic — the Spartan lads. The relation of the family to the Church — “ Church in the house ” — revivals should begin with children in converting the world — the family not a dependant — socialism — family ties fleeting Page I II. THE CONJUGAL RELATION. A life-union — unhappy alliances — Socrates, John Wesley, and Milton — Solomon’s description of a good wife. First duty, mutual love — mar- rying for beauty, wealth, or a home, inconsistent with it. Mutual con- fidence — deception, secrecy, and jealousy inconsistent with it. Mutual forbearance. Mutual good temper — two incidents. Mutual attention — spending evenings from home. Appreciation of each other’s trials. Mutual industry — wives of Collatinus and Augustus Caesar. Little things bless and mar married life. Religion — language of the Bible to husbands and wives — addresses to the married — the faithless husband and wife — soon separated 24 III. THE PARENTAL RELATION. Eli, Jacob, David, and others having wicked children — does God’s prom- ise fail? The answer. Connection between character and early train- (ix) X CONTENTS. ing — unseen causes of filial defection chargeable to parents — Monica. Importance of parental relation — children like parents — parents in charge of souls — -scene if all parents should correctly train children — parents reckless of responsibility — some train only for the professions, some to appear well, some to be rich — sad consequences of bequeathed property — Dr. Duff’s remark — Henry Clay’s will. First impres- sions — the three sons — Sir Robert Peel — Linnaeus — Bj-ron and Scott — will children reason? — the city boy — Dr. Beattie’s son — is a child’s time worthless? Government in the family — governing by hope of reward and fear of consequences — three ways to spoil chil- dren — love and severity — the Scripture iliew — the government of prayer — parental inconsistency — deception — p.arental example and precept — Montaigne — conclusion 52 IV. THE FILIAL KELATIOX. Its importance in the light of the Scriptures — how much disregarded. Filial inconsistencies specified — opposing parents — pertness and irrev- erence — use of the phrases “.old man’’ and “old woman.” Causes of the neglect of filial duties — not appreciating toils of parents — erro- neous views of parental discipline — desire to be independent — Joseph, Napoleon, and Alexander — regard expressions of love a weakness — Wa-shington — ashamed of unlettered parents — the young man — Archbishop Tillotson. Filial disobedience the seed of crime — con- fession of a murderer — character in the family — devotion to parents’ promises good in other respects. Filial obedience rewarded — boy in the battle of the Nile — the Chinese, Greeks, Turks, -Eneas, Metellus, etc. — renders the last days of parents happy — children happy in the thought of — Atticus. Judgments of God overtake the disobedient — — Henry’s and Palmer’s remark — --Absalom — address to disobedient son — Christ’s filial example 01 V. THE FRATERNAL RELATION. Scriptures silent upon it — harmony between brothers and sisters de- lightful — -instances of alienation. Causes of rupture — unforgiving spirit — unbridled temper — teasing — envy — property inherited — marriage — religion. Virtues of the fraternal relation — strong attach- ment — mutual politeness — confidence — devotion as the fiuit of love • — Joseph as a brother — power of a brother’s and sister’s influence — CONTEXTS. XI address to children : and the little girl of Jamaica — address to youth, and anecdote of Timoleon — address to adults, and case of Intaphemes’ wife — Divine blessing upon the relation when happy .... 112 VI. TUE FAMILY SABBATH. Second institution ordained in Paradise — appellations given to Sabbath — families desecrate it — to families “ The Pearl of Days.” The Sab- bath cultivates domestic aflection — only opportunity many have to be with families. The Sabbath presents a favorable opportunity to parents for the moral instruction of children — instruction at home and in Sabbath school — wise division of time for this object is one day in seven. The Sabbath renders the family relations more enduring — its I'est lengthens life — opinions of Dr. Backus, Dr. Sewall, and Dr. Farre. Influence of Sabbath in forming youthful character — two families con- trasted — the criminal calendar — the young man from home. The Sabbath promotes household piety — where there is no Sabbath, there is no family piety — consequences if Sabbath abolished — the aim of infidels — parental example — Quinton’s description of a sanctified Sabbath throughout the world 130 VII. THE FAMILY BIBLE. Eelation of the Sabbath and Bible. The family finds its sanction in the Bible — where there is no Bible there are no true homes — there woman is degraded — socialism the finiit of rejecting the Bible — Bible in heathen families renovates them. No domestic affection where no Bible — scenes on banks of Ganges and in Sandwich Islands — facts among the Eomans. Text-book for children — it has attrac- tions — the cavern of diamonds — Bible furnishes best scenes for art- ists — has the most thrilling history — Scripture stories — Moses in the bulrushes — Bible characters illustrating every virtue — the infidel and the Bible — its presence adds to the reputation of family — inter- esting case. A rich treasure in seasons of trial — death scenes in families with and without the Bible contrasted — must be put in every famity before a world’s salvation is secured — quotation from Pollok 152 XU CONTEXTS. VIII. THE FAMILY A L T A K . The Sabbath, Bible, and Prayer, a trinity of blessings to the family — duty of family praj-er — power of prayer. It wins the confi- dence of men — they think better of such a family — they ex- pect more of them. Prayer unites families by stronger bonds. It makes ineffaceable impressions upon children — the Carthaginian leading his son to the altar — law of association gives power to prayer — impressions of the Lord’s Prayer — liandolph — Dr. Scott — makes children patriotic. Its influence upon the Church — the most faithful in prayer at home are most active in the Church. Family prayer blessed in affliction — the testimony of a minister — examples of the influence of family prayer — the distinguished merchant — the Irish wanderer — the son of a Xew England pastor. God’s blessing does not always rest on families observant of this rite — the cause is discrepancy between pra3-er and practice. Family praver much neg- lected — excuses; want of time — fear of man — lack of learning — addresses to the professor who omits family praj-cr — to the non-profes- sor — to the unconverted son or daughter wont to hear famih- pra^-er — reflections of praying parents when sons leave home — scene when family altar is reared universally 173 IX. FAMILY A F F L I C T I 0 X S . Impressions in chamber of death — uncertaint}- of life — Heber, Lucia, Anacreon, etc. — extent of death in families. Mr'steries of Providence — Xaomi, Jacob, the j'oung man, the infant, the lost steamer — the deaf and dumb pupil — the gospel’s consolation. “Jesus wept” — Christlike to weep — Christ s^mipathizes with bereaved. “ The Lord reigneth” — doctrine of Providence precious — sad consequences re- sult from its rejection — Octavia, Cicero — Dr. Beattie. “lam the resurrection and the life ” — resuiTection and annihilation contrasted — the gifted young man, and beautiful infant — “thy brother shall live again” — dying Christian. “It is good forme that I have been afflicted” — prosperity less beneficial than adversitj' — affliction binds hearts together — promotes growth in grace — saves the soul — the light-house, or converted widow — Eastern shepherd and lamb. Con- solations of worldly philosophy' — “common lot” — “ we must be re- signed to our fate ” — “ we must all die.” “ Thy will be done ” — dif- ficult lesson — its import — the scholar — two illustrations — EUiot and Cambray — the greater the trial the brighter the crown .... 197 CONTENTS. XUl X. FAMILY READING. Books are companions — reading of intelligent families no small item in the formation of character. Novel reading — what is a novel ? all fiction not novels — some novels more objectionable than others — those of moral tone least popular — vast number of novels published — opin- ions of John Foster, Goldsmith, Hannah Jlore, Wilberforce, Coleridge, and Pollok — facts — Alexander — the ruined daughter — the rained son — evil of novel reading not appreciated. Nature of novels — the name itself — the novel makes vice attractive — magnifies wealth, pleasure, fame, etc. — some ai'e polluting — exaggerate all things — learn their nature from the character of those who read them. Influ- ence of novels upon readers — make them light and trifling — create disrelish for useful religious reading — Dr. Hawes’ remark — nullify pungent preaching — cultivates false sympathy — philosophy of it — waste of time and propert}' — world supplied with good books — a novel like the Medusa — more dangerous to young because character is forming — responsibility of pai-ents in this matter 225 XI. THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. The crisis — the present moulds the future. Characteristics of the age — progress is the watchword — disorder reigns — confidence in political organizations shaken — reform demanded — temptations numerous — benevolence invites to an ample field. The age appeals to mothers — men needed to pull down and build up — public men of talent and re- ligious principle needed — citizens of large benevolence wanted — also faithful ministers and missionaries — mothers can train these. Their encouragements — permanency of early impressions — the aged sire — the mother’s w'aming — another example — facts in college and semi- nary — John Adams’ remark — Washington’s mother — Timothy. Ad- dress to mothers — ^result of united effort — training children in world- liness — domestics — indications of Providence 249 XII. PHILOSOPHY OF CHARACTER. Philosophy universal — little studied, especially in the formation of character — character made by law — few inquire how — value of char- B XIV CONTENTS. acter — difference between character and reputation. Law of associa- tion — examples of association — aged warrior — scholar on classic ground — Mark Antony — Christ appealed to this law — its force in forming character — nursery tales — the ancient artist. Law of imita- tion — little originality — child imitates virtues and vices of his parents. Law of assimilation — pervades nature — seen in worship of mankind — so friend assimilated to friend — cause of much ruin. Law of habit — examples — steal upon us gradually — how these laws form character of the libertine. Law of hereditary development — illustrated by the cynic. Law of conscience — its power — obeying it increases moral power — two characteristics of the times which lead to a violation of this law — here reason of young man’s ruin — noble to abide by con- science. The will — its force — then forming character no hap-hazard work — the soul a harp of a thousand strings 271 XIII. BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG MAX. A perfect model — demand of the age. Living for a high moral purpose — many young men aimless — all successful men had definite life-pur- pose — life means something — striving to be best — just views of worldly acquisitions — doing a doubtful or evil work for higher wages — a case. Consult duty — can be useful in any calling — young men think some pursuits give honor — personal responsibility — Franklin — Dr. King. Benevolence — life of Samuel Budget!. Filial and fraternal regard — an example — illustration by Kev. H. Winslow — thoughtless- ness brings son'ow — a lease. Principle — a fact. Experimental relig- ion — a sure guide — Jefferson College 301 XIV. BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG WOMAN. David’s view of female character — Monod and James — female influence — examples. A fault of j'oung women. All improvement of young women should be preparation for duties of life — female education too superficial — Margaret Fuller Ossoli — intellectual culture — light read- ing and novels. Modesty — Joan of Arc and modern female declaimers — connection with purity. Amiability — gentleness. Artless simplic- ity — aim at display — dress and manners — vanity. F ortitude — much needed — all exposed to reverses — words of a merchant — a woman of the Revolution — make the best of life’s ills — tlie mother of Jesus. Thoughtfulness. Conscientiousness — what is it? when violated — CONTENTS. XV sympathy and benevolence — woman fitted for this mission — a fact. Usel'uhiess — Countess of Huntingdon. Iieligion — female infidels rare — Hume’s words — -Gospel elevates woman — develops her graces — corrects her defects — the German artist 332 XV. THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. Gospel reunites broken families — the “Father’s House,’’ and everlasting home. The whole family may be gathered in heaven, known and loved by each other — heaven more blissful if know friends there. The doc- trine is the universal sentiment of mankind — views of heathen, In- dians, ancients — Socrates and Cicero — pagan rites — former customs of Church — the sentiment pervades poetry — is inscribed on tombstones — examples — expressed bj' the d3dng. Doctrine proved bj’ existence of memory hereafter — mind loses no acquisition- — Dr. Cheever’s re- mark. We shall not know less in heaven than on earth. The social principle — affections must have objects to love there. Proof from the Bible — isolated phrases — Christ’s allusions — David’s child — the apostle’s language — Christ’s words to jHartha and Jlaiy. Opinions of theologians — Paley, Dick, Nevin, Hall, Baxter, Doddridge, Chalmers, Dwight, Emmons — one objection — receive truths with less evidence — the Christian family’s home above — here is consolation — a motive to piety — concluding address 375 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. I. THE FAIVIH^Y ON EARTH. Home is the resort Of love, of joy, of peace, and plenty, where, Supporting and supported, polished friends And dear relations mingle into bliss. Thomson. With secret course which no long storms annoy Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. Goldsmith. The Family on earth ! Wliat delightful associa- tions are awakened by the mention of this theme ! "With what speed it sends the thoughts of every reader to some glad retreat, where his soul is bound by ties too various and dear to be designated by other appellation than that of Family ! What memories linger around that home-spot, even to those whom an inscrutable Providence has expelled from its domain ! What emotions, deep, lasting, and true, start into being, and fly along the heartstrings, as the subject falls upon the ear! Father, mother, brother, sister, son, daughter, — what hopes, fears, 1 (H 2 LIPE AT THE FIRESIDE. loves, ties, wait upon these relations ! It requires not the power of fancy to portray these intimate connections in colors sufficiently vivid to enlist all the feelings of the heart. For them nature has a strong affinity, and needs only the most casual allusion to stir the fountain of her emotions. Home ! The term is one of the choicest in the English language, and is mated with that of Family. It is where the family is, or was. The mention of one suggests the other. It is the dearest spot of earth, hallowed by a thousand delightful recollec- tions. In all ages and nations mankind have expressed similar sentiments, and indulged kindi-ed feelings in relation to home. However stmted in the measure of earthly goods, it has ever wielded attractions more powerful than those of lordly “ pleasures and pal- aces.” A glad response has been wakened in every heart to the beautiful sentiment of the poet, — “ ’Mid pleasures and palaces tko’ we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there ’s no place like home.” * Luther could engage in battle-scenes for social and religious reform with dauntless mien ; he could oppose the fierce anathema of Pope and Cardinals without a trembling nerve ; he could face the Diet of Worms with the corn-age and calmness of a Christian hero; but when, upon a journey to meet the Counts of Mansfield, he came in sight of his own native Eisleben, the great man was overcome * Payne. THE FAMILY ON EARTH. 3 with emotion, and he bowed his head, and wept. It was an unfeigned recognition of the power of home, or family attractions. The power of the family tie is augmented by the influence which God gives to every member of it, and to every object connected with it. Even the little infant wields a power that controls the plans and efforts of an entire household. We are wont to look upon the prattling boy or girl in babyhood solely as an object of attach orent, — a beautiful play- thing, — till its mind demands some positive culture for immortality. We scarcely think that from its natal day it is swaying our hearts and directing our efforts with greater effect than the laws of the land. A little reflection wUl sm-prise us, that so many of our purposes, so much of our business, so many of our steps, have reference to it, — that such a share of om- purest sympathies and kindest feelings owe their existence to the child, — and that it so materially affects the character and destiny of the family. Every object, we have said, connected with home, makes more or less impression upon the heart. Home may be the place of our birth. How vivid and delightful is the recollection of its scenes ! Fresh as of yesterday’s occurrence, they still draw our hearts back to the homestead where the united family gathered in fond and unbroken fellowship. The mind’s eye rests gladly upon the shady trees, and the meandering stream on whose verdant banks we plucked the mint and cowslip ; and we seem to see the merry warblers, the robin, thrush, and jay, flitting from branch to branch, and fiUing the air with the music of their songs. Fond parents, now 4 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. possibly in the grave, we behold as when we moved obedient to their mandates, and their voices seem to fall upon the ear with the same tones of authority, and their eyes beam with the same kindling expres- sions of love, as when our childhood nestled under the wing of their affection. Even the sacred hymns, that we were wont to sing in happy concert, live in bhssful recollection, and the antique painting and portrait seemingly hang upon the parlor wall as when we used to gaze upon them in childish delight. These are some of the bright mementos of child- hood’s home, surviving the perishing scenes of man- hood, which we shah, carry \\dth us to the goal of hfe — the grave. Most of human life is spent in the family. Most of human duties are mediately or immediately con- nected with the family. This renders the institution one of paramount interest and importance. Surely that which absorbs so much of hfe, and imposes so many of our duties, has a claim upon our prayerful consideration. Too often the family is regarded only as a sort of retreat or refuge from the storms of life, where one may dehght in the exercise of the natural affections, independent of aU influence and responsibihty abroad. It is generally supposed that a man is wdelding an influence vMch affects our social and civil interests, only when he is heartily engaged in secular and pub- hc affairs. Few stop to reflect, that within the quiet family the father-citizen is doing more, indirectly, for the weal or woe of society, than he is upon the arena of pubhc effort. There he does not act simply upon THE FAMILY ON EARTH. 5 the surface of things ; but moulds, and even creates the essential elements which are to enter into the social structm'e in coming time. His affections may, indeed, delight in the home circle as a quiet retreat ffom the din of business, and a place in all respects congenial; but then, the very ties that make it a social luxury to abide in the family increase the force of every word and act upon minds and hearts, which are to constitute eventually the hfe and soul of society. Volumes have been written, and discussions have multiplied, in regard to the form of civil government best adapted to the wants and welfare of the human race. Systems of private and pubhc educa- tion have been originated, and variously applied. Theories, both in respect to government and educa- tion, have often been reduced to practice, only to prove a failure, because men disregard the impor- tance of the family relation, which underlies all civil and rehgious institutions, as the foundation underlies the fabric. Reformers have even become so wild in their speculations about a social millennium, as to advocate the abolition of the family instead of its improvement. The wild experiment would not reorganize society, but shiver its organism into count- less fragments. “ To injure the family by bringing its claims into doubt, by diminishing its purity, or weakening its authority, is to do an injury to society in general. Law, order, the State, intellectual im- provement, morals, every thing, would fall with the family. And it would so, because the family is of God ; and nothing which is of God can be shaken 1 * 6 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. out of its position, or be lost, without causing the most disastrous results.” * In nearly all examples of distinguished men in church or State, the influence of the family upon their characters in early Life is quite apparent. Trac- ing back these influences to their origin at the do- mestic altar, we are constrained to attach paramount importance to this divine institution. It is said that Alfred the Great owed his intellectual distinction and true greatness to a single incident in the family, when he was about twelve years of age — a parent’s offer of a manuscript of Saxon poetry to any one who would commit it to memory. The excellent and talented Cecil said : “ I detect myself, to this day, in laying down maxims in my family, which I took up at three or four years of age, before I could possibly Imow the reason of them.” The reason of Baxter’s singular devotion to the work in which he acquired such eminence was, that, in the family, his mind was early directed to the historical por- tions of the Bible. To influences within the fam- ily domain, history ascribes much that is great and good in the characters of Lord Bacon, Johnson, Edwards, Newton, Buchannan, Dwight, and many others. As are families, so is society. This proposition needs no extended proof. A community or State is a collection of families, possessing such a moral and intellectual character as the famflies possess. K each family is thoroughly Christian, the community which they constitute will be equally Christian. * Upham. THE FAMILY ON EARTH. 7 Were every citizen to give heed to his personal du- ties and responsibilities, and faithfully discharge them, the community would be disturbed by no deeds of lawless violence. If every family were a model in purity and intelligence, the State would be a model in all that pertains to civil pohty. If each member of a church should set a watch over his own heart, and see to it that one heart is pure, the whole church would be preserved pure, in the care of each for himself. So, if each family should “ observe to do ” aU that the Lord has commanded, in order to promote its peace and prosperity, aiming to present one pure, Christian family, the Church and State would be full of “ whatsoever is lovely and of good report.” Hence the important relation which the family sustains to aU other institutions, inferior only to the church of God. As another has said, “it antedates and underlies ah other organisms, is the oldest human society, the mother and nurse of the church, the strong foundation on which rest the State and civil society, and the teacher and model of government.” Consider more particularly the relation of the fam- ily to the State. Says John Angell James, “ WeU- instructed, weU-ordered, and well-governed famihes are the springs, which from their retirements, send forth then- tributary streams that make up, by their confluence, the majestic flow of national gi’eatness and prosperity ; nor can any State be prosperous, where family order and subordination are generally neglect- ed ; nor otherwise than prosperous, whatever be its political forms, where these are generally maintained. It is certainly under the wise instruction and the im- 8 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. partial sceptre of a father, and within the little fam- ily circle that the son becomes a good citizen ; it is by the fireside and upon the family hearth, that loy- alty and patriotism, and every public virtue grows ; as it is in disordered families, that factious dema- gogues, and turbulent rebels, and tyrannical oppres- sors, are tramed up to be their neighbor’s torment, or their country’s scourge. It is there that the “ thorn and the brier,” to use the elegant simile of the prophet, or the “ myrtle and the fir-tree are reared, which are, in future time, to be the ornament and defence, or the deformity and misery of the land.” These words are proved truthful by reference to the present condition of society, as well as to the records of past history. Ancient Greece and Rome placed the highest renown on the foram and the battle field, — in the career of the senator and the soldier. It was their boast, that sons were nobly trained in the family for the service of their country. The studi- ous were encouraged to aspire after the fame of the scholar and orator, and the ardent and fearless to win laurels that adorn the warrior’s brow. Both the Greek and Roman entertained false notions of hu- man glory, and were impelled by a wicked ambition in their efforts to win it ; but the fact to which refer- ence is had shows the connection of the family with the State. Did space permit, the annals of Greece and Rome might furnish illusti'ious examples of statesmen and generals, reared in the quiet family, with special reference to the offices which they after- wards filled wdth honor. The family is a State in miniature, of which the father is king. It contains all the elements of ihe THE FAMILY ON EARTH. 9 body politic, developed and developing. In it are the future agriculturists and artisans who will wield the utensds ; the statesmen and rulers who will hold the destinies ; and the ministers and conservators of truth who will watch the altars of our land. In it are all the passions, hopes, and feelings that ever moved the bosom of humanity ; existing, indeed, in embryo, but fast growing into vigorous and manly ex- ercise for a nation’s weal or wo. When John Adams was engaged in the instruction of youth, in Worces- ter, in the year 1756, he said, “ that it awakened in his heart peculiar interest to regard his school as the world in miniature, — that before him were the land’s future presidents, governors, legislators, di- vines, and counsellors. He had only to imagine, what might prove true, that this one was a prospec- tive ruler, and that one a legislator, and the other a minister, in order to stimulate him to that course of effort without which youth for those respective spheres would be lost.” His remarks would have been equally true if he had spoken them of the family. The following is an illustration of this truth. In the year 1782 there were born in four famihes, residing in three difierent States, four distin- guished American statesmen, namely, Daniel Web- ster, John C. Calhoun, Lewis Cass, and Martin Van Buren. Then, those families were undistinguished from the great multitude of families around them. Yet, as we now regard the influence which those gifted statesmen have exerted in the council halls of the nation, we learn that those famihes sustained a very important relation to our government. With- in them were prospective legislators and statesmen, 10 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. daily receiving impressions to fit or unfit them for the important trust to which they w^ere uncon- sciously advancing. Could those parents have been gifted with a prophet’s ken, to discern the public career of those whom they were disciplining, per- haps, with too careless hand, how much it would have deepened their sense of personal responsibility ! They would have had a most impressive view of their connection with the national government. What family can say, positively, that its responsi- bilities are not the same ? Not less important is the relation of the family to the State in respect to evil. To send abroad rm- principled and iiTesponsible agents to trample upon human laws, and set at defiance civil authorities, is a very undesirable responsibility to assume. The eye may now rest upon wretched victims of vice and crime, whose lives are a curse to the dearest interests of society. To be the occasion of sending one such pest into society may well attach a fearful obligation to the household bond. To hazard thus, by proxy, the peace and prosperity of the Commonwealth, and corrupt the morals of communities by an irresponsi- ble progeny, is an issue from which every noble and patriotic parent desires to be delivered. The stability of government resides in the ■virtue of the people. A territory stretching from sea to sea ; a fertile soil, and exhaustless mines of gold and silver, do not make a people prosperous. Proud and populous cities ; wise and prudential statutes ; mighty armies and navies triumphing on land and ocean, do not insm-e a permanent government. Nor, even, can education, and the spirit of true liberty, alone, sus- THE FAMILY ON EARTH. 11 tain a nation, and transmit its institutions unimpaired to posterity. This is done, if done at all, by the tried virtue of the people. Good citizens, not wealth, power, or political organizations, give stability to government. Parties may organize ; education and politics combine, and every possible intellectual, political, and secular agency cooperate for the suc- cess and glory of a nation ; but its days of prosperity are numbered, if there be not a goodly share of vir- tue in the hearts of the people. So teach reason and observation. So speaks the past. So speaks the present. There is but one voice and one expe- rience upon this subject. History declares, in the rise and progress, the decline and fall of govern- ments, that their stability resides in the virtue of the people. But when, where, and how are good citizens made ? Are they made after the character is formed ? By no means. What kind of citizens men shah, be is determined before they attain to manhood. While under parental discipline, it is decided whether they \vill be loyal or not. Here, if ever, they learn that obedience, and cultivate that virtue, which are the sure promise of loyalty to the State. He who is disobedient in the family wall be likely to be disobe- dient in the State. If he has no respect for parental government, he will have none for civil government. If he defies a parent, he will defy a ruler. In short, the discipline which is required to make him a good son is necessary to make him a good citizen. Early in life, long before he understands the nature of his duties as a member of society, this training of his heart to virtue should commence. To be vir- 12 LIFE AT THE FIEESIDB. tuous in manhood, he must be virtuous in youth. •K his early life is corrupt, there is very little hope that his later life will be pure. Hence, if the perma- nency of a government resides in the virtue of the people, and if the people are virtuous only when their early discipline is correct, then, the success of a nation depends upon the training of its families. Much has been written concerning the causes of crime and pauperism in our land. Foreign immi- gration, intemperance, judicial leniency, have each been branded with the curse of creating this mass of corruption and want. But these are only secondary causes. The true, original cause lies back of them, I in the family. The great masses of dehnquents crowding our almshouses, reform schools, and pen- ^itentiaries, are furnished by undisciplined, godless families, or very defective religious ones. They come not from the weU-trained households of rural or metropolitan districts. Hence the remarks of Dr. Payson : “ Could we trace the public and private evils which infest our otherwise happy country back- ward to their source, I doubt not, we should find the most of them proceed from a general neglect of the education of children. With this neglect those par- ents are chargeable, who suffer their cliildren to in- dulge, without restraint, those sinful propensities, to which childhood and youth are but too subject. Among the practices which have tiffs dangerous ten- dency are a quarrelsome, malicious disposition, dis- regard to truth, excessive indulgence of their appe- tites, neglect of the Bible and religious instruction, profanation of the Sabbath, impious and indecent language, wilful disobedience, improper associations. THE FAMILY ON EAETH. 13 want of scrupulous integrity, and idleness, which is the parent of every evil.” True, we find an imme- diate cause of much of the sin and degradation we witness in the drinking and gaming saloons, the the- atres and brothels, where the vicious congregate ; but how many resort to these dens of infamy for the want of that early training which is so needful to lead in virtue’s pathway ! Foreign immigration pours a host of paupers and criminals upon our shores, poor, wretched, vicious men and women, to fill our almshouses and jails ; but come they not from lands where a well-trained, Christian family is almost unknown? Were they not born and bred in the midst of vice and crime, and disciplined to quench the risings of every noble aspiration ? Are they not now the members of households in which there is scarcely any recognition of the duties and responsibilities of the family relation ? So that, while we lament the evils of foreign immigration, we are compelled to say that we are suffering from such an immigration, because other lands are the abodes of such families. After granting aU the ex- ceptions possible, we are compelled to concede, that the true, original cause of pauperism and crime, is found in the family. We have spoken of the strong attachment of man- kind to home. This makes men patriotic. It is a golden link which binds their hearts to their native land, when traveUing in foreign countries. It is a note of alarm when the pestilence sweeps along the shores, loved ones being the first to rise before the mind’s eye. So when the tramp of invading armies has been heard, a thought of home has inspirited the 2 14 LITE AT THE FIKESIDE. volunteer, or the enrolled soldier, more than the loud battle-cry “ to arms ! ” Dear relatives, whose hopes and happiness depend upon the issue of the conflict, are the first objects that rush across the mind when war threatens a land. Wives, children, brothers, sisters, parents, — the thought of their being exposed to the violence and lust of a victorious foe nerves soldiers for deeds of noble daring, and invests them with fortitude and power beyond the inspiration of fife and drum, or the glory of a conqueror’s name. “ Remember your wives and children^' exclaimed a commander to his army, cowering before the teem- ing ranks of the enemy ; “ kehembee. tohh wi'S'ES AND CHILDKEN ! ” With the celerity of fight, the spirit of dauntless heroism flew fi:om heart to heart, and the army rushed to the conflict wdth renewed courage, and won the day. What historian has recorded the instance of a person without a family who displayed a marked degree of patriotism in the time of our country’s peril ? We have had many noble examples of the love of country ; but how much less noble they might have been without a previous love of the family ! There is love of country, doubtless, in numerous in- stances, solely because there is love of home with its kindred. There is one historical fact which serves to illus- trate this part of the subject. At one period of Grecian history, family discipline was accounted of little value, and the Spartan lads were submitted to a public training as the children of the people. The education of the household was set aside, or nullified, and the lads subjected to the best discipline that THE FAMILY ON BARTH. 15 could be instituted to fit them for public service. But this, with many other plans of theirs, equally chimerical, proved a failure, showing the absolute necessity of the family influence in forming char- acter to be useful in the State, or any other sphere of human effort and responsibility. The relation of the family to the church. The domestic constitution appears exceedingly important, when we trace its influence to the commonwealth ; but it transcends this view of mere secular and po- litical interest, and assumes a sacred character, when we consider its relations to the chm'ch of Christ. The family is the nursery of the church. Within its pale there is a training by which the rising gener- ation are made friendly or hostile to the truth, — are the more hopeful candidates for Christ’s king- dom, or the less likely to be won. The next gen- eration, both of the friends and the enemies of Christ, are now the children which are the pride and hope of earth’s living famihes. Whether they shall join- the sacramental hosts, or scorn to respect the truth of God, depends very much upon the counsels which mould the character in childhood and youth. This sentiment finds a response in every Christian heart. In every community, there are famihes from whom the church do not expect to receive converts to their fellowship. If one does break away from the worldly interests which there concern him, he is regarded as having resisted, with manly independence, such in- fluences as have secularized the hearts and destroyed the souls of thousands. Li the early history of mankind, the family was 16 LIFE AT THE FERESEDE. the only church of God, called the “ Church in the house.” Here was the altar, the incense, the voice of prayer, and the song of praise. Here was all the rehgion, with its simple ordinances, which was found upon the earth. And over this constituted “ Church in the house,” the man of God, not forgetful of his duties as husband and father, presided as the prophet and priest. Had not sin coiTupted the source of human thought and feeling, an organized Cliristian church would have been unnecessary. Each family would have been a living church, as a city upon a hill. There God would have had his altar, his or- dinances, and his “ beloved.” There truth would have lived, unchanged and unremoved by the march of time. And there piety would have survived, in the pmity of its early faith, amid all the mutations of terrestrial things. Facts may be cited, almost indefinitely, to estab- lish the connection of the family and church. Li one town during a revival of religion, in 1812, seventy-nine persons were added to the church, and all but four were the members of pious famifies. In another town, as the fruits of a revival in 1811, one hundred were added to the church, eighty-eight of whom were from pious famifies. In yet another town, four fifths of the converts, during a revival in 1815, belonged to religious households. In another still, nine tenths of aU the conversions during a power- ful work of grace in 1831, were connected vith pious families. And thus in nearly every revival which refi-eshes Christendom Irom time to time, it wifi be found that very few are gathered from famifies in THE PAJIILY ON BARTH. 17 which the parents are not religious. The great mass of the additions to Christ’s flock are from the fam- ilies of the church. Revivals occurred in Amherst College in 1827, ’28, ’31, ’35, ’39, ’42, ’46, in which some hundreds were converted, and in Wabash College in 1838, ’41, ’43, ’46, ’47, ’48, and ’49, with results equally encourag- ing. The forty years preceding 1848, Yale College was visited with twenty revivals, and the number of hopeful conversions . in a single one was one hun- dred. Among the converts were Hopkins, Edwards, Dwight, Bellamy, Evarts, Cornelius, and Nevins. The first sixty-five years in the history of Dartmouth College witnessed nine extensive revivals ; and dur- ing the first twenty-five of Middlebury College, every class but one shared in the outpouring of the Spirit. How many hundreds were converted in all these revivals, we cannot say ; but we can assert with confidence, that four fifths of them were the children of the church. It is recorded that of sixty- three admitted to the church in Yale College, in 1802, all but eight of them were the sons of pious parents. The whole number, (twenty-two,) who were received to the communion in 1808, had either a Christian father or mother, or both. And of seventy who professed religion, as the fruit of the revival of 1831, all but ten were the children of pious parents. Thirty students were hopefully converted in McKen- dree College, Illinois, in 1850, all but three of whom had praying mothers, and a large portion of them praying fathers, also. Six of them were the sons of ministers of different denominations. An inquiry was instituted not long since with 2 * 18 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. regard to the eighty students connected with the Andover Theological Seminary; and it was found that only “ four of the students were born of parents neither of whom was pious ; that of six, the mother only was pious ; and that of seventy, the father and mother both were pious.” In another Theological Seminary, all but six of the members were reared in religious families. A similar inquiry instituted in regard to all the Theological Schools of the land, of evangelical principles, would, doubtless, present similar results. Of the large number of devoted ministers, break- ing the bread of life to the many saints in Christen- dom, and the missionaries of the cross, bearing the glad news of salvation to the perishing, how very few are the offspring of parents neither of whom are devoted to the Lord! Probably ninety-nine hun- dreths of them came forth from households where one parental heart, at least, was in true sympathy with Christ. Such facts as these show that God has put his seal of approbation upon the religious family, and now points us to it as the agency, winch, by grace, is to replenish his blood-bought church. Other fam- ilies throng, with their godless numbers, the ranks of Christ’s enemies and persecutors, and swell the num- ber of the “ tormented ” to a fearful aggregate. But the families of the church, dear to God by the bonds of the everlasting covenant, are to furnish the mass of the trained sons and daughters of salvation ; so that the question : how fast the truth shall advance from land to land, and how soon the cross be planted upon every heathen shore, finds its truest answer THE FAMILY ON EARTH. 19 in the character of the families which abide in Chris- tian countries. Some months since, the author listened to the in- teresting plea of an agent in behalf of perishing chil- dren, in which he argued that our efforts in the con- version of the world have been wrongly directed. The drift of his argument was somewhat as follows : We have been laboring in the Lord’s vineyard a great number of years, yet how few, comparatively, are converted ! In many Christian communities, the ad- mission of converted sinners to the church scarcely keeps pace with the removals by “ death’s doings.” Talents, learning, wealth, time, all are devoted to the salvation of men, yet how slowly does the work of conversion advance ! At this rate of progress, how long a time wdl elapse before the world will be con- verted to God ! There is error somewhere in this great and glorious enterprise. We believe it lies in overlooking the salvation of children.' We have commenced at the wrong place to convert the world. This great moral machinery is operating mainly upon adult minds, while childhood is almost wholly neglected. Men established in then sinful habits, with a cultivated hostility to the gospel, or blinded by gross superstition, are labored with, while children, so susceptible to religious impression, are left to harden by sin, and advance to maturity with in- creasing enmity to the truth, before they are made the special objects of Christian regard. In this way, the young pass the season which is most favorable to bring them to Christ, and are not wrought upon by the church untU they are far less likely to be con- verted. May not the error be found here ? Is it not 20 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. the part of wisdom to convert the children, that, by and by, there may be no adults, comparatively, to be converted ? While adults may not be neglected now, ought not our Christian efforts to be directed more and mainly to the salvation of the young ? The sentiment met with a response in my heart, as it doubtless wiU in the heart of every Christian. It is philosophical and true to the claims of human nature. Take care of the children, and adults will take care of themselves. " It exhibits, in the most comprehensive view, the importance of the relation which the family sustains to the militant church of God. One characteristic of the family on earth, which might have been cited before, deserves here a passing notice, by way of magnifying the importance of what has already been urged. It is not a dependant. Neither government nor possessions give it laws or existence. “ It may live and flourish,” says John Angell James, “in all its tender charities, and all its sweet felicities, and its moral power, in the cottage as well as in the mansion ; mider the shadow of liberty, and even under the scorching heat of tyranny. Like the church, of which it is in some respects the em- blem, it accommodates itself to every changing form of surrounding society, to every nation and to every age, forming with the church, the only institu- tions ever set up by God, as to their framework. Like its kindred institute, it remains amidst the ruins of the fall, the lapse of ages, and the changes of human affairs, the monument of what has been, the standing prediction of what shall be. Tpauts, that crush the liberties of a State, cannot destroy the con- THE FAMILY ON BAKTH. 21 stitution of the family ; and even persecutors, that silence the preacher, and scatter the congregation, cannot hush the voice of parental instruction, or extinguish parental influence. Religion, hunted and di'iven from the place of public concourse, would stfll find a retreat, as it often has done under such cu'cumstances, in the household of faith ; and t/iere would keep alive upon the family altar, that holy fire, with which the sacrifice of the temple, under happier auspices, shall be offered. Neither families nor the church of the redeemed shall ever be enthrely lost, whatever changes the world may yet have to pass through ; ‘ but, blessing and being blest, will, of themselves alone, one day introduce the millen- nium.’ ” If a correct view of the family on earth has been presented, the duties which are incidental to this institution deserve to be carefully studied. They cannot be esteemed too sacred or imperative. They cannot be revolved too long, or too prayerfully. They cannot be discharged with too much concern or fidelity. To neglect or trifle with them does not issue simply in personal detriment, but in disaster to State and church. In the following chapters these duties are discussed as they naturally issue from remarks abeady made. The sentiments of this chapter are considered a sufficient basis for aU that follows. If the truth is contained in the foregoing para- graphs, Socialism is a great sin. It abolishes the family to group the sexes together in large commu- nities. Under the pretence of refoiyn or social im- provement, it annihilates the family tie, and thus 22 LIPE AT THE FIRESIDE. mines away at the very foundation of the social organization. It destroys the germ of the State and the nursery of the church. It blasts the brightest hopes of the nation. It denies the material of which to construct a prosperous commonwealth. It “ nips in the bud ” the expanding affections of the soul. It quenches the flow of the heart’s sweet charities. It removes one of the most powerful motives to toil and industry. It tempts the lusts of depraved human nature, and provokes the passions to wanton exercise. Socialism is thus the plotting antagonist of a pm’e and peaceful society, and its adherents are the enemies of mankind. There is a delightful inheritance in the bonds of an unbroken family on earth. Before the dire hand of misfortune or necessity has scattered abroad the members, or the scythe of the fell destroyer cut them down as the grass, when the reciprocal flow of love causes hearts, — “ Like kindred drops to mingle into one,” and, especially, when the spirit of true religion per- vades and regulates the entire fellowship, the family ON EARTH presents a scene of the purest social enjoy- ment this side the whole family in heaven. But how frail the tie that “ makes the members one ! ” How weak the “ earthen vessel ” which contains such joys ! How soon this cup of joy is dashed in fragments at our feet! “ Heaven has confirmed the dread decree. That Adam’s race must die ; One general ruin sweeps them down, And low in dust they lie.” THE FAMILY ON EARTH. 23 A few fleeting months and years pass, and how changed ! Yea, in the very morning of the blissful union, sudden as the lightning’s flash, death lays his finger upon one warm heart, and it is motionless as marble. A vacancy occurs, and the household is wrapped in gloom ! The destroyer only lifts his wand, and the bright vision of delight vanishes as “ a thing of air ! ” In a moment the earthly Eden is overshadowed with a cloud of sorrow, and a period is put to unbroken fellowship, till grace re- unites the severed family in the Paradise above, where necessity dissolves no union, and death trifles not with a tie. “We are all here, You that I love with love so dear. This may not long of us be said — Soon must we join the gathered dead, And by the hearth we now sit round, Some other circle wall be found. Oh, then, that wisdom may we know. Which yields a life of peace below ; So, in the world to follow this. May each repeat, in words of bliss, W e ’re all — all here ! ” II. THE CONJUGAL RELATION. Nor stranger seemed that hearts So gentle, so employed, should cleave in love, Than when two dew-drops on the petal shake To the same sweet air, and tremble deeper down. And slip at once, all fragrant into one. Texxyson. Then come the wild weather — come sleet or come snow. We win stand by each other, however it blow; Oppression and sickness, and sorrow and pain. Shall be to our true love as links to the chain. Longfellow. A JOYOUS company assemble in the lighted par- lor, and none are more elated with hope than he who is about to take, and she who is about to be- come, a bride. Important era in the life of the youthful pair ! "What years of joy or sorrow, what chapters of hope or despair, what unfolding des- tinies are hung upon the utterance of these brief ■words ! — You have now presented yourselves, as the partners of each other’s decided choice, to have sealed your marriage vow. In the presence of Al- mighty God, and these witnesses, you promise to receive each other in the mutual relation of Husband and Wife, — to love, cherish, and respect each other ( 24 ) THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 25 in all the vicissitudes of your earthly toil, — in sick- ness and in health, in prosperity and in adversity the same, — rejoicing with each other in joy, and sym- pathizing with each other in sorrow, — thus remem- bering your plighted vow till these bands are sun- dered by death. Tin these bands are sundered by death ! In five minutes is consummated a union for a lifetime of weal or woe! None but God himself can sunder the tie thus suddenly created! Even though the union be blasted by the blight of misery, and riv- ing discord tear the heartsti’ings, it is done for life. Well may brides and bridegrooms ponder the fact ! They make a choice that compasses the whole of their earthly career, and unites their destinies, if not then- hearts. Darkness may cover their pathway as a murky cloud ; but they must travel on together amid the uncertainties of the future. For they have stood in solemn attitude before the Searcher of hearts, and made the irrevocable pledge to be one. Reflect upon the reality, wedded pair. Open yom' ears to the voices that will echo from every scene of domestic experience, coming up, loud and clear, from the depths of anguish in the soul, and bursting out from every brilliant avenue of joy, and pealing like a trumpet along the outstretching paths of wedlock, — /or life ! Listen to the stirring truth, embracing aU that you have, and are, and hope for, in this earthly lot, until you catch the meaning, and your hearts awaken to the appeal, — for life ! Often men are inconsiderate in assuming the du- ties of this state. In consequence, many who marry for an earthly paradise, awake, when the dreams of 3 26 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. the “ honey-moon ” are over, to find themselves in an earthly purgatory. They “ marry in haste and re- pent at leisure.” Says Foster, “ Alas ! many an enamored pair have courted in poetry, and after marriage; lived in proseP Nor is this true alone of the young and inexperienced, — the tlirong of brain- less upstarts and dandies that infest society, — but also of many of the learned and wiser ones. If not really inconsiderate, they have, nevertheless, taken to themselves companions unsuited to their w'ants and ways. Socrates, the famed plulosopher of ancient Athens, was thus unfortunate in his wife, Xantippe. In all his toils she tormented Ifim by her imperti- nence, her peevish disposition, and harsh invectives. All have doubtless read of that amusing incident in his life, when his wtife, after pelting him wdth a hail- storm of invective, poured a pailful of filthy water upon his head, to W'hich the amiable sage cooUy re- plied, “ after thunder rain generally fallsP John Wesley, the eloquent and gifted preacher, was wed- ded to a woman who proved herself a perpetual tor- ment to him in his sacred calling. Goaded by her cruel jealousy, and her yet more cruel temper, she beset him at every point, and foUowmd him even with a persecuting spirit, until he was compelled to leave her to her sin and foUy. Milton, the great English poet, had not lived long wdth his wdfe before a difference arose, wFich ended in separation, though she afterwards returned and -begged pardon on her knees. It is supposed that this contributed materially to his writing that pathetic scene, in Par- adise Lost, in W'hich Eve addresses Adam for par- don and peace. THE CONJUGAL EELATION. 27 But we need not pass the precincts of our own neighborhood to become familiar with the numer- ous “ jars ” in families, consequent upon hasty alli- ances. The scold, the fret, the drone,, the torment, the tyrant, are epithets that express the reigning dis- cords in families. There is “ the old man’s pet,” and “ the young man’s slave.” There is “ the lazy man’s drudge,” and “ the proud man’s doU.” There is the “worn woman’s master,” and the “jaded man’s thorn.” There is discord, war, and bondage in the marriage state. Many a wife has driven her husband to the practice of dishonesty and fraud, to the saloon of the gambler and the doom of the drunkard, by her pride, extravagance, idleness, fretfulness, or all. And many a husband has crushed the gentle spnit of his wife, and sent her down, heart-broken and sad, to an early grave, by the neglect and cruelty of his faithless heart. How sad the perpetual union of a pair, between whose hearts there are no blest affinities ! With no delight in each other’s society, yet compelled to abide as one ! Mutual enmity, perhaps, ranlding and burning in their hearts, and yet tied together for life ! It was the custom of a certain Emperor of Tuscany to punish offenders by binding the liv- ing criminal to the body of a dead malefactor, face to face ; and the wretched culprit bore about the loathsome and dissolving carcass, until he died in its foul embrace. Fit symbol of the way God often punishes the offender in the marriage life, binding him to a companion from whom his heart has be- come strangely alienated, even to dreadful loathing, yet compelled to submit to the union, and bear 28 LITE AT THE FIRESIDE. about with him the hated one until released by death. No severer punishment could be inflicted upon man or woman for an inconsiderate alliance. There is meaning in the old proverb, “ better be half- hanged than ill-wed.” It is wise, then, “ to weigh well what we can only once decide,” — to ponder the duties that are in- volved in the conjugal relation. The sentiment has become proverbial, — “ he who is about to marry should consider how it goes with his neighbors.” From the results of this sacred connection, witnessed on every hand, much may be learned concerning the duties of husband and w^ife. Solomon the wise has given us the beau ideal of a wife. Why he has given less prominence to the husband, in this regard, may be a query. Perhaps the reason lies in the fact, that the former contributes more to the joys or sorrows of domestic life. How frequently are the misfortunes or success of men ascribed to their wives ! The prosperous man has an economical and industrious wife ; while the w*ife of the unfortunate one is an extravagant and faith- less woman. Henee, the Irish saying, “ a man must aslt his wife’s leave to be rich.” The following is Solomon’s description oT'a model wife, and which good Matthew Henry calls, “ A look- ING-GLASS FOR LADIES.” “ Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good, and not evil, aU the days of. her life. She seeketh wool and flax, and w^orketh wiUingly with her hands. She is like the merchants’ ships ; she THE CONJUGAL EELATION. 29 bringeth her food from afar. She riseth, also, while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens. She considereth a field and buyeth it, with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard. She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms. She perceiveth that her merchandise is good ; her candle goeth not out by night. She layeth her hand to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff. She stretcheth out her hands to the poor ; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy. She is not afraid of the snow for her household ; for aU her household are clothed with scarlet. She maketh herself covering of tapestry ; her clothing is silk and purple. Her husband is known in the gates, when he sittefh among the elders of the land. She maketh fine linen, and sell- eth it ; and delivereth girdles unto the merchants. Strength and honor are her clothing, and she shall rejoice in time to come. She openeth her mouth in wisdom ; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed ; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favor is deceitful and beauty is vain ; but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands ; and let her own works praise her in the gates.” Without commenting on this beautiful portrait, I remark that, — The first duty of the conjugal relation is mutual love. We were made to love. Rousseau said, 3 * 30 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. “were I in a desert I would find out wherewith in it to call forth ray affections. If I could do no better, I would fasten them on some sweet myrtle, or some melancholy cypress, I would love it for its shade, and greet it kindly for its protection. 'I would wiite ray name upon it, and pronounce it the sweetest tree in all the desert. K its leaves withered, I would teach myself to mourn, and if it rejoiced, I would rejoice vdth it.” Thus love is “a fi’agrant blossom that maketh glad the garden of the heart.” I have seen a couple at the hymeneal altar, when the future seemed so auspicious, as scarcely to admit that a cloud could ever darken the brilliant horizon of life. Apparently, the young lovers anticipated no other than “ halcyon days ” — that they would always walk amid scenes of pleasure, and sit in bowers of peace, and listen to the music of the “ birds of paradise.” But there came a day of clouds and darkness, a tempest swept the ocean of their joy, and billows heaved upon its depths of pleasure. It was a day of trial ; such as is lik^y to be the lot of every wedded pair, however cheering the prospect to their expectant hearts. For more is usually anticipated by “ thdtwo hearts one,” at the altar of marriage, than is enjoyed. The matrimonial state is hailed as an Elysian land, where sighs are aU hushed, and tears are aU ‘vvdped from the eyes. But there came the trial-time ; and love was the angel-hand that buoyed them above God’s whelming billows. In every instance of trial in the marriage state, this is nature’s grand supporter — second only to a living trust in God. Alienations dip every THE CONJUGAL EELATION. 31 shaft of sorrow in poison — render every trial more bitter and insupportable. Love diminishes by divid- ing them between two faithful hearts. No power can exceed that of confiding love. It throws a mantle of charity over a multitude of sins. It blinds the bride to the faults of her spouse. It magnifies to the husband the virtues of his wife. It has power to allure and charm with virtues in each other which are only imaginary. It causes each to see such qualities in the other — such bewitching charms — as neighbors do not witness. And it even presents defects under the false coloring of alluring virtues. As Shakspeare has it, — “ My love doth so approve him, That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns. Have grace and favor in them.” It is well that in this perpetual union, love has power to blind us to each other’s faults. It spares us many hours of disappointment and discord. Both husbands and wives have studied how to “ manage their companions.” Many have been the expedients to which the deluded victims of disap- pointment have resorted to enjoy their own way, and avoid collision. Unwise and unhappy planning! To dream of harmony when the affections are wickedly withholden, and alienations imbitter the feelings of the heart ! Inconsistent with this duty of mutual affection are many of the objects for which some persons are known to marry. We wonder not that the woman, who marries a man solely to have a /tome, should be punished by finding her home a type of heU. It is 32 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. not surprising that he who marries a woman for a doll, “ to be placed in a glass case and set in the parlor to look at it,” should be compelled to utter bitter lamentations at the last. We are not aston- ished that wo betides the man who is more enamored with the beauty than with the virtues of his bride. Yet, with the countless warnings that are read in unhappy matches and blasted hopes, it is stiU. true that thousands are allured by this “ Will-o’-the- Wisp,” so that the maxim, as it goes, is accordant with truth, “ she that is born a beauty is half mar- ried.” How surely will misery attend a marriage that is consummated for money I ^ “ Look not only for riches lest thou be mated with misery.” This is the poet’s warning ; and in it is more truth than poetry. If no better motive than this fires the heart in this hfe-aUiance, all the ills that curse any son and daughter of Adam are not too great a punishment for so black a crime. “ That LOVE is sordid wliich doth need Gold’s filthy dust its fires to feed ; That acts a higher, nobler part, That comes, unfettered, from the heart.” Compared with a union so base as this, how grand and ennobling the reply of the Greek bride, who was asked what fortune she should bring her husband : “ I win bring him what gold cannot purchase, — a heart unspotted, and virtue without a stain, which portion is aU that descended to me from my parents.” Mutual confidence is demanded of husband and THE CONJUGAL EELATION. 33 wife. Love lays the foundation for it, and a careful watch preserves it. This confidence ought to extend to the minutia of domestic life. The business, the cares, the tiials of each should be unburdened to the other. Even to the characteristic faults that blemish each other’s soul, there should be a frank disclosure. The wife may not think it worth the while that her husband be apprised of all her plans, and especially with some that have to do with Mrs. A., or Mrs. B. ; and she may even think that a man is an ignoramus in aU that pertains to female duties ; and, therefore, it were foolish to give the information. On the other hand, the husband may feel that a woman can understand very little of his affairs, should he dis- close all his plans of business, — that the compass of her ability lies in “ basting meat, taking stitches, and rocking babies.” Here begins a mutual distrust. Here falls the spark that kindles to a flame the tinder of discord. It is seldom that we find a matrimonial alliance entirely felicitous ; because such unkind sus- picion banishes implicit confidence from the fireside. “ At the gate which suspicion enters, love goes out.” 'It were far better, in ordinary circumstances, that a woman forego even a benevolent act, than to per- form it, as is often done, unbeknown to her husband. It were wiser for the husband to lose the opportunity to win his thousands, than to conceal his plans from his wife. Deception is wholly inconsistent vAth this mutu- ally confiding spirit. It is the incipient step to many painful collisions. The disclosure of a single in- stance of this, on the part of one of the companions, tends to destroy the confidence of the other. 34 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Secrets should find no welcome to the heart of wife or husband. Sad stain upon the -character of him or her who covets them ! “ None are so fond of secrets as those who do not mean to keep them ; such persons covet secrets, as a spendthrift covets money, for the purpose of circulation.” Beware of a partner who harbors a secret in the breast ! Better be wed to the open-hearted, who carry their frank- ness to the extreme in revealing what they know. Either husband or wife will rue the day it is dis- closed, that a secret has been treasured in the heart. It teUs the other, in the silent language of disclosure, “ my confidence in you is not complete.” Jealousy is the saddest breach of confidence. It is a rush of distrastful feeling, that like a torrent, dash- ing and roaring over its broken embankments, sweeps away the buds and blossoms of peace, and tears up by the roots the sturdiest oak of Mendship. God himself hath said that “jealousy is cruel as the grave.” It buries the confidence and happiness of the married couple in a common tomb. The cradle of jealousy is the sepulchre of domestic bliss. Mutual forbearance is indispensable in this rela- tion. Excellent as may be the characters of both the parties, neither of them has married an angeh The lesson “ to bear and forbear,” must come into their “ preaching and practice.” “ The kindest and the happiest pair 'Will find occasion to forbear, And something every day they live To pity, and perhaps forgive.” Strange, indeed, would it be, if, as the months roll THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 35 on, no imperfections should be manifest in each other’s character. For nothing is wholly pure and perfect in this world. The snow-white lily, that un- folds itself to the morning sun, may have an imper- fect petal. The sparkling diamond — a fortune in itself — may have a tiny flaw. The sun, the reflec- tion of the Creator’s glory, has spots upon his disc. It were strange if blemishes did not stain all human characters, if defects did not mar human conduct, requiring all to learn the difficult lesson, “ TO EORGIVE AND FORGET.” “ For tlie best compensation is paid for all ill, When the cheek with contrition is wet, And every one feels it is possible, still. At once to forgive and forget.” *' Hence the need of mutual forbearance in the mar- riage state, upon the principle that both have faults. The husband should look upon the blemishes of his wife as he regards the spots upon the sun ; and vice versa. Mutual good temper is another duty of wed- ded persons. There are “ moods ” in matrimony as weU as in grammar, — the equable, peevish, fretful, and scolding moods, — and the temper is in one or the other. The first is known by the peace that flows “ like a river ; ” and the others by the withering look, or the flash of harsh invective. One severe reply breeds another, until the domestic altar is made the rostrum for acting the famous drama, “ Tit for Tat.” A good temper is less expensive than a bad one ; * Tapper. y6 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. and the kind words which it prompts, may be ut- tered without blistering the tongue. They cost little, and shp out from the heart without alarming the conscience. They neither break nor bruise any thing, nor wound a heart, though they sometimes burn by heaping “ coals of fire ” on erring people’s heads. There are passionate words, and sarcastic words, and idle words, and vain words, and spiteful words, and silly words, and great swelling words ; but they aU slink away for very shame before the kind words of a mild and equable temper. “ Tart words make no friends.” The following lines were sent to Matthew Henry the Commentator at the time of his marriage, by his venerable father. ‘j^Love one anotlier ; pray oft together ; and see You never both together angry be; If one speak fire, t’other with water come; Is one provoked ? be t’ other soft or dumb.” A scold for a companion is the bane of domestic bhss. Habitual scolding renders either party un- lovely. Mr. A. wonders that his wife is so mute and unsocial as the shades of evening are gathering. And Mrs. B. is at her “ wits’ end ” to learn the reason her husband dislikes her company, and spends his evenings at the tavern. But, in both instances, the reason hes in the fact that they are habitual fretters or scolders. Many a man has been driven to the tavern, and his cups, and to a drunkard’s grave, by a peevish and fretful ■«dfe. IMany a wife has had her heart and hopes crushed, and been plunged into mental misery, by a similar cruel spirit on the part of her husband. THE CONJUGAL BELATION. 37 The following incidents are illustrative of a good temper. A married man was spending the evening, as usual, with his jovial companions at the tavern. The conversation, in the course of the evening, was directed to the faults of their wives. One of the number declared, after a discourse upon the provo- cations of married life, that his wife was, neverthe- less, a woman of remarkably mild temper ; and added, “ were I, gentlemen, to take you home with me at midnight, and order her to rise and get you a supper, she would be all submission and cheerful- ness.” The company were incredulous, and a wager was staked. So about midnight they started to make the experiment. Being admitted, “ Where is your mistress ? ” said the husband to the maid-ser- vant who sat up for him. “ She is gone to bed, sir ! ” “ Call her up,” said he. “ Tell her I have brought some friends home with me, and desire she would get up, and prepare them a supper.” At once “ the woman obeyed the um'easonable summons, and re- ceived the company with perfect civility ; told them she happened to have some chickens ready for the spit, and supper should be prepared as soon as pos- sible. The supper was accordingly served up ; when she performed the honors of the table with as much cheerfulness as if she had expected company at a proper season.” The husband won the wager, and such an exhibition of good temper resulted in making him a better man. It is one of the rewards of obey- ing the Apostolic injunction, “ Wives, submit your- selves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.” Such a wife, amid the varied scenes of domestic life, 4 38 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. is a kind of moral talisman. She reminds us of a certain aquatic plant which spreads its top on the surface of the water, and with wonderful elasticity keeps the surface stdl, if the water swells, or if it falls. “ In her tongue is the law of kindness.” She is like the statue of Memnon in Eg}’pt, giving forth dehghtful sounds with every rising day, whether in sunshine or in storm. Her heavenly temper resem- bles that of our mother Eve, in her reception and entertainment of the angel Raphael, so gentle, so kind, so cheerful, so lovely. Side by side with this example of an excellent wife, we may place the following example of a hus- band, as happy in his temper. Bishop Co\\'per had been eight years in collecting materials for his Dictionary. One day, in his absence, his wdfe, who was afraid he would injure himself by his arduous studies, gathered up aU the manuscripts he had been so long collecting, and committed them to the flames. It was done to save the good man’s life. When he returned, she told hiiu what she had done. Satisfied of the kind motive which prompted her, he coolly replied in these brief words, “ Woman! thou hast put me to eight more years of study.” The re- ply was dignified and Christian, and accomplished more than a storm of anger. A few kind words are not sufiicient to atone for a general habit of fi-etfulness. The rose parts with its lovely hues, and the daisy droops upon the hiU-side, if only one sunny day in seven pomrs genial rays upon it, while the other days bring storms. There is need of continual kindness in this delicate relation, THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 39 to insure peace. To this end mutual yielding is needful. For “ in love’s wars, he who fleeth is conqueror.” Mutual attention is yet another duty. It has been said, that “ a woman can bear any thing better than a slight.” As much may be said of man. On either side, neglect may awaken suspicion and jeal- ousy. Both, however, should be careful not to con- strue every instance of apparent indifference into intentional neglect. The husband has more connec- tion with the world — its numerous cares and anxie- ties — its failures and sad reverses. The same flow of cheerfulness will not always speak in his eye, nor live in his heart. His mind is sometimes intensely absorbed in his worldly afiairs, and often jaded by disappointments, so that he may not always return at evening to his family with his wonted joy and cheerfulness. He may omit an accustomed word of gi’eeting. He may be unsocial and silent. And yet this may not be neglect. The wife should have good-sense enough to perceive and understand this. There is a time to talk and a time to be silent, — a time to laugh and a time to reflect, — a time to be merry and a time to be sober. On the other hand, the silence or sadness of a wife, her want of inter- est and attention, should not always be construed into designed neglect by her husband. Abundant reasons for this may exist, and these should first be sought. There are many practices in married life incon- sistent with this mutual attention. One only wiU be named. The husband often spends his evenings unnecessarily away from home, at the tavern or in 40 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. shops. It is not a very flattering compliment to the so- cial character of his wife. If he prefers the company of his joking neighbors, in tavern or store, to that of his chosen wife at home, there is something vTong in his views and feelings. Were he compelled to sit solitary and alone, through the evenings of winter, while his wife is “ making merry ” at the neighbors, methinks he would be heartily sick of home, if not of her. “ It is a poor rule that won’t work both ways.” This leads me to remark, in close connec- tion with the above : — A just appreciation of each other’s trials is in- volved in the duties of married life. The husband has cares both at home and abroad. He has domestic duties to perform, and the still more pressing ones of his peculiar business to dis- charge. He must provide for his table — furnish his family with necessary clothing — secure and bargain with domestics — procure fuel to warm his habita- tion — oversee the culture of his garden — and at- tend to other matters at home, while important busi- ness may demand his attention abroad. He has la- borers to obtain and counsel — materials to purchase and distribute — markets to watch and visit — plans to devise and study — goods to sell — collections to make — accounts to settle — disappointments to meet — and numberless other cares and responsibili- ties of his avocation to bear. The wife sits queen of the domestic circle, but not without her trials. Every day brings them to her lot. They are new every morning, and fresh every evening. Let us count her trials in a sin- gle day. Brealifast at an early hour to accom- THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 41 modate her husband about his business — Hattie and Willie to wash and dress — Ann, the fretful Irish girl in the kitchen, to flatter and direct — to officiate at the table, pour coffee, and wait upon the clamoring children, aU at once — by this time the babe is awake and screaming in the cradle — he must be washed, clothed, and fed, whde other duties are suspended — the other children to be prepared for school, faces washed, clothes adjusted, hair combed — now, breakfast finished — table is to be cleared, dishes washed, rooms swept and dusted — baby is crying lustily — nursing, rocking, singing — door-beU ringing — morning calls — mortification and apologies — child asleep, callers gone, hair to adjust and morning dress to change — all hurry for dinner — in come the children from school, scream- ing and crying — Hattie has torn her apron, and W illi e has tumbled down and cut his face — bed- lam reigns for a minute — kisses and kind words, by a kind of miracle, produce quiet, just as the husband comes to dine — all is peace and happiness, so that he begins to think his home is as free from trial as Paradise. After dinner the same scene over and over, and worse too — Willie is coming down with the measles — the other children must have them too — and then the mumps, whooping-cough, and chicken-pox — what sleepless nights and anxious days — watching, dosing, sweating, worn, weary, sad — poor woman’s unequal share — the husband away about his business. Be not regardless of a woman’s trials, O man ! Appreciate a man’s trials, O woman ! Mutual industry is also required. This is a strong 4 * 42 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. link in the golden chain of matrimonial bhss. ApoUo could convert a tortoise shell into a charming harp because he was up with the breaking morn. But Narcissus, “ idly gazing at his o\^ti features re- flected in the placid mirror of a fountain, until fatally and foohshly enamored of his own inspired charms, perished there, an image of indolence and vanity.” ' The marriage of an industrious woman to a lazy man, or vice versa, is an unhappy aUiance. Indo- lence or idleness, on the part of either, or of both, breeds many ills to mar the harmony of connubial intercomse. The Turkish proverb is just as true in matrimony as elsewhere : “ The devil tempts aU other men, but idle men tempt the devd.” Prince Eugene “ informed a confidential friend that, in the course of his fife, he had been exposed to many Poti- phars to aU of whom he had proved a Joseph, merely because he had so many other things to do.” A slothful, indolent, prating, gadding woman is both a moth and a mortification to a sensitive hus- band. A lazy, lounging, shiftless man is a burden to a faithful, toihng wife. For either party to feel the necessity of toiling with industrious hand, while the other gads or lounges, is the bane of conjugal bhss. CoUatinus boasted of the industrious habits of his wife, Lucretia ; and one day while banqueting with several princes, he laid a wager, that an unexpected visit to then- wives would find his partner busily engaged with her domestics. The wager was ac- cepted, and away they rode to Borne, where they found the princesses revelhng at a luxmlous banquet THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 43 with their Iriends. From Rome they hastened to Collatia, the residence of Lucretia, where they found her, late at night, engaged in spinning amid the circle of her maids. Her husband gloried in the triumph he had won through her domestic virtues. It was the pride of Augustus Caesar that his wife had a hand in making his imperial robes and costly girdle. “ Tanaquil, the wife of Tarquin, wrought woollen robes so well, that long after her death, her spinning implements, together with a robe of her manufacture, were hung up in the Temple of For- tune ; ” a constant lesson of industry to Roman maids and matrons. The favored Jewish husband, in the days of Solomon, did “ safely trust ” in his companion, because she ate “ not the bread of idle- ness,” but “ worked willingly with her hands.” Among these mutual duties we would not fail to speak of little things. These are of vast importance in manied life. A single word, a trifling act, has power to bless or mar a match. A hint may start suspicions and jealousies enough to destroy the hap- piness of husband and wife. A single act of kind- ness has power to span the future with the rainbo'w- promise of hope. “ A pebble in the streamlet scant Has turned the course of many a river ; A clew-dro2) on the baby plant lias warped the giant oak forever.” What harsh words and alienations have grown out of even the naming of a child ! Both parties assert- ing that they are not at aU particular, yet indirectly contending for some favorite name ! One yielding 44 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. with apparent cheerfulness, yet reluctantly at heart, to be dissatisfied for life, and disclose the inward feeling by “ flings ” over the little one’s Christian name ! Such a trifle has cast its darkling shadows over more than one matrimonial alliance. A niggardly, stingy spirit, united with vanity in respect to dress, greatly lowers the wife in the esteem of a generous husband. A too rigid economy in furnishing the table — poorer provisions served up for the servants, simply that more may be expended for s il ks and satins — cheating the stomach to adorn the back — this is an exhibition of a mind so shal- low, and a heart so empty, that any noble man must view it with contempt. It may create a family quarrel. Liattention to the relatives of husband or wife is often the cause of alienations. If the wife is indif- ferent to the kindred of her husband, cold and dis- tant in their reception, and all life and interest in waiting upon her own, it wiU not escape his notice. On the other hand, if the husband manifests little interest in the relatives of his wife, while he is all attention to his own, it ■^fill not escape her observant eye. Here mutual jealousy may arise, and harmony be destroyed. Little words of unkindness often occasion trouble in the family. Sometimes the husband, jaded and fretted by his business, is unfitted to ajjpreciate the toils of his excellent wife ; and he complains of the food, “ too plain ” or “ too rich ; ” “ the bread is poor and miserably baked ; ” the meat is cooked “ too much” or “too little;” his “clothes are never mended ; ” and nothing is right, but aU wrong. THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 45 Again, the wife complains of the servant, and of the toils of housekeeping, and intimates that her hus- band is not exactly what he should be, and closes with a pitiable sigh over the trials of the mamage state. Thus from little words, uttered without con- sideration, there grow discontent and strife, until the parties quarrel, and curse their wedding day. Nearly all family disputes commence with little things. Some peccadillo is made the theme of warm discussion, as if it were a case of life and death, and eloquence and passion storm around it, until love and concord are no more. Says Jeremy Taylor : “ Man and wife are equally concerned to avoid all offences of each other at the beginning of their con- versation. Every little thing can blast an infant blossom, and the breath of the south can shake the little rings of the vine when first they begin to curl lilie the locks of a new-weaned boy ; but when by age and consolidation they stiffen into the hardness of a stem, and have, by the warm embraces of the sun and the kisses of heaven, brought forth their clusters, they can endure the storms of the north, and the loud noises of a tempest, and yet never be broken.” But no matrimonial connection can be truly felic- itous without the benign and sanctifying influence of RELIGION. This sweetens the temper, hallows the affections, and purifies the heart. This leads to mutual faithfulness, kindness, and attachment, from the highest and holiest principle. This brings the loving couple to the throne of grace, where the heavenly influence of prayer is shed over the thoughts of the mind, and the feelings of the heart. This 46 LITE AT THE FIRESIDE. enjoins mutual love, confidence, and attention, and a long train of lively graces belonging to wedlock’s “ string of pearls.” This converts the petty annoy- ances and vexations of life into aids to mutual devo- tion, proving them to be blessings in disguise. The pearl-oyster, by some mysterious secretion, converts the fretting grain of sand, that is forced within its shell, into a eostly gem to adorn the neck of beauty. Thus religion converts the little, UTitating occurrences and trials of wedded life into pearls of priceless worth ; so that each one’s heart is richer for their existence. The Scriptures speak as follows of the duties of husbands and wives. To the former the counsel is : “ Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it, that he might sanctify and clease it with the washing of water by the word, that he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot or wTrinkle, or any such thing ; but that it should be holy and without blemish. So ought men to love their wives, as their own bodies. Let every one so love his wife even as himself.” “ Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them.” “ Ye husbands, give honor unto the wife, as unto the weaker vessel.” To wives the Divme lesson is : “ Wives, submit yom- selves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church. Therefore, as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to then.' own husbands, in every thing.” “ Let the wife see that she reverence her husband.” This is God’s household charter — a charter of “women’s THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 47 rights ” as well as men’s ; — love and protection on the part of the husband, and reverence and submis- sion on the part of the wife. He shall not stretch out over her the sceptre of a lordly master, nor must she crouch in servile obedience to be his slave. “ Love and lordship like no fellowship.” Has shah, be the rule of love, and her’s the submission of the same confiding spirit. It is such a husband who deserves a wife. It is such “ an obedient wife that com- mands her husband.” The following are the chief duties of married life, — a union, all of whose thrilling destinies will not be opened to our view, until we stand amid the solemn verities of the last great assize. There is meaning, then, deep and touching, in the sacred bonds of maniage. It is not an irresponsible delight to make the plighted vow, to add another to earth’s widely scattered homes, to become the constituted and united head of a family, and to train children that bloom like “ olive plants ” around the festive board. There is trial, discipline, and great respon- sibility here. Character, hopes, and happiness are here involved. The illustrations of this truth, along the thoroughfares of life, are a swift witness against the inconsiderate and rash, who take partners for life, with as little sense of obligation, as they add acres to their lands, or articles to their wardrobes. Again we say to wedded ones, before the altar where your connubial bands were tied, consider well your duties. You are to make a home! — a green islet upon this “ sea of trouble,” inviting the tossed and weary voyager of life to its crystal waters and ambrosial shades, — a refuge for the victim of mis- 48 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. fortune, fleeing before the storm of adversity, as a bird to its nest in the mountain-pine ; a bright spot (than which earth has not a brighter) to the traveller in distant climes, or the exile in lonely banishment, the earthly Bethlehem of his hopes. Oh, make it the nucleus around which a cluster of hearts, with hopes brighter than the burning seven of Pleiades, shall gather from their scattered pathways, to take sweet counsel, and tiim their lamps for the bride- groom’s coming ! Live as one together in all that appertains to love and duty, and your early friend- ship will grow and mingle with advancing years, as two trees, planted near each other, interlock their spreading branches, and blend then- foliage, as time rolls on. Faithless husband ! forgetful of the marriage vow, and looking down upon thy “ second self,” as the “ weaker vessel ” in an humbling sense, thou hast yet to learn that in much she is thy superior. In her keen perception, her common sense and sound judgment, in her refined taste and lasting fidelity, she excels thee. Thou hast more head than she, perhaps, but she hath the larger heart. Her strong affections live amid all thy coldness and neglect, as w’hen first she became thy bride. IMore faithful and confiding, she turns to thee with a trusting spirit when thy own base heart is treacherous as the sea. She loves on with the ardor of her early love, through all the storms that gather on thy brow, and all the tempests that thunder on thy tongue, and all the alienations that rankle in thy heart. Yea, if drunk- ard were thy name, and thy visage blotched and ulcered tfll the human were weUnigh stricken out, THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 49 and thy manliness were gone, and thy body sinking to decay, she would love thee stiU, and her warm affections would cling to thy wasting self, lilce “ ivy to the falling tower.” Pattern of fidelity ! Love’s traitorless defender amid a wreck of hopes ! Then, regard her not as the “ weaker vessel ” in any infe- rior sense. She was not “taken from thy head, to rule thee ; nor from thy feet, to be trampled on and crushed ; but from thy side, to be equal with thee ; ffom beneath thine arm, to be protected ; and near thy heart, to be beloved.” Love and protect her. Confide in her. Think not she has too little sense to be consulted in thy business. Poor compliment to thee, if this be true, for a choice so wretched! What! have the world believe that you have^ chosen a fool for a partner ? If not, love, cherish, and honor her as thy “ better half.” Let the face of thy wife publish abroad thy conjugal fidelity ; for it is a truthful saying, “ observe the face of a wife to know the husband’s character.” Let wives, also, who share the bliss or misery of married life, remember for what their nuptial bands were tied. It was not that you might flirt, or live at ease ; but to counsel and comfort, reflect and toil, — to be a help-meet in seasons of prosperity or adver- sity, — to diminish trials and multiply joys. Listen to these quaint words of an eccentric counsellor. “ There are three things which a good wife should resemble, and yet these three things she should not resemble. She should be like a town clock, keep good time and regularity — she should not be like a town clock, speak so loud that all the town may hear her. She should be like a snail — prudent, and 5 50 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. keep within her own house. She should not be like a snail, carry all she has upon her back. She should be like an echo — speak when spoken to. She should not be like an echo, determined always to have the last word.” Practise upon the spirit of this advice, and let the wedded life be seasoned with love, cheerfulness, and content, making the best of the little ills and vexations of the domestic circle, and possibly the unfeeling, unloving husbands may not be so cruel after aU. Let home be cheered by your smiles, and made joyous by the exercise of glad affections. Let your husbands find in you confiding and unwavering spirits. Let the duties of your re- spective spheres be discharged in good faith and cheerily. And home will be the spot dearer than all others to your toiling partners, hailed at the close of each wearisome day as the worn and jaded traveller hails the oasis of the desert. Take heed to your demeanor ; for it hath been said that “ a man’s best fortune, or his worst, is his wife.” Husband and wife ! To-day a thousand endear- ments may promise, long, long years of this chosen union. Not a brier may spring in your path ; nor a cloud gather in your sky ; nor a sorrow reign in your hearts. But to-morrow your cup of joy may lie, dashed in scattered fragments, at your feet. The tie that now unites you may be severed ; and the grave close over your perished joys. Love, as ardent as yours, has been disappointed and crushed in a single hour. Hopes, fairer than the rose of Sharon, have been blasted by death. I have seen the youthful bride, the pride and flower of her sex, and the joy and crown of her devoted spouse, committed to the THE CONJUGAL KELATION. 51 dust within a single year after she laid her young heart upon the altar of love. I have seen the young husband, in the glory of his growing manhood, and in the unabated ardor of his “ first love,” fall as a flourishing cedar on the sides of Lebanon, and be no more. Thus the dearest relatives are unspared by the fell destroyer. Ponder the truth, and let it stim- ulate you to discharge with promptness your mu- tual obligations, that no regrets may wring the heart, when the object of your affection is consigned to the grave. Sad and bitter are those regrets that often rend the hearts of the living at the graves of the de- parted. The remembrance of some unkind word, some heartless neglect, some duty disregarded, often pierces the soul with many sorrows. Be watchful — be affectionate — be land — be faithful — be true. THE PARENTAL RELATION. “ 0 cliildren, — happy word of peace, — my jewels and my gold, My truest friends till now, and still my truest friends when old, I will be every thing to you, your playmate and your guide. Both Jlentor and Telemachus, for ever at your side! ” Tcpper. Eli was devout and pious, one of the trae and faithful ; yet, at the very foot of the household altar, “ his sons made themselves vile,” and went down to untimely and dishonored graves. Jacob was meek and holy ; yet his sons, with a single exception, had a fame of infamy for then* unfihal and unlraternal deeds. David, the sweet singer of Israel, and the princely shepherd of Judea, was humble and spirit- ual; yet among his children were Adonijah, the un- natural and traitorous ; Amnon, the profligate ; and Absalom, the cruel and rebellious. Hume was recldess of the solemn verities of re- ligion, a gifted and distinguished champion of infi- dehty ; yet he was the son of a godly mother, the child of many pious instructions and prayers. Aaron Burr occupies no enviable place upon the page of American history, given, as were his splendid genius and ripest energies, to reproach his country and his ( 52 ) THE PARENTAL RELATION. 53 country’s God ; yet he was the son of the pious and devoted daughter of President Edwards. Why is this ? Is God unfaithful ? His words are, “ Train up a child in the way he should go ; and when he is old he will not depart from it.” Yet, here are examples of the holiest parents having the most incorrigible children. Is the declaration false ? This, by fair construction, encourages us to believe that a proper religious disciphne tends to produce the best developed characters in children. “ Train up a child in the way he should go ; and when he is old he will not depart horn it.” If it be not a posi- tive promise, the language is designed, certainly, to create the expectation that a proper training of chil- dren will estabhsh them in vhtue. Surely the fault is not in God. Yet, it has been adduced as evidence of Divine Sovereignty, — that the base Absalom was the son of pious David, and good Hezekiah, the son of wicked Ahaz, — as if there were little or no parental responsibility in the matter. We are far Aom denying sovereignty to God in this or other human affairs ; but a glance at the facts in the several examples before mentioned will show that in these, if not in others, parental government was defective. Eh’s sons were ruined by his excessive indulgence. God expressly declared that dire calamities were vis- ited upon his family, “ because his sons made them- selves vile and he restrained them notP The ahena- tion, and almost tragical scenes, that characterized the family of Jacob, resulted wholly from his partial- ity to Joseph. The guilty brothers saw it undis- guised in the “ coat of many colors.” David also 5 * 54 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. was chargeable with immoderate indulgence ; for it is said of his son Adonijah, “ that his father had not displeased him at any time, in saying, Why hast thou done so ? ” With all his piety, he was also guilty of some gross immoralities, as a backslider, which must have greatly hindered the force of his otherwise excellent example. The mother of Hume, though a godly woman, deeply anxious for his salvation, must have lacked the firmness and decision so essential in family gov- ernment, since she afterwards embraced the infidel sentiments of her son, through his arguments and importunity. Of the mother of the infamous Aaron Burr, we may not speak as confidently ; yet one fact deserves to be noticed. In infancy he was brought to the brink of the grave, (this his mother relates in a letter to her father. President Edwards,) and she besought God with great earnestness and distress to restore him to health ; but “ after a great struggle ” seemed to be willing that he should die. Evidently, before she thought herself resigned to the expected bereavement, there was a hard struggle in her mind, and such an importunity at the throne of gmce as lack of reconciliation begets. Might she not have been too earnest that her own wiU should be grati- fied ? Dr. Calamy relates that he once visited a cul- prit, awaiting in his cell the hour of execution. He was accompanied by the prisoner’s parents, with whom he resided. In vain they exhorted the culprit son to repentance and confession. He only replied like a fiend incarnate, “ Sir, I scorn any thing of this nature, and would rather die.” With this unyielding, malignant spirit he went to the scaffold, and was THE PARENTAL RELATION. 55 executed. While his parent stood amazed at a career so strange and unaccountable, he was re- minded of a prayer which he offered for this son when brought nigh to the gi-ave in his infancy. He became so importunate that his wife expostulated with him ; but, nevertheless, this expression fell from his hps: “ Let him prove what he will, if he is but spared I shah, be satisfied.” He could not avoid connecting that petition with the dreadful end of his son. We speak not with assurance, but simply inquire, may not the example of Burr and his mother belong to the same class with that cited by Dr. Calamy ? There may be exceptions to this truth ; but facts show that there is a marked connection between the characters of men and thefi early training. Their characters do not generally belie parental influence. When God deshed a leader for Israel, “ aU the learn- ing of the Egyptians ” was not enough for his train- ing. So He sent him back in a mysterious way to his humble and devoted mother. When He wanted a Napoleon, to sweep as a scourge and judgment over the nations, he should be the son of parents who would encourage him to play the soldier in his child- hood. When the world needed a Doddridge to bless it with his tongue and pen, God called him from a pious mother, who taught him refigiously from Scrip- ture scenes, painted on the tiles of the chimney. Samuel was the child of an excellent mother. The parents of Isaac are of honorable mention upon the sacred page. Timothy is spoken of, as receiving ex- cellent discipline at the hands of “ his mother Eunice and his grandmother Lois.” Washington’s character bore the impress of parental training ; and John 56 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Quincy Adams recognized with deep emotion the influence of parental discipline in the formation of his character. Rousseau was the son of irresponsible parents, who neglected his early culture, and furnished him with little reading but fiction. Robespierre, an un- principled and violent demagogue of France, was left homeless and parentless at nine years of age, and, of course, deprived of parental counsel from that early period of life. Byron, a vile, surly, polluted, though gifted personage, was no worse than his coarse, ugly, and unmatronly mother.* Regarding facts like the above, which might be indefinitely multiplied, we insist that there is usually an absolute connection between the framing of chil- dren and their destinies ; and that if parents are faithful to follow the divine direction, “ train up a child in the way he should go,” they may certainly expect that, “when he is old he will not depart from it.” “ Had doting Priam checked his son’s desire, Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire.” There may be numerous examples of youthful recklessness, where we can trace no lack of parental counsel after the divme rule ; yet, if we could have a view of the whole training as it appears to the eye of God, we should probably discover sufficient reasons for the failure of parental government. Doubtless * Other facts presented in Chapter 1. concerning the connec- tion of the Family and Church, show the influence of early training upon the characters of men. THE PARENTAL RELATION. 57 the most faithful and pious parents, who have shed the tear of sadness over the ruin of children, will dis- cover, upon serious reflection, many defects in their family discipline. It may not be a wilful and delib- erate violation of duty. It may be simply an error of judgment, a bare neglect amid a pressure of other duties. * Yet a sin of omission may be attended with consequences as fatal as a sin of commission. An error of judgment may prove as disastrous as an error of heart. It does not, of course, equally reproach the character. If “ organic sins ” are dis- coverable anywhere, we apprehend it is here, in this parental relation. Parents may sometimes teach, exhort, and pray with aU the faithfulness possible, and then conclude that so much is not dependent upon parental disci- pline after all, since their children wander into “ by and forbidden paths.” But they may have failed to demand implicit obedience, been too indulgent or too severe, neglected to cultivate the tempers and habits of then- children, or been petulant, wavering, and inconsistent themselves. It is not surprising that in such circumstances, religious training is entirely lost. This ought they to have done, without leaving the other undone. Surely we should not undervalue the force of parental discipline, so long as omissions and neglects of duty are so numerous. * We do not deny that there may he instances of such filial de- pravity as resists the most faithful parental discipline. But, doubtless, in numerous examples of fidelity, parents fail be- cause they are ignorant of mental and moral laws. We refer those who doubt this position to the chapter upon the Philos- ophy of Character. 58 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Also, when no delinquency can be discovered so far as discipline is practised, there may be a lack of perseverance. The first wandering of a prodigal son does not prove that parental discipline is a failure. He may “ come to himself,” far off in the land of prodigality, and return to his father penitent and submissive. Amd this may be the result of parental discipline. Parents need to remember the history of Monica. How ineffectual, apparently, were her ef- forts to train her son for God ! She saw him wax worse and worse, until he became licentious, aban- doned and devdish. Yet she followed him with her prayers and tears. Li Africa he could not escape from her, and he hastened to Italy. But to the gates of imperial Rome the fond and faithful mother fol- lowed, with her supplications. Away he flies from Rome over the Alps, with as much fear and trem- bling as if escaping from a pursuing conqueror. But the heart of the doting parent rested upon the prom- ise of the Eternal, and she wrestled with the angel of the covenant, until, at length, God arrested him in Milan, and made him a trophy of his grace. The world knew him as the gifted and excellent Augustine. Such facts exhibit the transcendent importance of the parental relation. The foundation of character is laid at the domestic altar. The child is the man in miniature. “ Childhood shows the man As morning shows the day.’’ * Looks, words, demeanor, example, precept, spirit, all impress, mould, and seal. Most children are * Milton. THE PARENTAL RELATION. 59 like their parents — light, trifling, gay ; giddy or serious, thoughtful and moral. Hence the old maxim, “ be patient, and you will have patient chil- dren.” They may differ in many of the inferior characteristics ; and there may be marked exceptions to this general rule ; but they are like them in the leading qualities, the rudimentary elements of char- acter. It is thus in opinions, conversation, educa- tion, and religion. If the parents are coarse and rough in conversation, so will be their children. If they are fretful and scolding, if they are haughty and overbearing, if they are impure and sensual, so will be the children. A niggardly, miserly spirit often de- scends from father to son as by a law of nature. Sons and daughters have not higher and nobler aspirations than their parents. If the parents are literary, the children do not belie them. Even in politics and religion, they belong to the same school as the parents. We speak of what is true, generally, without denying that there are numerous exceptions. It is traceable aU around us. We see it in the so- cial circle, in the school-room, and in the common- wealth. But there is a higher consideration to fire the hearts of parents with a quenchless zeal, and press them to a faithful watch. To them God has committed an immortal soul in the beloved child. They have in trust an imperishable mind, upon which they are solemnly pledged, by the ties of nature if not of re- hgion, to make impressions for eternity. It is an indestructible tablet upon which they must write, whether they wiU or not, and the record will survive the dissolution of the world. A celebrated artist of 60 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. antiquity spent two years in painting a scene, and, being dissatisfied with his work, he destroyed it, and proceeded to the second attempt, when a friend ac- costed him with the inquiry, “ why spend your time thus upon a single picture ? ” The artist replied, “ I paint for immortality.” So the parent with greater emphasis may assign as the reason of his ever-faithful efforts, I “ train'' for immortality. For when his tongue is palsied in death, and his lips are pale and speechless as Parian marble, and his heart is pulseless and still aa clay, the soul of the child, with aU its energies and aspirations, will live on. Yea, when the sun shall sink in night, the moon be turned to blood, and the “ elements melt -ufith fervent heat,” that sphit will still live, a harper in heaven, or a sufferer in hell. “ Cold in the dust the perished heart may lie ; But that which warmed it once, can never die.” Here comes the pressure of parental responsibility. Here the solemn injunctions of Jehovah fall upon the ear as the loud call for fidelity. An immortal spirit submitted to human hands and human wis- dom to be trained for the sides ! And shall it be decked with earth’s dazzling finery, pampered with its sordid pleasures, and flattered with its golden honors, as if this world were its home, and these uncertain possessions its only inheritance ? Let parents ponder the solemn charge! An im- mortal soul — rare material to be wrought by human hands! A priceless jewel! Trim not the casket and neglect the gem. By counsel, Hgilance, and prayer, train the unfolding spirit for usefulness and THE PARENTAL RELATION. 61 glory. You cannot commit the work to teacher, minister, or triend, and avoid the fearful responsibil- ity. Nothing can supply the place of parental influ- ence, nothing atone for parental neglect. “ Train up a child in the way he should go ” is the mandate, not to others, but to yourselves. Hear the words of the Lord : “ The words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart. And thou shalt teach them dihgently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou best down, and when thou risest up. And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thine hand, and they shall be as frontlets between thine eyes. And thou shalt write them upon the posts of thine house, and on thy gates.” Say not that children should be left to their own discretion in religious things, so long as this statute stands upon the sacred record. For it makes the responsibility of their religious culture yours. Re- ligion is the first and not the secondary concern of the household. It is to appear as “ a sign ” in your habitations. It is to be seen as “ frontlets ” on your brows. Its commandments are to be inscribed upon the very “ posts ” of your houses. So marked, so clear, so undoubted, must be the evidence that children are instructed religiously in your dwellings. There must be no mistake. Neighbors must not be in doubt as they visit you. The paintings upon the walls, the ornaments upon the doors, must not be more conspicuous than the evidence that you “ command your children to observe to do all the words of this law.” It is not a random precept, a 6 62 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. sprinkling of moral instruction, a little religion and much worldly counsel ; it is “ training,” daily, hourly discipline — teaching, watching, guiding, command- ing — unwearied, thorough, persevering schooling in the essentials of religion. They are not to read or neglect the Bible, attend upon public worship, or ramble in the fields, go to the Sabbath school, or refuse, just as they please. You are to train them “ in the way they should go ; ” and this is impossible unless you direct what they shall read, when and where they shall worship, with whom associate, and what they are to believe. You cannot guilt- lessly leave your children to their own discretion in religion. Command them to walk m “ wisdom’s ways,” and they may be saved in heaven. Leave them to their own corrupt indurations, and they will sink to despair. But I hear one say, “ I do not profess to be rehg- ious ; I have no hope in Christ, no altar at home, and no heart to give rehgious instruction. Do the same obhgations rest upon me as upon the Christian ? ” Certainly they do. The same commandments are given to every parent whether religious or not. If not religious at present, the first duty is to obey the command, “ son, give me thine heart,” that you may then obey that other command, “ Train up a child in the way he should go.” But is it true that you have no God at home ? that month after month, and year after year, there are no lessons imparted in your family which recognize the existence of God and human accountabfiity ? Can it be true, that in this enlightened land there are households really ^\ithout a God ? Go to benighted India, and learn that every THE PARENTAL RELATION. 63 family has its household god. To the dumb and sightless deity every member is taught to bow and pay sincere devotion. Even the lisping child is taught to call upon it, and grow up to be a daily, earnest worshipper of the idol-god. What a lesson is here of the permanency of early rehgious impres- sions, and the force of parental influence in mould- ing the youthful mind ! Children effectually taught, with scarcely one exception, to pay their vows to a block of wood or stone, with as much earnestness and sincerity, as the most devoted Christian wor- ships the living God ! Well may you, unbelieving parents, revolve this fact. Have you no God at home ? This you will not admit. You profess to believe in the existence and reign of the Lord Almighty. But in your household you never call upon Him, or teach your children to remember or respect Him. From all they witness in the domestic circle, that would scarcely learn that God exists. And yet, you say that Jehovah is your God. Oh, be not less mindful in the family of the God you recognize, than is the benighted pagan of his wooden or brazen deity ! Imagination delights to dwell upon the blissful scene that would be presented if all parents from this hour should obey the injunction, “ Train up a child in the way he should go.” The haunts of vice would be comparatively forsaken. Many of the foulest crimes would be stricken from the calendar of courts. HaUs of pleasure would welcome asso- ciations for intellectual and Christian improvement. Midnight carousals, and bacchanalian revels of every sort, would fast disappear. God’s people would 64 LIPE AT THE FTRESEDE. cease to weep over the desolations of his heritage. The Spirit would descend upon the churches hke rain upon the new-mown grass. Families would rejoice to see the salvation of God. And faith would look vidth clearer vision to behold “ the ran- somed of the Lord return and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads.” That the age presents an alarming recklessness in respect to the discipline of children is too evident to admit of dispute. How little apparent responsi- bility ! How small a trust with multitudes is the gift of children ! What altercations, wranglings, and offences are tolerated in numerous famdies ! In how many do childi’en rule, instead of the parents ! In how many do the fathers consult, and not command their sons ! How few heads of households seriously inquire, how they must rule for the future good of their children ! In how many do sons and daughters have their own way in respect to dress, pleasure, as- sociations, and rehgious things ! Even in profess- edly rehgious families, how httle Christian instruc- tion ! How many of the children do as they please about observing the Sabbath, attending the Sabbath school, and reading the Scriptures ! How few of them are fmaiished with rehgious books for daily reading ! The excuse may be the necessary expense. But then, are not the sons fornished with ample funds for the ride, frohc, and muster ? Half the sum which the sons of some pious parents expend for pleasure would supply them constantly with the most valuable books. It would feed their minds with useful knowledge, and their souls with the bread of life. Li how many Chiistian famihes is the chief THE PAEBNTAL KBLATION. 65 attention given to style, dress, fashion, and things which merely add to appearances ! In how many might a visitor tarry for a whole week, amid such displays of worldly counsels to children, as would indicate that the body and its earthly inheritance were of more importance than the soul and eternity ? Through an inexcusable lack of discipline, hosts of sons and daughters are cast out upon the turbulent bosom of society every year, without even a poor apology for that protection, which is symbolized in the ancient “ ark of buhushes.” Contrast with this motive, which ought to incite parents to fidehty, some of the prevalent motives by which they are actuated. Sons are often trained for the professions or mer- cantile business, without any regard to usefulness, or any reference to the claims of God. Parents have a desirable calling in view, and with great interest they anticipate the day when then- son will enter it. Their plans and purposes, the means of education and general discipline, have in view that calling in its earthly relations alone. Perhaps he is destined for the legal profession, and they are almost impa- tient for the time when he will rank high upon the roll of fame. Their joy wUl be full when they be- come witnesses to his eloquence at the bar. No pains or expense are spared to rear him for the desired vocation. And thus it is through all the trades and professions of men, a multitude of parents think not of rearing children “ in the way they should go ; ” but to be pleasantly and honorably settled in some calling of life. To appear well in refined society is sometimes the 6 * 66 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. highest aim of parental discipline. Some parents greatly abhor the unpolished mien, untidy apparel, and unwinning physiognomy, even though they con- ceal virtues of priceless worth. Many a mother pre- fers to see her daughter wedded to a rich and fash- ionable young man, moving in circles of high life, even though he is mentally and morally deficient, rather than to one of ungraceful air, and scanty means, though rich in thought and sterling virtues. Masters of music and dancing, and mistresses of mantua- making and toileting, are employed to educate daughters, if not sons, “to show off” in what is re- garded as refined society. Were a visitor from another world to spend a week in some families on earth, he would scarcely think, amid the perpetual effort at display, that daughters possess souls. How many parents might be addressed by then dying children, in words which were actually uttered by a dying daughter to her mother. “ These,” (point- ing to her costly apparel, which she requested to be brought to her bedside,) “ these have ruined me,” said she. “ You never taught me that I must die. You taught me that my errand into this world was to be gay and dressy, and to enjoy the vanities of life. What could you mean ? You know I must die and go to the judgment. You never told me to read the Bible, or to go to church unless to make a display of some new finery. Mother, you have ruined me. Take them away as a sad remembrancer of your sin and my sad end.” Dr. Cheever has beautifully said, “ A florist will tell you that if you paint the flower-pot that contains a favorite, beautiful, fragrant flower, the plant will THE PARENTAL RELATION. 67 wither, and perhaps its blossom will die. You shut out the air and moisture from passing through the earth to the roots, and your paint itself is poisonous. Just so, mere external cultivation, superficial, worldly accomplishment, or a too exclusive anxiety and re- gard for that, injures the soul. The vase may be ever so beautifully ornamented, but if you deny the water of life to the flower, it must die.” Some parental discipline may be described in three short words, to be rich. It is not so much a pure and taintless example, nor a fund of wholesome counsel, which is made the ruling object of Life, as a large pecuniary inheritance. It is not established principles, strict integrity, pure aspirations, and shining virtues, so much as tact at accumulation, energy and enterprise in worldly business, for which some parents discipline their children. Shrewdness at striking a bargain, foresight and sharpness to anticipate fluctuations and discover fraud, are often lessons to be learned before honesty and truth. Even the little urchin, too young to number his coppers, is instructed to hoard, with a closeness that equals the miser’s calculation. He has his little bank, which is provided with a place for deposit, but none for discount, — a place for putting in, but none for taking out. There he is taught to deposit all he has, and keep all he can get. How few parents counsel their children to give ! It is “ lay up,” “ hoard,” “ keep,” “ provide for a rainy day, sickness, or age.” It is not surprising that the treasuries of our benevolent societies, and aU other honorable societies, run low ! No wonder children grow up -to be selfish, and have to be reasoned with, persuaded. 68 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. and urged to give, when advanced to manhood and womanhood, and even when professing to have the grace of God in their hearts ! Constantine em- ployed the hand of his son, as soon as he was able to write, in signing pardons, and also conveyed through his mouth all the favors he granted. It was done to discipline him in deeds of charity. It was a truthful and noble recognition of the importance and power of the early culture which we advocate. It will prove true in nine tenths of all the cases, that train- ing children to hoard will make them stingy and niggardly in age, and blind them to personal duty in a world’s salvation. On the other hand, training them to sympathize with the benighted and suffering, and to contribute to the benevolent societies which contemplate their relief, will cultivate the- tender sen- sibilities, and make them generous, kind, and noble in all their career. To suffer the policy, expressed in the phrase to be rich^ to give character to parental discipline, is unwise and dangerous; and it perils the virtue, usefulness, and happiness of the young. Those parents are wisest who prefer at death to leave to their children the benefits of a healthful training, rather than large possessions. A five dollar bill of the Fulton Bank passed through the hand of the editor of the New York Journal of Commerce, tw'O years since, with the following words WTitten upon the back of it: “ This is the last of $3,000 left to me by my mother, on the 27th day of August, 1846. Would to God that she had never left it to me, and that I had been learned to work and earn my living. I should not be now what I am.” The fact is a commentary THE PAKENTAL RELATIOUT. 69 upon the unwise and dangerous policy of hoarding' money for children. The Rev. Dr. Duff declares, “ I am prepared to say, that, in nine cases out of ten, the hoards of ac- cumulated money given to children, by whom they were never earned, and who acquired no habits of industry, or thrift, or laboriousness, prove, in point of fact, rather a curse than a blessing.” Then, how ignoble the object, beside the generous Christian training which God requires at the hand of every parent ! Wealth deserves not to be men-' tioned with vhtue and usefulness. It is worthless as dust, beside the riches of a good name, and a title to the favor of God. Grovelling and sensual indeed must be that parent, who would not prefer that his son should walk safely and surely in “ wisdom’s ways,” rather than be imperilled at every step by his inheritance of gold. That eminent statesman and patriot, Patrick Henry, left this passage in his will : “ I have now disposed of aU my property to my family : there is one thing more I wish I could give them, and that is, the Christian Rehgion. K they had that, and I had not given them one shilling, they would be rich ; and if they have not that, and I had given them all the worlds &ey would be poor.’^ A single sentence which has survived the waste of generations, and now collated with the proverbs of the past, deserves to be treasmred by every parent : “ Gold goes in at every gate, except heaven’s.” We have seen that the most devoted parents sometimes fail of success in parental discipline. One reason may be found in a failure to appreciate the importance of first impressions. It is generally 70 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. regarded of little importance, and perhaps entirely useless, to train the child to definite habits.* The mother trains the cat and dog to know their places, to be neat and affectionate, and that habitually; but thinks it useless to teach the little son as much. First impressions are too lightly estimated. Their force, in determining character and deciding destiny, is altogether underrated. They often survive the most impressive lessons of age, and inweave and immingle themselves into all the plans and purposes of life. A gentleman, travelling in a destitute part of Ver- mont, tarried one night with a family, from whom he received the following details. They had three du- tiful and affectionate sons, upon whom they ex- pected to lean when descending the vale of life. But aU of them, even in boyhood, imbibed a taste for a seafaring life, and when old enough to go on board a vessel, they were determined to become mariners. The persuasions and entreaties of par- ents wrought no change ^n their determinations, and at length they bade adieu to home, and committed themselves to the treacherous deep. It was strange and unaecountable to the afflicted parents. For their habitation was far apart from the ocean, their sons had never seen even the shores of the Atlantic, nor been on board a ship. “ How then,” inquired the disappointed father, “ did they imbibe a taste for a life on the seas ? ” The traveller, wfflose eye had been surveying a large painting of a full-rigged vessel upon the wall, sailing swan-like upon the * See Chapter on Philoso23hy of Character. THE PARENTAL RELATION. 71 silver tide, pointed to it, saying, “ there you. see the reason.” It was the first time they ever had a view of the importance of first impressions. From early childhood those sons had been accustomed to gaze upon that gallant vessel painted upon a stormless sea, and the sight gave them rapturous views of the sailor’s life. It settled their career, and decided their earthly, if not their eternal destiny. History abounds with similar facts. Sir Robert Peel’s father determined, in the infancy of his son, to rear him expressly for the House of Commons. He would place him upon a table when a child, and promise him a reward if he would make a speech. Stimulated by the applauses which were meted out to him, he made such progress that when eight years of age he would address a company with considera- ble eloquence. As he advanced in years, his father accustomed him to repeat every Sabbath, as well as he was able, the sermon to which he had listened. Doubtless this early training had much to do with his eloquence in after-life, and his wonderful power in remembering the whole speech of an opponent, so as accurately to recite it. Linnaeus was the most distinguished of modern naturahsts. His father was a poor Swedish clergy- man, and was accustomed to take him from earliest childhood with him into an extensive flower-garden which he cultivated. There he imbibed an acute taste for every variety of plants, as he was reared to understand their names and properties. Probably these first impressions determined his character as a naturalist. The early training of Byron and Scott materially 72 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. differed. Both of them were deformed. Byron’s mother was a rash and heartless woman, with no sense of responsibility, and no special concern for her son’s welfare. An inconsiderate and wicked flhig at him, on one occasion, about his club foot, caused him to regard her with utter contempt. He grew up to hate her, and carried through life the unhappy disposition which she so essentially developed. On the other hand, Scott was early left an orphan, and w^as placed under the care of a maiden aunt, a wmman well suited to ffU. the place of his departed mother. For his health, she rode with him daily over the most charming and romantic portions of the country, and brought his mind into sw'eet famil- iarity with the works of nature, and through them with nature’s God. In this way w'as probably devel- oped that wmming temper for wiiich he was so much distinguished ; and in those daily rides it is supposed he caught the spirit of poesy from the charming scenery spread out to his viewL The two examples present a striking contrast, — the results of first im- pressions widely at variance. Why, then, are not aU impressions, mental and moral, more or less important in their relations to character and destiny ? Why may not the wfise and judicious counsels of parents impress the heart as deeply as some tangible object upon which the vis- ion may be fixed ? Why does not a continuous religious training for months and years, as really tend to determine the life in virtue, as a similar secular training does for a definite profession ? If the daily view of a picture for successive years wfiU decide the taste of a lad for the seas, then wdiy may not a view’- THE PAKEITTAL RELATION. 73 of the cross of Christ, intelligently and repeatedly presented, with the divine blessing, create within him a love for the truth ? If familiarity vdth the flowers in a beautiful garden wiU create and foster a love for botanical science, why may not parents, through the aids of the Spirit, enamomr their children by leading them among the flowers of virtue, and rehearsing to them the glories that wait upon the graces of relig- ion ? If an humble gardener can thus rear a Lin- naeus, why may not an humble Christian rear a Brainerd ? K a rething and affectionate female can educate a Scott, why may not the faithful, praying parent rear an Edwards or a Payson ? The opinion is too prevalent, that little children are unable to comprehend that kind of moral and religious instruction to which reference is had, — that their reasoning faculties are not fully developed to derive conclusions from any data whatever. The opinion is a fatal mistake, and is evidence that the operations of the mind in childhood are not carefully studied. For example, a lad, in company with his parents, spent a summer’s day at the house of the author in the country. Soon after his arrival, he began to make inquiries about my horse. Being assured that I did not keep a horse, he insisted that this could not be, because I had a barn. Barns are made for horses, therefore, he inferred, there must be a horse where there is a barn. He was, however, made quite satisfied that some persons who do not possess a horse, own a barn. In a short time the lad was missing, but soon he came rushing into the house, under great excitement, declaring to his father that I did keep a horse. “ Have you seen it, my 7 74 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. son ? ” inquired the father. “ No, sir ! I suppose some one has driven him away,” rephed the boy. “ But what new evidence have you,” I inquired, “ that I keep a horse ? ” “I have been into the barn,” he said, “ and seen hay and grain there, and some things they brush horses vdth,” (meaning the brush and currycomb). This was conclusive ew- dence to his mind. The barn, hay, grain, and curry- comb were facts, from which he derived the conclu- sion, there must be a horse. The reasoning powers of an adult were never taxed more clearly than Avere the boy’s in this instance. His conclusion was a logical deduction from “ fixed facts,” or estabhshed premises. It is an illustration of the process of rea- soning, which even children will pursue. Dr. Beattie endeavored to impress upon the mind of his son the truth that God made him, in the fol- lowing manner. He went into the garden in the spring, when the ground was meUow, and hi one cor- ner he wrote in the mould with his finger, the ini- tials of his son’s name. In the furrows he sowed garden cresses, and carefully covered them. Ten days after, his little son came running to him to teU him that his name wms growing in the garden. The doctor appeared very hicredulous, but finally con- sented to go and see. “ Sure enough,” said he, on approaching the spot, “ your name is growing here ; but then, what is there in this ivorthv of notice ? Is it not mere chance ? ” And he turned and went away. His son followed after him hastily, saying, as he went, “ It^ cannot have happened by chance ; somebody must have contrived matters so as to pro- duce it.” “ So you tliiiik,” replied the Doctor, ‘‘ that THE PAKENTAL BELATIOH. 75 what appears as the letters of your name cannot be by chance ? ” “ Yes,” said he with firmness, “ I think so.” “ Look at yourself,” added his father, “ and con- sider your hands and your fingers, your legs and feet, and other limbs ; are they not regular in their appear- ance, and useful to you 1 ” He replied in the affirm- ative, “ Come you then hither by chance ? ” said the father. “ No,” the boy replied, “ that cannot be ; something must have made me.” Here was clear, conclusive reasoning, — such logic as might put to shame many men who have lived half a century without perceiving the beautiful evidence within themselves of the existence of a Divine Being. It is of great importance to impress this one idea upon the infantile mind. Impress the idea of God, as our Creator, Preserver, and Benefactor, upon the young heart, and here is the basis of personal ac- countability, outgushing gratitude, repentance, and faith. Let this idea possess the mind, and the child, wandering wheresoever he may with advancing years, has in this a guardian angel. If he strays away into the paths of vice, this isolated sentiment may provoke the conscience to administer instant and fearful rebuke. So long as his thoughts centre upon the truth of a reigmng, all-seeing God, the silken bands of restraint are thrown around him amid temp- tations, and there is hope of his recovery. But when this fundamental truth is effaced from the heart, and the child advances to youth, and from youth to man- hood, as if no God were in the heavens, effect wIU not follow cause, if woe does not betide him. ' « Parents often believe that a child’s time is worth- less. If the value of time is to be estimated by dol- 76 LIFE AT THE PIRESIDE. lars and cents, they may be right. But if the fore- going sentiments are true, as much, and possibly more value should be attached to the time of the child than to that of the man. For enough has been said, to show that consequences of transcen- dent interest result from the training in childhood. If “ the child is father of the man,” as he most assur- edly is, then time is more valuable to the little lad than to the son in the prime of manhood. Here the soil is fmrowed, and the seed sown. Succeeding seasons only waft the gales, sprinkle the showers, and pour the sunbeams, which cause it to spring forth, bud and blossom and ripen into a harvest of wheat or cockle in meridian life. Parental government deserves to be particularly noticed. We mean by this, the means adopted by parents to secure, at all times, imphcit obedience. There are two prevailing modes of administering government in families, both of which are defective. One is, to secure obedience by hope of reward ; and the other, by fear of consequences. Both tend to mar the moral’ character. Parents, also, are prompted to demand submission by impulse and principle. The first rules in the heat of passion ; the second in the calm of reason and consideration. The first is low, debasing, and un- natural. The second is elevating, unwavering, and glorious. The first causes children to deprecate pa- rental government, and leaves them without respect for its authority and sanctions. The second leads them to reverence its most rigid requisitions, and to yield a cheerful obedience. There are, also, three w^ays in w'hich parental gov- THE PABENTAL RELATION. 77 crnment spoils children. The first is by love, as in the instance of Eli. The Elis are not much in the habit of sounding the word, no ! It is with them, “ why do ye such things ? Nay, my sons ; for it is no good report that I hear.” There is no tone of authority in it. It is a kind of loving consultation, rather than wise and afl'ectionate commandment. Love may blind the mind to wisdom and duty as effectually as wanton hatred. If a father disciplines his son into a Hophni or Phineas, it is of very little conse-^ quence whether he does it by love or hatred. Which will ruin by the speediest process, and develop the ugliest deformities, is not easily determined. I have heard an inconsiderate mother counsel the child to sti'ike the plaything by which he was injured. It is not unusual for chairs and tables to be struck by parental counsel. The counsel is given in love. But if the venom of dislike ranlded in a parent’s heart, and he should display it to awaken a similar passion in the breast of his child, he would not more success- fully make him one of the “ baser sort,” than he does by this way of love. The second mode of inflicting injury upon children is by severity, as in the instance of Byron’s mother. The “ tender mercies ” of some parental disciphne are cruel. The young and tender affections, starting forth like ten- drils from the vine in early spring, are often crushed. Home is hated, and a roving disposition begotten. Childhood grows up unlovely beneath such house- hold despotism. The thud way, in which similar ruin is wrought, is by love and severity both. It is very difficult to rise above the control of feeling, which causes parents to be exceedingly tender to-day, 7 * 78 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. and equally severe to-morrow. It is not altogether new for children to be punished for deeds to-day, which go unpunished to-morrow. It were nothing “ new under the sun,” for love’s fairest promise to be unfulfilled in some moment of petulance, or for se- verity’s unqualified threat to be unexecuted, when love becomes ascendant. Li some families it is “ darfing ” and “ dunce,” “ precious ” and “ plagues,” “ beauty ” and “ blockhead,” candy and cudgel, in strange and ridiculous alternation. Such govern- ment must leave its impress in foul blotches and plague-spots upon the character of the governed. The more closely parental government approxi- mates to perfection, the more it will harmonize with the government of God. In other words, the best example of the parental is the most like the Divine government. In the latter, mercy and justice hap- pily commingle. Justice is tempered by mercy, and mercy is regulated by justice. Both blend in sweet and harmonious exercise ; and sooner will heaven and earth pass away, than Divine love be sacrificed to justice, or justice to love. Not one jot or tittle of either will fad, since both, in their most delightfid union, are necessary to sustain the Divine authority. That must be sustained at all hazards, else the Di- vine Government becomes a farce, even more the subject of jest and mockery, than the causeless oc- currences of chance. So, in the complete govern- ment of the household, every exhibition of love or severity goes to maintain a dignified and necessary authority. This cannot be compromised without entailing iiTetrievable woes upon a plastic posterity. If love, as a rosy-weathed pillar can sustain the THE PARENTAL RELATION. 79 delicate fabric of family government, so much the more attractive may the structure appear, in its bright and tasteful garniture. But if mercy be not sufficient to sustain a dignified authority, it were better that sharp and barbed severities, concealed by the wing of love, should come in with their needful force. That parental government which lacks au- thority is no government at aU. And if it be not such authority as secures imphcit and unconditional submission, it is not the authority to which God adds his peculiar blessing. For that parental author- ity which the Scriptures recognize, is absolute and unconditional. It does not admit of coaxing or frightening children into obedience, or of paying them for it. It demands it upon the high and holy princi- ple of RIGHT. “ Children, obey your parents in the Lord.” Why ? “ for this is right ! ” This is right ! Just as they are required to be upright and truthful, not because it will win the respect and admiration of men, and secure the favor of God, but because it is right. Every virtue has an intrinsic merit, inde- pendent of all its antecedents and consequents, de- termined by the wisdom, and fixed eternally by the fiat of God. The child is not to love and honor his parents, simply because he is commanded to do it, or because it is beautifully consonant with his juve- nile relations, but because there is an intrinsic merit in so doing, designated by the appellation, right. For this reason, he must be commanded to yield cheerful obedience. The Scriptures recognize love as the essential ele- ment of government, human and Divine, while yet they inculcate severity. They make provision for 80 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. severe expedients in parental government when all others fail, in such language as the following : “ He that spareth the rod hateth his son ; but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.” The parent who “ spareth ” severity, to the detriment of his au- thority, possibly inflicts as great an injury upon his son as he would by the indulgence of hatred. To re- sort to severity in necessary instances is more conso- nant with love, than the exercise of leniency to the sa- crifice of obedience. “ Foohshness is bound up in the heart of a child ; but the rod of correction will drive it far from him. The rod and reproof give wisdom ; but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame.” Excessive leniency will not only ruin the child, but bring his parents to shame. The Mstory of families reveals fearful facts to verify these words. More decisive parental chastisement would have saved some mental agony behind bolts and bars. Doubtless the wise use of some more rods would have spared some handcuffs and gallows. “ Withhold not correction from the child ; for if thou beatest him with the rod he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from heU.” This passage exhibits the connection that exists be- tween family government and the salvation of chil- dren. By maintaining authority in the sense con- sidered, a soul may be saved firom the second death. The solemn truth magnifies the importance of the subject under review. It shows that the moral and religious characters of children may depend upon their secured obedience. So that it becomes a mat- ter of great concern whether they obey or not ; as important as the salvation of their precious souls. THE PAEENTAL RELATION. 81 This is not an unestablished supposition of Solo- mon. It is a truth verified in countless families. It is appreciated by unperverted reason. There is most hope of the most obedient children. They become the most useful citizens, and are most likely to yield obedience to God. If trained to unconditional sub- mission in the family, it will be comparatively easy to transfer, through grace, a similar exercise of grate- ful homage to God. Hence, a rod may have some connection with religion. Without it, perhaps the parent might be whoUy unable “ to train up a child in the way he should go.” Such expedients as the above are Solomon’s last resort. There is one mode of dealing with disobedient children by pious parents, too generally neglected, but suited to spare many severe applications and hours of unmingled sorrow. It is the government of prayer, — leading the erring child away to the closet to implore the forgiveness of God, — against whom the greatest sin is committed. We have the testi- mony of some of the wisest and godliest men, that this expedient has subdued the stubborn heart when all others have failed. It makes prominent in the mind the great truth that sin against man is a stfil greater sin against God. It familiarizes the trans- gression with the truth of accountability, not only to parents, but first of aU to Jehovah. It brings the rebellious spirit under the most softening and hal- lowed influence — that of sincere and earnest prayer. It excludes from the parent’s heart the last trace of passion, and sheds over his demeanor the appear- ance of undoubted sincerity. More than any other 82 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. mode of correction, it is adapted to make the c hil d feel that parental counsel is administered solely for his good. It sets disobedience in its true light — a heinous sin, and its punishment a solemn transac- tion. If any thing can bring the disobedient to repentance, — a result ever to be sought, — this ex- pedient is suited to this end ; and if it fail to sub- due the heart, and bring the child to submission, it will stdl impart sincerity and solemnity to the par- ent’s act, as he proceeds to apply “ Solomon’s last remedy.” Though the offender continue rebellious, and give his youthful energies to vice, he will not readily forget the closet. The gracious look of his praying father or mother will live m his eyes, the solemn tones of supplication will linger on his ear, and the moral impression of the scene survive in his heart, when he wanders dissolute on sea or land. If he had no associations but the stern W'ord of com- mand, the rod of correction, and the air of severity, to bind him to his home, he might never desire to retrace his steps. But that closet of wTcsthng prayer, bedewed with the tears of a devoted parent; that voice of supplication, whose rising accents bespoke the strength of his heart’s fond afi’ections ; and that kind, benignant look which beamed upon the face of the suppliant — it aU hves in the memory of the past. It haunts him in his dreams. It troubles him in his waking moments. It endears him to his home. It awakens bitter regrets. It may bring the wanderer back. Reader! if you have a son far away from your family group, a vicious stripling somewhere on the face of the earth, w-hose impulsive THE PARENTAL RELATION. 83 and rebellious spirit you were wont to subdue by the voice of prayer in secret places, you may hope — hope strongly, that the prodigal will return. Success in the moral training of children may be hindered by some things apparently unimportant. One is parental inconsistency. It is wellnigh useless for parents to forbid their children doing what they practise themselves. The manifest discrepancy be- tween example and precept will beget hostility to parental counsel. The father who is guilty of pro- fanity cannot consistently rebuke his son for the same vice. If he neglects the house of God, he cannot plausibly command his childi-en “ to go up to the house of the Lord.” If he uses intoxicating drinks as a beverage, he will appear exceedingly singular in counselling them to “ touch not, taste not, handle not.” The mother, who is habitually scold- ing her children will appear very inconsistent in re- proving them for practising the same toward each other. Upon this point let a single fact speak. A little girl, less than six years of age, screamed out to a younger brother, who was playing with the mud in the gutter, “ Bub, you good for nothing little scamp, you come right into the house this minute, or I’ll beat you till the skin comes off! ” “ Why, Angelina, Angelina, dear, what do you mean ? Where do you learn such talk ? ” exclaimed the mortified mother, who stood talking with a friend. Angelina answered in the innocence of childhood : “ Why, mother, you see we are playing, and he ’s my little boy, and I am scolding him, just as you did me this morning, that’s all.” 84 LIFE AT THE FERESIDE. Discrepancy also between the counsels of parents is an inconsistency which works disastrous results. A fact wiU best illustrate my meaning. A pert little miss once declared to her Sabbath school teacher, that she could not fulfil the fifth commandment by obeying her parents, because one commanded her to do one thing, and the other directed her to do another. “ Just before I left home,” said she, “ mother told me to stay up stairs and study my lesson, and father told me to come down and play.” “ A house divided against itself cannot stand ! ” Deception, even in its most unexceptionable forms, is a serious obstacle to successful family government. It is the embryo form of downright dishonesty. To give a child an article of luxury, and instruct him to conceal it firom his brothers and sisters, is no other than a lesson in the incipient steps of iniquity. It may prove the rudimental instruction of chicanery and rascality. It is teaching the child to say in actions, which “ speak louder than words, ‘ I have received no gift.’ ” This form of deception appears in numerous lessons that fall from the lips of parents. It also appears in the manners of parents, as when they are exceedingly pleasant in company, but fret- ful and morose at home; when they address tlieir children in the language of tenderness in the pres- ence of visitors, and at other times in the language of impatience and anger; when they express much delight to company at their coming, and when they are gone stiU more at their going ; it is a kind of hypocrisy which a child must observe to his injury, if he possesses an ordinary share of perception. Falsehood is not altogether excluded firom pa- THE PARENTAL RELATION. 85 rental government. How many parents have made a fair promise to their children, which they never designed to fulfil, in order to hush their cries, or silence their importunities ! How many have as plainly threatened to punish them for misdemeanors, without paying the least regard to then* word when the offence was repeated! I have heard a father fairly promise a pleading son a ride the next time his horse was harnessed, if he would be contented to remain at home “ this once.” But the same promise was repeated the next time his carriage stood at the door ; and the little son’s reply was a just and withering rebuke, “ you told me so before ! ” As much as to say, “ your word is worthless : I cannot depend upon your fairest promises ; you do not talk as you mean, and my confidence is shaken.” If his veracity were as clearly impeached in his deal- ings with a merchant, he would be an object of gen- eral distrust in the mercantile community. How important is parental example ! We have seen that children are generally like their parents, — gentle or boisterous, lovely or fretful, moral or im- moral, according as their parents are. You have seen the artist follow every hne of the copy before him with the utmost care. First his pencil and then his brush, with graceful touches, delineates every point and mingles light and shadow in richest blend- ings tdl the whole appears in fairest proportion and exquisite beauty. And so complete is the imitation that the two, suspended upon opposite walls, seem the reflection of each other. The child is an artist of equal skill. He copies example. Hour after hour, and day after day, the unseen pencilhngs progress. 8 86 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Trait after trait, virtue after virtue, defect after de- fect, are mingled as light and shade, until the last touch of the brush. And though the original be laid away in the dust, the child may have a perfect copy hung up on the walls of his memory. Parents ! By example you may live in the child. The clods of the valley may close over your Lifeless remams, your sons and daughters be scattered over a continent, and your name stricken from the roll of memory, but your example may live in the deeds of your smrviving offspring, as the lineaments of your face live in nature’s fashioning upon their brows. Time’s effacing finger may obliterate the epitaph that is inscribed upon your tombstones ; flourishing villages and proud cities may rise upon the seques- tered spots where your children were reared ; and other sights and scenes, darker or brighter than those of the present, may dishearten or cheer the wayfarer of future ages ; but your example may go down in the lineal descent, to mingle with the mighty ele- ments with which a remote posterity shall constitute a virtuous or depraved society ! How important is precept ! It is the seed silently germinating in the soil of the youthful mind, shoot- ing out its fibres on every side, and sending down its thrifty roots into the unknown depths of the heart. It is the life-elLxir, or insidious poison, that purifies or taints the thoughts, ere they appear in the embodiment of hving acts. It is the saving in- fluence, that can bridle and direct the young imagi- nation, before it learns to grovel in the dust, or plumes its wings for “ castles in the air.” It is the material of enduring texture which runs through the THE PARENTAL RELATION. 87 whole of life, and which is incorporated into the warp and woof of character. Even the isolated word or sentence, undesigned for the ear of childhood, has often the determining force of precept. It is caught by the ear, and held by the heart, and showed in the life. How quick is the prattling chUd, three years old, to catch and lisp an unguarded phrase ! “ Old Tom Jones,” said a heedless mother to the inquiry, who such a caller was ; and the little chUd, playing about the room, continued repeating “ Old Tom Jones.” She called her playthings “ old Tom Jones.” Last of all she called her elder sister, “ old Tom Jones.” Whether “ old Tom Jones ” inflicted a lasting injury upon her mind, we have not learned ; but we are confident that Mr. Thomas Jones would not have perilled her character at all. It is not unusual for the smallest lads in the street to employ epithets, nicknames, and low phrases, which they learn in the household. Where is the community in which the children are not famUiar with at least one old L ,” or some aged “ Jerry,” before whose gray hairs they ought to bow with reverence, and not sound his name in mimicry ; or some “ crazy Kate^' whose misfortune awakens no emotions of pity in their hearts, because of the merry use they make of the appellation. If, then, a single passing word may be seized upon by the young, and wrought into the essential acts of life, how forcible must be positive precept! Why may not the faithful moral lessons of the household be inscribed as with a diamond’s point upon the heart? Why may we not expect that the child reared in “ wisdom’s ways ” wUl not depart there- 88 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. from in age ? Parents, value precept. Its price is far above rubies. Study to wield it with power. Handle choice words. They are like “ apples of gold in pictures of silver.” Impart ennobling thoughts. Counsel wisely, intelligently — for virtue, usefulness, and God. It is vain to expect well developed moral and religious characters in children, unless example is thus closely followed by precept. An eminent illus- tration is on record. Montaigne, a distinguished French Essayist, was the son of wealthy and hon- ored parents, who spared no pains or expense in his training. Every precaution was taken to develop his genius into fau and symmetrical proportions ; and no less watchfulness to preserve him from the contaminating influence of corrupt associations. No positive lessons of a moral and religious char- acter, except those which taught the distinction be- tween right and wrong, were impressed upon his mind. His personal duties to God w'-ere untouched, in their relations to human accountability and a futm’e judgment. But every precaution was taken to fuimish him wdth pure companionships, and keep him apart from the vicious and dissolute. He was not permitted, as other lads, to associate -^dth every boy in the street, nor mingle in every scene of worldly pleasm-e. His associates, his books, his sports, were carefully selected with reference to mo- rality. And in order to sweeten his temper, refine his genius, and soften his heart, a band of richest music was employed to awake Mm from his slum- bers at every morning’s dawn. Its soft and charm- ing melody filled Ms chamber with its rapturous THE PARENTAL RELATION. 89 cadences, and, as his eyes opened to every rising sun, his ear caught these harmonies, suited to capti- vate and inspire his heart. Yet, he grew up to be a boasting infidel. All the studied efforts to preserve his social and moral virtues did not avail to com- plete his character, inasmuch as there was wanting positive counsel concerning his duties to God. It was not sufficient to select his companions, his books, his pleasures, nor to instruct him in regard to his obligations to his fellow men ; there were needed the lessons found alone in the Word of God, to es- tabhsh him in religious principle, and make him a fond lover of the truth. He needed to know more of his own heart, more of God and his claims, more of the judgment and eternity. In the view we have taken of the parental relation, a word has not been uttered which may not have a bearing upon the injunction, “ Train up a child in the way he should go.” We have spoken of physi- cal, intellectual, and secular discipline, aU of which may become an aid, or a hinderance, to the moral and religious culture of the child. Many of the inci- dentals, usually regarded as unimportant, have much to do with the perceptions of the mind and the ten- dencies of the heart. There is more hope of the pohte and respectful child, who addresses his parents with becoming reverence, than of him who employs the rough “ yes ” and “ no,” “ I wiU ” and “ I won’t.” Even these little words are indicative of prospective insubordination. They are as ominous of ill in the history of the child, as buU-baiting and horseracing in the history of adults. Hence, we insist that the entire discipline of a child, corporeal, intellectual, 8 * 90 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. and secular, has to do with the issues of that relig- ious obligation which God has imposed upon every parent. In this respect, parental responsibility should be pondered. What motives urge the parent to study, and faithfully to discharge the duties of his responsible relation ! It is not alone that society has a claim upon his fidelity, nor that his watch and counsel will promote the earthly happiness of his children, nor contribute to the felicity of his own declining life, that he is exhorted to consider the solemn trust ; but more especially, because a deathless soul taber- nacles in the comely and beautiful body. His home may be humble in respect to the embeUishments of wealth and the graces of literary refinement, from which no gifted son shall go forth to seats of science, or legislative hall ; but it may furnish a better treas- ure to the chm’ch, and hopeful candidates for the kingdom of God. His humble efforts may offer to the world no pearl of genius, nor gem of art ; but they may add to the Christian ranks “ sons to be as plants grown up in their youth, and daughters as corner-stones polished after the simihtude of a pal- ace.” He may not be able to confer upon them a legacy of wealth, nor a world-'udde fame ; but his words and his prayers may secure them a title to a harp and crown of glory above. IV. THE FILIAL RELATION. “ Honor thy parents, those that gave thee birth, And watched in tenderness thine earliest days, And trained thee up in youth, and lovtd in all. Honor, obey, and love them ; it shall fill Their souls with holy joy, and shall bring do'^vn God’s richest blessing on thee ; and in days To come, thy children, if they ’re given. Shall honor thee, and fill thy life with peace.” Edwards. The Scriptures greatly magnify the filial relation. It occupies a prominent place in the decalogue. Its duties are the theme of frequent discourse throughout the Word of God. The following se- lection of texts exhibits the importance which God attaches to it. “ Honor thy father and thy mother ; that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” “ Cursed be he that setteth light by his father or his mother ; and all the people shall say, Amen.” “ My son, hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother : Bind them con- tinually upon thine heart, and tie them about thy neck. When thou goest, it shall lead thee ; when ( 91 ) 92 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. thou steepest, it shall keep thee; and when thou awakest, it shall talk with thee.” “ Whoso curseth his father or his mother, his lamp shall be put out in obscure darkness.” “ The eye that mocketh at his father, and de- spiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagle shall eat it.” “ Children, obey your parents in the Lord ; for tliis is right. Honor thy father and mother, (which is the first commandment wdth promise). That it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth.” In such language the Scriptm-es present the claims of the filial relation. They teach children to honor, love, fear, reverence, obey, please, provide for, and make happy their parents, as well as to regard their faithful instructions and example. Nor is this all. The penalty inflicted for the vio- lation of the fifth commandment, under the Jewish economy, shows, by its terrible severity, the light in which God regards it. The fearful threatening against the sin appears in the following language. “ He that smiteth his father or mother shall surely be put to death. And he that curseth his father or mother shall surely be put to death.” “ If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son which ■«t 1I not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and that when they have chastened him, will not hearken unto them ; . . . . And all the men of the city shall stone him \\dth stones that he die ; so shalt thou put evil away from among you, and all Israel shall hear and fear.” A severe penalty, in- deed, for the violation of the fifth commandment, THE FILIAL RELATION. 93 was this punishment of death ! It is evidence that God regards the neglect or abuse of filial duties as a matter of great concern. The dispensation is changed, but the fifth commandment is as sacred and binding now as ever. It is as dear to God, and as important to the family and the world, as it was four thousand years ago. The commandment has abated none of its force in the march of time, and cannot be disregarded now with moral impunity. It is conceded that aU parents do not equally de- serve the love and obedience of their children. There are those who are immoral, tyrannical, and even cruel — those who appear exceedingly irrespon- sible in res^Dect to all their family duties — those who set a bad, and even debasing, example before their children — those who have not the fear of God or man before their eyes — unloving and unnatural par- ents, whose influence tends to lead their offspring down to the abyss of wo — parents who ought to hang their heads for shame, and wonder God ever gave them a child. Yet, even here the ties of nature compel childi'en to give some heed to Divine instruc- tion in respect to their duties. They are not to obey their parents when obedience will conflict with the law of God. The command is, “ Children, obey your parents in the Lord ; ” that is, so far as they do not require you to disobey God. Li aU the remarks that foUow upon this subject, it is taken for granted that the counsels and com- mands of parents are in harmony with Divine re- quirements. Notwithstanding the solemn injunctions of the Scriptures relating to the subject, there is scarcely 94 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. any relation of life so little regarded as the filial. It would be impossible to compute or describe the wo which has preyed upon the hearts and happiness of devoted parents, in consequence of unfilial acts. Language cannot depict the sorrow which is even now “ bringing down grey hairs to the grave,” be- cause of prodigals who return naught for a parent's blessings, but ingratitude and rebellion. Since Da- ' vid wept for Absalom, tears have never ceased to flow, in the closet, and at the fireside, over the heart less returns that children make for parental kind- ness. The graves that have been filled with broken- hearted parents in past ages, would cover an em- pire with their mounds. The great company to be summoned to the judgment-seat, whose chief sin is a violation of the fifth commandment, we might almost say, in truth, “ no man can number.” Would that an inspiration might awaken thoughts, and dictate words of sufficient power to cause every reader to feel upon a theme of such intrinsic merit ! Would that every child and youth, and every person blest with a living parent, might appreciate these en- dearing ties of nature ! Would that a sense of right and duty might arrest the unfilial words and acts, wMch even now pierce, as daggers, the fond paren- tal heart! Would that the spirit of all which is embraced in the words honor, love, confide, fear, obey, might pervade every family, and cheer the aged in their descent to the tomb ! Doubtless a lack of consideration will account for much conduct which is inconsistent with honoring parents. Yet, after excepting this, there is witnessed on every hand an alarming disrespect to parents, THE FILIAL EELATION. 95 from the moody, surly look, to the violent word and act of insubordination. If left to themselves, chil- dren and youth always transgress the Divine com- mandment on this subject. And even when gener- ally observant of it, there are many inconsiderate words and deeds that are not in keeping with due fihal regard. A few of these ordinary, and perhaps, inferior inconsistencies, will be named. Opposing the opinions of parents does not become a child in minority. To call in question advice, as if unsound or unwholesome — to set up opinion in opposition to it, and discuss it as if with a mere com- panion — is not the respectful demeanor which the law of God requires. “ Why require me to do this ? Henry and James are not required to do thus. Other young men are not required to make an oracle of their parents. I know what is best for me. Such opinions are whims.” Discussions of this character are not altogether unknown in families. They are inconsistent with proper filial respect. Addressing parents with pertness and irreverence is of the same character. A quick, sharp, short, un- cheerful reply, with a careless, reckless manner to give it emphasis, savors of wrong in the heart. The youth does not fuUy appreciate to whom he is speak- ing. He has forgotten the fifth commandment.' How much more winning and beautiful, how much more consistent with fihal duties, is the considerate and respectful address ! It is not unusual for young men, and even lads, to employ the phrase, “ old man,” to designate a father. It is not the fruit of a base, rebeUious spirit, so much as of inconsideration. But stop, young 96 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. man, and ponder this phrase ! Let us revolve it carefully, and see if it will do for the household, as well as for the shop. Who is this “ old man ? ” Is he some wretched vagabond, with rent clothes and tattered hat, and shoeless feet, a disgusting, ugly vic- tim of vice ? Is he a fugitive from justice, who ought to be at Sing Sing or Botany Bay, or some dangerous lunatic just escaped from the insane hos- pital ? Or is he some foul wretch in your neighbor- hood, whose loathsome vices have excluded him from honorable society, and for whom no gushing sympathy flows ? No ! He is thine own father. His likeness is daguerreotyped upon your brow. His blood runs in your veins. His affections twine around your heart. His life lives in you, and wastes for you. It is he to whom you apply this disrespect- ful appellation. Suppose you speak it at the fireside. Sound it in your father’s ears. Let your mother hear it. Proclaim it to the visitor. Dare you ? Re- peat it with the fifth commandment. “ Honor thy father ! ” “ Old man I ” How it grates upon the ear ! How it shames ! What thoughts it startles ! How conscience lashes ! Ay, in moments of cahn reflection, what bitter regrets arise for having said it ! Worse stfil, many a young man, or youth, tells of the “ old woman.” And who is she ? Is she some loathed Xantippe, or hateful Olympias, a pest to the neighborhood, and a shame to her sex? Is she some disgusting shrew, the butt of biting ridicule, and the object of the town’s contempt ? The “ old woman ! ” Is she some travelling victim of insanity, dangerous to be abroad, and at whose coming moth- ers lock the doors, and children hide ? Then, per- THE FILIAL RELATION. 97 chance, the appellation may have some shadow of apology. But no ! She is thine own mother, with- out whose tender care, love, night-watching, solici- tude, prayers, and tears, you might have been straight- ened for the grave. The toiling, self-sacrificing woman, from whose breasts you drew existence, and whose quenchless love would part with houses, lands, and life, rather than with yourself — she it is, to whom you apply the rough appellation. Put it upon the lips of the low and vulgar, and let them pursue her in the streets, and shout it in her ears, “ old woman ! ” Could you endure it ? Would it not arouse your indignation, and stir your very soul to vindicate the mother who bore you from such foul insult ? Yet, how much less offensive this phrase would be on the tongue of a stranger, than on that of her own loved son ! There are baser forms of violation of the filial relation which are unmistakable, and always excite sm’prise. These need not be named. The above are cited as examples of what often occurs in thought- less moments. Consider some of the causes of the neglect of filial duties. One is, no just appreciation of the toils of parents. Very few children appreciate the labors and anxieties of parents in their training, until in manhood and womanhood they become parents themselves. Consequently, few cherish those grate- ful emotions, without which the duties of the filial relation cannot be cheerfully and faithfully dis- charged. In mature years we look back with re- gret upon youthful disobedience, and wmnder that our hearts could be so steeled against the kindness 9 98 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. that we shared in the family. And we hasten to atone, in some measm'e, for short-comings, by marked and sincere attention to them in the de- cline of life. Erroneous views of parental discipline is another cause of unfilial acts. Youth are wont to feel that the restraints of family government are needless, at least in a measure. They often imagine that par- ents are not interested in their enjoyments, and are unwilling that they should share the usual pleasures of life. They regard some of their demands as the dictate of a sdly “ notion ” or “ whim,” and not a de- sire to promote their highest welfare. Sometimes they indulge the sentiment that parents are unable to appreciate the wants of early hfe, and hence suppose that they can best select and make decis- ions for themselves. It all arises from the imposed restraints of family government, the real object of which they fail to see. A deshe to be independent is another cause of the violation of the fifth commandment. Many young persons imagine it to be manly to do as they please, — that a boy cannot be a man rmtil he sets himself against a father’s counsel, and opposes a mother to her face. He thinks it adds much to his popularity to have it known through the circle of his compan- ions that he goes and comes when he pleases, and is his own master at home and abroad. This may add to his popularity among the reckless ; but it stains his character indehbly in the sight of the wise and good. The youth, or young man, in any com- munity, who is known to dishonor his parents, has not the confidence of that commmiity. He is looked THE FILIAL RELATION. 99 upon as a fair candidate for ruin. Such independ- ence, in the view of all considerate persons, foreshad- ows a degree of future viciousness positively alarming. We would point such mistaken sons to the filial re- gard of Joseph — the son of immortal memory. He stood near the throne of Egypt, loaded with honors, the admired of all admirers. But he was none the less a man, when he sent for his aged and afflicted father, and fell upon his neck and kissed him, in the exercise of devoted love. He never appeared so no- ble, as when he performed that warm, filial act. You, and all others honor him for it. Yet Joseph was independent, and doubly so, since he could rise above the pride of his own heart, and the fear of men taunting him for his filial devotion. Contrast in this respect, Napoleon and Alexander. The former, apparently, lost his filial reverence and affection, when he ascended the throne. Amid the splendors of royalty, his proud heart was too base to entertain generous and tender sentiments towards his mother. One day he met her in the garden of St. Cloud, as he was waUdng with his courtiers, and, instead of regarding her as a son, he extended his hand for her to kiss. She immediately presented her own hand, replying, “ Not so, my son, it is your duty to Idss the hand of her who gave you life.” Olympias was the mother of Alexander, and had a disposition so unhappy, that he could not employ her in any of the affairs of government. Antipater, Alexander’s deputy in Europe, once wrote a letter to him, complaining of her conduct, to wfflom Alexander replied, “ Knowest thou not that one tear of my mother’s will blot out a thousand such letters ? ” 100 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. How ignoble Napoleon appears as a son beside Alexander in the same relation ! History is true to the instincts of nature, and severely rebukes him for his heartlessness. He is less a man in the imperial purple, without filial regard, than he would have been in obscurity with it. On the other hand, Alexander towers above his ordinary greatness, Ms fame spreads, and his memory is dearer, because of his warm devotion to his mother. There is more glory in the regard for Ms aged parent, than in a thousand victories like those of Issus and Tyre. Look at this striking contrast, ye unkind and disobe- dient, and be ashamed of your misnamed independ- ence ! In close proximity to the above is yet another cause. Some regard expressions of filial love a weakness. With false and dishonorable views of human nobleness, they obliterate the loveliest sensi- bilities of the heart. Such may be properly re- minded of the meeting of the immortal Washington with his mother, just before his inaugm'ation as President of the United States. The great man met her as a son. He bowed his head upon her shoulders and wept. He addressed her in the lan- ofuaofe of grateful emotion. His words were full of tenderness and affection.* Yet he made no compro- mise of his dignity and greatness. He was none the less a man. He was Washington still. Posterity has not pronounced it a weakness. It is recorded upon the historic page as an additional evidence of his greatness. It insures a tribute to his memory in * See the same more in detail, in the Chapter on Era for Mothers. THE FILIAL KELATION. 101 the hearts of the vh-tuous free, as enduring as the monumental pile, which is rising in unsurpassed magnificence to transmit his name to remote pos- terity. Often the providence of God elevates a child above the lowly condition of his parents. God gives him wealth and honorable position. He is intelligent and educated. And now, because of the large gifts of a kind Providence, he becomes ashamed of his humble parentage. The poor, unlettered pair, who cared for him in infancy, and to whom he is yet dear as life itself, are wellnigh forsaken. Possibly he may occasionally visit their retired residence ; but he would carefully exclude them fi’om the circle in which he moves. The writer has been in company with a young man of winning appearance. The graces of refine- ment adorned his speech and person ; and the heart was weUnigh captivated with so fine a specimen of the gentleman. But, on learning that, although the only son of his mother, and she a widow, his de- meanor towards her was cold and heartless, aU ap- pearance of the true gentleman suddenly vanished. God once prostrated him upon a bed of suffering, and, when tossing from side to side with feverish excitement, he was glad to admit his humble, unre- fined, but excellent mother to his room. But when an accomplished companion paid him a visit, his pride overcame what natural affection he had, and he passed her off for a nurse. Unfeeling vuetch! We almost wonder that a bolt of divine vengeance did not send him instantly into eternity, to meet an angry God. We wonder that conscience did not 9 * 102 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. drive him to despair, as he reflected upon his cruel deed. If such bondage to fashionable society, and such fear of refined associates, is not consummate weakness, then humanity is never weak. I often meet that young man; but my soul shrinks from him as from a loathsome viper. All his graces have dwflndled away in my eyes, and he walks the streets a specimen of hypocrisy. It will not surprise me if some terrible calamity befaU him. It will be a mer- ited judgment. And if he tosses at last upon the burning billows of woe for nothing else, he will, if unrepentant, for breaking the fifth commandment. Contrast with the above the filial regard of Arch- bishop Tillotson. His father was a poor, plain man ; and on paying his first visit to his son, after he was inducted into his high office, he inquired of the ser- vant, if “ John Tillotson was at home.” The ser\'ant supposing him a poor, unmannerly traveller, ordered him from the door ; but the dean, recogni2ing the voice of his father, instead of ushering him into Iris house privately, ran out, exclaiming to the surprise of his servants, “ It is my beloved father ; ” and falling down before him, craved his benediction. Noble ex- ample of filial attachment! We are constrained to feel, in reading it, that such a man is fitted for so high an office in the church. Had he treated his aged parent with the unfilial spirit of the young man named above, the title of Arch-sinner would have become him better than Archbishop. It has been akeady intimated that a lack of filial regard betokens an evil heart. This truth deserves a careful consideration. The severe penalty may have been attached to the fifth commandment, THE FILIAL RELATION. 103 under the Jewish dispensation, because of the great sins which unfilial acts prognosticate. Disobedience to parents is often the beginning of a criminal ca- reer. It is the seed of future and blacker vices. Insubordination in the family grows into insubordi- nation in the State. He, who does not respect his parents, will not be likely to respect a ruler. He who wilfully tramples upon the commandment, “ Honor thy father and mother,” wiU not hesitate, eventually, to disregard the other nine. It is recorded, that five persons were executed a few years since, one in Springfield and four in Boston ; aU of whom declared upon the scafibld, that their wickedness began in neglect, or abuse of the filial relation. The Rev. Louis Dwight, who is fa- miliar with such statistics, says that “ after faithful inquiry into the history of the numerous criminals confined in the prisons of the United States, in nearly all cases, their course began in disobedience to parents.” The following is the language of a criminal awaiting his doom upon the scaffold. “ My disobedience to parents has brought this misery upon me. My father gave me good instructions when I was a child, but I did not mind them. I would not go to school when he would have sent me. I would not go to a trade when he wished to have me. After my father died I would not obey those who had the care of me. I ran away from several masters. And now I have ran into the jaws of death.” It is the thrilling language of a degenerate son’s experience — the outbursts of his sincere heart, when he stood aghast upon the borders of eternity. Hear, then, the voice of misery itself, as it reveals the cause of its 104 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. own existence ! Listen, careless youth, to warnings that come from the very mouth of the pit, — made solemn by the awful realities which await a guilty soul! Such facts, which might be greatly multiplied, show that unfilial deeds are ominous of fearful reaches in transgression. Pubhc opinion regards this recldessness, in respect to filial duties, a sure omen of consummate future wickedness. The youth, or young man in any com- munity, who prides himself upon his disregard of filial duties, is an object of general suspicion. Mothers fear his contaminating influence upon their children. The manufacturer dares not commit im- portant trusts to his keeping. The merchant fears to employ him in his traffic. The school committee receive complaints of his ill behavior in school. Wanton depredations, committed in garden or or- chard, are laid to his charge. Li short, he is an object of universal distrust, and men are not sur- prised to hear of almost any iniquity perpetrated by this family disturber. The fact shows, that manldnd reaUy expect this sin in the household \\dll lead to greater sins in the State. Hence, it may be inferred, that when a son ^\'ill address his mother with disrespect, or do any thing in opposition to his father’s counsel, he has the dis- position to take upon his soul, at some future day, the guilt of flagrant sins. It is a truth of fearful im- port, and ought to impress the minds of son and daughter, and arouse parents to avert, if possible, the evils which threaten. When children arrive at manhood and woman- THE FILIAL RELATION. 105 hood, having the maintenance of aged and infirm parents, a wilful disregard of their filial duties pro- vokes the unsparing censure of all beholders. Our common humanity recognizes here a duty, the neg- lect of which can be paUiated by no excuse. No mantle of charity is broad enough to cover such a sin. But such examples of filial degeneracy are rare. Usually, on arriving at maturity, and becoming the heads of families, children hasten to bless the declin- ing years of their parents. Then they begin to ap- preciate the kindness, love, care, and solicitude, be- neath whose reign their tender childhood was de- veloped. It becomes a pleasure to solace the few remaining days of those to whom they owe existence, to smooth their thorny pathway to the tomb, and prove faithful and true to these filial bonds through aU scenes of joy or sorrow, till parents lie speechless in the cold embrace of death. It deserves to be borne in mind, that the true char- acter of a person is not what it appears to be in the community, so much as what it is in the family. Here the unlovely or shining attributes develop them- selves unrestrained, and the person appears in his undisguised character. A disobedient son, or un- grateful daughter, may appear in charming loveliness before a witnessing world. His or her intrinsic worth is not to be estimated by appearances abroad ; but by the qualities which are prominent at home. Thus estimating moral character, deception will seldom mislead. While lack of devotion to parents is ominous of future and greater evil, the opposite is ominous of future and augmented good. For filial love softens 106 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. the heart, and sweetens the disposition. It smooths that common roughness of manner, and polishes that common asperity of character, which become revolt- ing with advancing years. The son who sacredly keeps the commandment, “ honor thy father and mother,” is emphatically a “ child of promise.” There is needed no policy of insurance upon his morals to preserve him in the path of virtue. We ask no prophet’s ken to descry the blessings that will crown his manhood. In this single virtue of his youth we may have the key to his future character. This an- tedates his future “ rise and progress.” This is the bright forerunner of a train of virtuous deeds that will adorn his life, — the angel-heralder of other graces which are sure to cluster around the faith- ful, filial heart. Exceptions to this rule, dark and terrible, may arise ; but we speak of what is gen- erally true. Proper attention to the duties of the filial relation will not go unrewarded. There is such a beautiful spirit evinced in this regard for parents, that, without any practical demonstration, we should expect it would share the unqualified admiration of men. The Scriptures beautifully exhibit this loveliness in the following figurative language. “ ]\Iy son, hear the insti'uction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother. For they shall be an ornament of grace unto thy head, and chains about thy neck. Bind them continually upon thy heart, and tie them about thy neck.” Like the costly decorations that are employed to increase the charms of the hu- man form, so shall these parental counsels, faithfully lived, be as the embellishments of taste and art to THE FILIAL RELATION. 107 win the admiration of men. Yea, they shall outlast all that is rich and tasteful in artificial decorations ; for the finery of gold and silver will tarnish, and jew- els waste with other material things ; but these orna- ments, which adorn the soul, are imperishable. Enough has been said already, to show that neither God nor man has been unmindful of this fidelity to parents. The glowing record that history makes of the faithfulness of Alexander and Wash- ington to their mothers, shows with what benedic- tions this virtue is rewarded. The boy who stood upon the burning deck of a ship at the battle of the Nile, cried, amid the din of a thousand voices calling upon him to come away, father, shall I come ? ” But his father was aheady wrapt in the rushing flames, and the obedient boy waited for his bid- ding, till he was wapt in a windingsheet of fire. Successive generations have paid a cheerful tribute of honor to the memory of the faithful boy. In every age and nation, we discover enduring memorials of the true in this connection. The Chi- nese were wont to erect monuments, and rear tri- umphal arches, in honor of children, who distin- guished themselves in devotion to parents. The ancient Greeks and Romans dedicated magnifi- cent temples to those who ranked high for the same virtue. The Turks honor their mothers more than their wives. Their language is, “wives may die, and we can replace them ; children perish, and others may be born to us ; but who shall restore the mother when she passes, and is seen no more ? ” The heroic manner in which .^neas bore his infirm father from the flames of Troy won for himself the title of “ the 108 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. pious ^neas.” A Roman daughter, privileged to visit her imprisoned father, who was condemned to be starved to death, nourished him at her own breasts. The Senate were so much impressed mth this devotion to a suffering parent, that they deereed the father should be restored to his child, and that a temple should be erected to filial piety, on the spot where the prison stood. Titus Manhus, by his marked devotion to his father, saved him from a Roman prison, and won the supreme honors of the State. Cassar spared the infirm old jMetellus from severe punishment, out of regard for the fili al piety of his son. For the same reason, hlontesquieu re- warded two young Frenchmen, by dehvering their father from the galleys of Tripoli, whither he had been taken by pirates, and sold for a slave. Gustavus III., king of Sweden, rewarded a poor peasant girl, toiling to support her crippled mother, “ by setthng a pension for life upon the mother, with the reversion to her daughter at her death.” The tribute which the historian pays to Epaminondas, one of the greatest generals, and best men, which Greece ever produced, is a fair illustration of the feefings of man- kind upon this subject. He had declared that he de- rived more satisfaction from the thought, that his victories would afford joy to his father and mother, than he did from the honors which men bestowed upon him as a triumphant conqueror ; and in view of this filial love, RoUin says, “ Nothing in history seems so valuable to me as such sentiments, which do honor to human nature, and proceed from a heart which neither false glory nor false greatness has corrupted. I confess it with grief, I see these THE FILIAL EBLATION. 109 noble sentiments daily expire among us, especially in persons where birth and rank raise them above others, who too frequently are neither good fathers, good sons, good husbands, nor good friends ; and who would think it a disgrace to express for a father and a mother the tender regard of which we have here so fine an example from the pagan above mentioned ? ” But no richer reward of filial devotion can be en- joyed than the satisfaction experienced in witnessing the increased happiness it affords to parents them- selves, in their last days. No purer delight, save that which is spiritual, ever refreshes a parent’s heart, than this which results from filial attention. The living evidence of it to children regales their minds with delightful recollections, when parents repose in the dust. It is one of those blest remem- brancers which we love to cherish. An Eastern lady being about to start upon a journey, invited her three sons to furnish her with an expression of their love. One presented her with a marble tablet, having her name inscribed upon it ; another brought her a large and beautiful bouquet ; and the third thus addressed her, “ Mother, I have neither marble tablet nor fra- grant nosegay, but I have a heart ; here your name is engraved, here your memory is precious, and this heart, full of affection, will follow you wherever you travel, and remain with you wherever you repose.” Which was the more acceptable present we need not say. Which afforded the greater pleasure may be easily determined. Age, I repeat, finds no sweeter fountain of bliss, than that which is opened by the grateful devotion 10 110 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. of children, excepting only the fountain of living waters. And how delightful to feel that we are the happy instruments of such joy to those we love. It is a pleasant memory to bear amid the reverses of life, and carry with us to the grave. Pompmus Atticus was accustomed to express the satisfaction which he derived from his fiJial faithfulness, in the followuig eccentric manner. Though he had lived with his mother sixty-seven years, he said, “ I was never once reconciled to her, because there never happened the least discord between us ; and, conse- quently, there was no need of a reconcUiation.” It was evidently a source of great satisfaction to the distinguished Roman. The judgments of God generally overtake unfaith- ful, disobedient children. Rev. Phihp Henry, once speaking to his children of the ■fucked son of a neighbor, who treated his parents wdth disrespect, charged them to mark the dealings of God with him. “ Perhaps,” said he, “ I may not live to see it, but do you take notice, whether God do not come upon him with some remarkable judgment in this life, accord- ing to the threatening implied in the reason annexed to the fifth commandment.” But he lived to see the prophecy fulfilled by a very striking Providence. The Rev. Herbert Palmer, B. D., Master of Queen’s College, Cambridge, said, “ that he had noticed the effects of disobedience to parents, so that he scarcely ever knew undutiful children escape some visible judgment of God in the present fife.” A careful observation ■udU satisfy the most incredulous of the truth of these remarks. Within the circle of every reader’s acquaintance are undutiful sons, upon THE FILIAL RELATION. Ill whom is now resting the undoubted curse of God. The evidence is wellnigh as striking and unmis- takable, as the mark that God imprinted upon the forehead of Cain. And it is a matter of surprise, that the disobedient themselves do not recognize the pursuing vengeance of Jehovah, and flee to find a refuge in repentance from his consuming wrath. Behold Absalom, violating every impulse of nat- ural afiection, and pursuing his father with a deadly hate, as if he were his mortal enemy ! Follow his secret plottings to usurp the throne at the expense of his father’s life ! Trace his diabolical schemes as they become developed in the rapid evolutions of time, — the foul machinations not only of a rebel- lious son, but of a parricide and murderer! And then behold him, hanging upon the bough of an oak by the hair of his head, with the three swift javelins of the mighty Joab sticking in his heart — a wretched victim to his own base ambition and cruelty — and say, if here is not a Divine judgment upon a disobe- dient and unnatural son ! Could my voice reach a disobedient son, I would address him thus : — “ How dare you trifle with the commandments of God ? How dare you resist the pleadings of such love as lives only in a parent’s heart? Has nature denied you the common share of tenderness and sensibility ? Has contact with a vAcked world stifled the loveliest emotions, and changed yom- heart to stone ? Care you not for the deep wounds which you inflict upon the heart of the mother who bore you ? Do you glory in running counter to the wishes of the father who would lay down his life to save you from the prison or the 112 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. gallows ? Tremble, then, for the deep depravity which lurks in your soul. Prepare to meet the scath- ing, withering maledictions of an incensed world. Expect, for the doom will surely come, to be ban- ished from the hearts and circles of the wise and virtuous. Make ready for the fearful judgments that win descend upon your future days. Dread to behold and experience, in the course of Prowdence, your probable destiny of ill. Imagine yourself be- side the coffined remains of those whom you now refuse to obey. Live for a moment in the melan- choly hour that wih leave you parentless, with no opportunity to whisper in the ear, forgive ! Con- ceive of the regrets that will harrow your soul, when you behold their eyes close in sorrow upon your dis- obedience, and the grave receive them to its cold and cheerless bed ! Fear to meet the piercing eye of yom- Judge, and the retributions of the future world ; for the penalty annexed to the fifth commandment bides your death ! Christ enforced, by his pure example, the duties of the fihal relation. He was himself a perfect pattern of obedience to parents. No blemish marred the beauty of his filial character. No scenes in his chequered, suffermg life, caused him to neglect his duties as a son. Until he was tliirty years of age, he was subject to his parents, — a dutiful son of the family, never weary of toiling for their bliss, never reluctant to obey their counsels. He cherished the grateful feelings of a son when in the judgment-hall of Pilate, and remembered and proHded for his mother amid the agonies of the cross. V. THE FRATERNAL RELATION. “ A Tinion in partition ; — Two seeming bodies, but one heart.” Shakspeare. “ They were together night and day Through all their early years — Had the same fancies, feelings, thoughts, Joys, sorrows, hopes, and fears ; They had a fellowship of smiles, A fellowship of tears.” Anon. The Scriptures are comparatively silent concern- ing this relation in the family, as if a recognition of its important duties were taken for granted. The ties of nature are reason enough for an indissoluble bond of union between brothers and sisters. Hu- manity revolts at a disregard of the bond which God has instituted between these kindred hearts. Indeed, the feeling of abhorrence is awakened towards those families among the lower order of animals which live and die in quarrels. It is so unnatural and heartless, that every reflecting mind expresses pro- found astonishment at the sight. The fact that two individuals are children of the same parents, hav- ing kindred blood coursing through their veins, 10 * ( 113 ) 114 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. and common interests at stake, is sufficient basis upon which to rest all the fraternal obhgations of which we may speak. There is no sadder sight on earth, than that of brothers and sisters, dwelling together under the same roof, coheirs by Divine appointment in the joys and sorrows of hfe, alienated from each other by reason of domestic feuds. There is no scene more lovely than that of brothers and sisters devoted to each other’s happiness. “ Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! It is hke the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon his beard, even Aaron’s beard ; that went down to the skirts of his garment ; as the dew of Hermon, and the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion ; for there the Lord commanded the blessing ; even life forevermore.” Yet, the brotherhood and sisterhood of farnihes often present a singular exhibition of estranged hearts. These, in common with all the ties of hfe, share in the sad results of the fall. Every neigh- borhood can furnish one or more iUustrations of the envy, jealousy, mahce, strife, one or aU, which have made the fraternal relation the occasion of much domestic sorrow. I have seen brothers and sisters dwelling together in the same town ; yet living apart from the ordinary intercourse of relatives, and even so ahenated from each other, as to forego entirely the mterchange of friendly visits. Nay, more ; I have seen them ar- rayed against each other wdth a hosthity that pre- cluded even a friendly recognition, and allowed no word of salutation on meeting in the street. I have THE FRATERNAL RELATION. 115 seen the wealthy brother, retired from the cares of a prosperous business, without a family of his own for which to provide, yielding himself up to the servile control of a penmious habit, and leaving an invalid sister to suffer in want, or find relief in the charity of others. I have seen another, a man in the state of “ single blessedness,” summing in his possessions some twenty thousand dollars, yet bequeathing aU his property, at his death, to his native town, with the exception of a pittance to a suffering sister, for whom a sum ten times as large would have been a scanty provision. I have seen yet another, a brother to whom the Lord had given a competency of this world’s goods, endeavoring to make a maiden sister’s portion of the paternal legacy his own, by every pos- sible “ hook and crook ” of the law. I have read of another, a famed millionaire, who, among other gifts for the public weal, endowed a college, leaving to a needy brother only just enough to satisfy the de- mands of the law. Such a want of natural affection is dishonorable to human nature, and merits the unqualified censure of mankind. We scarcely find its counterpart among the brutes that perish. Seen thus in manhood, it is decisive evidence of an unbrotherly youth, the legiti- mate fruit of unkindness and want of love in early life. He who, in matm-e years, can see a brother or sister suffer when he has the means to relieve, was doubtless a tyrannizing, heartless brother in his youth. Had he cultivated a tender and loving spirit, in the morning of life, toward those of his father’s house- hold, he would not have become an alien at heart from the same Idndred circle, in age. 116 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Among the causes of rupture and unhappiness in the fraternal relation may be found the following. An unforgiving spuit. In the little community of home, forbearance is as necessary as it is anywhere in the wide world. Disparity in respect to natural and acquired endowments, varying tastes and habits, dissimilar temperaments and dispositions, conflicting thoughts and desires, will aU be embodied in living acts, to engender strife, unless much is overlooked. Much transpires, in almost any company of brothers and sisters, to arouse the spirit of retahation, rmless each is forward to forgive. The quick, nerv’ous, peevish brother or sister, who meets every breach of fraternal Idndness and good-wiU wdth the frown and language of opposition, pm'sues a policy w^hich is sure to banish peace from the family. The proof is found in every neighborhood. An unforgiving spirit is as prevalent MT-th children as with strangers. Hu- man nature does not always stop to inquire, whether the offender is a brother or sister. Hot haste stim- ulates the mind, and it moves rashly. An overt act is resisted wdth angry words and stormy rebuke, if not with blows. Here the warfare begins, and where it ends we cannot aKvays teU, until we learn the dis- position it cultivates for age. Possibly it may de- velop into a character as base and criminal as that described in the following verse of Dr. Watts : — “ Hard names, at first, and threatening words. That are but noisy breath. May grow to clubs and naked swords. To murder, and to death.” An unbridled temper mars the union of brothers THE ERATEBNAL RELATION. 117 and sisters. In childhood and youth, this is a very general cause of strife. The views, feelings, or wishes are crossed, and in a moment reason loses its bal- ance, and passion lowers and storms. Peace departs from the entire circle until the tempest of wrath is spent, and often for succeeding hours and days. It is painful to witness the frequent outbursts of wrath which occur among some families of children. Scarcely a day, Sabbath not excepted, passes over their heads, without some signal display of uncurbed temper. In consequence, they live in quarrels, cul- tivate morose and turbulent dispositions, and never learn from experience the joys of true fraternal love. The memories of many adults will furnish, from their early hves, numerous illustrations of the disas- trous influence of temper upon the intercourse of brothers and sisters. What is commonly called teasing, or tormenting one another for some natural or acquired fault, is another cause of strife in families. A brother is bashful and awkward, and this gives rise to many a fling from a proud, affected sister. Or a sister is vain and haughty, and this is the occasion of smart retorts from an unassuming brother. One is dull and stupid, intellectually; another is peevish from constitutional weakness ; and another is ungener- ous ; all of which often elicit biting sarcasm, broad implications, inuendos, and reproofs, to create alien- ation and perpetuate conflict. Envy sometimes acts a contemptible part. One brother enjoys a more eligible situation than another, because of some peculiar endowments or circum- stances. More responsibility is laid upon him by 118 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. the father. Perhaps he is in the store or counting- room, while his brother is on the farm, or in the workshop. He may be a student, and his brother a mechanic. Here envy finds abundant occasion to complain, and create discontent. Even a disparity in respect to moral elevation, sometimes arouses this malicious propensity. On this account, envy broke the harmony that existed between the first two brothers. Envious Cain slew his brother Abel, and thus took upon his soul the fearful guilt of fratricide. Envy plotted this murder, and received at the hand of God its ill-desert. It is too often true, that par- ental favoritism creates this envious spirit. A brother or sister is petted and indulged beyond the measure meted out to others. Envy, toward such a one, is sure to display its spite. Jacob had his fa- vorite — Joseph. The brothers saw it, and envied him his portion. His accumulated sufferings, thrilfing almost beyond the tales of fiction, was the fearful result. “ O Envy ! liide thy bosom, hide it deep. A thousand snakes, with black, envenomed mouths, Nest there, and hiss, and feed through all thy heart.” Property, inherited, has destroyed the peace and harmony of families. From the moment the pa- rents are laid in the grave, and the “ clods of the valley ” close over their remains, there is frequently one perpetual scene of strife and contention among the children about the property. The memory of loving parents is lost amid the hard words, and harder feelings and thoughts, which are engendered. A stranger would never dream that the alienated THE FRATERNAL RELATION. 119 parties were the children of the same parents. Es- pecially, his conclusion would not be thus favorable when he learned, what has more than once been true, that their animosity was indulged to such a degree, that neither would rear a monumental pile above the grave of the father. Property has been known to occasion such bitter feelings towards a brother, as to lead the disaffected one to refuse to attend his funeral. Marriage has introduced discord into the family. A sister’s husband, or a brother’s wife, has some sup- posed or real peculiarity, and it becomes a “ bone of contention.” It is more difficult to exercise forbear- ance toward a brother-in-law, or a sister-in-law, than toward their companions. Hence the bitterness and hostility which marriage frequently occasions. Fam- ilies, hitherto united, have parted with their mutual devotion at this point. It is natural for a wife to sympathize with her husband, and a husband with his wife, so that he or she becomes arrayed against the brothers or sisters who are unfriendly to them. Strange as it may seem. Religion has been made the occasion of some sad results. A sister becomes a Christian, and unites with the church. A brother now turns persecutor, and follows her with ridicule and sneers. As if it were a real reproach to her character — a compromise of dignity, and a mark of weakness — he appears to be mortified, and ashamed, that such a step should be taken by a sister ! He is fretted and harassed by it almost beyond endurance. His love abates, his politeness departs, and he treats her with cold neglect and unkindness ! Such guilty 120 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. wretches survive, even as brothers. It is almost too foul a blot upon humanity to believe, yet the lamen- table truth is forced upon our observation. In contrast with the above, let us briefly notice some of the virtues which belong to the fraternal relation. Strong attachment. This ought to exist as the fruit of natural ties. But if nature cannot love, then brothers and sisters ought to love from principle. John Angell James says, “ A family of grown up children should be the constant scene of uninter- rupted harmony, where love, guided by ingenuity, puts forth all its powers to please, by those mutual good offices, and minor acts of beneficence, of wliich every day furnishes the opportunity, and which, while they cost little in the way either of money or labor, contribute so much to the happiness of the household. One of the most delightful sights in our world, where there is so much moral deformity to disgust and so much unkindness to distress, is a domestic circle, where the parents are surrounded by their children, of which, the daughters are being employed in elegant or useful work, and the elder brother some instructive and improxdng volume, for the benefit or entertainment of the whole Young people, seek your happiness in each other’s society. What can the brother find in the circle of dissipation, or amongst the votaries of intemperance, to compare with this ? What can the sister find in the concert of sweet sounds, that has music for the soul, compared with this domestic harmony ? or in the glitter of fashionable confusion, and mazy dance THE FRATEBNAL RELATION. 121 of the ball-room, compared with these pure, calm, se- questered joys, which are to be found at the fireside of a happy family ? ” Mutual politeness promotes a refinement of feel- ing, which contributes much to the strength of the fraternal bond. This relates to the words and phrases, the temper and manner of address. It infuses a sort of fidelity into the entire intercourse, and surrounds it with an aU-pervading charm. It is delightful to be a guest in such a family. In contrast with the coarse, unaffectionate modes of address so generally observed, it presents a most pleasing view of the family. Brothers and sisters ought, also, to confide their purposes and wants, their joys and sorrows, to each other. This remark may not apply, without some qualifications, only while they dwell together under the paternal roof. K a brother is secret and sly in his various movements for pleasure or profit, and thus shows that he distrusts the other youthful mem- bers of the family, he has already furnished occasion for mutual recrimination. But if, on the other hand, he is frank and open to avow his intentions, and dis- plays an honorable confidence in the fraternal circle, and this same feeling becomes mutual and general in the family, it is evident that affection, concord, and peace will happily thrive. As the fruit of love, there is often witnessed a mutual devotion among near friends, which is as dis- interested as any thing to be found in this wicked world. This devotion, wherever it is seen, is the kind of consecration which children ought to make of aU their powers to each other’s happiness. It is a 11 122 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. mutual study to contribute to the weal of the whole. It not only perceives, but anticipates wants. It is earnest in prosperity ; it is profoundly self-de- nying in adversity. It is whole-hearted in health ; it is more tender in sickness. It is the embodiment of love, kindness, generosity, sympathy, and kindred virtues into loving acts. There are other characteristics of a felicitous, fra- ternal bond, some of which may be learned from the causes which disturb the harmony of families, aheady considered. If an unforgiving spirit is the cause of ruptures in the fraternal relation, then its opposite must be conducive to peace and harmony. If envy, or an unbridled temper, ever mar the other- wise peaceful intercourse of brothers and sisters, then their antagonistic qualities wiU contribute to their blissful companionship. And so the opposite of whatever tends to sever the tie in question wdll always prove a mutual blessing in the family. It may be added, that brothers and sisters ought always to bear in mind the nature and importance of the duties they owe to each other. Unless thought and profound reflection are devoted to the above essential requisites, it wiU be scarcely possible to meet the demands of duty; and yet, very little thought is expended upon this important subject by those who are most deeply concerned. How few children stop to reflect, that their conduct must par- take of such a character, in order to promote their mutual felicity! How few study to learn exactly what they must do, and hc^^ they must feel, in order to avoid alienations and confliet! How few are principled to walk in a studied, specified course in THE FRATERNAL RELATION. 123 respect to these duties ! The mass of children, older or younger, rather leave their fraternal conduct to be decided by the “ spur of the moment ; ” and not until these very important considerations are pondered with more concern, wdl the harmony of households be promoted. Let the above suggestions be put into consistent practice, and the family would possess attractions for every son and daughter. Fewer youth and young men would seek their evening pastime away from home, at the shops and stores, at the gaming board or theatre. Fewer sisters would desire the gay assembly, or the ball-room. The sister would not drive away the brother to haunts of dissipation, to find a happiness which could not be had at home ; nor would the brother become the occasion of a sister’s fondness for the soireii and dance. Home would become the centre of hopes, socialities, and pleasures, such as meet the wants of nature, satisfy the conscience, and please God. So would the lan- guage which Shakespeare puts into the mouths of two devoted sisters, find a complete illustration : — “ So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted. But yet a union in partition. Two lovely berries moulded on one stem ; So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart.” Sacred history furnishes an eminent example of devotion to fraternal duties. It is the familiar in- stance of Joseph. If a brother ever had a provoca- tion to disregard the ties of kindred, and harden his heart against those of his father’s household, it was 124 LITE AT THE FIKESIDE. he. Greater injuries were never inflicted upon a brother, and seldom upon a stranger. Seized when abroad upon an errand of kindness, wdth the intention of murdering him outright; then plunged into a pit to die a horrible death ; and finally, all previous fell designs being forsaken, sold as a slave, wdthout the hope of being dehvered from perpetual bondage ; this was the hard usage which Joseph experienced at the hands of his wicked brothers. We can scarcely conceive of wrongs more terrible to be inflicted or endured. The spirit which prompted such great cruelties must have been malignant and fiendish in the extreme. Yet, through the whole, how amiable and gentle was the youthful sufierer ! How meek, how lovely, how patient, how forgiving ! How httle like the retaliating, revengeful multitude of the human family ! And after a long experience of hardship in the land of bondage, an experience cal- culated to make him more keenly alive to his inju- ries, how lovely, affectionate, and forgiving still ! When the guilty brothers, driven by the pressure of famine, sought relief at his hands, after a kind Provi- dence had made him ruler of Egypt, how true and faithful, how generous-hearted ! Who can read the story of that pathetic interview, — Joseph melted to tears, receiving to his embrace his murderous breth- ren, assuring them that he cherishes aU the feelings of a brother still, loading them with provisions to carry back to their native land, and parting with them as lovingly as if they had never attempted to sever the fraternal tie, — who, I ask, can read this without a more exalted opinion of a faithful brother ? When he had the offenders within his power, and THE PRATBENAL RELATION. 125 might have condemned them to an ignominious death, or consigned them to hopeless bondage or im- prisonment, his noble heart was moved by the im- pulses of natural affection to forgive their awful crime, and receive them to his bosom. There is nothing upon the pages of fact or fiction, that is more ennobling and glorious than this. It awakens the sentiment of approval in every breast, however untrue itself to the demands of the fraternal relation. It imparts superlative lustre to the character of^ Joseph, as similar fidelity will certainly do to that of any brother on the face of the earth. Much might be written concerning the power ol brothers’ and sisters’ influence over each other, and many facts might be cited by way of illustration. But we quote only the following. “ That man,” said a keen observer of human nature, pointing to a stranger in the crowd, “ has been brought up in the society of intelligent and virtuous sisters.” “ Whence do you infer that ? ” said the person addressed. He replied, “ because he exhibits that gentleness and delicacy of feeling, which result only from the in- fluence of intelligent and virtuous sisters.” The gifted Irving said, “ often have I lamented that Providence denied me the companionship of sisters. Often have I thought, had I been thus favored, I should have been a better man.” Though the above testimony relates only to a sister’s ; yet, the remarks would be equally true if spoken of a brother’s in- fluence. Although these pages were not penned especially for the eye of childhood ; yet this chapter contains much which the child can understand. Before leav- 11 ^ 126 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. ing the subject, I would address myself briefly to any child whose eye may chance to fall upon these para- graphs. It is pleasant to see a family of Little chil- dren dwelling together in love, — to know that they are kind, and strive to make each other happy. All hearts are pained to witness strife, and hear com- plaints, hard words, and accusations' among little children, especially if they belong to the same house- hold. Dr. Watts wrote the following beautiful verse upon this matter, — “ Birds in their little nests agree ; And ’t is a shameful sight, When children of one family Fall out, and chide, and fight” I doubt not that every young reader agrees t\dth Dr. Watts. And if so, they will strive to cultivate as strong an attachment to brothers and sisters, as did one who is spoken of in the following incident. A little girl in the island of Jamaica, where our good people send missionaries to teach the children, was in the school of Mr. Thomas Knibb. Her brother, a very active, but roguish boy, violated the rules of the school by swearing, and, of course, had to be pun- ished. His punishment was confinement in the school-room some hours after the other scholars were dismissed. While Mr. K. was locking him in, his sister, of whom we have spoken, went to him, with her eyes brimful of tears, and begged that she might receive the punishment, and that her brother might be released. Wishing to see whether the little girl was sincere. Air. K. consented ; and, sure enough, she immediately took his place to receive the pun- THE FHATERNAL RELATION. 127 ishment ! “ What a land, excellent little sister,” say all my young readers. Will you not love your brothers and sisters as ardently ? May every youth who reads these pages have sufficient regard to his own honor, if not to the com- fort of his parents, to lead him to be true in the fra- ternal relation. Reproach is cast upon the memory of the brother or sister who is known to disregard these important claims. They are less loved and respected. So faithful has an observant public been in honoring the faithful in these endearing bonds, that even history makes a record of their virtue. It is recorded of Timoleon, the Corinthian, that he was a noble pattern of fraternal love. He contended on the battle field with the Argives, and when his brother received a fatal wound and fell to the earth, he leaped over the dead body, and, with his shield, pro- tected it from insult and plunder. He was sadly wounded in the undertaking, but would not retreat until his friends had borne the corpse to a place of safety. We would not join the multitude to swell the cry, brave Timoleon ! but, with a consistent pos- terity, we would do honor to his name, by joining the acclamation, ever-faithful Timoleon ! Youthful reader, if any truth is learned from the history of the past, it is that men will honor those who honor this family tie. A word to brothers and sisters in age! Time multiplies changes in the household group, and after a few years of earthly intercourse, the parents pass away, while the children are married, and become the heads of rising families. All the ties that remain of the original family are the fraternal. How proper 128 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. that brothers and sisters, though living in different quarters of the earth, and having famUies of their own, should still maintain the same strong attach- ment to each other ! How fit that the same kind expressions and offices of love should characterize their intercourse, and show a devotion which neither time nor age can obliterate ! Darius, king of Persia, passed sentence of death upon Intaphemes, together with all his children and his wife’s brother. His wife subsequently appeared before the royal palace, exhibiting every mark of inconsolable grief. Her repeated visits, from day to day, awakened the sym- pathy of Darius, who thus addressed her, in the per- son of his messenger: “ Woman, king Darius offers you the hberty of any individual of your family whom you may most desire to preserve.” To tins she replied : “ K the king will grant me the fife of any one of my family, I choose my brother in pref- erence to the rest.” The king was so astonished at this announcement that he sent a message to her as follows : “ The king desires to know why you have thought proper to pass over your children and your husband, and to preserve your brother, who is cer- tainly a more remote connection than your children, and cannot be so dear to you as your husband.” She answered thus : “ O king ! if it please the Deity, I may have another husband : and if I be deprived of these, may have other children ; but, as my parents are both of them dead, it is certain that I can have no other brother.” The sentiment commended itself to the king, as it does to every adult reader embraced in the family cficle. In conclusion, God will be more likely to honor THE PRATERNAL RELATION. 129 the fraternal relation by a spiritual blessing, when its important claims are observed with fidelity. In such a family, Christ will find his trophies. When clothed in flesh, and executing his merciful errand on earth, our Saviour honored an humble but united family of Bethany with a visit ; and probably, in all the land, there was not another family, in which the fra- ternal duties were more faithfully discharged than in that same family, consisting of Martha and Mary, with their brother Lazarus. May we not regard the incident in the light of a sacred symbol, pointing brothers and sisters to those spiritual visits, which the Saviour now vouchsafes to make them, when their attachments are strong, and their harmony un- broken ? VI. THE FA]MILY SABBATH. “ Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man’s day: On other days the man of toil is doomed To eat his joyless bread, lonely — the ground Both seat and board — screened from the winter’s cold And summer’s heat, by neighboring hedge or tree ; But on this day, imbosomed in his home. He shares the frugal meal with those he loves.” Gr-vuame. Marriage was the first fundamental institution which God ordained in Paradise — the union of two hearts and destinies, as the basis of the family rela- tion. The second was the Sabbath of rest — one seventh portion of time, to be sacredly redeemed from worldly cares and pursuits, and devoted to the worship of God. The fact is pregnant with mean- ing. That God should ordain the Sabbath immedi- ately after the institution of marriage, implies a con- nection between the two which may suggest its importance to the weal of the family. Six days of special toil for the household — the seventh a day of rest and devotion ! K he who created all things has wisely adapted each object and ordinance to the place it occupies, then we must hail the Sabbath as the harbinger of timely good to the family. ( 130 ) THE FAMILY SABBATH. 131 Some of the delightful appellations, which human genius has applied to this day, are as follows — “ Help-meet for the family ” — “ Torch of Time ” — “ Light of the week ” — “ The poor man’s Friend ” — “ Heaven’s Antidote ” — “ Pearl of days.” These are not the epithets of extravagant rhetoric. They are fit appellations. The Sabbath, as we shall see, is “ a help-meet ” in aU the cares and duties that pertain to domestic life. It is the “ Light,” kindled at the altar of truth, which irradiates the scenes of the week. It is time’s “ Torch,” flashing high above a world that is wrapped in moral darkness. It is the poor man’s “ Friend,” beckoning him home after the toil and “ sweat ” of six wearisome days, to drown his cares in the communion of loving hearts. Of all the days in the seven, it is the priceless “ Pearl ” — — the fairest, purest, brightest, that hangs upon the neck of time. It comes not too often, nor delays too long. It demands not too much of our time, nor takes too little. For it, fifty-two times in a year, the morning lifts her golden gates, and it comes to the waiting family with “ refreshment for the body, and improvement for the soul.” Fifty-two glowing pre- faces to as many chapters in a household’s annual history ! Fifty-two oases, gladdening their hearts annually in their journey through this wilderness of sin ! Fifty-two precious stones, adorning the bosom of a year, aU to be appropriated to the family’s spiritual wealth ! But alas ! these Sabbaths are not generally appro- priated to family improvement. Saturday night does riot return all the heads of earth’s scattered households who might quit their secular pursuits. 132 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. nor even fold all the lambs which have wandered from the flock. True, the din of traffic is hushed in the streets, and the sound of axe is not generally heard in the woods, nor hammer at the forge ; but it is not wholly that a Sabbath blessing may be shared in the family circle. Human depravity takes advantage of the liberty of the day to riot wantonly in the abodes of vice. Pleasure marshals her teem- ing hosts for outrage upon holy ordinances, and for scenes of wild excitement. Profligacy makes it a gala-day, to pander to debasing passions, and wal- low in the mire of a lower bestiality. Hosts of pining wives and mothers dread the coming of the sacred day, because husbands and sons rest from their labors only to lounge in idleness, or revel in bacchanalian sports. Stages thunder along the high- ways ; steamboats, crowded with the gay “ lovers of pleasure,” plough the lakes and rivers ; and trains of rattling cars rush across the land ; aU bearing the members of numerous families upon errands of busi- ness, or atuusement, far away from the peaceful home, where the Divine benediction might faU. And thus, wealthy corporations compel hundreds of fathers and sons, either to violate the fourth com- mandment, or sacrifice the means of a livelihood, if they insist upon the observance of God’s Sabbath in their families. Want on the one hand, and heartless tyranny on the other, suppresses the gushing tender- ness of many noble hearts longing to tarry one day in seven at home. Then, too, what slothfulness, what indolence, what bargains, what book-posting, what letter-writing, what ramblings, what plannings, what visitings, what “ Sunday sicknesses,” all adapted THE FAMILY SABBATH. 133 to sacrifice the blessing to the household, and trample upon the command, “ Six days shalt thou labor and do all Ihy work : but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God ; in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daugh- ter, thy man-servant, nor thy maid-servant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates.” This is Jehovah’s counsel for his Sabbath in the family. This day ought to be gi-eatly magnified in impor- tance to all parents, since it has much to do with the felicity of their households. Even if there were no judgment-seat, nor fearful retribution to meet here- after, it comes, richly laden with temporal blessings, to every member, from the oldest to the youngest. If the family, in its little community of interests, were to pass away with the extinction of terrestrial objects, the Sabbath, in its socializing and elevating tendency, would still be its “ Pearl of Days.” A few considerations will abundantly establish this truth. The Sabbath tends to cultivate domestic affection. There may be those who can command all the time they wish to spend with their families. Freedom from the cares of business, and a competency of worldly goods, exempt them from the necessity of going abroad upon errands of labor. But the mass of men are obliged to earn a support by the “ sweat of the brow.” Six days in a week, from the rising to the setting sun, they tire with toiling for the main- tenance of dependent ones. Thousands are away from home, from Monday morning tiU Saturday night, prosecuting their purposes in an honorable vocation. Nothing but imperative necessity could 12 134 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. separate them so long from the fellowship of their kindred. Amid their excessive labors, the Sab- bath rises before them as a beacon of light, cheer- ing their hearts, and reviving their “ flagging ener- gies,” by the rest which it promises under its shel- tering canopy. The prospect nerves the drooping arm of labor, and reconciles the heart to what might otherwise become a terrible allotment. Others return from their daily avocations, — trades- men, husbandmen, and artisans in every variety of mechanical pursuit, — with the going down of the sun, but rather to repose their limbs than to nurture the tender plant of domestic love. "Worn and weary, their lips refuse to counsel, and the happy converse is sacrificed for the rest which wdll gu'd the loins with strength for the duties of another day. A few swift hours of repose, and the breaking morning bids them away again to their wonted pursuits. Some may be privileged to receive their meals at their own tables, but only to hasten away to their farms or shops or merchandise, as soon as each re- past is hurriedly partaken. They have no time for affectionate intercourse with the beloved group. The circumstances, also, in which multitudes are almost compelled to labor, are unfavorable to the cultivation of a tender and affectionate spirit. In company, often, with the profane, vicious, and profli- gate, they necessarily toil in a common occupation. Their eyes become familiar 'udth sights, their ears are saluted with sounds, and their hearts are im- pressed with influences, which are withering to the tender sensibilities of nature. Bonds of friendship are likely to be formed with jovial yoke-feUows, unit- THE FAMILY SABBATH. 135 ing their hearts by strong ties, and weakening the more sacred bonds of home and kindred. Thus, there is danger of quenching the flame of love, and of making the laborer a more negligent husband, father, or son. There is danger of weaning him from the fireside circle, and of blasting the buds of hope, to which his smile is sunshine, and his sweat the timely dew. There is danger of tipping his tongue with venom, and tmuing his heart to stone. Thanks, then, for the Sabbath of rest, that may gather together the absent members of the family, to renew their friendships, and cultivate then’ affections ! Without its weekly visits, how brief the opportu- nities a multitude would have, to contribute to do- mestic felicity ! How exceedingly small and uncer- tain would be the intervals of time, to be snatched &om secular business, for the gratification of the affections in domestic communion ! It is ever at the altar of home that the virtuous cultivate the good- liest part of then' being, and find the purest springs of earthly happiness. The interchange of kindness, the various offices of love, and the numerous little acts of devotion which pertain to the intercourse of relatives, all are suited to refine the feelings and ennoble the man. Thanks, we repeat, for the weekly Sabbath, which God has made for the members of every family to enjoy, and improve in devotion to each other, as well as to himself! On this day alone can thousands satisfy the longings of loving hearts ! It keeps in tune the heartstrings to make music for the domestic circle ! The Sabbath presents a favorable opportunity to parents for the moral instruction of thek children. 136 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. What has been already said respecting the secular labors of many parents through the week, is suffi- cient to show that they have httle time to impart needful moral lessons to their offspring. Many re- tm-n from their daily pursuits, after the younger members of the household have retired, too weary to counsel or instruct the older children, who are not at rest. Without the intervention of this sacred day, there would necessarily be a lack of warnmg and faithful counsel, to prepare for the perils that beset life’s devious way. Young hearts would become developed, without a love of those Christian prin- ciples which alone can survive the assaults of tliis wicked world. No season is so favorable to make deep and last- ing impressions upon the mind as this “ holy time.” The day is associated with acts of practical piety and the worship of God. A different class of feel- ings pervade almost every heart, when the rismg sun announces the Sabbath morning. The glories of the Creator are beheld in the beams of every opening day ; but the religious associations of this cause it to be especially impressive. There is power in the silence that reigns over the village, whose din of traffic was hushed with the shades of Saturday night. After excepting the numerous mstances of disregard for this holy day, in riding, sporting, and toiling, it yet presents a striking contrast with secular days, in the stilhiess which reigns far and ^^-ide. This impresses the young mind. It adds force to Christian counsel. It tends to open the heart for the reception of truth. The parent may avail himself of this first day of the week, and of these sacred associ- THE FAMILY SABBATH. 137 ations, to guide his children into paths of peace. Example may teach on every day, but on this day, precept and principle may especially be imparted. Moral perils may be pointed out ; temptations, nu- merous and powerful, may be specified ; the deceit- fulness and depravity of the heart may be exposed ; and the mind may be imbued essentially with the spirit of the gospel. The Sabbath School, with its excellent facilities for religious education, invites the young to share its advantages. Here, the heart may come in con- tact with the great truths of Revelation, and the young be led into the path of life. A powerful aux- iliary to parental instruction may thus be secured in this valuable institution. We cannot estimate its blessings in regard to the young. We cannot teU how much it contributes to fit them for usefulness and for God. We know not how far it equips them for conflict with the false hearts and principles of the world. But we may justly believe that it acts an important part in fitting them for the duties of the family and State. It not only teaches the young in all that pertains to moral and religious character ; but it nullifies many of the lessons which have been di’opped into the heart by wicked counsellors. The teachers of iniquity are more numerous than the teachers of truth. And the agency of which we speak is powerful to oppose their contaminating and destructive influence. When the missionary goes to spread the gospel through the Western VaUey, he begins the stupen- dous work by gathering the children together upon the Sabbath to study the Scriptures. The invitation 12 * 138 LIFE AT THE FIEESIDE. echoes through the extensive forests, and, for miles around, the children respond by issuing in goodly numbers from the scattered cabins. The truth is lodged in their heads, hearts, and hands, to be borne home from week to week to their godless parents. Ai'ound this little school, as a nucleus, is gathered at length a church of Christ, and every Sabbath morning, the ringing beU calls a cluster of Christian families to the place of prayer. Enterprise and thrift convert the wilderness into a beautiful village, wdth its church spire pointing heavenward, and its happy households the worshippers of Israel’s God. The sohtary place is made glad, and “ the desert blos- soms as the rose.” It is an illustration of the value of the Sabbath for the moral improvement of chil- dren in the Sabbath school. It is of no less value in the family. The quantity of time thus afforded for parental instruction is seldom appreciated. Sons and daughters, from the moment they are old enough to receive moral lessons, are usually vmder the watch of parents sixteen years. This period embraces eight hundred and thirty-two Sabbaths, or more than ttvo and one fourth years of holy time. So that, if par- ents have not time to devote to the religious culture of their offspring, except the Sabbath, they will be for- ever without excuse, if they do not make their hearts rich in lessons of imparted truth. God might have divided human life, so that tw^o and a quarter years of unbroken time should be sacredly devoted to re- ligious purposes, and the remainder to the world. But his present aiTangement of one day in seven is far preferable for the moral education of the young. A long period of uninterrupted mingling in worldly THE FAMILY SABBATH. 139 scenes would be likely to establish the habits in sin. On the other hand, the intervention of ihe Sabbath, with every seventh day tends to break up unholy alliances, by bringing the mind afresh to the con- sideration of the claims of God. This wise arrange- ment does not leave the spirit to worldly influen- ces long enough to be bound with triple cords, be- fore it is aroused again to think of righteousness and a judgment to come. Parents have reason to rejoice in such a provision for the welfare of then- children. The Sabbath renders the family relation more en- during. He who continues to toil in his accustomed occupation with no day of respite, will shorten his life, and go down more speedily to the grave. The Sabbath was ordained for a twofold object — “rest for the body and improvement for the soul.” The first object has reference to the wants of the physical nature. The Sabbath is a law unto this part of our being. It has its unavoidable penalty. The fire will not more surely burn the hand which is thrust into it, than this law of the Sabbath, habit- ually violated by labor, will inflict suffering upon the physical nature. The Sabbath “ is to the week, what night is to the day ” — rest for the worn and weary limbs. The following facts and views show that the laborer, who follows his pursuit without a day of rest, will be soonest overtaken by death. Dr. Backus, of Rochester, N. Y., and seven other physicans, say, “ having, most of us, lived on the Erie Canal since its completion, we have uniformly witnessed the same deteriorating effects of seven 140 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. days’ working upon the physical constitution, both of man and beast, as have been so ably depicted by Dr. Farre.” In 1839, a Committee were appointed by the Legislature of Pennsylvania to make investigations concerning the employment of laborers on their canals upon the Sabbath. In their report, the Committee say of those who had petitioned against laboring on the Sabbath, “ they assert, as the result of their experienee, that both man and beast can do more work by resting one day in seven than by working on the whole seven.” They add, “ Your Committee feel free to confess, that their own experi- ence as business men, farmers, or legislators, con’e- sponds with the assertion.” Dr. Sewell says, “ While I consider it the more important design of the institution of the Sabbath to assist in religious devotion and advance men’s spiritual welfare, I have long held the opinion, that one of its chief benefits has reference to the physical and intellectual constitution ; affording him, as it does, one day in seven for the renovation of his ex- hausted energies of body and mmd ; a proportion of time small enough, according to the results of my observation, for the accomplishment of this object. . . . . I have no hesitation in declaring it as my opinion, that if the Sabbath were universally ob- served as a day of devotion and of rest from secular occupations, far more work of body and mind would be accomphshed, and be better done ; more health would be enjoyed, with more of wealth and inde- pendence, and we should have far less of crime and poverty and suffering.” THE FAMILY SABBATH. 141 Dr. Farre, of London, writes : “ I have been in the habit, during a great many years, of considering the uses of the Sabbath, and of observing its abuses. . . . As a day of rest, I view it as a day of compen- sation for the inadequate restorative power of the body, under continued labor and excitement. ... I have found it essential to my own well-being, as a physician, to abridge my labor on the Sabbath to what is actually necessary. I have frequently ob- served the premature death of medical men from continued exertion. In warm climates, and in active service, this is painfully apparent. I have advised the clergyman, also, in lieu of the Sabbath, to rest one day in the week ; it forms a continual prescrip- tion of mine. I have seen many destroyed by their duties on that day ; and to preserve others, I have frequently suspended them, for a season, from the discharge of those duties.” * Now, apply this to the proposition under consider- ation, that the observance of the Sabbath, as a day of rest, wlU render the family relation more enduring. A poor but worthy man is straitened to support his numerous family. Each member of it is as dear to him as life itself. He would labor nights to keep them out of the almshouse, and supply by his own efforts their daily wants. Pressed by the calls of his hungering children, and the intensity of his love, he devotes the Sabbath to worldly business. Like aU other days, it becomes a day of labor, to save his family from the “ pauper’s home.” K he persists in this incessant work, he will hasten a greater evil * For other facts and views of eminent Physicians, see the Sabbath Manual. 142 LITE AT THE FIRESIDE. upon himself, — a final separation from his family by death, — and they will be left to the only alterna- tive of the pauper’s doom. Earlier in life the family relation will be broken, and its members driven from their endeared home. On the other hand, the rest of the Sabbath would give him a longer period to dwell in the bosom of Ms family, and reap the price- less blessings that always abound even in a poor but united household. The language of that heroic woman who said to her husband, when tempted to labor on the Sabbath for the maintenance of his cliil- dren, deserves to be engraved on marble : “ If a man cannot support his family by keeping the Sabbath, he certainly cannot support them by breaking it.” The influence of the Sabbath in forming youth- ful character. K it is not improved to cultivate the moral virtues, like all other misimproved bless- ings it becomes a curse. To slight or trample upon any important privilege, inflicts an injury upon the moral nature, which the character, sooner or later, will exhibit. He who deliberately sets at naught a law of God, fosters a spirit which promises little else than open immorality. This is as true of the law of the Sabbath as of any other law. For God has not ordained one, which is not necessary to a complete and harmonious development of character. We have only to present, in contrast, a family in which the Sabbath is regarded, and one in which it is not reverenced, in order to learn its jrower in moulding youthful character. In the former, labor and pleasme are laid aside ; religious reading and teaching are practised ; the Scriptures are studiously consulted ; the sanctuary is visited ; the children re- THE FAMILY SABBATH. 143 pair to the Sabbath school; and quiet, order, de- corum, and moral loveliness distinguish the day. Li the latter, labor is suspended for idleness and pleas- ure ; novels and secular papers are consulted instead of the Bible ; the house of worship is unvisited ; company is entertained; rides and visits are enjoyed, and children ramble in the fields. Li which family we discover most that is attractive and promising, I need not say. In which there is most virtue and strength of moral character we readily conclude, and time speedily proves. A few years hence, when the sons quit the antique mansion and go forth to some calling of life, the strength of religious principle in one case, and the want of it in the other, wiU show where the tempter finds the easiest prey. The fol- lowing facts deserve to be pondered. Judge Hall remarks, that “ Of aU the persons who were convicted of capital crimes while he was upon the bench, he found a few only who would not con- fess, on inquiry, that they began their course of wickedness by a neglect of the duties of the Sabbath, and vicious conduct on that day.” Of twelve hundred convicts, committed to Auburn State Prison, antecedent to the year 1838, about four hundred and fifty were sailors and watermen, who had been wont to labor on the Sabbath. Only twenty-six of the whole twelve hundred had consci- entiously observed the Sabbath. “ Of one hundred men, admitted to the Massa- chusetts State Prison in one year, eighty-nine had lived in habitual violation of the Sabbath, and neg- lect of public worship.” The warden of a large prison says, “ nine tenths 144 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. of our inmates are those who did not value the Sabbath, and were not in the habit of attending public worship.” Dr. Rudge, once the chaplain to Newgate, re- marked in an evening lecture, that “ his official situ- ation often led him to hear the confessions of male- factors under sentence of death ; and that in almost every instance, they ascribed their ruin to the deser- tion of the house of God, and the violation of the day of rest.” * When we ponder such startling facts as the above, we can appreciate the remark of that distinguished merchant, who said, “ When I see one of my appren- tices or clerks riding out on the Sabbath, on Monday I dismiss him. Such a one cannot be trusted.” The convictions of nearly every parent, in moments of calm reflection, lean to the side of the truth which we utter. The young man leaves the home of his affections, where he has been taught to “ remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.” He has never been accustomed to devote its sacred hours to work or pleasure. He has grown up to respect this con- secrated time, and all his views and feelings sustain the faithful keeping of it. AVith these sentiments and principles, he bids adieu to home and friends, and goes forth to the stirring conflict of hfe. AAflili deceitful enchanters in his pathway, and wily tempt- ers at his side, and the song of sirens falling on his ear, he is to stand or fall, live or die, by the strength of his own integrity. AAffiere is the parent who would not feel that the son who loves the Sabbath is safer amid these moral dangers, than the son who * See Sabbath Manual. THE FAMILY SABBATH. 145 does not regard it? Who does not feel that this alone is a sort of pledge for his success in battling with temptations ? that this armors him with “ shield and buckler ” against the wiliest foes which plot his ruin? Value, then, the Sabbath in the family. The Sabbath promotes household piety. On the other days the occupations of many leave little op- portunity for the cultivation of family religion. There are multitudes employed in mills and manu- factories of various descriptions, to whom is not allotted time enough for their regular meals, (if they have regard to physiological directions,) and much more for religious duties. The wants of the soul must chiefly be cared for, when the body tkes with exhaustion at the close of the fatiguing day. For them, in the language of Sherman, “ God has anointed this day with the oil of gladness above all its fellows. - What the sun is among the planets, — what the market-day is -to the tradesman, — what a fair wind is to the sailor, — what the tide is to the waterman, — that the Sabbath day is to the soul.” Facts show, that where there is no Sabbath there is no religion. There the Bible has no friends and lovers, the sanctuary is not, and family altars are unknown. Superstition enchains the mind, gross darkness covers the people, and purity appears not in the streets. Sabbathless lands are the “ habita- tions of cruelty,” and the “ cages of unclean birds.” The same is true of Sabbathless families. Even Christian households, deprived from this hour of this day of days, would greatly decline in religious fervor, and possibly their altars of prayer would become extinct. For there are thousands of pro- 13 146 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. fessed Christians, who make the incessant labors of each day an excuse for neglecting the weekly meet- ing for prayer, and many of those private duties which promote personal piety. If no Sabbath in- terrupted them in their laborious pursuits, their re- ligion would consist, at best, of profession and form. But this day, in its weekly visits, removes aU excuses, and makes plain the duty of cultivating religion in the sanctuary and at home. Even sweet peace, which the angel of mercy bears to the faithful wor- shipper in the house of the Lord, is carried away, to be made a cheerful contribution to household piety. On the secular days of the week, the family ap- pears especially in its earthly relations ; on the Sab- bath, its immortal interests demand attention. The father is no longer known as a farmer, merchant, or mechanic ; the mother leaves off, in a measure, her office of housekeeper ; and the childi’en are milmown as school-boys and ghls. All appear, on this holy day, especially as immortal beings, exhorted to ponder their accountabffity to God, and prepare for meeting the solemn verities of eternity. Six days have been devoted to the pressing wants of the body, the seventh is the “ Sabbath of the Lord,” to be spent in attention to the soul. The physical and intellectual natures have been carefully nurtured through the week; now the spiritual, whose infinite capacities reveal the sublime dignity of man as an heir of im- mortality, deserves to be made the subject of reflec- tion and prayer. What a season for burnishing the Christian armor! What a day to run for the prize! What moments for guiding children to Christ ! What an opportunity to make all the family one in THE FAJULY SABBATH. 147 the Lord on earth, that they may be one in the skies ! They who would abolish the Sabbath, would bring unparalleled disaster upon families. The blot- ting out of this day would reduce them to the most alienated and godless condition. Domestic love would expire, in countless instances, for the want of a day in which to fan its dying embers. Children would grow up untaught in religious truth, and the seeds of vice would take deep root in their hearts and thrive in rank luxuriance. To the lower classes, compelled to toil industriously for a livelihood, home would be divested of those attractions which the Sabbath’s weekly visits throw around it. The bonds of sympathy, which the domestic fellowship of every seventh day creates, would be ruptured. The blest affinities of nature would dissolve, and dismembered and scattered households be multiplied on every hand. What is worse, domestic piety, amid the spreading desolation, would find no place for the sole of its foot ; and because religion Mmuld lose its altar in the family, it would have no enshrinement in the church, and no trophies in the world. The enemies of Christianity, in all ages, have well understood that the Sabbath is its strong fortress, and they have accordingly sought to destroy this. The battering-rams of infidelity have pelted at its gates, while skepticism has waited impatient to spit its venom upon the soldiers of the cross who lay under its walls. If they could abolish this sacred institution, close the temples of Cod, and for the chiming of beUs supply the music of fife and drum. 148 LIFE AT THE FIEESIDE. and the “tramp of traffic,” their object ■would be easily accomphshed. Were the Sabbath merely a human institution, bearing not the seal of heaven, nor pointing to the gates of glory, even then we could not afford to abolish it. The family would still demand it as the harbinger of its brightest hopes, and the arbiter of its destiny. It would require it to cement a union of hearts, and perpetuate the harmonies of a blissful relation. Parental example upon this subject needs to be guarded. The heads of famihes will not see the other members more regardful of the Sabbath than themselves. If they indulge in hght and triffing con- versation, if they peruse the secular news-sheet, or the novel, if they neglect the place of worship, if they ramble in the fields, or do, or say any thing in- consistent with the sacredness of the day, their sons and daughters will easdy excuse themselves in doing the same. If parents desire their children to be blest by the recurrence of this day, they must accommo- date their words, counsels, acts, yea, their entire ex- ample, to the spirit of the commandment, “ Remem- ber the Sabbath day to keep it holy.” We close this subject with the following beautiful description of a really sanctified Sabbath throughout the world, by John Allan Quinton. If aU famffies duly observed the day, the glorious scene which he portrays would be witnessed. “ The flocks are wandering and gambolling in the dells ; the cattle are grazing on the hiU-sides ; and the beasts of burden, freed from their yoke, are feed- THE FAMILY SABBATH. 149 ing on the open plains. The plough stands where it halted in its course across the furrows ; but the husbandman has gone home to cultivate his soul. The sound of the axe has ceased from the forest, and the prostrate trees lie as they fell ; but the woodman has gone away to ponder on the sudden death-stroke that may lay him low, or is on his way to the place where the keen axe of truth wUl be levelled at the roots of his stubborn sins. The mills are at rest on every hiU-top, but their inmates have retired to their habitations, to garner up the corn of heaven.” .... “ Turn next towards the great city, rearing its roofs, chimneys, steeples, monuments, and huge masses of masonry in an atmosphere less murky and impure than that which broods over it on the other days of the week. The swarms of industry are now hived. The mingled hum of busy multi- tudes, the heavy tramp of traffic, the rush of enter- prise, the clamor of human passions, the noise of innumerable tools and implements of handicraft, the fierce panting of engines, the ringing of anvils, and the furious racings of machinery ; the shouts of crowds, the brawls of drunkenness, and the plaints of mendicant misery are all sunk into silence, and dis- turb not with a ripple the stiU Sabbath air The tall ships at anchor in the harbor have furled their sails, closed down their hatches, and hid from aU eyes the merchandise treasured in their holds, whilst the Bethel-flag waves amid a forest of masts, and they that go down to the sea and do business on great waters are below studying the chart of rev- elation, tracing the danger of their life’s voyage, and anticipating the glad hour when, redeemed from 13 * 150 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. every peril, and borne on the bosom of a favoring tide, they shall safely moor their bark in the haven of eternal life The merchant has quitted the desk of his dusky counting-house, and is now in secret places, turning over the blotted leaves of his own heart.” .... “ The gates of the temple of Mammon are shut, and the gods of gold and silver are forsaken by their weekday devotees. The chiming beUs, sounding ahke across country and town, are caUing upon aU men to cut the cords of their earthbound thoughts and low cares, and go up to worship at the foot- stool of Jehovah ; and the tapering spires, hke holy fingers, are pointmg significantly toward the sky.” “ And now the minister is descending from Ins study, his countenance impressed with a solemn sense of his responsibility ; the saint is coming forth refreshed from his closet; the pardoned peni- tent is rising from his knees ; the evangelist is on his way to his mission work ; the Sabbath school teacher is pleading with his class, and the Christian matron is leading forth her children to the mountain of the Lord’s house.” “ At length a new traffic fills the streets ; a grow- ing bustle stirs the air ; a new scene expands before the eye, religious assemblies are gathering the major part of the population. They come from the spacious squares and the crowded lanes ; they are seen issuing ahke from the lordly palace and the plebeian hut.” .... “ Organs are pealing through the lofty roofs of cathedrals, and along the aisles of chm-ches ; an- THE FAMILY SABBATH. 151 thems are swelling from scores of unseen chapels ; the glad outbm-sts of thanksgiving and the hallelu- jahs of the happy are mingling in the air, and filling the clear vault of heaven with rich harmony. Then the holy breath of prayer goes up lilte fragrant incense ascending to the sky ; after which the manna of the word is scattered round in the camp, and the doc- trines of grace are distilled lilre reviving dew upon the parched hearts of men. Prayer and praise again succeed, and then — convinced by some eloquent Apollos, or conscience-stricken by some vehement Paul, or comforted by some consohng Barnabas, or melted by some fervent John — the assemblies break up and return, fervently ejaculating their gratitude for the priceless privileges of Sabbath rest.” VII. THE FAMILY BIBLE. “ Star of eternity ! only star By which the bark of man could navigate The sea of life, and gain the coast of bliss Securely ! ” Pollok. “ The cheerfu’ supper done, wi’ serious face. They round the ingle form a cii'cle wide; The sire turns o’er wi’ patriarchal grace The big ha’ Bible, ance his father’s pride.” Burxs. The Sabbath and the Bible can live only in union. They are mutually dependent. The Sabbath is the “ right arm ” of the Bible ; and the Bible is the “ right arm ” of the Sabbath. Destroy one, and you destroy both. They live in each other, or they die in each other. The glory of the one is the glory of the other. The blessings of one are proportioned to the blessings of the other. The neglect of one is usually succeeded by neglect of the other. A family with a Sabbath is not thoroughly fur- nished wdthout a Bible, and vice versa. If it has the former, it needs the latter to hallow and sanctify it. If it has the latter, it needs the former to cherish and prove it a blessing. A family without a Bible is a family without a Sabbath, and a family without a (1.52) THE FAMILY BIBLE. 153 Sabbath, although they may possess a copy of the Scriptures, is, in regard to all practical results, a family without a Bible. The gaUant vessel, fully rigged for the seas and spreading its canvas to fair weather and a favoring tide, wiU, nevertheless, go to pieces on the rocks or quicksands, unless provided with a chart and compass. So, without a Bible, the family will make shipwreck of its purity and brightest hopes before it reaches the high destiny, for which the interesting relation was created. The Bible in the family, then, is indispensable to its prosperity, and the blessing of God upon its members. Wherever it is properly appreciated, and placed side by side with the Sabbath in the house- hold, there the loveliest virtues thrive. As long as the ark of the Lord was deposited in the house of Obed-edom, the blessing of God rested upon it, so as to impress the minds of all beholders. David, elated by a view of the benediction which fell upon that household, carried up the same glorious ark to his own loved city, that God might regard it with favor, and make it a city to his greater praise. So every head of a family, beholding the moral beauty that unfolds at household altars beneath the light of the Gospel, may ’wisely bear away this Bible treas- ure to his own home, sm'e that God will bestow his benison where the ark of his truth abides. The family, in its complete domestic constitution, has its origin in the Bible. This volume presents it in its primeval state, and surrounds it with all those guards and monitions which are necessary to pro- mote its purity and perpetuate its existence. It walls around this sacred institution with the most 154 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. positive commands, and threatens the extinction of natural affection with direful penalties. It would have mankind value their homes above all other earthly possessions, second only to a better home in the skies ; — the delightful sanctuaries where nothing that defiles shall enter — the beautiful grounds of social fellowship, where the buds and blossoms of affection and hope promise fruit for church and State. To this end, the Scriptures exalt woman to a proper dignity and honor in the domestic circle. They allot to the wife and mother a sphere of effort W'hich no one else can occupy. They impose a weight of responsibility w^hich at once supposes a high honor and importance to the place she liUs. How different, w^here the Bible is unknown ! A land without the Bible would be a land destitute of homes. There would be none of those little gather- ings of trusting hearts, scattered along the hUl-sides and dotting the valleys, which are the life and hope of a nation. AH the horrid sights and scenes of Socialism, and Polygamy, wmuld start up unblush- ingly at noonday. Lust would revel in unrestricted liberty, and modest virtue would expire in the streets. We speak thus positively of these dreadful issues, because such has ever been the exhibition, where the Bible is unknown. Even learned and polished France, rejecting the Word of Life, rolled a tide of infamy over the domestic institution. Her language, it is said, is destitute of the word home, and rightly enough, since she has had few habitations that de- serve the name. Wherever the Scriptures have not been circulated, woman has been degraded, and families, of course, wn^etched. She has been the sub- THE FAMILY BIBLE. 155 ject of brutal wTongs, and has pined away in the most abject and cruel bondage. Even noM^, in the nineteenth centmy, she is “ hated and despised from her birth, and her birth itself esteemed a calamity — in some countries not even allowed the rank of a moral and responsible agent — so tenderly alive to her own degradation that she acquiesces in the mm-der of her female offspring — immured from in- fancy — without education — married without her consent — in a multitude of instances, sold by her parents — refused the confidence of her husband, and banished from his table — on her husband’s death, doomed to the funeral pile, or to contempt that renders life a burden ; — such is her degraded and pitiable condition, in almost all except Christian lands.” * It is a fact worthy of notice, that there is not a school for the education of females, among the millions of Mohammedans and Pagans scattered over the earth, except those established by the benev- olence of Christian people. And what is more, where the Bible is not, there is no bright Elysium, no hope of immortality for woman. We are told that “ the Vedas and the Shasters and the Koran are all for man. Their temples and mosques are for man. The hour of prayer is for man. The sacred days and the festivals are for man. Heaven itself, their Elysium, then- paradise, is for man. No place is found there for woman. The houri of the Moslem is not the spirit of a departed female of the human race, but a distinct order, created for the sensual grat- ification of the faithful in the world of bliss. The * Dr. Spring. 156 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. woman has no need of prayer, of devotion, of re- ligion. She knows not that she has a soul.” When men break loose from the wholesome re- straints of the Bible, they run, with Robert Dale Owen, into disgusting socialism, which snaps asunder the marriage bond whenever the parties desire, and herds the sexes together in large “communities,” instead of uniting them in peaceful, pure, and affec- tionate families ; or, if they do not go heart and hand with that disorganizing Reformer, they never- theless attach little sacredness to the conjugal and parental relations. In just so far as they repudiate Christianity, they come to regard a trifling cause sufficient to sever the matrimonial tie, and advocate divorce in civil courts, to a degree that sends rivers of pollution, dashing and roaring over the land. We care not whither men turn to test the declaration ; those men who reject the Word of God are the first to undervalue the marriage bond, and the last to stem the pestilential tide which flows from unbridled in- dulgence. They are least fit to be husbands and fathers, — likely to wax worse and worse, until they become monsters in sin, to delight in vice and glory in their shame. Blot out the Bible in our land to- day, and all the influences which it has circulated, and you open ten thousand sluices of corruption at as many fireside altars to roll in streams of moral death from ocean to ocean. The family is then sur- rounded with no stronger bulwarks than are those of Mahommedan and Pagan countries. It is evident, then, that whatever is pure, and peaceful, and lovely in the domestic constitution, is THE FAMILY BIBLE. 157 derived from the Bible. This contains the family charter of rights — the code of laws and regulations which are to work out its purity, and perpetuate happiness. “ Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church.” “ Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands as unto the Lord.” “ What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.” “ Children, obey your parents in the Lord.” “ And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath ; but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” In such language do the sacred Scriptm-es address the members of house- holds. Carry these divine statutes to the most be- nighted family of heathendom, and let the spirit of God write them upon the hearts of its members, and the domestic virtues begin to live and shine, as in Christian lands. Woman is elevated to her true dignity, as the help-meet and companion of her husband. Affection solders the broken bands of wedlock, so that the conjugal relation is fruitful of mutual bliss. The hearts of parents are turned to their children, and the hearts of children to their parents, so that the parental and filial relations in- cite to a mutual and honorable fidelity. AU that pertains to the Christianized household is renovated, and made delightful with the charms and loveliness of Christian morality. We may safely record it as a fact, that wherever a famdy is harmonious and thoroughly disciplined, the pleasing result has been secured under the transform- ing influence of the Bible ; and wherever rupture and strife have nipped affection in the bud, and sev- ered ties that ought to have been coexistent with 14 158 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. life, it has been in consequence of departing from the counsels of the same Book of books. The traveller, on the brnming sands of Sahara, can tell where, in the distance, a perennial spring gushes from the earth, by the lofty palm-trees which wave their green tops above surrounding barrenness. So may the Christian observer descry where, in this fallen world, the Bible opens its fountain of hving waters, by the moral thrift and purity, that sin- gularly contrasts with the decay and desolation around. In the family, its influence is not less apparent. A thought, afready advanced, needs to be ex- panded. It is this : where there is no Bible, there is httle or no domestic affection. Parents do not seem to be so sti’ongly wed to their children, or chil- dren to their parents, as in Christian lands. Some of the most cruel and heart-rending scenes, in the annals of the past, were enacted in households far away from the institutions of the gospel. It would scarcely be possible to conceive of deeds on the part of the members of a family more devoid of affection than some of those recorded of households, where the Bible is not. Convey yourself, in imagination, over the sea to the green banks of the Ganges. The spicy groves, the delicious fruits, the balmy air, the charming scenery, all indicate that God created such a coun- try and chmate for the successful development of all which is lovely in the human soul. The river rolls before you in its might and grandem’, but teems with leaping and plunging crocodiles. The heathen mother, whom you see with an infant in her arms, is THE FAMILY BIBLE. 159 there to offer it in sacrifice to those hungry animals. With tearless eye and unfeeling heaid she flings it into the open jaws of one of those hideous monsters, and claps her hands as its little body is gnashed upon by this terrible leviathan. Leaving this scene of maternal cruelty, turn to- ward the crowd that is gathered in yonder vale. As you approach, you discover an aged matron lying prostrate upon the body of her deceased husband, on the funeral pile. Beside her stands the eldest daugh- ter, whose heart ought to glow with filial love too strong to admit of cruelty, to Idndle with a blazing torch the fires that are to wrap her living mother in then- flames. With cool deliberation she applies the torch, and lifts her voice with the multitude in wild vociferations over the harrowing spectacle. Run back in thought a single generation, and witness a scene in the Sandwich Islands, before the light of the gospel dissipated the moral darkness. See that group of sons and daughters, who ought to rally around the infirm and aged parent, dragging forth from then- habitation the decrepid father, and leaving him in solitude to perish, and become the food of birds and beasts of prey. Measure the bleaching bones of parents, scattered over Haiwaiian fields, who were murdered by their unloving chil- dren, in order to be rid of the burden of then- sup- port. With such a view, you have a proof of the propo- sition, that, where there is no Bible, there is no nat- ural affection. The fountain of love is sealed up, and the family becomes the theatre for enacting the most tragical scenes. A man’s worst foes are those 160 LIFE AT THE PIEESIDE. of his own household ; and the greatest calamity of his life may prove to be his connection ■w’ith a nu- merous family. But, to prove that the fountain of affection is dried up in every household that is unblest with the Bible, we need not resort to lands of ignorance. We may refer to polished Rome, in her palmiest days. Says Dr. Spring, “ such was the facility of obtaining di- vorces among the Romans, that the nuptial tie of- fered not the slightest resistance to motives of am- bition, avarice, or irregulated passion Oc- tavia, the daughter of the emperor Claudius, mar- ried Nero, and was repudiated by him for the sake of Poppoea. Poppoea herself was first married to Rufus Crispinus ; then to Otho ; and at length to Nero, by whom she was killed by a violent blow, at a period when the trials of her sex should have been her protection. For his third wife, Nero mar- ried Thessalina, and to possess her person, murdered her husband. Julia, the daughter of Augustus, was married first to MarceUus, then to Agrippa, and then to Tiberius. Livia Oristella was on the eve of a maiTiage with Caius Piso, when Caligula, enamored of her beauty, carried her off by force, and in a few days after repudiated her The extent to which the license was carried may also be learned from the poet Martial, who tells us that ‘ when the Julian law against adultery was revived, as a pre- ventive to the occupation of the age, t^dthin thirty DAYS Thessalina married her tenth husband, thus legally evading those restramts which the laws had imposed upon her.’ “ The Bible is indispensable in the family as a text- THE FAMILY BIBLE. 161 book for children. It is a cyclopedia of facts, and a picture-gallery of characters. The worldling thinks it unattractive ; but he would scarcely dream that he had seen it, were its thrilling scenes painted upon canvas. An excellent writer says, ‘ God knew that few would ever ask, what must I do to be saved ? ’ tiU they came in contact with the Bible itself ; and, therefore, he made the Bible not only an instructive book, but an attractive one, — not only true, but en- ticing. He fiUed it with marvellous incident and engaging history, — with sunny pictures from the old-world scenery, and affecting anecdotes from the patriarch times. He replenished it with stately ar- gument and thrilling verse, and sprinkled it over with sententious wisdom and proverbial pungency. He made it a book of lofty thoughts and noble images, — a book of heavenly doctrine, but withal of earth- ly adaptation. In preparing a guide to immortality. Infinite Wisdom gave not a dictionary nor a gram- mar, but a Bible, — a book which, in trying to catch the heart of man, should captivate his taste ; and which, in transforming his affections, should also ex- pand his intellect. The pearl is of great price ; but even the casket is of exquisite beauty. The sword is of ethereal temper, and nothing cuts so keenly as its double edge ; but there are jewels on the hilt, and fine tracery on the scabbard. The shekels are of purest ore ; but even the script that contains them is of a texture more curious than that the artists of earth could fashion it. The apples are gold ; but even the basket is silver.” To the gay and thoughtless, this may seem like extravagant language. To them, there may appear 14 * 162 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. nothing of beauty and grace in the Bible, that they should be captivated by its charms. They skim over its pages, as the flitting swallow skims the crystal surface of the lake. They afford themselves no more opportunity to survey the celestial scenery, than the traveller, in a rushing railroad car enjoys, to sur- vey the natural. The gems of the Bible are “ hid treasure,” discovered and possessed only by mining. Once uncovered, and the mind may be admitted to spacious chambers, filled \Adth the diamonds and precious stones of truth. There is a fabulous account of a land of gold, whither a hopeful adventurer, with hundreds from every clime, journeyed for the gathering of princely fortunes. In his eager searchings he discovered a subterranean cavern, whose winding labyrinths had never been explored. Attracted by a few diamonds spariding at its opening, the delighted adventurer entered, and rejoicingly stooped to gather the few scattered gems that shone at his feet ; — when lo ! his eyes were dazzled by the bmaiing brightness that proceeded from an opening recess. He hastened on, and soon found himself in a chamber of pearls and all manner of precious stones, sending up their brightness from his feet, and pomdng down the light of a thousand suns from above his head. On, on he hurried, to learn the vastness of this resplendent chamber; but he found no end. The further he explored, the more he saw to fill him with surprise, — the richer diamonds shed upon him their more than pyrotechnic splendor. So does the Bible reveal an exhaustless mine of mental and moral lore. The further and longer we THE FAMILY BIBLE. 163 explore, the more we behold to excite our admi- ration ; and could we live a thousand lives in grand succession, we could never know the limits of its heavenly treasure. But we must search, dig, study. The farmer “ subsoUs ” his land, and makes it rich to yield a double crop, by turning up the earth to the depth of fifteen inches below the sm'face. The pearl-diver descends many feet through the watery element, to gather his riches from the ocean’s bed. There isj also, a kind of subsoiling and diving necessary to discover the riches of the Bible. That the Scriptures contain numerous incidents, lessons, and scenes, which may be made to appear captivating to children, is evident from the fact, thnt they become exceedingly fascinating when trans- ferred to canvas by the brush of the skilful artist. The Deluge, by Trumbull — Moses on the Nile, by Rembrant — Moses striking the Rock, by Poussin — Belshazzar’s Feast, by Martin — Moses receiving the Law — Paul’s Shipwreck — Christ rejected, and Death on the Pale Horse, by West — the Last Supper, by Davinci — Christ in the Garden, by Guido — the Fall of the Damned, and the Resurrec- tion of the Just, by Rubens — the Transfiguration and the Madonna, by Raphael, — these are among the most distinguished pieces of the above-named artists. The beholder stands rapt in admiration, as his eye rests upon these wonderful productions. What examples of History are more bewitching and instructive than those of the illustrious patri- archs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob ! What can be 164 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. more natural and affecting than the history of Joseph, and the story of the Cross? What more simple and graphic than the narratives of Ruth and Esther, of Moses, David, and Paul? There is no need of beguiling the evening hours of children with the rehearsal of fictitious, meaningless stories, when the Bible furnishes truthful tales, romantic with incident, and pointed with a touching moral. It may demand of the parent more familiarity with the Scriptures to be able to describe graphically one of its scenes ; but the effort to become thus acquainted with its facts and truths is amply remunerated by inciting the intellect, and refreshing the soul. Let us here record one of these Scripture narratives as an illustration. The Nile is a large river in the land of Egypt. Many years ago, a cruel king, by the name of Pha- raoh, commanded all the Hebrew mothers to throw their little infant boys into this river. The king did this, because he thought the Hebrews were his ene- mies ; and if their boys were allowed to live, and grow to be men, they would be so numerous that they would be able to conquer his nation. But if he killed the boys, by and by there would be no men to fight against him. Now, the Nile was a river in which crocodiles and other dangerous animals lived in great abundance. So that every little child, thrown into it, would be immediately seized by one of these huge monsters. It was truly a very cruel act of the king, to compel loving mothers to cast their little babes into this stream to be eaten by the crocodiles! How their hearts must have bled as THE FAMILY BIBLE. 165 they kissed them for the last time, and gave them up to die in this horrible manner ! How sad and des- olate it left their homes ! There lived close by the banks of this river a family, who might have been poor, but as good as any other in Pharaoh’s wide dominions. Soon after the Idng published his cruel decree, a son was born to these Hebrew parents. They looked upon the lovely creature, and then thought of the king’s com- mand to destroy the male children. Their hearts were wrung with anguish. It was the saddest hour of their lives. How could they endure to see the innocent babe tossed into the Nile ! How could they part with a treasure so dear and promising ! The mother could not indulge the thought. So she took the babe and hid it in some secret corner of her house. For three months she succeeded in eluding the king’s officers, who were on the alert to see if his decree was obeyed. Often its pitiful cries threatened to draw some vigilant officer to its hiding-place ; but the ever-anxious mother would hush its voice by pressing it to her bosom, and loading it with ca- resses. But, alas ! the secret was at length divulged ! Some one had heard the cries of the hidden child ! It was noised abroad, as the parents verily believed, that a son was concealed in their habitation. What should now be done ? If once discovered, it might be dashed in pieces before their eyes, and they them- selves condemned to die, for disobeying the unfeel- ing king. In her woful perplexity, the mother re- solved what to do. She constructed an ark, or basket, in which the child might be preserved from the fury of crocodiles, and, if caught by the tide, 166 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. should float upon the water, perhaps, till God should provide a way for its deliverance. Hastily she laid the babe in the basket, and taking her only daughter with her — a girl about twelve years of age — hurried away to the brink of the sweeping river. The banks were lined with flags. In these she care- fully deposited the basket in which the infant lay, and, giving her little daughter suitable instructions, left her at a short distance to watch it, while she returned to her home. She evidently thought some Egyptian might discover the child, and take pity upon it. How full of sadness were those moments to that mother ! How anxiously she must have waited in her dwelling, now looldng out at the door, and then at the window, toward the spot where she laid the young child ! But soon, as God would have it, a daughter of the wicked king went down to the river with her maidens. As she approached the flags, she spied the singular basket, which she ordered to be brought to her. What was her sur- prise, on opening it, to find therein a little infant ! The child looked up imploringly, and “ wept,” as if to move the heart of the princely woman to pity. Its mournful cry the youthful princess could not re- sist. Slie felt that God sent her there to beMend the child ; and she resolved to adopt, and call it her own. All this time, the little girl, whom the mother left to watch, was looking on, miobserved, at a short distance. With a modesty and tact which few girls of her age possess, she stepped forward, and recom- mended a Hebrew woman, to nurse the child. It was her own mother, and the mother of the infant too. But this the daughter of Pharaoh knew not. THE FAMILY BIBLE. 167 The suggestion was adopted ; and, in a short time, the child was in the arms of its mother, no longer to be concealed ; for it was now the adopted son of the princess, and its mother was known only as its nurse. Happy, thrice happy mother! The child was saved, and her habitation made glad with its presence ! How remarkable the providence ! How wonderful the goodness of God ! Time rolled on, and the boy became a man, educated by the kind- ness of the princess in all the “ learning of the Egyp- tians,” and as good as he was great. He became the most renowned legislator and statesman of that primitive age. Such a narrative is captivating as a tale of fiction, while it is truthful as the Word of God. It pleases and charms, while it teaches such weighty and im- portant truths as the following : — The mysterious ways of Providence — Good out of evil — The wicked snared in the work of their own hands — The humble raised to power — God’s blessing upon the faithful. The Scriptures are abundant in similar scenes. They abound, also, in characters. K the parent would impress the child with the rewards of integ- rity and the importance of fraternal affection, there is the narrative of Joseph. K filial regard is the de- sired lesson, there is the history of Ruth on the one hand, with its delightful issues, and that of Absalom on the other, with its direful calamities. If the object be to awaken in the child’s heart an admiration for human excellence, there is the character of the youth- ful Samuel. Or, if it be to create a repugnance to immorality, and aU that is debasing and unlovely in 168 LIFE AT THE FIEESIDE. human conduct, there is the life of the unprincipled and abandoned Amnon. The Bible contains his- torical lessons, not only for every family, but for every child in a family ; and not only for every child, but for the cultivation of every desired virtue in every child. The writer once passed an evening in the family of a professed infidel. He was a reasonable, intelli- gent man, so far as it is possible for an infi del to be. He revered the Bible as a book of wisdom and pure morality. He advocated its reading in the district schools, and sent his children to the Sabbath school to study it. Yet he beheved it to be unin- spired, — a work of consummate human genius. I gradually approached the subject which would most naturally claim attention in an interview with such a man — the divine authenticity of the Scriptures. His numerous family of children were sitting around the room in listening attitude, when he whispered in my ear, “ I do not wish my children to hear me ex- press my vieAvs : I do not wish they should believe as I do.” He afterwards frankly confessed that he desired the moulding influence of the Bible to be felt in his family, — that if his children would love and reverence it, he should feel confident of their moral safety. I was defighted with this acknowl- edgment of the Bible’s power in the family, coming, as it did, from a professed infidel. He spoke the sin- cere convictions of his mind. He had interest, deep and true, swelling up from the depths of his soul, in that group of immortal minds ; and earth had not a book hallowed enough, in his view, to direct their unfolding powers, except the Bible. If this could THE FAMILY BIBLE. 169 develop the characters of his children, he could send them forth with a glad heart to battle with the em- issaries of sin. Such must be the feelings of every reflecting par- ent. Let the Bible be a work of human genius, and not a transcript of the will of God, and even then the child who will fold it to his bosom and bind its precepts to his heart, will rejoice his parents in the security with which he stands up against the rush- ing tide of worldliness. Its pure precepts and prin- ciples are better, in the prosecution of life’s great errand, than splendid endowments, or the munitions of war. Men feel a sort of safety where the Bible is found. A good story, which happily illustrates this point, is told of a Christian gentleman and infidel, travelling - in a sparsely populated district of the West. Their fears were somewhat excited by flying rumors that the region was infested with robbers, and that the general character of the people was suspicious. One day, night overtook them in a desolate place, and they were compelled to seek lodging in a dirty and dreary cabin. The strange appearance of their host excited their distrust, and they imagined that he was designing foul play. They resolved that one only should sleep at a time, and the other should watch. But while suspicion was on tiptoe, the lord of the cabin quietly took down a Bible from the shelf, re- marking, “ it is my custom to observe family wor- ship before retiring.” I need not say that both of the travellers dismissed their fears, and slept quietly through the night. In the morning, the Christian gentleman inquired 15 170 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. of his infidel companion, if the sight of the Bible, on the previous evening, did not completely dissipate his fears. He frankly confessed that it did. Here was testimony extorted from a foe to the Scriptures, which shows their value in the family. A “ king’s arm,” or a huge “ blunderbuss ” at his bedside, wotild not have afforded him so congenial protection, as did the sight of that Bible. It matters not whether his feelings and professions accorded at the time or not, the fact remains the same. A similar feeling is very general. The mother has fewest anxieties about the son or daughter who makes the Bible a daily com- panion. The traveller infers that the inn, whose rooms are furnished with Bibles instead of dice, is a respectable house. The merchant who sees the Bible roll out of his clerk’s trunk, as he unpacks it, is wefinigh disposed to give him Ins confidence at once. The boy, who seeks a home in city or coun- try, has no better recommendation than his mother’s “ gift-Bible ” in his pocket. So a household, v\ith a loved and revered Bible, has usually a good rep- utation. The Bible proves the richest treasure in the family in seasons of trial. Men in aU ages and nations have resorted to their religion for solace in adversity. Here alone they hav'e sought to find relief for the oppressed and sinking spirit. But I need not dilate upon this topic, since it is discussed in a subsequent chapter.* I will simply present in contrast some of the death-scenes which have been witnessed in fam- ilies with, and wdthout, the Bible. * Chapter 9. THE FAMILY BIBLE. 171 Baxter exclaimed, when he was about to step down into the dark valley, “ I am almost well.” Owen raised his hand and said to a friend, “ O brother ! the long-looked-for day is come at last, in which I shall see the glory of Christ in another man- ner than I have ever yet done.” Martyn, dying far away from his native land, in distant Persia, wrote in view of death, “ I sat alone and thought with sweet comfort and peace of God, in solitude my company, my friend, and comforter.” Evarts shouted “ Glory ! Jesus reigns ; ” and closed his eyes in death. And Payson exclaimed, in his conflict with the “ last ene- my,” “ The battle is fought ! the battle is fought ! and the victory is won forever.” On the other hand, Voltaire, who called Jesus Christ “ the wretch,” and poured contempt upon his gospel, exclaimed, in the agonies of death, “ I am abandoned of God and man. I shall go -to hell.” IVIhabeau died, calling out, “ Give me more lauda- num, that I may not think of eternity, and what is to come.” “ O eternity ! eternity ! ” cried the dying Newport, “ who can paraphrase on the words for- ever and ever ? ” The expiring Altamont exclaimed, “ Remorse for the past throws my thoughts on the future. Worse dread of the future strikes them back on the past. I turn, and turn, and find no ray. Death is knocking at my door ; in a few hours more I shall draw my last gasp ; and then the judgment, the tremendous judgment ! ” Precious, thrice precious is the Bible for the death- scene in the family ! The Christian prays and toils for the salvation of this ruined world. The mighty work wiU be accom- 172 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. plished by making the accession of families, one by one, to the elect of God. The church does not num- ber her trophies by nations, but rather by individuals and households. How, then, shall we hasten more sm’ely the redemption of mankind than by giving the Word of God to every family? We may mar- shal troops, mightier than the forces of Xerxes or Alexander, to subjugate belligerent nations ; we may- spread the refinement of learning and the arts, more polished than ever gifted the Grecian or Roman States ; we may foster a patriotism more self-deny- ing and sleepless than that of fabled story ; but the millennial morning will not break upon the darkness of earth, and the consummation of Christian hope be realized, mitU it can be said, by a faithful and ex- ultant church, the Bible is in every Family. “ Star of Eternity ! the only star By which the bark of man could nayigate The sea of life, and gain the shores of bliss Securely ! only star which rose on time, And on its dark and troubled billows, still As generation, drifting swiftly by. Succeeded generation, threw a ray Of heayen’s own light, and to the hills of God, The eternal hills, pointed the sinner’s eye.” * * Pollock. VIII. THE FAMILY ALTAR. “ Prayer is the golden key that can open the wicket of Mercy; Prayer is the slender nerve that moveth the muscles of Omnipotence.” Tupper. “ Then kneeling down to heaven’s eternal King, 'I'he saint, tlie father, and the husband prays, Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing. And thus they all shall meet in future days.” Burns. We have estimated the value of the Sabbath and the Bible to the family. The Altar of Prayer is the last, though not the least, in this trio of household blessings. Separately they have a positive and hal- lowing influence ; but in union, their greatest power is exhibited. As “ the stem, the leaf, and the flower ” produce the thriving plant ; as “ substance, coherence, and weight ” give figure to the countless objects of earth ; as “ the beginning, middle, and end,” fashion the immortal epic ; as “ the will, the doing, and deed, cotabine to frame a fact ; ” so the Sabbath, the Bible, and the domestic Altar are the three appointed uni- ties which can fashion a model family. As the leaf and the flower are not the plant without the stem ; as coherence and weight are not the fabric without substance ; as the doing and the deed are not the 15 * ( 173 ) 174 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE* fact without the will ; so the Sabbath and the Bible are not the blessing which God designed to the family without the Altar of Prayer. The duty of family prayer is not derived from direct Divine commandment. The Scriptures teach it rather inferentially. Reason enforces this impor- tant duty. Conscience smiles approval. And, es- pecially, the example of the faithful, in all ages since the advent of Christ, commends it to our regard. Far back in “ the track of time ” to the period when God’s peojile were in “ perils oft” for “ the faith once delivered to the saints,” we learn that the Altar was erected in the household. Morning and evening, the dependent and grateful members gathered around it in acts of pure devotion. It was their “refuge in time of trouble ” — their “ fortress ” and “ strength,” “ the horn of their salvation,” and their “ high tower.” The blessings too that have crow^ned the efforts of parents who have faithfully observed this rite in the family amount to an affirmation that God regards it with delight. As it is the duty of the heads of households to avail theiuselves of all the possible agencies of moral power in moulding human char- acters, so it becomes their duty to “ rear an altar to the Lord,” if its influence is as sanctifying, through Divine grace, as facts and the nature of the rite clearly evince. There is power in prayer. The Duke of Bedford was wont to say, “ I consider the prayers of God’s ministers and people as the best walls around my house.” There is security in prayer ; for it has power with God. It brings the “ wall of .fire,” and the “ pillar of a clourl,” for defence. On the first THE FAMILY ALTAE. 175 Monday of January, 1833, an extraordinary religious interest was manifest at the missionary stations in different parts of the world. Hundreds resorted to the missionaries to inquh-e, what they must do to be saved. It was the beginning of a great religious awakening. On that day, the churches of Christen- dom were assembled to pray for the nations that sit in darkness. The meetings for prayer were reported to be unusually solemn and interesting. Saints called upon God with unwonted fervor and faith. Some were said to “ wrestle ” with him. Is not here a connection between prayer and the religious awakening in heathen lands ? May we not properly regard it as cause and effect ? There is power, then, in prayer, — power with God, and through him, power with man. “ Prayer is a creature’s strengtli, his very breath and being.” * It may possess the same power in the Family as in the church or closet. “ The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.” It will bless the supphant parent as really as the supphant church- member. It can bless the children as easily as sin- ners in the street. There is abundant reason, then, to decide with Joshua, “ as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” The first effect of family prayer is, it wins the con- fidence of men. The openly wicked, who sneer at the humble followers of Christ, may make them- selves merry over this family rite ; yet, after aU, they have peculiar confidence in the man, who sincerely * Tuppei’. 176 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. assembles his family, morning and evening, for devo- tion. The godless wayfarer, tarrying for the night with a stranger in some dreary wdld, thinks well of him, if he bows with his household at the altar of prayer before retiring for the night. His confidence may be misplaced, since hypocrisy assumes various disguises. But the ceremony is effectual to cause him to feel that he is enjoying the hospitalities of a worthy family. The briefest visit to a family usually leaves some definite impression upon the mind. General appear- ances cause us to infer that one family is distin- guished for this, another for that good or evil quah- ty. As we meet the individual, a stranger, perhaps, his countenance, demeanor, speech, one or all, force the mind upon a train of inferences. We have our opinions concerning him without trial or jury. Right or wrong, the mind wlU infer. So it is with the family. Doubtless, every ninety-nine persons in a hundred, tarrying for a night with a stranger-house- hold, will be very favorably impressed by the morn- ing and evening devotions. They wiU set a higher price upon the moral reputation of the household. hlore is generally expected of a family in which an altar of prayer is reared. Men wait to behold tlie inffuence of the sacred exercise upon parents and children. If the same godliness and profanation of holy things is witnessed in the sons as mar the moral beauty of other domestic circles, they are sometimes led to doubt the sincerity of the sup- plicating father. This is no other than a Tribute paid to the power of family prayer. It is ^■irtuaUy saying, “ The Altar ought to elevate the moral char- THE FAMILY ALTAB. 177 acter of every member of the household. It ought to multiply whatever is ‘ lovely and of good report.’ It has power to mould a household into a model family. It can restrain base and violent propensities, and guide the wayward footsteps of youth into the paths of peace.” Thus, by the inklings of even wicked men, great importance is attached to family prayer, as a moral improvement, and an expression of moral worth. These intimations of mankind proceed from the honest convictions of the heart, so that we feel safe in stating the proposition, that prayer in the family, properly conducted, wins the confidence of men. The exercise of prayer will unite the members of a family by stronger ties of affection. Prayer, in general, with almost magical influence, eradicates moroseness and enmity from the human heart. Two enemies wiU speedily become friends, when praying for each other. Alienations are burned up upon the altar of devotion. No man will become our foe, so long as he sincerely remembers us at the throne of grace. We are confident of sharing his warm attachment so long as we have a place in his prayers. Hostility to us cannot abide in his heart, if he is a sincere suppliant in our behalf. Nor, on the other hand, can we long indulge enmity to another, if we make him the subject of earnest prayer. However much he may have wronged us, our hearts embrace him in the exercise of forgiveness and love so long as the true spirit of prayer leads us to supplicate God’s blessing upon him. Thus prayer eradicates sourness, jealousy, envy, bitterness, and enmity from the soul of the contrite suppli- 178 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. ant, and fosters love, with its long train of celestial graces. Prayer has this effect upon the worshipping fam- ily. We do not mean that such enmity as we have described above arrays the members of households against each other. But there is a vast difference in the strength of the bonds of affection which miite different households. Says Dr. Alexander, “ there are striking differences among famUies, in regard to the simple quality of cohesion. While some are a bare collection of so many particles, without mutual attraction, others are consolidated into a unity of love. Many scattering influences are at work. Some of these may be referred to want of system and reg- ularity ; some to late hours ; some to pecuUarities of business ; some to fashion ; and some to the dissipa- tion of vice.” Family prayer tends to miite these varying elements, — to increase the attractive force of affection, — to consolidate these repellant parts into a beautiful oneness. The child can nowhere be so favorably impressed with the strength of a parent’s love — a grace which children appreciate — as at the family altar. For there it gushes out from the soul in unfeigned and unstudied expressions of tender- ness, as the group of children are made the subjects of special prayer, and God is implored to care for their eternal interests. Family prayer makes ineffaceable impressions upon childhood. Mind is weUnigh chameleonlike, taldng the hue of whatsoever thing it touches. A word, a look, a deed, is enough to inscribe an imper- ishable record upon its imperishable tablet. A tran- sient act may impress it lastingly. And when that THE FAMILY ALTAR. 179 act is repeated day after day, and year after year, as is the fact with family devotions, the effect may exceed the arithmetic of human computation. The re- nowned Carthaginian, who desired to awaken in the bosom of his son an undying hatred to the Roman, led him to the altar in childhood, and there made him swear revenge to the Eternal City. The impression survived the changes and fluctuations of time, and brought the son, a foe, burning with unsparing hate, to the walls of Imperial Rome. So the Christian par- ent may hope to wed the heart of his child as strongly to truth and God, by leading him daily, with solemn and reverent mien, to the altar of prayer. It is there that he receives his first impressions of the existence of God, and a future state of endless felicity or wo. There these fundamental truths of Christianity gain access to his heart, without arousing its enmity as positive precept often does. There the sphit, in its childish simplicity, is made familiar with the oft for- gotten truths of human accountability and depend- ence, without which knowledge it dooms itself to perpetual aberration. There is the law of association,* which embalms the scenes and events of early life in vivid recollec- tion. It unites one part of human experience to another, so that the recollection of the one suggests the other. The old oak tree on yonder plat of green, beneath whose shade childhood and youth feUow- shipped in the largest liberty, is the centre of a thou- sand bright remembrances, fi'esh as of yesterday’s occun-ence. The play-ground, the school-house, the *For tke operation of this Law in another particular — in the formation of character, sec Chapter 12. 180 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. lake, the bucket, the grove, the orchard, all are sug- gestive of numerous tragedies and comedies enacted there. This law of the mind makes these early inci- dents a part of manhood’s experience, and suffers them not to perish. In like manner it spares from oblivion the sacred altar, where the father bowed in prayer, and around which the children gathered with becoming solemnity. It renders it impossible to for- get the family devotions, even in the remote period, and amid the infirmities, of age. The altar has a living history all the way along through life. Hence, we meet with the aged, who revert ^^■ith pleasing interest to the influence of family prayer upon their childhood and youth. It is one of the most vivid and delightful reminiscences of their waning hfe. Says a man of prayer, now ministering with holy hands at the altar of God, “ My heart turns to the family altar, where first I knelt by a mother’s side, and a father hfted his voice in supplication. Im- pressions were then made, which time has never effaced. With the first hour of waking, and the last hour before repose, the breath of prayer mingled. It aiTested our youthful feet at the opening of each day, and lingered on our ear, as we laid our heads on the pillow. Like the stfil, calm twilight, it blessed the dawm and close of the day.” This law may be as effectual to cause the family altar to live m the recollections, as it is to render the associations of the Lord’s prayer undying. The latter often awakens pleasant associations among the memories of the aged followers of Christ. Far back, in the history of life, beyond the nights of care, and a “ sea of trouble,” it shines as a gem to charm THE FAMILY ALTAR. 181 them back to childhood. It is one of the bright memories of home and youth, no less than the fields where they roamed, and the woods where they sported. It mingles with the remembrance of a godly parent, who taught them to repeat it when first their infant lips began to articulate. Month after month, with the shadows of evening, it was the good-night lesson that responded to the wishes of parental love. Other scenes of life’s morning may have been forgotten, “ nor left a trace behind,” while this lives on amid the recollections of age. The Lord’s prayer, and parental fidelity, are the wedded memories that descend with many believers to the grave. That man of fame, John Randolph, was heard to say that he should have been an atheist, but for the tender remembrance of that scene, where a pious mother bade him kneel by her side, and, taking his little hands in hers, taught him to say, “ Our Father which art in heaven.” Equally salu- tary may be the influence of the family altar. Dr. Scott, the Commentator, lived to see his nu- merous family of children professedly pious, and he declared it to be the fruit of his family devotions. “ I look back,” said he, a short time before his death, ‘‘ upon my conduct in this respect with peculiar grat- itude, as one grand means of my uncommon meas- ure of domestic comfort, and of bringing down upon my children the blessings which God has been pleased to bestow upon them.” We have spoken of the distinguished Cartha- ginian, who made a warrior, if not a pati’iot, of his son, by leading him to the altar of his worshipped deity. And we easily appreciate how" it is that the 16 182 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. household altar may contribute to inspire a love of country in the youthful breast. When the devoted father lifts his daily supplications in behalf of his beloved land, for her rulers, her institutions, her peace and the ark of her hopes, his deep fervor proclaiming the strength of its hold upon his affections, the lis- tening youth cannot fail to catch some of the patri- otic spirit that bursts forth from the depths of the praying soul. He learns to love the land for which a parent so earnestly supplicates the blessing of God He feels that it must have a claim upon his attach- ment, if it is worthy the notice and interposition of Jehovah. He associates its interests and destiny with the care and guardianship of God, for which a parent’s prayer ascends. So that Prayer in the Family may have somewhat to do with fidelity to the State. Family prayer exerts an influence upon the church. Those professors of religion who are neglectful of this duty will usually be found more or less regard- less of the ordinary means of grace. They are more likely to absent themselves from the place of social prayer, and stupefy the conscience by opiates of mere plausible excuses. And they who perform this duty coldly, with “ half a heart,” making the exercise formal and bm-densome, are usually num- bered with the dumb and inefficient of the church. There is such a vital connection between the altar at home and the altar in the church. If the fire burns brightly upon the former, it will upon the latter.* If there is faith, fervor, and earnestness * That secret prayer is tlie life of all Christian duties is not denied. We simply say, that whoever is faithful in the observ- THE FAMILY ALTAR, 183 with the first, there is also with the last. Hence a saint’s activity in the church is proportioned to the interest with which his family altar is sustained. Religion will thrive or languish in the church ac- cording as it has a living or dying existence in the family. There, too, the church is dear to every one of its praying members. Her interests are remembered at numerous altars in every village, as often as the household are gathered for devotional exercises. From a hundred firesides, possibly, in every thriving Christian community, the voice of supplication is ascending in behalf of the blood-bought church, at the advent and close of day. This agency is not employed in vain. “ For every one that asketh receiveth ; and he that seeketh findeth ; and to him that knockeih it shall be opened.” The suppliant may prevail as surely at the home-altar as at the church-altar. If he may be as mighty in prayer as Jacob in one place, then he may be in the other. So that the church has a glorious auxiliary in the family worship which is observed throughout Christendom. It is one of her strong dependencies, — a mighty weapon of her spiritual warfare. The influence of the family altar is blessed in affliction. When the heathen are surprised by sad intelligence, they wring their hands, tear their dishev- elled hair, cast ashes upon their heads, and fill the air with their lopd laments. Often the unbeliever, in this Christian land, is inconsolable under the burden of his grief, and harasses his mind with hard ance of family devotion, without any reference to the cause, will be found active in the church. 184 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. thoughts concerning “ the divinity which shapes his end.” But the humble Christian bows in sweet sub- mission to the bereaving Providence, and, drawing nearer to the hand which holds the rod, cries aloud, “ The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name of the Lord.” He repairs for consolation to the mercy-seat, — “ And seeks relief in prayer.” Happy retreat for the afflicted household is the altar of prayer ! The distressed and sorrowing spirit is there soothed by the silent influences that are wafted from the presence of God! The deep wounds are healed by the oil of grace, and the keen anguish is mollified by the balm of Gilead ! The minister of Christ, to whom reference has already been made, gives us the following chapter of his experience upon this subject. “ Away from home, I was suddenly, unexpectedly, called by an overwhelming calamity. Late in the evening I arrived at the mansion, and found the household in silent, unutterable grief. Without a word we pressed each other’s hand, and sat dowu and wept. Oh ! the agony of that midnight hour ! But father speaks ; oh ! how it reminded me of the morning of my first sorrow. “ E , we have had prayers, but now you have come, we wiU pray again before we go to bed.” We knelt, and amid breaking hearts, the voice of prayer went up. It soothed, calmed and refreshed us. It was as the cooling dew on the parched plain. I looked on my father ■with deeper affection, that he knew so well how to lead us to the fountain of consolation. It retived and strengthened THE FAMILY ALTAR. 185 all my former impressions of the worth of prayer, and the value of the household altar. In the sorrow which darkened my early home, I was led to the Lord for grace and strength ; and, in the trials of later days, I have abundant occasion to bless him for being thus early taught where to find the healing balm.” Such examples as the following exhibit the influ- ence of family prayer. A distinguished merchant relates, that when he commenced business for himself, he persevered for a long time in a conscientious observance of family devotions. Every member of his household was re- quired to be present, clerks, apprentices, servants, and aU. So long as he continued thus faithful, God blest him temporally and spiritually. At length, however, his business increased to such a degree, and his heart was so absorbed in accumulat- ing wealth, that he excused his apprentices from the morning exercises in order to save their time. Not long after, he persuaded himself that the successful prosecution of his business demanded that he should make the morning prayer with his wife suffice for the day. Thus, household prayer was forsaken, and for a series of years the family were not gathered around the altar. One day, this unfaithful Christian and parent re- ceived a letter from a young man who was his ap- prentice, when he was accustomed to maintain family devotions as a duty. Not supposing that the family altar was forsaken, the young man wrote as follows. “ O, my dear master, never, never shall I be able sufficiently to thank you for the precious privilege, 16 * 186 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. with which you indulged me in your family devo- tions ! O sir, eternity will be too short to praise my God for what I learned there. It was there I first beheld my lost and wretched state as a sinner ; it was there that I first knew the w’ay of salvation ; and there that I first experienced the preciousness of Christ in me, the hope of glory ! O sir, permit me to say, never, never neglect those precious engage- ments ; you have yet a family and more apprentices, may your house be the budhplace of their souls ! ” The merchant adds, “ I could read no further ; every line flashed condemnation in my face. I trembled, I shuddered, I was alarmed lest the blood of my childi-en and apprentices should be demanded at my soul-murdering hands. ... I immediatety flew to my family, presented them before the Lord, and from that day to the present I have been faithful, and am determined that whenever my business becomes so large as to interrupt family prayer, I ^\^ll give up the superfluous part of my business, and retain my de- votions.” The Rev. James Hamilton writes, “ Some years ago, an Irish wanderer, his wife, and his sister, asked a night’s shelter in the cabin of a pious schoolmaster. With the characteristic hospitality of his nation, the schoolmaster made them welcome. It was the hour of evening worslup, and when the strangers were seated, he began by reading slowly and solemnly the second chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians. The young man sat astonished. The expressions ‘ dead in trespasses and sins,’ ‘ children of ^\T:ath,’ ‘ walk- ing after the course of this world,’ were new to him. He sought an explanation. He was told that this is THE FAMILY ALTAR. 187 God’s account of the state of man by nature. He felt that it was exactly his own state. ‘ In this way I have walked from my childhood. In the service of the god of this world we have come to your house,’ He was on the way to a fair, where he in- tended to pass a quantity of counterfeit money. But God’s word had found him out. He produced his store of coin, and begged his host to cast it into the fire, and asked anxiously if he could not obtain the word of God for himself. His request was com- plied with, and next morning, with the new treasure, the party, who had now no errand to the fair, re- turned to their own home. Perhaps, by this time, the pious schoolmaster has met his guest within the gates of the city, outside of which are thieves and ‘ whatsoever maketh a lie.’ ” The son of a venerable living clergyman of New England, accustomed, of com'se, to hear the morn- ing and evening prayer in the family from his child- hood, left his home, when about twenty years of age, for a city residence. He was amiable and lovely as the “ young man ” in the gospel, and like him, lacked only “ one thing.” His new home was in a prayerless family. To him it was a new and sti’ange thing to witness a family separating for their business in the morning, and retiring at night, with no recognition of the God in whom they “ lived, and moved, and had their being.” His thoughts ran back to his father’s household and its sacred altar. Though not a Christian, its absence made it precious. Thought crowded upon thought. Inquiry pressed inquiry. Conviction succeeded conviction. His heart bowed to Christ. The strange absence of the family altar. 188 LIFE AT THE PIEESIDE. contrasted with his early home, brought him to the Lord. He lived as a Christian ought, died at twenty-six in the triumphs of faith, and is now in heaven. Such facts might be multiplied without hmit, showing the influence of prayer in the fa mil y in yet other respects. The above may suffice for illus- tration. The divine blessing, evidently, does not always abide upon families observant of this rite. The fact does not militate against the efficacy of family devo- tions ; for the reason of the failure lies in the spirit with which the exercise is conducted, or in the dis- crepancy between prayer and practice. Those sup- plicating parents who see no fruit of this daily ex- ercise of prayer in the family may belong to that class whom James addressed thus, “ Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss.” Error in spirit or matter renders prayer abortive. Or, their prac- tice may give the lie to prayer. The want of harmony between the language and spirit of sup- plication, and the actual demeanor, may nullify otherwise Christian influence, and make the family altar a “ hissing and byword ” with the ungodly members of the household. Prayer and practice are the twm halves of a pure Christian life. Their union only makes a whole. If the father prays for benev- olence, and practises covetousness before his chil- dren ; if he asks God for tenderness of heart, and indulges in frequent outbursts of anger ; if he sup- pficates that he may become eminent for heavenly- mindedness, and yet is content to remain absorbed in worldliness ; if he asks that his children may walk THE FAMILY ALTAR. 189 in a path of consistency, in which he does not walk himself ; if he prays that they may not set their hearts upon honor or riches, when he himself is plainly influenced by these transient acquisitions ; if at the mercy-seat alone he seems to feel that his children have souls, and elsewhere that they have bodies only ; if, in any manner and degree, his con- duct in the world belies his sincerity at the altar ; then, it is not strange that no divine blessing rests upon his household. Nor would it be a matter of surprise, if sons and daughters who have under- standing enough to perceive, and heart enough to feel, that “ consistency is a jewel,” should nurture a singular dislike of holy things, even with the noise of a father’s wordy prayers fading upon their ears. It might be added to the above, that the success of family prayer is hindered when one of the “ United head ” is unconverted. A harp with a broken string, and an organ with a dumb note, do not pour forth their fuU strength in volume and melody. Neither can a heart become strong in the Lord, when its “ other self ” feels no spiritual sympathy. Some one has said, that one of a wedded pair striving to advance heavenward by this family rite, while the other is world-loving, is “ like a bird trying to fly to- ward heaven with one broken wing.” Family prayer is much neglected by Christian people. This does not arise from cherishing the sentiment that it is worthless. Other causes, which we shall briefly consider, operate to bring about such a result. There is the pressure of business, — no time to seek the blessing of God on the avocations of the 190 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. day. The god of this world is served with such fidelity that he receives the whole time, except what is absolutely demanded for eating and sleeping. WhUe professing to believe that success cannot crown efforts in business, or prosperity attend the house- hold, without the blessing of God, some neglect to seek it. How grossly inconsistent ! The husband- man, who expects to reap a harvest without rain or sunshine ; the mariner, who attempts to sail ^Gthout a favoring wind ; both acting against their professed convictions, are not more inconsistent than is the Christian, professing to believe, that without God he “ can do nothing,” yet acting as independently of him in the duties and labors of the day as if he did not exist. No time for family prayer! Was not time given because eternity is coming ? Is time for worldly gains more valuable to the family, than for moral and spiritual improvement ? Is time for earth and hell more precious than time for hohness and heaven ? No time for family prayer, wiU be a mis- erable excuse at the judgment-seat. There is also fear — the fear of man — a slawsh natural fear. It is often a great cross for Christians to commence the duty of family devotions. For weeks and months the duty is neglected amid the reproaches of conscience. For it is very difficult, if not impossible, for Christian parents to persuade themselves that no obligation in this respect is im- posed upon them. They usually feel, that morning and evening they ought to assemble their families and commend them to a covenant-keeping God. But tliis natural timidity conquers, and the altar is not reared. This cause of the neglect of family THE FAMILY ALTAK. • 191 prayer deserves to be treated with less severity than the one named above. The fear of man has a place more or less prominent in the experience of every Christian, and many a good man has not the forti- tude to lead his household in prayer. It is much to be regretted, if it is not to be rebuked. The neg- lecter is the loser. His family share the detriment with him. After all the palliations we can muster, such heads of households may ponder, to their spirit- ual profit, the following inspired texts : “ There is no fear in love ; but perfect love casteth out fear ; be- cause fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.” “ And Saul said unto Samuel, I have sinned ; for I have transgressed the command- ment of the Lord, and thy words ; because I feared the people, and obeyed their voice.” Others still excuse themselves from this duty, on the ground of being unlettered, destitute of a pecul- iar gift for prayer. The excuse implies that erudi- tion, eloquence, or some other kindred endowment or acquisition is necessary to acceptable prayer. If Christians pray to be heard of men, it may be neces- sary to be both erudite and eloquent. But a “ poor, stammering tongue ” may utter a petition more beautiful to God than literature or learning can dictate. He, who is learned enough to ask a bless- ing of a friend, is sufficiently gifted to ask a blessing of God. The child who refuses to seek the counsel and guidance of a father, in the presence of others, because he lacks learning, is not more singular thah the spiritual child, who for a similar reason excuses himself from the duty of family devotions. Reader ! Perhaps your name is enrolled among 192 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. the people of God, and yet the voice of family prayer is not heard in your habitation. Children are grow- ing up around you, knowing that your name is on the records of the church, and yet beholding there is no recognition of the household God in their “ o-wm sweet home.” To them, religion is a matter of inferior consequence, since it has no distinguishing “ sign or seal ” in the family. There is little to distinguish their father’s household from those of their godless neighbor’s, now that the family altar is unknown. There is little, probably, when the voice of supplication is not heard, to impress them with the important truths of dependence upon God, and an eternity of bliss or woe. Fast as time in its rapid flight can carry them, they are hurrying to the judgment-seat, and will soon be there. Every mo- ment is pregnant with the decisions of life or death. Every influence, though silent and mild as an even- ing zephyr, contributes to turn the scale of immortal destiny. The voice of prayer will increase the prob- ability of the salvation of these perishing soifls. It may add only a small fraction to that saving in- fluence wliich brings them to Christ ; but'that fraction, in the salvation of a deathless spirit, who can esti- mate? Thus, the highest motive to be conceived m’ges you to rear an altar to the Lord in your family. All that is haUovs^ed in hope ; all that is precious in a blissful immortality ; aU that is terrible in a hopeless hell; demands that the sound of prayer should fall daily upon the ears of your unconverted children. Perhaps this volume may fall into the hands of an unbeliever, whose home, of course, is destitute of the THE FAMILY ALTAR. 193 altar. His children may say, with the innocent child who heard the voice of prayer in a Christian family, “we have no God at papa’s house.” We are told that in Greenland, when a stranger knocks at a door, he inquires, “ Is God in this house ? ” He presumes to enter only when the answer is in the affirmative. Alas ! from how many dwellings would strangers turn away in every village of our land, were this now to decide their entrance ! No God here ! From how many habitations would this response be given to the inquiry, “ Is God in this house ? ” Reader, you know not how great is the loss which you sus- tain, in being morally unfit to pray in your family. It is of more value than vessels of gold and silver, to have God in your home. He is a better guest to honor than a president or king. He can bless be- yond aU the potentates and powers of earth. When a family has lost its earthly riches, and experiences the squalid poverty of the world, without a title to the lowest niche in the temple of fame, it is more prosperous, with God for its guest, than the pam- pered family of Caesar. Reader, perhaps you are some unconverted son oi daughter, accustomed from childhood to listen to a parent’s voice in family devotions. Year after year you have been borne in the arms of prayer to the mercy-seat ; you have seen the struggles of a father’s heart for the salvation of his household ; and yet are unconverted ! You are a sinner against the weightiest obligations ; for every breath of prayer at the family altar has increased your obligation to love and serve the Lord. All the associations and 17 194 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. influences of that houshold rite have been as so many whisperings of the Spirit, exhorting you to be reconciled to God. Inasmuch as you have resisted more influences to remain in sin than the children of prayerless parents, so you are less free than they from guilt before God. Your praying parent may be slumbering with the dead. Those lips can no longer supplicate for you. Those hands can no longer minister to your happiness. That heart, which throbbed with delight at the sound of yom- young footstep, has ceased to beat. Those eyes, which often flowed with tears of anxiety for your conversion, are closed till the trump of the archangel shall sound. But the obligations, which the prayers of that pious father have imposed upon you, wdU never die. They win live on amid the chequered scenes of life 'udth undiminished force. They will abide upon you in every sphere of existence, at home and abroad, in the house and by the way, deepening and spreading as time advances, to yonr dying day. They will go with you to the bar of God, to mingle wdth the tones of his voice who pronounces the sentence of final condemnation or the welcome plaudit. The reflections of pious parents who have been faithful in the observance of this family rite, must be pleasant, when their children leave home to en- gage in the pursuits of life. Providence sooner or later breaks up these household connections, so far as to scatter the children abroad upon the various errands of worldly duty. Their hearts may be unrenewed ; but they go forth with aU the influences of prayer, which God can make powerful to reform, impress- THE FAMILY ALTAR. 195 ing their hearts. They may mingle in socialities and friendships where sin abounds, and temptation is fearful in power ; but the sound of a father’s voice in supplication has not yet died away upon the ear. One may toil in the marts of trade, in the midst of fraud and chicanery ; is not hope inspired by the thought, that he was reared where the great God had an altar ? Another may move in a circle, where the arts of fashion and pleasmu tend to allure from the path of virtue ; will there be no power in the rec- ollection of a beloved parent wrestling with God for his moral safety ? And yet another may make the home of his manhood upon the seas, exposed to the moral perils of the sailor’s life, corrupt associa- tions on shipboard, and vices of every kind in port ; what parent would not rejoice to have his son go to an ocean life with the memory of family prayer abid- ing in his heart ? These thoughts run onward to the future. The time will come, according to the “ sure word of prophecy,” when the knowledge of God will fill the earth, and family altars will be reared in the habitations of every tribe and people. The voice of prayer may not be heard in every dwelling ; but the habitations unhallowed by its utterance wiU consti- tute the 'exceptions to a general rule. Language cannot describe nor imagination conceive the gran- deur of that scene, when families dwelling in every clime, and voyaging on every sea, will bow as sup- pliants to a common Father ; — when, instead of the strife and feuds, the heart-burnings and aliena- tions, the vices and frivolities, the thoughtlessness 196 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. and gross sins of households, they shall gather in the exercise of love and gratitude around the altar, and there shall be one world-wide, universal con- cert of prayer, “ Our Father which art in heaven,” as if the earth were a single dwelling, and mankind a single family, and God the glorious Head. FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. “ There is a Reaper whose name is death, And, with his sickle keen, -He i-eaps the bearded grain at a breath. And flowers that grow between.” Longfeli.ow. “ Hark ! they whisper — angels say, Sister spirit, come away.” Pope. Sad are the associations as we stand within a dwelling where lie the dead! The once unbroken circle has now a vacant chair, and an awful void. The tomb-like silence, that reigns through each apartment, tells that a solemn crisis is reached in the household history. Earthly ties are severed, and “ love hes bleeding.” The room in which the sacred relics repose, awaiting the hour of burial, is a kind of “ Holy of Holies.” Though the spirit is not there, yet the human form in which it tabernacled is dear, even when dissolving back to dust. Softly we tread, as if our step would disturb the peaceful sleeper ; and long after the remains have been laid in the “ narrow house,” the apartment is hallowed by the vivid associations that come thronging there. This is emphatically a family scene. It will occur in 17 ■* ( 1 ^'') 198 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. every household. It will destroy these numerous intimacies ; for “ the land shall mourn, every family apart.” Few realize the dread imcertainty of life. Even the lamented Heber, who wrote the beautiful lines, — “ Death rides on every passing breeze, — And lurks in every flower ; . Each season has its own disease, - Its peril every hour, ” did not realize that he himself should illustrate their fearful import. Yet he entered the bath-room at Trichonopoly in perfect health, and was brought out a lifeless corpse. By a tie so frail are the joys of the family held on earth. It is true that “ death rides on every passing breeze.” A needle destroyed Lucia, the sister of Aurelius, while playing with her little son. A grape choked Anacreon, the sweet bard of ancient Ionia. A hair terminated the life of Fab- ius, once a Roman consul. A fly kflled Pope Adri- an IV. It is not alone in the wild tornado, or the raging pestilence, that death sunders the ties of kin- dred. It is confined to no boundaides or seasons. “ Leaves have their times to fall. And flowers to wither at the north- wind’s breath. And stars to set — but all, Thou hast aU seasons for thine own, O death ! ” * The emperor Mervanes had this motto engraved upon his seal : “ Remember thou must die ! ” God engraves the warning upon the foreheads of dying men. Philip, king of INIacedon, ordered his page to * Mrs. Hemans. FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 199 address him every morning in these words : “ Re- member, O king, thou art mortal ! ” God addresses not only kings, but every member of every family ; and not only every morning, but every evening and every hour, “ Ye know not what shall be on the morrow.” The history of families speaks of little else than death. One fourth of aU the members die before they pass the age of a single year, and only two fifths attain six years of age. Thirty millions of our race die an- nually ; about eighty thousand daily more than three thousand hourly ; more than fifty every minute ; al- most one every second. What havoc is here in earth’s countless families ! What disappointments, blasted hopes, and repining love ! While I write, what sever- ing of ties, what grief, what lamentation ! The earth is little else than a vast cemetery, and the sounds that are wafted to our ears are mostly the voices of the dead. For, every moment, some one of the human family is consigned to the dust, and the knell of death mingles its dolorous notes with the sighing of the be- reaved. We wonder not that the ancient Egyptians were accustomed to carry their coffins to festivals, in order to keep reminded of mortality ; nor that the Chinese kept them in their private dormitories. In the afflictions of families, death is presented under various forms, involving much that is dark and incomprehensible ; and these hidden ways of the Lord are often called the mysteries of Providence. A few facts wiU, illustrate. In the land of Moab, thirteen centuries before the birth of Chris^ti poor but pious woman, named Naomi, took uj^er residence. Driven by relentless 200 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. famine, she came with her husband and children from Bethlehem-Judah, — a place distant by the space of one hundred and twenty miles, over a mountainous region, and since honored by the an- gelic heraldry, descending to announce the Satdour’s birth to the watching shepherds. She came un\\’it- tingly to bury her husband and children in this heathen country, far away from the land of their birth, and the dust of then fathers. She came to learn a sad lesson of sorrow in a fatherless, husband- less, and childless home, — to see whither the widow’s heart will turn in her bereavement and haggard want, but to the widow’s God. What a complication of woe ! Driven by famine from her early home to a land of heathen strangers ; bereft of all her family in so brief a period ; left homeless and alone, to survive as best she could upon the scanty fare of pemny ! Child of Providence! The hand of God is laid heavily upon thee, and thou art ready to exclaim, “ Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known.” But thousands live to keep thee company in mysteries like these. After a long and chequered experience, Jacob arrived at Bethel with his family. He was one of the faithful few who hold on “ in the even tenor of then way ” amid aU the vicissitudes of life, — a man after God’s own heart. Scarcely had he left that sacred spot, before Rachel, his -^dfe, for whom he served fourteen years in Padan-aram, died ; and he heard from her lips, “ as her soul was in departing,” the name, Benoni, (the son of my sorrows,) given to her infant child. None more than Jacob deserved FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 201 the blessing of an unbroken household. None more than the infant child needed a mother’s watch. Yet the family was broken, and the child was made motherless. How many families could Jacob see, where the death-blow would have fallen less heavily ! How many, from which the mother could have been removed with less detriment ! Indeed, could he not have spared some other member of his own family far better ? But the Lord saith unto him, “ My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” The young man has laid his intellect and his heart upon the altar of God, and designs to become a reaper in the distant fields of the Lord, abeady white for the harvest. With unwearied diligence and the highest promise, he applies himself to the burnishing of his splendid intellect, and the cultivation of his noble heart. Around him cluster the brightest hopes of the family. But he dies. The flower of the household garden withers ; the jewel is plucked from its crown ; the star drops from its firmament. And yet the drone, the dissolute, the ignoramus, lives on in the same circle, the object of daily and hourly solicitude, the cliild of many fears and great anxi- eties ; — lives to add not a drop to the cup of do- mestic bliss, nor a unit to the value of the social compact, nor a name to the roll of the sacramental hosts ; but possibly to bring down the grey hairs of his parents in sorrow to the grave. Mysterious J^rovidence ! cries the disappointed mourner, arid, lifting his eyes to God, joins with the weeping 202 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. prophet, “ Let me talk with Thee of thy judgments. Wherefore doth the way of the wicked prosper ? ” and back the answer coiues, “ be still, and know that I am God.” The infant has lived to utter no word against the truth, nor to lift its hand in wilful disobedience. Its unfolding mind has plotted no deeds of sin. Its little heart has not ‘been stained by contact mth a wicked world. No passions rankle in its breast. It knows not an enemy in the wide, wide world. Its body is a beautiful casket, and its soul a priceless gem. But the infant dies ; and the desolate mansion rings no more with its laugh of gladness. Amid excessive sufferings he goes down to the dust, while weeping parents and surviving children gaze in silent wonder and awe upon the mystery of death. The gallant steamer * sails from the busy port. Warm hearts mingle on the crowded deck, in antici- pation of the annual festivities on the succeeding day. Yet a little whde and many will be welcomed to the home of their youth amid tokens of affection and hearty congratulations. But suddenly the huge fabric reels before the rushing tornado, and the boil- ing ocean tosses it as d feather from billow to billow. Now it trembles in every beam and timber, and anon it dashes upon the rocky shore, hning it with the frag- ments of the shattered ^^^reck, and the mangled and dismembered bodies of men and women. There perish the young and beautiful. There the husband and father, returning after two years’ absence, dies upon the very eve of the expected meeting. There * The reader will recognize the allusion here to the Atlantic. FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 203 the lover, on his way to greet his betrothed, goes down to a watery grave. There the lad of fourteen is the only survivor of an entire family, left fatherless, brotherless, and sisterless in a land of strangers. Hundreds of hearts are filled with anguish as the sad tidings fly upon the wings of the wind. Inscrutable Providence ! “ O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God ! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out! ” Such are some of the forms in which affliction comes to families. Men are accustomed to call them mysteries, and if rightly regarding a mystery, it may not be incorrect. Here is much that is dark and terrible in human experience. We can give no better explanation than that of the speechless lad at the deaf and dumb asylum of London. A clergy- man asked, “ Who made the world ? ” He took the chalk and wrote underneath the question, “ In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” He then inquired in a similar manner, “ Why did Jesus Christ come into the world ? ” A smile of de- light and gratitude rested upon his countenance, as he wrote, “ This is a faithf^saying and worthy of aU acceptation, that Jesu? Clpigt came into the world to save sinners.” A third question, eminently adapted to appeal to his feeflngs, was then pro- pounded, “ Why were you born deaf and dumb, while I can hear and speak ? ” “ Never,” said an eyewitness, “ shall I forget the look of holy resig- nation and chastened sorrow which sat on his coun- tenance, as he took up the chaUc and wrote, ‘ Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight.’ ” It is 204 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. the only explanation that can be given of many of the darkest scenes in our experience. But though the family relation is subject to such irreparable and sudden rupture, the Gospel brings its sure and delightful compensation. It comes not to clear away aU the darkness, nor scatter all the clouds, nor solve all the mysteries ; but to offer consolation, even when the ways of the Lord are “ past finding out.” The Rosicrucians sought to meet the stern necessity of death, by discovering a medicine to render the body invulnerable to its shafts, that man might live forever. But the Gospel offers no respite from the pangs of disease, nor seeks to elude the King of Terrors. It comes with its solace to the bereaved family, no matter when or how death does its work. It makes the soul joyful even in tribu- lation. Before proceeding to consider some of the doc- trines of the cross which are adapted to console mourners, a brief notice may be taken of the manner in which Christ treated the afflicted. Jesus wept. With the weeping family of Beth- any he wept. Heartless stoicism teaches that it is human weakness to weep, — that rigid insensibility to the loss of friends is alone evidence of true man- liness. It would have you “ feel the cold hand of death grasping those warm affections which are so deeply rooted in the soul, withering them up and tearing them away, yet shed not a tear.” It would have you assume this attitude of suUen defiance, and steel your heart against what is deemed the bolt of a stern necessity. But this unmans the man — mi- FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 205 humanizes humanity — unchristianizes the Christian. The poet fiill defines the falling tear, — - “ ’Tis natiire’s mark to sliow an honest heart by.” And Goldsri^h penned a still more expressive line upon the same theme, — “ In all the silent manliness of grief.” This is Christian. This is nature — human nature, perfect if you please, as in the sinless but weeping Christ. It is like the spirit of the gospel, that indul- ges our weakness, and never sneers at the natural expression of sorrow. Jesus wept! The sacred sympathy of his soul burst forth in a flood of com- passionate interest. The Son of God, the immacu- late Messiah, mourns at the grave where grieved affection droops. Surely, then, his followers may imitate his example. Nor is this aU. The Christian family may find consolation in the assurance of Christ’s sympathy for them in bereavement. The sympathy of earthly friends is invaluable in sorrow. The sympathy of Christ is far better ; and it is the more needful, be- cause the death scene imparts new energy and strength to the affections of the living. The last hours of an endeared friend, most of all, inshrine his name and virtues in undying memory. His suffer- ings, his words, his wants, enlist the affections with unusual devotion. Even where enmity may have soured and imbittered them, it is all forgotten in the scene of sickness and death. The marble brow, the sunken eye, the patient spirit, the look of tenderness, the calm and cheerful mind, the dying counsel, the 18 206 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. last word, the touching adieu, the unwavering trust, the final struggle, are haUow’ed memories to endear the dead to the living. The spot where their relics lie is “hallowed ground.” We love to linger there in the stfil hour of twihght, when the gathering shad- ows of evening invite to serious thought. There we plant the rose, willow, and cypress. We fence around the square, and thither conduct our friends, to show them how sacred is that unconscious dust. We call the grave-yard, in which we guard and orna- ment the family inclosure, “ God’s Acre.” Because of this fond endearment, the sympathy of Christ be- comes more delightful to the afflicted Christian fam- ily. The Saviour appears not as the champion of a heartless philosophy ; but as the friend, who “ sticketh closer than a brother.” “ The Lord reigneth.” This is the first consoling truth of the gospel wlfich we commend to the af- flicted family. Men may trifle with the truth when the sun of prosperity shines ; but the soul in sorrow loves to refer its trials to an overruling Providence. The aged tar may laugh at the humble Christian’s prayer, and call it superstition, when his vessel glides smootlfly over the tide ; but in ■'A’ind and tempest he appeals to God, — “ Who plants his footsteps on the sea, And rides upon the storm.” Then the mind rejects the doctrines of fatality and chance, and longs to find a mighty agency, beneath whose power “ aU things work together for good.” Then the thought is delightful, that the eye of Jeho- vah pierces through the darkest cloud to regard the FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 207 sparrow in its fall. It does not wipe away a tear, to know the nature of the disease that invades a family, and cuts down a member. But it does console to reflect that even the pestilence is under the control of Infinite wisdom and power. It is this precious docti’ine of Providence which gives new character to life. “ It scans the whole range of events, from the greatest to the least, from the beginning to the end of time, and through aU the limitless reahns of the divine economy ! And it sees nothing — it knows nothing — it admits of nothing, that can lift a successfully opposing arm against the Almighty in any department of creation. It knows no event, of however surpassing magnitude, that moves not at his bidding ; and none so small as to escape his ever watchful eye or wander beyond the sphere of his influence and control ; and it thus leads us near to God in the hour 'of trial and affliction, and opens to the mind the blissful truth, that, as is the charac- ter, so win be the consummation of all the plans and purposes of God.” It was this that prompted the afflicted patriarch to exclaim, “ The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name of the Lord.” It may be difficult for some hearts to feel that the darkest events of Providence, such as break the ranks of a family, and disappoint the most ardent affec- tion, are appointed in love. But it is no less true. The ills of adversity belong to the order of a kind Providence as really as the blessings of prosperity. God does not rule alone in the brightness of a sum- mer’s day, when the hills and valleys are robed in 208 LITE AT THE FIKESIDE. loveliness, the soft breezes fan the opening flowers, and the bright waters invite the bleating flocks. But he rules in the blasts of winter, scatters the rattling hail, and piles the drifting snows. He rules not only when the balmy air sends life to every plant, and the sun pours down his genial rays, but, — “ He yokes tte -wliirlwind to his car, And sweeps the howling skies.” He speaks in the booming thunder as reaUy as in the hum of insects and the sweet carol of the birds. His love pervades each scene, for he changes not. “ God is love,” in “ clouds and darkness,” as well as in the sunshine. So in the moral world, he changes not when he pierces the soul with many sorrows. In sickness and in bereavement, his benevolent heart is moved by the same kind design. He means our good and his own glory. Who does not rejoice in the reflec- tion, that sickness and death are under Divine con- trol ? How fearful would be the gathering storm, if it heeded no voice but that of chance ! So disease, careering over the land, independent of the Dmne vdll, would attack and consume its victims without a solace. He would leave the world in unmingled sorrow and anguish. How precious, then, is this doctrine, that makes death itself a messenger of God ! It stills the mental tumult, and leads the mourner to bow in sweet submission, because it is the hand of God. Richard Boyle ordered the fol- lowing sentiment to be carved upon his grave-stone, “ God’s Providence is my inheritance.” Even the FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 209 corrupt and sensual Moore, in an hour of trial, gave vent to his feelings in the following beautiful lines : — “ O tliou -svlio driest tlie mourner’s tears ! How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here. We could not Hy to thee ! ” Sad consequences have resulted in severe bereave- ment, where there was no recognition of this truth. Octavia, the sister of the emperor Augustus, sur- vived the death of her son MarceUus twelve years, all of which time she spent in mourning, refusing consolation from her surviving children, and choosing for herself darkness and solitude. The gifted Cicero gave himself up to in,consolable grief when his favorite daughter Tullia died. He had proclaimed to men the value of philosophy as the comforter of the afflicted. But it was no remedy for his own ex- cessive grief. So he erected a temple to the memory of Tulha, and worshipped her as a goddess. The pious Dr. Beattie, who recognized this doctrine in theory, but failed to rest upon it when his sons were removed by death, suffered in consequence a tempo- rary loss of memory. His biographer relates concern- ing the younger son, that “ many times his father could not recoUect what had become of him, and after searching in every room of the house, he would say to his niece, ‘ you may think it strange, but I must ask you if I have a son, and where he is.’ ” “ I am the Resurrection and the Life.” This is the second gracious announcement of the Gospel to this world of the dying. Death is gloomy and re- volting, when we regard only its externals. Confin- 18 * 210 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. ing our thoughts solely to its power in severing the ties of life, we shrink from its approach. Who that has stood beside the bier, and gazed upon the motionless corpse, cold, stiff, and marble-hke, has not revolted at the thought of death ! “ And death is terrible — the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier. And all we know, or dream, or fear. Of agony, are his ! ” * The closed and sunken eye, that once beamed with inteUigence, or flashed with delight ; the paUid hps, once uttering sentiments of wisdom, and the pulse- less heart, — strange contrast with life, — all awaken thoughts of sadness. When absorbed in this survey of a friend’s unburied remains, let the doctrine of utter annihilation take possession of the mind. The spirit, which once gave hfe and beauty to that form of clay, returned to primitive nothing — now non- existent ! All that is left of the once loved friend are the lifeless remains in the coffin ! A miion sev- ered, never more to be enjoyed ! Ties broken for- ever! Death — the end of all hope — an eternal parting ! If the pangs of sorrow can be increased, if a drop can be added to the cup of human bitter- ness, this doctrine is suited to such an end. Eternal silence to reign over the future ! A dark cloud drop- ping down its folds of blackness upon the tomb ! An indescribable chaos swallowing up life eternally ! Boding night — endless — without a morning ! Oh, what alleviation of sorrow to hear a voice breaking * Halleck. FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 211 the deep silence of such a scene, “ I am the Resur- rection and the Life ! ” How sweet to hail Im- manuel, as he comes to destroy death — “ to grapple with the mighty conqueror, and break his tyranny in pieces.” If over the desolation of winter, with its blasted buds, cheerless skies, and howling winds, no return- ing spring were to shed its genial influence, and clothe the earth with new forms of life, sadness would possess the soul as autumn buries the glories of de- parting summer, and heralds the rough blasts and drifting snows. But far sadder must be the heart of him, who commits a member of his own family to the dust, with no hope that he will “ live again.” But the soul shrinks from the thought of absblute extinction. The hart panteth not after the water- brook with more eagerness than mankind anticipate a future existence. Against the idea of becoming lost to consciousness at death, some entertain the strangest and most absurd opinions respecting the condition of the soul hereafter. The history of these singular opinions illustrates with what earnestness the race have sought to escape from the awful fore- bodings which the doctrine of annihilation inevitably creates. To some hearts it were more congenial to reflect, that the soul of a departed friend inhabits the body of a grazing beast or soaring bird. We have said that the young man dies. You have seen him die, — the young man of gifted mind, high attainments, and pure and generous aspirations. He is fitted for almost any office or calling, and can promptly meet almost any demand of his asking country. Yet alike with the unlettered and brutish 212 LIPE AT THE FIRESIDE. he falls in death. Who can believe that his gifted mind, just expanding into its commanding greatness, and fitted to wield a mighty influence over the des- tinies of men, has become extinct ? Who can be- lieve that his noble heart, with its pure desires and living virtues, has sunk to everlasting oblivion ? Who can believe that his regenerated soul, burning ■udth quenchless zeal to advance the truth, and glowhig with the purest passion, — love to God, — is lost in absolute extinction? None. Thought abjures the sentiment. Affection repudiates it. Religion abhors it. The imagination instinctively follows the spmt, as it enters the celestial land, and its faculties con- tinue to unfold in ceaseless and indefinite expansion. The reader has been pointed to the dying child. Perhaps he has gone down to the grave from your own family. As you stood sorrowing over the stricken “ bud of being,” with the soft tones of its voice yet ringing in the ear, and the recollection of all that was wmning and beautiful, vivid as the reafity, could you believe for a moment that all that loveliness had perished forever ? That there is no better, brighter world, whither such lovely beings go to dwell ? No ! For then would the giving of life be like weaving and straining the silver chords to see them snap asunder, — lilie fashioning the “ golden bowl ” to see it dashed in pieces. No ! “ In my Father’s house are many mansions,” and God hath one for the departed infant. “ Thy brother shall live again ! ” It was announced to the weeping sisters of Bethany at the grave of their brother. It was said to console them in their great affliction. “ Thy brother shall live again ! ” FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 213 He has not perished. He shall live as truly as he liveth on earth ; — live with all the faculties of his soul active as when he walked with you ; — hve in heaven — live with God. “Live again!” What words to revive the drooping hopes of men in this world of the dying, — to swell above the sdent dust of all that is loved and lovely ! If Christ had left the throne to utter no other words than these on earth, stiU His mission to the heirs of affliction would have been glorious. A larger debt of gratitude would yet have been His due than we owe to our best earthly benefactor. Go to the chamber of the dying believer, and there learn how precious is this truth. Draw aside the curtain that conceals the last hours of a saint’s exist- ence on earth. Hear his faltering accents of joy and peace, — a man exulting as he grapples with his last fierce foe. Victorious struggle ! Look on, railing sceptics, God bids you look, to witness joy in intens- est suffering, hope refulgent as the breaking morn, and patience in the veriest agonies ! Whence comes that peace so like a river ? It is the fruit of the hope which he cherishes “ to live again.” Hear his triumphant language. “ I know that my Redeemer liveth.” “ I shall be satisfied when I awake with thy hkeness.” “ For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” “ O death, where is thy sting ? O grave, where is thy victory ? ” “ It is good for me that I have been afflicted.” This is the last consoling truth of the Gospel to which I direct the afflicted family. This dissipates 214 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. many of the so-called “ mysteries of Providence,” and presents afflictions as “ blessings in disguise.” They are no longer unmingled evils. This is not only the doctrine of the Scriptm'es, it is the lesson of experience and observation. It is taught by the pen of the essayist and poet. One has said, “ It is better to go to a fmieral than a festival,” — a sentiment derived from the proverb of Solomon, “ It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting.” Even the heathen Demetrius said that “ nothing could be more unhappy than the man who had never known affliction.” Goldsmith gave the sentiment a place in the following stanza : — “ Aromatic plants bestow No spicy fragrance while tliey grow ; But, cruslied or trodden to the ground, Dllfuse their balmy sweets around.” Prosperity is seldom, if ever, turned to such val- uable uses as affliction. It is not in the full tide of prosperity that the kindliest graces of the heart are developed. The strongest bond of sympathy is created between coheirs in affliction. On such a soil as adversity, the benevolent emotions thrive best. Two hearts, similarly afflicted, have strong affinities. They sustain a relation to each other peculiarly tender. They maintain a cherished intercourse. All their feelings are peculiarly fraternal. The widow clasps the hand of widow yvdth singular de- votion. The orphan meets a fellow orphan with such gushing sympathies as strangers to the sorrow cannot exhibit. The bereaved parent condoles with his afflicted neighbor in the loss of his children as FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 215 others cannot. Almost with magic charms, this discipline of affliction brings hearts together. Noth- ing so effectually removes discordant elements from the household. Affection often glows with new and vigorous life over the corpse of a parent or child, brother or sister. By strong ligaments of sympathy, it may sometimes unite the members of a family otherwise alienated and unhappy. Here, too, is often insured a thrifty growth in grace. The dross of human corruption is purged from the heart, while Christ, as the “ refiner and purifier of silver,” sits to superintend the process. Plowever severe the ordeal of grief to which a person is subjected, if that alone will win the wanderer fi'om the paths of worldhness, and cause him “to run with patience the race that is set before him,” it must be accounted a “ blessing in disguise.” Indeed, did we know that a backshder might be aroused from his moral stupor and made a burning and shining light by the death of some member of his family and by that alone, with an ardent faith and an approving conscience we could supplicate God to send the necessary bereavement. We read of Manasseh, “ when he was in affliction, he besought the Lord his God, and humbled himself greatly be- fore the God of his fathers.” The Psalmist declared, “ before I was afflicted I went astray ; but now have I kept thy word.” And the gi-eat Apostle, in his letter to the Hebrews, says, “ Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous ; nev- ertheless, afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.” When afflictions thus “ carry us back to God, and 216 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. purge the heart and life from sin, leaving both more pure, heavenly, and humble than they found them ; or when, better stiU, a long-continued and most bereaving trial leads a Christian to do what it is said the pearl oyster does, that is, secrete from itself a precious substance to cover the irritating grain of sand or sharp bit of metal that has got within its shell, thus turning it into a gem, how blessed the effect ; and who would not be almost willing to bear the tiial for the sake of the resulting pearl ? ” Often affliction saves the soul. “ We must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God.” “ Our light affliction, which is but for a mo- ment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” Examples, as illustrations of this truth, accumulate on every hand. We cite but one. Many years ago, upon a promontory jutting out into the waters of the Atlantic, in a des- olate locahty, and upon a rocky shore, stood a humble cottage, apart from human habitations. When the storm-winds howled along that dangerous sea, and the night grew dark with tempest, a friendly light was seen through the lonely watches, beaming from the window of that humble dwelling. Now and then it would reveal a form passing and repassing behind it with quick and anxious pace. All through the stormy night, the taper was kept brightly burning to cheer and warn the mariner. The sailors called it the “ Lighthouse.” There lived a widow, once god- less, but now Christhke. She had seen, from her lonely habitation, the vessel in which her husband sailed, returning from a long voyage, dashed upon the rocks by a pitiless gale. Then she saw her hus- FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 217 band, within sight of his own home, his heart beating high to cross the threshold, swallowed in the boiling sea. She was almost near enough to hear his voice mingle with the roar of the warring elements, yet powerless to aid. Heart-rending affliction! But it brought her to Christ. She lived to save many mariners, cast upon those shores in boisterous nights. With her humble fare she fed them ; with her cheer- ful fire she warmed them ; from her loved Bible she instructed them ; and with the voice of prayer she daily interceded for them. The Eastern shepherd, folding his flock at night, takes up the new-born lamb in his arms, and bears it away to the fold, sure that the careful mother will closely follow. So Christ has won many a pro- crastinating parent by first taking the child to his bosom in glory. The line of ParneU has many affecting illustrations : — “ Then God, to save the father, took the son.” How beautiful are some of the scriptural allusions upon this subject ! “ They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.” “ He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.” “ The ransomed of the Lord shah return and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads ; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” Here we may profitably contrast some of the proffered consolations of worldly philosophy with these delightful supports of the Gospel. The first to which the reader’s attention may be directed is ex- 19 218 LIFE AT THE FIEESIDE. pressed by the phrase “ common lot.” The idea more fully expressed stands thus : — this is the com- mon lot of men ; they are born to trouble ; it comes in every form ; others mourn, and so must we. All this may be very true, and harmonize with Scripture, observation, and experience ; but this alone will not administer comfort. Will it console the weeping mother, going with her heart oppressed wdth sorrow to lay her beautiful babe in the grave, to be told that other parents are called to a like affliction ? Will it dry the tears of the afflicted wife, following the remains of her companion to the tomb, to hear the intelligence, that thousands experience a similar be- reavement ? Not at aU. Here is no recognition of the Divine hand. A heathen would say the same. A deist believes it wdth aU his heart. W^ere no God upon the throne, as much might be said with equal truth. If consolation can be found in such counsel as this, then we need no religious truth, no Word of God, no God himself. We may live and die. hke the heathen, consoled by the fact, suited to awaken commiseration rather than dehght, that multitudes are crushed by similar sorrows. “We must be resigned to our fate.” This coun- sel belongs to the same category as the above. There is no acknowledgment of the Divine gov- ernment. It means, if it means any thing, that we should meet our earthly lot, whatever it may be, as unalterable, without reference to its meaning or its cause. We cannot help ourselves, so we must sum- mon our natural fortitude, and meet the shock heroi- cally, as the warrior faces the mouth of a loaded can- non. Such counsel appeals to those elements of FAMILY APFLICTIOHS. 219 character that make a brave soldier on the battle field, but not a Christian at the Cross. There is less religion in it than there was in the old doctrine of the Fates, as taught by the ancient Mythology. The Fates were reported to be “ three sisters, daugh- ters of Night, whom Jupiter permitted to decide the fortune, and especially the duration, of mortal life. One of them attached the thread, the second spun it, and the third cut it off when the end of life arrived.” There is more of a religious character here than in the counsel quoted above, because it recognizes an ever-watchful and overruling agency in human ex- perience. It is more consistent with the relations of a dependent being, to acknowledge even an infernal agency in human destiny, than no agency at all. I would as lief die amid the darkness of this old, mys- tic doctrine of Greece and Rome, as amid the no less darkness that accompanies such miserable coun- sels of worldly philosophy. “We all must die.” The author once heard this sentence uttered in an afflicted family, over the very remains of a deceased member, amid the sighs and sobbings of agonized hearts ; and it was uttered in a tone which indicated that the speaker thought he had brought, in the words, some “ balm of Gilead ” to bleeding hearts. Poor human comforter! He stood in the midst of weeping, and his sympathetic heart was aU alive to administer consolation. He desired to speak some word, or utter some sentiment that would dry a tear, or prevent a pang. But he had never been himself to the Cross, and how could he impart consolation ? His poor, dumb mouth found no word or way of utterance till his worldly 220 LIFE AT THE PERESIDE. philosophy parted his lips, and bade him say, “ AU must die.” Without religion, how impotent is man in fhe house of mourning ! He has not a thought nor word nor emotion suited to meet the wants of grieving souls around him. How dare he live ex- posed with all his family to sudden and dreadful rup- ture, by misfortune and death, with no imfailing refuge in trouble, and no covert from the storm! He can exclaim, “ common lot ” — “ we must be re- signed to our fate ” — “ aU must die ” — and this is the climax of his consolation ! Such advisers in the habitation of mourning are like Job’s three firiends, “ miserable comforters.” “ Thy wlU. be done.” This is the mommer’s lan- guage of submission, and is the hardest, last-learned lesson in the school of Christ. Yet it may be learned. The difference between the counsels of the gospel and those of the world, as before con- sidered, presents the ground of this cordial and com- plete submission. When, from an overflowing heart, the bereaved family can lift this triumphant prayer, they are ready to exclaim with David, “ It is good for me that I have been afflicted.” In this petition we recognize the truth that “ the Lord reigneth,” and virtually profess to “ rejoice.” We voluntarily offer to resign the dearest objects we possess, — wealth, pleasure, fame, friends, or life it- self. We invite, yea, we implore God, if he pleases, to give wings to the last farthing of our possessions, to disappoint our hopes, to thwart our cherished plans, to distress our families, to cut down a friend by death ; and now, what though he send the blight and mUdew upon our harvest fields, did we not im- FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 221 plore him to do it, if he pleased ? What though he withholds his blessing from the secular enterprise, and it terminates in failure, did we not invoke him to do his wiU ? What though he take the parent, husband, wife or child, and gloom and darkness cover our pathway, was not our supplication, “ Thy will be done?” This may be its answer. Some of the rough gales, that sweep the shores of time, are but the answerings of a God who hears this prayer. With no uttered or imagined proviso, or condition, with no reserved liberty to interpose a question, we pray, “ Thy will be done.” A Sabbath school teacher was inparting instruc- tion to his class upon this portion of the Lord’s Prayer — “ Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” “ You have told me,” said he, “ what is to be done — the will of God; and where it is to be done — on earth ; and how it is to be done, — as it is done in heaven. How do you think the angels and the happy spirits do the will of God in heaven, as they are to be our pattern ? ” The first child replied, “ They do it immediately ; ” the second, “ They do it diligently ; ” the third, “ They do it always ; ” the fourth, “ They do it with all their hearts ; ” the fifth, “ They do it altogether.'^' Here a pause ensued, until at length a little girl arose and said, “ They do it without asking any questions." No commentator has ever given a better interpretation of this petition. This is true SUBMISSION, — to bow “ without asking any questions." Less than this is calling in question Divine equity. Then, is not this lesson of submission a difficult one to learn ? Is it easy in all circumstances to say, 19 * 222 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. “ Thy will be done,” and say it in good faith ? Sup- pose it is a bright morning of winter, and your hopes are bright as the morning ; your children go out to learn lessons in the school-room to return again at noontide hour as buoyant as when they left. You dream not that a lesson of sublimer import than theirs is to be submitted to yourself before the close of day. But in an unexpected moment there is a terrible crash, and hundreds of pupils are precipitated Irom a dangerous height, amid wild shrieks of terror and stifled death-groans. The children, whom you ex- pected to greet in a few brief hours, are brought home and laid corpses at your feet. You are child- less. Is submission an easy lesson to learn ? Can a graceless heart lift the supplication over this scene of death, “ Thy will be done,” believing that it were better that such a sorrow discipline the heart ? You are a passenger on board some ill-fated Atlantic. You are bound after a long absence to the place of your birth, where affectionate hearts are waiting to bid you welcome. A few more hours, and your feet will stand in the hall that once re- sounded with your voice, and had a circle which needs your presence only to render its numerous relationships unbroken. But a furious storm tosses your boat upon the sea, and amid the crashing of glass, the roaring of waves, and the jutting of rocks, you yield up life in despair. Is it easy to say to the God who speaks, and the tvdnds and waves obey him, who commands, and the elements has- ten to destroy — is it easy to say in honesty, “ Thy will be done ? ” Yet the lesson may be learned. Who that has FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 223 confidence in the character and providence of God, and truly believes that “ all things work together for good to them that love God ” cannot bow in meek submission to his will? So did John Elliot when he said, “ I have had six children, and I bless God for his grace, they are all with Christ or in Christ, and my mind is at rest concerning them. My desire was that they should serve Christ on earth ; but if God win choose to have them serve him in heaven, I have nothing to object to it. His will be done.” So did the good archbishop of Cambray, when his royal pupil, the young duke of Burgundy, died. Said he, “ If there were needed no more than the moving of a straw to bring him to life again, I would not do it, since the Divine pleasure is otherwise.” So have many others done. “ And he said. These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.” Their sore afflictions win for them a “ more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” Their joy is sweeter for having sown in tears. Their crown is brighter for having passed the fiery trial. The discipline of trib- ulation magnifies the glories of immortality. “ The greater the trial, the brighter the crown ! ” To us who are looking for a “ better country, even an heav- enly,” this is a grateful truth. It presents the em- bodiment of aU that is hallowed in thought, aU that is elevating in desire, and all that is precious in the consummation of hope. A few fleeting years of sorrow we “ count all joy,” if the resulting fruit is a richer reward at God’s right hand. We can well afford to weep over disappointed expectation, and 224 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. affection can afford to droop over the dust of "the departed, if it shall add one drop to our cup of bliss in the Paradise of God. The purest earthly enjoyment succeeds the gloom- iest hours of trial. The sweetest rest comes after a season of wearisome toU. The most refulgent sun shines after the darkest day. Hope’s realization is more complete after long-delayed and suffering ex- pectation. The long-absent mariner anticipates the end of his tedious voyage. His thoughts often wander over the treacherous waves to his home and kindred, and he sighs for his native land. But the adverse winds delay him in his course, and alternate hope and fear pervade his heart, as sunshine smiles or tempests lower, all serving to magnify the happy meeting of friends which his imagination paints. Hours drag heavily, and the gales seem to withhold their waftmg influence, as anticipation strengthens wdth the passing weeks. Nearer and nearer he ap- proaches the desired haven, until at length the green hiUs of his childhood’s home heave in sight, and his anxious friends welcome liim to the shore. TMio can measure his joy? It is greater because of perils and hairbreadth escapes. Li this is a true sjTubol of the Christian’s life. He sails on smooth waters to-day ; to-morrow the sea is rough. Now fear agitates liis bosom ; then hope brightens. He thinks of the pure abode of the righteous ; but the land is not in sight. Anon it bursts upon his view, and the redeemed of God welcome him to its blissful inheritance. His reward is greater for the - perils of the way. Now, his “joy is unspeakable and full of glory.” X. FAMILY EEADING. “ She shuts the dear, dear book that made her weep, Puts out her light, and turns away to sleep.” Sprague. “ Books should to one of these four ends conduce. For wisdom, piety, delight, or use.” Denham. Books are the embalmed thoughts of men and women, who are absent or dead. Through them we may visit aU climes and ages, and fellowship with aU sorts of spirits. A good book is a good companion. Next to fellowship with the living author, its in- fluence is hallowed upon the mind and heart. A bad book is a bad companion. Next to the direct influence of its vicious author, it corrupts the moral being. If the principles, maxims, and counsels con- tained in numerous books were known to be em- bodied in the character of an individual, few parents would consent to his companionship with their chil- dren. May not the same principles, maxims, and counsels have equal power upon the printed page ? If a living man is a dangerous associate because Otf his corrupting sentiments and conduct, then what must be the influence of his book, which is but a transcript of his mind ? If a man is a good or (225) 226 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. bad companion, so is a book. “ Evil communi- cations corrupt good manners,” whether exemplified, spoken, or penned. To every intelligent family, this is a matter of great importance. Reading is no small item in the history of numerous households. How much it has to do with the formation of character therein, we may not be able to determine. Doubtless it in- spires sentiments, awakens emotions, cultivates prin- ciples, and forms tastes, wMch have much to do with both temporal and eternal destiny. At least, weU- conducted reading becomes to aU the members of a family, recreation, amusement, and profit. Sir John Herschel said, “ Were I to pray for a taste which should stand me instead under every variety of circumstance, and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me dm-ing life, and a shield against its iUs, however things might go amiss, and the world frown upon me, it would be a taste for reading. Give a man this taste, and the means of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of making him a happy man, unless, indeed, you put into his hands a most perverse selection of books. You place him in contact with the best society in every period of history ; with the wisest, the wittiest, the tenderest, the bravest, and the purest characters who have adorned humanity. You make him a denizen of aU nations, a contemporary of aU ages. The world has been created for him.” Happy family is that which has a taste for read- ing ! Promising children are those, who love to read for knowledge ! But then, the exercise needs to be under the dfiection of care, discrimination, and wis- I’AMILY READING. 227 dom. For a book may blast the brightest hopes of youth, — gather clouds and darkness over the pros- pects of a family, — bring parents, sorrowing, to an untimely grave. It is not our object to impart counsel as to what shall be read ; but to raise the note of warning against one kind of reading which is prevalent in every village of the land, especially among the young. I mean novel reading. What is a novel? This question demands an answer. Is every work of fiction a novel ? Surely not. AU novels are fiction ; but all works of fiction are not novels. We have tales, as those of Mar- montel, — fables, as those of ^sop, — allegories, as that of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress. These may be imaginative, fictitious ; but they are not characterized by the deep-laid plot, the variety of characters, and the importance of the catastrophe, which distinguish the novel. The following definition of terms, ap- proved by the best authorities, may aid in presenting a more lucid answer to the above question. A fable is allegorical — its characters are imagi- nary. A tale is fictitious, but its characters are not imaginary ; they are drawn from real life. An alle- gory is “ a figurative description of real facts.” A novel is a more complex, thrilling, and bewitch- ing kind of fiction than the tale. Its characters are more various ; its contrivance to awaken the reader’s curiosity, and keep him in suspense, more marked ; its events are more numerous and rapid ; its scenes more marvellous ; and its plot more intensely excit- ing. Of course, it appeals more strongly to the pas- sions. 228 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Romance is a kind of fiction in which the charac- ters and scenes appear more extraordinary and won- derful than in the novel. Hence, it appeals to the passions with more force than even the novel. With these defiiutions we shall be able to answer more distinctly the question, what is a novel ? There is a great lack of discrimination in WTiting and talk- ing upon this subject. Some have defended novel reading, on the ground that Runyan’s Pilgrim’s Pro- gress, and Uncle Tom’s Cabin belong to this class. But our definitions make the former strictly an alle- gory, and the latter a tale. They widely differ from a novel. A novel, then, is not every form of fiction. It is not fable, nor allegory, nor a tale. It is just what we have defined it to be above. We do not, then, denounce all fiction as worthless and pernicious. For some is profitable for counsel and reproof. We embrace in our view all that class of writings which the above definition of a novel embraces ; and since romance is but the novel made more wonderful and marvellous, we give to the term novel reading a wider latitude, and apply our remarks also to this class of writings. Nor do we speak alone of this corrupting fiction bound in cloth, sheep, morocco, or gdt ; but we speak of it in whatever form it appears, whether in bound volume, in cheap pamphlet, or in the columns of a penny news-sheet. That there is a marked difference between the moral character of novels, against which we would raise the note of alarm, we do not presume to deny. Ivanhoe, for instance, is preferable to Thaddeus of Warsaw ; and no Christian would long remain in doubt which to put into the hand of a son or daugh- FAMILY BEADING. 229 ter, if compelled to give them one or the other. Yet, who would not feel safer, and far happier, in putting into their hands some work of science, history, or morality, than in giving them even the polished Ivanhoe ! That some Christian men and women have writ- ten novels, we do not deny. But then their works were never popular. The more marked the tone of morality upon their pages, the less eagerly they have been sought, and been consigned the sooner to obliv- ion. Were a writer now, however rich in reputation, even some world-famed Scott or Bulwer, to com- mence the preparation of novels for moral instruction alone, he could not meet the sickly wants of the novel-reading community. The Religious Courtship, and Thornton Abbey, by Defoe, bearing upon every page the evident design of the author, that of moral improvement, were never popular. The works of Richardson, and others also, who have been ranked with this class of moral novel writers, were never eagerly sought after by novel readers. Few are aware of the vast, numbers of novels which are published and scattered far and wide. About six thousand are offered for sale in this coun- try alone, and many of these run through successive editions, until a copy of a single novel is found in ten, and even twenty thousand families. Doubtless the whole number of copies is far in advance of our present computation. Should a son or daughter undertake the reading of these six thousand novels, at the rate of two per week, more than fifty-seven years would expire before the stupendous work would be completed. 20 230 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. In addition to these bound volumes, there are “ yellow-covered * ’ pamphlets, and news-sheets which no man can number, filled with pernicious fiction, and swarming like the locusts of Egypt in almost every village of the land. We read of newspapers, into whose columns are introduced French novels, and similar trash, circulating in our country at the rate of twenty or thirty thousand weekly ; and on the other side of the Atlantic, in the heart of Eng- land, at the rate of one hundred thousand per week. These are afforded cheap, as another device of the archfiend, that a burning tide of pollution may pour down into the lower strata of society, to make poverty more terrible and revolting. Day after day, and week after week, this flashy and corrupting literature is mining away at the foundation of the social compact, by polluting immortal minds. Who can estimate the amount of sin and wo that spring up from these scattered sheets, as the seeds of vied ! Who would dare take upon his soul the responsi- bility of this earth-wide ruin, and go ■wdth it to the bar of God ! In order to add force to the remarks which follow, the following opinions of the wdse and good, upon this subject of novel reading, are commended to the reader’s consideration. Said John Foster, “ Viewing the vast route of novels as they are, I do think they do incalculable mischief. I wish we could collect them aU together, and make one vast fire of them ; I should exult to see the smoke of them ascend like that of Sodom and Gomorrah ; the judgment would be as just.” Dr. Goldsmith, who was Itimself the author of a FAMILY BEADING. 231 novel, gave the following advice to his brother. “ Above all things never touch a novel or romance. How delusive, how destructive are those features of consummate bliss ! They teach the youthful mind to sigh after beauty and happiness, that never existed ; to despise the little good that fortune has mixed in our cup, by expecting more than she ever gave ; and, in general, take the word of a man who has seen the world, and studied it more by experi- ence than by precept, — take my word for it, I say, such books teach us very little of the world.” Hannah More wrote, — “ Many works of fiction may be read with safety, some even with profit ; but the constant familiarity even with such as are not ex- ceptionable in themselves, relaxes the mind that wants hardening, dissolves the heart that wants fortifying, stns the imagination which wants quieting, irritates the passions which want calming, and above all, dis- inclines and disqualifies for active virtues and for spiritual exercises. The habitual indulgence in such reading is a silent, mining mischief.” The great and good Wiiberforce said of the Waverley Novels: “I am always sorry that they should have so little moral or religious object. They remind me of a giant, spending his strength in crack- ing nuts. I would rather go to render up my ac- count at the last day, carrying up with me the Shepherd of Salisbury Plain, than bearing the load of all these volumes, full as they are of genius.” Says Coleridge : “ It cannot but be injurious to the human mind never to be called into effort; the habit of receiving pleasure without any exertion of thought, by the mere excitement of mind and sensi- 232 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. bility, may be justly ranked among the worst effects of habitual novel reading. Like idle morning visi- tors, the brisk and breathless periods hurry in and hurry off in quick and profitless succession; each indeed, for the moment of its stay, prevents the pain of vacancy while it indulges the love of sloth ; but altogether they leave the mistress of the house — the soul I mean — flat and exhausted, incapable of at- tending to her own concerns, and unfitted for the conversation of more rational guests.” Pollock says : — “ A novel was a book Tliree-volumed and once read, and oft crammed full Of poisonous error, blackening every page ; And oftener still of trifling, second-hand Remark, and old, diseased, putrid thought ; And miserable incident, at war with Nature, with itself and truth at war. Yet charming still the greedy reader on, Till done. He tried to recollect his thoughts, And nothing found but dreamy emptiness, These, like ephemera, spring in a day, From lean and shallow soiled brains of sand. And in a day expired.” The following facts show that the above senti- ments are not extravagant or erroneous. The first exhibits the injurious influence of one kind of fiction, which is regarded comparatively unexceptionable. It shows the power of a single book to mould the whole man. Some more than three hmtdred years before Christ, a precocious and ambitious youth was tutored in the school of Aristotle. The study which won his inter- FAMILY BEADING. 233 est above all others, was the Iliad of Homer ; a work of fiction, which the youth himself styled “ a porta- ble treasure of military knowledge.” It was his daily companion, and his glowing imagination lived constantly in the scenes it portrayed. And when, in the twentieth year of his age, he ascended the impe- rial throne, he was wont to sleep with his volume under his pillow, by the side of his sword ; a fact which strikingly illustrates the powerful influence that work of epic fiction had in creating in his heart a reckless love of victory, to gratify which the blood of unoffending mfllions was poured out like water. Whatever may be said of Alexander’s tendencies of mind and heart, or of the warlike preparations of the age in which he lived, it must be conceded that the Eiad of Homer had not a little influence in mak- ing him a man of unholy ambition, violence, and blood. It wrought upon his imagination, nurtured his passions into a lusty growth, and flattered him mth the futm’e fame of “ conqueror of the world.” But books of far more pernicious tendency, fol- lowed by a broader wave of wo, now accumulate in depositories, and on parlor tables. Here and there is heard from the lips of outspeaking guilt, or bm'sting from the anguished heart, the confession of the ruin they achieve. Said a loving father, testifying in the excitement of open com-t against his daughter, who had brought ruin upon herself, wretchedness upon her family, and despair and death upon the man of her betrothal: “K my daughter has been in an un- happy state of mind, I attribute it to the impure works of Eugene Sue and Bulwer.” To those soul- bewitching and lust-pampering authors he could 20 * 234 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. trace the record of her shame. A mind and heart, made to be nourished by angels’ food, and to expand forever with seraphic joys, is fed upon the ashy ap- ples of Sodom, and consumed by the undying worm of remorse ! Within two years, our public journals reported the suicide of three accomphshed persons in a single county, and the following was the verdict of the cor- oner’s inquest : “ Cause, novel reading.” Somewhere I have recently read the following, which I give in my own language. The shades of evening darkened the chamber with more sombre and solemn hues than ever, for young H was struck with death. The scene was one of mental agony. Ever and anon the ejaculation burst from his tortured heart, '•‘■too late ! ” “ too late I ” He had been a wanderer long ; but driven by the premoni- tions of approaching death, he had just returned to his father’s house to die. While a “ fearful looldng for of judgment” shook his frame, the broken-hearted parents endeavored to point him to the Lamb of God. But all in vain. He went down to the grave exclaiming, “ novel-reading has been my ruin I ” — language readily understood by the weeping parents. For, against their counsels, he had been a greedy novel reader. Before he reached Ins early manhood, he was familiar with Bulwer, Maryatt, Sue, and oth- ers. He had no taste for other reading. He had no relish for a life of quiet and usefulness. He longed to be an adventurer, and seek his fortune away from his home. With his imagination unduly wrought upon by exciting fiction, and his passions greatly inflamed, he left home without the knowledge of his FAMILY BEADING. 235 parents, plunged deeply into vice, and returned with shattered constitution to die in terrible agony, with the exclamation on his hp, “ novel reading has been my ruin I ” The destructive tendency of novel reading is not yet fully appreciated. Thousands who cry out against visiting the theatre, the gaming saloon, and the brothel, have not inquh-ed how many were made the patrons of these abodes of infamy by the fas- cinating, impure works of fiction. The man who walks at midnight in the “ path that takes hold on hell,” was there in imagination long before, when his passions kindled over the obscene romance. How many have first imbibed a taste for the grossest forms of vice ; how many were really made the slaves of burning passion by the unchaste novel, we shall not know until the judgment-day. The work of moral ruin is effected when principle is mentally forsaken, and the mind begins to entertain deeds of impurity and guilt with favor. In hosts of de- bauchees and criminals, that fearful crisis, the turn- ing-point of character, may have been when the mind was wrapt with the witchery of a novel. It may be said, “ such facts as the above are rare.” Let this class of objectors follow us, as we attempt to delineate the nature of novels, and decide whether their legitimate tendency is not to multiply such ex- amples of moral ruin. The very name, novel, from novus, signifying new, denotes the appeal they make to the principle of curiosity, and the love of novelty, which belong to human nature. Men are usually fond of new’ things, and curious to pry into matters even beyond polite- 236 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. ness and reason. Were an individual to stop in the street, and point with his finger in a given direction, the eye of every beholder would eagerly be turned the same way, and possibly, within fifteen minutes, he would be surrounded with a crowd of eager gazers, drawn together by the principle of which we speak. Fiction acts powerfully upon this character- istic of human nature, and leads the novel reader, charmed by the consummate plot and brilUant scene, to neglect his duties, and forego his nightly rest, that he may see the ravishing end. It is this which ren- ders the novel so fearfully bewitching, and wnraps the mind in such a speU of dangerous delight. The novel decks vice in attractive garb. Instead of presenting it in its native ugliness, a loathsome, vile, putrescent, stenchful sore upon humanity, it robes it in silks and satins, gilds it with resplendent jewelry, seats it in splendid parlors, and sends it out in a coach and fom’. As many a debauchee, and many a shrew has covered with rich apparel a soul that festers with comiption, and moved in circles which otherwise would have discarded them ; so the vile hero of some polished novel is often garnished over as a whited sepulchre to pass with readers for what he is not. Bad men are often praised, or their vicious deeds excused, and the good placed in cir- cumstances to excite derision, or, at least, to appear unwinning. This is true of some of the novels which Scott has penned. The good are sometimes made the butt of ridicule, and the bad the subjects of unqualified praise. Virtue is often unsuccessful, while vice is the child of fortune. This kind of fiction magnifies wealth, pleasure. FAMILY READING. 237 fame, beauty, chivaby, and all the paraphernalia of fashionable life. It gives to them a prominence which is wholly unwarrantable. It would cause the youthful reader to feel that nought is so desirable as “ gold and high life.” It portrays the home of the rich in such glowing colors as make it weUnigh the only Eden to be desired. This is true of the works of Bulwer. A class of novels, or romances, as they might more properly be called, are of the most polluting and dis- gusting character. They are designed to pander to the lowest passions of the guiltiest class. Scenes of gross licentiousness, and imagery the most revolting to the pure in heart, are unblushingly introduced. All that is vile, filthy, and demoralizing is clothed with the drapery of flowing style, and made capti- vating by the charms of mellifluous language. What- ever isolated qualities of an unexceptionable nature may characterize the works of Fielding, the occa- sional sti'okes of obscenity which meet the eye ought to be deemed sufficient excuse for banishing them from the pale of decent society. In a word, novels are characterized by great ex- aggeration. Men and things, with skilful colorings, appear better than they are. Human nature is pre- sented under false phases. There are no such fiiends and lovers, no such sons and daughters, no such hus- bands and wives, no such heroes and patriots. There are no homes so delightful, no hearts so faithful, and no inheritances so alluring. It is a scene of fairies and gnomes, of splendid palaces and visionary regalia. Life presents no such scenes of enrapturing bliss, 238 LTPE AT THE FERESIDE. no such examples of thrilling adventure. There is no such beauty in the whole range of the beautiful. There is no such chivalry in the field of human ex- ploit. There is no such pleasure in the abodes of princely fortune or regal splendor. There are no such glowing landscapes on the face of nature ; no such painted hills and sequestered vales ; no such sparkling fountains and crystal lakes ; no such fra- grant flowers and delicious fi'uits ; no such shady bow- ers and blooming gardens ; no such stars, suns, clouds, storms, or thunderbolts ; no such days of summer mildness nor vernal sweetness. Every thing ap- pears in too glowing colors. The youth, whose as- pirations are determined by such a view of fife, wifi be harrowed by discontent amid its stern realities. The halo of fight which gilds the pages of such fic- tion is but the deceitful glow of the ignis fatuus, that lures the unwary into the deep ravines and morasses of sin. Such novels, at best, have none of the pure elements of Christian productions, and are but the fabled poison of Cnee, proffered in a golden goblet to aUay the fears, while they speed the work of de- struction. The nature of this class of writings might be learned from the character of the persons who greedily devour them. They are not the grave and serious, the intellectual and useful, the lovers of God more than the lovers of pleasure. They are the gay and thoughtless, the fight and pleasure-loving. They are the patrons of dancing assemblies and theatres, the devotees of the god of this world, worshippers at the shrine of mammon, — the deluded multitude, who FAMILY READING. 239 bend the knee to Baal and Ashtaroth. This is the class who devour the novel and romance with per- verted taste, empty brain, and worldly heart. It is not strange, then, that novels ruin, as before described. Their legitimate influence upon the reader is inevitably as follows. They make their readers light and trifling. Read- ers exhibit the fruits of such useless reading in light and senseless conversation, devoted to themes of little intrinsic merit, — dress, manners, fashion, ap- pearances, and kindred matters, — nothing nobler, more dignified, or intellectual. In their conduct, the fruits are not less apparent. Where the gayest and lightest things are witnessed, there they love to be. In the places they visit, the airs they assume, and the dress they wear, they show that their minds have communed with weak and useless books. Even the professed Christian, who should allow himself to read such works of fiction to a considerable extent, would experience the same disastrous results in his chilled and icy affections,’ his ardent love of the world, and his lack of interest in aU. that pertains to the kingdom of Christ. He would become a living disgrace to the cause which he has espoused, — a withered branch, to be severed from the fruitful vine, — a barren fig-tree in the vineyard of the Lord. Novels create a disrelish for useful religious read- ing. They accustom the mind to read without thought or reflection. Coleridge divides readers into four classes. “ The first,” he says, “ may be compared to an hour-glass, their reading being as the sand; it runs in, and it runs out, and leaves not a vestige behind. A second class resembles a 240 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. sponge, which imbibes every thing, and returns it merely in the same state, only a httle dirtier. A third class is like a jeUy-bag, which allows all that is pure to pass away, and retains only the refuse and the dregs. The fourth class may be compared to the slave in the diamond mines in Golconda, who, casting aside aU that is worthless, preserves only the pure gem.” Novel readers belong to the first class. There is nothing in what they read to stimulate the intellectual faculties. Novels form the habit of su- perficiality. They destroy a taste for scientific and historical works. The latter become tame, dry, and painfuUy uninteresting. In fact, the great mass of novel readers do not profess to be reading for the acquisition of knowledge or mental discipline. In- vestigation, research, study, is not their object. The result is, that every faculty of the mind is dwarfed except the imagination, which is unduly excited. StUl more pernicious is the influence of novels in destroying a taste for religious books. He who is fond of this kind of fiction is not much in love with the truth. Says Dr. Hawes : “ No habitual reader of novels can love the Bible, or any other book that demands thought, or inculcates the serious duties of fife. He dwells in a region of imagination, where he is designated with the plainness and simphcity of truth, — with the sober realities that demand his attention as a rational and immortal being, and an accountable subject of God’s government.” Such authors as Bunyan, Flavel, Doddridge, and Edwards have few attractions for him, and the Bible — the world’s Book of books — is the dullest, prosi- est, most mystic volume of all. FAMILY BEADING. 241 Novels nullify faithful, pungent preaching. Novel readers are the most hopeless class of hearers. They have httle respect for sacred things, and assume the attitude of worshippers with little love for the undis- guised doctrines of the Cross. If any class of per- sons make light of religious things, and point the finger of scorn at the serious and inquiring, it is this. If any class retail their puns and jests over religious truth and ordinances, it is the one in question. They may love to listen to flowing language and beautiful metaphor. They may be delighted with glowing eloquence and a fervid, dashing style ; but it is such delight as they experience in witnessing an exhibi- tion of fireworks — shooting rockets, falling stars, red lights, green lights, ^ind blue lights. But the faithful proclamation of the gospel in its substance — “ The Lord reigneth,” and “ The soul that sin- neth it shall die ” — is insipid and offensive. Another legitimate consequence of novel reading is, it cultivates a false sympathy. We are told, indeed, that the callous in heart are sometimes made to weep over the novel ; and this is adduced as evi- dence that it refines the feehngs and cultivates the tender sensibilities. False and pernicious reasoning! The daughter weeps over the pathetic novel ; and yet leaves the bedside of her languishing mother to complete the volume. The son wets every page of the bewitching book with his tears ; and yet treats his aged parents with filial neglect, and even with heartless overbearing. The reader weeps over the imaginary sufferings of some stricken family, which forms the subject of the novel, while he turns away with unfeeling heart from the household of real 21 242 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. sufferers not a mile from his door. The heart of the debauchee is deeply wrought upon as he follows the young and lovely heroine of some fine romance, sought, pursued, and ensnared by her vile seducers as the meek-eyed gazelle is hunted on the Eastern mountains ; while yet, with awful guilt he companies with the blushless harlot, and, beneath the sable cur- tains of night, takes sin enough upon his soul to destroy it in hell. When the news of destitution and suffering, of sickness and death, spread through a neighborhood, who are the first to yield to the calls of humanity and benevolence ? Who is first at the cot of the suffering poor, with hands full of substantial aid? Who is first at the couch of sickness, willing to spend night’s silent watches in sleepless devotion to the distressed ? Who is fu'st in the habitation of mourning to sympathize with the bereaved and ad- minister consolation ? Is it the novel reader ? the jtoung woman who weeps herself to sleep at mid- night over the alluring work of fiction ? Or the young man who reads Scott and Bulwer till the gray dawn of the morning bids him off to bed? Are such most willing to watch through the tardy mght at the bedside of the sick? Not they. Test it where you please, the individuals whose passions are most excited by the novel and romance, who have the most tears to shed over works of fiction, are the least wrought upon by the scenes of sorrow and distress which miiltiply in every neighborhood. They feel only over imaginary wo. The living, terrible reality does not start a tear from then eyes. Nor is this strange. According to Abercrombie FAMILY KEADING. 243 and other intellectual philosophers, this is a reason- able, unavoidable result. It could not be otherwise. When any of the benevolent affections are called into exercise, in order to develop them it is indispen- sable that they have some object to act upon. If a Christian reads about the sad condition of the heathen world, until his benevolent feelings are aroused, and this is repeated again and again, he does not grow more benevolent. He gradually becomes more and more steeled in heart to such appeals from the perish- ing, and finally he can read such records with very little emotion. But if, when he reads and awakens benev- olent emotions by increasing his. missionary knowl- edge, he contributes to some cause which aims to relieve such moral destitution, then he grows in be- nevolent character. His benevolent affections have some object to act upon, as they are excited, and by acting upon it are made to wax stronger and stronger. Thus it is with sufiering in all its forms. He who is moved to pity by scenes of penury and distress, and yet does not allow his pity to act upon the sufferers in proffered relief, will soon be unaffected by all such sights. But if to the seeing, he adds the acting, his heart will grow kinder and better. Now, the novel reader may feel and weep over some well-executed scene, and his benevolence be in full play, but there are really no objects for his sym- pathies to embrace, since they are all imaginary. His affections are awakened only to sink back into a more torpid state. A more powerful appeal is necessary to arouse them the second time, and thus on indefinitely. He feels, without being required to act, until feeling becomes extinct. In real life Ins 244 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. sympathies are excited by scenes of adversity to act, and therefore they do not perish, but survive and strengthen. Such are some of the sad and sure consequences of the reading of that kind of fiction described. We might add, that to read these wnritings is a waste of time, — that precious inheritance which gold and pearls cannot purchase, — “ That stuff that life is made of, And which, when lost, is never lost alone. Because it carries souls upon its wings.” “ O time ! time ! ” exclaimed the dying Altamont, “ how art thou fled forever. A month ! oh for a single week ! I ask not for years, though an age is too little for the much I have to do.” Just tribute of a dying man to the value of time ! The estimate an honest heart sets upon the priceless gift, as it vanishes upon the borders of eternity ! And this is worse than wasted upon the pages of coiTupting fiction. It is wrested from the purpose for which it was bestowed, — which was to lay up a treasure in the skies, — and made a swift ■fitness against the soul at the bar of God. It is also a wanton waste of property. It has been estimated that novels have cost the people of the United States, during the last five years, from twelve to fifteen miUion doUars. This sum, expended in the improvement of the arts, would cause many a tax-payer to cry out against lavish expenditure. With the sum expressed in the larger estimate, we might erect five thousand beautiful school-houses, at an expense of three thousand dollars each, and thus FAMILY READING. 245 furnish ample apartments to hundreds of promising youth, assembled for intellectual improvement. Or it would furnish the asking West, the present year, the vast number of seventy-five thousand female teachers, with a salary of two hundred dollars each, to discipline ignorant and destitute children for be- coming intelligent and useful citizens. Or with it we might rear three thousand houses of worship, of commodious dimensions and tasteful architecture, at an expense of five thousand dollars each, where the proclamation of truth might guide many a moral wanderer to the Cross of Christ. But now the waste is wanton and remediless. No one receives a good in return for the vast expenditure. Evil is the only fruit of the reckless purchase. Summing up our remarks, we say, then, that novel reading makes no one wiser, better, or happier. Admitting that it tends to produce no injury, since it does not add a tittle to wisdom, goodness, and hap- piness, it should be entirely discarded. There is no reasonable excuse in persisting in an exercise so use- less, when the world is full of books which will both feed the mind and improve the heart. There is alle- gory, fable, narrative, history, biography. There are books of travels, science, and the arts, almost endless. Morality and religion furnish ample libraries of rich and varied knowledge. There may be transient pleasure in the perusal of a novel ; but it soon “palls upon the sense.” On the other hand, there are numerous works, charac- terized by genius and learning, which swell the sum total of pure terrestrial enjoyment. A novel does not give being to a simple, pure, and noble sentiment 24 * 246 LIFE AT THE FIKE3IDE. that will sweeten the sad lot of sickness, or sustain the spirit in the hour of dissolution, or reheve the terrible retributions of the Judgment-day. But the world is amply supplied with books which are suited to be the bosom companions of men in all the adver- sities of life, and to accompany them into the un- tried realities of eternity. There is a substance sometimes cast upon the shore of the sea, called Medusa, often attractive to the eye as it sparkles in the rays of the bla- zing sun. It appears like some durable work- manship, which you may take in your hand to bear away to a place in your cabinet of natural curiosi- ties. But it proves to be a watery pulp, and ere you reach your residence it has melted away from your grasp, and all that is left of the ghttering object is a worthless shred in your hand. It is a fit symbol of the most polished and splendid novel, when brought to the test of eternal truth. Novel reading is more perilous to the hopes of a family, because its influence is exerted upon the young, just at that age when it can produce the sad- dest consequences. If a person ever becomes a novel reader, it is usually in ' youth ; and, becoming such at this period of life, he seldom controls the taste thus early imbibed. It is the mind upon which this kind of reading inflicts an injury, and a wound here is not easily healed. A huge gash upon the body may close together, and scarcely leave a scar ; but an intellect dwarfed or perverted in the morning of life bears the blight forever. It is more appaUing to poison the mind than the body. The arsenic or alcohol, which poisons the physical, is less terrible FAMILY READING. 247 than the precept or principle which poisons the intel- lectual man. For a thought or sentiment, pure or pernicious, is the seed of action — the very germ of character. It promises to live longer, and struggle more desperately for existence. If imbibed in youth, it often grows to the most prolific harvest in age. Foster has said, “ the excesses of youth are so many drafts upon age, payable about thirty years after date.” If this be true, as it certainly is, then the per- son whose mind is Bulwerized in youth by exces- sive novel reading will be deficient in all the relations of manhood and womanhood. Such an injury will be likely to live on, and bring the saddest experience in mature years. This subject demands the prayerful interest of every Christian parent, solicitous for the salvation of his children. Novel readers, as we have seen, are the most volatile and trifling class of persons in any community, — least likely to be reached by the proc- lamation of truth, and the efforts of God’s people. A novel is truth’s antagonist, — a foe to the Bible, — a syren to the soul. Consider, then, the vast num- ber of novels in circulation, within “ arm’s length ” of your sons and daughters, inviting them to read, and charming them away from the kingdom of God. Estimate the mischief which may be wrought upon their morals, and the ruin perpetrated upon their deathless souls, by this corrupting fiction, which abounds in almost every village and city. Realize, if you can, the nature and extent of this evil, as hindrance to your Christian counsel, and a call for more vigilant and persevering Christian effort. No power, save that which Christians seek at the throne 248 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. of grace, can dissolve the silent witchery of a novel, and bring the soul into a blessed union with Christ — the power of the living God. Let all parents, Christian or not, be discriminating in the selection of books for their children. Remem- ber that in furnishing these, you are blessing or poi- soning immortal minds. The volumes which you deposit in the book-case, or on the parlor table, are so many companions for your offspring, almost sure to instil their sentiments into their yoimg and tender mmds. How watchful you are in respect to the as- sociates of yom children ! How ready to exclude the vulgar, the profane, the vicious, from their com- pany ! How eager to select choice companions, whose influence shall not endanger their morals and ruin their souls ! But the introduction of every book into your family is bringing home a similar in- fluence to impress your offspring. It is increasing the circle of silent associates, the more insinuating and powerful because of their silence. A novel ought not to find a lodgement in a household. A book for the family should be instructive, abounding in thought, earnest, useful, and pure. XI. THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. “ The mother in her oflSce, holds the key Of the soul ; and she it is who stamps the coin Of character, and makes the being who wonld be a savage But for her cares, a Christian man ! Then crown her queen of the world.” Old Play. There are seasons in the march of Providence, when the purposes of a wonder-working God seem rushing to a crisis. The events of ages occur in a year, and the developments of generations are per- fected in a day. Exalted conceptions are suddenly evolved. Great enterprises enlist the energies of the soul. Opinion battles with opinion. Thought kin- dles thought. Invention provokes invention. Re- form treads upon the heel of reform. Nations are convulsed, — governments are destroyed, — thrones are overturned. The excited multitude sigh for change. Liberty struggles, — winning and losing ; and truth grapples with error, in the triumph of its irresistible might. Such seasons are crises in the thrilling history of the race ; landmarks, reared by the Great Proprietor of the universe, to remind our godless race of his power and glory in the conquest of this wicked world. ( 249 ) 250 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. The present is such a crisis. Never before have the entire masses of the human family been so in- tensely excited. Never before were the nations moved by questions so vast, relating to their ex- istence and destiny. Never did our owm land — this spot of freedom’s birthright — ring with such excitement. More than ever, we are a “ spectacle ” to a witnessing world. Nations are looking on, breathless, to learn whether this experiment at Re- publican institutions wiU be exploded, or the great questions which fearfully agitate the country be happily adjusted, and its former tranquiUity return. It is a time of c_ommingling hopes and fears, de- manding peculiar msdom for the present and pecu- liar preparation for the future. Some gaze with alarm upon the scene of stidfe, and conclude that the world is making a retrograde movement from bad to worse. They sigh for the “ golden age ” of the fathers as far surpassing in purity and promise these “ latter days.” “ There is nothing new under the sun,” they seem literally to believe. They pride themselves in fierce demmci- ations of “new things,” as if the earlier ages had exhausted the Eternal’s storehouse of wisdom and knowledge. But we believe in a Law of Progress, — that the world is better now than it was in the be- ginning, and will be better in the end than it is now. No other doctrine receives the sanction of Divine truth. No other awakens a response in the true Christian heart. It requires no ingenious argument to prove to the student of Pro\’idence, that “ There is a frood time coming.” O C His expectant heart is anxious for its promised ad- THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. 251 vent. And yet the present will mould the future. For thus it has been in past days. One generation has sent its mighty influence down to determine the character of the next. The machinery of the social compact is now propelled by a current of mental and moral power, whose accumulated might outstrips that of former ages, because it has been fed, along the shores of time, by the countless tributaries of eras that have fled. Each age has transmitted to us some special agency of power. One has sent down the art of printing ; another the invention of the compass ; and another the discovery of the steam power, and its application to the necessary purposes of life. And thus on through unnumbered agencies, which enable us to wield such a powerful influence over the destiny of the world. Thus from the pres- ent age must descend a legacy to “ generations yet unborn.” As our blessings exceed those of former periods, we ought to leave a richer inheritance to the unrevealed, mysterious future. Certain it is, that elements for weal or woe, — principles to bless or curse, — will issue from the present, to control, in some degree, the coming eras. But, in order to comprehend the object of this essay, we need to regard more particularly the lead- ing characteristics of the age. He alone can achieve much for the good of his race who stu- diously watches the tide of human affairs. The close observer of Providence only perceives there is “a time to every purpose,” and accordingly avails himself of present advantages to secure future ends. Mark, then, some of the leading characteristics of the age. 252 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Progress is the universal watchword. In civU, literary, and religious institutions there is unwonted effort at improvement. Old forms of government are becoming powerless. Their unfitness to advance a people in the scale of civilization is deeply felt. Old systems of education are fast falling into disuse, and new ones are adopted. The schoolmaster is already abroad, with his new facilities and improve- ments to instruct, and “ the common people hear him gladly.” In short, the multiplied and startling discoveries and inventions of the age, both in art and science, indicate the rapid progress of the race. Disorder reigns. Few nations are free from in- ternal conflict. Divisions and party factions roll billows of passion. Great questions are agitating the political world. Not only the influential and the learned in the seats of authority, but the masses of the “ common people,” participate in the wonderful movements. Confidence in political organization is shaken. Multitudes feel that the needful elements, and men of integrity are wanting. Hence the efforts at re- organization in the “ body politic,” and the loud clamor for change. Temptations, various and alluring, throng the fleet- ing hours. The agencies of moral ruin are numerous. Vice has more martyrs than virtue. On the right hand and left, the high and low, the rich and poor, the learned and unlearned, fall; and virtue sighs over the vast destruction. Benevolence invites to an ample field. The Gos- pel may now ride in triumph over the world’s ■wide domain. Nations, long hostile to its spreading THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. 253 power, unbar their gates, and hail its coming. Per- ishing millions lift up their voices for the heavenly boon, — they invite, they implore, they plead. The church may build her altars on Northern bluffs, gather her chosen bands on Southern plains, plant her banner on Eastern hills, and burn her purest incense in the Western valley. God bids her rise in the strength of the Redeemer, and take “the heathen for her inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for her possession.” With such a view of the present, we cannot fail to anticipate a future of surpassing interest. The most startling scenes of Providence are probably yet to be. The most thrilling history of human life is yet unwritten. The mightiest overturnings in the march of truth are yet to burst upon our view. For such a crisis, men of peculiar wisdom and power, of grasp- ing talent and burning patriotism, are needed. God’s “ set time ” for the training of such a band has come. Whence shall they be gathered ? Whith- er shall we look for men efficient for such a crisis? To whom shall we appeal ? Our statesmen, our ministers of justice and re- ligion, and the instructors of our youth, may accom- plish much; but the mothers of our land may achieve yet more. To them we appeal. In a crit- ical period of the French History, Napoleon Bona- parte said to Madame Campan : “ The old systems of education are worth nothing. What is wanted for the proper training of young persons in France ? ” With emphasis, she replied, “ Mothers ! ” The thought was original and forcible to the Emperor, 254 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. and he said, “ Behold, then, an entire system of education ! You must make mothers that know how to train their children.” Not less earnest is the appeal of the present era to mothers. With charac- teristic conciseness, we might reply to the inquiry. What is most needed in the present crisis of human history ? Mothers ! We need good men to plan, to counsel, to execute. One has said with truth, “ Good professors can make good scholars, but good mothers alone can make good menP Mothers ! Be not surprised, that in this intensely interesting age of the World, our appeal is to you. True, such an appeal may awaken in your hearts a sense of fearful responsibility ; but it also inspires with the thought of blessings to the race, and reward in the skies. AVhen we reflect, that in our favored land there are three million of mothers having under their charge, beside their older children, three hundred thousand infants, whose tender minds are to be moulded by a mother’s plastic hand, and quenchless love ; and when we consider, that from this band of infants are to come our future judges, senators, statesmen, ministers, and rulers, and that in almost every instance, “ the boy is father of the man,” we cannot suppress the feeling, that the present is the era for viothers. The mother is now nursing at her breast the gi- gantic spirit which will hold the reins of future gov- ernment, and control the elements of political faction in that stormier period when the battle with “ a nation’s crying sins ” waxes hotter and hotter. Could mothers, at the cradle of helpless infancy. THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. 255 Kft the veil, and look in upon the scenes of the mo- mentous future, and get one comprehensive view of the responsibilities their sons may sustain in its unwritten history, their souls would be fired with a patriotism that would lay the child upon the altar of his country, and a Christian devotion that would make him an offering on the altar of his God. Yes ; to them God has committed, in a measure, the des- tiny of the world. Around that cradle cluster the hopes and fears of an anxious nation. From that throbbing breast flows the milk of our country’s weal or woe. Home is their ample field of exploits, — a seat of power and sacred influence more august than that of legislative hall ; and love is their conquering instrument, more mighty than deeds of honored senates, or the thunder of arms. Thus sang one of the sweetest singers of the female sex, as she proclaimed this truth in strains of charming min- strelsy : — “ In her own place the hearth beside, The patriot’s heart to cheer. The young, unfolding mind to guide, , The future sage to rear ; Where sleeps the cradled infant fair. To watch with love and kneel in prayer. Cheer each sad soul with pity’s smile. And frown on every latent wile That threats the pure, domestic shade. Sister — so best our life shall aid The land we love.” * We have said, that men of peculiar talents, wis- *■ Mrs. Sigourney. 256 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. dom, and power are demanded by the age. Let us glance at some of the agencies required. Men are needed who are qualified to pull down, and to build up. K aU the Scriptures reveal con- cerning the future spread of the Gospel, and the universal reign of truth and righteousness, shall come to pass, then much of this work remains to be done. Old things must pass away, and all things become new. Upon the ruins of much which now meets the eye must rise that spiritual structure to the praise of God, whose materials are “ cut out of the mountain without hands.” The spirit of reform to which we have referred assures us, that this work of pulling down and building up has commenced with earnestness. In the strife and tumult of nations, we hear the sound of saw and hammer. In the shock of shattered kingdoms, we hear the crash of falling timbers. The shoutings of our Zion, march- ing from conquest to conquest, are but the joyful acclamations of the workmen as they lift one stone upon another in the rising fabric. But, in the stu- pendous work too many are engaged whose only talent is for pulling down. This is scarcely half the work of reform ; for it requires more talent to build up than to pull down. He is but a half re- former who is able to destroy, but not to create. Small minds can heap a pile of ruins ; but talent only can rear a comely structure upon the smoulder- ing ashes. Looking over the face- of nations to-day, our eyes rest upon numerous scenes of ruin, upon which no enduring fabric has begun to rise. France and Italy have their pseudo reformers in swai-ming numbers. Enough have talent for pulling down, THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. 257 but “ few and far between as angels’ visits,” are the men to build. Those nations bleed for want of true reformers, with power to remove the ruins, and lay deep and strong foundations for the future. The same is true, though in a less degree, of our own highly favored land. We need the men who can create, rear, and fashion in fair proportion where others have demolished. Reformers need to be formed ; not amid the pressing duties of ripened ^ge, for often there they need to be reformed ; but in the tender years of childhood and youth, when a mother’s sldll and love may mould the spirit for deeds of god- like charity. Public men of master minds and tried religious principle are needed. We have reached a crisis, (and another more important is approaching,) when party factions should lose their hold upon the human heart. Interests too dear for wanton sacrifice are perilled by such devotion to party schemes. We need a nobler patriotism, purer philanthropy, to bear the ark of our country’s hopes. We need men who love the nation more, and official badges less. Long enough our men have “ wanted offices,” — now, our “ offices want men.” For want of these, the nation suffers. For want of these, the world is bleeding. Long have public offices conferred dignity upon men. Now the nation pleads for men, great and good enough to confer dignity upon its offices. We do not say there are no public men of the class we need ; but we suffer for want of more. Men of grasping and powerful intellects are needed to compass the intricate questions which agitate the nations. Inferior minds are not able now, and they 22 * 258 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. will be still less able as the conflict grows, to throw themselves into the breach, and control the warring elements. Keen discrimination, comprehensive views, far-reaching foresight, and quenchless zeal, are need- ful qualities in a leading spirit of this and future ages. But more important is a firm adherence to truth and right. Religious principle, disciphned and deeply rooted in the soul, can alone preserve from the prejudice of personal feehng, and the seductions of the world. In an age so exciting as the present, and as the future promises to be, we need public men, whose determination to abide by the rule of perfect honesty is equalled only by their courage to maintain it. We must have men who will prefer hunger and nakedness, exile and obscurity, to the reputation of sacrificing religious principle for per- sonal einolument. “ What,” says an eloquent writer, “ are palaces and equipages ; what though a man could cover a continent with his title deeds, or an ocean with his commerce, compared with conscious rectitude ; with a face which never turns pale at the accuser’s voice ; with a bosom that never throbs at the fear of exposure ; with a heart that might be turned inside out and discover no stain of dishonor ? ” Such are the men we need, — the trained, and the tried. Citizens of enlarged benevolence are required on every hand. Loud and frequent are the calls for deeds of charity. At home and abroad, there are golden opportunities for giving. As already made to appear, no age, since the morning stars sang to- gether, has presented so many encouragements to beneficence. The numerous facilities for reaching THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. 259 objects of charity render the same amount of effort more powerful than in any age of the past. The child’s penny may now reach a remoter chme, and tell upon a wider field, than once did the rich man’s dollar. The age thus invites to cheerful giving. Ye.t every benevolent enterprise of the present day is impeded in its course for want of the requisite pecuniary aid. Miihons lift an imploring voice for help, to whom there is given no cheering response. Divine Providence flings open doors for the church to enter, and achieve triumphant victories ; but through many, for want of benevolence, she does not pass.- We need men, and yet shall have a greater need of them, who are disciplined from childhood for a large benevolence, — whose sympathies have been taught to embrace a world of sufferers, and who ever put less value upon the shining dollar in the pocket than upon a shining grace in the heart. Faithful and fearless ministers of the Gospel are more than ever demanded. Every year appears to bring the duties of their profession more nearly in contact with the worldly purposes of the people to whom they minister. In an age of “ sundry opinions and parties,” it is almost impossible for the faithful minister to develop and enforce the great practical duties of rehgion without conflicting with the cher- ished views of some of his people. No doubt this has often influenced the timid preacher- to “ prophesy smooth things.” Truth, which ought still more to have been uttered because of existing ch’cumstances, may have been suppressed. But never were ques- tions of a pohtical and moral nature, affecting the masses of mankind, more interwoven than now with 260 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. the convictions of conscience and the duties of relig- ion. Never was the faithful preaching of the Gospel more likely to conflict with the opinions of worldly, and even Christian men, pertaining to matters of a civil character. We can scarcely dwell upon the future without anticipating that the past trials of ministers, in this respect, are only a foreshadowing of what is to come. For such an emergency we need fearless men, such as are trained from the cra- dle to regard the convictions of conscience, and the principles of truth ; men who would cheerfully sacri- fice the delights of a happy settlement rather than shun “ to declare the whole counsel of God.” Missionaries of the cross are imperatively de- manded by the age. Of the young men and women from our Christian famfiies, few only are walling to endure the hardships incident to bearing the Gospel to the perishing. Few can look the self-denials and trials of a missionary life in the face, and say, “ Lord, here am I, send me.” Indeed, comparatively few are the mothers who ■will cheerfully give their sons and daughters to bear the news of salvation to a distant clime. They offer earnest prayers to God that reap- ers may be found for the -whitened harvest, but they are not willing to have them called from their un- broken households. While this ■^'ithholding spirit rules in numerous souls, the heathen are passing to the judgment at a rate more rapid than succeed the pulsations of the heart ! Along the shores of every benighted land, the earnest pleadings of the living, and the last call of the dying, are for the teacher of life. It is God’s “ set time ” to give the world his Gospel. But faithful heralds are needed to enlist in THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. 261 the mighty enterprise. Not by tens and twenties, but by fifties and hundreds, they are called by the voice of Providence. The present supply can scarce- ly reach the demand which comes from a single point of the compass. Hence the appeal to mothers ! Who but they can form the character of rising generations to be reform- ers ? When shall the heart imbibe those principles, and become inspired with that spirit, needful for a work so exciting, except in the morning of life? Who so weU as they can rear a generation to sym- pathize with the suffering and lost of every land? Who so well can. train the heart for deeds of noble charity ? Who can impress the truth so ineffaceably upon the spirit, “ It is more blessed to give than to receive ? ” Who can rear, for coming generations, the faithful minister of Christ, so successfully as they who pour into childhood’s heart the story of a Saviour’s love? Who can furnish for the public seats of power, men of sterling rectitude, so easily as they who train the conscience, and inspire the youthful heart with the love of ti’uth ? Who, so well as mothers, can awaken in the human soul an interest in the cause of missions, and a desire to be a preacher where the Gospel is unknown ? God com- mands mothers, in this crisis of affairs, to train their sons and daughters to be successful agents in the conversion of the world. The offering which they are required to make is great. But mothers yield up their sons to contend on bloody fields of battle for a wreath of fame, or to dig for wealth in the “ land of gold.” Said a true-hearted Scotch woman to Robert Bruce, when hunted by his foes, “ I have two sons, 262 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. gallant and trusty men, who shall be your servants for life and death.” So saying, she brought her youthful sons, dear to her heart by a thousand ties, and made them swear, in the frowning face of peril, fidelity to their king. So should sons be borne to the altar of God, and given up, for “ life and death,” to Christ and a dying world. Mothers ! We have endeavored to show that this era especially appeals to you. For sharing its press- ing responsibilities, peculiar advantages are incident to the relation of maternal and filial love. There is a design in the moulding power of a mother’s love which subdues the son’s defying spirit, even when it is unconquered by a father’s authority. Glance, then, at the truths which should inspire you with hope in training the child for scenes of such impor- tance as those of the present era. The permanency of early impressions. This truth reveals a power which mothers possess above all others, by which to school the immortal spirit for whatever sphere they choose. No lesson of early fife is lost. Though not, perhaps, made visible in its fruits for successive years, yet, from the nature of the mind, no early impression is effaced from the tablet of memory. Go to the couch of the aged sire of ninety. Talk to him of scenes that transpired a few ffeeting months ago, and a vacant stare is all his reply. Ask him concerning the far distant period of his child- hood and youth, and at once the fire kindles in his eye, and a smile fights up his wnrinkled face. Words flow apace as he glowingly describes the scenes of fife’s fresh morning, when the old homestead rang THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. 263 with his merry laughter, and the brook where he angled glided along in its beauty ; and you will say, surely the impressions of childhood are engraved in ineffaceable lines upon the spirit. There was a man of middle age, unprincipled, profligate, and abandoned; but he was arrested in his career of guilt by a sudden chain of reflection. His thoughts were busy upon the past, and anxiety was written on his brow. His mind was absorbed in the most thrilling scene of his childhood. He stood, in imagination, a youth at the bedside of his dying mother. He looked again upon her pallid cheek, on which beamed a heavenly smile. He heard again her voice in words of dying counsel. The fal- tering accents of her last prayer for the blessing of heaven to rest upon his early years again thrilled in his soul ; and the tear of penitence started from his eye, and the sigh of contrition burst from his heart. That mother’s faithful warning lived after the thoughtlessness of twenty years, powerful to alarm, restrain, and reform. Sm'ely childhood has a power to retain lessons of wisdom and love which belongs not to the experience of age. A gray-haired man of eighty lay upon his death- bed. For many years he had lived a widower, dependent upon the kindness of a cherished son. A numerous family of sons and daughters had been reared by his faithful care ; but now they were widely scattered. As he descended the vale of life, his active mind began to fail, and before he died, reason was partially dethroned. In his last delirious moments, when in the weakness of second child- hood he sighed for soothing words of love, he called 264 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. not for his deceased wife or loving children ; bnt most touchingly pleaded for his remembered mother. His mind, in its wreck, retained no other impressions than those of his early life, when she taught him of Jesus, or watched over him through dreary nights of sickness. He saw again, vivid as in real life, the form of that sainted mother ; and he longed once more to hear the music of her voice, and feel the pressure of her hand upon his fevered brow. Thus deathless is the influence of the faithful mother over her innocent child. Her impressiofis upon the heart are like letters cut in brass or granite. God has elected her to a calling more curious and wonderful than the magic art of the sculptor; for hers is not to present a lifeless form of beauty to an admiring world, but one instinct with “ Thoughts that breathe and words that burn ; ” a workmanship which wiU reveal forever the touch of its early fashioning. IMother ! the tear of your child win be wiped away. Its sorrows are fleeting. “ The tear down childhood’s check which flows, Is like the dew-drop on the rose ; "When the next summer breeze comes by, And waves the bush, the flower is dry.” * But the impress of your life upon its soul is im- mortal. Around the solemn charge of the mother a multi- tude of facts cluster to cheer her in her pressing duties. For what has been done in the past may be done again in the future. * Scott THE ERA EOR MOTHERS. 265 Some years ago, a student in the College of wrote to a friend, in a season of revival, as follows : “ Having myself a praying mother, it oc- curred to me to inquire of the subjects of this revival whether their mothers were pious. I did so, and found that scarcely one sinner was brought to the fold of Christ, who was not blest with a prayerful mother. This is a fact. Oh that mothers would let it make the proper impression on their hearts ! ” In a Theological Seminary, one hundred and twenty young men were associated in preparing for the Christian ministry. They became interested to learn what proportion of their number were blest with pious mothers. They were not less surprised than delighted, to learn “ that more than a hundred had been blest by a mother’s prayers, and directed by a mother’s counsels to the Saviour.” John Adams, in a letter to his wife, wrote as fol- lows : “ In reading history, you will generally observe, when you light upon a great character, whether a general, a statesman, or a philosopher, some female about him, either in the character of a mother, wife, or sister, who has knowledge and ambition above the ordinary level of women, and that much of his eminence is owing to her precepts, example, or insti- gation in some shape or other.” These are words of high authority for wisdom and experience. Their truthfulness is confirmed in the following paragraph from a French writer : “ Of sixty-nine monarchs who have worn the French crown, only three have loved the people, and all those three were reared by their mothers, without the intervention of peda- 23 266 LITE AT THE FIRESIDE. gogues. A Bossuet educated the tyrant Louis XIV. ; his mother did not train Mm. St. Louis was trained by Blancha ; Louis XII. by Maria of Cleves ; and Henry IV. by Jane of Albret ; and these were reaUy the fathers of their people ! ” Who is not famihar with the early history of Washington ? At the mention of his honored name, how bright the memories of Ms sainted mother which throng the mind ! Who does not feel, that, great and good as the model statesman might have been by nature, much resulted to the nation from his early training ? Two incidents of Ms early life ex- Mbit the power of maternal government. VTien, in the spirit of youthful adventure, he was about to sail as a midshipman, contrary to a mother’s counsel, what a change was wrought by the silent power of her unuttered feelings ! The vessel in which he was to sail lay opposite Ms father’s house. A little boat, to convey him thither, had reached the shore. He went to bid his mother a long farewell. He saw her tears, and his heart was moved. “ I "will not go away and break my mother’s heart ! ” said he. And from that hour he began to live for Ms country’s good. How different might have been our national history, had not a mother’s love detained him from a seaman’s life ! How much the nation owes to ma- ternal influence ! When he was elected to the chief magistracy of the United States, he repaired immediately to the home of Ms youth, to pay a tribute of love to Ms remembered mother. The touching scene of that meeting has been the theme of the orator and the THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. 267 poet. The historian records it in the following elo- quent words : “ His head rested on the shoulder of his parent. That brow, on which fame had wreathed the purest laurels that virtue ever gave to created man, relaxed from its lofty bearing. That look, which could have awed a Roman Senate in its Fabrican day, was bent in full tenderness upon the time-worn features of his venerable matron. The great man wept. A thousand recollections crowded upon his mind as memory retraced scenes long past, and carried him back to his paternal mansion, and the days of his youth ; and the centre of his attraction was his mother, whose care, instruction, and dis- cipline had prepared him to reach the topmost height of his laudable ambition ; yet how were his glories forgotten, while he looked upon her, from whom, wasted by time and malady, he must soon part, to meet no more!” This incident alone is sufficient to satisfy the most incredffious, that great and powerful must have been a mother’s influence upon his char- acter. We can but feel that he achieved so much for his country, because his mother taught him in the nursery, as she expressed it herself, the lessons of “ diligence, obedience, and truth ! ” We cannot dismiss this subject without pointing to a single example of maternal influence, recorded in the sacred Scriptures. In the early history of the church, there lived a godly family in the city of Lys- tra, in which the parchments of the Holy Scriptm-es were preserved. A son, loved much because of the ties of nature, and more because he might be trained for Christ, was taught to read and obey the truths which they revealed. From those sacred records the 268 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. richest lessons were poured into his tender mind. Lodged in his heart, they “ Grew with his growth, and strengthened with his strength.” Years rolled on, and he became a man. Bhs heart burned with Christian love. His soul was stirred with the highest and purest aspirations. The words of life were published by his lips. Multitudes thronged around him to hear the news of salvation, and hearing, lived. His influence rolled on like a wave of the sea ; and, on every hand, “ the saved and trembhng ” rose up to caU him blessed. Thus toiled the faithful Timothy for God ; because through the influence of his “ grandmother Lois ” and his “ mother Eunice,” “ from a child he had known the Holy Scriptures.” What shall I say more ? Time would fail me to tell of all that has been achieved by mothers for the welfare of our race. We have said enough to show, that the present is an era for mothers; enough to prove, that with them rests, in a very important sense, the future destiny of manldnd. Is it not a solemn charge ? There is no greater trust than this — to discipline a deathless spirit One deed of sin, one word, one vicious breath, may blight the fondest hopes. Indeed, far less than this may nuflify honest and earnest efforts. “ The child That shuts within its breast a bloom for heaven, May take a blemish from the breath of love, And bear the blight forever.” * * tVillis. THE ERA FOR MOTHERS. 269 What consequences hang upon a point of time ! "What hopes and fears gather around a single child ! What volumes crowd an hour ! Mothers need to use such care, skill, wisdom, and toilsome hours, as are requued to wield the artist’s pencil. How dare they trifle with a charge, in whose life the bliss of hundreds may be involved ! How dare they warp a mind by chasing “ any nothings,” when it ought to be disciphned to become a blessing to manldnd ! How dare they assume the responsibility of rearing an immortal being to be ignorant of truth and duty, when, by an obligation, weighty and sol- emn as God would have it, they are commanded to train him for usefulness and glory ! How dare they permit a single child to devote his energies to fashion and earth-born delight, thus growing up to be a cipher or a curse, when their country and the world are suf- fering for the want of men of unblemished character and moral might ! Their mission to this world is to leave it better than they found it. How can they make it better by a swifter progress, than by giving to it the young and peerless energies of a well- trained posterity ? Mothers ! studiously ponder the indications of Providence. Regard aU that your eyes rest upon, in the vicissitudes of human affairs, as truly em- braced in the infinite range of the Divine government. Learn to trace each passing event to the agency of Him, whose “ throne is in the heavens, and whose kingdom ruleth over aU.” See God in the scenes of the present crisis, shaking with his lifted arm the old organizations of pohtical power, and the imposing systems of idolatry. Feel that the noise and tumult 23 * 270 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. of the present age is but the thunder of his chariot- wheels, as he rides from victory to victory, ushering in the developments of the “ latter days.” Then, and not tiU then, you will feel that this is the era for maternal fidelity. Then you will apply your hands and your hearts with matchless zeal to render home the primary school of the land, in which are disci- plined her faithful and true sons and daughters. Then, with a devotion which never tires, you will guide the deathless spirit to a life of Christian toil on earth, and a sweeter home in the sides. XII. PHILOSOPHY OF CHARACTER. “ The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation ; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.” Shakspeaee. Philosophy is the reason of things. Hence there is philosophy in all things, since there is a reason for the nature and existence of all things in creation, providence, and grace. Though philosophy pertains to all things, it is comparatively little studied and known by mankind. They know that fire is hot, ice is cold, a rose is red, and leaves are green ; but how few persons seek for the reason of these phenomena. Some contemplate the orb of day in its radiant cir- cuit only in the estimate of the oil its light wiU save. Some admire the majestic march of a summer’s cloud, filtering water as it goes upon thirsty lands and shallow streams ; but appreciate the phenomenon only by the inches it raises the water in their ex- hausted mill-ponds. Some go into ecstacies over their crops of corn or cotton, while they are blind to the development of nature’s glorious plan. Some see beauty in the blossoms that coronate a tree ; but only as it prognosticates so many bushels of luscious ( 271 ) 272 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. fruit. This is the compass of their philosophy. While boundless fields of knowledge invite and allure the mind to gather treasures richer than Pe- ruvian placers, immortal powers grovel in the dust, as if the world were a mammoth mine, and “ man’s chief end ” to dig and winnow gold. But most of all, men are deficient in their knowl- edge of the true Philosophy of Character. That is, in the formation of character, the mass of the human family have no regard to plan or rule. There is a sort of recldessness, almost universal, upon this sub- ject. Men accord ^vith Solomon, that “ a good name is better than great riches ; ” but how character is made is the philosophy they have seldom studied. By what laws, inherent or extraneous, mental, so- cial, or moral, this workmanship, more exquisitely nice and beautiful than the statue of Phidias, is pro- duced, how few consider ! The most that claims attention is a collection of \\dse and stereotyped pre- cepts, very important to know and practise ; but far back of these hes the philosophical view, in the eter- nal laws of the mind. The character is formed by law, positive and direct, as really as the full ripe corn in the ear. Divine laws, in the production of rain and light, heat and cold, are not more apparent than * the laws of the mind and heart in the production of character. Character is not something that we take to ourselves from without ; but that which we fabri- cate with the machinery within. For its web to be complete, not a thread broken or dropped, all these laws of mind and heart must move in harmonious action, as truly as the complete mechanism of a watch. It is not sufficient to know simple precept ; PHILOSOPHY OP CHARACTER. 273 we need to learn something of those internal laws, in obedience to which precept may be reduced to practice. Then we go back to the foundation. We see on what a basis the superstructure may rise. We need not a view of the entire life to learn what character will be. When the foundation of some noble edifice is laid, and a few gigantic columns are reared in colossal grandeur to support the dome, we may judge, in some degree, what its architectural beauty will be, before we see the last stone raised to its place in the fabric, or the last touch of garniture upon its splendid walls. So, when we learn that the foundation of human character is laid in the harmo- nious action of the mental and moral laws of one’s being, we may judge somewhat of the prospective sti’ucture, as virtue after virtue shall be wrought into the comely fabric, like hewn and polished blocks of pearl, agate, and gold. As already intimated, a great variety of character presents itself to our view, varying as the physiog- nomies of men, yet why is it thus ? and hoiv is it thus ? are questions not often revolved. Character is to be made ; and of all made things, least care and attention is devoted to this. Even parents mourn over the utter ruin of a son, and wonder at such an issue of vice, when they have not devoted an hour of their lives to the inquiry, how unsulhed character is made. His clothes, his amusements, his thousand- and-one boyish wishes, have aU received careful at- tention. In respect to these, taste, appearances, econ- omy, pleasure, and durability are all studied. There is often more common sense, earnest thought, and sound reasoning, or, in other words, true philosophy, 274 LIPB AT THE PIRESEDE. expended upon the making of a coat than upon the making of character. The brainless dandy, who acts as if a man’s intrinsic value were carried on his back, is a philosopher at the toilet, and an ignoramus in the schools. With the multitude, no effort is made to mould character. It is left to take the direction that surrounding circumstances determine. It is not, then, a matter of surprise, that so many of our race are perfect paupers in respect to a good name. It is a wonder there are not more. When fathers and mothers have less to do with a son’s character than with his coat, less real anxiety for his principles than for his pleasures, we need not wonder, we cannot wonder, at the issue. When men, vdth deep con- cern, secure the inheritance of wealth wdth bonds and mortgages, bolt and padlock, and yet make no provision for the safety and perpetuity of virtue, we need not be surprised at the results in infamy. That man deserves commiseration for his lack of good-sense who thinks of forming character without nice discrimination and study, when without it he would not think of making a salable cloth, or other marketable goods. With these preliminaries, we are prepared to elu- cidate the subject proposed — Philosophy of Char- acter. The importance of the theme cannot be exag- gerated. How expressive with meaning is the very term — character ! As it rings upon the ear, it ex- cites visions of joy or soitow, of hope or despair, of endless felicity or woe. From the developments of the past and present, it stretches forv'ard in its all- comprehensive reach of meaning to the soul’s tern- PHILOSOPHY OP CHARACTER. 275 poral and eternal destiny. It wears the seal of im- mortality. Its price is far above rubies. It is the soul’s wealth, — its burning sapphire, jasper, and topaz. Without it, man is cursed with most un- pitying pauperism. There is no pauperism so abject and crushing as poverty of character. The bare conception of its absence suggests the worse than penury that frowns upon the days of him who owns it not. A characterless man ! Who suffers him to tread the unstained hearth-stone of home ? In aU the circles of valued men, who loves him? Who among the tried of virtue’s name does not hate his vicious living ? Who trusts him with his property or his business without careful watching ? A char- acterless man! Oh, the squalor and wretchedness of such a moral tatterdemalion, — a poor, miserable, forsaken outcast, exiled from virtuous homes and hearts! Characterless! Who would not rather be moneyless, and homeless too, — a pauper of “’olden time,” knocked off to the lowest bidder to be fed and clothed ! With all our hearts let us pity that poor wretch, the poorest of the poor, who does not own one good man’s respect, — whose threadbare char- acter denotes him a candidate for Satan’s almshouse, — loathed, hapless man on earth, more hapless still in heU ! Character is aU that a man hath, — his bosom friend, his guardian angel, as he travels an Egypt to inhabit a Canaan, — his seraph guide to Pisgah’s heights of glory, where to view the promised land, — yea, the magic rod wdth which he parts the flood, to escape the Pharaoh of a heartless world. At this point it may be necessary to avoid a mis- 276 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. understanding, by noting the distinction between character and reputation. They are frequently used synonymously, although widely differing. Char- acter is what a man is. Reputation may be what he is not. Character is -a man’s real worth — his intrinsic value. Reputation is what is thought of him, his value in the market of public opinion. Character “ hath foundations,” a basis enduring as granite. Reputation rests upon fluctuating hearsay, “ which to-day is, and to-morrow is not.” Character is a man’s net capital in the trade of hfe, always yielding a reasonable income, and furnishing him with security against remediless failure, when others are involved in ruin. Reputation is only the capital which his neighbors say he possesses, and which is somewhat more likely to be false than true. Char- acter is the product of working laws. Reputation exists independent of law, — a lawless thing. The French were wont to say, “ the reputation of a man is like his shadow ; it sometimes follows, and some- times precedes him ; it is sometimes longer and sometimes shorter than himself.” Hence a person really devoid of every element of vuduous character may be favorably reported abroad. But he alone who is intrinsically worthy of such a name, can claim the character of which we speak. The Law of Association is the first law which is involved in the philosophy of character. It is a fact of our experience, and lies at the foundation of all our tastes and habits. It is one of the simplest principles of mental action, and is attended by the most wonderful of mental phenomena. It consists simply in this ; — a person or thing once seen in PHILOSOPHY OF CHABACTER. 277 connection with another, becomes associated with it in the mind, so that the mention or presentation of the one will recall the other. The bare circumstance of being seen together may create such a lasting and inevitable association. Common examples of the operation of this law are such as the following. If the village bell tolls slowly, and at measured intervals, we think of death and the grave. On the other hand, the sound of jingling sleigh-bells suggests the joyous heart, and merry ride ! If we meet a man notorious for some vice, we are at once reminded of his pernicious habit. The smell of camphor, or the physician’s carriage at a neighbor’s door, causes us to inquire, who is ill. Visit some warworn pensioner, the living rehc of revolutionary story, nor hsp one word that shall recall the recollection of hard-fought battles, and triumphs of victory. But pour the martial strain of fife and drum into his heavy ear, and the old man’s heart beats against the walls of its wasting taber- nacle, as if his age were renewed with the spirit of ’76. The martial music revives the recollection of the past. The scholar of classic fame stands beside the crumbling towers and temples of Greece or Rome. He walks over ruins that are dignified with the memory of genius and heroic virtue. He breathes an air that seems loaded with the melody of ancient eloquence and song. For he treads a spot that is hallowed with stirring associations, pervading the soil and the air, and speaking out from every wasting column and portico, with a power that kindles fire in the eye, and inspiration in the heart. 24 278 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. When Mark Antony pronounced his distinguished eulogy over the dead body of Caesar, he made an appeal to this law, in order to carry udth him the hearts of his audience. With solemn mien he stretched out his hand, and with his nerv’ous fingers lifted the covering from the great man’s corpse, and, pointing to the gaping wounds, gave them a voice more thrilling than his own, by the rush of memories which it caused in the minds of the vast assembly. The past had a history, of which dead Caesar was the life and soul, and one glimpse of the gaping gash spread it out as on painted canvas. Never, never had funeral eloquence such power ; for it A^arought the slavery of twenty nations. One who perfectly understood the philosophy of the mind, appealed, in an horn of affecting interest, to this law, as the basis of hopes that never die. When about to be offered on the cross, Christ de- sired a grateful remembrance in the hearts of his people. How unpretending the method by which his name is perpetuated ! He took bread, and brake it, and gave to his disciples, saying, “ this do in remembrance of me.” How simple, and yet how grand ! By an appeal to the law of association, he united, beyond the possibility of forgetting, the sacred symbols with the untold sufferings of the cross. Neither time nor distance nor revolution hath jostled one stone in this monument, which Christ erected in human hearts. Others have sought to perpetuate theii' memory by rearing stupendous works to survive the wasting touch of time. They have founded cities, raised monumental piles, and budded pyramids. But Christ asked not for brass or PHILOSOPHY OP CHARACTEE. 279 marble. He reared no gilded shaft ; he sent up no lofty column. Yet, when the works of earth’s mightiest Nimrods shall have crumbled to dust, this monument of Christ will abide in the hearts of men. For its basis is a law of our existence as unchange- able and wasteless as the soul. The above examples will suffice to illustrate our meaning. They show that persons, ideas, and things may be inseparably associated in the mind. With this view, it is clear that this law must have great force in the formation of character. By pru- dence, wisdom, foresight, and purity, aU life’s associ- ations may be pure, and the character, of course, par- takes of that purity. When the scenes in which one mingles are virtuous, there can be no vicious recol- lections to fire the passions, and pollute the heart. Equally powerful are the workings of this law in the production of evil. It drives the soul on, both in the heavenward and hellward course. By ligaments too strong for even death to sunder-, associations of vice 'and pollution are bound to the depraved heart. Unaided by Divine gi-aee, man finds it impossible to flee froiu their dominion, though he escape to the utmost bounds of space. Should he ascend up into heaven, they are there. If he makes his bed in heU, they are there. If he takes the wings of the morn- ing, and flies to either pole, they are there, to tie him to his loved sins. Aye, could we see the triple cords, which this law weaves to throw around a guilty soul, we should not wonder they break so seldom ; but that they are ever broken. When a man converts God’s laws into machinery to turn out 280 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. pollution, he will find that he has set springs and wheels m motion that are difficult to stop. Mark the tremor and agitation of that nervous youth. Possibly his parents have never asked why he starts and trembles when suddenly surprised? why he fears to be alone in the dark ? why his imag- ination peoples darkness and solitude \^ith ghostly figures? Why this fear and fright and agitation? Ay, there is no mystery here. For nursery tales of ghosts and gobhns feU upon his infant ears, and as- sociated darkness in his mind wfith firightful images. So vivid hath nursery imprudence made these start- ling associations, that his youthful imagination can fill the air at any moment with phantoms and evil spirits. An ancient artist sketched the figure of a beauti- ful boy from the bright original, — the loveliest child he ever saw, — dehcate as a flower, and brilliant as a star, — too fair and beautiful for earth. He sus- pended it upon the umll of his studio, having resolved that when he saw the ughest victim of vice to be imagined in humanity’s form, he would paint the guilty wetch, and suspend the portrait by the side of the angel-chUd. Years rolled by, and, at length, he found a loathsome subject. With the bruises and putrefying sores of vice festering upon every featme, and blotting out the last trace of human brotherhood from the heart, he painted the profligate, and hung the awful picture upon the wall fieside the child. Strange contrast ! And yet, he found that the man whose portrait he had taken was once that beauriful boy. He could scarcely beheve his eyes. He won- PHILOSOPHY OF CHARACTER. 281 dered and wept over the change. But there was no reason for wonder or surprise. It is not amazing when we know that early in life he threw off the in- nocency of his childhood, and became the associate of the vicious and abandoned, mingling in scenes of gross debauchery, until vile companionship alone could gratify his taste, and thus by multiplied and vivid associations was made to live continually, by the force of the imagination, in scenes of vice. It is not strange when we reflect that the soul was united by vivid recollections to the base delights of pollution, and thus the passions were set on fire by unhallowed memories, and kept burning as if a liv- ing coal were wound up as a ganglion in the heart. Subject a man to the moulding power of this law, let it have the opportunity to transform, and, though he be an angel of light, it will fashion him into a demon as readily as the potter fashioneth the clay. Here we have a glimpse of the Philosophy of Char- acter. Another law of our natm-es having to do with this subject is the Law of Imitation. There is very little genuine originality among the mass of the hu- man family. They are mostly copyists, not design- ers. The original thinking of the world is done by a few choice spirits. Our schools of the arts and sciences are generally a simple transfer of the thoughts of others. In astronomy, we are think- ing the thoughts of Herschell ; in geology, the thoughts of Lyell ; in philosophy, the thoughts of Newton ; in theology, the thoughts of Luther, Cal- vin, and others. Until we consider, we are not aware 24 * 282 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. how few thoughts, embraced in our general knowl- edge, are our own. We carry this principle of imitation into aU things. Character is copied as truly, and generally to a greater degree of perfection, than paintings. In a foregoing chapter upon the Parental Relation, this truth was elucidated. The fact that children so gen- erally copy the virtues and vices of their parents proving the adage, “hlce father, like son,” is evidence of the powerful workings of this law. AU human precepts and lessons concerning exam- ple are based upon it. Although few may have in view its existence, it is, nevertheless, aU that renders example important. Were it not for this, example would be powerless. But now, the speediest method to make a man a pattern of earthly virtue is to send him to mingle with the virtuous. He wiU imitate their viidues. On the other hand, a successful way to make a profligate is to afford him the companion- ship of the vicious. Let his eyes rest upon scenes of vice, and his ear Usten to the song of revehy, and by and by his heart wiU throb with sympathy, and before he dreams of sinning he is copying wees. No virtue is so exalted and no vice is so disgustmg, that man wiU not imitate it. This is the sentiment of the weU-known lines of Pope, — “ Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; Yet, seen too oft, familiar vith her face. We first endure, then pitj', then embrace.” It was in obedience to this law, that one of the most gifted painters of antiquity refused to gaze upon a PHILOSOPHY OF CHARACTER. 283 defective picture, lest he should transfer the defect to his own canvas. With such force does this law rule the human mind. Another law, akin to the last, while yet distinct, is the Law of Assimilation. It is not a hand that simply copies ; but one that moulds and transforms. This law pervades the works of God. It is tracea- ble in inanimate nature. Some vines lock their shooting tendrils around their nearest neighbors, and clasp them week after week till their products become in nature hke their own. Multitudinous are the plants that assimilate aU others near at hand to themselves. The operation of this law is witnessed in the wor- shippings of mankind. Men are assimilated to the moral character of the objects which they worship, be that character what it may. Some of the tribes of the Northmen, who annihilated the Roman power, were worshippers of Odin and Thor, hero- kings, bloodthirsty and cruel. Their worship de- stroyed the tenderness of their hearts, and seemed to mould them over into bloodhounds of human form, delighted never so much as when upon the field of dreadful slaughter. So that here the distinction be- tween imitation and assimilation is apparent : as- similation meaning, not simply the taking of some- thing extraneous to one’s self, but the turning over the inner man, with aU its living sympathies, to a new and different life, — a kind of re-creation for better or worse. In China, the priests of Buddha understand and teach this doctrine in the following emphatic man- ner. “ Think of Buddha and you will be trans- 284 ■LIFE AT THE ITRESIDE. formed into Buddha. K men pray to Buddha and do not become Buddha, it is because the mouth prays and not the mind.” This is the doctrine of as- similation, not a whit too strongly stated. Men do partake of the moral character of the objects which they worship. This is the philosophy of religious character. In social and intellectual character, this law is equally effective. The scholar, who has strong sym- pathy with, and glowing love for, some chosen au- thor, will gradually, and to a surprising degree ap- proximate to his style and manner. The friend, tried and true, becomes like his bosom companion. The stronger his attachment, the closer his Ifiend- ship, the more implicit his confidence, the more cer- tainly wiU his feelings and his whole character be assimilated to that of his friend. He will love what he loves, hate what he hates, and do what he does. If the friend be virtuous, happy will it be for him. But though the friend be carious to the heart’s core, this law of assimilation will soon convert his own soul into a similar nest of harlot passions. At this point many a stripling has been involved in ruin. Here the seal of infamy has been stamped upon many hearts. Here many a young man has lost his crown of glory. The attributes of his manhood have been transmuted into bestial appetites. The kindling aspirations of a noble nature have been moulded into the disgusting sensualities of vice. Not by accident, or unlucky hit; but by the power of a moulding law that can fashion men into vessels of honor or dishonor. The Law of Habit also has its place in the form- PHILOSOPHY OP CHARACTEK. 285 ation of character. The sagacious Dr. Paley has said, that “ man is a bundle of habits,” meaning that habit has more or less to do with his entire existence. “ Practice makes perfect,” is a maxim of undoubted truth ; but it is only another expression to denote the force of habit. The philosophy of it is simply this, — repetition gives facility and strength to ac- tion, physical, mental, and moral. The village “ smithy ” at his forge reveals the truth in the brawny muscles of his arm ; the weather-beaten tar in the easy step with which he climbs the rig- ging of his rocking ship ; the trained equestrian in the agility with which he vaults and dances on slack- ened rope ; the school-boy in the rapidity with which he reads a page, dashing on from sentence to sen- tence, where once he paused to trace the form of let- ters, and spell each syllable ; and the sinner in the remorseless spirit with which he utters oaths, that once would have wellnigh curdled his blood, and palsied his tongue. Habits “ are not always laid down deliberately as plans to be pursued, but steal upon us insensibly ; insinuate themselves into a train of successive repeti- tions,” tin we find they have sent down their roots into the unknown depths of the heart, and their shooting fibres lock and interlock at the centre of our being. We have noticed the slow progress of insidious disease, when the youthful victim, aU unconscious of its silent inroads, wears the smile of gayety upon a bloom that seems the rosy tint of health, when it is but the hectic signal of decay. Not less insidious are the advances of evil, that, by frequent repetition, 286 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. become incorporated into human character. Little by little, step by step, so slow and yet so sure, that, what we now regard with abhorrence, we may finally demand as indispensable. This law expends its in- tensest force upon the tastes. Men do not practise vice against their tastes. They learn to love it by continued communion with it ; and when the habit of indulgence has once created the baneful taste, it requires a Herculean will to oppose resist- ance. Neither reason, persuasion, argument, nor al- ways religion, avail against it. The poor inebriate, scathed and scanned by his unmerciful bondage to a vicious habit, struggles and worries to snap Ms chains asunder, — to be free from the grinding t\Tanny of appetite ; but often it is vain. Or if, perchance, he severs his bonds, and comes forth from the Egypt of his thraldom, branded and scourged in body and soul, a sight of the sparkling cup may charm him back to his slavery. We are told of a species of deadly serpent, that possess the terrific power of “ charming by the eye, or some mysterious influence, the birds, or other living creatures they are intent upon seizing, and of thus drawing them within reach of their fangs.” Fit symbol of the fascination of the “ Ser- pent of the Still” to the victims of this drinking habit! The three last-mentioned laws, imitation, assimi- lation, and habit may be regarded branches, or radi- ations of the first, association. We have preferred, however, to regard them in their distinctive offices. Two others remain to be considered. But here we pause to illustrate more distinctly the operation of these laws in the formation of a single character. Take the libertine, — the wretch whose leading vice PHILOSOPHY OF CHARACTER. 287 embraces in its mammoth scope all other vices. He may lounge in splendid parlors ; but his body bloats with pestilent disease, and his soul festers with the loathsome cancers of corruption. The signal of his inward shame is hung out upon every lineament of his face, and vice has scored its superscription upon his very forehead. All over, from head to foot, inside and outside, nature has branded him with marks of in- famy, proclaiming how she loathes such a putrescent specimen of humanity. She labels him at every loosened joint, and at every pore oozing with stench- ful ichor, a moral monstrosity, and swears that virtue is ashamed that such a being lives. He lives and moves, perchance, among some decent people, but more to be dreaded than plague and cholera combined. For he hunts virtue as game. He allures and traps un- suspecting innocence. The brighter virtue he can decoy, and drag down to the lowest depths of sensu- ality, the greater is his joy. Vile miscreant! The blackest fiend that ti'eads the burning marl of hell could do no more. I have read of an ambitious art- ist, living in days of yore, who, in order to paint a dying agony in the most perfect manner, ordered one of his slaves to be slaughtered before his eyes, that he might sketch a man writhing in the pangs of death. Monster of ambition ! Yet, he is worthy of our admiration beside the debauchee, who would rob virtue of its coronet of honor. For he painted to cultivate his gemus, and please the world by his artistic skill. But the latter ruins to gratify a satanic love of sin. What fathomless depths of guilt in the being of so great a sinner ! His heart is a pestilent 288 LIFE AT THE FIEESIDE. Dead Sea, in which at least one Sodom and Gomor- rah is ingulphed, from whose surface deadly ex- halations rise, and on whose banks not a green thing grows. Such is the character of the libertine ; and now we inquire, how is it formed ? What is the philos- ophy of its formation ? In reply, we answer, it hes in the operation of the laws considered, — the force and direction which their united action gives to aU the passions and propensities of human nature. For these are ruled by association, imitation, assimi- lation, and habit. These conspire together to make the man what he is. The base workmanship was not wuought in a day. Long since he began to mingle in scenes that created in his mind polluting associations. His eye rested upon obscene pictmes or characters. His mind communed with fictitious and disgusting tales. He resorted to the bfiliard- room, the theatre, and at last to the midnight sym- posia. One guilty association was wed to another ; imitation began to make rough sketches of the Ter- rible reality ; assimilation gradually moulded over the disposition and the taste ; repetition succeeding repetition, until the most damning vice was warought into a masterly habit. Thus the united action of these laws has imbruted humanity, and stricken from the soul the last trace of every manly virtue. They have haunted the imagination with the ghosts of ugly vices, and inscribed the walls of the memory all over with obscene figures, and disgusting sen- tences. Could we turn that filthy mind inside out, and trace upon its imperishable parchment the base PHILOSOPHY OF CHAEACTEK. 289 inscriptions, we should not wonder that the dis- torted mental and moral vision saw only the gilded forms of impmdty. I have seen a shattered building whose interior walls were literally covered with vile pictures and viler sentiments. It was to me an expressive symbol of the depraved minds of those who had been there to scratch and scrawl. Upon those walls the law of association had inscribed what it had before in- scribed upon the mind. Immoral men had been unconsciously, but with master-stroke, delineating their characters there — truthful autobiographies. So with the libertine, whose character is drawn above. Another law having to do with the formation of character is that of Hereditary Developments. Es- tates descend from father to son with no less cer- tainty than do some marked traits of character, both good and evil. Procreated and perpetuated, inborn and inbred, they leave then’ impressions deep down in the soul, as clear and undoubted as “ footprints ” upon the “ old red sandstone.” If they are perni- cious characteristics, it is weUnigh as difficult to eradicate them as it is to eradicate consumption and scrofula that are begotten with one’s existence, and taint the blood to the third and fourth generation. Without prolonging remarks upon this law, one character may be cited, by way of illustration, the leading element of which is frequently inherited. It is the cynic, — the man who discovers few attractions in his feUow-men, but uncounted delinquencies. In a season of counter opinions and principles, he is a most uncomfortable companion in the political world ; and, in the church, as an eccentric divine has 25 290 LITE AT THE FIRESIDE. said, “ the crookedest stick that grows on Zion’s hill.” He is of very ancient pedigree, tracing back the ancestral line to a sect of strange philosophers, called cynics, who lived in Pontus about three hundred years before Christ. They gloried in disliking what other men loved. In other words, their vocation was fault-finding. Diogenes, the old bachelor who lived in a tub, belonged to that sect. He saw so little good in manldnd, that he ran through the streets at mid-day, with a lantern in his hand, declaring that he was searching for an honest man. The character to whom allusion is made is an offshoot of that ancient stock, — a legitimate descendant of old Diogenes. He passes through the world eyeing everybody as- kance, seeing nothing well done unless done by him- self. When he handles character, he is a complete anatomist, thrusting the tongue’s dissecting knife through the veins and arteries of reputation at a most fearful rate, leaving nothing but a ghostly skel- eton when the work is completed. His forte lies in this anatomical investigation of character. There is only one strange thing in the science, and that is, he dissects to discover all the putrid ulcers and huge tumors and festering sores possible — the faults of human character — disappointed only when no dis- ease is found. A true picture of himself and com- rades at their work may be seen in a rotten carcass, overrun with the cynics of a lower order, and never so happy as when devouring the dissolving carrion. Such is the cynic ; and a close observation will satisfy every person, that, in a majority of instances, this feature of his character is inherited. Run back in the lineal survey, and often it will be foimd that PHILOSOPHY OP CHARACTER. 291 his father, and earlier ancestors, possessed the same characteristic. It has come down from generation to generation, like the heir-loom or wasting homestead. The Law of Conscience holds an important place in the formation of character. We mean not the faculty itself, so much as the law by which it is con- trolled, — the same as that which governs all our powers, namely : — It is strengthened by use, it is impaired by disuse. It is not by reading moral essays that this faculty is improved. It is by a care- ful regard to moral distinctions that it becomes tender and active, by asking the question concerning our actions, is this right ? is that wrong ? thus bring- ing all our acts to a proper test. Facts prove that the conscience may become a more powerful agency of restraint than even statutes and decrees. We read of men whose guilty aetions were undisclosed, and yet who “ seemed to themselves,” in the lan- guage of Melville, “ to be surrounded with witnesses and avengers, so that the sound of their own foot- tread has startled them, as if it had been the piercing cry of an accuser ; and the rustling of every tree and the murmur of every brook has sounded like the utterance of one clamorous for their punishment. They have felt as though, in the absence of all ac- cusation from beings of their own race, they had arrayed against themselves the whole visible creation, sun, moon, and stars, and forests and waters growing vocal, that they might publish their crimes.” True, such examples of its power are not the result of its healthful discipline ; but we know that a similar power it may acquire, by a careful and constant re- gard to its decisions ; so that a man would almost 292 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. as soon dare the flaming wrath of God, as the light- ning of its conviction ; or provoke the trump of Gabriel, as the thunder of its voice. Every time a person does right he fulfils this law, and gains thereby a victory over his base propensities, and is absolutely laying up a revenue of moral strength for seasons of temptation. As in his busi- ness he provides a capital, upon which to settle back when hard times convulse the mercantile community, and tottle down mighty warehouses ; so here every instance of regard to the decisions of conscience makes a man stronger for good, builds up his char- acter as if in sohd granite, and increases his moral force to a revenue against hard times, that come in morals as well as in the trades, — seasons of tempta- tion and moral peril, when men must stand or fall upon their own tried virtues, as young eagles are jostled from their nests to be saved by their own pinions, or fall and perish. We cannot too highly value such an element of character. On the other hand, every time this law is violated, it bhnds a man to moral distinctions, it diminishes his moral power, it overcomes his aversion to sin, so that the perpetration of a wrong, which once would have caused his feelings to revolt, is now taken upon the soul without remorse. By every repeated wola- tion of its mandates, he is less and less impelled to do right. Hence it follows, that whatever blinds men to mor- al distinctions, is sadly wolating this law, no matter how trifling the act. The most trifling immoral act, from the very fact that its immorality may not be so readily noticed, may be most dangerous. PHILOSOPHY OP CHAHACTBK. 293 Here we meet a fact which this philosophy ex- plains. Many a young man of supposed integrity has commenced business with as much credit as he could desire, and closed with as little. To many it is almost unaccountable, while yet an examination may show it to be less strange. There are certain characteristics of the times which tend directly to blind men to moral distinctions, and hence to violate the law of conscience. Two are presented for illus- tration. The first is that corrupt public sentiment which bestows its honors upon vice instead of virtue ; or which, at least, does not make a distinction between right and wrong in conferring reward. We speak here upon no doubtful theme, but of what the eye beholds. We see that in filling the offices of the land, the distinction between virtue and vice is al- most annihilated. There are men, sharing largely in official honors, in whose souls virtue does not find an abiding place, — a sound moral principle would die there from utter loneliness ; men, who, stripped of official badges, would be admitted to the circle of your sons and daughters no sooner than a serpent or an alligator ; as soon would you turn a raging ox in- to your blooming garden to pasture, and trample on the rose and flowering almond, as admit them to the familiar intercourse of home; for among them are the intemperate, the profane, the vulgar, and the licentious. Mark a single fact with the common people. At- tach some sounding title to even an immoral man’s name, as archbishop, duke, or king, and send him through the streets ; and old men and matrons, young 25 * 294 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. men and maidens, will throng the doors and windows of house and shop, and possibly a thousand syco- phants wiU press through the crowd to touch the hem of his garment. Few inquire what his character may be ; for the sounding title awes them into re- spect, and there is a perfect shower of bouquets, waving handkerchiefs, and doffing hats. The idea of vudue and vice is annihilated in the scene. So with wealth. The multitude often run after a rich, more than after a good man. Litroduce a mill- ionaire into any community, and, character or no character, a class wiU follow him with the most ob- sequious demeanor. "Wealth and honor are the world’s two idols. The question of right and wrong is comparatively lost in the homage paid them. Hence it is not strange, ffied with ambition, and flushed with the desire of honor as human nature is, that the law of conscience is disregarded, when the language of the world to every young man is, in the couplet of Pope, — “ Get place and vealth if possible by grace, If not, by any means get wealth and place.” The other characteristic of the age, closely allied to the above, is the counterfeiting and deception which are incorporated into business. This is a money-getting age. There have been ages of iron and of brass, but this is literaUy an age of gold. Gold excites the mass to more earnest and hearty efforts than God. A California is worth more to the multitude than a Canaan. The “ argumentum ad crumenam,” — an argument to the purse, is more PHILOSOPHY OF CHARACTER. 295 powerful than “ argumentum ad hominem — an argument to the man. Growing out of this, proba- bly, is the counterfeiting and deception to which ref- erence is had. The food upon om- tables, and the clothes upon our backs, were they gifted with speech, would tell a story that ought to tingle on the ear. Coffee com- pounded with pulverized peas, — sugar skilfully “ alumnized,” — tea flavored with herbs, native and exotic, — spices of nameless mixtures, — and lusty braces of chickens two years old, — these are a spec- imen of our lying provisions. Then our fine Ger- man doeskin is a real native American, — our Irish linen of Yankee manufacture, and half cotton at that, — our Brussels carpets fresh from some youth- ful Lowell, — our French caheoes just in from some Merrimack Mills, — our French hosiery and hats beautifully stamped on this side of the Atlantic with the mark of Paris, — our superfine silk paper of re- puted Parisian quality, on which the preacher writes his sermon, reminded of the ninth commandment at every stroke of the pen, is the best that rolls over an Amesbury cylinder; this is a specimen of our lying apparel and fixtures. Then the poor, sinking, dying patient doses himself with deception. His strength-restoring wine, reported fresh from the vine- yards of Portugal, was expressed from the clusters of New England, — his London porter is of home man- ufacture, possibly the product of some “ Albany brewery,” — his cod liver oil turns out to be the veri- table sperm once dipped from the head of a mighty whale, — and with the numberless catholicons, whose fame is spread through the land, he drinks a dose of 296 LIFE AT THE FniESIDE. deception, too unmedicinal to cure, and too harmless to kill. He asks for bread and receives a stone., for a fish and gets a scorpion. K God should give a voice to every article we eat and wear, with the manufacture and sale of which deception is practised, we should be struck deaf with the stunning peal that would roU upon the ear- drum. Every thing is counterfeited from. sUver coin, to character. There is false food, false apparel, false medicine, false honor, false friendship, false patriot- ism, false ethics, false religion, and false every thing. It is not surprising, that, in such a state of things, the young man in search of his fortune loses sight of moral distinctions, and thus violates, and continues to violate, his conscience. It may seem a small mat- ter to put a foreign stamp upon domestic goods, or to seek worldly promotion by doubtful instrumentali- ties ; but it is inflicting a wound upon conscience. It destroys the distinction between virtue and vice, and thus maims and cripples the most glorious part of human nature. In this way the times make prac- tical swindlers philosophically. It is grand and ennobHng to abide by the decis- ions of conscience amid the roar of life’s business. To be able to look the world steady in the face, ■^'ith unblanched cheek and guiltless eye ; and to say, “ I have WTonged no man,” — this is manhood’s noblest at- tribute. To be able to point to suffering worldly in- terest, — to hours of darkness and frowning danger, — the scars and nail prints of a persecuting world, — all endured for “ conscience’ sake,” this is the sublime of human character. Our hearts venerate the man who takes the noble stand of the brave Mag- PHILOSOPHY OP CHAEACTER. 297 yar, Kossuth, the statesman and orator, who, when tempted by the sultan of Turkey to renounce the Christian religion, replied, “ Welcome, if need be, the axe and the gibbet ; but curses on the tongue that dares make to me so infamous a proposal.” Men record such examples on brass and marble, be- cause they exalt the conscience. Without the moral element, which a regard to this law insures, character is worthless. There may be splendid endowments, noble attributes, fashioned into a character that shines ; but it is only with a transient glare. We read that Potempkin, a princely Russian, erected a gorgeous palace “ to surprise and please his imperial mistress. Huge blocks of ice were pded one upon another. Ionic pillars of chastest, work- manship, in ice, formed a noble portico ; and a dome of the same material shone in the sun, which had just strength enough to gild, but not to melt it. It glittered afar, like a palace of diamonds ; but there came one day a warm breeze from the south, and the stately building dissolved away, till none were able to gather up the fragments.” Fit symbol of a character embellished with splendid endowments, yet devoid of this saving element! The laws which have been enumerated act more or less in conjunction with a mighty force, — the win. This deserves here a passing consideration. In the formation of character it has a powerful influ- ence. With the gift of an enchanter, it summons the mental and moral powers to the Herculean task. It laughs at obstacles. It is the mental engine of nameless power that drives on decision, energy, and 298 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. perseverance of character. When the whole man is under its control, he can race and battle with the world. Its energy sparkles in his eye, twitches in his nerves, glows on his cheek, energizes his mind, and electrifies his heart. His spirit, motions, eye, browr, step, words, and his noble soul, — aU make a revelation of its power. Every act has an earnest- ness, determination, vitality, and thrilling meaning about it. He not only “ strikes while the iron is hot, but he keeps it hot by striking.” He verifies the Latin proverb, “ Labor omnia vincit,” — labor con- quers all things. And he undertakes a stupendous work with the zeal and determination of Julius Csesar, when he conquered Pharnaces, “ vend, \'idi, vici, — I came, I saw, I conquered.” It .was this which raised Linnaeus, Pareus, Badouin, Purver, and Roger Sherman from the bench of the cobbler to the chair of the professor, and the seat of the legislator. It wms this which shut up Demosthenes in his subterranean study, and made him the prince of orators. It was this which marked the life of that Roman senator, wdio ex- claimed to the affrighted pUot in the storm, “ Fear not, thou bearest Caesar and his fortunes.” Such is the power, acting in harmony wdth men- tal and moral laws, wdth which God has invested every person, to be employed in wmrking out his earthly salvation. It is a fearful power to possess. “ Mere power may be used for any purpose, noble or ignoble. Gunpowder may blast a path for the rail car, or send death into the heart of a defenceless city. Steam may propel to our shores the friendly vessel of commerce, or the hostile naval armament.” The PHILOSOPHY OP CHARACTER. 299 rising wind may swell the floating canvas, and bear the voyager delighted to the port, or, lashing the sea into fury, dash his bark, all shattered, upon a rock- bound coast. In like manner this power, with which God has invested every human being, may prove a blessing or a curse, — an instrument to be wielded for error or for truth. At this point it would be a profitable application of the subject to analyze the personal history of such men as Byron, Napoleon, and Robespierre, and trace the operation of the laws enumerated in the formation of their characters. The subject, also, suggests expansive themes, relative to the under- standing of this mental and moral philosophy in the training of children and youth, and the points of danger and encouragement in every yoimg man’s career. But, for want of space, all this must be passed in silence. It is clear that the formation of character is no hap-hazard work. There is no chance game to be played in working out our earthly destiny. There is no being born under lucky stars ; that belongs to hea- thenism, — a relic of Hindoo astrology. Philosophy is “ a jack at all trades ; ” yet in none more active and skilful than in the formation of character. Such is the Philosophy of Character, very imper- fectly presented. Yet, superficialy as our view has been, we have seen enough to show that its faithful fashioning is as truly an art as that which guided the chisel of Praxiteles, or the brush of Ra- phael. As we ponder the mystic machinery with which the curious workmanship is wrought, we are more than ever impressed with the pithy lesson of 300 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Solon — one of the seven wise men of Greece — “ gnothi seauton,” know thyself — a rare attainment, even by those who have soared to the loftiest heights, and descended to the profoundest depths of knowl- edge. He who has made the acquisition is more than Bachelor of Arts ; he is Master of Arts. The soul is a harp of a thousand strings, and few are they who can make music on them all. A slight neglect may destroy the blissful harmonies. You have listened with rapt attention to the strains of melody bursting from a fuU, practised orchestra. Note swells and blends wdth note in enchanting sweetness. Voice soars and mingles with voice in volumes of richest sound. Wave after wave of the sacred song pours upon the hstening spirit to capti- vate and charm. But one little jar — one discord- ant note — wdU break the melody, and waste the music on the air. So the laws of God, mental, moral, and material, are so many chords strung to a uni- versal anthem ; and he wdio dares resist the philoso- phy of his being, in the violation of the simplest of these laws, sunders a chord, and strikes a note from the harmonies of creation. BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG MAN. “ Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints that perhaps another. Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.” Longfellow. A PERFECT young man we do not expect to find in this world, since nothing is perfect ; but we may profitably contemplate a noble _ model, such as can be attained. Our standard better be too high than too low, — our model too celestial than too earthly. Our natures seem to have been created with refer- ence to this truth. For, in regard to characters sketched by different writers, we are better satisfied with one painted in too high colors than we are with the opposite. I recall an example. Two or three years since a book was published, in which the char- acter of a model young man was drawn with re- markable ability, except that he left college and went to the city to serve as clerk without consulting his parents. He did it with the view of aiding his indi- 26 ( 301 ) 302 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. gent father in supporting a large and dependent family, — a commendable motive ; yet he violated true filial obedience. To every reader, this defect was so striking that the offset of the generous mo- tive did not conceal it. Probably every reader had the same feelings in regard to tliis otherudse well- drawn character. So generally was disappointment expressed in regard to it, that in a subsequent edition of the work, a note of such a character as to modify the unpleasant impression was appended. About the same time another volume was pubhshed, in which the picture of a child was presented with almost angehc beauties. The reader felt that it was overwrought, — too seraphic for this world of sin. Yet we have never heard of a single person who would have the character of little Eva changed. All loved to contemplate her more than human loveh- ness, and exclaimed, when God took her to himself,' “ too beautiful for earth I ” Then let our beau ideal of a young man be ele- vating and dignified. Let nothing low or grovelling enter into our conception of the character which he ought to maintain. StUl, let it be attainable, — within the reach of their number. It is delightful to behold the aged sire going down to the grave wdth virtue’s crown of glory on his head ; and yet, may we not take a view of the young man which shall render a high, virtuous character even more attrac- tive ? He stands upon the threshold of a life that is to be a blessing or a curse to the family and the world, as well as the germ of eternal felicity or wo. He is to engage in the hard conflict of life, and to live or die hereafter according to the issue of the BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG MAN. 303 battle. The unexplored future is before him, and with such a character as he may form, with God’s blessing, he will run a career more sublime than that of ambitious conquerors. It must be admitted that it is more difficult at the present day for a young man to attain to certain positions of influence than it was formerly. The period in which we live is unlike those which have preceded it, in respect to improvement, and the spread of general intelligence. A writer says, “ The times are changing; the race is improving; the masses are rising ; education and general intelli- gence are affecting the whole population. Ignorance of men and things, of practical philosophy, of the history of the world, of the doctrines and forms of religion, and of current events, is now positively dis- graceful, and is reason enough why any young man of ordinary opportunities can have no honorable place in good society, and have little or no influ- ence.” Still, this state of things ought not to be looked upon as a discouragement. Properly regarded, this higher standard of intelligence, to which the present age has attained, should arouse the young man’s energies, and bring him out. So that, while it may be more difficult for him now than formerly to attain to a given degree of influence and usefulness, the persuasive thereto is greatly augmented. The first quality that may be named in the Beau Ideal of a Young Man is, living for a high moral pur- pose. The point in view may be set forth by the fol- lowing quotation from Dr. Chalmers. “ Thousands of men breathe, move, and live, — pass off the stage of 304 LIPB AT THE FIRESIDE. life, and are heard of no more. Why ? They did not a particle of good in the world, and none were blessed by them ; none could point to them as the instrument of their redemption ; not a line they wrote, not a word they spoke, could be recalled, and so they perished ; their light went out in dark- ness, and they were not remembered more than the insects of yesterday. Will you thus live and die, O man immortal? Live for soviething. Do good, and leave behind you a monument of virtue, that the storm can never destroy. Write your name by Idndness, love, and mercy on the hearts of the thou- sands you come in contact with year by year, and you will never be forgotten : No, your name, — your deeds, will be as legible on the hearts you leave behind as the stars on the brow of evening. Good deeds wUl shine as brightly on the earth as the stars of heaven.” In these words is presented the aimless character of the lives of multitudes. With them, life means little or nothing. They never inquire why they live. They are the sport of circmnstances ; one thing to- day, another to-moiTow. They have no particular standard of excellence or usefulness at which to aim. They stiike at no definite mark. It is in morals, with vast numbers, as it is in secular things. Hun- dreds and thousands go to our large cities to find employment, without having decided what vocation they ,wiU follow. Employment is their object, no matter what. So they become grocers, porters, clerks, salesmen, any thing, just as circumstances a]3pear to favor. Perhaps their employment changes as often as the moon. There is no settled, fixed BEAU IDEAL OE A TOUHG MAN. 305 purpose about it. And thus they live on till death puts a period to their fruitless lives. Just so it is in respect to moral and religious ends, — thousands are aimless as accident or chance. With reference to these things they lay no plans, form no resolutions, nor indulge any anxiety. They live to no purpose. This is true of a large class of young men. There appears to be a lack of foresight on the part of many, at least with reference to the great end of existence. They do not appear to have decided what they will be and do, further than to follow this or that voca- tion, and often not even that. This class of young men need to ponder the im- portant fact, that those men who have left then- mark upon the world formed a definite purpose in early life, and pursued it with unwearied assiduity. Their distinction has resulted from a singleness of aim, v/hich was manifest at every stage of their ca- reer. It has been so in art, science, and religion. Hence the fact, that man has seldom distinguished himself, except in one thing. The life-purpose of Herschel was to master the science of Astronomy ; that of Newton, to compass Natural Philosophy ; that of Bowditch, to advance Mathematics ; that of Franldin, to investigate the laws of Electricity ; that of Wilberforce and Buxton, to prosecute the work of British Emancipation ; that of Howard, to “ take the guage and dimensions of misery, depression, and contempt” in the prison-world of Europe; that of Luther, to establish and disseminate the doctrine of justification by faith ; that of Chalmers, Edwards, and kindred spirits, to expound the word of God. In these several pursuits, these men became dis- 26 * 306 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. tinguished mainly because they devoted their time and abilities to them with singleness of purpose. Early in life their plan was laid out, — they deter- mined to do a certain work; set themselves about it, and did it. Others can accomplish as much only by following their bright examples. There is no shorter way to usefulness, — no recently discovered air-Hne route or lightning train to distinguished influence. In this regard “ the former times ” were as good as the present, — this old-fashioned way of aceomplish- ing, superior to any new discoveries relating thereto. It is quite necessary that the young man should perceive and feel that life means something, — that it has a moral and spiritual significance, — otherwise he will not live for a high moral purpose. He must have some just idea of the sublime realities of pro- bation. He must connect it in his thoughts \wth future retribution. He must view time in connec- tion with eternity. He must reflect that he has a soul as weU as a body, — an immortal soul, as much more valuable than the flesh in which it tabernacles fes heaven is more desirable than earth. With this view of life he can scarcely fail to see thafr“ every step is a word, every day a sentence, every week an oration, every year a book, full of meaning as the sun is of light.” Then he is impelled by the high promptings of his moral natm’e to live for a noble purpose. This involves the idea of excelling, or being the best, in one’s life-work. Not that he would excel for the sake of victory and honor, but in obedience to this high demand of duty, — to make the most of his BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG MAN. 307 abilities. It is grand to see a young man buckling on his armor for such a contest. It is what the world needs. It is what the Church needs. The trades and professions are suffering because so many are satisfied with barely a name to do. Few, compara- tively, aim to rise from year to year. They are con- tented with what they have done and shared in days gone by. They have never laid themselves out for becoming the best in their respective pursuits, and never intend to do it. For this reason, few excel in their callings. And for the same reason, few pro- fessing Christians excel in holiness. The cause of Christ languishes to-day because there is not this high aim of Christian life, among the members of the church, to be the best. The majority are sat- isfied with being as good as they have been. Each one is disposed to think it “ well enough,” if he be as good as his Christian neighbor. Hence the in- activity, the slothfulness, the stupidity, the worldli- ness even, of the church. If this one aim could be made the “ polestar ” to every professing Christian, and henceforth all should strive to excel in holiness, what a change would characterize the people of Godd A new era would dawn upon us, and the church would become in deed and truth “ as a city set on a hill, whose light cannot be hid.” I repeat, the cause of religion suffers because so few of its friends strive to be the best. A young man who starts in life with this intent adorns even his secular pursuit. He is a model in the shop, or on the farm ; in the school-room or store ; in private or public life. In the church, he is more than language can describe. He is an ornament 308 LIFE AT THE FIKBSIDB. there, brighter and more valuable than mere world- lings can imagine. He becomes its pillar before the dew of his youth has passed away. He has influence and moral power; is respected and loved. The very union of such a quahty with early man- hood is in itself attractive. It is so befitting, and for that reason so beautiful, that every beholder finds himself unconsciously charmed by the exhibition. It follows from the foregoing, that such a young man as I have thus far described will possess just views of worldly possessions and position. Over- estimating worldly acquisitions has been a rock upon which thousands of human barks have gone to pieces. The present state of society is charac- terized by factitious distinctions, and none is more prominent than that which wealth creates. In cer- tain circles riches are indispensable to respectability and influence. If a man be rich he is welcomed to these circles, though his heart be corrupt to the core. No questions are asked as to how he acquired his property, whether by fair means or foul. Indeed the idolatry, or money-worship, is carried even further than this ; for often the bare appearance of wealth, though the person be actually a bankrupt, is a sure passport to high life. If a man lives in a fine house, keeps a costly carriage and many ser\"ants, and maintains the usual show of wealth, it is well enough with the circles named. They never look at the heart, and are very likely to forget the past in their present worship at the shrine of Mammon. This corrupt social state exerts a baneful influence upon young men. Society is thus continually tempting, and even forcing them, into the strife for money. BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG MAN. 309 Multitudes regard it almost as the “ one thing need- ful,” and become willing at last to sacrifice every thing for gain. They place it above character, and even above the “ crown of glory.” This is no hap- hazard assertion. It is just what opens to the view of every reader. “ How shall I make money ? ” is the inquiry with many young men, rather than, “ how shall I be pure in heart, and win a good name ? ” The young man who will stand up, and set his face as a flint against such a state of things, and say, “ character before money, and usefulness before pleas- ure,” is a rare specimen of manhood. He possesses that noblest kind of heroism, which few who have fought to the death on battle fields have possessed, — the moral corn-age to resist public opinion, and pur- sue an honorable course in defiance of criticism and reproach. Thousands have fought on the tented field for fear of the reproach and ignominy that attaches to deserters. There was not a particle of true patriotism in their hearts ; they fought in obe- dience to public opinion ; and the same persons, in certain circumstances, would serve the devil for the same reason. Hence the true manliness of him who tramples such corrupt social sentiments in the dust, and gives to wealth, and all earthly acquisitions, their proper place. It is a noble stand. It augurs well for the future ; and if such characters abounded, a corrupt society would not hang her miU-stones about so many necks to sink them in wo. When a young man has such a view of money that he will enter upon any pursuit, however sinful its character, for higher wages, he has set too low -a price upon virtue. He thinks more of money than 310 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. he ought. Yet wages is often the only consideration. A useful, noble employment is left for one of the opposite character, because more gain may be ac- quired. This is paying too dear for gold. Money won by the sacrifice of the smallest virtue is not gain, but loss. Moral banlcruptcy is the inevi- table result. A few years since, a young man came to the writer for counsel respecting a new situation which was offered to him. He was a very amiable, lovely, moral young man, — as much so as the young ruler in the Gospel. I had previously said to his mother, “ you can trust him amid the temptations of the city without anxiety.” But when he told me what his proffered situation was, his character greatly depreciated in my estimation. It was the place of bar-tender in a large hotel I That he even thought of engaging in such a business for the sake of better remuneration, indicated a serious defect in his char- acter which I had overlooked. The next time I saw his mother I advised her to remove him from the city. Another young man, whom I well know, was applied to by a grocer. He was already in the em- ployment of another trader. As an inducement for him to leave, the grocer offered him several dollars a month more than he was receiving. The young man was upon the point of accepting the offer, when it occurred to him that he might traffic in strong drinks. “ Do you seU intoxicating drinks ? ” he in- quired of the grocer. He received an affirmative answer. “ Then I wiU not work for you for any amount of money,” was his quick reply. That inci- dent greatly elevated the character of that young man in my view. He set character above money. BEAD IDEAL OF A YOUNG MAN. 311 There was something dearer to him than high wages. He will walk unharmed amid temptations that will destroy the other. The young man cannot fail to see that here is an important point. We all regard such incidents as good or evil omens. Toward those who pursue a useless or sinful calling we cherish a very different class of feelings from those that pervade our breasts when we view the course of the eminently useful. For example, the play-actor’s avocation is to amuse. It has no higher aim. It is no more dignified. Compared with the life of a missionary, or that of a really useful man in any sphere, it appears to us very small. We cannot respect such a hfe. He may acquire wealth, live in splendor, and appear well, but we cannot forget that his business is, at least, belittling. His wealth is gained at too dear a rate. The young man should examine this matter with unbiassed mind. It is a vital point, and will have much to do with the issues of his being. Give wealth its place, — far, far below the supreme object of life. ^Consult duty. This is another quality of the young man whose character I am describing. This word, duty, is very familiar, and is spoken much oftener than it is consulted. Self-interest is con- sulted more than duty. It is an easy matter to talk about it : it is more difficult to do it. Young men are not disposed, as a class, to exalt this above questions of personal interest. They have reached that period of life when they are looking around for themselves, having all to gain or lose. At such a 312 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. time, self appears to have special claims upon the attention. It is quite easy, then, for a young man to argue himself into the opinion that he has no one to care for because he is just beginning life. In other words, he can easily believe that his duties are owed mainly to himself. Indeed, the great mass of mankind are disposed to connect duty with certain positions in life. They excuse their own selfishness and ease because they are not situated so favorably as Mr. A. or Mr. B. Because they are not in high positions they seem to imagine that they have little to do with duty, as if aU the duties to be performed belonged to others. It is often true that individuals appear to desire to be useful, but imagine they can- not be in thefi particular sphere. They are aU the time sighing that they have not dropped into the right niche of life, as they suppose, and wonder that any one, situated as many are, can trifle with re- sponsibility. This is one of the grossest errors that can be entertained, and is inimical to the faithful dis- charge of duty. The young man ought to understand that he can be useful in any sphere of life. Men in all the call- ings are mutually dependent, so that the faithful discharge of duty in the humblest position renders the doer useful. He may not be useful on so large a scale as others, but if his usefulness be proportioned to his opportunity and abilities, his serwces are just as acceptable to God, and ought to command equal respect among men. He is useful who makes a box, or weaves a yard of cloth, as really as he who governs a school, or rules a State. Moreover, some- body must be useful in this humble way, as truly as BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG MAN. 313 in higher positions. The little rag-picker, in the streets of a populous city, has done something per- haps toward the manufacturing of the paper of which this book is made. Possibly a number of these destitute children furnished the whole mate- rials. So that, while they have diligently sought their daily bread by this very humble work, they have contributed somewhat of usefulness to the gen- eral stock. The fact ought to teach the reader an important lesson upon mutual dependence. When he reads a newspaper, or his Bible, let him reflect upon the contribution of the poorest children to its manufacture. There is usefulness even here. Young men appear to imagine, sometimes, that certain callings confer honor upon those who pursue them ; and this modifies their ideas of duty. But this is a very pernicious view. No calling can make an ignoble man noble. Make a president of him, and he is an ignoble president. On the other hand, make a mechanic of a noble man, and he is a noble mechanic. The sentiment is one of vast importance for young men to ponder. It ought to be inscribed upon aU the trades and professions. For, doubtless, multitudes refuse to meet the demands of duty, and shrink from certain useful employments, because evil social customs and maxims make them appear dis- honorable. It is lamentable that there is such an appeal to human pride as to degrade, in the view of any person, an honest vocation. For really they degrade themselves most who cherish such unmanly sensitiveness upon this point. He who does not faithfully meet the responsibilities of the humblest sphere has not the qualities of heart to fit him for 27 314 LIFE AT THE EIRESIDB. the discharge of higher obligations. There is a defect in his character that is ominous of future evd. Who does not perceive that all the elements of a model character may be combined in that of the com- mon laborer, as truly as in that of a public officer ? What are these elements? Lidustry, energy, hon- esty, fidelity, virtue, and religion. May not the young man possess these in the shop, or on the farm, as really as in the counting-room, or in one of the learned professions? Surely he can. How clear, then, that a profession does not confer honor upon man ; but man, if he be a man, confers honor upon the profession. “ Honor and shame from no condition rise ; Act well your part — there aU the honor lies.” Upon this point a v^Titer has the foUo’ndng excel- lent remarks. “ Professions, callings, trades, places, are small matters. They are only shops in which to make characters. If the farm makes a Washington, honor be unto the farm. K the taUow-shop makes a Franklin, praise be to the taUow-shop. If the forge gives the world a Burritt, let the forge be a place of distinction. If the shoe-bench has en- tlu'oned poets, philanthropists, and statesmen, let it be a seat of dignity. No calling or station can honor a man. A man is above a profession, a throne, or a crown. A true character is the only adornment a man can- wear. H he dotes on the bubbles of place and station, he lacks a true charac- ter. If place was a representative of character, it would be vastly important. K the bar represented BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG MAN. 315 justice, the throne righteous authority, the counting- room honest trade, then would they demand our rev- erence. But they do not, or but poorly represent them. They are trifles compared with character. Character is the source of peace or misery. It glad- dens or glooms life, suns or chills the soul. It is Ihe devil or the angel to pierce or crown the man. It is his heaven or heU, the cloud of wrath or the glory of joy, that overarches his life.” “ Turn it then as we will, character is the great desideratum of human life. This truth, sublime in its simplicity and powerful in its beauty, is the high- est lesson of religion, the first that youth should learn, the last that age should forget.” Therefore all that is said about high and low du- ties, in the sense of honor, is wi’ong. One duty is just as high as another in this regard. There is dif- ference in rank, but there is no difference in duties, except in their importance. One may be more im- portant than another, and hence more imperative, but one is just as honorable as another. He who meets aU his obligations well in an humble sphere exhibits just as much fidelity as he who meets all his obliga- tions equally well in the highest position : and why has he not equal claim upon the respect of his fellow men ? He has discharged his duty, and that is aU a governor or president can do. Now, the young man who bids defiance to such false opinions of men as I have named, and asks himself, in relation to every course of action, “ what is duty?” is so far a model. We may hold him up for the self-serving throng to look at and copy. It is always grand to see men consulting personal respon- 816 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. sibility, rather than self-interest or convenience. One of the noblest declarations which the immortal Washington ever made was this : “ Whilst I am in office, I shall never suffer private convenience to interfere with what I conceive to be my official duty.” So ought every man to resolve that con- venience shall never be consulted before responsi- bility. Yet, how inclined are we to consult conven- ience, even in matters of great importance ! Obli- gations, that can be met as weU as not, are cheerfully discharged; but those that demand sacrifice and self-denial, how strangely we hesitate and falter in the discharge of these ! That incident in the boyhood of Franklin, when he walked the streets of Philadelphia, eating his humble roll of bread, because a more expensive meal would interfere with his education, possesses a charm beyond much that is accounted great in the lives of illustrious men. What cared he for the laughs and jeers of the passing crowd ! He had a noble object to gain, and would he be shamed from the attempt to reach it ? Not he. He was a hero in heart, and exhibited more manliness on that occasion than nine tenths of the race do in the meridian of hfe. It is this kind of moral courage which is needed to exalt this matter of duty in the view of young men. This is the great demand of the age in wliich we live. Thousands of young men are destroyed for the want of it. Among the many examples which might be cited, by way of illustrating the subject under considera- tion, I select a single one. On one cold morning of December, in 1807, a youth, fifteen years of age, BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG MAN. 317 walked from the town of Hawley, Massaehusetts, to Plainfield, the distance of seven miles, to see a Mr. Maynard, who was teaching school in that place. It was his first step toward getting an education. He made known his errand, when the teacher in- quired, “ Can yom’ parents render you any assist- ance ? ” “ No ! ” “ Have you any friends who will help you ? ” “ No ! ” “ How then do you expect to obtain an education ? ” “I don’t know, but I thought I would come and see you.” The truth was, the youth had a new heart, and it caused him to ponder his obligations to his fellow-men and his God, and now he desired to qualify himself for doing good. A sense of duty impelled him to take this step, in the face of all discouragements. Who will not say, that there is a greatness of soul in such a measm’e which deserves a tribute of respect? To see a youth, single-handed and alone, start off upon such a glorious fife-mission, in obedience to the prompt- ings of duty^ defying poverty and difficulties, and every other form of adversity, — this is a rare devel- opment of humanity! That youth succeeded, as every one of kindred spirit usually does, and he is now our distinguished missionary. Dr. King, of Greece. When we are made acquainted with this fact of his youth, we are no longer surprised at his fortitude, and fidelity to Christ, in meeting the al- most unparalleled trials of his missionary career. Another quality to be named in the beau-ideal of a young man is benevolence, in which word is in- cluded kindness, good-will, love, sympathy, generos- ity. The term, in a comprehensive sense, embraces these. No development of manhood is more charm- 27 * 318 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. ing than this. It presents the best side of the moral nature ; and in such an age as the present, when want and suffering abound, it is doubly attractive. That selfishness which asks about every work and enterprise, “ shall J be benefited by it? Will my in- terests be promoted thereby ? ” as if there were no other interests to be cared for, is very contemptible. He who can live in this world of sin and sorrow without having his heart moved with pity to the lowest depth of feeling, is not prepared to live. His manhood is a small affair. There is an incident in the early life of the distin- guished Enghsh merchant, Samuel Budgett, Illustra- tive of both a high regard to duty and the absence of selfishness. I will give it in his own words. “ About this time, I was in a great strait between tt\m courses of life ; as to whether I had better di- rect my attention to obtaining a qualification for going out as a missionary, or to prepare for business. On the one hand, I had a great desire to be useful in a spiritual point of view ; on the other, I felt sensibly the strong claims which my family had on my efforts in a pecuniary way. One day, as I was riding along on my father’s horse, so deeply was I engaged in the absorbing question, that I fell into a reverie. I remem- ber imagining, first, what advantages would be like- ly to accrue to the family by my diligently pursuing business ; and again, I imagined myself transported to some clime as a missionary, engaged in preaching the gospel to the heathen, and almost fancied myself kneeling under the bushes and among the rocks, drawing down, by faith and prayer, blessings on my family ; and so deeply was my mind absorbed at that BEAU IDEAL OP A YOUNG MAN. 319 instant, that I entnely lost sight of where I was going, nor do I loiow how long I continued in that state. All I remember is, that when I awoke from the rev- erie I found the bridle loose from my hand on the horse’s neck, and he standing under a large tree in a lane, eating grass ; and it appeared to me that I had been for a considerable time surrounded by a large concourse of people, whom I had been entreating with feelings of the deepest interest to flee from the wrath to come, and to accept of present salvation through faith in Christ. One thing is certain, — I had been weeping a great deal, as the point of the saddle and the horse’s shoulders were wet with my tears ; and I rode home with feelings of conscious dignity and peace, such as I cannot describe ; and I almost thought of giving up aU idea of business, and devoting myself to a preparation for the work of the ministry. But, from a fancied consciousness of my want of capacity, and my want of education, or means of obtaining it, I felt a fear of mentioning my impressions to any person who might have assisted me. I thought I must plod on as I could, and get my bread and help my family.” Here was a young man revolving the great ques- tion of duty and benevolenee, without a particle of selfishness appearing in his aim. The good of oth- ers was the great consideration which animated his soul, and opened a fountain of tears in his eyes. Self was forgotten in the view of others’ suflerings and wants, and when the final decision was made, it had in view the demands of those around him. His after-life of benevolence, in which he contributed 320 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. several hundred thousand dollars, shows that God ordered his steps for the good of mankind. Such an exhibition of self-forgetfulness in laying life plans is magnanimous, and the young man who cultivates a kindred spuit will draw admirers around him upon every side. Compared with that abound- ing selfishness which discloses itself in pleasure- seeking and worldly gains, it is dignified and excel- lent beyond description. The young man who spends liis money for self-gratification in the ways of the world, without bestowmg even small contribu- tions upon objects of benevolence, dwindles away into insignificance and meanness beside such a noble character. What is wealth, and ancestral honors, and sparkling diadems, in the scale with such a soul ? Ephemeral things, not worth the attention of immor- tal beings, — mere bubbles, that flash and explode the same minute, upon the stream of time. This same young man closed his fife as gloriously as he began it, as we might expect would be the case with such a person. He said in the dying hour, “ I am going the way of aU flesh ; but, bless God, I am ready : I trust in the merits of my Redeemer.” Then, alluding to the near prospect of his dissolution, he said, “ I care not when or where or how ; glory be to God ! ” His life was a beautiful illustration of Wesley’s maxim in practice : “ Make aU you can, save aU you can, give all you can.” Mr. Budgett’s biographer, spealdng of this trait of his character in his treatment of employees, addresses the following remarks to masters. We quote them, that yomig men may see the growth of a sterling BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG MAN. 321 virtue, which sprang up and was nurtured in early manhood. “ Do as a man and as a Christian, I say, do let them feel that you are a friend and a brother ; that you think of them, feel for them, love them ; do spend time and money to make them happy. When you prosper, let them have some slight share in your prosperity ; better make fifty cottages a blanket warmer for the winter, than make your own mansion a shade more splendid. K you net five thousand on the year, what great feat would it be if one thousand went to spread satisfaction and comfort around you ? Not in indiscriminate bounties ; you should not dis- tribute as a machine, but as a master, giving most to those whose aid has most contributed to the result, and then, (among those whose work would just have been the same, and done in the same way had all been going to wreck, as it was when all was prosper- ing,) choose the best and most worthy to receive the most ; but in a day when much is gathered, let all have a taste. One year, Mr. Budgett expected that the profits would be large ; he fixed beforehand on a certain sum, and said, ‘ So much wiU be the well, and all that runs over shall go among the business.^ When they had proceeded far enough to see how things would turn, he said, ‘ The well is full ; ’ and it did run over a very large amount, and many of those below him were made well aware of it. The receipts, the profits, the gifts of the year, I do not know ; but one who was a witness of it all told me enough to make me feel that, in what I have written above, I am not running wild with theory, but com- mending things which might be done. He would often say to his heads of departments and travellers, 322 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. ‘ My business ! It is not my business ; it is ours' All masters should try to diffuse that feeling, and thereby lead those who work with them to feel with them.” The foregoing implies another quality. It is that of filial and fraternal regard. The young man has a character to maintain at home. There are those w’ho are patterns of propriety abroad, but grossly at fault in the domestic circle. They dishonor their parents, and exhibit no strong attachment to brothers and sisters. It is one of the saddest pictures in the book of time. Wherever it exists, it foreshadow'S futm-e mihap- piness, and possibly vice. When I see a young man w’ho is indiflerent to deserving parents and faithful sisters, I know that the darkest side of his char- acter is not seen. I expect that as time rolls on he wiU make painful revelations of himself in the cir- cles where he moves. He has begun his career by sowing to the wind, and he will reap the whirhvind. The seeds of vice and crime are in his soul, and contact with the corruptions of the world w'lll ger- minate them. On the other hand, the young man who recog- nizes the pecuhar responsibilities of home, and strives to acquit himself there as honorably as he does abroad, bids fair to adorn wiiatever profession he selects. Recognizing the duties wiiich he owes to the family, and faithfully discharging them, he is a bright example of filial and fraternal fidelity. When Samuel Budget!, to whom we have re- ferred, w^as on the eve of his apprenticeship, he had laid up, by rigid economy, thirty pounds ; and wfith a spirit which puts to blush the unfilial acts that mar BEAU IDEAL OP A YOUNG MAN. 323 the home-scenes of the world, he gave it all to his needy parents, and started off to his new sphere of toil without a cent in his pocket. Noble youth ! The blessing of thy parents’ God shall rest upon thee ! When others fall, thou shalt rise ! When misfortune sinks other crafts in its driving storm, thine shall outride the gale ! When tearless eyes gaze upon the funeral corse of others, weeping hun- ch'eds shall follow thee to thy grave! And when obhvion absorbs the memories of the mass of mer- chants, thine own shall be enshrined in the hearts of thousands ! Did not the noble act promise as much as this ? On another occasion he vahantly parted with his last cent to aid two worthy sisters, and once more faced a frowning world, penniless. Did he not bid fair to rise high, be loved much, and die lamented ? Thus it was, God gave him riches, honor, in- fluence ; and when he died, the whole community wept over his grave. The shops were closed, busi- ness ceased, and the countenance of every citizen was sad. At his burial the minister spoke, “ not in gi'aceful and balanced eulogies, but with a gush of hearty regard, that was not to be framed up and gilded.” He spoke of worth and bounties as of things that all present knew as well as he ; and as he spoke, all faces gathered feeling. “ Those hands,” he cried, pointing to the coffined remains, “ have given away then hundi’eds upon hundreds.” And then, perhaps, never were seen so many men melted. Many an eye was full, and many an eye ran over. “ This is a remarkable funeral,” said a stranger to an aged man in the crowd. “ Yes, sir,” he replied, 324 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. “ such a one as we never had in Kingswood before. The best man in Kingswood gone to-day ! ” “ Were you employed by the deceased merchant? ” the same stranger asked another mourner. “ Yes, sir, for seventeen years,” he answered, and added with emotion, “ Ah, sir ! a great man has fallen ! ” “ No doubt he was an important man in the neighborhood,” the stranger rejoined. “ In the neighborhood ! ” replied the old man, “ there was not his equal in aU England. No tongue can tell aU that man did.” And thus he died, leaving a monument more en- during than brass or marble, — the grateful remem- brance of mourning thousands. Let me say to young men, that Budgett never made such a good investment in all his life as that of the thirty pounds. That was made at a time of life, and in circumstances, of peculiar interest. It was well suited to influence his whole life. There was character in it. There was principle in it, such as defied poverty, and the world’s proud contempt. Such a son is destined to act a noble part in the world. Though his parents dwell in a hovel, and he himself feels the pinch of squahd want, the future will lift him into fame. His age wiU repose under the horn of plenty, and in the bower of peace. Rev. Hubbard Winslow has so forcibly presented the anguish occasioned by a vicious young man at home, that I quote his words in fuU. “ How much within your power,” he says, “ is the peace, honor, and happiness of the whole family of which you are a member ! Go, look into that domestic circle. It is a numerous, prosperous, and might have been a BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG MAN. 325 happy, family. By diligence, with the favor of Prov- idence, the father has secured the means of educa- ting his children, and setting them forth in life with every needful advantage. “ An affectionate and devoted mother has done her part well towards diffusing sunshine and happiness over the household. The daughters are all that could be desired to make themselves and their family reahze the perfection of domestic bhss, — intelligent, industrious, amiable, accomplished, pious. The sons, too, with one exception, are doing well. To most beholders, it is the happiest of famihes — how frequently an object of envy ! “ Yet look again more closely. Do you not see marks of anxiety and of affliction on that father’s brow ? Do you not sometimes see the unutterable yearnings of a mother’s heart depicted on her coun- tenance? Do you never see those sons looking gloomy and sad? Do you not sometimes observe the cheeks of those daughters crimsoned with shame, and their eyes red with weeping ? What meaneth all this ? There is one dissipated son and brother ! He is the disgrace and torment of the whole family. He perhaps went from home into the city a fair and promising youth, — but he is fallen. And who shall count the tears and the sufferings, which his fall has already occasioned ? Who can teU how many sor- rows yet remain to that distressed and afflicted family, from the conduct of this wretched member ? How malignant is sin, that it can shoot its venom so widely and strike its fangs so deeply ; causing the innocent to suffer with the guilty. “ But this is not aU, nor the worst part. A son, and 28 326 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. especially an elder son, has great moral influence over the whole family to which he belongs. Sup- pose you are living at home, with your sisters and younger brothers around you ; if you take the down- ward course, the chances are very strong that you win draw some or all of them downward tvith you. In how many famflies do we see striking illustrations of this! How frequently does it happen that the fate of a numerous family turns, in a great measure, upon the character and course of one or two of the elder brothers ! ” Young men often render the family unhappy and even wretched without designing any such thing. Indeed, they sometimes do this when acting with the consent of their parents. It is a matter that de- serves to be pondered, as a due regard to it may spare long years of bitterest sorrow. The following fact will illustrate this part of the subject. About two years ago, a young man, pleasantly situated in a home of affluence, conceived the idea of going to California in comjjany with an acquaintance. His parents, particularly his mother, could scarcely en- dure the thought of his going to that distant region. Of course they were totally unwilling that he should go. He, howevei', persevered in pleading for their consent. He said that, although he would never go without their consent, he never should be satisfied if he remained at home. His importunities were so earnest and long continued, that his parents yielded, and reluctantly said, “ you may go.” Now his joy was fuU. His whole soul was absorbed in mak- ing preparations for leaving home. He, doubtless, thought nothing of probabilities and possibilities con- BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG BIAN. 327 cerning sickness and death. Golden dreams, and visions of bright and joyous days, occupied his mind. He saw only wealth and happiness, and gen- eral prosperity, in the future. The day for his departure arrived. It was a sad day to the indulgent parents. Many and bitter tears they shed, as their son turned his back upon home, — and left. Suffice to say, that before he reached San Francisco he was taken sick, and died within a week after he landed. The sad intelligence was borne back to the family, — and oh ! what a scene of an- guish ! It was the writer’s privilege to administer consola- tion to the bereaved parents. He met them a few hours after the mournful tidings reached them. Never can he forget the burst of anguish that came from both their hearts ! Language fails to describe such sorrow as theirs ! Sobs, groans, wild ejacula- tions, told that their hearts were weUnigh crushed. AH occasioned by one unnatural — no, not this ; for he would not leave his home until his mother said “ go, my son.” This was well, — evidence of regard for that loving parent. All occasioned, then, by one too inconsiderate son ! May we not say this, inconsiderate ? He did not mean to start a tear from their eyes, or inflict one pang upon their hearts. For the world he would not have done this intentionally. But, then, he besought them beyond measure to yield their consent. He caused them to feel that an ab- solute denial of his wishes might lead to some- thing worse than parting with him. This was in- considerate — wrong. As I communed with those stricken parents, thus 328 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. afflicted in their advanced age, and saw the deep, unutterable anguish of their hearts, perhaps saddened and gloomed for life, I wished that every young man in the land might witness the scene, in order to learn a most useful and important lesson. Downright recklessness is not necessary to bring gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. The lack of considera- tion may entail sorrow that baffles description, as ihe above example clearly proves. Another characteristic of such a young man as I am describing is principle. He is not a creature of impulse nor circumstances. He is not blown about by every wind of doctrine. His moral character is not doubtful. His integrity of purpose is transpar- ent as crystal, and firm as the everlasting hills. His honesty is “ clear as the sun, fair as the moon, and (to aU tempters) terrible as an army with banners.” He does right because it is right. Multitudes do right for the benefit that will result therefrom. They may have an eye upon popularit)’', or some other bauble. They may act upon the conviction that “ honesty is the best policy ; ” and it may be indeed policy with them, and nothing higher. Not such was the honesty which the great Washington spoke, when he said, “ I hope I shall always possess firm- ness and virtue enough to maintain, what I con- sider the most enviable of all titles, the characier of an ‘ honest man.’ ” Not such was the right to which Henry Clay referred, when he said, “ I had rather be right than President.” There is a principle of moral action, which knows no change, and yields to no contingencies, in the strength of which a man fulfils the divine injunction : “ Let thine eyes look BEAU IDEAL OP A YOUNO MAH. 329 right on, and let thine eyelids look straight before thee. Ponder the path of thy feet, and let aU thy ways be established.” On one occasion the English merchant, of whom we have twice spoken, was called upon by a man who had discovered a way of making mock vinegar and selling it for real. He desired Mr. B. to cooper- ate with him. “ What ! ” exclaimed Mr. Budget!, when the man had told his story ; “ you want to lead me into dealing like this ? If you are resolved to go to heM yourself, why should you try to drag me with you ? ” “ And with words of stinging rebuke he dismissed this emissary of evil, who, wish- ing to bribe him to sin, had used religion as a card of introduction.” He was firm against aU tempta- tions, so that such proposals dropped harmless at his feet. The incident illustrates what we mean by principle. It is common for nearly all classes to seek virtue for what it gives^ rather than for what it is. They seek reputation rather than character, — a fatal error. “ When we labor to gain reputation, we are not even taking the first step toward the acquisition of char- acter, but only putting on coverings over that which is, and protecting it against improvement. As well may we strive to be virtuous by thinldng of the reward of heaven, as to build up our characters by thinking of the opinions of men. The cases are precisely parallel. In each we are thinking of the pay as something apart from the work, while in fact the only pay we can have inheres in the doing of the work. Virtue is its own reward, because its per- formance creates the kingdom of heaven within us, 28 -*- 330 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. and we cannot attain to virtue until we strive after it for its own sake.” The young man who is controlled by moral prin- ciple turns neither to the right hand nor left to con- sult personal ease or aggrandizement. Last, though not least, experimental religion is an element in the beau ideal of a young man. It is not enough that he has moral prineiple. This may ren- der him lovely in a high degree ; but his character is defective without religion. This is the only sure protector and guide, — the only perfeet regulator of the life. Like the young man whom Jesus loved, he lacks “ one thing,” without this. This is the key- stone of character. “ The virtues,” says a wnriter, “ all lock into each other. They cannot stand alone. Like the stones of an arch, no one of them can be want- ing without making aU the rest insecure. That char- acter alone is trustworthy, in which each virtue takes its relative position, and aU are held in place and confirmed by the keystone of abiding faith in the great central fact, that there is a God of infinite goodness and truth, whose commandments are the laws of life m this world, and the world to eome.” Thomas Jefferson established a college at Char- lottesville, Va., upon infidel prineiples. He believed that youth and young men should be left to then- sense of honor in all matters pertaining to human conduct. Of course, the college afforded young men an ample opportunity for living without relig- ion. It was a rare time and place for the experi- ment. The result was, that when the young men were left to their own honor, honor left them. Dis- order, dissipation, and extreme immorality converted BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG MAN. 331 the college into a type of hell. The best students and professors left, and those who remained waxed worse and worse. The baneful influence extended to the town, and the whole population became fear- fully demoralized. In 1834, the government was changed ; a rigid discipline was adopted ; and the professors subscribed to support ministers, who should in turn conduct public worship in the Uni- versity. Subsequently a house of worship was erected for the benefit of the college. Order was restored by the inauguration of the ordinances of religion ; respectable youth flocked to it ; and men of high attainments sought its professorships. One such example is sufficient for an age and na- tion. It shows that religion is the crowning glory of human character, and is indispensable to every young man as a protector and guide. We have thus presented the Beau Ideal of a Young Man. One of this character will gather friends and admirers around him wherever he so- journs. He will be useful in the sphere which Provi- dence allots. His life will be luminous and fruitful. His latest days will be crowned with blessings from the great Giver. He will leave his mark upon the world, and ascend at last to a glorious reward. XIV. BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUXG WOMAN. “ Witli inborn and nnboastful majesty", Alike from careless levity remote And a behavior schooled by selfish rules, Alike removed from rashness, and With firm and fearless step she ever walked The naiTow path of duW, — all unconscious That she won worship, where she never dreamed Of approbation.” Schiller. The Psalmist has given the most satisfactory- idea of a well-developed female character in the following words : “ that our daughters may be as corner-stones, polished after the similitude of a palace'^ Here grace, beauty, and stability are imphed in the reference to polished stones. These are the elements of such character as commands divine approbation. It is certain, that if daughters are educated so as to render the similitude of the Psalmist appropriate, there will not only be adornment, but also strength of character. A corner-stone is solid and enduring. It occupies a place of great importance in supporting the structure. If this figure expresses the exact truth in regard to females, then such of their number as answer to the Psalmist’s descripiion are pillars in the (■T32) BEAU IDEAL OP A YOUNG WOMAN. 333 social fabric. They contribute largely to the wel- fare and perpetuity of our various institutions. The difficulty lies in combining elements so as to result in this harmony and symmetry of character. The character of a woman must not only be as a “ corner-stone,” but it must be polished. Like a block of marble wrought from Italian quarries, it should possess a grace and finish sufficient to mark the sex. In this respect, woman should be dis- tinguished from man. That style of education which ignores refinement, and seeks to mould a char- acter, of which rough-hewn granite is the only ap- propriate symbol, is about as defective as that which deals in polish altogether. It is masculine, and not feminine. The tendency of the age, however, is not in this dnection. Much to the moral detriment of daughters, the prevalent style of education is super- ficial, and tends to a “ vain show.” There is no lack of polish ; but it is not applied to stones, — it is put upon an image of vanity. The foregoing remarks show that the subject be- fore us is one of great importance. It evidently has been, and is stfil, undervalued. Much is said and written to young men about the formation of char- acter. Books, addressed to this class of persons, fre- quently issue from an overbm'dened press. Pro- visions are made to educate them for the various pursuits of life, and, in a great measure, this is done at the expense of the public. This is weU, — too much cannot be done in this regard. But, at the same time, how little has been done for the other sex ! How little has been written and published for them! While it is very generally conceded that 334 LITE AT THE FIKESIDE. their influence is not a whit inferior to that of males, the question, “ How shall that influence be made the greatest blessing to the world? ” has commanded little attention. This consideration of woman’s influence alone, ought to have awakened, ere this, universal and profound interest in the highest development of her character. The celebrated Adolph JMonod says, “ The greatest influence on earth, whether for good or for evil, is possessed by woman. Let us study the history of bygone ages — the state of barbarism and civilization; of the East and the West; of Pa- ganism and Christianity ; of antiquity and the middle ages ; of the mediaeval and modern times, — and we shall find, that there is nothing which more decidedly separates them than the condition of woman.” Rev. John Angell James A\altes as follows : “ Every woman, whether rich or poor, married or single, has a circle of influence, within which, according to her character, she is exerting a certain amount of power for good or harm. Every woman, by her virtue or her vice, by her folly or her wisdom, by her levity or her dignity, is adding something to our national elevation or degradation To a certain extent, woman is the conservator of a nation’s welfare. Her virtue, if firm and uncorrupted, wfil stand sen- tinel over that of empire A community is not likely to be overthrown, where woman fulfils her mission ; or, by the power of her noble heart over the hearts of others, she will raise it from its ruins, and restore it again to prosperity and joy.” Even though female influence be confined to home, it cannot be considered narrow. Perhaps for that reason it is more powerful and wide spread. BEAU IDEAL OP A YOUNG WOMAN. 335 It has been said, that “ the corner-stone of our republic is the hearth-stone.” Few are disposed to deny the truth of this declaration. But it is only another way of asserting, that woman’s influence is paramount to any other. For what is home without her counsels, aft’ection, unwearied toils, and care? She is the centre, around which every thing there revolves. She can make home blessed or otherwise. She can open fountains of joy or sorrow, virtue or vice, therein. She can send out therefrom streams of life or death. She can make Washingtons or Neros, Edwardses or Voltaues, Harriet Newells or TuUias. ‘The mother of Rev. John Newton was the instrument of his con- version. He was the means of the conversion of Claudius Buchanan, who became a missionary in the East Indies. Buchanan, through a little volume he published, called the attention of Judson to the missionary work. Newton was also the means of bringing Thomas Scott, the commentator, to Christ. To him also, in connection with Doddridge, is traced the conversion of Wilberforce, and Wilber- force, in his turn, led Leigh Richmond to the cross. Who, then, can estimate the influence of that single woman, — the mother of Newton ? Gather up, if possible, the influence of her son, with that of Bu- chanan, Judson, Scott, Wilberforce, and Richmond, and it is nothing more nor less than that of this one female. She started a wave of moral power which has not yet ceased to roU. This is only a single item of female influence at home. “ That man,” said a keen observer of human na- ture, pointing to a stranger in the crowd, “ has been brought up in the society of intelligent and virtuous 336 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. sisters.” “ Whence do you infer that ? ” said the person addressed. He replied, “ because he exhibits that gentleness and delicacy of feeling which result from The influence of intelligent and virtuous sisters.” The gifted Irving says : “ Often have I lamented that Providence denied me the companionship of sisters. Often have I thought, had I been thus favored I should have been a better man.” The pious Pascal ascribed the thirst he had for holiness to the example and words of a devoted Christian sister. At one time he was in danger of falling into extreme worldliness, and probably this would have been the result, had not that godly sister awakened new desires and aspirations in his heart for likeness to Christ. The distinguished missionary, Henry Martyn, was brought to Christ by a sister ; and her influence, after his conversion, did much towards making his life what it was. Such examples are cited as illustrations of female influence in the home circle. Admitting that it is bounded by that sphere, even then, its extent cannot be measured. A writer says ; “ Our young men give character to the city, but who gives character to them ? What plastic hand is moulding them for good or evil? At what shrine is their allegiance first offered, and whose is that persuasive voice which it is, humanly speaking, impossible for them to resist ? Very often, before religion has placed its restraining hand upon them, before they have adopted any fixed principle of life, the direction to their whole lives is given by an influence which they have felt, although it was BEAU IDEAL OE* A YOUNG WOMAN. 337 scarcely discerned. They may trace their salvation or their ruin, for this life and the life to come, per- haps, to the smile of encouragement, or the gentle expression of reproof, with which their first step in folly was encountered. I would not willingly ex- cite a smile upon a subject so serious, nor turn the solemnity of these great interests into the channel of merriment ; but it has been so truly said, that it may be seriously repeated, — there is little hope of re- forming young men, and keeping them in the path of virtue, unless we begin by reforming young women, and teaching them to give their best in- fluence to the cause of goodness and sobriety. “ You may rely upon it,” said a young man to me not long since, and he was one who had felt the influence of which he spoke, “ you may rely upon it, that, if they mix the drink for us, we will not refuse to take it. If their lips first touch the glass, we are sure to drain it. If they evidently think us better company when our tongues are loosened by wine, and join in the laugh when we tell them of our foUies, ministers may as well stop their preaching, unless they can go a step further back, and begin at the right place.” It is quaintly said, and has the air, at first, of being half ludicrous, half satirical ; but I fear that it is more than half true. The influence of the young lady, and her consequent responsibility, is very great. That influence is often thrown on the side of immo- rality and irreligion, simply because she does not think of it at all. I have been impressed, in another regard, with the thoughtlessness of young women to which the above writer refers, and wiU allude to it though it be a 29 338 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. slight digression from the subject. ]\Iany of this class welcome the presence, and even receive the attentions of young men, who are known to be ad- dicted to vicious habits. Frequently young ladies consent to be the wives of men who are so dissi- pated as almost to render it certain that their hus- bands will be confirmed sots within a few years. They must think lightly of a good character. They certainly do not possess that high-mindedness which is peculiarly the adornment of female character. Perhaps they imagine that they shall be able to re- claim their lovers after the nuptial bands are tied. This is a “ strong delusion.” If a young man will not forsake his cups to win a female’s heart, he will not forsake them to keep it. It is believed that no class of persons can exert a more decided influence for temperance than young women. Let them frown upon those worthless characters that are formed amid the associations of the bar-room and gaming saloon, and they will be the means of putting away the cup from the lips of many. With a firm regard for purity and excellence, let them turn away with disdain from the offers of those who “ tarry long at the wine,” and sacrifice manhood to a voracious appetite. Then we look, and shall not look in vain, for reformation among this class. The writer, whose words we have just quoted, adds the following. “ Every woman, whose man- ners are at all attractive, is exerting such influence wherever she goes, to a degree which it is impossible to estimate. Lr every cncle she fixes a standard of morality, above which few men care to rise. Wo- men’s perception of virtue is generally understood to BEAU IDEAL OP A YOUNG WOMAN. 339 be more nice than that of men ; and what satisfies her is sure to meet with their approval, and, generally speaking, they will not come quite up to the mark. If she speaks lightly of religion, they will blaspheme it. If she is devoted to pleasure, they will enter into dissipation, K she is heartless, they will be unprincipled. If she treats temperance as a joke, they wiU regard intoxication as a pardonable fault. What I now say may be mortifying to the pride of men, but it is true. We seldom rise quite up to the standard of morality and religion which woman holds before us. We never rise above it. In this respect she is the lawgiver, and we are the subjects. The only hope for the moral advancement of society is to keep woman in the advanced guard. Let her point the way and lead it, and the right progi-ess is secured.” In view of such truths I repeat the remark, that the single fact of woman’s influence ought to mag- nify the importance of developing her character in the highest degree. With many young ladies there is a lack of purpose in this respect. The life is aim- less, so far as relates to that kind of discipline and purpose to which reference is made. Hence it is important to place before the mind’s eye a model female character, so that we may say of those formed after it, “ corner-stones polished after the similitude of a palace.” The first quality in the beau ideal of a young woman is the conviction that all attempts at im- provement should be preparation for the duties of life. Much of female education, at the present day, has regard to nothing more than effect. In a multi- 340 LIPB AT THE FIRESIDE. tude of families, daughters are disciplined solely with reference to the impressions they will make upon be- holders. Their hterary advantages, their habits and manners, their dress and companionships, are pro- vided with respect to this single, vain consideration. The duties of life, — the object which ought espe- cially to engage the feelings and give direction to every effort, — are lost sight of, or, at least receive but a small share of attention. INIany of this class are enamored with wealth, fashion, and all the par- aphernalia of so-caUed “ high life.” Their idea of a fortune is nothing less than the means of furnishing pleasure in its various forms to its possessors. To dwell in palaces, to own imposing equipages, to make the proudest display in the circles of fashion, tills is the chmax of their ambition. A life of use- fulness, or a home ui golden mansions at God’s right hand, or wahdng in “ white ” with angels and glori- fied spirits amidst jasper and sapphire, has no attrac- tions for them. It is truly painful to see immortal beings, with all the means in their hands of blessing their fellow men, yielding themselves up to the most extravagant worldhness, and living as regardless of God as if he were only a figment of the imagination. But it is even so. Some waiters, also, join them in paying their devotions to the “ god of this world.” Their pens are employed to magnify effect above the claims of duty. A French female writer says : ‘‘ We are born to adorn the world rather than command it.” This is false, if the wariter speaks of adornment in the sense in which it is regarded by the class to whom we have pomted.- For they disconnect it entirely from that winch is useful and true. They consider BEAU IDEAL OP A YOUNG WOMAN. 341 that it consists of a round of elegant trifles. For this, woman was not born. She was made for a higher and nobler destiny. Her mission on earth is not to lead the life of the butterfly, to live and die as the insects, that expire in the beams of the setting sun : it is to do the will of God. True, she wfll adorn society whenever and wherever she fulfils her appointed mission. But it will not be the adorn- ment of mere tinsel and splendid show ; it will be the more natural, and hence more pleasing embel- lishment that results from intelligence and virtue. God has scattered a profusion of ornaments over his works ; but there is a meaning and use connected with each one. Even the golden lustre upon the insect’s wing, and the blush of the summer rose, lift the thoughts of the beholder to Him who arrayed them in robes more beautiful than Solomon’s in his glory. There is a moral in every shrub and flower ; and there ought to be in every human act. Outward adorning should harmonize with that meek and quiet spirit within which is of “ great price.” It should be consistent with that mode^ and artless simplicity which are real ornaments of female char- acter. This is not, of course, discarding adorn- ment, but regulating it according to reason and revelation. I asked a little boy, “ who made the flowers ? ” and he replied, “ God.” “ For what did he make them ? ” I inquired. He answered, “ to look at and smell of.” That class of worldhngs who lose sight of life’s duties, and chase “ airy nothings,” are lilte that little child, four years of age. Their views of life and of God are not higher or nobler. They seem to say, 29 342 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. by their acts, that God made a great part of the world only to “ look and to be sources of mere sensual delight. They are yet in their child- hood in respect to their conceptions of di\Tne things. It is a severe charge to bring against them ; but it is true. One of your own sex, a writer of great ability, Margaret FuUer Ossoli, says : “ A little while since I was at one of the most fashionable places of pub- lic resort. I saw there many women, dressed with- out regard to the season or the demands of the place, in apery, or, as it looked, in mockery, of European fashions. I saw their eyes restlessly courting atten- tion. I saw the way in which it was paid ; the style of devotion, almost an open sneer, which it pleased those ladies to receive from men whose expression marked their own low position in the moral and infel- lectual world. Those women went to their piUows with their heads full of folly, their hearts of jeal- ousy, or gratified vanity ; those men, with the low opinion they already entertained of woman con- firmed. Theke were American ladies ; that is, they were of that class who have wealth and leisure to make full use of the day, and confer benefits on others. They were of that class whom the posses- sion of external advantages makes of pernicious ex- ample to many, if these advantages be misused.” The above reminds one of the Lines penned by the princess Amelia, daughter of George III., a short time before her death : — “ Uiitliinking, idle, vild, and young, I laughed and danced, and talked and sung ; BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG WOMAN. 343 And proud of healtli, of freedom vain, Dreamed not of sorrow, care, or pain ; Concluding in these hours of glee. That all this world was made for me. But when the hour of trial came. When sickness shook this trembling frame. When folly’s gay pursuits were o’er. And I could dance and sing no more. It then occurred how sad ’t would be. Were this world only made for me.” It will be seen that we do not discard ornament altogether. We believe that a fundamental element of a noble female character is, the conviction that the duties of life should command the soul’s energies. Let this be the foundation, and then the needful ele- gancies of life will find their appropriate place. They wiU be incorporated into the high, noble purpose of life, and contribute to the worth of character. In this way they used to promote the well-being of man and the glory of God, — the highest object which can animate immortal beings. In this connection, it may be well to speak more particularly of intellectual culture. This subject has been incidentally referred to in the foregoing, but it is worthy of additional remarks. Intelligence is not only a substantial quality of female character, but it is one of the richest embellishments. A cultivated mind never fails to attract by its beautiful develop- ment. None but the most ignorant and benighted persons can be insensible to its charms. Intelli- gence without beauty in a female is still winning ; but beauty without inteUigence possesses little attraction to sensible people. Those elegancies which spring from intellectual culture differ widely from those 344 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. which are the result of strict regard for the rules of fashionable life. The former are natural and easy ; the latter are affected and stiff. At this point, multi- tudes make a sad failure. Supposing that nice be- havior, or true politeness, consists in certain arti- ficial tilings, that the motions of the body have more to do with it than the culture of the mind, they sub- ject the former to various modes of torture, and leave the latter, a gem unpolished, to perish amidst the rubbish of ignorance. A writer has defined true po- liteness, “ benevolence in trifles.” It is one of the best definitions of this grace, which appears so often only in revolting caricatm'e. It separates true polite- ness from that silly ceremony of worldlings upon which inteUigent peojile can look only with contempt. That person whose mind and heart are highly cul- tivated will not fail to be truly polite. Perhaps a large class of young ladies cherish erro- neous views respecting what is most necessary in the culture of the mind. The error pertains espe- cially to reading. Light reading, except occasionally for recreation, enervates rather than strengthens the mind. It is a fact, which females ought to ponder with seriousness. For, whether it be true or not, they have the reputation of devouring literary trash. Exciting novels and tales are said to be favorites with them. This reputation seems to have been earned, and therefore just, since editors fill the pages of “ ladies' books ” with love-stories, and gen- eral milk-and-water reading. If females demanded something more substantial, editors would not with- hold it. The popular taste determines the character of our literature. BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG WOMAN. 345 Alison says of the Austrian princess, Marie An- toinette, whose career proved fatal to Louis and the French monarchy : “ She had little education ; read hardly any thing but novels and romances ; and had a fixed aversion, during her prosperous days, to every species of business, or serious employment.” Lilte her, every woman, whose reading is light and flashy, will have “ little education.” A young lady, in one of our large cities, a few years since, made the following confession. She was lamenting, after her conversion to Christ, that her mind was so poorly fm'nished for usefulness, when it might have been highly cultivated, if her reading had been of a substantial nature ; and she said : “ Were it in my power, I would make any earthly sacrifice, could I thirst for the Bible as I have after novels ; and the greatest daily cross I am called to take up is to pass by a novel without read- ing it. I would say it as a warning to all my sex, beware of this fatal rock ; beware of wasting, not oifly days, but nights, to make yourselves fools aU the rest of your days, if not absolutely wretched.” You will understand from the foregoing what kind of intellectual discipline is needed by females. While literary accomphshments should always be regarded as less than moral excellence, the union of the two should be esteemed as the highest attain- ment. By this you will understand that what are considered the less useful acquisitions of young fe- males, such as embroidery, painting, music, and modern languages, are not proscribed. These things may be pursued to the neglect of religion and the higher branches of education, as well as the duties 346 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. to the poor and suffering ; and this, of course, is sin- ful. If the best pursuit be followed to the neglect of duties in the other relations of life, it is wrong. The Christian may become so zealous for the cause of Christ in the community where he resides as to neglect his duties at home, and then he is gudty in the sight of God. In like mamier, the more strictly ornamental parts of female education may be at- tended to, (and they too often are,) so as to merit condemnation. But within proper limits, and guided by the right motives therein, the young woman may cultivate these graces without fear of incuiTing cen- sure. There is such a thing as adorning the “ gar- ments of salvation” with the jewels of taste and literatm’e. Only “ make accomphshments subordi- nate to more substantial excellencies. Let the former be to the latter only as the burnish of the gold, or the sparlde of the diamond.” Modesty is an important quality in a model female character. The want of it exposes woman to re- proach and shame. Nearly all nations have recog- nized tliis truth in their manners and customs. It is a grace that is peculiarly adapted to her nature and sphere. Her sphere is Home, where there is less need of boldness. Excessive modesty in man is called effeminate. A degree of it is an ornament to him ; but his sphere of action demands that its exer- cise be resti'icted. But, I had almost said, that \vo- man cannot cultivate- it to excess. It is so befittins’ her nature and place, that, how^ever much of it there may be, it does not mar her. We admire the Golet, that appears to slirink from our view- in the waving grass, more for that apparent modesty of which it is BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG WOMAN. 347 the appropriate symbol, than for its form or colors. This characteristic of the coy, humble flower im- parts a beauty to every petal and hue. So the same grace renders every quality of maidenhood more lovely. It heightens the effect of intelligence and virtue. It contributes something to the appearance of morality and religion. Indeed, religion gives it existence often in hearts where it never abode. “ Modesty’s tlie charm, That coldest hearts can quickest warm ; Which all our best affections gains, And, gaining, ever still retains.” How striking and attractive is this quality in some of the women of the Bible ! How charming in Ruth, Esther, Hannah the mother of John, Eunice the mother of Timothy, and Mary the mother of Jesus ! How attractive it was in the characters of Josephine, and the mothers of Wesley and Washing- ton ! They seem to have possessed the most deli- cate sense of propriety on all occasions, so that they never stepped beyond their own heaven-appointed sphere. Contrast with them such a woman as the famous Joan of Arc, in whom modesty never ap- peared. We wonder to see her mounted on a fiery steed, leading the armies of France to victory. We can scarcely doubt her patriotism, and certainly must acknowledge the perseverance and fearlessness of this heroine, who ascended, from a peasant’s hut to a royal palace. But while we are amazed at such conquests by a woman, and are free to admit that she possessed some excellencies, we cannot admire her character. It was the character of a man, devoid 348 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. of that loveliness, without which woman is a dis- honor to her sex. Masculine can never take the place of feminine qualities and be admired. But we need not refer to other days and nations for illustrations. Here in our own New England, where woman has enjoyed the best facilities for im- provement, examples are not wanting. Look at that class of feminine declaimers, of whom a Foster and a Stone are fair representatives, and say, is there a single womanly attraction about them ? Grant that some of them possess intelligence and virtue, these gi-aces appear in them as “jewels in a swine’s snout.” They discard entirely the sweet charm of modesty, which is always suggestive of innocence and purity ; and whatever excellent qualities they may possess suffer in consequence. For one, I cannot respect the virtue of a female who contends on the public ros- trum for “ Women’s Rights,” claiming equality of the two sexes in respect to the immunities and call- ings of life. It is such a breach of modesty, that I cannot suppress the suspicions of moral obliquity that rise in my heart. I tliink of historic records, which prove unmistakably that Grecian and Roman females who sought publicity, and figured in courts, were generally guilty of vices that make %Trtue blush to name. I remember that the representatives of pure, high-minded Roman ladies were Lucretia, and the wife of the first Tarquinius, — princesses who were distinguished for their domestic %-irtues, ever faithful and happy in the midst of their families. Knowing these facts of history, and perceiving that “ keepers at home ” are certainly exposed to fewer temptations than those who claim the rights of men BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG WOMAN. 349 in promiscuous assemblies, I do not hesitate to say that I am doubtful of their purity. Solomon, undoubtedly, designs to hold up the idea that domestic life protects purity, in his description of a virtuous woman. “ Who can find a virtuous woman ? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoH. She wiU do him good and not evU. all the days of her life. She seek- eth wool and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff. She stretcheth out her hands to the poor ; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy. Strength and honor are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. She openeth her mouth with wisdom ; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed ; her husband also, and he praiseth her.” Thus Solomon finds his example of a virtuous woman at home. He does not look for her in places of public resort ; for she is not likely to be found where modesty is sacrificed. Amiability or loveliness is another quality of fe- male excellence. These terms express about the same thing, although the latter relates more to physi- cal than spiritual developments. A female may be polished in manners, graceful in aU her movements, intelligent and accomplished ; but unless she possesses an amiable spirit, she leaves an unfavorable impres- sion upon the minds of beholders. A sour, morose disposition^ unless continually guarded and restrained, will expose itself through the highest accompfish- 30 350 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. ments of learning and religion. The absence of this quality makes even man a very uncomfortable asso- ciate, and troublesome citizen. With much more truth this may be said of woman. Solomon de- scribes some female characters, devoid of loveliness, with his accustomed power and keen sarcasm. He speaks of “ the foolish woman,” and “ the brawling woman ; ” “ the woman that maketh ashamed,” and “ the odious woman ; ” “ the fair woman without dis- cretion,” and “ the contentious woman : ” and all of them receive their just dues from his biting words. Amiability seldom exists except with a group of lovely graces. It always suggests to the beholder, that the possessor has other excellences no less at- tractive. Hence it is the part of wisdom for yormg ladies to cherish this virtue. It will prepare them to scatter flowers of pleasure, wherever they move. In every circle, and especially at home, this lovely spirit will fall as the mellow light of morning. In the words of another, it will cause them to “ shine in colors, purer and brighter than pearl or diamond or prism can reflect. Arabian gardens, in their bloom, can exhale no such sweetness as a lovely spirit dif- fuses.” Closely allied to amiability is gentleness. This, in its highest development, is the out\vard expression of what the Apostle calls “ a meek and quiet spirit.” Mr. James comments upon it as follows : “ How ex- quisitely is this put. How impressive the ideas which are conveyed. It is the decoration of the soul rather than of the body, about which Christian women should be chiefly solicitous ; and about the orna- ments that are suitable to its own nature. The soul BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG WOMAN. 351 is indestructible and immortal, — so should its orna- ments be. What can jewels of silver or jew^els of gold do for this? Can the diamond sparkle upon the intellect ? or the ruby blaze upon the heart ? or the pearl be set in the conscience ? or the gorgeous robe clothe the character? or the feather or the flower wave over the whole renewed and holy nature? No ! The appropriate ornaments of the sord are truth and holiness, knowledge, faith, hope, love, joy, humihty, and all the other gifts and graces of the spirit, — wisdom, prudence, fortitude, and gentleness, — these are the jewels with which the inner man should be adorned. The outer man is coiTuptible. Dust it is, and unto dust it shall return. That beau- tiful woman, ghttering in all the profusion of dia- monds, the admflation and envy of the court or the ballroom, must ere long be a mass of putrefaction too ghastly to be looked upon, — a hideous skeleton, — a collection of bones, — a heap of dust. And where then will be the immortal spirit ? and will it wear the cast off jewels of the body? O no! these remain rescued from the grasp of the king of terrors only to ornament other bodies, but not to prepare their souls for immortal glory. But turn now to that other female, — the wmman who, regardless of the decoration of the body, was all intent upon the beau- ty of the soul, — look at her, I say, who was clothed wdth the robe of righteousness and the garment of salvation, and decorated with the ornament of a “ meek and quiet spirit'^ She too dies, and whatever of beauty there was in her person dies for a season with her ; but the indestructible and immortal spirit, over which death hath no dominion, goes not una- 352 LIFE AT THE PIRESIDB. domed into the presence of the Eternal, for the jew- els with which it decorated itself on earth are as in- destructible as its own nature, and go with it to shine in the presence of God.” Artless simplicity should be named in connection with the foregoing. Nothing is more disgusting in a female than affectation. It is a form of vanity which carries its own condemnation. No person, not even the vainest worldling, can respect it in other persons. Its exhibition very naturally reminds one of the Apostle’s words, “ For if a man think himself to be something when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself.” It is evidence of a degree of mental weakness. Simplicity of manners is opposed to every form of vanity, and these forms are numerous. Vanity sometimes exposes itself through a precise pronunci- ation. It is well to speak correctly ; and attention should be given to this acquirement ; but a too nip- ping measurement of every word reminds a person of the “blind guides,” who “ strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel.” Vanity also appears in certain “ airs ” or bodily contortions. It is impossible to de- scribe these. Like best garments they are put on for the occasion, and need only to be seen in order to be known. Nor is it necessary to enjoy a very ample observation to discover such exhibitions. This is one of the fashions not derived from France, but from the American peacock. The same thing appears in devotion to fashion. There are those among young ladies, and the num- ber is not small, whose whole aim is to be fashiona- ble. In dress, manners, companionships, riding, walking, talking, eating, and I had almost said sleep- BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG WOMAN. 353 iiig, they ape certain cii’cles, which control the fash- ions. Without any regard to comfort, health, long or short life, they torture themselves almost as cruelly as the worshipper of a Hindoo idol. Fashion is the most unmerciful tyrantess that ever ruled the world. Her subjects wear gauze in winter, and fmrs in sum- mer, at her bidding. They do a thousand things that would wellnigh kill them, if obliged to do th^ in behalf of suffering humanity. In other spheres of life they would be called self-denials, and perhaps self-immolations. In no one thing does vanity ap- pear in a manner so stiildng as in dress. Some months ago, a wholesale merchant and importer ut- tered the following truthful words before a public assembly. Addressing the President of the Ameri- can Woman’s Education Society, he said, “ You have got hold of a great matter. Sir. I hope you will succeed. The women are wrong. Sir. They are not educated right. They are going to bankrupt the country, unless there is a change. More is thought of show than substance. We pay scores of millions annually for ladies’ ornaments which 'are of no use. We cannot afford it. It is worse than sinking the gold in the sea! We are paying more duties on ar- tificial flowers than on raikoad kon ! God help you to elevate the position and the aim of woman ! ” These words will not be thought extravagant when it is known that a single store, for the sale of laces and other fancy goods, in the city of Boston, is rented for ten thousand dollars. The amount of vanity that is exhibited through aU this is not small. One of the worst features of this evil is the strong hold which it has upon the influential classes, 30 * 354 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Hume tells us that the whole priesthood of England fought in vain against certain pernicious fashions, for the space of two centuries. It appears that they now resist the strongest influence of wisdom, hu- manity, and religion. It may be difficult to prescribe a rule to regulate the matter of dress, especially among Christian women. But Barnes, in commentating upon a text in the first Epistle of Peter, has made the best re- marks upon the subject that I have seen. He says, “ It is not to be supposed that all use of gold or pearls as articles of dress is here forbidden ; but the idea is, that the Christian female is not to seek these as the adorning which she desires, or is not to imi- tate the world in these personal decorations. It may be a difficult question to settle how much orna- ment is allowable, and when the true line is passed. But though this cannot be settled by any exact rules, since much must depend on age, and on the relative rank in fife, and the means which one may possess ; yet there is one general rule, which is applicable to aU, and which might regulate all. It is, that the true fine is passed when more is thought of this external adorning than of the ornament of the heart. Any external decoration which occupies the mind more than the virtues of the heart, and which engrosses the time and attention more, we may be certain is wrong. The apparel should be such as not to attract attention ; such as becomes our situation ; such as will not be particularly singular ; such as shall leave the impression that the heart is not fixed on it. It is a poor ambition to decorate a dying body with gold and pearls. It should not be forgotten that the body BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG WOMAN. 355 thus adorned will soon need other habiliments, and will occupy a position where gold and pearls would be a mockery. When the heart is right, when there is true and supreme love for religion, it is usually not difficult to regulate the subject of dress.” Vanity often controls the education. It does not require much discrimination to perceive that daugh- ters are educated, in a multitude of instances, for dis- play. We see this in the character of the boarding- schools that are selected. A distinguished teacher recently gave me a description of a private ladies’ school in a large city, patronized only by the most opulent classes. The teacher regulates the school, in respect to studies and discipline, to suit the aris- tocratic parents. Little attention is given to math- ematics, and other important branches, as if they were too substantial for the gay and dazzling life, for which the pupils are educated. The more ornate branches are attended to, and the motions of the body are carefully trained. No visitors are allowed in this school, except the patrons, — a truly wise arrange- ment for the reputation of parents, teacher, and scholars. When these young ladies graduate at this institution they are fitted, — for what ? For dis- play at “ Vanity Fair,” and for nothing else. They cannot make good teachers, good housekeepers, nor good wives. Indeed, they would not think of ven- turing upon either of these vocations except the latter. Herein is waste of time and money, a woful lack of good-sense, as well as destruction of mental and moral powers. All for vanity ! In many other ways vanity is exhibited ; but we have seen enough to understand its nature and 356 LIFE AT THE FTRESIDE. workings. It is always inconsistent with true sim- plicity of manners and strength of mind. They err egregiously who suppose that good behavior con- sists in such frivohties. “ All true refinement has its seat in the heart. It implies purity and benevolence of affection, together with a Lively and delicate sense of propriety. In this view it is a most amiable and desirable accomplishment. It is a passport to good society, and an important means of moral influence.” Ajiother characteristic of a model female is forti- tude, such as springs from self-rehance. This qual- ity is perfectly consistent with true modesty. It is a sort of reserved preparation for particular crises, and therefore never need be inimical to a humble, retu- ing spirit. No woman ever possessed more of gen- uine modesty than Queen Esther. Had it not been for the trial to which she was subjected, and with which the reader is perfectly familiar, we might have supposed that she was totally unfitted for reverses of fortune, — for seasons of perplexity and darkness. But when the test-hour came, and destruction, as a portentous cloud, hung over her beloved people, what enthusiasm and fortitude fired her soul! At first, her womanly heart di-ew back from the ap- palling crisis, and she seemed to say, “ it is impos- sible.” But when she had full view of her respon- sibilities in the matter, and saw the hand of God in bringing her to such a time as that, she went for- ward in the strength of exalted wisdom and courage. God smiled upon her efforts ; and the dark cloud that hung over her nation was broken and scattered. The example of Esther dlustrates what we mean by fortitude. No young woman can say that bitter BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG WOMAN. 357 trials may not be her lot. There are so many illus- trations of the uncertainty of worldly joys and pos- sessions around her, that she cannot fail to see her exposure to the saddest reverses. It may be said with truth, that females are exposed to greater trials than males. They are often the greatest sufferers from those vices to which males are addicted. In- temperance inflicts more pangs upon the heart of woman than it does upon the heart of man. Thou- sands of mothers, wives, daughters, and sisters are made wretched for life, in consequence of the fall of sons, husbands, fathers, and brothers, by this dread- ful demon. It would be weUnigh impossible to find such appalling scenes of grief and mental agony among men as exist among females, in consequence of the drunkenness of their friends. To some extent, these remarks are true in regard to other evils. Fe- males are often the greatest sufferers. I have seen a female, nurtured in the lap of luxury, once the flower and pet of an affluent circle, pos- sessing every accomplishment which wealth could purchase, brought early in her wedded life to pen- ury and toil. Her delicate hands were unused to labor, and her spirit was trained more for sunshine than storm. She had never dreamed that a reverse of fortune could change the course of her smooth and sunny life. With the fairest prospects she was led to the bridal altar, and became the wife of one who fell a victim to intemperance ere five years of mar- ried life had passed away. For such a change she was totally unprepared, and her proud heart sunk within her. There are thousands of cases just like this ; and 358 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. other thousands equally sad, though resulting from other causes. It is the part of wisdom for females to take a proper view of life, and be prepared for the saddest changes. More than half of the misery thal follows great reverses may be alleviated by meeting them with a proper spiiit. Besides, it does no good to sink down into despondency, and drag others with us. Nothing but unhappiness results from such conduct. Woman can inspire the heart of a hus- band, son, or brother wdth courage and enthusiasm ; and this is noble in comparison with that spirit, which, in every hour of perplexity and ti'ouble, cries “ all is lost.” In this w’ay, daughters have pined awmy over their father’s misfortunes, and nearly crushed their hearts, when they ought to have sus- tained them by hopeful words, and a cheerful view of the future. In this wmy, too, irresolute women have paralyzed the efforts of their husbands when their circumstances were unpropitious, and thus increased their trials, instead of sharing the burden with them. They are not “ helpmates,” but the opposite. A merchant once decided not to undertake an enter- prise, because his wife discouraged it. It proved, afterwards, that he would have been successful therein. To his wdfe, who then expressed surprise that he did not engage in it, he replied : “ It destroys the enthusiasm of a man for any work, to hear dis- couraging words from his wife. He has this dis- heartening thing to contend against, in addition to aU the uncertainties and vexations of traffic. I want a woman to enter into the reasonable plans of her husband with hopefulness and deep interest, as if she were determined to share failure or success with BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG WOMAN. 359 him. It puts spirit into a man.” There is much truth in these words, and young women may learn an important lesson from them. There is an incident, connected with the revolu- tionary history of our country, wliich always excited my admiration. When the British soldiers were advancing towards Lexington, and the news spread that they were close by, a Mrs. Harrington ran to the stairway, and shouted to her sleeping son of sixteen years, “ Jonathan, you must get up ; the regulars are coming. Something must be done ! ” There was resolution, self-relianee, and fortitude in her caU. Half the females would be frightened out of then- wits at such a crisis, and many others would think it was not genteel to be calm and self-possessed at such a time. But to me such a spirit seems to be absolutely necessary in a world like this. All women have not an army of British soldiers at their doors, but there is an army of disappointments and sorrows, which cannot be met and resisted without fortitude. Weep, if you please, over the dials of life (and she must be indeed an unfeeling woman who has no tears to shed over many scenes and experiences) ; but never allow yourselves to sink down into intol- erable wretchedness, to become discontented or un- pleasant, melancholy or morose, so long as the grace of God is proffered through Jesus Christ. Make the best of aU the ills of life, for this is womanly and Christian. There is a scene recorded in the Gospel of John, illustrative of the subject before us, which is worthy of the artist’s pencil. It is that of the mother of Jesus standing by his cross, a witness to the agonies 360 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. of his ignominious death. She was a woman of strong affections, unaffected modesty, and devoted piety. Of course, the crucifixion of her son was the last scene she would desire to behold. What mother or daughter would wish to witness the execution of a son or brother, whether innocent or guilty ? How few could behold the tragical scene with seif-pos- session ! But there stands the mother of Jesus, a woman of refined feelings and ardent love, to behold the terrible death of her son ! The crisis has come upon her ; and her soul is equal to the emergency. As her day^ so her strength is. Cahn, unterrified, resolute, submissive, she looks on, as cruel hands drive nails into his sensitive flesh. No mortal tongue can describe the horrors of that hour; and yet her noble heart, stayed on God, is more tran- quil than the hearts of many females when com- pelled to part with an ornament, or forego an even- ing of pleasure! No one can view this example, and not admire. Thoughtfulness ought to characterize young women. We would not advocate a too serious view of life and its issues, such as would render a person gloomy and sad. By no means. It is not a sin to be cheerful. They who possess most of gen- uine piety, will also possess most of genuine cheer- fulness. But it is well known that multitudes of young ladies are light and trifling, and conduct as if they were created for folly and merriment. They are distinguished for levity, which always indicates the absence of a serious view of things. It is not at all difficult to find young females who appear to be happy only when participating in the most ex- BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG WOMAN. 361 citing scenes of pleasure. One would infer, from their attention to amusements, that earth is a ball- room, and the sound of every breeze a dancing tune. Their conversation, airs, and whole demeanor, are light as the “ baseless fabric of a vision.” It is well- nigh impossible for them to utter sensible words upon important subjects. The thoughtfulness of which we speak is opposed to this senseless levity. It takes a serious view of life. It is not blind to the fact, that duties and trials exist, — that the world is visited with storms as well as sunshine, — and that the soul lives when its decorated temple has crum- bled to dust. It acknowledges the comparative worthlessness of beauty, which a cutaneous disease may destroy in twenty-four hours, and of pleasure scenes that neither elevate the soul nor make soft the dying pillow. That this quality needs to be more tenderly cher- ished by young females, no one can doubt. For it is evident that many of them regard the aforesaid trifles as the only source of happiness. A most thoughtless conclusion ! What would they think of the man who should spend months and years in finding a supposed mine of gold on his farm by performing certain manipulations ? They would call him a dunce, fool, or lunatic. And yet, this is just as reasonable, and consistent with the laws of our being, as to seek substantial happiness in the pleasure scenes of the world ! Thoughtfulness becomes the female character. In some respects it is more befitting females than males. Whether we view it in connection with the 31 362 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. immortal nature, or the circumstances in which we dahy live and move, it is valuable and essential. Conscientiousness should also be cultivated. The want of this is a serious defect in character, male or female : but in the latter it is especially repugnant to our feelings. We have seen that woman ■\AT,elds a powerful influence, and this ought, certainly, to be under the direction of conscientiousness. We are accustomed to say, that the more education and power a man possesses, uncontrolled by moral prin- ciple, the more dangerous he is. This is equally true of woman. Indeed, when we consider that she exerts the greatest influence just where and when character is forming, a discriminating and active conscience is far more necessary. It has been said that an “ evil woman is worse than an evil man.” Both are bad enough, but still there is truth in that remark. If we consult the pages of history we shall find that, whenever and wherever woman has fallen, she has plunged deeply into shame. There appears to be a law of moral deterioration, by which aU cases of human degradation are graduated. Very often men, who have risen to the most enviable position in respect to social and intellectual attainments, be- come the most heartless and shameless sinners when they fall. The more nearly they approach to angels in the days of their integrity, the more closely they appear to become allied to devils when they descend to vice and crime. For this reason, perhaps, the high position of woman, in respect to delicacy and refinement, exposes her to this appalling alternative of deep and damning guilt, when she forsakes her BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG WOMAN. 363 hold upon virtue — and falls. At any rate, the ex- amples of astounding feminine corruption and cru- elty in the world are numerous. A long, black cat- alogue of them are given in the Scriptures. There are Adah and Zdlah, the first supporters of polygamy; the incestuous daughters of Lot ; the adulterous wife of Potiphar; the harlot Delilah; the impure Bathsheba ; the murderous Jezebel ; the malignant and shameless Herodias ; and others of like unen- viable notoriety. Then it cannot be doubted, that conscientiousness is as necessary for females as for males. If matters pertaining to dress, education, associations, reading, amusements, and other things, are controlled and regulated by conscience, the character becomes as perfect as humanity can be in this sin-ensnaring world. Probably young women sometimes think that they are conscientious, when this is true of them only in certain particulars. Persons are frequently guided by conscience in one thing, when they ignore it in another. As, for example, a man might scrupulous- ly avoid theft, whUe he might not hesitate to lie ; or, he might shun falsehood, and practise deceit. But the conscientiousness, whose claims we urge, is a general and universal regard to right. The con- science can scarcely be said to be trained at all, when it is deliberately violated in some things, though it be regarded in others. Conscience is violated often, when, perhaps, it is scarcely realized. This is done by the young lady, when she regards fashion without consulting health ; or when she asks herself, what will be thought of 364 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. my course ? rather than, is it right ? or, when she en- deavors to find pleasure rather than to be useful ; or when she places ornament before excellence, and the adulations of the world before the favor of God. In aU these and kindred ways, conscience is disregarded, and another rule of life adopted. Hence the reader will see that it is very easy to violate this moral sense, and that it is done, in thousands of instances, when the transgressor is not really aware of it. This is one of the nicest points for the exercise of discrim- ination and fortitude that can claim the attention of young women. Sympathy and benevolence are more important to woman than either of the foregoing quafities. These two graces occupy distinct spheres in one respect ; but inasmuch as the latter embraces the former, they will be considered in connection. Sympathy may exist without benevolence ; but be- nevolence cannot exist without true sympathy. It is freely conceded that, in the exercise of those finer feelings belonging to, or intimately connected with, these attributes, the female excels the male sex. They seem to be especially adapted by nature for the exercise of those affections that render home desirable, and those delightful charities that greatly alleviate the wants and woes of mankind. They have performed a mission so important in this re- gard, that social life would be quite another thing without their kind ministrations. In the abodes of sickness and sorrow, in the humble dwelling of want, and wherever a pang is felt or a tear wept, their cheering kindnesses have been enjoyed. Another inquires, “ In what age, or in what country of the BEAU IDEAL OP A YOUNO WOMAN. 365 world, has woman forfeited her character as the ministering angel of humanity ? When and where has the female bosom abjured the claims of misery, and repudiated the virtue of benevolence ? Arctic snows have not frozen up the spring of mercy in the female heart, nor tropical suns evaporated it. Tyran- ny has not crushed it out, nor barbarism extinguished it. Look at Mungo Park, the African traveller, when alone in the midst of Africa, and lying down to die in want and despair, found by the black women of that dark land, carried to their tent, fed, clad, and cherished^mid the wild strains of their impromptu song, with which they cheered the feelings of his heart, and expressed the benevolence of their own.” “ It was not woman who slept during the agonies of Gethsemane ; it was not woman who denied her Lord at the palace of Caiaphas ; it was not woman that deserted his cross on the hiU of Calvary. But it was woman that dared testify her respect for his corpse, that procured spices for embalming it, and that was found last at night and first in the morning at his sepulchre.” These are facts that appear on every hand, to the credit of the female sex ; and they serve to exhibit the true worth and beauty of these traits of charac- ter. They should lead young women to beware of selfishness as not only unlovely and wicked, but also a libel upon their sex. One of the most revolt- ing scenes in the world is an unfeeling woman. A man of this stamp is repulsive enough ; but a com- passionless female is worse. She is sure to lack other winning qualities of her sex, and possess, in 31 * 366 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. their place, the coarsest and most unwomanly char- acteristics. The distinguished WiUiam Wirt expresses himself as follows upon this subject, in a letter to his daugh- ter : “ I want to teU you a secret,” he says. “ The whole world is hke the miller at Mansfield ; he cared for nobody, — no, not he, — because nobody cared for him. And the whole world wall serve you so, if you give them the same cause. Let every one there- fore see that you care for them, by showdng them what Sterne so happily calls ‘ the small, sweet cour- tesies of life,’ in which there is no para(^ ; whose voice is too stiU to tease, and which manifest them- selves by tender and affectionate looks and little acts of attention, — giving others the preference in every little enjoyment at the table, in the field, walking, sitting, or standing. This is the spirit that gives your sex its sweetest charm. It constitutes the sum total of the witchcraft of women. Let the world see that your first care is for yourself, and you will spread a solitude of the upas-tree around you, in the same way, by the emanation of a poison which kills all the juices of affection in its neighborhood. Such a girl may be admired for her understanding and accomplishments, but she wdU never be beloved.” “ The seeds of love can never grow, but under the warm and genial influence of kind feelings and affec- tionate manners. Vivacity goes a great way in young persons. It calls attention to her who dis- plays it. K it then be found associated with a gen- erous sensibility, its execution is irresistible. On the contrary, if it be found in affiance mth a cold, BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG WOMAN. 367 haughty, selfish heart, it produces no other effect than an adverse one.” An accomplished woman was wont to paint Scrip- ture scenes and seU them, in order to possess the means of doing greater good. The money she re- ceived for these works of art was devoted wholly to objects of benevolence. She was enabled thereby to accomplish a great amount of good. However much individuals may differ about the propriety of this or that cause of benevolence, all must admire this kind and generous spirit. It imparts loveliness to female character, which none can fail to acknowledge. In comparison with it, what are the richest embellish- ments of art ! What the splendid show of orna- ments and costly apparel ! What the nameless decorations of taste and fashion ! Who would not rather experience the satisfaction of causing one widow’s heart to sing for joy, than to be the mere belle of the wealthiest circle? Is there not more lovehness, not to say Christian feeling and honor, in conveying blessings to earth’s sighing outcasts, and making the cheerless homes of want and suffering brighter and dearer ? Thousands of benevolent wo- men answer, yes I They have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, ministered to the sick, comforted the af- flicted, and closed the eyes of the dying ; and these are among the most precious recgUections of life. They would wiUingly part with the memories of the ball- room and theatre ; but the recollection of these deeds of kindness and charity is too dear to be sacrificed. The poet Tupper has a beautiful poem upon this subject addressed to the other sex, a portion of which is as follows : — 368 LIPE AT THE FIEESIDE. “ Away with false fashion, so calm and so chill, Where pleasure itself cannot please ; Away .with cold breeding, that faithlessly still Affects to be quite at its ease ; For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank, The freest is first in the band, And nature’s own noblemen, friendly and fi’ank, Is a man with his heart in his hand. “ Fearless in honesty, gentle and just. He warmly can love, — and can hate ; Nor will he bow down with his face in the dust To Fashion’s intolerant state ; For best in good breeding, and highest in rank. Though lowly or poor in the land. Is nature’s o>vn noblemen, friendly and frank, — The man -svith his heart in his hand ! ” One of the most delightful words in the English language is usefulness. A higher encomium cannot be passed upon woman than to say, “ she is useful.” To be able to say, “ she is accomplished ; ” or “ she is beautiful ; ” or “ she is graceful,” is a poor compli- ment in comparison with this, — “ she is useful.” Our Saviour never spoke of a woman in terms of higher praise than he did of Mary, when he said, “ she hath done what she could;” and this adjective, useful., approximates to the praise bestowed upon the woman of Bethany. Yet some youijg ladies appear to make them- selves as useless as it is possible for human beings to be. The exercise of true sympathy and benevo- lence, through which persons become useful, seems scarcely to claim a thought. “ How shall we shine in this and that company ? ” is the inquiry with them, and not, “ how shall we bless somebody ? ” Wax BEAU IDEAL- OF A YOUNG WOMAN. 369 figures in glass cases, arranged in the bow window of a fancy store, are just as useful. Such females makes business for merchants, mantuamakers, and milliners, and aid essentially in giving employment to the ignorant daughters of Ireland, but no thanks to them. It is not the result of the smallest desire or effort to be useful. They care for no one but themselves, as the whole course of their lives plainly indicates. View, in the contrast, the life of such a woman as the Countess of Huntingdon. Though possessing the means, and Occupying the position, to gratify every desire for worldliness, she devoted her energies to works of humanity and benevolence. She laid every possession upon the altar of God. She toiled for the spread of the Gospel and the salvation of sin- ners. She erected chapels at her own expense, in every part of the land, and provided them with min- isters. She thus carried the Gospel to the doors of thousands of the poor and perishing. One of her last deeds of charity Avas the erection of a house of worship in a large city of her native land. When this enterprise first occupied her thoughts, she had expended all her means elsewhere. How to erect another place of worship, and especially in a place so important, did not at first appear. At length, however, she resolved to sell her jewels in order to prosecute the work. Her resolution was carried out, and with the avails she erected the chapel occupied by Rev. Joseph Sartain. Never before nor since, per- haps, was there such a sacrifice made in royal circles for the cause of religion. The mere worldling may sneer at the act, and call it superstition ; but it will 370 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. live in undying remembrance when her costly trink- ets have perished, and her soul is wailing in de- spair. Such an example shows that benevolence is a priceless gem among the adornments of female character. The crowning excellence of the young woman is religion. This harmonizes and blends more sweetly all other qualities of the heart. Under its benign influence other graces take new charms, and shine with new lustre. Religion does not render one vir- tue less attractive. On the other hand, it renders loveliness more lovely and beauty more beautiful. Amiability ^^^ns the heart, and, if found in conjunc- tion with goodness, it attracts with its owu peculiar magnetism. The female sex have expressed their appreciation of true religion by yielding up their hearts to its power more generally than males have done. A large majority of professing Christians are females. The fact is so well knowm, that infidels have seized upon it as a weapon to wield against Christianity. They suppose, since women are not, as a class, so strong-minded as men, that there must be a weak- ness about the cause which they so generally espouse. They forget another fact, equally well substantiated, that females possess a quicker moral perception than males, and their hearts are less corroded by contact with a wicked world. Hence it is rare that a female infidel is found. There have been such characters, and they have always been regarded with astonish- ment. Hume once informed the celebrated Dr. Greg- ory, that he numbered several females among his disciples in Edinburgh. The doctor replied, “ Tell BEAU IDEAL OE A YOUNG WOMAN. 371 me, whether, if you had a wife or a daughter, you would wish them to be your disciples ? Think well before you answer me ; for I assure you, that what- ever your answer is, I will not conceal it.” After some hesitation, Hume replied, with smiles, “ No ; I beheve scepticism may be too sturdy a virtue for a woman.” His reply, though designed to be eva- sive, sufficiently disclosed his real feelings. He could not respect a woman who would trample, with him- self, upon the Christian religion. It is so befitting her sex and circumstances, that he could not say he would have a wife or daughter reject it. He might respect infidel men, but could not infidel women. This is true of mankind generally. Even if religion were a great delusion, we should prefer to see it pos- sessed by females, for the excellence and stability which it gives to their characters. This fact indi- cates a wonderful adaptation in Christianity to their natures and wants. This adaptation is expressed also by the peculiar blessing which the Gospel has everywhere conferred upon woman. She has been degraded in every country where the Bible has not shed its light. One of the darkest features of hea- thenism is the wretched condition of wives and daughters. But Christianity has always elevated them. They now occupy the most enviable position where true religion has the firmest hold. Young women need religion to control and more richly develop certain excellences which we have seen they possess. Gentleness, modesty, amiabili- ty, and sympathy we have seen to be peculiarly their possession. Fidelity, also, appears to characterize them. It is not unusual for men to disregard the 372 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. plighted vow, and become tyrants in the family, rul- ing with a rod of iron. But it is not so with the other sex. Every community will furnish the exam- ples of a husband who has dissolved his very heart in the intoxicating cup, and daily outraged the feel- ings of his wife, and stdl she clings to him with a faithful heart. Now let these noble qualities be im- bued and directed by the spirit of Christ, and they become even more useful and w inn ing. If a young lady be gentle, religion will make her more gentle ; and also it will add humility to gentleness. K she be sympathizing, religion will give a wider range and purer aim to her sympathies. If she be faithful by nature, religion will render her fidelity permanent, through a living faith in Christ. Hence some of the brightest examples of piety are found among females. Hence, too, fewer gross apostasies occur among the female members of the church, in proporfion to their number, than among the males. This class need religion to correct some of those defects of character to which we have pointed. Af- fectation, pride, trifling conversation, vanity, en^w, jealousy, gossip, are among the defects of the sex. True religion will correct these and kindred evUs. The meekness and humility which it enjoins tviU banish pride and vanity. The contentment which it teaches will destroy envy and jealousy. The love of the spiritual which it engenders will put an end to the idolatry of fashion. The new sources of en- joyment which it opens will destroy a relish for the ballroom. The serious view of life which it imparts will remove trifling conversation. The charity which it enjoins will brand as folly, gossip and slander. BEAU IDEAL OF A YOUNG WOMAN. 373 Thus, true religion tends to cherish all that is excel- lent, and to correct all that is unlovely, in the char- acter of woman. Young women need religion to protect their char- acter. “ A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches,” by any person, but more especially by woman. Character is every thing to her. And yet it is the most delicate of all her possessions. She loses it by an act that excites little attention when performed by a man. The latter may stain his soul with some heinous vice, and recover his character in a few years. The wealth or reputation of his ances- tors will plaster over his disgrace ; and he will min- gle again in good society without showing or caus- ing a blush. Indeed, men who have a bad reputa- tion are permitted to move in good company, espe- cially if money or rank lies behind their characters, or rather behind their want of character. Not so with women. It is a difficult matter for a young lady to recover a forfeited “ good name.” Once lost, it is usually lost forever ! Silver nor gold, gems nor pearls, can buy it backl Public opinion has branded her forehead with the mark of Cain. All the fineries of art and wealth cannot conceal the moral deform- ity. Go where she may, the censure of an indignant public pursues her. The corpse of a once blooming reputation she must bear about with her till she dies. It is a severe penalty. It looks like oppres- sion. And yet we are constrained to believe that it is one of the wisest arrangements possible. There is more character in the world because of it. The fe- male sex stand higher, and hence man is better, and society purer, than they otherwise would be. 32 374 LIFE AT THE FIEESIDE. In these circumstances, religion is indispensable to the young woman. Her safety lies in it, and also her triumph. True piety is a sure safeguard and guide. A German artist has executed a painting of the following scene. The figure of an artless girl is sketched, as she is treading a narrow path, on either side of which is a frightful precipice. This path is bordered on both sides by a luxurious growth of flowers, that completely hide her danger. Be- hind her appears an angel, spreading his bright wdngs above her, while his hands rest gently upon her shoul- ders. She is walking along with her eyes closed, that the fruit and flowers may not tempt her, while a sweet smile plays over her countenance, as if her soul were filled with a consciousness of safety so long as she feels the pressure of those celestial hands. Re- ligion is such an angel guide. The young wayfarer may walk in safety even where the world scatters its tempting fruits and flowers, so long as she yields her- self up to the control and guidance of this heavenly messenger. XV. THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. “ The kindred tie that bound us here, Though rent apart with many a tear, Shall be renewed in heaven ! ” Huie. “ As soon or late we reach that coast. O’er life’s rough ocean driven. May all rejoice, no wanderer lost, The family in heaven! ” Burns. The first chapter closed with a view of the frail and uncertain tenure which marks the family rela- tion. The union, at best, is brief, — its dissolution inevitable. But death does not sever the bond forever. If it did, sad indeed would be the earthly fellowship of kindred. If no hope of reunion were offered to the faithful, how many would exclaim at the goal of life, overwhelmed at the thought of an eternal parting, would that I had never been born ! Thanks for the precious Gospel which comes to re- store the severed ties, — to reunite the broken fami- lies, — to renew the fellowship of kindred ! The family on earth may become the whole family in heaven! Though scattered over the face of the earth, and dying in different lands, its members may ( 375 ) 376 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. meet again to renew their intercourse on Mount Zion above, where “ Those long parted meet again.” They who have sat at the same table may sit together at the marriage supper of the Lamb. They who have bowed at the same family altar \^dth Ihe beginning and close of day may unite their devo- tions before the “ great white throne.” They who have walked in company to the earthly temple of God may sit together in the “ temple not made with hands.” They who have loved in the earthly mansion, than which no other spot is dearer, may re- joice together in a “ mansion in the skies.” “ In my father’s house are many mansions ; if it were not so, I would have told you, I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I wiU come again and receive you to my- self ; that where I am, there you may be also.” Beautiful and precious words are these to fall upon the heart of sorrow ! Here the thoughts are borne upward to the “ many mansions,” where the heavenly family commune together, after the sad reverses and separations of a trial-land, in the sweeter, purer, better intercourse of an eternal home. That is a precious sentiment, “ I go to prepare a place for you.” The figure is drawn from a company of travellers, one of whom precedes his associates to provide a place for their entertainment and rest. So Christ has gone to prepare a residence for his saints in their “ father’s house.” Here they have “ no continuing city.” They are “ sojourners,” “ strangers,” “ pd- THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 377 grims.” They seek “ a better country,” — a perma- nent abode. They are “ children ” of God, absent upon the “journey of life.” They will soon reach their “ father’s house,” — their everlasting home. Thus the Scriptures describe the future abode of the saints by allusion to an earthly home, — that re- treat of loving hearts, where social endearments exist even in the face of poverty and wo, — that garden of delight, where hopes and loves expand in the sun- shine of a parent’s smile. As this home residence commands the affections wherever man sojourns, so does the Christian’s view of heaven allure his heart. In his wearisome pilgrimage it rises before him as the consummation of his hopes, and he anticipates a welcome from its family of kindred spirits, and joy in a father’s smile. My theme is that the whole family may be gathered there, known and loved by each other. The first part of this proposition, — the whole family may be gathered in heaven, — demands no proof. It is the universal sentiment of aU believers in the Christian religion. It is presented simply as a delightful view of the abode of the sainted dead, — that which magnifies the sacredness and loveliness of the family relation. The latter part, — that they will be known and loved by each other, — admits of discussion ; and yet, unless this latter portion is true, the particular pleasure which the former doctrine is calculated to impart is wholly sacrificed. It will be joy exceeding great to know that our friends are safe in glory, even though we may not recognize them. But how much greater that joy, if we are able to identify them amid the countless throng. This is 32 * 378 LIFE AT THE FIEESIDE. the basis of the pleasing view of heaven which we shall attempt to unfold. Will kindred recognize each other there ? It is the first, yea the only question to be answered, in order to establish that alluring view of heaven which is dear to the Christian heart. Heaven will be far more blissful, if the whole family, admitted there, are known to each other. A proof of heavenly recognition is found in the fact, that it appears to be the universal sentiment of mankind. It is not the belief of a single sect. It belongs not to a single age. It is not the dogma of a particular school. Men of aU creeds and of no creed, of all sects and of no sect, of true piety and no piety, alike believe and defend this doctrine. Even the benighted pagan, far off in some dark corner of the earth, believes in a bright elysium, where he will be reunited to his departed kindred. He makes the blissful land the abode of all that can delight the senses and captivate the heart, in order to heighten the conception of friendships there re- newed. The fields teem with buds and blossoms of unearthly beauty. The valleys sparkle with crys- tal streams, and the hiUs wave with forests more beautiful than the firs of Senei. The skies are pure and cloudless ; and the air is loaded with delicious odors, and is vocal with the sweet songs of the blessed. Fit, though imaginary abode, in which to renew the ties of kindred ! The wild Indians of our Western forests believe, that far away beyond the mountains “there is a wide river; beyond that river a great coimtry; on the other side of that country a world of water ; in that water are a thousand islands, full of trees and THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 379 streams of water, and that a thousand buiFaloes and ten thousand deer graze on the hills, and ruminate in the valleys. When they die, they are persuaded that the Great Spirit will conduct them to this “ land of souls,” to renew the relations which existed be- tween them on their hunting-grounds. We are told, that over the grave of friends they will load a certain bird with caresses, and then let it fly away to bear them to the departed in the spirit-land. The same sentiment is found among the ancients. Socrates said, in view of death, “ if the common ex- pression be true, that death conveys us to those re- gions w'^hich are inhabited by the spirits of departed men, will it not be unspeakably happy to escape from the hands of mere nominal judges, to appear before those who truly deserve the name, such as Ninus and Rhadamanthus, and to associate with all who have maintained the cause of truth and recti- tude ? Is it possible for you to look upon this as an unimportant journey ? Is it nothing to converse with Orpheus, and Homer, and Hesiod? Believe me, I would cheerfully suffer many a death on the condition of realizing such a privilege.” Cicero, in langTiage too good to proceed from- a pagan heart, exclaimed, “ O, glorious day ! when I shall retire from this low and sordid scene to asso- ciate with the divine assembly of departed sph'its ; and not mth those only whom I have just now mentioned, but with my dear Cato, that best of sons and most valuable of men ! It was my sad fate to lay his body on the funeral pile, when by the course of nature I had reason to hope he would per- 380 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. form the same last office to mine. His soul, how- ever, did not desert me, but stdl looked back on me in its ffight to those happy mansions, to which he was assured I should one day follow him. If I seemed to bear his death with fortitude, it was by no means that I did not most sensibly feel the loss I had sustained; it was because I supported myself with the consoling reflection, that we could not long be separated.” “ It is said,” says Dr. Leland, “ to be a custom in Guinea, that when a king dies many are slain, and their bloody carcasses buried with him, that they may again live wdth him in another world. It was formerly a weU-known custom in the East Indies for women to kill themselves after the death of their husbands, that they might accompany them in the next life.” We are told, that among the ancients it was not unusual for persons on the death of their friends to commit suicide, in order to enjoy their society in a better land. It is doubtless with a view to a blissful reunion with their departed husbands, that, in modern days, so many wives in pagan lands have immolated themselves on the funeral pile. Dr. Neander informs us, that it was a custom with the early Christian church to celebrate the remem- brance of their deceased friends on the anniversary of their death. “ The supper of the Lord was cele- brated on this day, in the consciousness of an in- separable communion -with those who died in the Lord ; a gift was brought to the altar in their name, THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 381 as if they were still living members of the church ; and it was hence, probably, that the prayer for peace to the souls of the departed was interwoven with the prayer of the church, preceding the communion.” The basis of this ceremony was, evidently, the belief in heavenly recognition. It is supposed that the ancient custom (continued in a limited degree to the present time) of connect- ing the burial-ground with the house of worship had its origin in this sentiment of the recognition of friends in glory. The living and the dead are thus brought together at the very altar of their religion, as if in token of an immortal union in Christ. It seems to signify that their fellowship, in its social aspects, win continue hereafter. The same sentiment equally prevails at present. It pervades many of our sweetest spiritual songs. It is the soul of the richest consolations that can be imparted in this world of sorrow. It is set to some of our most popular music. It is uttered alike in lordly palace and humble cot. It is recorded on the tombstone. It is interwoven with the doctrines pro- claimed from the pulpit. It appears in the ejacula- tions of bereaved friends. It lingers upon the lips of the dying friend as a part of the last, sweet solace to his mortal agony. A few days since I visited a burial-place, in order to trace this sentiment upon the monumental stones. I found it to be the one, prevailing sentiment, as if it were originated solely for “ God’s Acre.” It was recorded on the stone that marked the resting-place of the child and the aged man. It was inscribed 382 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. over the remains of early manhood and youthful beauty. On one I read : — “We loved thee on earth, May we meet thee in heaven.” On another, “ Dark howe’er life’s night may be, Beyond the grave I ’ll meet with thee.” On another, “ We all may hope to meet again In yonder peaceful heaven.” On another, “But a fair maiden in her Father’s mansion. Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul’s expansion Shall we behold her face.” On another, “ Through him we trust to meet again.” On the infant’s tombstone I read, “ Precious babe, thy sister greets thee In the realms of peace above ; May we all in heaven meet thee. To sing aloud redeeming love.” Kindred sentiments on the stones of that ancient burial-place were numerous enough to have filled a volume. I have heard this sentiment expressed by the dying. What minister of Christ has not ? Not long since. THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 383 on a Sabbath evening, just as the sun was setting, I was called to see one die, — a husband, father, firiend, parishioner. The cold sweat of death stood upon his brow. His pulse was almost stUl, and his heart motionless. The soul was evidently bursting away from its fleshly tabernacle. The last sands were escaping from life’s hour-glass. With an effort he opened his glassy eyes, in his cold, thin hand pressed mine, and whispered a sentence about this doctrine of heavenly recognition. He had a little daughter in the better land, the only one of the household who had “ gone before,” and now the ascending spirit rejoiced in anticipation of the bhssful meeting. The blessed truth brought a troop of ministering angels to buoy up the soul above the billows of death. It seemed as if the sacred sentiment was revealed solely for its fitness to satisfy a longing desire of the regenerated soul. It is clear, then, that the truth under consideration is congenial to human nature, and is the universal sentiment of mankind. There is no country, how- ever remote, no age, however dark, no race of men, however good or bad ; no kindred, tribe, or people, where it is not found. In this there is evidence that the sentiment is true. It shows that God has im- planted in our hearts a moral want, which this doc- trine satisfies. It is difficult to find a sentiment thus common to mankind which is untrue. Hence we assert that this proves the doctrine of heavenly rec- ognition true, just as we rest the highest proof of the existence of God upon the universal consciousness of mankind. Because the human race are conscious of a Divine existence, therefore, theologians argue, 384 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. God must exist. He has implanted this conscious- ness within them, in order to lead them to embrace the truth of Eds existence. The universality of the sentiment of heavenly recognition furnishes equal evidence of its truth. Another source of proof is the existence of the memory in the future state. That disembodied spirits remember earthly scenes in eternity is evident from the case of the rich man, to whom the solemn declaration is made, “ Son, remember that thou, in thy lifetime, receivedst thy good things.” If “ the lost ” retain this faculty, then are we compelled to believe, by still weightier reasons, that it is not lost to “the saved.” Intellectual philosophers agree in the sentiment, that the memory never loses a particle of knowledge. All that a man ever learned, or experienced, is the mind’s property forever. It cannot be forgotten or obliterated. The very effort to forget, wites it more indelibly upon the memory. Impressions may be lost to us for the present, and seem as though they were not, but they are only veiled. God will re- move that veil hereafter, and bring to hght every idle word and secret thought. Dr. Cheever, speaking of this power of the memory, has expressed the senti- ment of mental philosophers in the following lan- guage, which he puts into the mouth of a proba- tioner : “ All things that I have ever seen, heard, read, known, thought, felt, experienced, in any way; all processes of reasoning, sensibility, volition ; aU modes in which I have either acted upon others, or been acted upon, with all the minutest details of self-consciousness, though they may have passed hke THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 385 the lightning, I can revisit. All that ever has been mine is still within my power, and may belong to me forever, through the working of this mighty, inde- structible element of my immortal being.” If the memory thus exists in the futm'e state, it would foUow as a natural consequence, and could not possibly be otherwise, that friends will remember and recognize each other. Another source of evidence to the truth of the doctrine of heavenly recognition is found in the fact that we shall not know less in heaven than we know on earth. On the other hand, our knowledge will be greatly increased. All the faculties will continue to exist, and develop themselves in ceaseless expansion. The mind is immortal in all its powers, separate or united. Hence every power will continue to im- prove, becoming the possessor of constantly increas- ing knowledge. Instead of losing our acquisitions, we shall be perpetually adding to them. While we shall forever acquire, we shall not lose what we have already attained. “ Our present knowledge, so far as is consistent with the Divine wiU and wisdom, will not be destroyed, but taken up and included in our future knowledge. It is not reasonable to be- lieve, that the attainments we have made in this life should give us no advantage in the beginning of the life to come. This would make aU om’ earthly ac- quisitions of no avail, and therefore needless.” It follows, then, that friends will recognize each other in heaven, since if they do not, in respect to earthly attainments, they will know less in heaven than they do on earth. The doctrine of heavenly recognition is also sus- 33 386 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. tained by the social principle implanted in the hu- man heart. Man is made for society, as the aspira- tions and desires of his heart clearly evince. He possesses affections* and sympathies, and cherishes hopes and desires, which find their congenial sphere of exercise only in social intercourse. These consti- tute the better and most winning part of humanity. If death obliterates them, it destroys the most lovely part of our nature, — a sentiment which finds no re- sponse in our hearts. If they survive the dissolution of soul and body, and live in heaven, they must have their app-ropriate objects to act upon ; otherndse they become instruments of endless miserjv To possess this social principle, and yet be introduced into a relation where it is not allowed full play, is to doom manldnd to disappointment and unhappiness. But it is not so. K we love here, we shall love more there. If we have sympathy here, we shall have more there. AU the sweet charities which bind us here must exist there. The affections, sympathies, and aU that belong to our common nature, will be absorbed in the redeemed man, — not destroyed, but purified and sanctified, thus undergoing no change except the transition from imperfection to perfection. Out of this existence of the social principle in heaven, the doctrine under consideration naturally grows. All the allusions of the Saviour to the future abode of the saints imply, that the social affinities will there be known as in the intercom-se of human life. Whenever he alludes to heaven as the home of his people, though incidentally, it is in language which implies a communion of hearts like that which friends enjoy on earth, only made perfect. THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 387 These incidental allusions enforce the above dictates of reason respecting the social principle, as the basis of the doctrine of heavenly recognition. The Scriptures contain not only intimations of, and incidental allusions to, this doctrine ; but also lessons of a more positive character. The teaching, “ then shall I know even as also I am known,” is lit- erally sustained. Expressions are used, and declara- tions are made, which are devoid of meaning, unless sainted friends recognize each other in glory. When the death of the Old Testament saints is the subject of remark, certain phrases are employed which are apt and beautiful only in the light of this truth. Thus, when Abraham died, he was said to be “ gathered unto his people,'' and the same was said of Isaac and Jacob. The best authorities believe that this phrase denotes “ his people,” in distinction from all other people numbered with the gi-eat con- gregation of the dead, since this alone renders the use of the term “his” consistent and pointed. There were those among his people who had gone to the spu'it-land, where “ The loved and parted here below Meet, ne’er to part again ; ” and he was gathered to them in the bonds of an eternal reunion. Also the phrase, “ gathered to their fathers,” is supposed to refer to the kindred of those concerning whom the sentiment is uttered, in distinction from all other kindred. They are words suited to awaken in the mind a recollection of former relations to dear 388 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. Mends, now rejoicing in the “better country.” They array before us the members of our earthly circles who have “ rested from their labors,” as still a part of our number, waiting for us to join them in the New Jerusalem. The Saviour presents the communion of saints in heaven under the figure of a feast. “ I say unto you, that many shall come from the east and west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven.” The only view of this passage which makes it at aU intelligible is the one favoring the doctrine under discussion. These three ancient worthies are represented as associating in heaven in the manner friends associate on festive oc- casions here below. Mrdtitudes are described as coming from the four quarters of the earth to sit down with them in the enjoyment of these celestial festivities. There is no particular point or force in the figure unless we admit the doctrine of the recog- nition of friends in heaven, as it really appears at earthly festivals. David bmied a child, — an affliction which be- reaved parents alone can appreciate. He found, doubtless, a great consolation in the righteous gov- ernment of God; but how much satisfaction he evidently derived from the reflection, “ I shall go to him ! ” These words mean nothing, unless they ex- pressed his full conviction that he should one day meet his child, known and loved. Reader, have you wept over the remains of a stricken babe ? Is one lamb missing from your precious flock ? AYhat joy- ous anticipations are awakened in your breast as you read, “ I shall go to him ! ” Do not these words THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 389 encourage you to expect, that, though separated from your child on earth, you will “ be linked to him in the skies ? ” The gi’eat apostle wrote to ’ the Thessalonians, “ For what is our hope or joy, or crown of rejoicing? Axe not even ye in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at his coming? For ye are our glory and crown,” He had been the instrument of their con- version, in company with his colaborers ; and he teaches in these words that he will meet them in another world as his “crown” and “joy.” He will rejoice to see them there. This implies that he will distinguish them from the throng “ which no man can number.” Macknight says of this passage, “ The manner in which the apostle speaks of the Thessalonians shows that he expected to know his converts at the day of judgment. If so, we may hope to know our relations and friends there.” In Revelation one of the elders is represented as asking, “ What are these which are arrayed in white robes, and whence came they ? ” The interrogation in respect to who they were imphes that they might be known, and be made acquainted with each other. Why should the elder ask, “ What (or who) are these ? ” unless he supposed that he might know ? Tlie language which Christ addressed to Martha at the grave of Lazarus is still more explicit upon this theme, “ Thy brother shall live again.” It does not mean simply that he should rise in the resur- rection ; for this Martha already believed. It was a truth designed for consolation in that hour of sorrow. Her brother was dead. No more did she expect to behold his face, or hear his voice on earth. No more 33 * 390 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. in life’s devious paths did she hope to walk with the departed. In such circumstances, what meaning is more naturally derived from the words, “ thy brother shah hve again,” than the following ? He shah live again to you, — a brother recognized and owned. He shall live in the exercise of aU his brotherly affec- tions in that world of hght which you expect to enter. Murmur not over your present loss ; your separation is only for a brief season. These ties will be renewed in a world where death and partings are unknown. Fit words of comfort to \\dpe the tears from sorrow’s eye ! “ There is a world above, Where parting is unknown ; A long eternity oflove, Found for the good alone ; And faith beholds the dying here, Translated to that glorious sphere.” That the doctrine of heavenly recognition has been believed generally by theologians will appear from the following quotations : — Paley says, speaking of Col. 1 : 28, “ If this be rightly interpreted, then it affords the manifest and necessary inference, that the saints in a future life will meet and be known to one another ; for how, without knowing again his converts in their new and glorious state, could St. Paul desue or expect to present them at the last day ? ” Dick WHote : “ It has been asked whether, in the blessed abode, the saints wall know one another. One should thmk that the question w^as unnecessary, as the answer naturally presents itself to every man’s mind ; and it only could have occurred to some THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 391 dreaming theologian, who, in his airy speculations, has soared far beyond the sphere of reason and common sense. Who can doubt whether the saints will know one another ? What reason can be given why they should not ? Would it be any part of their perfection to have aU -their former ideas oblit- erated, and to meet as strangers in the other world ? ” Nevin said : “ That the saints in glory shall con- tinue to know those whom they have known and loved on earth, seems to me to flow necessarily from the idea of their immortality itself ; for this cannot be real, except as it includes personal identity, or a continuation of the same consciousness.” Bishop HaU thus spoke : “ Thou hast lost a. friend ; say rather thou hast parted with him. That is properly lost which is past aU recovery, which we are out of hope to see any more. It is not so with this friend thou mournest for; he is but gone home a little before thee : thou art following him ; you two shall meet in your father’s house, and enjoy each other more happily than you could have done here below.” Baxter thus expressed himself : “ I now delight to converse with my pious friends, in a firm persuasion that I shall converse with them forever ; and I take comfort in those of them that are dead or absent, as believing that I shall shortly meet them in heaven, and love them with a heavenly love that shall then be perfected.” Doddridge said : “ Let me be thankful for the pleasing hope that, though God loves my child too well to permit it to return to me, he will erelong bring me to it. And then that endeared paternal 392 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. affection, which would have been a cord to tie me to earth and have added new pangs to my removal from it, will be as a golden chain to draw me up- wards, and add one further charm and joy to para- dise itself, .... It is for no language but that of heaven to describe the sacred joy which such a meet- ing must occasion.” Chalmers wrote concerning the death of a cliild : “ The blossom which withered here upon its stalk has been transplanted there to a plaee of endurance ; and it will then gladden that eye which now weeps out the agony of an affection that has been sorely wounded ; and, in the name of Him who if on earth would have wept along with them, do we bid aU be- lievers present to sorrow not, even as others which have no hope ; but to take comfort in the hope of that country where there is no sorrow and no separation.” Edwards said : “ The father shall know that such a one was his child ; the husband shall remember that such a one was his wife ; the spiritual guide shall know that such belonged to his flock ; and so all other relations of persons shall be renewed and known in heaven.” From a sermon of Dwight upon the Happiness of Heaven, I extract the following : “ Husbands and wives, here mutually and singularly beloved, will there be united, not indeed in their former earthly relations, but in a friendship far more delightful, and, wafted onward by the stream of ages without a sigh, without a fear, will become in each other’s eyes more and more excellent, amiable, and endeared forever.” Emmons thus wu'ote : “ All pious brothers and sis- THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 393 ters, all pious parents and children, all pious husbands and wives, all pious friends and all pious ministers, and then: pious hearers, wiU be forever known to each other and intimately connected in heaven, and mutu- ally promote each other’s felicity All Chris- tians in every part of the world, who are now ahve, will very soon meet together with their departed friends in heaven, and their meeting in that holy and happy place must fill their hearts with mutual joy, and remove all the pains and sorrows of their former parting.” Quotations of a similar character might be multi- plied indefinitely ; but the above wiU serve to illus- trate to what extent the belief in this doctrine ob- tains. The difficulty is not in finding theologians who believe as above, but in finding those who do not thus believe. It is objected to this doctrine, that Christ himself will absorb the affections, interest, and time, in heaven, and that it is a disparagement to him to believe that the sainted throng will be interested in each other. That Christ will be the centre of all love and attraction with the ransomed, “ the chief among ten thousand,” and the oiie “ altogether love- ly,” is readily admitted. That it will be heaven enough to dwelt where the Saviour is, and that saints will desire to “ see his face ” first of all, is not denied. But, that his superior interest in Christ precludes the possibility of such interest in kindred as has been described, is untrue. As well might we contend that the love of Christ on earth hinders our love of kindred, when facts prove it the reverse. The more we love Christ, the more we love om* friends. 394 LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE, There is many a reckless prodigal, returned to his father’s house to re-love his kindred, because he has learned to love Clirist. The love of Christ destroys no affection between friend and friend ; but elevates and purifies it, — makes it stronger, more abiding, and holier. Why will it not be thus in heaven ? Rather will not the ties of kindred there be more complete, because of the augmented love of Christ? The Scriptures declare that we love the children of God, when we love God, and command “ that he who loveth God, love his brother also.” Hence the gi'eat love of Christ, that wffl fill the hearts of the glorified above, becomes an additional reason for believing that the social ties of sanctified humanity will exist there. We have now presented some of the reasons for believing that Christian ffiends will recognize each other in the “ many mansions.” There are many natural and moral truths, which men receive upon far less evidence than that which supports the doc- trine under consideration. We have seen that the doctrine is sustained by the general desire and be- lief of mankind, by the existence of the remembering faculty, by the increasing knowledge of the mind, by the principle of sociality implanted in the human heart, and by the unerring Word of God. Upon this we are willing to rest our belief in the doc- trine, and fondly cherish the hopes and desires which it awakens. We hail it as a Godsend in this world of broken ties, worthy of a place in the for- mulary of the Christian faith, and glorifying to its Divine Author. Here, then, we base our plea for The whole Fam- THE WHOLE FAMtLY IH HEAVEN. 395 ily ill Heaven. It surrounds the heavenly abode of the saints with sweeter attractions to feel that, in addition to the joy of beholding Christ, we may also meet father and mother, husband and wife, son and daughter, brother and sister, never to be parted more. “ Oh happy world ! Oh glorious place ! Where all who are forgiven, Shall find their loved and lost below, And hearts like meeting streams, shall flow Forever one in heaven.” Eternal home of the Christian family ! How beau- tiful is our holy religion, when it hallows the various relations of the household, and finally brings its members from the divergent paths of life to their “ Father’s house,” a joyous, unbroken band ! “ There,” as another has said, “ the mother again clasps her beautiful babes to her bosom, all resplendent in the glory of that Saviour who carried them in his arms thither. There, she who was the solitary widow, and who for a long time had to tread the melancholy path of immaculate sorrow for the husband of her heart, and who, perhaps, had to accept of life’s cold- est conditions to secure for herself and orphans a piece of bread, — there, she finds the desire of her eyes ; and, in garments of white, they together walk the streets of the heavenly city. There, the orphan, the poor, shivering, timid orphan, who stood over a father’s and a mother’s grave ere she knew or could appreciate such a loss, and who struggled on unbe- friended through the battles and breezes of this selfish world, at length beholds and luxuriates in parental love. There the kind friends, the choice benefac- LIFE AT THE FIRESIDE. tt)rs, to whom we have been indebted during our pil- gi'iin passage for many comforts and precious aids, and whose departure from us to the world of spuits has made earth more gloomy and life less joyous, shall again be met and again enjoyed. In a word, all the blessed dead who have died in the Lord there meet again, and meet to part no more.” * What consolation is here for the bereaved ! The separation which death has caused between Chris- tian friends is only for a transient season. The trans- lation of every sainted one to Canaan’s shore be- comes a cause for thanksgiving ; for they are safe ; — safe from the power of sin, safe from the wiles of the arch-apostate, safe from the snares and temptations of the world. A few more years will pass away swiftly as flies the weaver’s shuttle, a few more moons wiU hght the path of night, a few more suns will rise and set, when the “ loved and parted ” will meet again in that temple “whose builder and maker is God.” Viewed thus, there is no death to the pure in heart. “ They arc not lost — but gone before.” Death is only a transition state, — a passage from a shadowy to a resplendent world, — a putting off the soiled garments of mortality for the unsullied robes of immortality. Death is gain, such as figures cannot compute, — an exchange of life mortal for life immortal. Such a view of the death of Christian Mends has poured the oil of joy into many wounded hearts. It * McFarlane. THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 397 has dried up many tears, and mitigated many of the ills and sorrows of life. It has shed a softening and elevating influence over bereaved circles by bringing them into a more familiar relation to the world of light. Heaven is no longer a distant and indefinite state or condition ; it is the alluring abode of their sainted friends. Their thoughts are often there. Their afflictions are lightened. They wait with pa- tience for the day of final reunion. Here, too, is found a powerful motive to piety ! An eternal separation will sever the impenitent from their sainted friends. Sin cannot enter “ those holy gates.” There is no communion, in all those glori- ous mansions, for holy and unholy hearts. It is a thought which ought deeply to impress the unbeliev- ing members of families. Ai-e they ready to meet the dreadful alternative ? Can they endure the thought of receiving no welcome to the abode where their ransomed kindred are ? Say, unbeliev- ing parent, if the love of Christ cannot constrain you, will you not serve God for the sake of meeting your redeemed child ? And ye godless children, ye scoffing partners, ye thoughtless brothers and sisters, what more can be offered to persuade you to seek Christ, than this meeting of kindred to part no more ? Thou unconverted mother, weeping your very heart away over the dust of your beautiful babe, and yet not preparing to meet it in the skies ! The httle creature has joined the heavenly choir, and is now a harper ! Carest thou for this enough to strive to enter into the “ strait gate ? ” Thou wast proud of its beauty on earth ; it is more beautiful in heaven ! Thou delighted to hear its voice below ; it was music 34 398 LIFE AT THE FIKESIDE. to your ears ; it is sweeter above than the richest tones of earthly minstrelsy ! Hadst thou such a child in a distant land, thou wouldst talk about it by day, and di-eam about it by night ! Thou wouldst gather up thy treasures, and prepare to visit the far- off clime, though it peril life on stormy seas and pestilential shores! How much more inspiring to hope and love, when that land is heaven, and the child an heir of glory ! Reader, I have done. I have penned some hints concerning the family relation, which may be of ser- vice in your efforts to form a model family on earth, as the germ and promise of an unbroken family in heaven. They are both embraced in God’s plan of human happiness and salvation. They are the twm parts of a beautiful and infinite whole. IMay you be enamored with the peace and symmetry of the one, and aspire after the joy and glory of the other. May you be allured to a brighter world by the communion that obtains between sainted friends above. May your faith fasten upon the “ many mansions,” fitted up for the abode of friends and kindred, and your heart be waxing meet to fellowship with the re- deemed ones in “ celestial pastimes.” May heaven kindle before your imagination with new attractions, as you reflect upon the “ Father’s house,” and incite you to toil and pray that no loved one may be missed from the heavenly circle. May you be true and faithful in the family on eakth, that you may at length enjoy that blessing which beggars language to describe, — the whole family m heaven. “ Wlien shall we meet again ? Meet ne’er to sever. THE WHOLE FAMILY IN HEAVEN. 399 When will peace wreathe her chain Round us forever ? Our hearts will ne’er repose Safe from each blast that blows In this dark vale of woes, — Never, — no, never! * “ When shall love freely flow. Pure as Life’s river ? When shall sweet friendship glow. Changeless forever ? Where joys celestial thrill, Where bliss each heart shall fill, And fears of parting chill, — Never, — no, never! “ Up to that world of light. Take us, dear Saviour; May we all there unite. Happy, forever ; Where kindred spirits dwell, There may our music swell. And time our joys dispel, — Never, — no, never ! “ Soon shall we meet again, — ISIeet ne’er to sever ; Soon will peace wreathe her chain Round us forever ; Our hearts will then repose Secure from -worldly woes ; Our songs of praise shall close, — Never, — no, never ! ”