LIBRARY OF CONGRESS DDDOE^lfiTTfi # 4* ^ v v .^ HP,* ^"%. ^^w'v # "%> vis c°\» ••-* a A ^ "^ A & , % 4 c> * aP ^ 1^ . . %■ ° j5 <5>. - r •.#■»■ **o# "%* ■•©US* "0/ *S *vJ&Ar* 4^ -'_ No reading caii'male indeed the very -germ, of s< a -mau wise without thfnldng. Thinking is tf-ditivatloiL. TWc^ t THE YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT, IN EFFORTS AT SELF-CULTIVATION BY JASON WHITMAN, AUTHOR OF THE YOUNG LADY'S AID. PORTLAND : S. H. COLES WORTHY BOSJON: B. H. GREENE." 1838.- " WS Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838, BY S. H. COLESWORTHY, In the Clerk's office of the District Court of Maine,, E$ RUFUS TTJKEY, PRINTER, NO. 23, EXCHANGE STREET. % PREFACE. I have, for a long time, been deeply interested in the improvement and character of the young- er portion of society, both male and female. I have felt that in view of the future character of our community, in view of the purity and perma- nency of our free Institutions, in view of the sta- bility and best influences of our religious privileg- es, the younger portion of society is, by far, its most important portion; for I have felt that, in all these respects, the future condition of this country depends on the young. Take, as an illustration, the subject of Temperance. The advanced and the middle-aged have done much for the establish- ment of this cause. They may still do much. — But, after all, it depends on the young to carry the cause forward to its complete perfection, to its en- tire and universal prevalence. If the young are indifferent upon the subject, or are, in heart and practice, opposed to the cause, all that the more advanced can do will be comparatively and event- ually in vain. The more advauced will soon be gone. The young will remain to give a character to their own time, and to mould and fashion in 1* VI PREFACE. some degree the character of the times which may succeed their own. If, therefore, the young say that intemperance shall prevail, then it will pre- vail, notwithstanding what has been done, or what may still be done by the middle aged and the old. So too, if the } 7 ounger portion of the community de- termine that temperance shall prevail, and mark the character of the community that is just en- tering upon the stage, it will be so, notwithstand- inglhe indifference or the opposition of their eiders. And thus it is, in regard to all the various interests of society, whether they are social, civil, literary or religious. It is for the young to give the char- acter to the times and the community which may succeed the present. It is for this reason that I have felt so deeply the importance of the young. It is for this reason that I have written for the young. I have thought that our Young Ladies were m danger of yielding themselves slaves to frivolity, vanity and fashion. And I have endeav- ored, in the Young Lady's Aid, to arrest their at- tention and direct it to their own solid and real im- provement, to the establishment of a substantial foundation for a life of usefulness and happiness. In regard to our young men, I would say, that I have seen them, as I have thought, surrounded by a multitude of dangers. There is indifference to the importance of the season, that is tast pass- ing from them, the season of youth, which, by leading to habits of indolence, may shed a blight- ing inMuence over their whole future lives. Then PREFACE. Vll there are the temptations to dissipation, by which they are surrounded and beset. And, finally, they are now in great danger, from the circumstance that their importance in the community is begin- ning to be felt, and their efforts and influence to become prominent, I have sometimes thought too prominent. We have our Young Men's Associ- ations for almost every imaginable purpose, dis- tinct and separate from the Associations of the more advanced. And such are the feelings of the times, that the middle-aged and sometimes even the old, choose that their efforts and influence should receive currency, by passing under the fashionable title of young men's efforts and influ- ence. It seems to me that there are some evils resulting from this state of things. Our young men rush forward into active life, far too soon, or at least, with far too little preparation for its du- ties. And, not having formed habits of self-cul- tivation, they are hurried along by the pressing duties which crowd upon them, and so pass through life without making one half the improvement, or securing one half the enjoyment which they might otherwise have done. Then too, the young, be- ing ardent in their feelings, of excitable passions, and of comparatively feeble discretion and judg- ment, are too apt to be bitter and violent, to carry things to extremes, and to seize upon whatever is new. merely because it is new. Who are our most violent politicans? Are they not in most in- stances, young men ? Who are the most rash m- Vlll PREFACE. novators? Are they not, in most instances^ young men? Who are in most danger of wild and ex- travagant speculations, who most fond of throw- ing off all regard for established forms and usages? Are they not, in most instances, young men? — When I have reflected upon the evils, which I have thought, resulted in some degree, or at least have been greatly increased by the prominence which is either assumed by, or given to young men I have asked with much earnestness, what can be done? And the answer to my question has been, it is no matter how young a man is called into ac- tive life, provided that, by the knowledge he has acquired, the mental habits he has formed, and the soundness of judgment he has secured, he is prepared for its duties, temptations and trials. It is often the case that one man is as mature in judg- ment, discretion and a control over passion, at twenty, as another may be at forty. I have thought, therefore, that the proper way of meet- ing this state of the times, is to address young men themselves, to endeavor to awaken them to just notions of the duties involved in the prominence which is now given them. I would have them so feel this prominence and importance, as to be prompted by their feelings to greater efforts for improvement. I would have every young man feel that, although his education may have been deficient, still, there is no reason why he should pass through life without making advances. The high-way of knowledge is open to all, and I should PREFACE. IX be glad to see all walking therein. I have there- fore endeavored to throw out, in this little work, such suggestions as might serve to awaken to the importance of efforts at self-cultivation and to give some direction and assistance in such efforts. I am aware that there are already many books prepared for young men. The Young Man's Friend, The Young Man's Guide, The Young Man's Aid — these, and others like them, are all of them valuable books. It is not expected, nor is it desired, that The Young Man's Assistant should take the place of any of these. It ask only a place by their side, as a younger brother of the same family. I have directed the attention of young men, in these letters, to their own minds, and have given some sketches of mental philosophy, in its application to personal and practical improvement. I have done this for a particular reason. I well remember, that, while acquiring my education, we were conducted, in due time, to the study of mental Philosophy. And a perceptible change was produced upon most of the class. A new object of intense interest was laid open to their study — the mind — their own minds. And the study excited us to thought and reflection. In this way, frivolity and nonsense were dissipated, the fascinations of the novel dis- armed, and its enervating influence upon the mind prevented. In this way too, coolness of judgment and soundness of discretion were secured, while the power and control of the passions was in a de- I PREFACE. gree weakened. Attention then to the study of mental Philosophy, had, in that particular case, a beneficial influence over the minds and the charac- ters of those who pursued the study. Again, I have seen many who have not enjoyed the advan- tages of a public education, and whose attention was not in early life directed to the subject of men- tal Philosophy, but who have, in later years, be- come interested in Phrenology, and, in that way, have been led to study the miud, to watch the op- erations of their own minds, — have been led to thought and reflection. Now, although I am neith- er a believer nor an unbeliever in regard to the claims of Phrenology, yet I siucreely believe that its advocates have done good, because they have awakened men to thought and reflection, to the examination of their own minds. I have hoped in the sketches of mental Philoso- phy which I have here given, to be instrumental to the same end. It may be that my readers will reject every position which I have laid down upon this subject, as incorrect and unsound. But they cannot do this without thinking, reflecting, watch- ing the operations of their own minds for them- selves. "But thinking is the very germ of self- cultivation." I shall, even in that case, by pro- voking them to thought, have been their assistant in self-cultivation. Indeed, I shall have accom- plished the very purpose for which 1 have written, for my object has been not to establish rnjr own po- sitions so much as to awaken my readers to think * PREFACE. xi and reflect, to examine and judge for themselves., Still further, I have hoped that by giving the minds of my readers this direction, by awakening them to this effort, I might be instrumental in lead- ing them to still further enquiries, as to the future and eternal condition of the mind or soul. I have feared that men have not faith in themselves as spiritual beings. And I have hoped that the more they should study themselves as intellectual, as thinking beings, the more would they cherish a faith in themselves as spiritual beings. I have thus stated the views and feelings with which this little work has been prepared. I now send it forth to accompany The Young Lady's Aid, for the favorable reception of which by the public I feel truly grateful, — with the prayer that it may be blessed to the improvement of the young men into whose hands it may fall; that it may awaken them to the importance and convince them of the necessity and possibility of self-cultivation, and be to them truly an assistant in their attempts to improve themselves. JASON WHITMAN, THE YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. LETTER I. IMPORTANCE OF THE SEASON OF YOUTH. Introduction — Season of youth important — because the young begin to act for themselves — Important in re- gard to the employment of time — the choice of com- panions — in regard to feelings of self-dependence and in regard to the formation of tastes and opinions — The character is in the process of formation, whether at- tended to or not — The importance of correct conduct in youth is not felt as it should be — conclusion. My Young Friends, When I have looked around me and have seen young men of fine talents, of lovely dispositions and of great promise, wasting the precious season of their youth, in utter indif- ference to all self-improvement, or worse than 2 14 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. wasting it, by spending it in vicious indulgen- ces, laying up for themselves a store of future wretchedness and misery, I have, involuntari- ly, asked why is this, how can it be prevented? I have thought that, perhaps, such young per- sons were not aware of the vast importance of the season of youth, its importance to their fu- ture happiness and to their future characters. I have felt that, perhaps, these very persons might listen attentively to one, who, from mo- tives of friendship and in a spirit of kindness, should speak to them upon the subject, and might even feel grateful for the advice he should give. I have determined, therefore, to address a series of letters to young men, of- fering them such hints and suggestions, as may seem to me calculated to awaken them to the importance of self-cultivation, and to assist them in their efforts to improve themselves. My first position, and it is one to which I would ask your particular attention, is, that the season of youth is of far more importance to the individual, to his future character and future happiness, than any other period of life. The period of childhood is important, IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 15 vastly important, in its influences and conse- quences, which extend far onward into the fu- ture years of life. But its importance does f not come so directly home to the individual himself; because, during the period of child- hood, he is under the direction and subject to the control of others. Were I speaking to parents or guardians or teachers, I should say, childhood is to you the most important period in the lives of those placed under your care, because the formation of their characters is more entirely under your control at that than at any other period of their lives. For the same reason, I say to the young man, the sea- son of youth is to you the most important pe- riod of life; because the formation of your character is then more entirely under your own control than at any other season of life. In childhood your conduct is directed by oth- ers. In manhood your conduct will be shap- ed by the habits which you have formed dur- ing childhood and youth, which will have be- cqme too fixed and obstinate to be controlled by the exercise of the will. It is then dur- ing the season of youth, during the period 16 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. from boyhood to maturity, that the formation of your characters is most entirely within your own power. During that period, you begin to act, more fully than you have ever before done, for yourselves, you are, to a greater extent than before, your own masters. In childhood it was your parents or guardians who thought and made selections for you, and who felt anxious for you. Did they perceive, that, by spending your time in idleness, you were con- tracting bad habits? With how much anxiety were they filled, how carefully, how intensely did they exercise their thoughts in providing for you employment, and such employment as might be agreeable to you? Of all this pa- rental anxiety you were ignorant. You had only to follow their directions and engage in the employment which they pointed out. Did they perceive that you were in danger of ruin from the evil influence of bad associates? — With how much greater anxiety were they now filled? How many thoughtful days and sleepless nights did they pass in determining how they might rescue you from your danger, what counsel and advice they might give, and IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 17 what selection of companions they might re- commend? Of all this you were ignorant. — And, perhaps, you made all this tenfold great- er than it otherwise would have been, by your unwillingness to follow readily their sug- gestions. But now, in these and in many other respects all is changed. Many of you now leave pa- rents and home, that you may enjoy better opportunities of becoming acquainted with busi- ness, and of preparing for the active duties of life. And those of you, who remain at home, find your situations much changed. You are so much away from your parents, that you can scarcely be regarded as under their watch or subject to their control. You are now call- ed upon to think, to select, and to act for yourselves. You are now exposed to dan- gers, not perhaps to greater dangers than those to which you were exposed in childhood. But they will appear to you to be greater, for you are to meet and to overcome them your- selves, in reliance upon your own individual en- ergy, and not through the assistance of others. The danger to which you are now exposed *2 18 young man's assistant. you will especially feel in regard to the right improvement of time. Although most of your time will be employed in your regular pur- suits, still you will have many hours of leis- ure. This portion of your time you will re- gard as your own, to be spent as you please, without direction or control from your parents or your employers. And here let me assure you that all interested in your welfare are watching with intense interest, to note the manner in which you spend these leisure hours. It is often the case, that one whose conduct is perfectly correct while under the control of others, and who is perfectly contented and happy to be under that control, seems to have no power of employing himself during his leis- ure hours, no capacity to estimate aright the bearing of different pursuits upon future char- acter. He has no definite and fixed purpose before him and is striving to accomplish no particular object. And, therefore, he is in great danger of becoming the sport of any companion that may solicit, any fancy that may suggest itself, or any temptation that may assail him. IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH, 19 There are others, who have been restrained by parental authority, and who now seem dis- posed to indemnify themselves for what they think they have lost and suffered. They give loose reins to their appetites, propensities and passions, and become reckless of all future consequences. And thus it often happens, that those who have been trained by parents in the most strict and careful manner, become dissipated and profligate as soon as left to themselves. You perceive, then, that there may be much correctness of conduct while under the care of parents and while devoted to the regular employments of the day, and at the same time, much incorrectness in the man- ner of spending leisure hours. And which of these seasons, the season of regular employ- ment, or that of leisure, do you suppose is regarded with the greatest anxiety by friends, which is considered as giving the clearest in- dication of what may be expected in your fu- ture characters? I can assure you it is the short season of leisure, rather than the longer season of regular employment. And why so you ask? I will tell you. Your friends per- 20 young man's assistant. ceive that, even now, every moment, which is at your disposal, is wasted in idleness or given up to dissipation. And this circumstance they regard as indicative of your present taste, and a fearful omen of the manner in which a still larger portion of your time will be spent, when it comes to be all at your own disposal. Still further, every hour, at this period of your life, is exerting its influence in forming habits, infixing tastes, and in determining the future character. If your leisure time is, even now, wasted in idleness or devoted to dissipa- tion, you are strengthening within you a fond- ness, a taste for this mode of spending time, and will be forming a habit, which, before you are aware of your danger, will become so fix- ed and so pov/erful, that it will be almost im- possible ever to break through its chains. If, then, you are now prompted, the moment you have a little time at your own disposal, to look around for some amusement, you are laying the foundation, let me tell you, of a habit of the most ruinous character. But you may say, this cannot be, because if the conduct be correct during that larger portion of the day, IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 21 which is devoted to regular employment, a habit will be formed, which will counteract the influence, which might otherwise result from our spending our leisure hours in an im- proper manner. In answer, I would say, that the influence of actions in the formation of hab- its, depends much upon the state of the feel- ings, upon the degree of interest, with which those actions are performed. Actions per- formed reluctantly, in obedience to another, or with feelings of indifference, will on that account, exert but little influence in forming and fixing habits. On the other hand, actions, which are performed with deep interest, will, from the interest which is felt in them, do much towards fixing habits. The influence then of one class of actions rather than of another in forming and fixing habits, will de- pend not upon the greater amount of time de- voted to them, but upon the greater degree of interest felt in them. This you at once per- ceive, in learning any art where practical skill is desired. Take the art of writing as a fa- miliar illustration. Two persons may write the same number of words, the hands may go 22 young man's assistant. through the same motions, and yet the result may be widely different. One may engage heartily in the work, while the other enters upon it with indifference, perhaps with reluc- tance. You perceive, therefore, that you may devote ten hours a day to your regular employments, while you spend but three hours of leisure in idleness or in dissipation, and yet the habits will be more fixed, and the future character will be more determined, by the lat- ter, than by the former; because the latter will be your voluntary course, the former may be a matter of reluctance. But enough has I trust been said to shew the importance of a right employment of time and especially of leisure hours during the season of youth. Nearly connected with the right improve- ment of time is the choice of companions. — In this respect your situation is now much changed from what it was in boyhood. Then, your associates were too young to think much of what might seem to be your neglect of them. If they perceived that their advances towards intimacy or acquaintance were made with cold- ness and reserve, they were not disturbed by IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 23 it. They did not resent it, for they attribu- ted it all to a parent's advice or a parent's command. But now they regard you as act- ing for yourselves, upon your own responsi- bility, and from the promptings of your own feelings. If, then, they perceive that you manifest no fondness for their society, they are disturbed, are ready to ask you the cause, and to resent what they regard as an unjusti- fiable neglect of them. Here then you are called upon to think, to weigh well the rea- sons which may influence you in your choice of companions, and, in your neglect of those who may seek your more intimate acquain- tance. You will feel that you must no lon- ger act from mere caprice, but that you should be guided in this by reason and principle. — And remember too, that should censure and reproach be cast upon you, you have now no one on whom you may cast the blame of your choice, that you are acting upon your own re- sponsibility, and must yourselves bear the con- sequences of your conduct. Here then, you perceive, you are called to take a stand, to choose and act for yourselves, from tbe prompt- 24 ings of your own feelings, from the decisions of your own judgment, and with a willingness to bear yourselves the reproach which may be attached to your choice, should it be such as to bring upon you reproach. You are called upon, as you never have been before, to cher- ish a feeling of self-dependence and of self-con- fidence. Nay, more. This feeling of self-depen- dence, you are to cherish, not only in regard to the choice of companions, but in regard to all things. When a child, how often have you said, or at least how often have you thought to yourself, C I would not do this, I would not do that, if my parents had not command- ed it'. And why? Because it was some- thing calculated to expose you to the sneers and the laugh of your companions. Now that you are left to yourselves and have be- come, in a certain sense, your own masters, there will be great danger that you will be prevented from following out the convictions of your own consciences, through fear of the ridicule and sneers and laugh of your companions. You are therefore called upon IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 25 to act from high and honorable motives, in much self-reliance, in much independence of others. Do your companions laugh? And are you afraid of this laugh? And shall this always be so? This question you are now to determine, your characters in this respect you are now to form. If you lose your self-reliance, your independence and yield to this feeling now, there can be no cal- culation as to what your future character will be. You may be kind hearted and may have correct views as to all the proprieties of life. You may see and approve the right, and yet be always driven to the wrong, by your fear of the ridicule of others. The season of youth is then you perceive, in this respect, of the utmost importance to your- selves. You are now to commence the practice, that so you may lay the foundation for a fixed and controlling habit, of acting in all things from an unwavering devotion to prin- ciple, an unwavering regard to duty and to right, relying upon the approbation of your conscience to support you amid the sneers of your companions^ should your conduct ex- 3 26 YOUNG man's assistant. pose you to their sneers. This you have not been called upon to do, so fully before. Now then is the trying time. This is a sea- son of the utmost importance. But, if you are only true to yourselves in your present practices, a habit will soon be formed which will prevent all future difficulty. Still further, the season of youth is the season when your tastes and opinions are forming. And, as you well know, much of your happiness and much of the respectabil- ity and value of your characters will depend on the right formation of these. You have seen some who have acquired tastes for pleasures of a pure and an elevated character, the pleasures of reading and conversation and thought, and others who have acquired tastes for rough and boisterous merriment, and others still who have acquired the taste for hearing and telling news. These different tastes give the cast to character, and deter- mine the kind of happiness which shall be sought, whether it shall exert a purifying, el- evating and refining influence upon conduct or not. These tastes are generally formed IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 27 •during the period of which I am now speak- ing. They are now within your power, un- der your control. It is for you to say, and to say it now what they shall be. Then too as to opinions, you may think, that in regard to these, there is but little dif- ference in the different periods of life. But it is not so. In childhood, you were not capable of forming valuable opinions. In manhood you will find that your opinions will be shaped and colored by the habit, which during the season of youth, you have established, as to the manner of forming your opinions. By this T mean that, during the season of youth you will form a habit of making up your opinions in one way rather than in another. For example. You may form the habit of making up an opinion at once, without examining evidence, and upon the impulse of the moment, or you may form the opposite habit, of examining evi- dence and weighing probabilities and care- fully drawing conclusions. So too you may form the habit of changing your opinions with every varying breath, or of adhering to £8. YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. them obstinately to the neglect of all reasons in their support, or of conscientiously regu- lating them by the preponderance of evi- dence. You may not indeed retain the pre- cise opinions which you now form. But you will retain the same habit in regard to the manner of forming opinions. And this habit will do much towards determining the respectability and value of your future char- acters. You have often, I presume, seen men, who have been spoken slightingly of, and for whose opinion no respect has been mani- fested. You have asked the reason of this. The answer has been, they are men of im- pulse, and of prejudice, and but little de- pendence is to be placed upon their opinions. And then you have seen others, whose opin- ions are always treated with respect, and who are often called upon by their fellow men to decide differences which have sprung up between them. And yet their talents and capacities were not superior to those of the class before noticed. But then they are men who have formed the habit of weighing and examining before deciding, and of govern- IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 29 Ins; themselves by the preponderance of evi- dence. The habits of the two classes, as to the manner of forming opinions, are differ- ent. And this is what constitutes the ground of difference in the respectability and value of their characters. Thus, you perceive, that in regard to the right improvement of time, the right choice of companions, the cherishing of feelings of individual indepen- dence and self-reliance, and the formation of tastes and opinions, the season of youth is of the utmost importance to yourselves. There is one consideration which shews in a peculiarly striking manner the impor- tance of this period. It is this. At this pe- riod, the character is actually in the process of formation, in all the respects which I have noticed. Whether you may be aware of this or not, whether you may be exerting your- selves to form it aright or not, still it is form- ing. In regard to the right improvement of time, for example, if you neglect to form correct habits in this respect, if you leave yourselves to be governed in the employ- ment of your time, as the circumstances 30 young man's assistant. around, or the impulse of the moment may direct, and cherish the thought that you are forming no distinct habits in this respect,, you will find yourselves to have been most sadly mistaken. A habit will, during all this, time, have been creeping over you, throw- ing around you its chains, and drawing them closer and closer. This habit has been forming in a gradual manner it is true, as all habits are formed, in an imperceptible man- ner, it may be, but none the less surely, none the less powerfully on that account. Your character then in this respect is in a process of formation during -the season of youth, whether you are aware of it or not. And it is the same in regard to the proper choice of companions. If you neglect to exercise judgment in the selection of associates, those, who are idle and dissipated and always seeking for new companions and especially for companions whom they can direct and control, will seek your society and solicit your companionship. And as you have no particular reason why you should refuse, you will naturally yield to their solicitations. You, IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 31 will become for the most part their associ- ates. And then the virtuous and correct, regarding your frequent appearance with such as an indication of your tastes, will naturally withdraw from you, not wishing to intrude where they are not wanted. And thus, with- out any intention on your part, simply from your carelessness in this respect, you will have become the constant associates of evil companions. And so in regard to every part of your character. It is now forming, wheth- er you attend to its formation or not. Should you be spared to middle age, your character will have become fixed. If you have thought nothing of shaping it aright before that time, you will then find that it is too late to hope for much alteration, to expect much im- provement. My young friends, let this idea come distinctly before your minds. Your characters are now in the process of forma- tion. It is now in your power, through the blessing of God, to say what those charac- ters shall be; whether they shall be marked by vice and profligacy, or shall be adorned by ajl those virtues which give respectability •3'2 YOUNG MAN S ASSISTANT and secure happiness. The question with you, then, is not, whether you will hereafter sustain correct characters or have no fixed character at all. Characters, and fixed char- acters you will sustain, worthy or unworthy, good or bad. This you cannot help. The only question for you to determine is, wheth- er these characters shall be good or bad, cor- rect or incorrect. And this question you must determine by your practices now, while your characters are in the process of forma- tion. This you will perceive upon a mo- ment's reflection. Of what is character made up? It is made up of habits, of thinking, of feeling, of speaking and of acting. And of what are habits made up, how are they form- ed? By a constant repetition of the same acts. Suppose that now, on every occasion of the least excitement of feeling or of pas- sion you utter an oath. The repetition of this act will fasten upon you the habit of using profane language. And this habit will mark your future character, as being low, and ungentlemanly, as well as unchristian. If ev- er you rid yourselves of this habit, and clear IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 33 your characters of this stain, it will be only by a resolute and persevering effort. And even then, there will be danger, that a mo- ment of sudden excitement of passion will bring you back to its use. Let it not then be forgotten that, how thoughtless soever you may now be, still your character is in the actual process of formation, that it is for you to say, and to say it now, not hereafter, not in middle life, not in old age, but now, during the season of youth, what that char- acter shall be. I am the more particular to press this con- sideration because I know that young men do not believe it, at least that they do not feel its truth and its importance. They feel that now they may be wild and gay and even, in some degree, dissipated, and yet that all will be well with them hereafter, when they shall have scattered the follies of their youth and entered upon the active business of life. Nay, more. There is sometimes a feeling cher- ished and occasionally even expressed, that the wildest and most thoughtless youth, will make the most active and enterprising man. 34 young man's assistant. It sometimes happens that a dissipated youth reforms, becomes pure, correct and perhaps even distinguished. This being entirely un- expected, is noticed, and dwelt upon, and talked about, until, with many, the belief is current that such is the natural, or at least, the very frequent result. But if a careful examination were made, it would be found that the number of these who reform is very small, when compared with the number of those who are ruined by their youthful dissipations. Then too, even these few are what they are, in after life, not because they have been dissipated, but be- cause they have wept tears of bitter repen- tance, and have put forth struggles as for life, to recover themselves from their subjection to their dissipated habits. Still further, the conclusion is often too hastily adopted in re- gard to those who are supposed to have re- formed. It often happens that a young man, who is dissipated or at least somewhat loose- in his habits, reforms, enters into business, assumes the relation of husband, becomes a father and all appears to be well. This is IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 35 •spoken of and referred to as an instance in proof of the position that dissipation in youth does not mar the prospect nor destroy the character of manhood. But, at length, he meets with difficulties in his business, is per- plexed and disappointed and often knows not which way to turn. And then he returns to his dissipation, and his whole future course is blasted. This I say is often the case. Let my counsel then, my young friends, sink deep into your hearts, that now, that the sea- son of youth is to you the all important pe- riod of life, when you are to determine, and to determine for yourselves, what shall be your future characters. And now my young friends, do you de- sire happiness? do you wish for respectabili- ty? would you secure the esteem of all around you? Remember that now is the time to lay the foundation for all these. Are you looking forward to the responsibilities of business? hoping for an elevation to posts of honor among your fellow men, or anticipat- ing the sweets of domestic life? Remem- ber that upon all these your present conduct 36 young man's assistant, will exert an important and a lasting influ- ence. Are you hoping to maintain hereaf- ter, religious characters? to enjoy the gui- dance, the support and the consolation of the gospel? Remember that now is the most favorable time to establish your characters in these respects, that but few, comparatively speaking, who have cherished no religious, impressions while young, have ever become devotedly religious in after life. And re- member too, that those, who have become religious in after life, have found, by bitter experience, that they had only been treasur- ing up for themselves anguish and remorse. Do you my friends feel that the period, of which I am speaking, is thus important. Are you willing to read, reflect and enquire in regard to its duties and its dangers? Have you determined that you will endeavor to improve aright present time and present op- portunities, that you will engage resolutely and at once in a course of self-cultivation? — If so, then I may hope that you will give heed to the counsels I am about to offer. LETTER II. THE TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. Recapitulation of the former letter — The prominent de- fect with most young persons is, that they have no clear and distinct views of the true object of life — The importance of clear views on the subject — it contrib- utes to greater success and to greater happiness. — Hap- piness not the true object of life — but spiritual im- provement — This appears from the constitution of our natures, and from the relations of life — Conclusion. My Young Friends, I addressed you in my last letter, on the importance of the season of youth to the individual himself, to his future character and future happiness. And I endeavored to show, from various considerations, that to you this is by far the most important period of life, because that, during this period, the forma- tion of your characters, and the sources of your happiness are more entirely under your 4 38 young man's assistant. own control, than at any other period of your life. My remarks, in my last letter, were of a general character. I am in this, and the succeeding letters, to speak of important, and I hope they may prove, interesting particulars. But where shall I begin? A vast field is before me, all unexplored and yet all interesting. I have wandered over this field, in thought, that I might select the most appropriate starting point. I have look- ed back upon my own former views and feel- ings. I have looked upon the young around me, and have endeavored to ascertain the point, in regard to which, there is the first and most important defect in the views and feelings of the young, the point in regard to which, the first suggestion should be whisper- ed in their ears. And what, you are ready to ask, is the conclusion? I answer, that the first defect, in the views and feelings of the young relates to the true purpose of life, to the one supreme object of pursuit. In the first place, the vast majority of young persons have no distinct purpose, clearly de- fined in their own minds, and always promi- IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 39 ncnt, as the one great purpose to be accom- plished by life. Suppose that I were to ques- tion each one of you, separately, and that you were to answer, each for himself, from the promptings of his own heart, without consulting each other, without knowing the answers given by others. Suppose I say, that, in this way, I should put the question, "what do you regard as the one supreme and all important object of life"? what are you now pursuing, as the one supreme object of your present efforts? what do you intend to pursue, as the one supreme object of the ex- ertions of your whole earthly being? How many of you, do you suppose, would be able to give any distinct and definite answer? — Alas! I fear but few, comparatively speaking, very few, could do this. Need I ask you to pause and give diligent attention, while I point out to you the importance of having a clear and distinct view of the true object of life? Does not the bare suggestion of the thought bring up to your minds at once a full and realizing sense of its importance? Sup- pose your neighbor has chartered a vessel, 40 young man's assistant. has laid in stores and provisions for a long voyage, and has loaded her with various ar- ticles of merchandize. The sky is serene and the wind fair, and you stand upon the wharf, as he is about to cast off. "But whith- er neighbor," you very naturally ask, "whith- er are you bound, and what is the object of your voyage." How are you filled with surprise as he answers, I am bound to no par- ticular port, I am about to set forth upon a voyage, I shall sail east or west, north or south, to day in one direction, to morrow in a different direction, just as my fancy at the time may dictate, or the winds may favor. Whither I shall be wafted, or where I shall land, I know not. My object will be, to pass each successive day as pleasantly as I can, all unconcerned as to the question wheth- er 1 shall be driven upon the breakers, strand- ed upon the shoals, or wafted to brighter lands and purer climes. Suppose, I say, that such an anomaly in the affairs of men should happen, would you not conclude that the in- dividual was bereft of his reason, was la- boring under some strange infatuation? And TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 41 yet is not this a true picture of the actual condition of many a young person? "Bound" as the Poet has it, u Bound on a voyage of awful length, through dangers little known," how utterly indifferent are many, as to the object of that voyage, or the port where it shall land them! They intend to pass each day, or each period of life as pleasantly as they can, but they have no clear idea of the object to be accomplished by the voyage it- self. They move in one direction to-day, in a different direction to-morrow, just as the fashions of society, the temptations around them, or their own whims may dictate. I repeat the question, have I not given a true picture of the real situation of many a young person? You have indeed objects for the different periods of life, but have you any one supreme object, clearly defined to your own mind, always prominently before you, as the object of life itself? In regard to many of you, I fear not. And, if not, is there not much more reason than in the case supposed, to regard such a one as bereft of reason, as laboring under some strange infat- 42 young man's assistant nation? Pause then, I beseech you, pause ere it be too late, and fix in your minds some clear and distinct notions of the great object and purpose of life. Again, you all know that some of the ques- tions put to children, to call forth the lisping answers of their first efforts at speech, re- late to the uses of the bodily powers, the purposes for which the different organs were given. You have all heard the mother, ques- tioning her little prattler after this manner. "My dear, what are your eyes for?" "To see with," is the lisping answer. "What are ears for?" "To hear with." And thus she passes over all the bodily organs. Now, suppose we should carry this question- ing, in regard to ourselves, a little farther, and ask what is the intellect for, what are the affections for, what is conscience for? What are the relations of father and child, husband and wife, brother and sister, friend and neigh- bor, for? What in short, is life itself for? I fear that we should, many of us, find ourselves at a loss to give clear and distinctanswers. And yet, is it not important that we should have TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 43 some clear and definite ideas as to the purposes for which all these are given, the right man- ner of employing and improving them, and the great object to be accomplished by the use of them? God, we have reason to believe, has created nothing, has bestowed no power, or faculty, in vain. All is created, all are giv- en, for some purpose. On man is bestowed the power of studying the designs of God, of learning why powers and capacities are given, the uses and the one great object of life. And is it not important that we should study the designs of God, the right manner of employ- ing and improving our powers and capacities, the true object and purpose of life? Pause, then, I beseech you, my young friends; pause, frequently, and ask yourselves, Why am I here? "Why have I received intellectual powers, so- cial affections and moral feelings? Why has life been given to me? Whither will it con- duct me? And seek an answer to these en- quiries, by the careful study of yourselves, of your relations, and of your natures, by a careful observation of the course of events and a careful study of God's word. 44 Still further, who, in regard to the ordina- ry transactions of life, meets with the great- est success, and makes the most progress? Is it not the man, who has the object of his pursuit distinctly defined to his own mind, an object which serves to concentrate all his thoughts and affections and efforts? I have seen young men, of apparently equal talents, equally ambitious of distinction, equally in- dustrious; and yet one made much greater progress than the other. 1 have asked for the cause. I was satisfied that the difference was to be attributed mainly to the fact, that while one only desired distinction in general, the other had fixed upon the particular branch, or pursuit, or profession, in which he was determined to excel. The object of his pursuit was clearly defined to his own mind, and he had clear and distinct notions of the means by which that object was to be attain- ed. The one was ever varying his course, seizing upon new studies, and engaging in new pursuits. The other was steady, regu- lar and persevering; keeping his eye fixed upon his object, directing his attention, when TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 45 studies were at his own option, only to such as had a bearing upon this object, and ex- tracting from every study to which his atten- tion was directed, something which might serve to aid him in accomplishing his object. So it is in all the ordinary affairs of life. He, who has some one prominent object clearly defined to his own mind, as the grand object of pursuit, will accomplish much more, than he, who has not these clear notions of the object of pursuit. And, just so it is, in re- gard to the great object of life itself. He who has clear and distinct notions of this ob- ject, who understands why life was given, what is or ought to be, accomplished by the right use of life, who has fixed his eye upon this object with an eagle's gaze and pursues it with unwavering devotion, will accomplish much, very much, more than another, who is deficient in this respect. But finally, who, I ask, is the happy man? Look around you, watch, observe, enquire; and say who is the happy man. See that young man; blessed, or perhaps I should say, cursed with patrimonial wealth. He is en- 46 young man's assistant. gaged in no particular pursuit, feels no partic- ular want, for the gratification of which, ef- fort may be necessary; he has no one en- grossing object of desire. He spends his days in seeking enjoyment from one pleasure after another. Is that young man, I ask, hap- py? The vacant stare, or listless languor of his countenance, the careless gait, the whole appearance of utter indifference, which marks the man, proclaim in language not to be mis- understood, that happiness is not his. Look again, see that old man. He began life with nothing, he has been industrious, prudent, upright and successful in business. He has passed through great and severe struggles. — He has long looked forward, with eager an- ticipation, to the time, when his accumula- tions would warrant him in the course which he is now pursuing, would authorize him to retire from the cares and the anxieties of business. But now that he has done so, is he happy? If you ask him, he will, with a sigh, give a negative answer. Ask for the reason, and he will tell you that he wants some object of affection, and thought and TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 47 pursuit; some object which may engross his desires, and call forth strenuous exertions. — In short, wherever you look, if you find a man without any particular, clearly defined and prominent object of pursuit, you will find an unhappy man. And what is true of the temporary objects of life, is doubly true of the great purpose of life itself. He who is devotedly pursuing the one great and true object of life, is supported under all minor and temporary changes; he is filled with hap-, piness under all subordinate and temporary disappointments. And now, my young friends, permit me to address to you a few questions. Is it not reasonable to have some one great and prominent object of pursuit? Is it not important to know why we have been crea-. ted? why God has given us the various pow- ers which we possess? why we are? and what we are required to do and to become? Does, it not promote progress, does it not secure happiness to have the object of our pursuit prominently before our minds, clearly defin- ed to our thoughts? Have you thus endeav- ored to ascertain what is, with God, and 48 young man's assistant. what should, with you, be the true object of life? Have you clear and distinct notions of this object, and of the means by which this object is to be attained? Are you permitting it to engross your thoughts and enlist your affections? If such be the case, then be ex- horted to press onward in this course, reso- lutely and perseveringly. If such be not the case, if you have as yet no one promi- nent object of pursuit, an object for which you are living, the one true object of life, then pause where you are. You wish to de- rive profit from the letters which I am ad- dressing to you from the volume put into your hands. Put down your finger then on this point, as the first and most prominent and most important question to be settled in your own minds. Be unwilling to go farther on in life, without understanding and devo- tedly pursuing the object for which life was given. Thus I have endeavored to meet one class of the young, those who have no distinct notions of the true purpose of life, who are living on, from day to day, without anyone prominent object of pursuit. TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 49 But, in the second place, if the question proposed in the former part of my letter, the question as to the true object of life, were put, there would be found, among those who would feel prepared to give an answer, a great variety in the answers given. We may per- haps judge somewhat, of what these answers would be, if we look at the actual pursuits of men. Some are seeking wealth, with an ap- parently supreme and all absorbing devotion. Others are, in like manner, seeking distinc- tion; others are seeking other objects, with all the apparent zeal, which would imply that these are the true objects of life, and the se- curing them the great purpose for which we were created. I might here expose the fol- ly of devoting one's self to these temporary objects of pursuit. But I prefer to employ the remainder of this letter in exposing what I believe to be the root of the evil. I sup- pose that no one would acknowledge, for a moment, even to his own mind, that these, wealth, honor, pleasure, are to be regarded as the real objects of life. All would contend, that these are to be regarded, but as the means 5 50 young man's assistant. to a higher and more important end; and all would contend, that it is only in this light of means to ends, that they are seeking them; all would say that they are seeking these sev- eral objects, because they regard them respec- tively, as the sources of happiness. Under this confession lurks the error I would ex- pose. It is this, that happiness is the great object of life, the legitimate object of all our efforts; that "Happiness," as the poet has expressed it, "is our being's end and aim.' 5 This is the error I wish to expose, and yet I am aware that there is some little difficulty in the attempt, and that the distinctions made, in doing this, may seem to be distinctions without a difference. I have no doubt that God created us for happiness, and that all the laws which he has established, if rightly observed, and all the dispensations of his providence, if rightly improved, are calcula- ted to promote our happiness. But this ad- mission is very different from the assertion that we are to fix our attention upon happi- ness, as the object of pursuit. A parent, for example, as he looks upon his child, de- TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 51 sires that child's happiness. All that he does for the child, all the plans which he lays, all the directions which he gives and all the dis- cipline which he may inflict, have reference to the child's happiness. But this is very dif- ferent from saying that the child should make its own happiness the supreme object of pur- suit. Suppose, for example, that there are set before the child all the delicacies of the table, all that can excite or gratify the taste. The happiness of the child, at the time, will consist in the gratification of the ap- petite. The parent prescribes the bounds of indulgence. But the child, with his limited knowledge of consequences, cannot but be- lieve that his happiness is abridged by the prohibition. If you say to the child, seek your own happiness, make that the supreme object of pursuit, follow, without hesitation, every course, which will promote your hap- piness, you give him liberty to indulge his ap- petite to excess and to his own injury. You give him liberty to spend his time in play in- stead of employing it in healthful study. I am aware that some will say, you mistake us., 52 young man's assistant. what we mean when we say that happiness should be the object of pursuit, is happiness in the long run. I know you say this. But this is in vain. What can the child know of the consequences of actions in the long run? He may have heard you tell of the future and distant consequences of actions, but he has not seen, he does not know, he can hard- ly believe, and yet, when a temptation assails him, it is as a child that it assails him, and he is to determine as he is, a child with only a child's knowledge, and if he makes happiness the object of his pursuit, it must be what ap- pears to him to be happiness, not what you tell him is happiness. But, in regard to the child, you see the folly of making happiness the supreme object of pursuit. For if he does this, he must depend on his parents to point out the courses, which will produce hap- piness. Why not, then, cut the matter short at once, and direct the child to follow implic- itly the directions of the father, in confidence that happiness will be the result of obedience? So it is with us, in regard to God. We are commanded to deny ourselves, to take up our TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 53 cross; we are required to love our enemies, to do as we would be done by. But we cannot, until after long experience, see that happiness is the result of these courses of conduct. At the very time when we are called upon to perform these various duties, they appear to us to be in opposition to our happiness. In short, he who determines to pursue, with un- hesitating and unwavering devotion the rules and principles of the gospel, will often have to pursue courses, which give no hopes of hap- piness as the result. He may be assured, by his faith in the divine promises, that happi- ness will be the final result. But he has not seen it, he does not know it, nor can he see how this can be? It is only a matter of faith with him. And this is not the reason which influences him to pursue the course. He does this because it is required by the gospel and because he has an unwavering confidence in the wisdom and goodness of God and in the tendency of all his commands to produce final happiness. Those who prescribe the pursuit of happiness as the pursuit of life, are obliged ,io come back to the same point, and to urge 5 # 54 YOUNG MAN S S ASSISTANT. their followers to regard happiness as the re* suit of certain courses, even where they can- not see that it is, where it must be mere mat- ter of faith. But, when temptation assails us, it meets us as we are, as men with a limited knowledge of consequences. There is dan- ger that it will overcome us, before we can bring up to the mind's eye, as living realities, the dim and indistinct visions of faith. Why not, here, as before, cut the matter short at once, and teach men to make it the rule of their lives to obey the divine will, with implicit readiness, in perfect confidence that the in- finite goodness of the deity will cause that happiness near or remote shall be the result of obedience. This I. am satisfied is the true, the proper course. And I am the more fully satisfied of this, because I think that my own experience and observation have confirmed my theoretical conclusions. I have seen those, who made happiness the object of pursuit, who were asking how will this or that course promote our happiness. But I never yet saw such a one happy, for any continuous period of time. I have seen others, who were ask- TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 55 ing what does duty require, what good can we do? And I have noticed that such, in what- ever circumstances they were placed, were comparatively happy. It is with this., very much as it is with regard to health. There are some, who seem to make their own health and its promotion and preservation the one su- preme object of thought and enquiry and ef- fort; and such are, usually, in ill health. There are others, who press forward in the discharge of their duties, making health but a secondary object of enquiry; and such, if they are really blessed with no more health, enjoy that health much more than the class before alluded to. — * So here, those who make happiness the ob- ject of pursuit, who are asking how they feel and what they enjoy in the various circum- stances in which they are placed, will, in most cases, be miserable. Let this then, my young friends, be laid down as a fixed and unaltera- ble principle, that happiness is not to be the supreme object of your pursuit, that you are to ask, not what will conduce to your happi- ness, but what duty requires. There may be cases? in which, of two courses, one will be as 56 YOUNG much in obedience to duty as the other, while it bids fair to be much more pleasant— that of two situations, in either of which you will be in the path of duty and of usefulness, the one will be more pleasant than the other. In such cases, you are frequently right in pursuing that which bids fair to be the most pleasant. But here, you will perhaps say, 1 have not come to the point. God cannot be said to have created us, in order that we may obey him, that this may be the rule, but that it can- not be the object of life. True I have not, as yet, reached the point. But T have taken this, as the most sure path of attaining it. Let it then be admitted, as all do admit, that the will of God is to be the rule of life. I say all admit this, for I believe that those, who regard happiness as the object, will admit that the will of God is the rule of life. What then, to come still nearer to the point, what is the true object of life, for what were we created? To this question I answer our own spiritual improvement is the true object of life, our happiness is the consequent, the attendant, upon this. The happiness of God., TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 57 if we be allowed to lift our thoughts so high, is the result of the perfection of his spiritual nature and holy character, the result of his pu- rity, and holiness, and benevolence. I sup- pose that the highest happiness, of which man is capable, is the result, the consequent, the attendant upon the highest degree of spiritual elevation and purity and perfection to which he may reach. Our own moral and spiritual improvement, then, I regard as the one great object of life. I look upon this life as pre- paratory to another. I consider the formation of correct moral characters, the cultivation of correct moral feelings, and the development of our spiritual capacities, as the mode ap- pointed by God for accomplishing in us this preparation, as the object for the accomplish- ment of which we are placed in this world, the object for which life was given, and ca- pacities bestowed, and relations ordained. I am confirmed in this position, by every view which I take, of human nature, and of the relations of life. In regard to human na- ture, if you look at the child, his first en- joyment consists in the exercises of the senses. 58 young man's assistant. There is enjoyment in the exercise of these, and yet the result of this exercise is to strength- en, develope and improve the senses them- selves, and to store the mind with the materi- als on which the intellect is to work, a knowl- edge of those qualities in the things and per- sons around, on which the affections are to fasten themselves. Soon the affections begin to manifest themselves. The child manifests love for its parents and for others around. — Then the intellectual powers begin to develope themselves. The child begins, in his own weak way, to reason upon the objects of its knowledge, to reflect, to compare and draw con- clusions, as to the why, the how, and the where- fore. Then there are manifested the moral feelings, the dictates of conscience, and finally those higher, and purer and more spiritual ca- pacities of the soul. By these, I mean the power of holding communion with things in- visible, with God and our own souls, and an invisible world. In the simple exercise of all these various powers, there is pleasure. In the excessive or improper exercise of them all, there is danger. There is pleasure in the TJIUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 59 gratification of the appetites, the exercise of the bodily senses, the exertions of the powers of motion. There is danger in the excessive gratification of the appetites, in the wrong ap- propriation of the affections in the improper direction which intellectual efforts may take. These various powers are nearly connected with each other. You perceive that the senses are the servants of the intellect and the af- fections; the affections and the intellect are the servants of the moral powers; the moral powers themselves, are the servants of the more spiritual part of our natures. The mo- ral powers are exercised upon the knowledge gained by the intellect. The careful and cor- rect exercise of the moral powers, the faith- ful performance of duties, promotes spiritual improvement, prepares the soul for a spiritual existence, and for spiritual joys. Thus, when I look at what man is by nature, I see all the parts of his nature subservient to the spirit- ual; when they are all rightly exercised and improved, they all serve to promote spiritual or in other words religious growth. And this view, abstract though it may seem, is of the 60 young man's ASSISTANT. utmost importance, and of importance especial- ly to you who are now in the early part of your life, and it is of importance that you should, now, while you are young, acquire clear and distinct notions of the relative position of the different parts of your nature, and should look upon all as subservient to spiritual growth, and upon spiritual growth as the one great object of life. Then look at the relations of life. There are father and child, husband and wife, brother and sister, rich and poor, neighbor and friend. Is it not evident that, morally and spiritually speaking, we are improved by aright discharge of the duties of these relations? The affec- tions are called forth and trained, we learn to bring selfish desires into subjection to benevo- lent feelings, to deny ourselves for the good of others; our own joys are increased by being shared by others, while their sympathy serves to alleviate our griefs. The result then, of a right performance of the duties of our several relations, is moral and spiritual improvement. Therefore, I say, that these relations were es- tablished for the purpose of promoting this TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 61 moral and spiritual improvement, and this, our own moral and spiritual improvement is the object to be sought in the midst of them all. Look at the various duties and trials of life. It is your duty to be diligent and industrious; if you are faithful in the discharge of this duty, you will find yourself, morally speaking, im- proved. It is your duty to be temperate and benevolent; if you are faithful in the discharge of these duties, your own feelings will be ben- efitted, you will find yourselves, morally and spiritually speaking, improved. And so of all the duties of life. He who is faithful in the performance of them, will find himself morally and spiritually improved by that faithfulness. Therefore, I say, that the object of these du- ties, so far as we are concerned, is the promo- tion of our moral and spiritual improvement, and that this is the object which we should aim to accomplish by the performance of them. So in regard to the situations and circum- stances of life. Are you in prosperity? You have an opportunity for the exercise of benev- olence. If you are faithful to exercise your benevolent feelings, you will find that they are 6 62 young man's assistant. strengthened, and that your character is, in this respect, improved. Are you in adver- sity? You have a call to exercise the vir- tues of patience and cheerful resignation. — If you are faithful in exercising these virtues you will find your characters improved, and your souls benefitted. If then the natural consequences of the right performance of the duties arising from these circumstances is the promotion of our moral and spiritual improve- ment, may we not conclude that these cir- cumstances were allotted for this purpose, as subservient to our moral and spiritual good? So in regard to the relaxations and amuse- ments of life; when of the right kind, and prop- erly regulated, they all serve to promote mo- ral and spiritual improvement. Therefore, I contend that the great and final object to be promoted is our own moral and spiritual im- provement. So it is with all the doctrines, and all the ordinances of religion; when be- lieved with a living faith, when observed with right feelings, they all serve to promote mo- ral and spiritual improvement. If then I be asked why is life given? I answer, that we TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 63 might have an opportunity for spiritual train- ing, for moral culture. If asked why rela- tions are ordained, prosperity and adversity allotted? I answer, that by means of them we might promote our moral and spiritual growth. If asked in short what should be the one, great, supreme, all absorbing object of pursuit? I answer, it should be our own moral and spiritual improvement. This is the object of life, this the great end of earth- ly existence. I am aware that some may ob- ject to this. The answer in our old cate- chisms may be quoted in opposition, that "the chief end of man is to glorify God." — But how is God glorified? By the increased moral and spiritual improvement of his crea- tures, of his children. He then that would answer the chief end of his being and glori- fy God, must live for his own spiritual im- provement. Another may say that the object of life should be to do good to others. I am aware that this is a very important duty, hut 1 believe that God has so ordered, that this is but a means of our own spiritual good. And here, my young friends, I would urge 64 young man's assistant. upon your attention the view which I have presented. Here you are, in the midst of relations, exposed to trials and afflictions, and surrounded by duties. These are vari- ous, apparently conflicting and distracting in their claims. Select then as the object of life your own moral and spiritual improve- ment. This will serve to simplify all per- plexity and conduct you safely through the labyrinth. I would urge it upon you to se- lect this as the one supreme object of pur- suit, on account of your own happiness, and your own improvement. I have carefully observed, my friends, what it is to be without any one supreme and engrossing object of pursuit, the object of a whole life. The in- dividual is not indeed without objects of pur- suit, but they are temporary and in them there is much liability to disappointment. — Is he seeking wealth as the supreme object of desire? He may be disappointed, and his disappointment will give him great pain. But, if he is seeking his own moral and spir- itual improvement, he will indeed engage in business, aid he may seek wealth, but these TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 65 will be secondary objects of pursuit, and, if disappointed, he will feel that the great ob- ject for which he is laboring, his own moral and spiritual improvement, may be promoted by a patient submission to disappointment, as well as by successful effort, in business. Then too, when disappointed, his disappoint- ment, not relating to the essential interests of his soul, to the one supreme object of pursuit, will not leave that void in his affec- tions, which it otherwise would. He will only feel that he has been disappointed in regard to some of the means, and not in regard to the object itself, which he is su- premely seeking. I can assure you, that, if you will regard your own moral and spiritual im- provement, as the supreme object of pursuit, it will sweeten the bitterest cup, which may be put to your lips; it will enable you to im- prove, for the highest and best purposes, the most broken, the most frequently interrup- ted and the most changeable life. I urge nothing more, my young friends, than what you may, every one of you, undertake at once. Whether you are satisfied 6* $6 young in regard to the claims, doctrines and ordi- nances of religion or not, you can this day resolve that henceforth you will make your own moral improvement the great object of all your desires and efforts. And this I am the more desirous to see you do, because I would have young men start right — -aim at a proper object; one which may be sought su- premely; one which may be sought constant- ly, amid all changes and through the whole life. If you adopt this principle, you will be prepared to look from a proper and im- portant point of view, upon the changes, cir- cumstances and trials of life; upon its rela- tions and duties; upon your own relaxations and amusements. Then will you, in all prob- ability, be constantly progressing. Then will this life be the scene of much happiness as it passes, while it may become the foun- dation of much future felicity. Remember then my young friends the in- structions of my letter; that it is the part of reason, that it will promote improvement and secure happiness, to have some one distinct object of pursuit, clearly defined to. your owe TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 67 mind, as the one supreme object of desire and of effort, not for a day only, or a year 9 but for life. That happiness is not to be the supreme object of pursuit, that your own mo- ral and spiritual improvement is well worthy of being regarded as the supreme object of desire and effort; and that this object is to be sought by a course of undeviating devotion to the will and commands of God, LETTER III. INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. Introduction — The necessity of independence of charac- ter shown. 1st. That we may bear up under evil re- port. 2d. That we may form opinions for ourselves and adhere to them although others may differ from us. 3d. That we may withstand the undue influence of organized and associated efforts — Mistakes upon the subject. 1st. It is a mistake to think that we must differ from all around us. 2d. It is a mistake to think that we have become truly independent when we have only exchanged masters. 3d. It is a mistake to think that we are truly independent when we are slaves to our own appetites — The true nature of real indepen- dence of character. 1st. Cannot be independent of truth in regard to opinions, nor of duty in regard to conduct — should try to be independent of every thing which would draw us aside from truth and duty — we may be led astray from truth and duty by the undue influences of our prejudices against those who differ from us — by the undue influence of our party attach- ments — by the undue influence of our own self-love — True independence of character consists in an entire and unreserved devotion to truth and duty — It is based upott deeply seated, firmly fixed religious principle. independence of character 69 My Young Friends, I have spoken in my two last letters of the importance of the season of youth, and have endeavored to point out the true object of life. But I have thought that even should you deep- ly feel the importance of this period— that even should you have correct ideas of the true object of life, and be desirous of devoting your- selves unreservedly to the pursuit of that ob- ject, you are in danger of being turned aside from your course, unless you cultivate true in- dependence of character. I have noticed, al- so, that many, who seem to have felt deeply the importance of true independence of char- acter, have fallen into strange mistakes in re- gard to its real nature and proper foundation. — I deem it of the utmost importance, therefore, at this stage of my remarks to urge upon you the importance of true independence of char- acter — -to point out some of the mistakes in regard to it a into which the young are most li- able to fall, and to explain to you its real na- ture and its proper foundation. But in doing this I shall leave the epistolary form of ad- dress and simply lay before you the substance 70 young man's assistant. of a discourse upon the subject, which I pre- pared sometime since, when called upon to address an assembly of young men. 1st. I am to speak of the necessity of in- dependence of character. We are all, at times, called to pass through evil report. We are all exposed to the misrepresentation, reproach and censure of our fellow men. This mis- representation and reproach may arise from two causes. There are those, who have be- come soured in their feelings. They cannot endure to hear of a neighbors extending rep- utation or increasing success. They delight to put the worst construction upon all unfa- vorable appearances in conduct, and to attri- bute even praiseworthy actions to improper motives. When others speak in favor, they are heard to cavil, and, should they ever be- stow praise, it is well seasoned with detraction, it is followed by some not merely qualifying remark, but by some clause of complete nulli- fication to all that has been said before. Again. There are those, who honestly and conscientiously misrepresent and reproach the conduct of their neighbors. For instance. INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 71 I may be perfectly sincere in my endeavors to do in all things my duty, according to the extent of my knowledge and the best of my ability. But in doing this, I must of course follow my own ideas of propriety. In these I may differ from every one around me. Con- sequently, my conduct will appear to my neigh- bors entirely different from what it does to me. And they, judging as they must from their own ideas of propriety, and representing my con- duct as it appears to them, although honest and conscientious, may misrepresent it as it is in reality, arid as characterized by the motives which gave rise to it, and by the principles by which it was regulated. Thus, in one or oth- er of these ways, it frequently happens, that while we are pressing boldly on in the dis- charge of what we believe to be duty, sup- ported and animated by the consciousness of our own good intentions, the whisper of sus- picion is abroad, our conduct is misrepresent- ed, our motives are suspected, our endeavors and good intentions are misinterpreted, and a construction is put upon all we do, injurious to our characters, destructive of our happi- 72 young man's assistant, ness and withering to our hopes. Whether these evil reports arise from wilful misrepre- sentation or from honest misunderstanding, the effect on us is somewhat the same. In both cases we suffer, in the one from our neighbor's fault, in the other, it may be, from our own misfortune. In both cases we are in danger., either of becoming soured in our feelingSj and of misrepresenting in our turn the conduct of others, or of sitting down in the utter hope- lessness of despair, oppressed with the feeling that we are alone in the world, that every man's hand is against us, and that, let us do what we will, all is and must be wrong in the eyes of our neighbors. In both cases we shall feel the necessity of true independence of charac- ter to support us under such heart withering trials. Still further, we may be situated among those who have formed their opinions on vari- ous subjects upon a model revolting to our feel- ings, who have embraced views that appear to us erroneous, and not only erroneous but dishonorable to God and injurious to man, views which we could not embrace if we would, INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER 73 so incongruous do they seem to the eye of our reason, and so contradictory to the instructions of scripture, views which, if we will be hon- est and faithful to the convictions of our under- standings, we must openly and decidedly re- ject. Yet if we do honestly renounce these views, and openly declare our convictions, the persons, whom we respect and esteem, and whose good opinion we wish to retain, will cast us off. We shall be censured, condemn- ed, pointed at with the finger of scornful sus- picion, yea, marked out and avoided as the pests of society. Let me here be fully un- derstood. I am not speaking in reference to any particular class of men. My remarks are general and I do sincerely believe will apply, in a greater or less degree, to all classes. Here too, as before, we shall be in danger of becom- ing censorious or of yielding to despair. We shall feel the need of some principle more permanent and more powerful than the sim- ple impulses of our nature, the need of true independence of character to animate and en- courage us in our walk. Once more. This trait of character seems 7 74 young man's assistant. to be peculiarly necessary at the present time. There are circumstances in the moral, the po- litical and the religious world, which require of every one a more than ordinary exercise of true independence. I allude to the propensity which all must have noticed, for union of ef- fort, combination of forces, concentration of exertions. At the present day, whatever is attempted, must be effected by means of well organized, closely connected and widely ex- tended associations. It is not enough that a person is engaged in the cause, is willing to labor, choosing at the same time to regulate his labors, in accordance with his own ideas of propriety and expediency, he must form his plans and govern his exertions by the rules of some generally adopted system. Are you wil- ling to exert yourselves in the cause of tem- perance or to labor for the advancement of re- ligious education, while you prefer to be guided in your exertions by such rules as you may consider best adapted to your peculiar circum- stances and wants? All this is not satisfactory. You must connect yourself with, and conform yourself to, some party, sect or association.— INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 75 These parties, sects and associations may be, they undoubtedly have been attended with highly beneficial results. But they are attend- ed also with their dangers. In our associated and combined capacity, we are in danger of forgetting our individual responsibility. We approve or condemn, not according to our own private judgment, but according to the opin- ion of those with whom we are associated. — We think and feel and act, not as individuals on our individual responsibility, but as parts and members of incorporated bodies, and we are ready to go forward and engage in courses of conduct to promote the purposes of a party a sect or an association, upon which, in our individual responsibility, we should never have presumed to venture. Nor is this all. We forget that these organizations are, at best and when successful in their operations, only means, merely expedients for accomplishing desirable objects, and that others, who adopt entirely different means, may desire as much, and labor as faithfully as we can to effect the same good objects. In this forgetfulness, we condemn those who differ from us in regard to means 76 young man's assistant. as opposed to us in principle. Upon the sub- ject of intemperance, for example, all who will not adopt our plans, who will not sign the very paper we have signed or one similar to it, are classed among the abettors and encouragers of intemperance, although intoxicating drinks may never have passed their lips, though their whole influence may have been on the side of total abstinence. In such a state of things, is there not required a good degree of independence of character to enable a man to go boldly yet calmly forward, in the path marked out by his judgment and his conscience, when that path may depart widely from, or be in direct oppo- sition to the courses pursued by the combined associations of his fellow men? Must not a man have well proved his own work, to be able, under the censure, not of one individual only, but of united bodies of his fellow men, still to have rejoicing in himself alone. 2d. I have spoken of the necessity of true independence of character. I am next to no- tice some of the mistakes to which we are ex- posed in regard to it. And first: are not those laboring under a mis- INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 77 take, who think, that, to be truly independent, they must differ from all around them, and that to manifest their independence, they must, on all occasions, oppose the opinions, express a contempt for the practices, and exhibit an utter disregard for the feelings of others. And are there not some such in society? Have you not seen them? Men who in their investiga- tions have sought not so much for truth as for arguments to authorize a rejection of, or to support an opposition to the opinions of others; men who seek not so much to be satisfied in their own minds, as to convince those around them of their independence, and who, if those around them should embrace a certain opinion, would consider that circumstance of itself as a sufficient reason why they should reject it; men, who in their conduct affect a singularity of manners and assume an oddity of deportment, lest their conformity with the usages of society, should be considered as servile imitation, and who, in their social intercourse will not hazard their reputation for independence, by mani- festing the least regard for the feelings of oth- ers, but who, on the contrary, will take parties 7* . 78 toung man's assistant. ular pains, in whatever company they may be, to express just those ideas and to express themselves in just that manner which is cal- culated to injure the feelings of that particu- lar company. They may be kind hearted and well disposed, men who would make any exertion and undergo any privation to render needed assistance or to soothe the wounded feelings, provided it could be done without endangering their reputation for independence. When you speak of them you say they are examples of an unaccountable inconsistency of character. But may not this inconsisten- cy be accounted for? May not this kindness be attributed to the good impulses of their nature, while their unfeeling harshness and singular oddity are to be laid to the charge of the false notions they have imbibed? And under the influence of these false notions are they not in danger, while laboring for true independence, of becoming slaves to an af- fected oddity. Again: are not those laboring under a mis- take, who think that they have become truly independent^ simply bec&ug© they kave ex- INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 79 changed masters. For instance, there is no class to whom the idea of becoming entirely independent is so pleasing as it is to the young. In their eyes there is something no- ble and manly and well calculated to con- vince the world that they are no longer chil- dren, in throwing off the restraints of early life and in breaking through the prejudices of education. Consequently, they despise the admonitions of age, they set at nought the cautions of experience, they disregard the voice of wisdom, and think that, in doing this, they have become truly independent. — They would be thought to have escaped from the leading strings of prejudice, and to have begun to think and act for themselves. But it is not so. They have only thrown off the kind restraints of their fathers, that they may subject themselves to the galling yoke of their associates. What hurries them into wild excesses? What plunges them into the destructive whirlpool of dissipation? What leads them the rounds of giddy thoughtless- ness, or encourages them to venture upon the unsatisfying foothold of skepticism?— SO young man's assistant. What, but a servile regard to the opinions of their young companions, a slavish desire to stand well with their associates, to receive their caressing attentions, and to be flattered by them as noble and manly and truly inde- pendent? But my young friends, you are mistaken. You may perhaps, over your cups of dissipation, in seasons of jovial mer- riment and noisy revelry, at such times, you may, perhaps, acquire a false independence. You may laugh at the thought of duty. You may amuse each other with the stories you tell of the anxiety you are causing your fath- ers. You may sneer at the thought of tame- ly submitting to the whims of maternal solic- itude. All this you may do and, in doing it, may think that you are manifesting your in- dependence. But it is not so. On the con- trary, you manifest only a want of indepen- dence. You do all this because you dare not do otherwise. For, there are moments of solitude, when the thought of your pa- rents, the thought of duty and the uneasiness occasioned by the reproaches of conscience, come over fom minds with a power that can- INDEPENDENCE OE CHARACTER. 81 Dot be resisted, and force from you the wish that you possessed courage to break away from your evil associates and overcome your bad habits. Yet you dare not, in reliance up- on the approbation of your own consciences, say to your companions, "the course of dis- sipation, which we are pursuing, is injurious to our characters, is destructive of all men- tal and moral energy, causes the unhappiness of the fathers and mothers who have watched over our infancy, and who are even now shedding the tears and pouring forth the prayers of parental affection and solicitude, and finally is entirely inconsistent with what conscience teaches to be duty, therefore, I for one, can join you no longer." You dare not do this, because you fear the scorn, the laugh, the jeering and taunting reproach of your associates in folly. Tell not then of your independence. You know not what it is. You have only exchanged a parent's care for a master's command. The same mistake is often made in regard to religious sects, and political parties. We have been educated it may be in the princi- 82 young man's assistant. pies of a certain denomination. Those prin- ciples have become with us the strong and deep seated prejudices of education. At length, we feel that it is degrading to be gov- erned in affairs of such moment by prejudice alone. This is a proper and a salutary feel- ing. Ft should lead us to examine the grounds of these prejudices. But, if dissatisfied with them, we should not dismiss them at once and set ourselves loose upon the ocean of doubt. We should still hold fast to them, until by faithful examination we have discov- ered and are able to substitute something better in their place. But this, 1 fear, is not the course usually pursued. I fear that we are too apt to renounce the principles in which we have been educated, not because we have examined them and found them false, but because our first impressions in regard to them were derived as they must have been from early prejudice; and that we embrace different views, not because we have exam- ined them and found them true, but because some new prejudice has proved more pow- erful than the old. We think thai we man- INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 83 ifest a great degree of true independence of character in our disregard of the opinions and our indifference to the reproaches of our former associates. But it is not so. We have only exchanged masters and have be- come slaves, perhaps still more abject than before, to the opinions of companions. We have not proved our own work, we still have our rejoicing in others and not in ourselves alone. Still further, are not those laboring under a mistake, who think that they are truly in- dependent, because they can preserve an en- tire indifference to the opinions of their fel- low men in regard to certain particulars, while in these very particulars they are slaves to some powerful habit or strong propensity of their own? Such men there are. Such men you have seen, men who! have formed particular habits, or indulged particular pro- pensities, until it became difficult for them to conform to rules of propriety and custom. Gladly would they conform to the practices of their fellow men, in order to secure their esteem, could it be secured at what they 84 young man's assistant. would deem a reasonable rate. Readily do they, in other particulars, vary their conduct to conform to the customs of society. But in regard to their favorite indulgences, their besetting sins, indolence and love of self- gratification magnify the labor of breaking off their habits, and checking their propensities, into an insurmountable task. They hesitate to undertake it. Yet they are unwilling to acknowledge, even to their own minds, the real cause of their aversion to change. They choose to cloak their indolent self-indulgence under some more honorable name. They call it a noble independence, an entire dis- regard to the opinions of their fellow men. They desire to be called by others truly in- dependent. But it is not so. They are willing slaves to their own propensities. Such are some of the mistakes to which we are ex- posed. Others might be mentioned. But it is not necessary. I hasten then to speak of the true nature and proper foundation of real independence of character. 3d. And first I remark that there are some things of which we cannot be entirely inde- INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 85 pendent. We cannot be entirely independent of truth in regard to opinions, nor of duty in regard to conduct. In regard to opinions; we are so constituted, that, when a proposition is presented to the mind, and the evidence for and against it has been examined, that proposition appears to be either true or false. This appearance may correspond with reality or not. It may de- pend on the degree of evidence presented, or on the state of mind in which the proposition is examined. ■ But, on whatever it may de- pend, and whether it correspond with reality or not, it commands either our assent or our dissent. And the decision we make, is entire- ly above and beyond the control of the will. We must, whether we will or not, believe that two and two make four. We cannot, how much soever we may desire it, convince ourselves that two and two make five. In such a case it is in vain to talk of being inde- pendent of these decisions of the mind. They are formed in accordance with the laws of our na- ture, and as long as our natures remain the same, we must submit to them and abide by them. 8 86 young man's ASSISTANT. It is in some degree the same with prop- . ositions which depend on probable evidence. We may, for example, be called upon to act as jurors in a criminal prosecution. The ac- cused may be our friend. We may wish to see him acquitted. We may resolve that we will be independent of the convictions of our mind, that we will stand firm in his favor. — These, our wishes and our resolves, will in- deed have an effect on our minds. They will operate to magnify the circumstances that are favorable to the accused and to diminish the force of the evidence against him. Still, if on trial the evidence be such that we cannot resist the conviction of his guilt, it is in vain to talk of our independence. We may indeed act as we please, we may prove reckless to truth and to duty. We may acquit or con- demn. There is a possibility in these things. But that we should be entirely independent of the convictions forced upon the mind by the evidence presented, is an impossibility. We cannot, even if we act in this way, make the course appear right. It is the same with regard to a proposition in morals or a doctrine INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 87 of religion. I may sincerely wish to believe that a certain doctrine is true. I may think that it would promote my temporal and eter- nal happiness to embrace it with a living faith. Still, as long as that doctrine appears to the eye of my reason false, I cannot embrace it. My wishes and hopes and fears may greatly affect my mind in regard to the reception of evidence, but they cannot render it independent of the convictions of truth. I do not say that our convictions will always be in accordance with truth. But I do say that they will al- ways be in accordance with what appears to the mind to be truth. And I do say, still fur- ther, that, as long as these convictions are forced upon the mind by the evidence pre- sented, we must abide by them. I may have embraced what appears to youtobe^a soul-de- stroying error. Yet, as long as it appears to my mind to be truth, so long I must adhere to it. Do you wish to convince me that my opinions are erroneous? Your duty is plain, not to threaten and intimidate, but simply to increase my knowledge andlto strengthen the evidence, or to change my feelings so that I 88 young man's assistant. may look upon the same evidence through a different medium. For let us ever remember that in regard to opinions, upon subjects where we examine, we cannot be independent of truth or of what appears to the mind to be truth. Again: in regard to conduct; we cannot be entirely independent of duty. For duty is imposed upon us by obligations arising from the natures given to us and the relations which we sustain, and consequently, unless we can rid ourselves of these natures and these rela- tions, we cannot escape the obligations of du- ty. Let me illustrate. You are a son, and as such, you sustain a certain relation to your parents. From that relation results the ob- ligation to perform towards them certain duties. Those duties will derive their peculiar charac- ter from the nature you have received at the hands of God; from the circumstance that you have been created an intellectual and moral be- ing. As long then as this nature and this re- lation remain the same, as long as you retain the exercise of your mental powers, moral impulses and social affections, and continue to INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 89 sustain the relation of a son, so long it is in vain to talk of being independent of the du- ties which devolve upon you as a son. Noth- ing but your loss of the power to perform these duties, or the death of your parents, can re- lease you from your obligations. You may perhaps come out boldly and say that mankind have been in a mistake upon the subject, that their notions are all mere whims, and that you will shew yourselves independent by paying no regard to them. You may say that no other affection is to be cherished, and no other duties to be performed towards your parents, than towards the veriest stranger you meet.— In this way you may talk. In this way you may attempt to act. But you will not suc- ceed. You cannot carry your principles into .practice. There will be a voice from within, soft indeed as the gentlest whisper, but all pow- erful to restrain you. There will be a voice from without, breaking forth from all around you like the roar of mighty waters, with a force that cannot be resisted. There will be a soul- penetrating and an awe-striking voice, though it be a voice of love from that Being whose eye 8* 90 young man's assistant. is ever upon you, a voice that will teach yoti that it is in vain to think of being independent of your duty. I have illustrated the princi- ple. But permit me to dwell on this impor- tant point a moment longer. For it is on this point that our young men are most in danger. They think of being independent of truth and duty. There is something in our political in- stitutions, there is something in the religious liberty we enjoy, the liberty to be any thing or nothing in regard to religion, the liberty to follow with superstitious reverence some wild fanatic, or to embrace with equal servile ac- quiescence, the monstrous doctrines of mod- ern infidelity, there is something in the long continued and often reiterated praises of liberty and independence, which are heard in all our political caucuses, and at our public celebra- tions, and which are seen in all our periodical publications — there is something I say in all this, calculated not only to interest but to mis- lead the young. They are excited upon the subject. They delight to talk of the spirit of free enquiry that is abroad, of the spirit of fearless independence which is manifested in INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 91 breaking time-hallowed prejudices, in throw- ing off soul-goading chains that have been rust- ing from all antiquity. They wish to stand forth as examples of this spirit of free enquiry and fearless independence. And they think to carry their "free enquiry and fearless inde- pendence" to an utter disregard of all truth and duty. And then too, the youth goes forth from the parental roof at the most dangerous period of life. He becomes the member of some col- legiate institution, enters the counting room of the merchant, or is placed as an apprentice with some mechanic. These different situa- tions in some degree resemble each other in regard to the circumstances which render them scenes of danger to the young. In them all, they are, during most of the day, confined. — And in them all, there are seasons of leisure. These seasons of leisure they will not spend in idleness. For they are full of life and ac- tivity. Nor will they spend them in solitude. For they are at the age when the heart is most tender and susceptible. They will spend them in each other's society, and in so doing they 92 young man's assistant. become strongly attached to each other. They often assemble, and when together, the ride is proposed, the supper is resorted to. In this way they go on, hand in hand, from one step to another, until, before they are aware of it, they are far advanced on the downward road of dissipation. But here it may be that the thought of home, of parents, of brothers and sisters, once the objects of heartfelt affection, excites uneasiness. The reproaches of con- science and the pangs of remorse produce un- happiness. Some one less hardy than his as- sociates begins to falter in his course. He is rallied by his companions, he is reminded in scornful reproach of his mother's apron strings to which he is tied, and of his father's rod, or his frown, which he fears. He is told what a mere child he makes himself, and what a man he is capable of becoming and ought to become. Or it may be that he is laughed at as one in danger of becoming pious, is saluted with the mock title of priest, is asked to hold forth, is ridiculed as a poor faint-hearted timid youth, that is afraid to do w r rong, afraid of a hell and a devil. In this way the feelings of INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 93 the youth become excited. He becomes ashamed of the better impulses of his nature, ashamed to acknowledge that he is troubled by a sense of duty, by a regard to conscience, by the thought of parents and friends. He is afraid to break away from his dangerous asso- ciates. He adopts their principles, and begins to think it manly to set at defiance the dictates of conscience and the obligations of duty. — He gives up all regard to right and wrong, plunges headlong into further dissipation, in order to stifle present uneasiness, till at last he is ruined. I am not indulging a disordered im- agination. I do not present you with a pic- ture which has no corresponding reality. Let those who have been ruined by dissipation speak, and many of them will tell you that the first object of the vicious associates among whom they fell, was to break down all regard for a father's wish or a mother's affection — to laugh out of existence all sense of duty, to excite such feelings of independence, as should free them from all qualms of conscience. Can you think it strange then, that I wish to press the idea, that we cannot be independent of 94 young man's assistant. duty, and especially to enforce this truth upon the young. To the youth, and to every one I would say, you. are the children of Almighty God, created, supported and blessed by his goodness. Here then is a relation which you sustain towards the Being who gave you life and continues you in existence. From this relation results the obligation to perform cer- tain duties, the duties for example of honor- ing your heavenly father, by endeavoring to promote the intellectual and moral improve- ment, and the highest possible happiness of his rational offspring, and by manifesting in all things a regard to his will. Can you be inde- pendent of the duties which result from this relation? Will you, when a course of con- duct is proposed, concerning which, the ques- tion arises in your mind, whether it be right, whether it be in accordance with the will of God and well pleasing in his sight, at such a moment will you say, I am determined to fol- low my own propensities and inclinations? . I care not whether the course be right or wrong, I care not for the will of God, I will shew my manly independence by manifesting an utter INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 95 disregard for any such whimsical superstition! Stop, my friend, — stop! Tell me, are you willing to renounce the relation from which that obligation results? Are you ready to say, that from this moment you wish for no further sup- port, no further blessing from your God? Shall the Almighty take you at your word and in- stantly withdraw his supporting hand, and turn 1 away his life-giving countenance from you? The very thought is startling. Say not then that you will slight these obligations, that you will neglect these duties, that you will be inde- pendent; for there is no such independence in nature. Again, I would say to every individual, you are created intellectual and moral beings, you are blessed with reason and conscience. This is the high privilege of your natures. From this privilege results the obligation to perform in regard to yourselves, certain duties; the du- ties for example, of cultivating and improving the powers bestowed upon you, and of keep- ing yourselves unspotted from moral pollution; the duty, to speak in more general terms, of regulating your conduct at all times and under 96 young man's assistant. all circumstances in accordance with the voice of reason and the dictates of conscience. — From these obligations you cannot escape; of these duties you may not be independent. — For surely you will not give yourselves up to animal and sensual indulgences. You will not cherish the low and grovelling propensities of your nature, and tamely surrender yourselves slaves to the appetites of the flesh, and then pretend to justify yourselves by calling this true independence of character ! You will not pretend that the idea of a conscience is a popular superstition! that you are about to shew yourselves above such narrow-minded prejudices! You cannot do this, for the gnaw- ings of inward anguish of spirit will convince you by sad experience, that the remorse of the guilty soul is not a mere priest-created bug-bear to frighten the timid. But it may be that you are unwilling to exert yourselves in the improvement of your powers; that you care not to exercise the self-command, and self-discipline, and self-cultivation which reason and conscience require. But are you willing to give up the high privilege of reason and INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 97 conscience, that you may indulge your an- imal propensities, to sell your birthright for a mess of pottage? Are you ready to go forth from among your fellow men, to step down from your elevated rank, and take your place by the side of the beasts of the field, and be- come like one of them? Presume not then to expect to escape with impunity, if, while you possess reason and conscience, you disregard their dictates, and by animal indulgences bru- "tify and degrade your souls. Tell me not that this is manly independence, a noble dis- regard of the fears and whims of bigotry and superstition; tell me not of an independence which frees you from your duty to yourselves, for reason allows of no such independence. Still further, T would say to every individual; you are blessed with social natures, and you sustain widely extended and variously compli- cated social relations. You are parents or children, brothers or sisters, husbands or wives. You live among the poor and among the rich, among the ignorant as well as the learned, among the vicious as well as among the vir- tuous. You live among men of different re- 9 98 young man's assistant. ligious and political principles. All these re- lations among men give rise to corresponding reciprocal duties. These duties are often very complicated and delicate in their "nature, and very difficult in performance. And here, as every where else, we cannot be independent of the duties imposed by the peculiar relations we sustain, and the particular circumstances in which we are placed. But here,perhaps,you are ready to ask if in- dependence of character be not after all a mere name: are ready to exclaim, if we can- not be independent of truth and of duty, what is there left of which we may be independent? I answer that we may and that we ought to be independent of every thing that would hin- der our discovery of truth, or lead us astray from the path of duty. And surely there are sources of danger. Let us notice some of them. We may be prevented from discovering truth, or turned aside from the path of duty, by the undue influence of those who differ from us in practice, or are opposed to us in opinion. The danger here is not that we shall be led to INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 99 embrace their opinions or adopt their practices. It is that under the influence of our prejudi- ces against them we shall be unfitted for im- partial examination, and shall be driven to the opposite extreme. For example, we may have become warmly attached to some reli- gious or political party, and strongly prejudiced against all that is opposed to us in religion or politics. Every opinion, which those opposed to us may embrace, is from that very circum- stance, considered as strongly tinctured with error, and we think ourselves perfectly safe, perfectly sure of the truth, if, even without examination, we reject that opinion and go to the opposite extreme. Is a book put into our hands written by a member of an oppo- site party? We may read the book, but we are in danger of doing it with the veil of pre- judice upon our minds. We shall read with the strong expectation of rinding much that is objectionable. This expectation may be nat- ural, but we should guard against its undue in- fiuence, lest we see faults where otherwise we should not have discovered them. For we all know that a book is read with far different 100 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. feelings, and a far different judgment is passed upon its contents, when the author and espe- cially the party to which he belonged, are un- known, from what would have been the case had it been known that he was a member of an opposite party. The same words and sen- tences and paragraphs, which, while the au- thor is unknown, are thought to be filled with patriotism or piety, change their appearance at once upon the mention of his name, and become treasonable or heretical. In this way we are unfitted by our prejudices for impartial examination. And the same is the case in re- gard to conduct. If those who are opposed to us in religion or politics, contend strenuously for or against any course of conduct, we are inclined to contend strenuously for or against the opposite course. You perceive therefore, that we are in danger of being prevented from discovering truth or turned aside from the path of duty, by the undue influence of our prejudices against those who differ from, and are opposed to us. This undue influence the truly independent man will carefully guard against. He will seek for truth with a mind INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 101 unbiassed by prejudice, and will embrace it wherever he may find it. He will follow du- ty wherever it may lead him, whether in com- pany with the members of his own or with those of an opposite party. Again, there is an undue influence arising from the party with which we are connected and the friends with whom we associate. We connect ourselves with certain religious and political parties, because in most important par- ticulars we agree with them in opinion. Still in many things we have our individual prefer- ences. And it is our intention not to sacrifice individual freedom of thought upon the altar of party union. Yet such is the impercepti- ble influence of party sympathy, that before we are aware of it we find ourselves approving, simply because the party approves. It may be that the party with which we are connec- ted, have followed out their original principles to dangerous conclusions, or have changed their position and embraced new views, views too in which we cannot coincide with them. — Or it may be that in their practices they have departed from what we believe to be a correct 9* 102 young man's assistant. course of conduct. At first our feelings prompt us to speak out, to separate ourselves from our party, to act in individual independence. But we are checked by our unwillingness to for- feit the approbation of our associates. Nor can we examine and judge, in order to deter- mine upon the course which it is proper for us to pursue, without an undue bias in favor of the principles and practices of our party, with- out at least a wish and a strong wish too, to find all things fair and proper. Here too you perceive we are in danger of being led astray from truth and diverted from the path of duty. Against this undue influence the truly inde- pendent man will ever carefully guard. He will seek for truth and he will follow duty even though they should lead him into courses wide- ly diverging from those pursued by his party. But, still further, there is an undue influ- ence arising from ourselves, which is calcula- ted to draw us aside from truth and from duty. And this, it appears to me, is the greatest source of danger. We are not so liable to become slaves to others as we are to ourselves, to our own propensities and habits and feel- INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 103 ings and opinions. There is a fear of being called inconsistent, a desire of being thought sound in judgment, an unwillingness to acknowl- edge that w T e have been in error, which ope- rates unfavorably upon all our investigations. We may have formed our opinions in haste, after an imperfect and partial examination, without having considered all their bearings, or traced out all their consequences. But, when greater light breaks in upon our minds and stronger evidence is set before us, it is with reluctance that we admit the light and yield to the evidence. It is the same in re- gard to conduct. We are strongly inclined to look favorably upon the practices to which we are addicted, the habits which we have formed and the propensities which we have indulged simply because they are our own. We con- tinue in them, partly it may be, because it is difficult to break them off and to exercise self- government, but more especially, because it is wounding to our pride and self-love to ac- knowledge, by a change in conduct, that we have been yielding to improper indulgences. We should then strive to be independent of 104 YOUMG aiAN S 5 ASSISTANT. ourselves, of our propensities, our prejudices and our habits; and not suffer them to lead us astray from truth and from duty. Here then I draw my conclusions. Here I answer the question "what is the true na- ture and proper foundation of real indepen- dence of character." And my answer is this. The true nature of independence of character is a sacred, an inviolable and a conscientious regard to truth and duty. Its proper founda- tion is in deeply seated, firmly fixed and all pervading principle. Yea, I may not refrain from adding, in deeply seated, firmly fixed and all pervading christian principle. For as a herald of the christian religion, and address- ing as I am the members of a christian com- munity, I may not refrain from reminding you, that, in the enjoyment of gospel light, and gospel ordinances, you are favored with the highest privilege which man can enjoy. And a privilege too, which gives rise to duties that extend through all the relations of life, and furnish employment for the highest capacities of the soul. With the Bible in our hands, with the christian religion as our guide, we are INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 105 placed in a new relation. Our duties become christian duties, based upon and supported by christian principle. And as we may not be independent of the duties which arise from any relation we sustain, so, with the Bible in our hand, we may not be independent of chris- tian principle. There is no sure and stable foundation for true independence of character but this. All else is uncertain and will prove decent ve. But here we are guided by a su- preme regard to-, the will of God as the stand- ard of duty, which is ever fixed and unchange- able. Would you then, my young friends, have before you a very plain and simple duty? It is this. Make yourselves practically ac- quainted with the principles of the christian religion. Under the influence of these prin- ciples, go resolutely forward in the search of all truth and in the practice of all duty, and you will, even before you are aware of it, have become truly independent. You will not ask whether you are independent or not, for you will be independent even of the desire to be thought independent. You will not think of this. You will become so engrossed by your 106 young man's assistant. desire to discover truth and to practice duty, that you will be freed from a servile regard to the* opinions and practices of others, or a slavish subserviency to your own prejudi- ces, habits and propensities. You will man- ifest no harsh rudeness, no disregard of, or contempt for the opinions, practices and feelings of others. Nor yet will your angry feelings rise when assailed by reproach. You will only examine more carefully into your past conduct and opinions to see if there have been ground for reproach, and will en- deavor to become more active, more cau- tious and more zealous in your future exer- tions. You will be led to sincere and ear- nest endeavors by the light of reason and of revelation to prove your own work each man for himself, that so you may have your re- joicing not in others but in yourselves alone..- LETTER IV. CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. Introduction — consistency of character defined and il- lustrated — It is consistency in purpose, intentions and motives,, and may often require changes in opin- ion, change* in practice and changes in the denomina- tional or party relations, which we may have sustained. He who boasts that he never changes his opinions, or alters his conduct, must be a man of small mind and of contracted views, and, if he practice according to his boast, his mind will ever remain small and his views contracted — Practical principles — 1st. We should cherish an enquiring activity of mind in regard to the various subjects, which may be presented for consideration. 2d. We should ever act openly, frankly and fully, according to our convictions at the time. 3d. We should ever keep our minds open to conviction. 4th. We should ever be ready to admit to our own minds and to acknowledge to others, that we have been in error — Two courses may be pursued upon this subject; we may seek to appear consistent to our fellow men, or to be so, in view of our con- science and our God — The former course a source of perplexity, the latter the source of inward peace and happiness. 108 young man's assistant. My Young Friends, There is, I believe, in all, by nature a love of consistency of character, a desire to be thought consistent in all they do. To be inconsistent is held, by many, to be a dis- grace. If an individual has changed his opinions, or altered his course of conduct, he is held up to the scorn of the community, as one who has been inconsistent with him- self. And the individual, feeling that this change may subject him to reproach or to ridicule, will take great pains to prove that he has not been guilty of inconsistency. — Then too there are others, who have estab- lished a character for consistency, and have become so filled with the pride of consisten- cy of character, that they will obstinately ad- here to whatever opinions they may once have adopted and expressed, not because they still appear true, but because they have once adopted and expressed them; they will obstinately continue on in the pursuit of a particular course of conduct, not because they believe it to be right, but because they have once entered upon it and are now un- CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 109 willing, by a change, to appear to be incon- sistent. This obstinate adherence to opin- ions once adopted, and to courses of conduct once commenced, simply because they have been adopted and commenced, is a gross per- version of true consistency of character, or rather an entire mistake of its true nature. — Since such mistakes are actually made, I have felt myself called upon to invite your attention particularly to the consideration of this subject. I wish to point out the proper foundation and the true nature of consistency of character, that so I may guard you, if possible, against the mistakes in regard to it, to which you are most exposed. And first, the proper foundation of true consistency, as of true independence of character, is laid in an entire and unreserved devotion to truth and to duty; to truth in re- gard to opinions, and to duty in regard to conduct. In our devotion to these we may be consistent. But there is no true consis- tency of character in an obstinate adherence to particular opinions, or to particular courses of conduct. For example, you may be filled 10 110 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. with a sincere love of the truth. You may 9 under the influence of this love of truth, have carefully examined all the evidence, up- on any particular subject, which may be with- in your reach, and you may have drawn your conclusions, and formed your judgments, ac- cording to the best of your ability. In this w r ay you may have adopted certain opinions upon religious, moral, political and other subjects. But why have you adopted these opinions? Is it not because they appear to your minds to embrace and to express the truth? Suppose, then, that new light, upon these subjects be presented to your mind, that additional evidence, and evidence of a different character from any which you have examined, be discovered; that new arguments and considerations, opposed to your conclu- sions, arguments and considerations before unthought of by you, be suggested? What, under such circumstances, does consistency of character require? Will you close your eyes to this light? Will you banish from your mind all thoughts of this new evidence, these new arguments and considerations? — CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. Ill And will you call this a consistent course of conduct? If so, you are mistaken. For your consistency must be a consistency of feeling and of purpose, and not a uniformity in results and appearances. You comme iced under the influence of a sincere love of the truth. As long as this love of the truth is. your governing feeling, you will hold your- self open to conviction. You will hold your- self ready to examine, carefully and impar- tially, any new evidence, any new arguments or considerations, and to yield to any new light, which may shine in upon your minds. If you do not hold yourselves thus ready to examine and to yield to evidence, you are not consistent with yourselves. You have acted, for a time, under the influence of a love of the truth. You are now acting un- der the influence of other and entirely dif- ferent feelings. But suppose, still further, that, upon examination, you are convinced that your former opinions were erroneous, and that the courses of conduct, you have been pursuing under the influence of those erroneous opinions, were wrong. What does 112 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. consistency of character now require of you? Does it not require that you should change your opinions and alter your conduct? Most surely it does. If you do thus change and alter, you will be consistent with yourselves. You will be acting in obedience to the same principles and motives which influenced you at the commencement of your course. Again, you commence your course under the influence of an unreserved devotion to duty in all your conduct. It is your desire to know, and your endeavor to do right in all things. In this you are strictly conscientious. But, in regard to your knowledge of what is right, you are influenced, as indeed all are, by the general condition and prevalent opin- ions of society around you. You engage in practices which are sanctioned by the voice and the example of the community. They are thought right by the community and you think them right, and therefore you engage in them. That my illustrations maybe the more palpable and distinct, I will take a particular case. Suppose, then, that you have engaged in the traffic in ardent spirits. You are in- Consistency of character. US fluenced by the desire to know and to do your duty. And you have engaged in this traffic because you honestly believe that it was not inconsistent with duty that it was right. But, as the attention of the commu- nity has been turned to this subject, as the consequences of this traffic have been ob- served, and as the* arguments, by which it is justified, have been examined, many in this community have become convinced that this traffic is wrong, and ought not to be continu- ed. And the men, who have been led to this conclusion, are, many of them, men of pure principles and of sound judgment, in regard to other subjects. Under such circumstan- ces, what course does consistency of char- acter require you to pursue? Will you shut your eyes to all light and close your ears to all argument upon the subject? And will you call this consistency, because you adhere to the same employment? Most surely you are mistaken. You commenced with a con- scientious devotion to duty. This devotion to duty implies an earnest desire to know ^ hat is right, as well as a resolute determina* 114 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. tion to do what is right. The desire to know what is right implies a readiness to ex- amine new arguments, to investigate new views, and to weigh new considerations. — Unless you pause, then, and examine the views and arguments of those, who consider the traffic in ardent spirits as wrong, you cannot claim for yourself consistency of character. But suppose you do examine, and that the result of your examination is that you are convinced of the impropriety of the traffic, or, at least, are led to doubt in regard to its propriety. What is now the course which consistency requires of you? — Will you adhere to the traffic, against your convictions, or in utter disregard of your doubts, and call this consistency, because you do not change your course of conduct? If so you are mistaken, utterly mistaken in your views of the nature of true consistency of character. Your business, your appearance to the community, is indeed the same. But is it the same to yourself, to your own con- science? Are your feelings and motives the same? Is your conduct consistent with CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 115 the purposes and intentions by which you were actuated at first? Mosi certainly not. You commenced with a conscientious devo- tion to duty, an earnest desire to know and to pursue the right. You engaged in this particular traffic because you believed it to be right. But now you continue on in your traffic, under the conviction that it is wrong, or, at least, while*' doubting whether it be right. Oh, how changed have you become, how inconsistent in your conduct with the feelings and intentions, with which you com- menced your course. How would you then have started back-, at the thought, that you should ever do what you might believe to be wrong, or that you should ever pursue a course of conduct, in regard to the propriety and correctness of which you might have strong and serious doubts. Still further, you have connected yourself with some religious denomination or with some political party. Why have you done this? Has it not been, because, after the best examination you have been able to give to the subject and in the exercise of your 116 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. soundest judgment, you believe that the doc- trines embraced by this denomination, or the principles adopted by this party, are true and correct. But, suppose that, upon fur- ther thought and reading, you are led to doubt the correctness of these doctrines and prin- ciples. What does consistency require of you? Will you obstinately suppress all doubts, and avoid all examination, and adhere to your opinions and principles? And in doing this are you not inconsistent with your- self? Are you not departing from the reasons, which influenced you at first? Most certain- ly you are. But suppose you weigh these doubts and examine the points to which they relate, and are convinced, by the process, that the doctrines are not true, that the prin- ciples are not correct. "Will you retain your connection with this denomination or party, concealing your change, or contending that you have not in reality changed, that you have only adopted a new mode of explaining the philosophy of these doctrines and prin- ciples? And is this, I ask, consistent? Did you not embrace them because you honestly CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 117 and sincerely believed them to be true and correct in a sense entirely different from that in which you now hold them? Does not consistency of character require, then, that you should frankly and honestly admit to your own mind, and acknowledge to others, that you have changed? Does not consistency require, that you should leave the denomina- tion or party, and no longer uphold, by your countenance and support, doctrines and prin- ciples in the truth and correctness of which you do not now believe. I have thus given illustrations of the na- ture of consistency of character. And from these illustrations, I would draw the follow- ing conclusions: That consistency of char- acter does not consist in an obstinate adhe- rence to the same principles, the same opin- ions, the same courses of conduct, or the same denominational and party relations. — But that it does consist in a persevering ad- herence to the same purposes and intentions and motives. In other words, it consists in an unswerving devotion to truth in regard to opinions, and to duty in regard to conduct. 118 young* man's assistant. You may set forth in life as a young man, with a fixed determination that you will al- ways embrace those opinions which appear to your mind to be true. This determina- tion implies that you will carefully examine the opinions, which you do embrace, and that you will impartially weigh and consider all new views and new arguments and new considerations, which may claim your notice, and which may seem to be in opposition to your views, that you will not dismiss, at once any doubts which may arise, but will, under their influence, re-examine the grounds of your belief, and the reasons which have induc- ed you to embrace the opinions which you hold. On this point then you may be consistent by adhering to this fixed determination to the same purpose and intention. But it may be, that the opinions, which you em- brace now, will hereafter appear to you un- sound and untrue. Adherence then to your intentions and purposes will require that you should renounce them and embrace those which do appear to you to be sound and true. I might perhaps state to you my pres- CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 119 ent opinions upon various subjects. But I cannot pledge myself that my opinions, one year from this time, shall be the same. I cannot in consistency, do this. I know not, but that my adherence to my motives and in- tentions, but that an unwavering devotion to truth, may compel me to penounce them. — My consistency of character consists not in obstinately adhering to the same opinions, but in ever adopting those, which, after care- ful examination, appear to me to be true. — It may be that the courses of conduct, which you are now pursuing, will hereafter appear to you to be wrong. Adherence then to your purposes and intentions, an unwavering de- votion to duty, will require that you should alter your conduct. Your consistency of character must be manifested, not by an ob- stinate adherence to courses once commen- ced, but in ever pursuing those which you honestly and sincerely believe at the time to be duties. True consistency of character then, con- sists in an unwavering devotion to truth and to duty in a persevering adherence to the 120 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. same purposes and intentions. It may not only admit of a change in opinions and an alteration of courses of conduct; it often may and often does require this change and alteration. Indeed, I do not believe it pos- sible, for a man to maintain consistency of character and make improvement, without changing from time to time his opinions and altering his conduct. I know, indeed, that there are those, who will say, and will say it in a boast, that when they once form their opin- ions upon any subject, they never change; that when they have once adopted certain principles or entered upon a certain course of conduct, they never alter. But such an assertion, let it come from whom it may, denotes a small mind and exceedingly con- tracted views. And what is more, such an assertion, if adhered to, is a seal of perpet- ual ignorance, a bar to all further improve- ment. For what does such an assertion im- ply? Does it not imply that the individual supposes himself to be always and infallibly correct in his first conclusions? For if not, why should he be averse to change his opin- CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 121 ions and to adopt more correct conclusions? Does it not imply a feeling of self-confidence, which overlooks even the liability to error? For how can one, who feels that he is con- stantly liable to error, and especially liable to it in his first impressions and conclusions, say that he never changed an opinion once adop- ted? The assertion then, implies that an in- dividual, who makes it, regards himself as infallibly correct in his first conclusions; a supposition which none, but a man of small mind and of contracted views, could ever make. Or, if the assertion does not imply this, it implies something still more deroga- tory to the character, and that is, an utter in- difference as to the truth or correctness of opinions, which may be embraced, or the courses which may be adopted. No one, who feels his liability to error, and who seeks for truth, and desires to pursue the path of duty, can cherish feelings which would prompt the assertion that he never changes opinions or alters conduct. The assertion, of which I am speaking, if adhered to, will be an affectual bar to all improvement 11 122 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. It is in vain for any one to say that he nev- er draws conclusions until the whole subject has been examined. This cannot be. The subject is presented to the mind and we are called to act. Act we must, and from pres- ent appearances too, from the evidence pre- sented at the time we must draw the conclu- sions, under which we act. And yet, it may be, that in a short time new evidence will be presented, and evidence which entirely chan- ges the whole aspect of the case. You can- not expect then, to be perfect in the knowl- edge of the various subjects, in regard to which, you must, as you pass along, and without pausing for a full examination, form your opinions and shape your conduct. The only reasonable course then is to form your opinions and shape your conduct according to the extent of your knowledge, and the best of your judgment upon the evidence presented at the time, and then to hold your- selves ready to examine new evidence, to yield to new convictions, and, in obedience to these new convictions, to change opinions and alter conduct. That an adherence to CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 123 this assertion will prove to be a bar to all im- provement, will appear from a single consid- eration. Suppose that a child, at the age of twelve years, should form the resolution that he will never change an opinion which he may then hold, upon any subject whatever. What, I ask, would be his improvement, should he adhere to that resolution. He might, indeed, form new opinions upon other subjects. But upon the subjects, upon which he had already formed opinions, would he not be prevented from improvement? And would not the general result of such a resolution be, to prevent all mental development, all intellec- tual progress? The individual might advance in years and increase in statue, but would he not exhibit the unpleasant appearance of a man, in age, stature and appearance, while a mere boy in knowledge and mental capacity ? Such would undoubtedly be the influence of a reso- lution, like the one I have supposed, formed at the age of twelve years, and ever after adhered to. But suppose the resolution be formed at the age of twenty, would not the influ- ence be the same in character, although it 124 might be diminished in degree. Suppose it be formed at the age of forty, or of fifty even, and still, I ask, would not the influ- ence be the same in character? Would not the resolution serve to prevent all further im- provement. Indeed, is there any age at which you fix the limit of improvement. To me it seems not. You perceive, therefore, that the assertion which I have noticed, and which is sometimes boastingly made, indi- cates that he who makes it is a man of a small mind and of exceedingly contracted views, and you perceive too, that if adhered to, it will tend to prevent the enlargement of his mind, or the expansion of his views. I have said more, in regard to this than I otherwise should have done, because I know that those, who boastingly make the assertion, regard it as a mark of superiority, as somewhat credit- able to their intellect, and especially as es- tablishing, at once, a reputation for consis- tency of character. And, I know too, that such an assertion, boastingly made as it often is, finds favor in the minds of the young, and they begin to look with pity and contempt CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 125 upon him, who acknowledges his liability to error, and confesses his willingness to change, both his opinions and his conduct, upon his conviction of the error of the one or of the impropriety of the other. I would have all such, both those who make the boast and those who regard it with favor, I would have all such, consider that the assertion itself in- dicates a small mind, and exceedingly con- tracted views, and that if any one pursues a course of conduct in accordance with such an assertion, his mind, his intellectual power and capacity will ever remain small and his views will ever continue contracted. But what, you will ask, is the practical conclusion to be drawn from these general remarks, what the particular practical princi- ples for which they lay the foundation? They are these. In the first place when a subject is presented for your consideration, improve faithfully the means and opportunities, which may be within your reach, for becoming ac- quainted with that subject. Cherish the feel- ing, that it is a matter of importance that you should understand the subject, that you 11* 126 should form correct opinions in regard to it? and that you should be able to give a reason for your opinions, should be able to tell why you believe as you profess to believe. Is it a subject, in regard to which you will soon be called upon to act? Improve faithfully the time before you act in examining evidence, and weighing arguments, and establishing your opinions. It may be that in regard to many subjects, you will not be able to satisfy your- selves on all points. But you must not leave these subjects in all the vagueness of entirely unsettled opinions. You may examine them. In this way you may learn on what points sat- isfaction is to be obtained, in your present state of knowledge. You may know just where there is doubt, and mystery, and want of evi- dence. You may, in this way, be enabled to say, in regard to any subject, a so far I can see clearly, and understand fully; in regard to these points I have a distinct and positive be- lief, and am able to give the reasons of my belief. But, in regard to certain other points, upon the same subject, I am in doubt, I wish for further knowledge, more light, clearer and CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 127 less confused evidence, and therefore I have marked those points for further examination. The first practical principle which I would inculcate then, is to cherish activity of mind in the investigation of all subjects which may come under your consideration, to keep your- selves ever in an inquiring frame, so that you may acquire at once and promptly as accurate knowledge of the various objects around you and the various subjects which may be pre- sented for your consideration, and form as cor- rect opinions in regard to them as possible. Your conduct must be shaped by them as you pass. It is important, therefore, that you form the habit of examining them at once, and of de- ciding promptly as you pass. Cherish then, I would say, ever cherish an enquiring activity of mind. In the second place, ever act promptly, and frankly, and fully according to your convic- tions at the time. Do you believe that a certain course of conduct is to day, your duty? Then engage in that course at once, without hesitation, and with a whole heart. There are some s who are ever hesitating in their 1:28 young man's assistant. course. They fear that to morrow the sub- ject may appear to them differently from what it does to day. Therefore, they spend the present time in idly waiting for further evi- dence, or go forward with a faltering step. They forget that, so far as duty is concerned, we are all beings of the present moment. The days which are passed, are gone forever from us. It may be, that the opinions, which we then entertained, are passed away with them, and that we have altered our conduct from the very courses, which we then most conscien- tiously regarded as the courses of duty. But what then? The opinions, which have passed away, were, at the time we embraced them, truth to our minds. The courses of conduct, in which we then engaged, were to our con- sciences the courses of duty. Our embrac- ing those opinions, and engaging in those courses of conduct has been the very process employed by God to prepare us for our pres- ent opinions and duties. By embracing and performing them, we strengthened, within us, our devotion to truth and to duty, and we ac- quired intellectual power, and moral discern- CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 129 ment to enable us to examine more thoroughly and judge more correctly, than we otherwise could have done, in regard to our present du- ties and opinions. And so too, there is no doubt, if our minds expand, that the time will come, when some of our present opinions may seem erroneous, when we may feel ourselves called upon to depart from some of our pres- ent courses of conduct. But what then? Shall we neglect to form opinions? Shall we en- ter upon no courses of conduct whatever? Shall we cease to think, believe and act? — Certainly not. We are beings of the pres- ent moment, we must embrace opinions and perform duties at the present time. We must embrace those opinions too, which appear to us now to be the truth, and enter upon those courses of conduct which appear to us now, to be duty. The possibility, or even the prob- ability, of a change hereafter, ought not to cause us to faulter now. We should be whole hearted, acting frankly and fully up to the convictions of the present time. If, after the best examination I am enabled to give a sub- ject, the truth appears to my mind to be upon 130 young man's assistant. one side rather than upon the other, I will em- brace that side of the question, openly and frankly. So, too, if after the best examina- tion 1 can give a subject, I am satisfied as to the course of duty, I will enter upon that course, openly and frankly. In so doing, I do not say that I will never change my opinions, that I will never alter my conduct. I only say, that, as long as the reasons in support of these opinions appear to my mind as they now do, I shall adhere to them, that, as long as these courses of conduct appear to me to be my duty, so long shall I continue in them. The second practical principle then, which I would draw from my general views upon the subject, is, that we should ever act promptly, frankly and fully up to our convictions at the time. It matters not what may have been our convic- tions in former times. They are past and gone. They have fulfilled their mission, have prepared the way for, and have introduced our present convictions. Nor are we to trou- ble ourselves, as to what may be our convic- tions at some future time. That is no con- cern of ours. We are beings of the present CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 131 moment, and are bound to perform the duties of the present moment, to act out the convic- tions of the present moment. It is in this way, that we shall strengthen our devotion to truth and to duty. It is in this way, that we shall acquire mental power and moral discernment for future c!oubts and emergences. It is in this way, that we shall, by the right discharge of the duties of the present, prepare our- selves for the better discharge of our duties in all time to come. But I have hinted at the possibility, nay more, at the probability of changes in opinion, and of changes in conduct. The third practi- cal principle then, which I would deduce from the general remarks I have made, is, that you should ever keep your minds open to con- viction. If certain opinions should appear to your mind to be true, that is a sufficient reason for your embracing them. But it is no reason why you should close your minds to all further consideration of the subject, why you should shut out all further convictions. You have believed a certain opinion to be true. That is sufficient to account for the influence, exerted 132 young man's assistant. over your conduct, by that opinion. But, that you have, in times past, believed an opin- ion to be true, is no sufficient reason for re- fusing to, consider and weigh the doubts, which may arise in regard to it. That you have be- lieved it to be true, is no reason of itself why you should continue to believe it to be true. That you have been governed by this opinion in your conduct, when you believed it to be true, is no reason why you should continue to be governed by it, now that you have doubts of its correctness? And so in regard to duty. That you have believed a certain course of conduct to be your duty, is a sufficient reason for your having pursued that course. But, it is not a reason sufficient to justify your ne- glect to examine doubts, which may arise in regard to that course, your neglect to consider the query, which may sometimes spring up, whether that course of conduct be in accor- dance with your duty or not. Nor is it a rea- son sufficient to justify your adherence to that course, after you are convinced that it is wrong, or even after you may have good reason to doubt whether it be correct. Your circum- CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 133 stances are constantly changing. And every change places you in a new position, causes you to look upon subjects from a different point of observation. The aspects, which are thus successively presented to your view, will vary from each other, and consequently your con- clusions will vary to accord with them. Then too, as your circumstances vary, your duties themselves will vary, in their positive charac- ter. What it was your duty to do yesterday, it may not be your duty to do to day. And what it is your duty to do to day, it may not be your duty to do to morrow. And these changes may result simply from a change in your circumstances and relations, without any change in yourself, as to motive, intention or purpose. You perceive, therefore, the pro- priety of the direction I would give, the prac- tical conclusion which I would adopt, that you should ever keep your minds open to convic- tion. I do not mean that you should be ever wavering, passing from one side of a question to another, ever yielding your assent to the last book you may have read, on the last ar- gument you may have heard. This does not 12 134 young man's assistant. result from openness to conviction, but from vagueness of views. I may have clear and distinct views of a certain subject. While in the possession of these views, 1 may read the arguments of an opponent. In doing this, under these circumstances, I shall be able to see clearly the bearing of each position on my views. I shall know, at once, what objec- tions are of no weight, and what are worthy a careful consideration. Shall I under such circumstances, be of the number of those who are continually wavering, passing from one side of the question to the other, and ever yielding assent to the last book read, or the last argument heard. Most surely not. But suppose an individual has no clear views, has only some vague and general impressions upon any subject. He reads a book upon one side of the question. The arguments appear plausi- ble, the conclusion seems to be fairly drawn, and he is at once carried away, and yields his assent. He reads a book upon the opposite side of the question, in which the unsound- ness of the arguments, and the error of the conclusion , in the one just read, are so pointed CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. , 135 out, as to excite his surprise, and now he is again carried away, but in an opposite direc- tion. Wavering in opinions then, arises not from keeping the mind open to conviction, but from want of clearness and distinctness in our ideas, from not knowing precisely what we do believe and the particular reasons why we believe. Remember that you are imperfect beings, that your present views are, and must necessarily be, narrow and limited, compared with what may be your views at some future time. And consequently be careful ever to keep your minds open to conviction. Finally: there is another important practi- cal principle, nearly connected with the last, and that is, ever to be ready to admit to your own mind, and to acknowledge to others open- ly and frankly, that you have been in error, both in regard to opinions, and in regard to practice. This, I believe, is the greatest practical dif- ficulty. Men are unwilling to admit, even to their own minds, they are particularly unwil- ling to acknowledge to others, that they have been in error. But why should there be such a reluctance? Is error so very uncommon in the world, that he who acknowledges that he has been in error, must be pointed at with the ringer of scorn ? To err is human. It is a necessary result of the imperfection of hu- man nature, of the narrow views which men are often compelled to take, and to regard in practice, when viewed in connection with the fact, that the circumstances of life are contin- ually changing, and man's views continually varying. There can be no disgrace in the simple fact of having been in error. If there be disgrace attached to the fact, it must arise from some attendant circumstances, from hav- ing given way to indolence, carelessness or prejudice. There is no disgrace attached to the fact of a change in opinions or practice. The disgrace, if there be any, must arise from having made the change without sufficient rea- son. Be careful, then, ever to cherish such feelings, as will cause you to be at all times ready to admit to your own mind and to ac- knowledge to others, that you have been in error in regard both to opinions and to prac- tice. This is the state of feelin"; which con- CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 137 sistency of character requires, and which is calculated to promote your own individual and inward peace and happiness. It is the course which consistency of character re- quires. Do you point me to my opinions one year ago, and remind me of the zeal, with which I then supported those opinions? My answer is, and it is a sufficient answer be- fore my own conscience and my God, that I then honestly believed those opinions to be true. Do you point me to my present opin- ions, entirely the reverse of the former, and reproach me with having changed. My an- swer is, and this too, is a sufficient answer before my conscience and my God, that, up- on further examination, I have been led hon- estly to believe that my former opinions were erroneous, and therefore I have rejected them, and honestly to believe that the opin- ions, which I have now embraced, are true, and therefore I have embraced them. In all this I have been consistent with myself, true to my original motives, purposes and inten- tions, I have been influenced, through the whole, by the same unwavering devotion to 12* 138 young man's assistant. truth and to duty. And I am ready, frankly toscknowledge that I have been in error, and that I have changed my opinions. In. this way, should every individual, as I con- ceive, be ready to give an answer to them that ask a reason for any change, in either opinions or in practice, which may have been made. I have thus, my friends, endeavored to point out the proper foundation and the true nature of consistency of character. I have endeavored to show that it consists in an un- wavering devotion to truth and to duty, that it does not forbid, but that, often on the con- trary, it actually requires changes in opinions, changes in practice, and changes in the de- nominational or party relations which we may have sustained. I have said that he, who would maintain true consistency of char- acter, should cherish an actively enquiring, state of mind, in regard to the various sub- jects which may be presented for his con- sideration, that he should ever act openly and frankly and fully, according to his convic- tions at the time, that he should ever keep. CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 139 'his mind open to conviction, and ever hold himself ready to admit to his own mind and to acknowledge to others that he has been in error. Such, in my view, is the nature and foundation of true consistency of character, and such the practical principles, by an adhe- rence to which an individual may maintain true consistency of character. A single remark more and I have done. There are two courses, which men usually pursue in regard to this subject. Some look solely to the opinions of their fellow men, and endeavor to have their conduct appear consistent to those around. Others there are, who seek only for the approval of their own consciences, and the approbation of their God. The endeavor of such is, to maintain consistency before their own hearts, and in the presence of a heart-searching Je- hovah, a consistency of feeling, intention and purpose. The former of these courses is one that is attended with constant perplexity. Our fellow men, those around us, judge so differently one from another, comparing our -conduct with such different standards^ and 140 young man's assistant. viewing it from such different points of ob- servation, that it is utterly impossible ever to secure the approbation of all, ever to appear consistent, at all limes, in the eyes of all. The more we attempt it, the more harrassed and perplexed we shall be. But the latter course, seeking the approbation of our con- sciences and of our God, striving, not merely to appear truly self-consistent in our charac- ters, but to be truly so, before our own hearts and in the presence of the heart-searching Jehovah, this is the course of peace and hap- piness. In the pursuit of this course, you are self-sustained, nay more, you are sustain- ed from above, amid all the censures which may be heaped upon you from without. Con- sequently you can pass peacefully along, un- disturbed by outward influences and prevail- ing reports. Nay more, you can pass peace- fully along, through changes which you may be called to make, in your opinions, in your conduct, in your party and denominational relations, ever maintaining true consistency of character, and a consistency of feeling, motive, intention and purpose^ and ever CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 141 guided by the uprightness and integrity of your own hearts, and ever sustained by the conscious enjoyment of the approbation of your God. LETTER V MORAL DANGERS. Introduction — The first source of danger, a neglect to- acquire resources of happiness within one's self. Men created with social affections, and bound together in society. Great care should be exercised in choosing associates — To feel able to exercise this care one should feel, to a degree, independent of society — It is for the want of this feeling of independence that many young men fall into dangerous places of amuse- ment and become addicted to gross and ruinous vices. The second source of danger, the social drinking of wine — This is useless — The young do not need wine, It is dangerous — It mingles with many of our com- mon enjoyments and amusements — It excites the thirst for stronger stimulants — it destroys health and character. This, connected with the error that mer- riment is happiness — This shown to be a mistake — Merriment can be participated by the most polluted — it calls into exercise none of the higher powers and affections of our nature — it leaves a sense of degra- dation upon the mind — it cannot be enjoyed with those we most love and value among our friends — Conclusion. MORAL DANGER. 143 My Young Friends, I wish, in this letter, to raise the warn- ing voice, to speak of the dangers, the deep,, wide spread and ever threatening dangers, by which I believe you to be surrounded. In speaking upon such a subject, it will become me to speak plainly and distinctly. If the trumpet give an uncertain sound, the blood of those who are lost will be required at the hands of the watchman. The dangers to which young men are ex- posed. What are some of them? Your first danger, and one which exposes you to many others, arises from the neglect to acquire re- sources of happiness within yourselves. Man was made for society. He is blessed with so- cial affections. These bind him strongly to his fellows. These open to the heart, inlets of much enjoyment. The young, especially, feel the need of society. They are, as yet, comparatively ignorant, the mind is not as yet, stored with materials for reflection. And, even if it were, the individual is hardly capa- ble, as yet, of deriving much happiness from his own reflections. And then, too, hope 144 young man's assistant. is a gorgeous painter, coloring every thing around with the most brilliant hues. All objects appear inviting, all persons are clothed in the garb of friendship. He is all unsuspi- cious; his heart leaps for joy at the sight of a fellow being. This fondness for society is all as it should be, in its natural state. But it needs regulation. There is a choice in com- panions. Some are pure and virtuous. Their very presence checks every thing that is un- holy and improper. Their language, even up- on the most ordinary topics, breathes a spirit of purity, and kindness, and devotion. How blessed is that young man, whose companions are of this character. With them he is safe. Their society has a tendency to assimilate those who associate with them, to themselves in feeling and in character. But all compan- ions are not of this character. There are those, whose characters are the very reverse of all this. Their very presence excites unholy and improper thoughts. Their most ordinary language is tainted with impurity, unkindness, or profanity. How unfortunate is that young man, whose associates are of this char- MORAL DANGER. 145 acter. With them, he is ever exposed to danger. Their society has a tendency to as- similate him to themselves in feelings and in character. Such being the difference in char- acter, and, such the different influences exerted by the companions, with whom we may asso- ciate, it is important that much care be exer- cised in the selection of associates. But in order that care may be exercised, the individu- al must be, in a degree, independent of asso- ciates. He should feel that, if he cannot readily meet with those whose characters are worthy, and whose influence will be good, he can be happy, for a time at least, without com- panions. It is often the case, I speak of facts, it is often the case, that young men fail to treas- ure up the resources of happiness within them- selves, which may render them independent, in a degree of companions. If they have an evening unemployed,- an evening, when not actually driven to their business, they cannot sit down and spend that evening by them- selves. They are uneasy. They are unhap- py. They feel a necessity upon them to go forth in search of associates or of amusement. 13 146 • young man's assistant. And, what is worst of all, feeling that they must have associates or amusements, that they cannot be contented without they exercise no discretion in the choice, but yield themselves to the first that may offer. There are others of a different character, fond of society indeed, and fond of amusements, they are kind and affable with all, but are careful in the selec- tions of those with whom they suffer them- selves to become intimate. If they find a companion whom they can respect and es- teem, in whose society they are strengthened in their virtuous principles, they rejoice and thank God. But, if such a companion does not readily offer, they can sit down in their rooms and, by themselves, in some way, enjoy much happiness. They do not feel that craving demand for society, which will com- pel them to associate with evil persons rather than be alone. So these take pleasure in oc- casional amusement. But as the amusements which offer themselves are different in char- acter and influence, they feel themselves called upon to exercise a choice. If no amusement which is of a proper character, and which is MORAL DANGER. 147 calculated to exert a healthful influence, of- fers, they can be happy without; if those which are of a worthy character and which exert a healthful influence offer themselves they gladly and gratefully enjoy them. I appeal, my young friends, to yourselves. Is not the po- sition which I have taken true? Is not the clanger I have named great? Why, after the shops are closed and the business of the day is ended, why is the remainder of the evening spent as it often is, and that by many, in the billiard room or at the card table, or at the theatre, or in some other equally dangerous place of amusement? Do you say that this is not done, except by those who have formed a taste for such amusements? Believe me, this is not the case. All, indeed, who attend upon them soon acquire a taste and a fondness for them. But it is an acquired taste. It is the case with some, I presume, that when they first leave their parents and go to reside abroad, they know not what a billiard table is, they know not the spots upon the card, which give it its designation and its value in the game. How came they then, in these places? Be- 148 young man's assistant. cause they could not bear to be alone.— Because they had no resources of happiness within themselves. They sought for, they longed after companions. And rather than be without, they consented to associate with those who have enticed them to these places. They are seeking only amusement, a pleas- ant way of passing the present hour, but they are laying the foundation of habits, and ex- citing a fondness and a taste, which will not be satisfied with mere amusement, which will lead to ruin. Should those young men, who now, merely for the sake of amusement, pass their time at the whist table or in the billiard room or in some other equally dangerous place of amusement, remove to the older and more corrupt cities of our land, they will be in great danger of becoming the inmates of those places technically and truly called hells. The beginning, then, of those courses, which often prove the ruin of our young men, is in the want of resources of happiness with- in themselves. I have seen the pure minded, the kind hearted, the noble spirited, the high- ly talented, fall prostrate before the wither- MORAL DANGER. 149 ing influences of vices, too gross to be here particularly dwelt upon. And how, I have asked, have they been led into these vices? The answer has been, they had no resources of happiness within themselves. They could not content themselves to be alone. They must have amusement from without. They must have companions. This, then, my young friends, is the first, and the most fruit- ful source of danger. When I have discov- ered this want of inward resources of hap- piness I have trembled, even though there were other and many promising traits of character. Yes, even though the young man were pious, regulating his conduct upon re- ligious principles, if he have not, in connec- tion with, and under the influence of his prin- ciples of piety, acquired the power and the habit of employing himself alone, a feeling that he is not dependent for happiness upon associates and amusements, or outward ex- citements of any kind, I should tremble for his religious character, I should earnestly hope, and fervently pray, but should hardly expect that such a one would remain faith- 13* 150 young man's ASSISTANT. ful to the end. To parents, I would say 3 whatever tastes you may cultivate, whatever habits you may form, whatever principles you may fix, if you do not, as the crowning of all your efforts, accustom your children to derive, in solitary hours and without a hankering for society, individual enjoyment from these tastes and habits and principles, there is great dan- ger that your work will be in vain. My young friends, you may regard me as extravagant or fanatical, but when I look back upon my own youth, and enquire for what was then the most prolific source of danger, when I look to those of my companions, who have fallen in the way, when I look around me and see the young men that are going the downward road, I feel that the most fruitful source of danger is the want of resources of happiness within one's self. This, I say, is the most prolific source of dan- ger, because it opens the avenues to almost every other danger. Could I speak so as to move the very depths of your heart, and leave an impression deep, indelible and as lasting as life, I would gladly so speak, as to awaken you to a realizing sense of the danger to which MORA.L DANGER. 151 you are exposed, from this source. 1 would gladly so speak as to move you to a constant and ever watchful guard against this danger, the danger arising from the want of some re- sources of happiness within yourselves, some- thing which shall render you, to a degree, in- dependent of associates, and enable you still to enjoy yourselves, though left alone. The second source of danger, to which I would direct your attention is to be found in the social drinking of wine. I am not now about to address to you a temperance lecture. You well know that there are thousands of young men, who regard themselves as friends of temperance, who yet make free and frequent use of wine, especially are there many, who indulge in the social driw~king of wine. This seems to be thought to be a necessary ingre- dient of social enjoyment. I am not here about to discuss the propriety of placing wine under the prescriptive ban of the temperance pledge. I am speaking as you will under- stand, to young men, of the dangers to which they are exposed. Is there to be a military supper ? the idea that any one can sit down at 152 young man's assistant. such a place, and participate and enjoy himself, would seem to many perfectly absurd and ri- diculous. The idea that a company of friends and acquaintances can spend the evening to- gether in any social enjoyment without wine seems by many to be thought strange. And the dangers to which I have already alluded are greatly enhanced, by the circumstance, that there the wine bottle must be introduced, to give life and promote merriment. Is a ride proposed? You will say to me, surely you can have no objection to this. It is a relief from the cares, and an escape from the tedium of business, it affords healthful exercise, intro- duces one to the enjoyment of pure and fresh air, lays open to the view of him who rides, the works of nature, the beautiful scenery of hill and dale, bending grass and waving corn; oh a ride is truly exhilirating, refreshing, and it may- be, purifying in its influence! surely you can have no objections to a ride, even a social ride. No, my friends, I have no objection. I could say much in favor of the thing itself, when stripped of all connection with improper times and improper attendant circumstances. MORAL DANGER. 153 But, tell me, would not most of our young men feel that a ride, without some place of resort, where they might indulge in the social drinking of wine, would be a tame affair in- deed. Does one open in the vicinity of any of our cities or villages, a place of resort, for a ride and for an airing? Does he wish to in- duce young men to resort to it? And what is his advertisement? He may speak of the beau- ty of the scenery, of the freshness of the air, of the stillness, the great retirement, and good accommodations. But he closes his adver- tisement, and crowns the whole, by making known, that the cellar is well stored with the choicest of wines and liquors. This he pro- claims with an emphasis, as that, which, if all other recommendations should fail, will be sure to draw custom. And do not these men understand themselves, their own interest? Do they not know, what is expected by those who ride from our cities and villages, and what is necessary in order to give satisfaction. It is not to the ride then, that I object; of that in it- self considered, I approve. That, at proper times, I would commend. What I object to, 154 young man's assistant. is the idea that you cannot have a social ride, that it would be a stupid and tame affair, with- out some place of resort, where you may in- dulge in the social drinking of wine. And so it is, in regard to almost every social en- joyment. This social drinking of wine is, 1 say, fraught with great danger. In the first place, it is useless. It does you no good. If it produces excitement, and promotes merri- ment, it is an unnatural excitement and mer- riment. It may be thrilling, loud and bois- terous, but it is unnatural and leaves the sys- tem, both body and mind, in an unnatural and dangerous condition. I 'say that wine is useless, it is certainly injurious. On this point, I speak, not merely my own opinion, not merely the opinion of others in tempe- rance, whom you may regard as fanatical. — I will refer you to the writings of Dr. Combe, one who will be admitted by all to be a fair minded and rational man. In speaking upon this subject, he says, "Wine is not only un- necessary, but positively detrimental to chil- dren," that is to children in general, for he MORAL DANGER. 155 admits that there may be exceptions. "In youth, the natural tendency is to excitement, and, consequently, as a general rule, the stim- ulus of fermented liquor is injurious." If, says he, "it be contended that this amounts to a virtual prohibition of wine and stimulant liquors, I admit, at once, that when the whole animal functions go on healthfully and ener- getically without them, their use is in my opinion, injurious to health. "If it be asked," he says, in another place, "if it be asked whether I go the length of proscribing all fer - mented liquors, I answer that I do not, I mere- ly mean, that when the general health is per- fect, without them, they ought not to be ta- ken, because, then, their only effect is to pro- duce unnatural excitement." He gives as a rule that they are not to be taken when they quicken the circulation, excite the mind, or disturb the digestion. But is not the very reason why young persons resort to the so- cial drinking of wine, that it may excite the mind? The social drinking of wine is use- less, it is dangerous. The remarks which I have quoted, refer to health; it is dangerous 156 young man's assistant. to character. It excites a hankering, which is strengthened by repeated indulgence, until it becomes too strong to be satisfied with wine, it demands some more powerful stimu- lant. It is often the case that those, who be- gan with wine, soon resorted to whiskey punch and other drinks of a still stronger na- ture. It often happens, that those, who, in the social party, and in the presence of la- dies, will only take their glass of wine, will when they have escorted these ladies to their residences, resort to some place where can be obtained something stronger than wine. But my friends, what leads me to speak upon this point, more plainly and earnestly than I otherwise should do, is, that I am satisfied, that nine tenths of all the intemperance, which has prevailed among that class which I am addressing, has been produced by the social drinking of wine. Were I speaking to hard laboring persons, were I speaking to lumbermen, were I speaking to the hardy sailor, were I speaking to the emigrants, I should speak differently, for those classes are not in danger from the social drinking of wine. MORAL DANGER. 15? Should I point out to them their danger, I must touch upon different topics. But you will remember that I am not speaking to them,, that I am speaking to you, young men. It is my wish, not to direct your thoughts to oth- ers, but to fix them upen the dangers to which you are yourselves exposed. And, I believe that I am fully and completely within bounds, when I say that nine tenths of all the intem- perance,which has prevailed among the classes, to which you probably belong, has been pro- duced by the social drinking of wine. Could I, with prophetic glance, see who, among my readers, are to become intemperate, if any such be among them, I should undoubtedly find them to be those, who are given to the social drinking of wine, those who will not take warning, who will not fly from the dan- ger which threatens them. Understand me,, my friends, I am not now speaking to those who have long been in this habit. I speak to you, young men, in regard to a habit, which has not yet acquired the command over you. Let me, then, with all the solemnity of one who feels that he is accountable for what he 14 158 YOUNG says, with all the affection of one who would labor day and night for your good, and with all^the'earnestness of one, who speaks from the deepest convictions of the heart, let me warn you, lefme beseech you, to avoid this dangerous practice, the social drinking of wine. Avoid it, as you would the haunts of some evil beast^avoid it as you would the road, where you feel certain that many of the trav- ellers will be destroyed, and where it would be folly to suppose that you should be among the favored few, who escape. Yes, I repeat, come not near this dangerous practice, the so- cial drinking of wine, fly from it as you would from some deadly poison. The way may ap- pear smooth and pleasant at first, there may be much of merriment, but as you pass down the declivity, it will be constantly becoming more steep, and your descent more rapid ; as you pass down, I say, you will find it becom- ing dark and gloomy, and ere long, you will perceive the way scattered with marks of the bloated forms, the wrecked property, the shat- tered minds of those, who once thought that way as fair and as smooth as it now seems to MORAL DANGER. 159 you. Come not near it, fly from it. I know not but I ought, before dismissing this topic, to allude to the mistaken notion which many young men have, and which gives rise to in- dulgences like the one I have noticed. The mistake is, that merriment and happiness are one and the same thing. This, I say, is a mistake. In a season of merriment, there is a tumultuous excitement of the feelings and the passions. The individuals become boisterous. There is the coarse joke, the comic song, the loud laugh. These are some of the elements of a scene of merriment. Is this happiness? Just look at the state of feelings in which one may enter upon such a scene. The most guilty and polluted and abandoned wretch living, he whose breast is a living and torment- ing hell, may join in such a scene, and may in the boisterousness of his merriment, seem to forget all that he was. But when the scene of merriment is gone, then his guilty or re- morseful feelings return to him. And when they return, the thoughts of his temporary merriment gives him no peace. It seems to him to have been madness. Then, too, con- 160 young man's assistant. sider the parts that are called into play by- such a scene. Are the higher powers, the fi- ner feelings, and the purer affections of the soul called into play in a scene of wine ex- cited merriment? Most surely not; they are the animal appetites and passions, which have been gratified and indulged, and through the indulgence of which, the excitement has been produced. Just consider the comparisons, which those fond of such scenes, employ to express their idea of the pleasure. 'Our friend was as merry as' — 'as what, as an angel?' 'No, as merry as' — Your own imagination can com- plete the sentence. But if it be true to fact, it will complete the sentence in such a way as will convey a sense of the degradation, incur- red by the scene. Again, these scenes of merriment are closed to ladies. Is he who is fond of them and often indulges in them, a brother or a husband? Will he take with him his sister or his wife? And why not? Do not our sisters and our wives love us. Will they not rejoice to see us enjoying happiness ? Do we not love them and shall we not be glad to have them witness our happiness? The very idea MORAL DANGER. 161 of their being with us, tells us, in language that we cannot escape, that this same merri- ment in which we can indulge, in the most polluted state of the soul, in which only the lower and baser parts of our nature, those which ally us to brutes, are excited, which we cannot look back upon with such pleasure as would lead us to speak of them before those we respect, which we designate but by com- parisons derogatory to our character, and in which we cannot admit those nearest and dear- est to us to participate and sympathize with us, that this same merriment is not happiness. I have thus, my young friends, spoken of some of the dangers to which you are exposed. — There are other dangers still of which I shall speak in my next letter. Those to which I have now directed your attention are indeed truly appalling. They have slain, and they are every day slaying their thousands, and their tens of thousands. And these too, from among the brightest and the most promising of the land. Let rne then,intreat you, not to dismiss the suggestions of this letter, with a mere passing remark. Weigh them carefully., and apply them faithfully. 14-* LETTER VI. MORAL DANGER. Introduction — There 13 danger of resting the hope of fu- ture security against vice on the ground of present ab- horrence of vicious indulgence — Many now debased and degraded, once felt equally strong abhorrence — How is it, and why is it, that men become so chang- ed in feelings and in character? It is by a gradual and almost imperceptible process, by taking one short step after another. The danger is in first, and trifling indulgences. First and trifling indulgences deaden the moral sensibilities, unfit the mind for judging cor- rectly of the enormity of any particular crime, or the evil of any particular indulgence, and bring the in- dividual into contact with temptations too powerful for him to withstand. There is danger in indifference to vice — in confidence in one's moral strength — in disre- gard of the universally corrupting influence of a sin- gle vice upon the whole character, and in a neglect to employ the means provided for escape. There is dan- ger from evil associates, danger arising from the regu- lar operation of the laws of our nature — Conclusion. moral danger. 163 My Young Friends, I must continue in this letter, the admon- itory strain which I commenced in my last. The dangers to which you are exposed are so many, and of such a specious appearance and character, that I cannot dismiss them all within the short compass of a single letter. I have spoken/jn my last, of the dangers ari- sing from a neglect to provide resources of hap- piness within one's self, and from the still too prevalent practice of the social drinking of wine. I shall, in this letter, warn you against other dangers. And first, I would say that you are much in danger, from the false notions you may enter- tain, in regard to the grounds of your security. You now shudder at the very thought of be- coming, yourselves, dissipated, abandoned and profligate. And you feel perfectly confident, that you never shall become so, because your feelings so readily revolt at the very thought. Your present abhorrence of vice and degrada- tion, is your ground of hope, that you shall ever remain secure. But, my young friends, I must tell you, that this is a very unsafe ground 164 young man's assistant. on which to rest your hopes of security. If you look around, you can see many who are now sunk in the most debasing degradation. You turn from them with loathing and disgust. You believe it to be impossible, that you should yourselves ever become so debased, so degra- ded. But I can assure you, that these very persons, in all probability, once felt as great an abhorrence of the vices, to which they are now addicted, of which they are now the slaves, and the victims, as you are conscious of feel- ing, at the present moment. For it is a fact, that men may, and that men often do, volun- tarily yield to those very indulgences, and commit those very crimes in after life, the bare mention of which, in their early years, filled them with horror. It is no sure sign, then, that you will not, hereafter, sink into the depths of vicious indulgence, that your feelings now revolt, at the sight, or thought, or mention of it. But how is it, and why is it, you will ask, that men become so changed? How is it, and why is it, that he, who in early life is alive to duty, and trembles at the thought of vice, should become so changed as to laugh at the MORAL DANGER. 165 mention of duty, and voluntarily to plunge, headlong, into the lowest depths of vicious in- dulgence? In answer to the question, how it is that men become so changed, I would say it is, by a gradual, and at the time, an al- most imperceptible process, by taking first one short step from the path of duty and then another short step, and then another as short. Each is short. And every successive step seems to advance but a very short distance, and a distance too, which may be easily retra- ced. But these short steps as they succeed each other, are carrying the individual further and further from the path of duty. In answer to the question, why it is, that men ^ecome so changed, I should say, it is through the deadening and corrupting influence of vice, of sinful indulgence. The first departure from right, the first indulgence in sin may be but trifling in itself, but it may be important in its consequences. Its natural influence, will be, to blunt and deaden the moral feelings. The child, who is accustomed to obey his parents, will be shocked, to see another entirely disre- gard parental wishes, and parental commands, 166 young man's assistant. But if,, through the power of temptation he is led to disobey, he can look with calmness up- on his mate who is habitually and obstinately disobedient. His indulgence has blunted and deadened his own feelings. And so it is in all cases, first and trifling departures from duty, deaden your dread of wrong doing, and blunt your sensibility to what is right. When, for the first time you have done wrong, when, for example, you have for the first time uttered a falsehood, you feel unhappy to think that you have done so. This feeling of unhappiness you will strive to banish from your bosom. — You attempt to justify yourself to your own mind. And you say to yourself "I don't care." By constantly saying to yourself "I don't care,* and under the influence of your natural desire to appear consistent to your own mind in your words and actions, you will at length acquire the feeling of indifference, you will arrive at that state of feeling in which it will be true, that you don't care. And in this way, your first and trifling indulgence has operated to de- stroy the delicacy and tenderness of your sen- sibility to right and to wrong. MORAL DANGER. 167 Again, you know the effect upon a boy even oflosing his character among his mates. It often happens, that a boy who is publicly punished at school and who in that way loses his character among his school mates, becomes through the influence of that punishment per- fectly indifferent to duty, and utterly reckless as to his character. It is very much the same, when one loses his character in his own esti- mation. If a boy feels that he sustains a char- acter for good scholarship, he will be anxious to preserve that character. But if he once loses that feeling, all his zeal for study goes with it. And so it is, to a still greater degree, with young men, in regard to moral character. If a young man feels that he sustains a charac- ter marked by an inviolable regard to duty, and known to be so marked by those with whom he associates, he will strive to preserve that character, he will take much pains, and make great efforts to do it. But let him lose this character, in his own estimation, let him feel that he is not worthy of regard, as being strict- ly correct in his conduct, and he will soon be- come utterly indifferent and reckless. But 168 young man's assistant. first and trifling departures from duty have the effect to lower the character of the indi- vidual in his own estimation, and, in that way, to destroy his anxiety to lead a pure and spotless life. In this way, then, you per- ceive that first and trifling indulgences dead- en and destroy the moral sensibilities. Again, these first and trifling indulgences, unfit the mind for judging correctly of the enormity of any particular crime, or of the evil of any particular indulgence. When we speak of any thing as being great or small, we mean that it is great, or small, compared with some fixed standard of estimation, or with the usual habits of feeling and of judg- ing, to which the mind is accustomed. For example, he who is accustomed to but small dealings in money matters, would regard one hundred dollars as a very large sum, while he who has been accustomed to transactions of the value of thousands, would regard one hun- dred dollars as a small sum. It is the same with regard to actions, both good and bad. — - If you are now free from vicious pollution, it seems to you a great degradation to be guilty MORAL DANGER. 169 of a certain vicious indulgence, to be guilty, for example, of actual intemperance. But if you associate freely with those who habitu- ally drink, and occasionally indulge to excess, and become somewhat merry, and, especially, if you should yourself for once or twice be overtaken, and become intoxicated, it would seem to you but a small thing, but a very tri- fling degradation, and perhaps no degradation at all, to be guilty of this same vicious in- dulgence. Thus, you perceive, that trifling indulgences unfit the mind for judging of the enormity of any particular crime or of the evil of any particular indulgence. For crimes and vicious indulgences appear enormous or not enormous, according as ihey bear a com- parison with our present feelings and present habits. Still further, first and trifling indulgences will often bring you into contact with temptations, too powerful for your strength, into circum- stances, by the influence of which, you will be carried forward to further and vicious in- dulgences. Let me illustrate. Here is a youth, who has been carefully trained while 15 170 young man's assistant. under the parental roof. It has been the endeavor of his father and his mother to in- still into his mind good principles, to fix his affections upon proper objects, and to form him to correct habits. But, as he has arriv- ed to the proper age, he is placed with the city merchant, to prepare for the business of life. He is sad at parting, and promises both to himself and his parents, that he will follow strictly the instructions and the advice, which have been given. For awhile, he is perfectly correct. He is devoted to his master's busi- ness, during business hours. His leisure time he spends in a profitable manner. The pocket money, which he may obtain from the perquisites of the store, is carefully saved or devoted to the purchase of what is necessary and useful. On the sabbath he is regular in his attendance upon public worship and dili- gent in his endeavors to acquire religious knowledge and to secure religious improve- ment. At morning and at evening, as he rises and retires, his perusal of the Bible and his acts of secret prayer open and close the day. Such is his course for a while. But, MORAL DANGER. 171 at length, he becomes acquainted with others in the same situation with himself, who have been longer exposed, and who have fallen victims to the temptations by which they have been assailed. These appear gay and jovial and happy. They are kind in their at- tentions and insinuating in their manners. — They appear to take a great interest in him and to manifest a wish for his improvement. They take an interest in his reading and offer to furnish him with books, but, at the same time, they hint that it would promote cheer- fulness and health to relax occasionally, and spend an evening in social amusement. The books they offer he gladly accepts. But they are of a trifling character and of a dan- gerous tendency. His companions invite him to leave his own place of Worship occa- sionally on the Sabbath, and take him first to one place, then to another, telling him of the pleasure there is, as well as profit, in hear- ing different preachers. Fie accepts their invitation. As he hears one preacher after another, his mind is filled with curiosity, while his heart is growing cold and indifferent, in 172 young man's assistant. regard to personal religion. He may, per- haps, be improving as a critic upon sermons, and styles of preaching, while he moves in a retrograde direction as to his own growth in grace. But, at length, his companions speak of the confinement of the week, and of the need of stirring about. They ask him to ride out into the country on the Sabbath. — And so they proceed, from one step to another. If he accepts their invitation to ride he is expected to invite them to ride in re- turn. And if he does not so invite them, he is branded with epithets indicating his mean- ness. His expenses are increasing. He takes from his master's drawer, to answer pres- ent necessity, intending to restore all punc- tually, with the first supply he receives. In this way, the youth becomes dissipated, is guilty of crime, lias lost all regard for the feelings of parents, all regard for the distinc- tion between right and wrong, and is prepar- ed for crimes of the darkest die. Thus this youth has become completely changed. But, as you see, it was by taking one short step after another. It did not take place on a MORAL DANGER. 173 sudden. Each step seemed but short. And there was much of remorse in the intervals, much of resolving to return, but, when the next, temptation came, it seemed so trifling, that it was thought that one step, that single trifling indulgence, would not make the return more difficult. But, my young friends, where was the point at which this youth should have stopped? It was at the very outset, at the first trifling departure from right. — When he had become intimately connected with these dangerous companions, as you will perceive, it would have been more difficult for him to have broken away from them, than k would have been, at first, to have de- clined an intimacy with them. When they invite him to ride with them, it would have been comparatively an easy matter for him to have declined. But, when he had accepted their invitation and had enjoyed the ride, it would have been a difficult matter to have refused to invite them to ride in return, and to have endured, in consequence, their re- proaches for meanness. When they offered to furnish him with books, it would have 15* 174 young man's assistant, been comparatively easy for him to have de- clined. But, when he had taken the books and read them, it would have been a diffi- cult matter to have objected to the character of the books, and, on that account declined to read farther, because he must then have endured their sneers, at his strict and partic- ular notions. When they invited him to ac- company them on the Sabbath to various meetings, it would have been easy to have declined, but after having gone with them once, it was difficult to turn abont. At the very first trifling departure, then, w T as the point where he should have stood firm. If you are standing on smooth and level ground, at the top of an eminence, whose sides are steep and slippery, it is much easier to re- main, to stand firm, there, than it is, after you have stepped down, to regain your foot- hold. Thus you perceive that first and tri- fling indulgences have brought the young man into circumstances, which exert a controlling power over him, into contact with tempta- tions, too powerful for him to withstand. I have thus, my young friends, endeavored MORAL DANGER. 175 to point out the influence of first and tri- fling indulgences, m changing the feelings of men in regard to vicious indulgences and criminal conduct. I have done this, in or- der to shew you that you can place no depen- dence for your future security, upon your present feelings of abhorrence. Others have felt as great an abhorrence as you now (eel, and yet they have yielded to temptations, have changed in their feelings, and have been ruined. Your only security must consist in your knowledge of the danger there is in first and trifling indulgences. Remem- ber then, I beseech you, that doing wrong, even in the most trifling act, destroys your dread of wrong doing, renders you incapa- ble of judging how great the wrong may be, which you commit, and may bring you into contact with temptations too powerful for your resistance. Let me then urge you, by all that you value in character, or hope for of happiness, let me urge you never, in a single instance, to do what you may think is wrong. You had better be laughed at by all your companions. You had better endure the 176 young man's assistant* severest punishment that could possibly be inflicted, than to do or say what you may think to be wrong. These sneers of your companions will last but a few days. The pain of the most severe punishment will soon pass away. But the influence of having done wrong, what you sincerely believe to have been wrong, will cling to you and make you unhappy for years. It will, in all probability, drive you to wrong doing again, and urge you on from one step to another, till it plunges you in moral ruin. You may think that no one sees you when you are doing wrong, and that you will not be detected. But you your- selves will know that you have done wrong. You will lose your peace of mind in conse- quence. For you will not forget your hav- ing done wrong. There may indeed be times when you will seem to forget it. But there will be other times, when it will be brought to your mind with a soul stirring pow- er. For you cannot, at all times, escape from yourselves. Remember then, that your security consists in the strength of your feel- ing that you are always in danger in your MORAL DANGER. 177 care to avoid first, and what may seem to you trifling indulgences. There is danger my young friends, arising from your indulging feelings of indifference, in regard to sin, in regard to its nature and influences, and the avenues and temptations which lead to it. Yes, 1 say, you are in danger, from indulging feelings of indiffer- ence, in regard to sin. I know it is common in speaking to young men, to speak of vice. But I wish to have you look at your con- duct, in its relation to the law of God. The term, vice, would lead you to look upon the actions to which it is applied in their relation to yourselves, or to society around you. The word sin, when applied to the same actions, should lead you to look upon these actions in their relation to God, and his law, I say, therefore, that you are in danger, in great danger, if you are indifferent to the nature and influences, the avenues and temptations of sin. Suppose, my young friends, that you should, each of you, re- ceive a communication addressed to the in- habitants of the place where you reside, 178 young man's assistant. from physicians whom you regard with con- fidence, stating that there was beginning to prevail an insiduous and secretly spreading disease, a disease which frequently gained much strength before the patient could be aware of his situation, a disease to which all are equally exposed, which entails much suf- fering, and in a large proportion of cases, proves fatal. And suppose, still further, that many should read that communication, and then carelessly throw it aside, and think no more of the disease. Suppose that they should not even enquire into its nature, its symptoms, or its predisposing causes, and should neglect to enquire whether they them- selves were in danger or not. Would you not say that such persons were running a great risk, were exposing themselves to great danger, by their indifference. But I am ad* dressingyoung men, who, are under the light of Christianity, in aland of Bibles, young men, who may have each of them his own Bible in his hands, and should not neglect, to be thus supplied. Nay, more, these letters are not addressed to skeptics, or to confirmed in- MORAL DANGER. 179 fidels. To them I should address a different language. I am addressing, therefore, young men who profess to regard that book as con- taining revelations from God, annunciations and instructions of the highest importance to man. But if you will open that book you will find much said about sin. You will learn that it is an abomination in the sight of God, that its ways, or consequences, are death, that it is hateful to that being of perfect good- ness, on whom you depend, and to whom you are accountable, that it is destructive of the best interests of man, in this world, that it is threatened with the severest consequen- ces, in the world to come, and that it is an evil, a disease to which all are exposed, yea, an evil, with which all are actually tainted. Now I ask, is it possible, for a thinking, a re- flecting young man, who honestly believes the Bible to contain a revelation from God, and who reads all this in the Bible, in regard to sin, is it possible for such an one, to pass carelessly over the subject, to spend so little thought upon it, as not even to ask what sin is, what are its manifestations, and its conse- 180 young man's assistant. quences, the temptations and allurements,^ which lead to it, nor enquire whether he may not himself, be already tainted with it, and a slave to it. And yet, how few there are comparatively speaking, especially among our young men, w 7 ho do really enquire into the whole meaning, and extent, of God's requirements. How few are there, who are anxiously, and honestly endeavoring to un- derstand the insiduous nature, the debasing tendency and the awful consequences of sin. And are not all such in danger, great danger, from their indifference to the nature of sin,, of wrong doing? There is danger arising from your cher- ishing a feeling of self-security. I have al- ready spoken of the danger of resting your hopes of security, upon present feelings of abhorrence. What I mean now, is some- thing a little different, a reliance upon one's own moral strength, a feeling that we can ev- er stand firm, although others may have fallen in the same course. There is much, by far too much, of this dangerous self reliance, self security. You may find young men who MORAL DANGER. 181 speak of vice, of sin, with deep feelings, and who seem to have just views of its nature, ten- dency and consequences. They profess to be filled with wonder, that so many should go carelessly on, while exposed to so great dan- gers they point out, and mourn over the nu- merous instances of moral degradation and ruin which are around them, while yet they are, themselves, pressing on in the very courses which have brought others to their ruin, re- gardless of their danger, or rather cherishing the feeling that their moral strength is too great to be easily overcome. This feeling prevails, in regard to all vices, all sins, but that my illustrations may be the more palpa- ble, I will select the vice, or sin of intempe- rance. How many are there, even now, in the community, especially among our young men, who will mourn over the evils of intem- perance, who speak earnestly in favor of tem- perance, who wonder at the extreme folly of their fellow men, as they sink slowly down, one after another, into the depths of intemperance, while yet these very individuals are in the daily habit of temperate drinking, as it is call- 16 182 TOUNG MAN*S ASSISTANT. ed, or indulge themselves in the free use of wine, or at least regard it as important, that on special occasions, wine should be introduced, to increase the enjoyment of the occasion, and in some one of these ways, pursuing the very course which has conducted their neighbors, at whom they are wondering, and over whom they are mourning, to the lowest depths of loathsome, and disgusting, and revolting intem- perance. You may tell them that temperate drinking, or the free use of wine, or occasion- al social wine drinking, are but the school's of intemperance, that the very individuals, over whose lost condition they are mourning, and at whose folly they are wondering, were once as temperate, and as confident of their own safety, as they can now be, and they will ac- knowledge the truth and force of all that vou may say. But if you go one step further and attempt to convince them of their own dan- ger, they will at once laugh you to scorn. Their step is as yet firm and elastic, they have the most perfect command of themselves, they can exercise their coolest discretion and judg- ment in regard to the times of drinking, and MORAL DANGER. 183 the quantity they may take. Nay, more, they will go so far as to admit that they are walk- ing in a path, where, judging from past expe- rience, they have reason to believe, that a very large proportion will be ruined, and yet they will contend, that they shall surely be among the number of those who will escape unharmed. And so they press on, vainly re- lying upon their own moral strength. They press on in perfect confidence as to their own safety, until before they are aware of their danger, they find themselves so far on the downward road to ruin that they cannot re- cover themselves. Thousands of young men there are, who are cherishing feelings of self- dependence, and self-security like these, in re- gard to all the various vices and sins to which they are exposed. I have selected the evil of intemperance, not because it differs from oth- ers in the danger itself, but because it is an evil in which the whole course is obvious and the danger palpable. And now, my young friends, look into your hearts, I beseech you, and enquire if you are not yourselves at this very moment, cherishing a dangerous feeling 184 young man's assistant. of self-security. Examine your conduct, and enquire if you are not at this very time, al- lowing yourselves in that society, or engaging in those practices, or yielding to those indul- gences which have been the ruin of others, while yet you feel yourselves to be safe. And, if so, are you not, I ask, cherishing a danger- ous feeling of self security ? Look around you. Thousands of the beautiful and the fair, of the manly and the promising have fall- en, and are falling at your right hand and at your left, into the moral ruin of vicious and sinful indulgences. They were as well able to withstand, as you can be. They felt as self confident and as secure as you can feel. In the days of their strength, they would have laughed at the idea that they were in danger. Remember this, and let it impress deeply up- on your minds a lesson of wisdom. Cherish the feelmg that you too, are exposed to the same enemy, before which they have inglori- ously fallen, and that you have no security but in a deep feeling of your own weakness, in watchfulness, vigilance and prayer. There is danger, too, in the disposition MORAL DANGER. 185 which some young men manifest to shut their eyes to the universally debasing tendency of particular sins, and vices. What I mean, is, the natural tendency of indulgence in any one vice or sin, to harden and corrupt the heart, in all its feelings, to debase and degrade the character in all its various parts. Here, for example, is a young man of the finest feelings, of the purest sentiments, of the kindest heart, of the tenderest conscience. He is one of the most obedient of children, one of the most af- fectionate of brothers, one of the most devo- ted husbands, one of the most faithful of fa- thers, but in an evil hour yields to temptations to engage in gambling. As he continues, his interest increases until it becomes an all ab- sorbing passion. This seems to be but a sin- gle fault, and you are, perhaps ready to say, that this certainly cannot interfere with the nat- ural flow of his affections. But you are mis- taken. As he indulges in this one vice, it sends its debasing influence over the whole man, destroying every thing that is beautiful or praiseworthy in character. He loses all the natural affections of a child, a brother, a hus- 16* 186 young man's assistant. band and a father. His natural feelings are hardened, his natural affections are deadened, he is brutified and degraded in his whole charac- ter. Such is the universally debasing tenden- cy of this one vice of gaming. This tenden- cy is not peculiar to this particular vice. It is common to all vicious or sinful indulgences. — ■ He who gives himself up to any one sinful or vicious indulgence, although he may for a time withstand the temptation to others, does yet become hardened in all his feelings, and de- based in his whole character. Such is the spreading nature, and the corrupting influence of sin, of vice, that no one can yield to a sin- gle sinful or vicious indulgence with any well grounded hope that its influence shall not ex- tend over the whole character. How many are there who look upon sins and vices as separate, and not as existing in families and classes, who hope to cultivate an acquaintance with one without becoming a slave to all oth- ers. But how delusive are these hopes. How many have been ruined by cherishing them. Vicious and sinful indulgence is a stream of very rapid descent. If you launch your barque MORAL DANGER. 187 upon this stream you know not how fast, nor how far you may be carried. And you are deceiving yourselves, if you hope to sail but a short distance, and then to resist its downward course. Beware then, my young friends, how you expose yourselves to danger,Jby disregard- ing the universally corrupting tendency of par- ticular sins. There is danger, great danger arising from your undervaluing the means, and the sure and effectual, means of preventing your be- coming the victims of vice, or of rescuing you from its power. And here, 1 feel myself in duty bound to urge upon you an attention to the subject of religion. I may perhaps be- fore closing my letters, speak upon the sub- ject more fully than I can now. But I may speak of it now and I ought to speak of it in this connection as the means provided by God for our deliverance from vice, sin and misery. God knowing the real nature, the debasing tendency and the destructive consequences of sin, and being filled with love for his children, sent his son, Christ Jesus to save men from their sins. That son appeared on earth, la- 188 young man's assistant. bored, suffered and died in the cause of hu- man salvation, for the purpose of rescuing men from the love, the power and the consequen- ces of sin. We have in our hands the records of what Jesus did, and of what he taught, of his sufferings and of his death. The motives, the hopes, the injunctions of the gospel are made known to us, and often urged home up- on our attention. And yet notwithstanding all this there are many who listen to all these things, as to a tale that is told, or as to the song of one who hath a pleasant voice. They lay not these things to heart, they underval- ue and disregard and set at naught all that has been done for our rescue from the power of vice, the consequences of sin. And are not all such in danger? You may feel, my young friends, that you can rely on your own internal energy of character, that you may rely on your habits and principles. But I can assure you, that valuable and important as all these are, there is danger that they will all prove too weak unless based upon, and supported by, religious principles and considerations. When tempted to turn aside from the path of duty, MORAL DANGER. 189 all these considerations which may be sugges- ted by past character and past habits and prin- ciples, by a regard to reputation or even hap- piness, will seem but the cold calculatious of prudence, the dictates of mere expediency. — The single thought, "I cannot do this, and sin against God," will be more powerful than them all, to put to flight the temptations that may assail, or to send new strength through the nerve, and enable you to withstand. Re- member I beseech you, that you are always exposed to danger, that you are yourselves weak and easily overcome, and that your only hope of coming off conquerers over your temp- tations and dangers, must be upon the depth of your feeling of your own weakness, upon the strength of your religious principles, and upon the carefulness with which you watch, and the fervency with which you pray. Before I close this letter, I will offer a few suggestions on the danger of evil associates, or rather upon those principles of our nature which render evil associates so dangerous. — And I remark, in the first place, that the prin- ciple of imitation is implanted in our natures 190 young man's assistant. and exerts a powerful influence in the forma- tion of our characters. We are imitative be- ings. We are all prone to imitate those with whom we associate. You have all, I presume, witnessed the effects of this principle in the language, the air, the manners and in short in the whole appearance and deportment. But I would in this place direct yonr attention es- pecially to the influence of this principle upon the character. We naturally and almost un- avoidably, not only acquire a resemblance in manners to those with whom we associate, but we often become assimilated to them in char- acter. Are they possessed of genuine worth, persons of sterling integrity? Do they regu- late all their conduct by a regard to the pre- cepts of virtue and piety? If so, their high example will attract our love, and secure our admiration, and we shall soon find ourselves imitating almost unconsciously the peculiari- ties of character which we love and admire, we shall find that if we are much in their so- ciety, we shall be gradually and almost imper- ceptibly becoming assimilated to them. On the contrary, are our companions and MORAL DANGER. 191 associates the profane, the dissolute, the prof- ligate, we shall soon be infected by the con- tagion of their example, we shall soon find our- selves becoming like them. Indeed it is a. principle of similarity which often lies at the foundation of our intimacy. It is often a re- semblance either in disposition and character, which, without perhaps our being aware of its influence over us, regulates our selection of in- timate acquaintances. And our intimacy gen- erally increases as by constantly associating together we become more and more assimila- ted to each other. You may say that the in- fluence of associates upon each other, is re- ciprocal. That instead of being destroyed by the vicious examples of others, you may your self exert an influence over them for good. — This may be so. But it is more than proba- ble, that the influence of vicious associates will preponderate. The one is struggling to ascend, the other throws the weight of his influence into the descending scale. It is then, more than probable that the influence which is downward in its tendency, will over- power that which is upward. 192 young man's assistant. Then too, you may each of you have some- thing in your very constitutions which is cal- culated to render you an easy prey to some particular vices. In regard to these vices to which you are exposed by your constitution- al temperament you should be ever most carefully on your guard, striving to avoid by all means those companions and associates who might lead you into them. Then too, the power of this instructive propensity to imitate is manifested not mere- ly in regard to the sins which most easily be- set one, but also in regard to those to which one is not by nature inclined. It is often the case, that young persons especially acquire insensibly, habits of profane swearing, or be- come intemperate and licentious, not from any strong natural, constitutional bias, but simply through the power of this principle of imitation, because they have been thought- less and inattentive in the selection of their associates. Remember then, my young friends that you have that within you, that tendency to imitation, which will with almost unfailing certainty assimilate you in character and feel- MORAL DANGER. 193 ings to those with whom you may associate. Remember this, arid let it put you upon your guard in your selection of companions. Still further, there is another principle which, in connection with the last, increases your dan- ger. And that is, a desire to render ourselves agreeable to those with whom we associate. This is one of our natural tendencies. It is in itself truly amiable, and highly important. But it is a tendency which will expose you to peculiar danger,* unless regulated by reason, and prudence and religious principle. We are told that the fear of man bringeth a snare. This is never more true, than when applied to the fear we sometimes experience of incur- ring the displeasure of our friends and asso- ciates. To be firm in our adherence to a virtuous course, when, by being so, we shall be singular, requires no small share of true fortitude, and especially to stand firm, when by doing so, we shall incur the displeasure of our companions, requires much true christian independence. That those who voluntarily associate with evil companions, will disregard their example, and resist their influence, is 17 194 young man's assistant. more than we have reason to expect. How often do persons yield to indulgences which are contrary to their consciences, their reason, and even to their inclinations, simply because they dread to give offence to their associates. To manifest openly and decidedly an abhor- rence of practices whieh others, many of them persons whom we respect, and all of whom are our associates, unhesitatingly practice, re- quires more moral courage than most young persons poss ss, certainly more than they usu- ally manifest, moral courage which those who voluntarily associate with the unprincipled and profligate will not long retain. This princi- ple, then you see, or tendency of your na- tures, to seek the approbation of those with whom you may associate, may operate to your ruin, if you associate with the unprincipled and i he profligate; Remember then, my young friends, that from the very principles of your nature, you cannot become intimate with as- sociates without wishing to render yourselves agreeable in their eyes, to secure their appro- bation, and that this wish, whether you are aware of it or not, will exert a powerful, a MORAL DANGER. 195 controlling influence upon your own conduct. And, remember too, that you will naturally judge of the conduct which is well pleasing to your associates, by lookingat their own. Ther.- is every reason therefore, to suppose that if you select for your associates, those who are unprincipled, and of profligate characters, you will yourselves fall victims to the same vices by which your associates have been enslaved. I hardly know, my young friends, where to stop, when upon this subject, so great are your dangers and so heedless are most young per- sons in regard to them. It is dangerous even for those advanced to middle age, and who are most firmly established in principles of piety and habits of virtue, it is dangerous for even such to associate freely with the persons of corrupt principles and vicious practices. But when a young man, one whose principles are not firmly established, and whose character is not fully formed and established, when such a one selects for his companions persons of vi- cious principles, of profligate habits and of dissolute lives, we not only say that he is in great danger., but we feel ourselves authorized 196 young man's assistant. from what we know of human nature to say that he will with an almost indubitable certainty quickly lose all that instinctive horror and dread of vicious actions which is the natural guard of innocence, that he will soon be em- boldened to yield to the indulgences, or to commit the crimes which are familiar with his associates. Scenes of profligacy and of vice as they become familiar to his mind, will pol- lute the heart, corrupt the taste, influence the passions and pervert the judgment. Vicious habits will be insensibly formed, and will con- tinually gather strength, until they draw around their victims the strong bonds of moral slavery. This we feel authorized to say, will be the natural at least, if not the necessary conse- quences of selecting the vicious as intimate as- sociates and bosom companions. It follows as directly and as certainly asunder the more obvious and better understood laws of the natural world an effect follows its cause. But I have said enough. It would be im- possible to point out all the sources of danger to which you are exposed. I would hope that what I have said may be sufficient to MORAL DANGER. 197 awaken you to the truth, that they are ex- tremely numerous, that they lie beside all your paths and that your only hope is in cherishing thoughts of your own weakness, in watchful- ness and prayer. ir- LETTER VIL INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. Introduction — Object to be sought in examining one's mental operations. Mode of studying the mind — The infant — Instincts which pass away — and instincts which become fixed principles of belief. Sensation and perception — The nature and the difference of the two. The way in which the power of sensation and per- ception may be improved, and in which improv ement from the right exercise of them may be secured. Con- ception — What it is — Habits of accuracy in concep- tion, important in acquiring accurate k nowledge of the outward world — in enabling us to understand what we read — in regard to reasoning and argument — in regard to correctness of sentiment — vividness of illustration — four rules for acquiring vividness and accuracy of conception, given — conclusion. Mt Young Friends, I am now to speak to you on the subject of intellectual self-cultivation. In doing this,, I shall endeavor to present for your conside- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 199 ration some practical sketches from the Phi- losophy of the mind. I wish you to direct your attention to the examination and analysis of your own minds. I wish this, because I believe it to be important that you should be- come familiar with the mental operations, which are going on within you. But a question w r ill naturally arise as to the proper way of exam- ining and studying your own minds? In an- swer to this enquiry, I would say, that your object, in watching the operations of your own minds, should be, to learn, in the first place, what their operations are, and to detect, if pos- sible, in the second place, the laws or princi- ples by which those operations are regulated, or in accordance with which they take place, that so, in the third place, you may put forth your own after efforts for mental improvement, in accordance with these laws or principles.— For example, I was once told, by a young la- dy, that, after having read over a work upon Ancient History twice, so carefully as to take notes, she could not remember the various events and incidents. Now, suppose that upon watching the operations of her memory SOO TOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. upon other subjects, even upon her household duties, she should find that the memory will retain a great variety of particulars, when they are connected, in her associations, with some one important fact, or event, or operation. — Suppose that she calls to mind the fact, that the most ordinary memory can retain the thou- sand particulars of daily house keeping, simply because they are divided into clusters, all con- necting themselves with a few important trans- actions. Here then she has discovered a prin- ciple or law, by which the memory is regula- ted and in accordance with which, her own may be improved. Now in her futnre efforts, she can regulate her course by the knowledge, which she has thus acquired. In her future reading, she can fix upon a k\v prominent and important results and connect the various in- cidents and events of history with these. In this way she will be able to recollect all these various incidents and events, either as the caus- es or the consequences of some important re- sults, either as leading to, growing out of, or flowing from these results. Now this case illustrates precisely my views of studying the INTELLECTUAL iELF-CULTIVATION. 201 mind properly, and, of course, profitably. In doing this, you perceive there are three distinct points to be particularly aimed at. They are these. First, you are to watch in order to as- certain precisely what the operations of the mind are, as distinguished from each other. — And this is important, for we often confound one operation with another. We see, for ex- ample, certain objects or actions, and from what we see, we draw certain conclusions. In at- tempting to tell what we have seen, we are very apt to confound our perceptions with our conclusions, and detail the latter as though they were the former. So, too, when we hear a report, we often mentally explain that report, put it into language suited to our own mental habits. And then, in telling what another person has said to us, we confound ihe two operations, and tell what we suppose he meant to say. And as we are liable to mistakes, we may report something very dif- ferent from what was in the mind of the per- son, in regard to whom we are making the re- port. Remember then, that your first object, in studying your own minds, is to ascertain 202 young man's assistant. precisely what the operations of the mind are, as distinguished from each other, and that this is an important point, in regard to which you are constantly exposed to mistake. The second point to be aimed at, in thus watching the operations of the mind, is to de- tect, if possible, the law or principle, in accor- dance with which these various operations take place. This is an important and somewhat difficult point. It is I say important. Take the illustration which I have brought forward. It is important that the young lady should, not only ascertain the fact, that there are some things, which she can remember with ease, while it is difficult, if not absolutely impossi- ble, to remember others, but that she should detect, if possible, the reason, why she can re- member the one with more ease than the other. Because, in this reason, she learns the princi- ple or law, in accordance with which the ope- rations of the memory take place. Let this then, be the second point to be aimed at; to detect, if possible, the principle or law in ac- cordance with which the mental operations take place. The third point is to apply this INTELLECTUAL 8ELF-CULT1VATIG3T. §03 principle to the regulation of future efforts in mental cultivation. To return again to the same illustration, the young lady, you will per- ceive, could not be practically benefitted, by simply knowing the reason why she could re- member some events much better than others. This knowledge is important only because it may enable her to pursue her studies and efforts at self-improvement with greater suc- cess. Would you then pursue the study of your own minds in a proper and a profitable manner? You will aim at three things. You will endeavor, by carefully watching the ope- rations of your own minds, to estimate pre- cisely what they are, to detect if possible, the laws or principles in accordance with which they take place, and then you will apply the knowledge you may gain in the regulation of your efforts after further mental improvement. I have thus pointed out the general objects to be sought in the examination of your own minds, and, in doing this, have suggested the proper method to be pursued. Let us now look, as far as we may be able, at the mind it- self. And, in order to do this, will you bring 204 young man's assistant. up before your mind's eye, an infant as the subject of your analysis, and enquire what of mind you can discover in that helpless being. At the first glance you perceive what may be called, for the sake of convenience, native in- stincts, which seem to have been given only for the guidance of mere infancy, and which disappear as the mind opens and expands. — For example, the infant is taught by native in- stincts, in what way to seek its food. This is one of its first efforts. And it does not re- quire time nor instruction, to enable it or to teach it how to do this. And this instinct, which is given to the young of all animals, seems to have been given simply for the gui- dance of infancy. It passes away and is for- gotten, as age icreases and new tastes and new capacities, in regard to food, manifest them- selves. Instincts given, as it would appear only for immediate use, are what you first no- tice in children. Soon however, as soon as the child begins to take notice, you may per- ceive manifestations of other instinctive ten- dencies, which, instead of passing away with the years of infancy, ripen into fixed principles INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 205 of belief, in after life. The most prominent of these, and the only one I shall here notice, is that of an instinctive feeling, that every ef- fect must be produced by some cause. I know it is sometimes said that all that we , know of the relation of cause and effect is learned from observation and experience, that we observe that what we regard as causes are usually or generally followed by other events which we regard as effects, that the dropping of a spark of fire into a cask of gunpowder is generally followed by an explosion, while, if we were to drop the same spark into a bank of snow, it would as generally be extinguished, and that therefore, because we have seen and known this we connect them together in our. minds as sustaining to each other the relation of cause and effect. All this may be true. For it relates only to our learning to assign particular causes to particular effects. I con- tend that there is in every infant, a native in- stinctive feeling, that every effect must have some cause. It may be only from observa- tion, and experience, that we learn to trace out the particular causes, which . produce the 18 206 young man's assistant. particular effects which we may witness. But, if you watch the child that has just begun to take notice, you will perceive that when a noise is made in its hearing, it immediately looks around in every direction, in order to ascertain from whence the sound came. The child may not have learned to use its senses, and it may not therefore be capable of detect- ing the sound, of ascertaining from whence it proceeds. But the very circumstance of its looking around, shows that there is an instinc- tive feeling that the sound must have been produced by something without itself, must have had some cause. So in the case sup- posed — should the child hear the explosion of the cask of gunpowder, he would have an instinctive feeling that there must have been some cause for the explosion. It might not indeed be until after much observation and experience, that he w ? ould ascertain the partic- ular cause of this particular effect. Still there is the native instinctive feeling, that every ef- fect must have some cause. This is as natu- ral, and as universal, as the instinct which prompts to seek for food when hungry. This INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 207 instinctive feeling, as I should call it, in child- hood settles down, as the mind is developed, into a fixed principle of belief. We have dis- covered then in the infant, instincts given sim- ply for the guidance of infancy, and others given as the foundation of future principles of belief. But in connection with these, our very remarks have implied the existence of the powers, as they are called, of sensation and perception. It is through these sensations and perceptions, that we gain a knowledge of out- ward things. But it is important to mark the distinction between sensation and perception. — The brain and the nervous system, (for the nerves are but the brain "itself extended over the body) the brain and the nervous sys- tem, I say, have been called, by some, one great sensorial organ, or the organ of sensation. These nerves are indeed divided into different classes; there are the nerves of saghtirbf taste, of smell. When these nerves are affected, we experience the particular sensations which are called by these different names. But what is sensation, and what knowledge does it give us ? It is simply a change in the state of a 208 young man's assistant. certain class of nerves. You are placed in a parlor, where are some beautiful flowers. You smell these flowers, and are able to name them from their respective peculiarities of flavor. — Here you have been the subject of two opera- tions, sensation and perception. Your nerves of smell, for example, were peculiarly affected. This you felt, this you knew. This is sensa- tion — and this is all there is to sensation. Sen- sation does not tell you what caused this peculiar affection of the nerves of a particular organ. True, you do, from this sensation, conclude that there is a rose, for example, in the room. You say that your senses give you this knowledge. But it is not so. Your sense of smell has only made you conscious, within yourself, of certain states of pleasure or of pain, certain changes. r You have learned to connect these peculiar states with their respec- tive causes. This is perception, and this you see is an intellectual operation — the result of observation and experience — and in regard to which we are liable to deception. Some suppose that when we refer the par- ticular sensations, which we experience, to INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 209 outward objects as the cause of them, we do it only because we have before observed and handled, it may be, similar objects. But this I think is a mistake — for I believe that the instinctive feeling, of which I have spoken, that every effect niust have some cause, leads us to refer all our sensations, as effects, to some un- known cause, external to the mind. This I believe to be natural and instinctive. Then, the ascertaining what particular causes produce particular effects, what particular objects pro- duce particular sensations, is the result of ob- servation and experience. And this, the as- signing the particular sensations we may expe- rience to particular objects, as their cause, is perception. The more expert and accurate any one becomes in this process, the quicker and the more correct are his perceptions. Let two persons, for example, enter a flower garden. They will both experience the same sensations ; they will both smell a variety of different odors. The one, who has not been accustomed to the garden, and who has not been in the practice of tracing these different odors to their respective causeSj will only be able to say that he per- 18* 210 young man's assistant. Reives that there are a great variety of different flowers. The other will name over very readily all this variety of different flowers,, which he perceives by their different odors.-— So of taste ; one will name to you every in- gredient in a pie or a cake, while another can only say that there are a great variety of spices and other ingredients. So of hearing; two persons are present at a concert. The same sounds are heard by both — that is, the same sensations are experienced by both. But one, from not having cultivated his powers in this respect, knows only that there is a variety of mingled sounds ; the other, with no better natural capacities, for that is the supposition, but simply from a greater degree of cultivation in this respect, can distinguish and tell the dif- ferent voices. And now what, you may ask, is the practi- cal instruction which you have thus far derived in regard to sensation and perception, and what hints for personal improvement ? First, you have learned that sensation is only a change of the nerves. If the body is pricked with a pin, pain is felt 5 and this is ail that there is to sen- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 211 sation. The infant may cry for hours with the pain from a pin in its clothes, and yet gain no knowledge of the cause of the pain. So with older persons, the nerves of smell or of hear- ing may experience pleasant or unpleasant changes. This is sensation and this, I repeat is all there is to sensation. What improve- ment may he who is aiming at self-education expect to secure in regard to his sensations? I answer, that he may cultivate the general health of the body. The intenseness of our sensations, our susceptibility to them will vary with our health. The smell and the hearing are often seriously affected, and rendered very obtuse by ill health. So the sight is often rendered very acute, and even painfully sen- sitive by a diseased state of the body. We are at times peculiarly susceptible to the sen- sations of cold and heat, in consequence of the peculiar state of our health. Our first care, then, would we have our sensations correct, and be guarded against being deceived by them, should be, to preserve good bodily health.- Would we guard against' being deceived, I say, in our sensations. We often are so. An in- dividual is sometimes ready to pronounce the state of the weather either uncomfortably cold or uncomfortably hot, when, in reality, it is neither. He may honestly believe what he says, but his sensations have deceived him in consequence of his peculiar state of health. First then, you must in your diet and exer- cise cultivate good bodily health. Otherwise, even your supposed knowledge of things around you may be but a delusion. In the second place, whenever you are in a diseased state of body, you must make an allowance for the in- fluence of disease upon your susceptibility to sensations. And, in the third place, you may form the habit of attending to these sensations. Some people will pass through beautiful scene- ry and never know it, while others will drink in much pleasure and perhaps derive much instruction while passing through the same scenes and yet, the sensations of both may have been the same, only the one has formed the habit of attending to his sensations, while the other habitually disregards and neglects them. The one perceives things, which the other does not, because he attends to the sens- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 213 ations of which he is the subject, and traces them to their causes, while the other neglects the whole. You can gain personal improve- ment then, in regard to your sensations, in three ways.. By seeking carefully good bodily health, by -making all proper allowance for the influence of disease upon your sensations, and by forming the habit of carefully attending to all the various sensations of which you may be the subject. The second step, in becoming acquainted with objects around you, is the exercise of your native, instinctive feeling, that every ef- fect must have some cause, in tracing out your sensations to their particular causes. And here there is improvement to be sought, in the constancy and care with which this instinctive feeling is exercised. Some are negligent and acquire a habitual negligence in regard to this. They hear a sound. It may be the mew of a cat or the cry of an infant. They are care- less and do not trace their sensation to its cause, and can therefore, from the effect of this carelessness, hardly distinguish the one from the other. Consequently, there is always 214 young man's assistant. great confusion in their perceptions. Their perceptions are not clear, and distinct from each other, in their own minds. And this simply because they have become habitually careless in the exercise of their instinctive feeling, that every effect must have a cause, careless in tracing their particular sensations to their appropriate causes. In this step of the process of gaining a knowledge of the cut- ward world, improvement is to be sought in the constancy and care with which you trace sensations to their peculiar and appropriate ef- fects. The third step, in this process of gaining a knowledge of the outward world, or rather the result of the two previous steps, is perception. I say the result of the two previous steps. For instance, I pass through a medclow, and experience a very peculiar sensation. I stop and trace this to its cause, and find that cause to be the presence of a peculiar flower. Now what have I done? I experience a sensation, a change in the state of the nerves of smell. I obey the native instinctive feeling that there must be a cause for this, and endeavor to INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 215 trace out that cause, and the result is that I perceive the flower, that is 9 I trace the peculiar sensation to an object, as its cause, as the source whence it originated, which my sight tells me is a flower. Perception then, is the result or consequence of sensation, the knowledge which we gain of outward objects, in consequence of the impressions, which these objects make upon the senses. This is peculiarly an intellectual operation, and one in regard to which we are liable to deception. I remark still further upon the improve- ment of our powers of perception. The fact should be deeply impressed upon our minds, that these powers are improvable. Let two men look upo i a drove of cattle, as they pass. One will be able to tell you very nearly how much each animal, upon which he may look, will weigh, when slaughtered. The other will come nowhere near in his estimates. — And yet, they both look upon the same cat- tle, see the same peculiarities, and, perhaps, look with the same degree of intensity. Now why does one perceive more than the other? You will perhaps tell me that he does not per- 216 young man's assistant. ceive more, that it is only a case of better judgment, upon a particular point, and that I have introduced an inappropriate illustration. I admit that it is a case of improved judgment. But T contend that it is judgment connected with the powers of perception, which is im- proved. The case is, that the one who forms a correct estimate, does it, not by guess, not by judgment, resting on no basis. He sees certain points, these points his past experi- ence has taught him are indications of the con- dition and weight of the animal. That is, he sees, or perceives certain peculiarities; in seeking for the cause of these peculiarities, he has, by his observation, learned that it is the peculiar condition of the animal. Thus, his conclusions in regard to the weight, are so nearly connected with his perceptions that they seem to constitute a part of the im- provement, of which the powers of percep- tion are susceptible. At least whatever may be your theory upon the subject, you will ad- mit that it is improvement which is impor- tant. For the other person may see, and no- tice, and speak about these same peculiari- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 211 ties, and yet not draw any correct conclu- sions from them. But I may take a more obvious case of the actual improvement of the powers of perception. Two persons look upon a painting. The picture of the whole is painted upon the retina of the eye, of the one as well as upon that of the other. But the person who is accustomed to paint- ings and is fond of them, will perceive a great many more minute, but important points, in the picture, than will the other. The one will notice only the striking and prominent points, while the other will notice the whole. The latter then, will actually see more than the former, simply because he has cultivated the power of perception, in relation to these particular objects. Let then the truth be distinctly impressed upon your minds, I repeat that the powers of perception may be improved, or rather, that a man may so learn to use his powers of per- ception, as to become acquainted, through their means, with much more than, without cultivation, he would have been, And now, how are we to improve these powers? In 19 218 young man's assistant. the first place, we must pay attention to the objects of our senses. Why is it that one sees more particulais in a landscape than another? The same scene is presented to the eye of both, the same picture is upon the retina of the eye of both. But the one pays attention to the different separate objects included in the group. We have the power when a col- lection of sounds strike upon the ear, or a group of objects is presented to the eye, of singling out any one of these sounds or ob- jects, and dwelling upon it for the time to the exclusion of others. The musician can, amidst a great variety of sounds, follow a particular part. So one can dwell upon a particular point, or feature in a picture, to the neglect of the rest. But if, by the exercise of attention, we can single out any one sound or object and dwell upon it, then we can fol- low this process through a great variety of separate objects, directing the attention to them, one by one. In this particular, there is much difference in the characters of indi- viduals. Some will look upon a picture or a landscape, and pronounce in general terms INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 219 that it is beautiful, but can, after all, give no account of the particulars, of which the beau- tiful group was composed. Another will de- scribe accurately all the various particulars, point out all the peculiar beauties and excel- lences. And he will acquire such a facility in doing this, as to pronounce, at once, upon the first view or perception of an object. How is this power or facility acquired? I have said, by directing the attention to tne various particulars, one by one. Take a child before it is acquainted with the Alphe- bet, and learn it to read pictures, that is to point out all the parts of a picture and to tell what each individual in the group, whether man or animal is doins;. In this wav I have seen even a young child, make a picture book quite a study. You may go further and ac- custom the child to compare one picture with another, one horse or dog witii another, and to point out why one animal, flower or tree is beautiful, and why another is not. — In this way, you form the habit of acquiring clear, distinct and accurate perceptions. And not only so, these perceptions become fixed 220 young man's assistant. in the mind, so that the child can think of them and see them with the mind's eye when away from them. I have been pleased with the course pursued by some teachers of writing. They first, before children are old enough to begin to write, write themselves on the blackboard, making some letters properly, and some incorrectly, and then they exercise the children in telling which are right and which wrong, what constitutes the correct- ness of ihe one and the incorrectness of the other. In this way the children form the habit of particuliarity and accuracy in per- ceptions, acquire clear ideas of what the forms of letters should be, and know, when they begin to write, what they wish to make. I have here referred only to the improvement of the perceptive powers of children. But we can, each of us, at any age, improve our perceptive powers. I once visited the exhi- bition of paintings at the Athenaeum in Boston. I procured a season ticket when I first went in, and gazed around upon the whole, thought it was all very well, but was not particularly struck, saw nothing very beautiful or very INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 221 wonderful. But I took opportunities, when the hall was emptied, at the dinner hours, to spend two hours a day, two or three times a week there. \ pursued the course I have suggested for the improvement of children, that is, I studied each painting, examined all the various objects, inquired into all the vari- ous beauties or defects, compared one with another. And what was the consequence? The hall soon became to me the source of great pleasure. The exhibition increased in interest at every new examination. And I acquired to a slight degree, a new taste, a new power, a new susceptibility to happiness. Now what is the instruction of a case like this? what was done, and what must be done in or- der to improve our perceptive powers? First, there must be the fixing of the attention upon each particular in any object of perception. Then follows the enquiry as to the correct- ness or incorrectness, the beauty or deformity of each part, and the reasons of the one feature or the other. Then this must be im- pressed upon the mind, so that a clear and distinct idea can be carried away. I have 19* £22 young man's assistant. illustrated by a reference to objects of sight, I will give one more illustration from sound. It is possible to improve our pow- ers of perception in this respect, to acquire a susceptibility to music, not originally pos- sessed. Take a person who has no ear for music, who knows not one tune from another, not even one note from another. By this, it is not meant that he does not feel and per- ceive the difference between a high note and a low one, between a spirit-stirring martial air, and a plaintive tune. But he does not know the names appropriated to the one and the other. He may not, at those points where they run into each other, be able to distinguish accurately the one from the other. But, let him pursue the course I have point- ed out, in regard to paintings, fix his atten- tion upon the different notes and tunes, as they succeed each other, watch their adapta- tion to the sentiment they are intended to convey, and compare one with another. Let him do this, and he will soon find himself be- coming deeply interested. Although not naturally a musician, he will take pleasure in music, He may not be able to use the tech- -^i.ECToAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 223 nical terms and phrases, he may not be able to mark and carry in his mind all the peculi- arities of particular tunes. But he will have so improved his powers of perception in re- gard to sound, that music will have charms for his soul. And, while doing this, he will have acquired also the power of judging in regard to the modulation of the voice, in speaking, and he may even go further and connect with this the right management of his own voice. I have thus, my young friends, pointed out the way of improving our per- ceptive powers. And that is by directing the attention to the various sensations of which we may be the subjects, and by study- ing and examining these separately and com- paring them, one with another. I have thus, my young friends, directed your attention to the subjects of sensation and perception. In other words, to the means and powers of acquiring a knowledge of the outward world. I have pointed out some modes of improving these powers, and of gathering improvement from the exercise of them. — • 24 toung man's assistant. That is, I have directed your attention to the formation of correct habits of observation. My object has been, to urge upon you the importance, and to point out to you the way, of acquiring habits of particularity and accu- racy, in your observation of outward objects. I suspect that you would be surprised at the vagueness and indistinctness of your ideas of outward objects, even of the objects most familiar to you, which are directly around you, or lie by the side of your path, and which you every day notice. I well recol- lect, that, as one of our exercises, while ac- quiring an education, we were called upon to define or describe some of the most com- mon objects around us. We were to de- scribe them accurately, so that any one, from reading our description, would know the ob- ject, as soon as he might meet with it, although he might never have seen it before. We were required to give such a description, also, that the object might be distinguished, by the de- scription, from other objects neaily resem- bling it. And I well remember too, how much we all failed in our attempts at first. INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 225 How vague and general and inaccurate were our descriptions. And I presume that if any one of my readers were now to make a simi- lar attempt, you would be surprised at your failure, at your vagueness and inaccuracy. And, in order to perfect your habits of obser- vation, and the accuracy of your knowledge of the outward world, I would suggest the importance of occasional exercises of this kind, describing the various objects with which you are familiar. Almost every young man amongst us, will find occasional leisure mo- ments, which might be employed, and that right profitably, in exercises of this kind. — Tnere are many times a ^ew unoccupied mo- ments, when you would not think of enga- ging in any important effort of writing, or even of reading, when you could make out short descriptions of different objects, or differ- ent scenes, with which you are familiar, striv- ing to make the description particular, accu- rate and discriminating. In attempting to do this, to describe accu- rately the things you have seen, you will find another mental power brought into operation^ 226 young man's assistant. called, by writers upon the subject the pow- er of conception. By the term conception is meant the power or faculty of bringing up distinctly and vividly before the mind's eye, objects which have been witnessed by the bodily eye. An individual undertakes to paint a por- trait of a deceased friend. While doing this, the appearance of that friend, in all his pecu- liar features, is as distinctly before the mind's eye, as ever the friend himself was before the bodily eye. You may perhaps have passed up through the Notch of the White Hills. Suppose that you were at this time to lay aside the book and after a lapse of many months, perhaps even of years, attempt to describe the appearance of the scene. Would not the whole stand out before your mind's eye, with all the vividness and distinctness, with which the scene itself did originally before your bodily eye? This is what we mean by conception. You may call it a distinct pow- er, or a peculiar state of activity in any or in all the organs. Still, here is the fact, and the calling this fact by one name or another, the INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 227 accounting for it in one way or in its oppo- site, will not effect the fact itself, nor the practical instruction to be derived from it. This power of conception is not a power, called into exercise wholly by, nor confined in its operations entirely to the objects around us. Still, it is a power, the right cultivation and improvement of which, is of so much importance to the perfection of our knowl- edge oT the outward world, that I may be justified in dwelling upon it here. The power of conception is now the sub- ject of notice. I have pointed out what it is. The bringing up before the mind's eye scenes or events, with all the same vividness and distinctness, with which they were once presented to the bodily senses. I have said that the power of conception is very important, in regard to our knowl- edge of the outward world. Suppose you visit the White Mountains and view the beau- tiful scenery which is there. You derive pleasure from the sight. But you wish to bring away some idea of the place, for fu- ture use and enjoyment. This you can do 228 only by forming distinct conceptions of the place. You cannot, when away, recall the place itself before your bodily eye. But, if you have a clear and distinct idea of the place, or, what is the same thing, if you have a clear and distinct conception, or picture of the place, this picture you can call up before the mind's eye. So after you have attended a concert, you can never recall the sounds, that is, you can never, by an act of the mem- ory, make the sounds actually strike upon the ear, so as to renew the sensation and perception. But you may form such a con- ception of the sounds, as to recall and en- joy them long after the time of the concert. Have you taken the tour of our own country, visited the falls of Niagara at the north, the great waters of the west, or the sunny climes of the south? And what of all this, have you brought back? Nothing but the con- ceptions you have formed. If you have formed clear and distinct conceptions, you have your mind stored with pictures, which you can call up for future use or pleasure. The forming of distinct and vivid concep- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 229 tions of outward objects, is the last step in our knowledge of the outward world. Here we are placed among a thousand objects. They strike our senses, so to speak, and pro- duce sensations. This is the first step. We trace these sensations to their causes, and perceive the several objects which produce them. Then we form within ourselves clear and distinct conceptions of these objects of perception. And now we have something which we can carry away with us, which we can recall, and use for our improvement. It is our intellectual property. It is important that you cultivate habits of distinct, vivid and accurate conception. Let us look, for a moment, at some of the ad- vantages resulting from such a habit. Have you not noticed a great difference in the con- versation of different men in regard to the same scenes and events. Two men shall take the tour of Europe. One will bring back only general, vague and confused ac- counts of what he has seen. The other will entertain you, for the hour together, by an animated and lively description of the vari- 20 230 young man's assistant. ous places he had visited. And now why this difference? It may be owing in part to a dif- ference in habits of observation. For there can be no accurate conception of objects and scenes, unless there is first accuracy in observ- ing these objects and scenes. But there may be accuracy of observation, while there is a want of accuracy in conception. I think we all experience something of this. When we enter a cabinet of minerals, we may examine a great variety of specimens, and may exam- ine them carefully, but, by not pausing, after the examination of each specimen, and think- ing over or repeating over mentally the pecu- liar features by which it is distinguished, we may find that the result of our examination of the whole:, is but vague and confused, that, al- though we examined carefully, we have no clear conceptions of the different objects which we have examined. So we may enter a de- bating club, and listen attentively to a succes- sion of different speakers. But, by neglect- ing to pause, at the close of each one's re- marks, and repeat over mentally the sum of his arguments, we shall find that our concep- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 231 tions of the various parts are confounded with each other, and our recollection of the whole is confused and indistinct. So with the travel- ler, he may have examined care full) the vari- ous scenes he has visited. But, being filled with wonder, or being hurried on from one scfme to another, he may neglect to form clear ideas of each separate scene, and consequently, the result is a vague and confused notion of the whole. This may be illustrated in still another way. Two travellers visit the same scenes, and one records upon the spot the peculiarities of each scene. The other leaves this record of his impressions to be made out at some future leisure moment. But what will be the consequence of these two different courses. Will not the one have clear and ac- curate notes of his travel* •while the other has only vague and indistinct recollections. So one may pause, at each scene, and dwell up- on it in thought, repeat over mentally the vari- ous impressions which are made upon him. The other may leave the exercise until a leis- ure and convenient time. And what will be the consequence? The one will have distinct 232 young man's assistant. and vivid conceptions, the other vague and confused notions. And the marked difference will be manifest in all their descriptions wheth- er given verbally or in writing. Now, my young friends, the person who is aiming at self- education, will desire improvement in every thing, which can contribute to his own happi- ness, or to the happiness of others. And must not the vividness and distinctness of our conceptions contribute to our own happiness? Must not the traveller revisit, in thought the places over which he has passed, with more pleasure, provided his conceptions of them be distinct and vivid, than he could if all was in- distinct and confused? And we all know that he who can give a lively and animated de- scription of the places he has visited, and of the scenes which hethas witnessed, has, at his command, powerful means of conferring hap- piness on those with whom he may associate. You perceive the importance of clear, accurate and vivid conceptions, as lying at the founda- tion of the talent for lively description. The habit of vividness and accuracy in our conceptions is of vast importance, in enabling INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 233 us to understand readily what we read. If, for example, you have formed these habits, if you are careful to form accurate conceptions of the objects and scenes around you, and can de- scribe these objects and scenes in a lively and animated manner, then you can enter into a lively and animated description, when given by another. The words, which you would have yourself used, to convey distinct; nd viv- id conceptions, will call up in your mind ideas and conceptions, of corresponding vividness and distinctness when used by another. If you have been an accurate observer of nature, you will find that well written descriptions of natural scenery will call up in your mind viv- id ideas. But if you have not been careful iri your observance of nature, these descriptions will be to you, dull and uninteresting. So if, after having observed carefully the objects of nature, you neglect to form distinct concep- tions of them, the effect will be the same. — These descriptions will be dry and uninterest- ing. Says a writer upon this subject, Rev. Jacob Abbot, "Both the enjoyment and the improvement, which is derived from readings 234 youn@ man's assistant. depend very much on this habit." One per- son will read a narrative, such an one for in- stance, as the story of Robinson Crusoe, and the mental pictures, which the descriptions bring up in his mind are cold and meagre and barren. Nothing comes to view, which is not expressly described and even that is very faint- ly and confusedly sketched by the mind. In the case of another individual, all is clear and distinct. The slight sketch, which the de- scription gives, is rilled up by the imagination, drawn from the stores of distinct and vivid conception. So that, while the printed words, which meet the eye in both cases, are the same, the real scenes, to which they introduce the reader are entirely dissimilar. This is one great cause of the differences of opinion, about the interest excited by a story. One reader praises and another condemns. They speak of the book. But the real object of the cen- sure and of the praise is, on the one hand, the meagre conceptions of one who has not sought for habits of accuracy and vividness of concep- tion, and on the other the glowing pictures, which are formed by more cultivated powers INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 235 of conception. And the habit of forming dis- tinct and vivid conceptions, will not only in- crease the interest with which we read, but it will cause what we read to be much more strongly impressed upon the memory. But this habit, when once formed, extends not merely to outward objects, not merely to passages, of descriptive writing. It extends to every thing, which can be the object of thought. It is therefore of great advantage even in rea- soning and argument. You sometimes hear a man, in debate, arguing feebly. His pre- mises are not set forth in the most distinct and prominent manner, and perhaps he forgets to draw his inferences, or draws them from wrong points in his premises. Why is this? You may say, from a want of discrimination. But from what does this want of discrimination arise? Is it not often, from the want of distinct and clear conceptions? If the premises of an ar- gument do not standout distinctly to our mind's eye, in all their fulness, reality and distinctness we cannot discriminate between the circum- stances which are important and those which are unimportant, and, consequently, it is often §36 young man's assistant. the case, that feeble reasoning proceeds in part from indistinct conceptions. We all know too, how much an argument is often aided by apt and familiar illustrations. An illustration is not a proof, but it is often the case, that a good illustration makes the proof more distinctly visible and more deeply felt. And we know too, that busied as men are with the outward and the visible, whatever is set forth, in the ab- stract, loses half of its power, unless rendered clear by appropriate illustrations. And we see a great difference in different writers in this re- spect. While some deal in mere abstract and general propositions, others impart to these propositions, by their own powers of accurate observation and, conception, a living reality and clothe them with breathing and animated beau- ty. But, as particularity and accuracy of observation are necessary, so particularity and accuracy of conceptions, are necessary to this power of illustration. I presume that in the religious community, there are few wri- tings, which have been more generally and ex- tensively popular, than the writings of the Messrs Abbots. But what gives them this INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 237 popularity? It is not that there is any thing very original or profound in the works them- selves. It is not that they contain more or better thoughts than the writings of others. Why then is it? It is because they contain familiar, and, in many cases, highly appropri- ate illustrations of truths, which had before been regarded as peculiarly abstruse and diffi- cult of comprehension. And yet, I have heard these books complained of, on account of their style. Says one, I can at once form a distinct conception of the truth or position he wishes to establish, and I dislike to spend too much time in reading the illustration of a truth, of which I have already a distinct con- ception. But such a remark you perceive must proceed from one who has cultivated dis- tinctness and accuracy of conception. And the reason why they are so generally inter- esting is, because the greater portion of men have not cultivated this power of conception, and, wish, therefore, to have all the truths and propositions illustrated by pictures, that shall stand out to the mind's eye, in distinctness. But where did the Messrs Abbots acquire the 233 young man's assistant. power of lively and animated illustration? Was it not first, from habits of accuracy in observa- tion? Was it not in the second place, from habits of accuracy in conception? This habit of painting vividly, before the mind's eye, scenes, objects and events which are absent, is of great importance in reasoning and argu- ment and in the illustration of abstract truth. Once more, this habit is of great importance in the study of human nature, of mankind. — How often do we hear it said of a fellow man, he is an exceedingly amiable man, a man of talents and learning:, but he has no knowledge of human nature, no knowledge of men. And this want of a knowledge of human nature renders ail his knowledge and talents and learn- ing useless. And it often happens too, that this want of a knowledge of human nature, does not arise from not having mingled much in society; I have seen it as strongly indicated in the characters of those who have been al- ways in society, as in those who have lived in solitude. It arises from want of habits of ac- curacy, in observation, and from want of hab- its of distinctness and vividness in conception. INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 239 Some men will spend an hour in the company of another, and when they are alone they will think over all that was said, and, in this way, they will form a distinct conception of the character, and ever afterwards they know how to meet and how to treat such a man. Others might spend the same time, and although they might perceive the peculiarities of the man, yet they form no conceptions of him, because they do not think of him as absent, and think- ing of him as absent, form clear and distinct conceptions of these peculiarities of character, they do not fix in their own minds clear ideas of his feelings, principles, and general conduct, so as to draw a correct conclusion as to the way in which he is to be met. It is then the ex- ercise of this same power of conception, which enables one to acquire, in his intercourse with the world, a clear and distinct knowledge of human nature, not only of the general charac- teristics of men, but of the peculiarities of each particular man. And it is the neglect of this same exercise, which prevents another from acquiring, from the same intercourse with the world, the same knowledge. 240 young man's assistant. I have thus pointed out, at some length, some of the various advantages of habits of accuracy and distinctness in conception. I have wished to awaken in every one a deter- mination, which will lead him to strive after self-improvement in this particular. How then are we to seek improvement. My first an- swer has been hinted at in what I have already said. When you have noticed a peculiar ob- ject or scene, pause, shut the object or scene from your bodily eye, and think over, mental- ly, to yourself, all its peculiarities. The ob- ject or scene then becomes to you an object of conception, instead of an object of percep- tion. It is transferred from the perception of the bodily senses, to the possession of the mind, as its own property, to be retained and used as occasion may require. I recollect that when engaged in teaching, i had one pupil, who excelled all others for his readiness and accuracy in memory. If when reciting his Latin, I stated for further use, a new rule, I found that one single statement of the rule would be su£5cient for him, while to the oth- ers, I must state the same, day after day, be- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 241 fore they could repeat it themselves familiarly and accurately. As he was, in other respects, very much lik^e other boys, I became extreme- ly anxious to know the cause of his peculiarity in this particular. I watched and found that, when I mentioned a new rule, instead of hear- ing it and then dismissing it from his mind, he dwelt upon it, and by repeating over mentally to himself, what I had said, fixed it in his own mind at the time, then and eter af- ter to be his own property. He made it his own mental possession. Now if, after visiting any scene, we could thus pause and mentally repeat to ourselves its peculiar features, then might we have the mental picture of the scene, distinctly before the mind's eye to be stored away. But this, you will say, we have not time to do. Being called to devote our atten- tion to business, you cannot make your own mental improvement the principal object of ef- fort. This may be so, and I would therefore, re- commend another practice as a substitute. In a work upon the study and practice of the law, I find the following direction given as an 21 §42 young man's assistant. aid in the cultivation of the memory. I would bring it forward in this place, as having an im- portant bearing upon the subject upon which I am now speaking. "Suppose," says the author, "you have been in several places, and conversed with several persons, in the course of the day. It will be a good practice, to re- call at night, with minuteness, not only the names of these places and persons, and the occa?ft)ns that induced these events, but the subjects of conversations, in which you may have engaged, together with the various opin- ions, both of, yourself and of others, upon these subjects, even in the very words, or as nearly as possible." Now what is accomplished by this practice? Is it not precisely what I have been recommending, the formation of a habit of readily securing mental pictures, of all that has passed before you, and of fixing them in the mind, as its own property, in other words the forming of habits of particularity and accuracy in your conceptions of what may be presented to your senses. 1 would then recommend this practice as a substitute for the former. For, if you cannot turn aside from INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 243 your business, to dwell upon particular scenes and events, you can at least, devote a few mo- ments, each night, to thus bringing up before you, mental pictures of whatever has passed during the day. And a few weeks practice will give you great readiness and accuracy in this. I would repeat, as my third answer, a suggestion which I have already made, the im- portance of writing, from time to time, de- scriptions of objects of natural scenery, or events with which you are familiar. And, in describing objects of natural scenery, it would be a good practice to test the distinctness and accuracy of your description, by an attempt to draw, with the pencil, the outlines of the ob- ject described, simply from the description giv- en. Try, for example, to describe in writing a particular place you have visited, so that a painter might make out aii accurate represen- tation of the place, solely from your descrip- tion. This exercise may occasionally aid you in your efforts after the habits I am recommend- ing. Another answer, which I would give is, that, in reading, you should occasionally pause and 244 young man's assistant. make an effort to paint distinctly to the mind, the scenes described by your author. Think of it as a reality, and dwell upon it, until you have completed it in its details and made all its parts consistent with one another, and with the whole. Practice of this kind will soon lead to decided improvement. This may be done simply for the purpose of increasing our enjoyment of what we read. But it will great- ly increase our store of mental treasures, our store of mental pictures. Mr. Abbot, in his "Young Christian," recommends this practice in the reading of the scriptures. And it is a most important recommendation. Suppose you read the account of the raising of Laz- arus instead of passing hastily over it, pause and picture the whole scene to your mind's eye, bring up Mary and Martha, their Jewish friends, the eager hastt with which Martha runs, the group around the grave, the solemn atti- tude and accents of prayer, the lifting of the stone, the mingled pleasure and astonishment of the sisters, as the form of Lazarus, in his grave clothes, rises before them, if, in this way, you will picture out the various scenes INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 245 described, you will render the book itself doub- ly interesting, you will gain a clearer idea of the true spirit of our Saviour's teaching, as il- lustrated by the circumstances in which he was placed, and you will be strengthening this habit of clearness and accuracy of conception. And this book which is in the hands of most, is, perhaps as well calculated to aid us in the formation of this habit as any that we could read. I have in this letter, my young friends, di- rected your attention to what I regard as im- portant steps in self-cultivation. I would hope that you will carefully weigh the suggestions I have offered. %t* LETTER VIII. INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. Subject stated — Abstraction — The term defined and illus* trated — The natural exercise of this power depending upon the peculiar tastes and habits of the individual — Its exercise may be improved and rendered more di- rectly subject to the will by mental cultivation — It is employed in classification and generalization — These illustrated by quotations from Abbott's Abercrombie — The application of these powers to individual improve- ment — in the study of natural objects — in reading Fa- bles — in reading Biography — in reading History — The best mode of strengthening and improving this power — illustrated by reference to reading and examining a book in all its various particulars separately — This power improved by dwelling upon some one characteristic while reading Biography, and following it out into all the various particulars of life — Conclusion. My Young Friends, I have spoken, in my last letter, of some of the powers of the mind employed in gain- ing a knowledge of the outward world, and of the ways, in which they may be improved, INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 247 and in which improvement may be gained by the proper exercise of them. There is anoth- er mental power, which is of great importance in the same connection. It is called ab- straction, by writers on Mental Philosophy. It is the power, which the mind possesses, of directing the attention to some one quality of an object, to the neglect of other and equally obvious qualities. You are presented, for ex- ample, with a flower, beautiful in color, and agreeable in odour. Here are two obvious and striking qualities of the flower presented, through your senses, to the mind. The one is equally obvious with the other. But just at this time, you are engaged in painting, and especially in painting flowers. This circum- stance causes that the appearance, the form and the color of the flower, should attract more particular attention. You may desire to copy the flower in your paintings, and, conse- quently, you may observe very carefully, and examine very accurately all its peculiarities of form and color, without noticing its peculiarities oi odour. In doing this, you have been exercising the power of abstraction. That 248 young man's assistant, is, you have withdrawn your attention, almost entirely, from one obvious quality of the flower, and confined it to another equally, but no more obvious quality. It may be, that another per- son, looking upon the same flower, would find the attention directed principally to the odor, and would exercise the same power of abstrac- tion in attending to that, to the neglect of the form and color. In these cases the attention seems to be fastened upon particular qualities, not so much from a direct effort of the will as from the peculiar taste, circumstances or occu- pation of the individual. Kor is there any effort to exclude attention to other qualities. They naturally lose their hold upon the mind and gradually disappear, when the thoughts are directed strongly and earnestly to some one point or quality. We see instances in proof of this almost every day of our lives. Suppose that several individuals take a walk out upon a commanding eminence, on some bright and beautiful summer evening, in order that from such an eminence, they may watch the setting sun. They all gaze upon the same object, the same scene. But their attention INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 249 is directed to different particulars, in that scene, and their thoughts and emotions are widely different, in accordance with their different states of mind. They have all, naturally and perhaps without being themselves aware of it, exercised the power of abstraction. That is, each individual has directed his attention to some particulars or to some qualities in the scene to the neglect of others. And the par- ticulars or qualities, to which the attention of each individual has been directed, have been determined by the previous states of their minds. Nor has any individual made any ef- fort to shut out other qualities from the atten- tion. They have naturally disappeared. This supposed case may be regarded as illustrating that degree of abstraction, which is natural, and the peculiar character of which is deter- mined by each one's peculiar tastes, and men- tal development, or by his peculiar studies and occupations. But there is another manifestation of this same power, which is the result of effort and cultivation, and is, to a degree, under the con- trol of the will. 1 may read a book, for exam- 250 young man's assistant. pie, with a determination, formed before read- ing, to direct my attention to some one par- ticular quality of the book, to the neglect of other equally obvious qualities. I may deter- mine that I will read the book, with reference alone to its style, to the neglect of the ques- tion whether the sentiments and opinions ad- vanced be correct or not. And I may be pleased with the style, although perhaps the sentiments may be opposed to my own. This is the exercise of abstraction, and it is put forth, at the direct control of the will. I sit down, with the determination to attend to one particular quality, to the neglect of others ; and I attend to this quality, because I had previously determined that I would do so. — I have said that this degree of the power de- pends upon efforts to cultivation. You find that children, when new objects are presented, seem to look in wonder and admiration. But their thoughts are directed to no one point ; their attention passes rapidly from one point or one peculiarity to another. But mental cultivation, an attention to study, and the con- fining the thoughts for some time to one sub- ject, have an effect to give this power. INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 251 I have thus pointed out what we are to un- derstand by abstraction, in its natural and in its cultivated and improved state. It is the power of attending to some one quality in an object, to the neglect of other equally obvious qualities. You will perceive, from what has been said, that there is a natural capacity for this. I do not mean a distinct and separate mental faculty, but I mean that man has natu- rally, to a certain degree, that power of self- government by which he is enabled to exercise abstraction. But you will have perceived also, from what has been said, that the per- fection of this power depends much upon self-cultivation and mental habits. This power of the mind is one, the right cultivation of which, is of great practical im- portance, not merely to scholars a id men of learning but to every man in all the ordinary circumstances and occupations of life. It is employed in the classification of objects, or of the various particulars of our knowledge and in that way is of great assistance to the memory. It is employed in what may be called generalization or the gathering up of 252 young man's assistant, general truths from the observation of partic- ular facts. By classification I mean the ar- ranging various objects under one general class, according to their resemblance in some one particular quality. Our promptness and accuracy in doing this, depends upon the de- gree to which the power of abstraction is cultivated. Because we cannot classify ob~, jects according to their resemblance in some one particular, without exercising the power of abstraction in attending to that particular in all the various objects classed together, to the neglect of other equally obvious qualities in regard to which they may differ from each other. "This process of classification is of so great practical importance that it deserves to be carefully considered" and clearly illus- trated. U A person has made a large collec- tion of sea shells which lie promiscuously on the tables before him. He proposes to class- ify them. Let us suppose the property he first examines is color. He looks over the whole and takes out all that are spotted and places them by themselves. He next takes all that are white and forms another class, INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 253 and so on, arranging them in classes accor- ding as they agree in the property of color. Or they might in the same way be classified with reference to any other property or, as the more common phrase is, or any other princi- ple. Take, for example, form. All those which are in two parts, as the oyster, clam, &c, might be arranged by themselves in one class, and those which consist of a single part in another class. These classes might be easily subdivided on the same principle, with reference to form alone. All the spiral shells might form one class, the conical ones another, and those of a different form still, a third. This would be classifying them on the principle of form. Now it must be ob- served that this classification would entirely break up and destroy the other. For the spotted shells which were before arranged together in one class would now be scattered among several according to their various forms." You perceive that in arranging their class- es the individual exercised the power of ab- straction; that is, he directed the attention 22 254 young man's assistant. according to the first supposition to the par- ticular property of color, to the neglect of equally obvious properties, and upon the second supposition he directed the attention to the property of form, to the neglect of oth- er equally obvious properties. You will no- tice that "the principle of classification which is adopted in regard to any collection of in- dividuals may be varied almost indefinitely. Shells, for example, might be classified with reference to the habits of the animals. All which lived in fresh water might form one class and salt water shells another. Each of these might be subdivided according to the food and habits of the animal. Or the prin- ciple of classification might be geographical. Tnose from Africa might be placed upon one shelf, those from Asia on another, and Amer- ican specimens on a third." The principle might be varied almost indefinitely. "In de- termining the principle of classification to be adopted in any case that is the property or peculiarity in which those placed together are to be similar, we cannot have regard to the object in view. These remarks naturally INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 255 lead to the following practical rules which are worthy of very careful consideration, since there is perhaps no process a thorough knowledge of which is more essential to a well disciplined mind than classification. 1. In determining upon a principle of classification there should be a careful regard to the object in view in making the classifica- tion itself. . , 2. The classes should be bounded by as distinct and well defined limits as the nature of the case will allow. 3. The classes should be such as to in- clude all the individuals, so that every indi- vidual object classed shall belong to some one or other of them. 4. The classification when completed should be considered in its true light, as an artificial arrangement resorted to merely as a matter of convenience, and therefore not a proper subject for angry disputes". I have thus quoted at some length, from Abbott's edition of Abercrombie's Inquiries on the intellectual Powers, an explanation and an illustration of the process of classifi- 256 young man's ASSISTANT. cation are well adapted to render the subject clear and to shew its importance. I have said that the power of abstraction is employed in the process of generalization. I will quote upon this point from the same author. ''Generalization is to be distinguished from classification though the mental process con- cerned is in both essentially the same. We class together a certain number of substan- ces by a property in which they agree, and in doing so we specify and enumerate the in- dividual substances included in the class. Thus we may take a number of substances differing widely in their external and mechan- ical properties, some being solid, some fluid, and some gaseous, and say they are all acids. The class being thus formed and consisting of a denned number of substances which agree in the property of acidity, we may next investigate some other property which is com- mon to all the individuals of the class, and belongs to no other, and say for example, that all acids redden vegetable blues. The former of these operations is properly classi- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 257 fied, the latter is generalizing in reference to the class. In the former we take, or ex- clude individual substances according as they possess or not, the property on which the classification rests. In performing the latter, the property which is assumed, must belong to all the individuals without a single excep- tion, or if it does not it must be abandoned as a general fact, or general principle in re- gard to ihe class. For in Physical science to talk of exceptions to a general rule, is only to say in other words that the rule is not gen- eral. If one acid were discovered which does not redden vegetable blues, it would be- long to a history of these substances, to state that a certain number of them have this prop- erty. But the property of reddening vegeta- ble blues would require to be abandoned as a general fact, or general principle applicable to the class of acids. U A general law, or general principle; then, is nothing more than a general fact, or a fact which is invariably true of all the individual cases to which it professes to apply. Dedu- cing such facts is the great object of modern 22* S58 young man's assistant. science ; and it is by this peculiar character that it is distinguished from the ancient science of the schools, the constant aim of which was to discover causes. The general law of gravitation, for example, is nothing more than the general fact, or fact invariably true, that all bodies when left unsupported fall to the ground. There were at one time certain apparent exceptions to the universality of this law, namely, in some very light bodies, which were nor. observed to fall. But a little farther observation showed that these are prevented from falling by being lighter than the atmos- phere, and that in vacuo they observe the same law as the heaviest bodies. The ap- parent exceptions being thus brought under the law, it became general, mmely, the fact universally true, that all unsupported bodies fall to the ground. Now, of the cause of this phenomenon we know nothing; and what we call the general law, or general principle of gravitation, is nothing more than a univer- sal fact, or a fact that is true without a single exception. But having ascertained the fact to be invariably and universally true, we as- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 559 sume it as apart of the established order of nature, and proceed upon it with as much confidence as if we knew the mysterious agency on which the phenomenon depends The establishment of the fact as universal brings us to that point in the inquiry which is the limit of our powers and Capacities, and it is sufficient to the purposes of science. On the same principle, it is familiar to eveiy one that extensive discoveries have been made in regard to the properties and laws of heat; but we do not know what heat is, whether a dis- tinct essence, or, as has been supposed by some philosophers, a peculiar motion of the minute atoms of bodies." Here you have an illustration of the na- ture and process of generalization or the gathering up of general facts and general principles from the examination of particular cases. This process you will at once per- ceive to be one of the most important opera- tions of the mind. But there is a source of error in the exer esse of generalization, which it is important should be pointed out, and guarded against, 260 young man's assistant. and that is, the danger of drawing general conclusions from a limited examination of par- ticular cases. You may have met with politi- cians, who are governed not by the noble feel- ings of Patriotism, but by selfishness and per- sonal ambition alone. And, from your slight acquaintance with a few of this class you may adopt, as a general principle, that every poli- tician may be hired and has his price. This is a hasty adoption of a general principle. It may hold true of some individuals, and not true of others. So you may have met with some, who, under the cloak of high religious professions and pretensions, have proved to be dishonest, trickish knaves, and you immediate- ly generalize upon these cases, and adopt as a general fact or truth, that all who make pre- tensiors to religion are hypocrites and knaves. Here you perceive that you have not been sufficiently extensive and careful in your ex- amination of particulars. You have drawn a general conclusion from too limited a number of particulars. In this way we are every day liable to error, and we should be ever on our guard. We see this in the books of English travellers in America. They notice peculiar INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTITATION. 261 and uncouth habits and practices in some, it may be, in most, with whom they may meet. This they have a perfect right to say in their published accounts. But, instead of doing this, they draw a general conclusion from par- ticular parts, and say that Americans, speak- ing generally, are marked by their peculiar and uncouth habits. And consequently with much careful observation, their books are full of assertions calculated to give false impres- sions, from their incorrect habits of generaliz- ing. Remember then the danger, that you are prone to draw a general conclusion from too limited an examination of particular facts. Ao-ain, we are in danger of referring our con- elusions, our general deductions, to circum- stances in the particular cases, which we have examined, with which they have nothing to do. For example, a Physician rinding that a particular kind of food promoted the health of a certain patient in a particular disorder, laid it down as a general principle, that that kind of food is beneficial in that particular disorder, without any further examination of particulars. But, upon ordering that in another case, it 262 young man's assistant. proves injurious. He perceives that his prin- ciple will not hold good. But, as one of the patients is a Dutchman and the other a French- man, he lays it down as a principle, that that particular kind of food, when given in that particular disorder, will prove beneficial to Dutchmen but injurious to Frenchmen. This is probably a fictitious anecdote; but it serves to illustrate the position that we may draw our general conclusions from circum- stances in the facts which we examine, with which they have no connection. I have now spoken of Abstraction, Classi- fication, and Generalization. They are nearly connected; and yet they differ somewhat. — The general remarks, however, upon their uses and the mode of cultivating and acquiring them, may apply to all three. And in regard to the practical application of these powers to the business of life:— I remark first, that the proper exercise of them lies at the foundation of all science. He who exercises them correctly possesses a philo- sophic mind, and will be constantly making improvement. But how so ? Because, I INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 263 answer, that improvement depends not so much on a knowledge of particular facts, as upon an ability to seize upon, understand and apply the principles in accordance with which those facts take place or are classed. Two individuals go out into the fields; they per- ceive the same objects ; the one, not having been accustomed to exercise the powers of which I am speaking, tries to store away in his mind accurate ideas of all the particular objects which he sees. With great powers of memory, he may be successful in this, though the probability is that he will fail. But even should he be successful, he has only a store of separate, disconnected facts. He can name them and talk about them, but he can draw from them no general principles or philosophical conclusions. The other has formed the habits of Abstraction, Classifica- tion and Generalization ; and consequently these various facts and objects arrange them- selves in his mind into certain classes, ac- cording to their resemblances in certain par- ticulars. The objects of the vegetable world arrange themselves under the principles of 264 young man's assistant. the science of Botany* The stones, which lie scattered around, arrange themselves under the principles of Mineralogy. When he meets with a new plank or a new stone, he exercises the power of abstraction, and con- fines the attention to the examination of some one important quality ; then he knows at once where to class these separate objects, and finally he gathers up from this examination and classification some general part or princi- ple, in regard to which he can reason, and by the application of which, he can proceed in the investigation of new parts or objects. Thus you perceive that while the mind of one is filled with a vast store of confused facts, that of the other resembles a well arranged cabinet, each idea is placed in the class where it properly belongs, and the class is labelled so as to be ready for use. These powers then lie at the foundation of all science in re- gard to natural objects. And the scientific classification of natural objects affords the means of gathering further information and improvement. Why w 7 as it that Franklin made the progress and the discoveries, which INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 265 are attributed to him? It was not on account of his superior advantages, for he was but a poor printer's boy. His superiority arose from his philosophical cast of mind, from his habitual exercise of the powers, of which I have been speaking. Facts were with him as they will be with every one who has formed the habits of Abstraction, Classification and Generalization, important, not as facts merely, but as illustrative of certain principles, laws or truths. How are these powers applied to promote improvement by reading? In answer to this question I must speak of different kinds of reading. And first, how are they to be ap- plied to the reading of parables and fables? Take the parables of our Saviour. What are these? Supposed cases. An individual is supposed to be placed in certain circumstan- ces and to conduct in a certain way. They are the supposed facts. The question is, how do these supposed facts indicate princi- ples? The careless and unphilosophical rea- der will treasure up only the facts, these he will remember and may talk about, and, in re- 23 gard to these, he will express his feelings and opinions. But this you see can be of no great advantage to himself or to others. — Another will gather from these supposed facts the principles whose existence they indicate and will treasure them up as the guide of his future thoughts and actions. In this way some may read fictitious writings to their own profit, provided they do not read to excess, provided they do not let the fascinations of the fiction draw them away Horn an attention to princi- ples and truth. Fictitious writings are the most difficult of all writings, if you intend to read profitably; because the excitement of the story and the plot carry you along so rapidly as to lead you to neglect to seek for the prin- ciples which are bodied forth in these fictions. You are carried along with the story, you re- member the story, but you do not gather up the important principles, which are intended to be illustrated. That is, this is the case with highly wrought and deeply intricate fic- tions. This objection does not weigh so heav- ily against fables and parables because in these the moral truth stands out more prominently INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 267 to view, and you are not carried away by the story. But you should remember that in read- ing these you are to exercise the several pow- ers of Abstraction in attending to the promi- nent truth or principle illustrated by the para- ble, to the neglect of the incidental circum- stances, inserted for the purpose of making a consistent story, and classification in arranging these principles under their proper heads or classes, and generalization in drawing from them general truths which may be applicable to conduct. Let me next speak of Biography. This is an important and a useful class of reading. But I have known Biography read un profita- bly as well as profitably. In fact I believe men as often mistake the true point, in this kind of reading, as in almost any other, espe- cially when they read for the sake of treasur- ing up examples for imitation. One, for ex- ample, will read the life of Howard. He will be able to tell all the particular facts, and to dwell upon all the particular circumstances, and that will be all. These facts will exist in his mind only as facts, not as manifestations of 288 young man's assistant. principles, in the study of human nature.— Another will exercise the power of abstrac- tion in attending to the principles, which are illustrated, to the neglect of a thousand inci- dental circumstances, he will follow these prin- ciples through all the various incidents of life, and, by so doing, will arrive at a general prin- ciple. For instance, we will first notice that Howard's attention was providentially directed to the condition of Prisoners, from the circum- stance that, as a magistrate, he was called to visit prisoners. His own account of the mat- ter is plain and simple. "The distress of pris- oners," he says, "came more immediately un- der my notice, when I was sheriff of the coun- ty of Bedford, and the circumstance, which excited me to activity on their behalf, was seeing some, who by the verdict of the juries had been declared not guilty, and some, on whom the grand jury did not find such an ap- pearance of guilt, as subjected them to trial, and some whose prosecutors did not appear against them, (all of whom ought to have been instantly discharged,) dragged back to jail, where they had been confined for months INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIYATION. 269 and locked up again, until they should pay- various fees to the jailor, clerk of assizes, &c. In order to redress this hardship, I applied to the justices of the county, for a salary to the jailor, instead of his fees. They were prop- erly affected with this grievance, and willing to grant the relief required, but they wanted a precedent for charging the county with ex- pense. I therefore rode into several neigh- boring counties in search of a precedent. But I soon learned that the same injustice was practiced in them, and looking into the pris- ons, I beheld scenes of calamity, which I grew daily more and more anxious to relieve." Here then, a philosophical reader will perceive that a heart naturally benevolent, and filled with a love of justice, is accidentally as it were excited. The individual Howard had no idea then of doing all that he afterwards undertook, in behalf of the prisoner, in devoting his life to the cause, but the circumstances, which first awakened his attention, were such as called upon him for effort, ealled upon him to visit neighboring counties. Here he gained more knowledge, and the very circumstance of his 22* 270 young man's assistant. making efforts increased his interest. Fol- lowing him through his life the philosophical reader will draw the general conclusion, that attention to, and efforts and sacrifices in be- half of any person, or class of persons, of any object or class of objects, is naturally calculated to increase interest in these per- sons or objects and to call forth still further efforts and sacrifices. Thus he has derived, from reading the life of Howard, a general principle. This he will verify, by watching the conduct and reading the biographies of other men. And this principle he can apply to his own practice. He can go and put forth efforts and make sacrifices in behalf of any object, for which he thinks he does not feel sufficient interest. He can apply it to practice in bis influence upon others by in- ducing them to do the same. But how did he arrive at this general prin- ciple? It was by abstraction and generaliza- tion. I have dwelt upon this particular ex- ample in order to illustrate what I regard as the proper mode of reading biography. You are to read not for the sake of the facts, as INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 271 facts, but for the sake of the principles, of which these facts are the manifestations. I have spoken of the imitation of exam- ple. Here the young mistake. I have known young men, desirous of being distinguished orators, imitate the attitudes, gestures and tone of voice, of the most distinguished speak- ers they had known, instead of endeavoring to gather up the important principles of ora- tory, manifested in their peculiarities and ap- ply them to their own individual habits and capacities. But perhaps, out of regard to my profession, I may be permitted to illus- trate my views by reference to the example of our Savior. This we are called upon to imitate, and yet none of us can expect to do the same deeds that he did. What then must we do? We must look at his actions, not as important in themselves, but as important be- cause they are the manifestations of the principles of his character. We may imitate some particular actions, and fall far short of complying with the call which is made upon us. For instance, we may fast forty days, or we may pray all night. But this is not imitating his example. It is copy- ing some few of his actions. But copying actions is not imitating examples, although the former is so often mistaken for the latter. We must look, I say, at our Savior's actions in order to gather up a knowledge of his prin- ciples, and his spirit. We may learn that one of his principles, in the discharge of the duties of the Messiahship, was unswerv- ing devotion to the will of God, another was that of self sacrificing devotion to the good of man, and not merely to his temporal good but to the improvement of his moral and spiritu- al character. Here then are principles. — These principles we may apply to the regula- tion of our own conduct, in our peculiar circumstances, and according to our powers. We may never work miracles to heal the sick, but we may under the influence of a self sacrificing devotion to their good, do all in our power to relieve their distresses. We may never be called to the death of the cross, but we may be called to unswerving de- votion to duty, amid sneers and opposition. You perceive then how we may apply our INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 273 habits of abstraction and generalization in the reading of Biography. We are to withdraw our attention from unimportant and incidental circumstances, and to direct it to prominent principles, or rather we are to direct our atten- tion to the peculiarities in the various facts, which tend to exemplify and illustrate impor- tant principles, and then by the power of gen- eralization we are to draw out distinctly the general principles indicated, so that being dis- tinctly before our own minds, we may apply them to practice. The same principles which have been point- ed out as applicable to the reading of Biogra- phy, are equally applicable to the reading of History. Much is said to young men upon the importance of reading History. And they are often misled by what is said to them. They seem to think that a knowledge of the facts of history is of great advantage in itself con- sidered, that these facts are important simply because they are facts of history. I would agree with others, that the reading of history is important provided it be read aright. But I regard the facts of history as of no sort of im- 274 young man's assistant. portance whatever in themselves considered, and merely because they are facts of history. And the fact that a young man has treasured these up in his memory, is in my estima- tion no more to his advantage than it would be to be able to remember the number of stores in a particular street; — that a certain battle was fought at a certain place on a certain day of the year, and that so many were killed and such an army came off victorious, all this is nothing to me simply as facts. But these are of vast importance to me as serving to illus- trate human nature and mark its condition at a particular time, and the indications of its progress and advancement. It may be that this battle was the consummation of a strug- gle for liberty on the one hand and for power on the other, and that the result either pro- moted the former or established the latter. It may be of the utmost importance then, that I remember this battle in connection with the principles involved in the struggle, and the consequences which result from its issue. So it is of no particular importance to me that Caesar or that Alexander, that Socrates or INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 275 Plato lived at certain periods and performed certain actions. These things are of no im- portance to me, simply as facts. But in study- ing the character of these individuals, the man- ner in which these characters were formed by the influences to which the individuals were subjected — the circumstances under which they were placed, and the influence which these characters exerted upon the community of their own times and the generations which followed, in studying these things, it may be a matter of great importance that I fix in my mind clear ideas and vivid recollections of these characters. You perceive then how I would have you read History. You will look at the facts in history only in their bearing upon important results in the manifestation and development of human nature, and in their influence upon the improvement or depression of the race. So you will look at the characters which are brought forward in history in the same light. You will endeavor to understand the principles which are de eloped, the circum- stances under which they were formed and the 276 young man's assistant. influences which they exerted. History is often said to be Philosophy teaching by ex- amples. If you read in the way which I have suggested, it may be so. You will be study- ing the Philosophy of human nature as that Philosophy is developed in the particular ex- amples which are brought to view. So you may notice the influence which the peculiar characters of different nations exert in giving a peculiar national character to their laws and institutions and the influence which these laws and institutions exert upon the character of the people. In looking at particular histo- rical characters you will often detect some one act which is not dwelt upon by the historian, but which lays open to your view at a single glance the governing principles of the charac- ter and puts you in possession of the means of forming a correct estimate of a great variety of apparently very different actions. There may be apparent inconsistency of conduct which will disappear as soon as you become acquainted with the ruling motives or govern- ing principles of the men. I would recom- mend still further that you read with a pen- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 277 eil in hand to mark the passages which may- appear to you to be important in their bearing upon the particular objects for which you study history. Or with a manuscript by your side in which you may copy such passages or minute down such references to them as will aid you in your review of or reflections upon what you have read. But in reading in the way which I have suggested you will be exercising the power of abstraction in attending to some points in history to the neglect of others. You will improve yourselves in this exer- cise of the power of abstraction by fixing, when you are reading history or biography, upon the ruling principle in each character and then tracing this principle through all the various peculiarities of the character. You may still further improve yourselves by examining any book you may read in regard to several differ- ent points one by one. You may look first at the style, study out its peculiarities, and class the style as it appears to you. This you may do without attending to other peculiarities of the book. And when you have done this you may take some other point, as for example, the 24 correctness or incorrectness of the opinions ad- vanced, and their probable beneficial or inju- rious tendency in a practical point of view. — Still further, if you will direct your attention to the study of natural sciences or to that of the mathematical and exact sciences, you will gain great power in the exercise of abstraction — -and in the application of this power to the purposes of classification or generalization. In closing this letter I would offer a few words upon the general subject of reading. I have often been asked by my young friends to point out for them a course of reading. But as for myself I object to this.™ For each individual in pointing out a course of reading will be influenced by his own pe- culiar tastes which may differ materially from the tastes of those for whom he is pointing out the course. His pursuits may be differ- ent and he may have read for very different purposes from what the young person whom he would advise, would read. Instead of pointing out a course of reading I would simp- ly offer one or two suggestions as to the man- ner of reading. And my first suggestion is, INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 279 that you read by subjects rather than by auth- ors. Suppose that you are reading in regaid to our revolution. You will naturally wish to know the causes which led to this revolu- tion, both as you find them in the previous characters and habits and feelings of the peo- ple of this country and in the peculiar courses pursued towards them by the parent country. You will then, while upon this subject, not read authors regularly through, but will seek in different authors and in different portions of the same author, for all the information you can gain upon this particular point. When you have done this I would advise that you sit down and write out a dissertation upon the revolution, its causes, the manifestation which it affords of the principles of human nature and the influence exerted by it upon the con- dition of the world, the condition of Amer- ica, of England and of other European states. Or if you have not time to write all this out in full you can by reflection picture it ail out to your mind's eye so as to have clear ideas and vivid conceptions in regard to it. And in this way the subject will be settled in your 280 young man's assistant. own mind and you will have distinct ideas stored away for future use. So if you should become interested in the character and times of queen Elizabeth. Read all you can get upon that particular subject. And when you have read, either form to yourselves clear and distinct conceptions upon the subject, or if you have time write out an essay or a dissertation upon the subject. I repeat then, read by sub- jects. When you have fixed your thoughts upon a particular subject do not dismiss it from your minds until you obtain clear and correct ideas of that subject. Waste no time in determin- ing when you shall begin to read, and what course of reading you shall pursue. But be- gin by reading upon the subject which is at the time most interesting to you, and pursue the course which may be dictated by the sub- ject upon which you may be interested. Your interest upon one subject and your reading up- on it may excite your interest in other, and kindred subjects. In this way, if you are careful to read not merely for amusement but with the desire of improvement,^] and^ if you will reflect or write upon the subjects upon INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 281 which you read you will be pursuing what will be most profitable to you because it will be most in accordance with your peculiar tastes and purposes of life. M® LETTER IX. INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. Memory — The importance of the subject stated — Arti*. ficial systems of Mnemonics of no avail — The first step in improving the memory cousists in securing clear and distinct ideas of the various subjects to which our attention may be directed — This may be done by making the particulars of our knowledge the subjeo of thought — The influence of one's habit of assocn ating ideas upon the memory — general suggestions in regard to memory— Imagination, what it is, illustrated Its exercise must be based upon some previous knowl- edge of the subjects upon which it is exercised — Im- agination possessed by all though in different degrees and manifested very early — Imagination of great im- portance, in the investigation and establishment of truth— in the various process of invention — Its influ- ence upon character — Modes of cultivating and reg- ulating the imagination. My Young Friends., I have already spoken of the modes of acquiring knowledge. I have pointed out the INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 283 way, in which we should strive to acquire an accurate acquaintance with the objects around us, under the head of perception. I have pointed out the way, in which we should strive to form clear and distinct ideas, under the gen- eral head of Conception. I have pointed out ;the best way of classifying objects and deriving from a knowledge of their qualities general truths, under the general head of Abstraction. These topics seem to embrace all that need ■be said in this connection on the subject of ac- quiring knowledge. I come now to speak of the best modes of retaining knowledge, or in other words to speak upon the subject of Mem- ory. This is as important, to say the least, if not as interesting as any topic that can come before us. Who is there of us that has not lamented at times and in relation to particular subjects the weakness and shortness of his own memory? Who of us does not wish, after la- boring hard to acquire knowledge, to be able to retain it for future enjoyment and future use? The subject of memory then is important. I trust that its importance^ at least will give it in- terest. 284 young man's assistant. But I have felt, as I have been preparing to address you upon this subject, that all I might be able to offer would only disappoint your expectations. Because most seem to ex- pect when you speak of directions to aid the memory, that you have some peculiar and perhaps patent mode of securing the recollec- tion of objects to recommend. I remember that not many years since in Massachusetts there were several passing from town to town Lecturing upon and teaching Mnemonics. And all run after these Lectures under the idea that they should never more be troubled to re- member whatever they might desire to retain. The course recommended in these lectures was to take familiar objects and arbitrarily connect them in our own minds with the par- ticulars which we wished to remember. Or to have certain words or certain arbitrary combi- nations of letters, represent certain facts and dates. There have been a great variety of these artificial helps to the memory. But to my mind they appear to be only the sports and pastimes of ingenuity, of no sort of prac- tical advantage whatever. In the first place INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 285 ' the same amount of labor which would fix in ' the mind these objects which represent others, would have answered in most cases to have fixed in the mind the objects themselves which are represented. In the second place, sup- pose that by this artificial mode you are com- pletely successful in remembering facts. Still you remember them only as facts, without their connection with any important consequences. And, therefore, so far as your own future improvement is concerned you are but little better than you would be without the recollec- tion of these facts. I have then no patent mode of improving the memory to recommend, no new or royal road to point out. I have no faith in such things myself and I cannot recommend them to others. Having thus guarded you against erroneous expectations in regard to my recommendation, I will proceed directly to the subject. And here without occupying any space in definitions of the term Memory, or in quoting from the books upon the subject, I will proceed at once to point out what my own observation and experience have taught me in regard to its improvement. 286 young man's assistant. And first, I remark that you cannot retain that which you never acquired, and, that on this point, many mistakes are made. An indi- vidual examines a painting, he goes away, and shortly after, when asked to describe that paint- ing he finds that he has forgotten all its pecu- liar features. Now where is the difficulty? He complains that his memory is weak and treacherous. But I contend that there is no proof of this. The fact is, he never had a clear and distinct conception of that painting, a vivid idea or representation of it in his own mind. And here is the point to which atten- tion should be directed. Fori have watched this point carefully, and I feel prepared to state as a general principle, that we must form clear conceptions or ideas of whatever we wish to retain, since it is only these perceptions or ideas that we can store away, or recall. I say then,. if you examine a painting, and then dismiss the painting from your thoughts, you never will he able to retain an accurate idea of it. — But if after having examined a painting, you make it the subject of after thought, if when the painting is removed from your vision, you INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 287 dwell upon it, name over all the parts to your- self, and picture it all out to your mind's eye, so that you can see it in conception, as distinct- ly as ever you saw it in bodily vision, — if, I •say, you will do this, you will be able to re- tain your conceptions, you will have an idea which you can store away for future use. So too in regard to other departments of knowl- edge. Here are two individuals listening to a sermon, or a lecture. They listen with equal attention. The one retains what he hears, while the other does not. And what is the cause of the difference? It is this. The one hears with attention, but dismisses the whole subject from his mind when he leaves the house. He does not make the discourse a subject of thought, after he has done hearing, he does not bring it up distinctly before his mind's eye, in all its heads, divisions, arguments, illustra- tions and conclusions, after he has done hear- ing, and left the house. The other does this. When he retires, he brings up the whole, as a matter of thought. In the one case it is asso- ciated only with the preacher and the circum- stances under which he spoke, it is all without 288 young man's assistant. the mind. In the other case it is transferred from this outward view to an inward grasp, if I may so speak. It exists, or the concep- tions or ideas of the discourse exist, within the mind itself, as a part of its own store, and as one of the conditions or states in which it has existed. This view of the subject seems to me to contain the whole secret in regard to the influence of attention upon memory. Much is often said upon this subject of attention as connected with the improvement of the mem- ory. And yet in all that has been said I have seen no directions, as to the precise point, to which the attention should be directed. You must pay attention, say writers upon the sub- ject. But attention to what? The young man strives to pay close attention to the exam- ination of a painting, or to the hearing of a discourse, and thinks that he has done all that is required, and yet he cannot remember. I say too, pay attention. But remember that all attention in examination and hearing, will be of no avail unless you also direct your atten-. tion to the forming distinct conceptions of what you see and hear, unless after you have INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 289 seen and heard, you make the subject of what you see and hear matters of distinct and sepa- rate thought. Unless you do this, all your at- tention will be nearly in vain. Although this point has not been distinctly dwelt upon, yet the general directions given by writers upon the subject have a bearing upon it. One says it will greatly aid your memory, to repeat what you have heard, and to describe what you have seen, to others. But why so? Be- cause, 1 answer, in so doing, you are compelled to make them subjects of thought, you are com- pelled to have your ideas of them distinctly and clearly defined to your own minds. Anoth- er says, it will greaily aid your memory if you will write out carefully an account of what you have either seen or heard. And why so? Because you are thus compelled to make what you see and hear matters of thought, and to form clear and distinct conceptions of them. Now I would recommend all these various modes of improving the memory. But I would point out the reason why they may promote its improvement, that so, if you are unable to attend to these several modes 3 you may, at least 25 290 young man's assistant. pause for a few moments, and make the vari- ous objects of your perceptions the subject of thought — form clear and distinct conceptions of them. The substance then of my remarks is, first, to acquire thoroughly a knowledge of whatever may be the subject of attention. Here, I say, is the great mistake. Men complain that they cannot retain, when the fact is they never pos- sessed; they complain that they cannot re- member, when, in point of fact, they never knew. You, perceive, therefore, that all which I have hitherto advanced upon the modes of acquiring knowledge, has a direct bearing upon, an intimate connection with this subject, and might all be considered but as directions to help us improve the memory. How often have we heard the remark that such an one reads a great deal, but does not remember what he reads. But why? Does he read a novel? and does he talk about, or repeat the story to another, when he has done ? If so, he may remember the story, for that will be the object of his conceptions. But if he simply read the story and then pass on to another, he will INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 291 not remember even that, because, by not dwel- ling upon it, in thought, he has formed no clear conceptions even of the story. Another, per- haps, may read the same story and make the sentiment, and the moral instructions conveyed, the subject of thought ; of these he may give an account ; on these he may dwell, as matters of thought, and these he may be able to re- member longer even than the mere details of the story. I would next remark that the character of one's memory depends much upon the peculiar manner in which he may associate ideas,, and that men usually associate ideas according to their prevailing tastes, their previous habits or their engrossing turn of thought. This it is important to notice. We find men, often, pronouncing very different, perhaps directly opposite opinions, in regard to the same per- son, or book, or discourse. And why ? Because the peculiarities, which are in accordance with or contrary to their previous habits of feeling, their previous opinions and prejudices, attract or repel, excite pleasure or disgust, and all else is overlooked. These peculiarities they will 292 young man's assistant. remember, and they will remember the per- son, book or discourse, as marked by their peculiarities. Let an individual deliver a public address, or converse for a length of time upon a variety of topics, in the presence of a number, who are of different ways of thinking on a great variety of points. They may all remember the man and the address — ■ but they will remember them by different cir- cumstances. Suppose that he spesk among other things of the subject of temperance, and shew himself by what he says to be a decided friend to the cause. The friends of temperance, who may be present, will always remember the man and the discourse ; but it will be as a temperance man that they remem- ber, and think, and speak of him. Suppose he shew himself an abolitionist. The aboli- tionists who may be present will fasten upon this feature in his character and his discourse, and will ever after remember him, and speak of him, as an abolitionist. They will at the time perhaps wholly overlook and disregard what he may say upon the subject of temper- ance; or if they do not overlook it at the time, INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 293 they will so dwell in thought upon his aboli- tionism, that they will forget altogether the other point in his character. Should these two classes of hearers, at some distance of time afterwards, converse together in regard to the man and the discourse, they will be surprised to find their recollections of him so entirely different. But the reason is that their memory has in both cases depended very much upon their habits of associating ideas, and these habits have resulted from the pecu- liar state of their feelings. It is common, therefore, and it is as useful as it is common, to associate ideas according to the relations which, to our minds, they may obviously bear to each other — determined as these relations will be by our pursuits, by our general train of thought, and by the bearing which they will probably have upon the use to which we may put them in our ordinary occupations. But the point of practical difficulty is to form such mental habits as will enable us to classify the various thoughts presented to the mind, in whatever manner they may be arranged when presented, in such a manner as will best 25* 294 young man's assistant* promote the object for which we would retain them. Without forming this habit we can never read, study or observe to advantage. If we look out upon the world around, a great variety of ideas are called up, or excited in our minds, by the different objects presented. But they are presented in no strict order.-— They are arranged according to their relations in actual being, and not according to any relations of our thoughts with each other.— And this is well; for men are engaged in dif- ferent pursuits, have different tastes, tenden- ces and habits — and consequently these are as well fitted for the use of one, as for that of another. But, unless we have formed such habits of association as will enable us to ar- range these ideas in such a manner as is best calculated to promote our improvement, they will be of no great advantage to us. It is the same with reading. Every writer arranges what he writes according to his own habits of thought, feeling and action. But your author's habits may be very different, in this respect, from your own. Therefore, to read profitably 3 you must not only follow the INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 295 author's train of reasoning or argument, but you must think over the subject, and rearrange and reconstruct these arguments according to your own habits of thought and modes of reasoning. You may differ from him in opin- ion ; but, if so, you will be able to recollect wherein you differ. I have thus touched upon the connection of association with memory. And the simple practical hint which 1 would give upon (he subject is this :— Do not seek an artificial, although it may be regarded as a more philo- sophical, mode of associating ideas in order to promote strength of memory, — but follow the leading of your own feeling's, influenced as they will be by your pursuks. Suppose, for example, that two men sit down to study history— the one a clergyman, the other a statesman. What object must each of these have in view as they read? Must not the clergyman wish to look at men in their relation to the subject of religion ? And must not the statesman wish to look at men in their relation to state policy ? These two then ou^ht to read for different purposes ; their different 296 toung man's assistant. pursuits require this of them. Neither, if possessed of a philosophic mind, will entirely overlook the object of the other, but the prominent objects of the two will be different. And reading for these different objects, they will remember very different points in histo- ry; each remembering those most distinctly which have a prominent 'bearing upon his par- ticular pursuit. They will classify the facts of history very differently — each arranging them according to the quality or on the prin- ciple suggested by the use he is to make of them. And so too they will draw from these different facts very different general conclu- sions or principles — each drawing such con- clusions as are suggested by the view which he takes of the facts, and the object for which he is examining them. Follow then, I repeat, the leading of your own feelings — influenced as these will proba- bly be by the object for which you are read- ing — and you will find your ideas and your items of knowledge arranging ' themselves in your mind, in what will be to you the most philosophical manner—the manner best adapt- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 297 ed to the habits of your mind and to the use which you are to make of your knowledge. Thus much have I thought it necessary to say in aid of your efforts to improve your memory; I will now pass to a few remarks upon the subject Imagination. But what are we to understand by the term imagination? I answer, that we denote, by this term, that power which the mind pos- sesses, of picturing to itself objects and scenes, plans and models, which have never been witnessed. For example: Miss Sedge- wick, in her little work entitled "Live and Let Live," begins her story by taking you into the dwelling of Poverty and Intemper- ance. She there points out to you the father, brought to the bed of sickness by his intem- perance; the mother, surrounded by a group of children, and nerving herself, in the strength of religious principle, for the double effort of sending forth her daughter to seek a place at domestic service, and of reconciling the pride of her husband to what he regarded as the deoradation of the measure. Here is the description of a scene which her imagination 298 young man's assistant. had pictured forth to her own mind. She only describes what, with her mind's eye, she saw; and yet she has described what probably never in fact existed, in all its details, and in the precise shape in which it is pictured forth. She has exercised that power of the mind, which we call imagination, in creations of its own. Imagination, then, is the power of picturing to the mind's eye scenes which never really existed. But the imagination cannot create, without materials out of which to construct her vari- ous creations. To recur to the example I have given. Miss Sedgwick had undoubtedly visited the abodes of poverty and intemper- ance; she had listened to the objections to an imaginary degradation, urged by the pride of those who, by their own guilty courses, have reduced themselves to real degradation; she had, probably, been acquainted with families, where the mother had struggled against the trials to which she was subjected, sustained only by the. strength of religious principle. — ■ Thar is, she had some knowledge of those things concerning which she undertook to INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 299 write. Had there never been such a thing as intemperance in the world, or had Miss Sedg- wick never seen or heard of poverty and in- temperance, she never could have described such a picture. She probably, too, had looked into the human heart with a penetra- ting glance, and knew what course of conduct she might expect, as the result of certain opinions, principles or circumstances. On the basis of this knowledge she pictured forth a new scene. The details may all be exact descriptions of scenes with which she had actually been acquai ited ; only they are brought by the power of imagination into new relations and combinations with each other, so as to present an entirely new pic- ture. Or, it may be, that no one of the de- tails is a correct description of what she had seen; they may be only imitations, something which resembles or is like what she had seen* Here, then, you learn two important truths. The first is, that there must be some knowl- edge as the basis on which the imagination must build, and as the material out of which it is to construct its creations, Then you 300 young man's assistant. learn, in the second place, that the imagination is exercised in two different operations — either in separating the items of knowledge from the connections in which they are presented to the mind, and forming them into new combi- nations and new pictures, or in picturing new scenes related to what has actually been seen, either by way of contrast or resemblance. Let me give another and somewhat more familiar illustration. — You are about to erect a new dwelling house, and you cast about, in your mind, in order to form some plan in ac- cordance with which it shall be constructed. You recall to your mind the peculiarities of other houses with which you have been ac- quainted. In one, you have been pleased with the parlor, but have disliked the kitchen; in another it has been the reverse — you have Lked the kitchen and disbked the parlor. In one, you have been pleased with the mode of heating — in another, with the mode of light- ing. In this way, you have found various things which you admire, and various things to which you object, in the different houses with which you have been acquainted. You INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 301 now sit down and endeavor to unite these various excellences, to the exclusion of the va- rious particulars, which you dislike, into one perfect whole. You thus prepare a plan. — Some peculiarities you have copied from one house, and some from another. In some par- ticulars, you \vve not copied exactly, but ! ave sought only a slight resemblance. In Other cases your plan presents no resemblance to an thing you have seen. But only such reme- dies to inconveniences as have been suggested by the endurance of those inconveniences. In all this, you have been exercising the power of imagination. You have been pictur- ing to the mind's eye, all the various parts and peculiarities of your proposed house. You have now a clear view of it, and you could without difficulty describe the whole. But here as before you perceive that the new cre- ations of your imagination are based upon and constructed out of your actual knowledge. But we can go further than this in the ex-, ercise of the imagination. A writer of lively imagination, can sit in his room in New En- gland and pen an eastern tale* giving an ac~ count of the manners and customs, modes of speech and thought, which prevail in parts of the world where he has never been, and among people whom he has never seen. But how ran he do this? He must have acquired, in some way, some knowledge of eastern coun- tries and of eastern manners and customs, modes of thought and forms of speech. Had there heen no eastern nations, or had the wri- ter never read or heard about them, he could not have written the story he has written. So a writer.; of lively imagination, may write a tnle. which shall brin^ up before you the Jews in t! e t me of our Saviour, and exhibit all the peculiarities pf their modes of belief, of their prejir'i* es aw! expectations, their manners and custoriis. their modes of thought and of speech. But t! en he must previously have made him- self acquainted in some way, with the Jew- ish history and the Hebrew character. Had the character of the Hebrew nation been dif- ferent, his stnj-y must have been different.— But how r-oul'l it be made different, unless ba^ed upon a knowledge of this difference in their character? INTELLECTUAL SELF CULTIVATION. 803 One obvious fact, in regard to the imagina- tion, is that, though possessed in different de- grees, it is yet possessed by all, and manifest- ed at a very early period of life. I have seen children, too young to articulate words, yet assuming imaginary characters, and endeavor- ing to act in accordance with what they imag- ined would become the assumed character. — And a kw months later in life, I have seen them acting out, to the full, all the ceremo- nies and business of those older than them- selves, making calls, asking questions, and passing compliments. I am aware ii ma) be said, that this is a mere imitation. I answer 5 , that it is true they have seen something of the kind, or they would never make the attempt. But what they do is not the same with what they have seen. It is only like that, and this I have said, is a legitimate exercise of the im- agination, to picture new scenes, like what have fallen under our observation. Children then, very early manifesl the power of imagi- nation, in their plays. If encouraged they will also manifest at a very early age, the same power in the invention and relation of dct.tious stories. This exercise of the imagination in children is of a very doubtful tendency. And it is problematical whether it should be en- couraged or checked. I believe that, upon the subject of imagina- tion, there is one great mistake, which is often made. Men read fictitious stories, and they soon seem to regard efforts at fictitious narrative, or, at least, efforts for mere amusement, as the only productions of the imagination. They therefore think that it may be well enough in its place to amuse a passing hour, but they have no idea that it is a power, whose exer- cise can be rendered useful. And yet, per- haps, no power of the mind is more employ- ed in useful operations. Even in what is re- garded as the peculiarly strict and logical pro- cess of abstract reasoning, imagination finds a place. You state for example an abstract truth. How, I ask, did you obtain a knowl- edge of that truth? Was it not by being ac- quainted with particulars involving that gene- ral truth? That I may illustrate more clearly, I would take one of the rules in Arithmetic, the rule of proportion for example. In that INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 305 rule is stated an abstract principle, a general truth or fact, in regard to numbers. But bow, I ask, did the mind first arrive at that truth? Was it not by a careful acquaintance with par- ticular cases, which involved that principle? And how, I ask, can you prove to me that that principle is correct? Must it not be by bringing before me some particular examples, which, by being worked out, shew that, in re- gard to them, the principle holds good? You cannot then arrive at general truths yourself, you cannot communicate general truths to oth- ers, without verifying those truths by particu- lar examples. But when you are stating gen- eral truths so others, you may not always have at hand a supply of facts, which have actually occurred. Still, if you have a lively imagini- tion you can suppose cases, and picture scenes which will not only illustrate, but verily the general truth you are inculcating. Still further,, suppose )ou undertake to reason upon your general truths in an abstract manner, your course cannot be satisfactory. You must veri- fy every step in your process, as you go along, by particular examples, and these particular <26* 306 young man's assistant. examples must be the creations of the imagi- nation. Take our Saviour's parables, for in- siince, what are they? I answer, they are supposed cases, intended to picture forth and illustrate general truths. The parable of the talents, does not pretend to describe facts which actually occurred, it aims only to pic- ture forth what may illustrate a general prin- ciple. But suppose that he had simply stated the general principle, that men's obligations correspond with their several abilities. How weak and powerless would this simple state- ment have been, compared with the impres- sion made by the lively picture, presented in the parable. The same may be said of the parable of the ten virgins. It is a supposed case, a creation of the imagination, to illustrate a general and an important truth. These sup- posed cases, brought forward by the imagina- tion, serve to verify general truths, to illustrate and make them familiar. And they throw an interest about tlese truths which would not other is < j . You perceive this in d r fcers and write, s. One will write in a dose and connected train of reasoning, INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 307 proposition will follow proposition, and all in a very logical manner. But still the process will be dull and dry. You cannot read with inter- est, and you find it difficult to retain what you read. Another will go over the same ground, but he will illustrate each general principle by some apt and striking supposed case. The whole will interest you as you read, and you will be able to retain the principles, because you will be able to retain the examples, which il- lustrate those principles, l'ou perceive, there- fore, that the imagination is not merely a pow- er exerted to amuse. It is of great use, of great aid and assistance in all processes of rea- soning, in enabling us to arrive at, to verify, to illustrate, and to set forth abstract truth. Again, in the process of invention in the arts, the imagination is employed. Yet, here as before, its operations are based upon some previous knowledge. An individual, for ex- ample, understands something of the princi- ples of Mechanical Philosophy. Taking this knowledge as the material to work upon, he imagines new combinations of these various principles, and, in this way, constructs in his 308 own mind a new machine. The machine is, to a degree, clearly and distinctly defined in his mind. But, it m:iy be, that as he engages in its construction, he will find that there are obstructions which lie has not thought of. — These he remedies. In all this process of in- vention, he has been engaged in a legitimate exercise of the imagination, he has been pic- turing forth 10 his own mind, constructions which never existed in fact But his crea- tions have been wrought out of previous knowl- edge. He has taken the principles of me- chanical philosophy, with which he had be- come acquainted, and worked them up into new combinations, and thus brought forth new inventions. I have now explained what I un- derstand by the term imagination, shown that its ex rcise must be based upon some previous knowledge of the subject, upon which it is ex- ercised, shown that it is manifested by children in very early life, and that it is employed in process of reasoning, investigating or illustrat- ing new truths, and also in the various pro- cess of invention in the arts. I wish now to speak of its influence upon char- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 309 acter.~r.The imaginatiorrexerts a powerful in- fluence upon character, in several important ways. Look at that youth, his character is now in the process of formation. What it will ultimately be, will depend upon what he aims to be, upon the standard which he tries to reach. One, who fixes that stand- ard high, although he may never reach the standard at which he aims, will rise higher than he would have done, had it not been for that high standard. But what is this fixing on standard? Is it not picturing forth to the mind's eye the future character, in all its fulness and completeness. Is he looking forward to the law, he imagines himself already at the bar, and al- ways in the first rank. Does he look forward to the pulpit? He is in imagination already there, the instrument in God's hands of con- verting thousands to the Gospel of his grace. I am aware these reveries of the imagination may be, and sometimes are indulged in to ex- cess. But, I fully believe that, when under proper regulation, they may be, and often are, the means of stirring up the youthful energies to greater exertions than would otherwise have 310 young man's assistant. been made. Of one thing, we may be cer- tain that lie who does not look forward to em- inence in future life, will be sure not to reach it. He may fail, if he try, for there may be more vividness of imagination, than general strength of mind. But if he never makes the attempt, never pictures any success, he certainly will not secure it. And the more clear and distinct may be the picture, which is painted to the mind's eye, the more will the individual be excited to efforts. The truth of these remarks may be seen, perhaps, as fully illustrated in the pursuit of wealth, as any where else. There are some who when young, picture out to their mind's eye the pleasures of rolling in wealth. They imagine the time, when they shall be worth an independent for- tune. They imagine what they shall then do, how much enjoyment they shall secure, or how much good they will accomplish. And the dwelling upon these imaginary pictures often has a salutary effect in promoting indus- try and economy. So too, in the religious life, every one aims at some standard. That stand- ard may be high or low, it may be formed as INTELLECTUAL 5ELF-CULTIVATI0N. 311 it should be, upon the basis of our Lord's character, or upon the basis of some christian character, which we have known, or it may be the creation of our own imagination, upon the basis of our understanding of the requirements of the Gospel. Still, there is before the mind's eye the standard, find the cast and perfection of character will depend upon the character of that standard, upon its degree of elevation and upon the correctness of its outlines. And this picturing the future standard of character, is a legitimate exercise of the imagination. — You perceive then, how the imagination exerts an influence upon the character, in its influ- ence upon the standard of character, which men strive to reach. He whose imagination is lively, who can form clear and distinct pic- tures of the future, will he more excited to ef- fort, than he whose imagination is deadened and confused. So too, he whose imaginary pictures are based upon the most full and cor- rect knowledge, will find from this exercise, the most salutary influence. He who knows something of the struggle necessary to secure eminence, either in wealth or knowledge, will 312 young man's assistant. find himself prompted to struggle as well as enjoy, he will lo k forward to severe labors and hard trials, as well as to glorious triumphs. Again, the imagination may exert an influ- ence in promoting steadiness and firmness of character. I am aware, indeed, that the very opposite of this is sometimes the result of an excessively indulged imagination. A person sometimes seems to live almost wholly, in an ideal world, of his own creation, surrounded, it may be, overpowered by fears resting up- on imaginary dangers. But still, I say, that when rightly cultivated, it may promote stead- iness of character. On what does steadiness of character depend? Does it not depend on looking at things just as they are. But in look- ing at things just as they are, one part of the exercise consists in perceiving clearly their con- sequences, in picturing out distinctly and viv- idly to the mind's eye these consequences, as they must, or as they probably will follow. — Here for example, you are overtaken by a calamity. Now, what I mean by steadiness of character is, the being able to meet the ca- lamity in its true character^ just as it is. — INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 313 Stupid insensibility to its consequences is not a part of true steadiness of character; nor yet can he maintain steadiness of character, who is filled and perhaps overwhelmed by imagina- ry fears. It is he who can look at the calam- ity just as it is, and trace its probable conse- quences and picture them forth in their true light. But here must be the exercise of the imagination. The exercise is to picture forth as probable, what never really existed in fact. And this is an exercise of imagination. It should be the exercise of a well regulated im- agination, an imagination under the guidance of some knowledge upon the subject. Sup- pose you have broken a limb, from ignorance of the consequence of such a fracture, you may be stupidly insensible to your danger ; or you may be overwhelmed by groundless and unnecessary fears. But, if you have some slight knowledge of the usual consequences of such a fracture, you may by means of this knowledge, and in the exercise of a well re°"- ulated imagination, picture to yourself the prob- able consequences of such a fracture, so accu- rately as to be able to conduct appropriately 27 314 young man's assistant. under the circumstances of the case. So in any case of disease, trouble or affliction, the exercise of a well regulated imagination, will serve to promote steadiness of character. And this steadiness of character is of great impor- tance, in extricating one's self from difficulty. We may picture to ourselves the consequen- ces of different courses of conduct, and then compare the one with the other. In this way we may plan and contrive our escape from dif- ficulties. Once more: the imagination exerts a pow- erful influence upon the character, in regard to politeness. What is true politeness? It is in principle, a kind regard for the feelings of oth- ers, and a careful endeavor to promote their happiness. Now there is a vast difference be- tween one of a lively, and one of a dull im- agination, in this respect. The one can enter into your feelings at once, and can sympathize most truly with you. You have lost a friend, you are in great grief, your heart is overwhelm- ed with sorrow, you shrink from the approach and especially from the language of even your most intimate friend. A friend, who by the INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATTON. 315 exercise of the imagination can enter into all your feelings, will not intrude any remarks', any general and common place observations. He will exercise his kindness and his sympa- thy, by sitting in silence by your side. Anoth- er, with equal warmth of affection , would wound your already afflicted heart, by his of- ficious kindness. And where is the difference. The one, from being possessed of a more lively, or a more delicate imagination, can en- ter more truly and fully into your feelings. — The christian rule of politeness is, to treat oth- ers, as you would wish to be treated by them, or to do as you would wish to be done by. This is usually called the golden rule of chris- tian justice. I call it the golden rule of chris- tian politeness. And this rule not only sanc- tions the use of the imagination, but compels us to use it. Here is a stranger takes up his residence by your side. This rule requires that you should treat this stranger as you would wish to be treated, in similar circumstances. But how can you determine this. You must, in imagination, place yourself in similar circum- stances, among strangers, consider what would 316 young man's assistant. be your feelings, what would be your wishes, and then you are prepared to enter into, and sympathise with, and treat kindiy and prop- erly the stranger by your side. So too, here is your neighbor in affliction ; you are requir- ed to do as, under similar circumstances, you would be done by. How can you do this? — You can place yourself in imagination, in scenes of affliction and ask how you would wish to be treated. Then you will be qualified to act in accordance with gospel principles, to sym- pathize with the feelings of all around you, and to do by them as you would be done by. I have thus pointed out some of the ways, in which ttie imagination exerts an influence upon the character. I might have pointed out more fully than I have done, its evil influen- ces, but I have not room to describe them in full. A well cultivated, and well regulated imagination is of the utmost importance to the character, in a great variety of particulars. — On the other hand, a diseased, perverted or ill regulated imagination is destructive of all correctness and propriety of character. It now remains onlv, that I offer a few hints INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 317 to aid you in your efforts to cultivate and regu- late the imagination. And here I would say first: — You must remember that the creations of the imagination are based on previously ac- quired knowledge. The more distinct, accu- rate and perfect your knowledge, so far as it goes, may be, the more accurate will be the creations of the imagination. For example, it is often said, by writers of all denominations, that, in order to enter into, and feel the full force of the instructions of the gospel, we must throw ourselves into the times and the feelings of the Jews and of those around Je- sus. But how is this to be done? The more accurate be our knowledge of Jewish history, and of the Hebrew peculiarities of character, the more we understand of Jewish prejudices and expectations, the better shall we be able to throw ourselves back into those times and feelings, the better shall we be able to enter into, and understand the instructions of the gospel. The first step then, in cultivating the imagination, is to be accurate in our knowledge, which is to serve as the basis, on which the creations of the imagination are to rest. St* 318 My second direction is, that in reading all argumentative works, you exercise your imag- ination, in bringing up to your mind's eye, par- ticular cases and instances, to verify the steps and conclusions of the argument. And so in reading a work upou abstract truth, verify the conclusions and principles, by applying them in practice to particular supposed cases. Are you reading an abstract statement of the na- ture of faith? Prove these statements, by ap- plying them to some supposed cases. So too, in reading descriptive scenes, fill out the de- scription by the exercise of the imagination. In reading historical works, pause and exercise the imagination, in picturing to the mind's eye the peculiarities of manners and customs of different periods and ages. In this way, what- ever may be the character of your reading, you may be exercising your imagination in a healthful and proper manner. My third direction is, that in reading ficti- tious writings, you exercise your own judg- ment and reason. Your imagination is natu- rally exercised in the reading itself; if you give loose reins to it, there is danger that your INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 319 imagination will be indulged to excess, and will gain the mastery over your other powers. Exercise your reason then, and your judg- ment. Seek for principles, ask if these prin- ciples be sound and healthful. Jn this way, while you are exercising your imagination, you will, by this exercise of the reason and the judgment, keep it under restraint and regula- tion. Still further: in regard to the various strange phenomena, which are sometimes mentioned, such as Animal Magnetism or anv thing of that character, cherish the thought that you are in danger of being led away as the dupes of a disordered imagination, and that you are in danger of being misled by your lear of being duped. Hold yourself then carefully on your guard. Exercise the imagination. But exer- cise also the judgment and the reason, call up past experience, and observation. Be slow to believe, but at the same time hold yourself open to conviction when it can be based upon good and substantial evidence. I have thus spoken of the imagination. I would hope that my suggestions may aid you 320 young man's assistant. in your progress of self-cultivation, and be in- strumental in securing^completeness and per- fection of character. LETTER X. INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. Reasoning, argument, evidence — Introductory remarks on the importance and difficulty of the subject — The first object to be sought in all investigations is truth — The question whether men are responsible for their opinions, considered — Primitive truths — One is that every effect must have some adequate cause — This an instinctive principle — Another is that the evidence of the senses may be depended upon — Different instinc- tive principles stated — A test by which they may be known pointed out in a quotation — Different kinds of evidence considered — Mathematical, Probable, Histo- rical — The causes of difference of opinion — Men's wishes, men's pride of character, words are used in different senses — Men's passions and emotions have an influence upon their opinions. My Young Friends, The subject of the present letter, reason- ing, argument, evidence, is one which I trem- ble to approach. It is a subject so vast in its extent, and s*o important in its various relations 322 young man's assistant. and bearings, that I fear I shall not be able to do it any thing, like justice, within ihe com- pass of a single letter. It is indeed a subject which would admit of, and which even de- mands, for a full discussion of all its various points, a whole volume. All that I can hope to do, is to throw out suggestions and awa- ken enquiry, in regard to some points of more immediate practical importance. It is however, a consolation here, as it has been during the whole course of these letters, that I am addressing thinking beings, in view of their own self-education, and that self- educa- tion is the result of the mental action exci- ted, rather than of the knowledge actually im- parted. I. The first position which I would estab- lish is, that in all questions of debate, in the ordinary duties of life, and in the various sub- jects, which may be presented in your read- ing, you should seek only the truth. Make this the primary point of all your investiga- tions, and free your minds, as far as possi- ble, from every influence which can, in any- way, interfere with your arriving at the truth. INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 323 This state of mind will exert a powerful in- fluence upon your process of investigation. And why so? I answer, that, in all your in- vestigations, you will estimate evidence ac- cording to its bearing upon the particular ob- ject you wish by that investigation to accom- plish. If you enter upon the examination of a subject, with a single desire to arrive at the truth in regard to it, then the questions you will ask in regard to any particular item of evidence, will be what is its true character, what is its intrinsic weight in the scale, and upon which side of the question it is to be ranked. But if you examine the same sub- ject, with the desire to find certain opinions true, the question you will ask in regard to any item of evidence, will be, does it, or does it not support that position? The same items of evidence then, you perceive, may appear to the mind to have very different bearings and to be of very different degrees of weight, according to the state of mind in which it is examined. Let then the love of truth be the prevailing influence in all your investigations. But in regard to many ques- 324 young man's assistant. tions it will be asked, what is meant by truth. I will illustrate. An individual asserts that a certain doctrine of religion is true. You are awakened to investigation, to enquire if it be true. What in this case is the object of your investigation? It is simply to ascertain a fact, and that is, whether the propositions in which this doctrine is expressed, do ex- press the instructions of scripture upon the point. This is the single and simple point of enquiry. If you find that they do so ex- press the instructions of scripture, then you have found it to be true. If you have found that they do not so express them you have found that they are not true. This is one case, take another. One asserts that the Sub Treasury sys tern, so called, is well calculated to promote the best interests of the country. You exam- ine, wiih a sincere desire to form a riiiht judg- ment. But what do you seek here? It is not a matter of fact, which you wish to veri- fy, for the scheme has never been tried. What is it then? You are seeking to form a right, a correct opinion, as to the probable opera- tion of the scheme. This cannot in strict- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 325 ness of language, be said to be seeking the truth. But yet the state of mind is the same in the one case, as in the other; in the one case you seek to divest yourself of all secta- rian prejudices, and even of all sectarian wish- es, of all strong desires to find one side of the question or the other true. You endeavor to investigate impartially, and to give every circumstance, and every iiem of evidence, its just and proper place and weight. So, in the other case, you endeavor to divest your- self of all party prejudice, and even of all par- ty wishes. You endeavor to investigate impartially, to ij;ive every circumstance and every hem of evidence its proper place and just vvtighu The state of mind, and the modes of investigation are the same in both cases, and therefore we call the latter, as well as the former, a love of the truth. Yet it is, strictly speaking, only a desire to form a correct judgment, as to a future proba- bility. And, in all cases of investigation and ordinary conduct, this state of mind is im- portant, although it might, in some cases, be very properly called by another name, if 326 young man's assistant. we were looking at the result, at the object sought, rather than at the state of mind in which the investigation is pursued. I repeat then my position, let Hip prevailing influence in ail your investigations be a love of truth. But here, perhaps, an important question will occur to your minds. It is this: Are men responsible for their opinions ? This is a question which has occasioned much discus- sion. And yet, upon examining the question, I have been surprised to find that the argu- ments and admissions of the advocates of one side of the question, when compared with those of the other, shew that both parties are really of the same opinion. The fact is, that the question admits of two directly opposite answers. In the first place, strictly speak- ing, and regarded merely as an abstract ques- tion, the answer must be that men are not responsible for their opinions. The deci- sions of the judgment must follow the pre- ponderance of evidence. This is an abstract and incontrovertible truth. If two and two appear to the mind to make four, the mind must asseut to it; it caaaot ha otherwise. INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 327 There is no liberty to do as one would wish, and, consequently, there is no responsibility. For the correctness of this position the advo- cates of one side of l lie question contend strenuously, and the correctness of this po- sition the advocates of the other side of the question readily admit. Here then the ab- stract question is at once settled, that the judgment must follow the preponderance of evidence, as that evidence is presented to the mind; and that, consequently, belief is not voluntary, and there can be no responsibility in regard to it. But the question presents another aspect, and that is, its practical as- pect. The advocates of the affirmative of the question will say, if you allow yourself to be influenced, in your examination of evi- dence, by prejudice, by strong desires to find one side of the question true and (he other ftiUe, if you aie not thoroughly faithful and impartial in the examinations; if in these, or in any similar ways, you allow your judgment to he warped, then verily, you are guilty; and, if you carefully guard against all these sources of error, then are you praiseworthy, and 3*23 young man's assistant. iherefore, in regard to all beftrkig upon the point, he may say all this is true, I admit the whole, but still \ add, I have never seen your God and therefore I cannot believe in his exist- INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 331 ence. And what will you say now? You have only to appeal to himself, to his obser- vation of human nature, to his own conscious- ness, to his actual practice. For example, suppose your opponent be a father, appeal to his observation, tell him to take his child to one of our manufacturing establishments, to watch his astonishment, and when that child eagerly asks him, "Father, who made all this?" let the father calmly tell him that we have no reason to believe that any one contrived and made the whole. And when he meets with incredulity on the part of the child, let him admit that thought, so withering to a parent's heart, that the child of his affection is a fool. In children you see this principle more strik- ingly manifested than in others. You all le- member the story of George Washington, and his father, and his little garden with the letters George in one of his beds. And you remem- ber his incredulity. In this way you may ap- peal to his observation, to prove that men are so constituted, that they must believe that ev- ery event has a cause adequate to the effect. You may appeal to his own consciousness 33S young man's assistant. in regard to other things at least, if not in regard to this very point. For myself, I do not believe there ever was an atheist in feeling and in reality. Men have, I know, argued against the existence of the Deity; but I do not believe that any one could so entirely di- vest himself of this instinctive principle of belief, as to be free from any feeling, or fear, or suspicion, that after all, this fair universe must have had a creator. You may appeal to his own every day con- duct. He believes that the wife of his bosom, the children of his affection, the friends of his attachment, do love him. But why does he believe this? Has lie ever seen their love? Can he tell what it is, and what it looks like? No. Why then does he believe? Their conduct towards him — in its kindness, in its devotion — is regarded as an effect. And, under the instinctive feeling of our natures, he believes that this effect must have had a cause, and that it must have been a cause ad- equate to the effect. Hatred, indifference — the>e are not causes adequate to the effect; there must have been love as the only cause INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 333 adequate to the effect. Thus you perceive that a proposition which contradicts this innate principle of our natures, is to be met only by an appeal to this principle, as universal and not to be gainsaid. I have dwelt upon this point for two reasons. In the first place, it illustrates the nature of innate principles of belief, and, in the second because, I have known of young men, who have been religiously educated, yielding to atheistical sophistry. Their remarks have been — "we were taught to believe in a God, but that is a mere prejudice of childhood. — You cannot prove to us that there is a God, and therefore we cannot believe in his exis- tence." The question has been asked, how shall we guard our young men against such dangers? Shall not increased efforts be made in their religious training? I say yes — but I say also let increased efforts be made in regard to their intellectual education. Let them understand the principles of belief, the nature of evidence, and the proper modes of reason- ing, and then will they be guarded, in some measure, against the power of such mere tophistry. 334 young man's assistant. I will, for the further illustration of this put of my subject, dwell alittle upon another innate principle of belief. Itisthis — that the evidence of our senses is worthy of confi- dence, in regard to the existence of external objects in ordinary circumstances. For ex- ample — I see ladies and gentlemen, in an assembly — or, at least, I think I do. It is an innate principle that I should believe, therefore, that ladies and gentlemen are in that assembly. This, you will perhaps say, is so evident that it cannot be denied. And yet there have been philosophers, who have undertaken to prove that ail this is a deception, that our senses are not to be depended upon, that there are no such things as external objects, that we have in our minds ideas of men, trees, beasts, houses, and indeed of all external objects, but that there are no such things in existence as these objects. Such is the position; — it is supported by very strong arguments. And how are we going to refute this position? It can be done only by an appeal to this innate principle of belief, of which I am speaking, INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 333 that the testimony of our senses is worthy of confidence. You cannot refute the position by argument. You may say to the atheist, you cannot prove by argument that a man stands before you. Just try it. — Suppose there were a blind man with you : how could you prove to him that a man is standing before you? You could not prove it by argument ; all you could do would be to lead him up to the man, and let him ascertain by the sense of feeling. — But if the senses are not to be depended upon, this is no proof. Thus you perceive that here, as before, your only way to meet and refute a position, which contradicts this innate principle of belief, is to make a direct appeal to it as an innate and universal principle. I have said enough, I would hope, to illus- trate the nature and use of these- innate prin- ciples of belief. Before leaving this part of my subject, however, I will enumerate some of these principles, and offer a quotation in point iri regard to the qualities by which they may be known. The principles which are most generally admitted are these ; 336 1. A belief in our own existence. 2. A confidence in the evidence of our senses. 3. A confidence in our own mental pro- cesses — that facts, events, for instance, sug- gested to us by our memory, really occurred. 4. A belief in our personal identity. 5 A conviction that every effect must have a cause, and a cause adequate to the effect. 6 A confidence in the uniformity of nature. Such are the innate principles of belief which arc most generally admitted. ^Various characters have been proposed by which theseinnate principles may be known. One of those given by Father Buffier appears to be the best, and to be alone sufficient to ide-ntify them. It is this — that their practical influence extends even to those persons who affect io dispute their authority ; in other afi ; li.it in all the affairs <>f life, the most sceptical philosopher acts as much as the mass ta bkind u.po.n the absolute belief of these hp Let a larsie rock be rolling down a declivity and coming with great velocity , to INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 337 all appearance, directly upon such a sceptical philosopher, and he will forget his theory that this is no rock but only an idea; he will try to avoid the danger just as much as any other man. Let him be taking cognizance of an offence committed against him ten years ago, and he never doubts that he is still the person against whom the offence was committed, how ably so ever he may argue against personal identity. Let him lay plans for future com- fort, and it is done under the conviction that he is still to continue the individual who may enjoy them. Has a building started up upon his premises, which he did not expect to see; he immediately asks who erected it there, and he would scarcely be satisfied to be told that the thing had appeared without any known cause, merely by a fortuitous combination of atoms. Thus you perceive that whatever may be a man's theory or argument, these princi- ples do exert a practical influence upon his conduct, thereby showing that they are innate principles, interwoven into the very constitu- tion of his nature, and not dependent upon his education. It is of importance that, in 29 338 young man's assistant. the investigation or defence of truth, you should bear in mind these instinctive princi- ples of belief ; otherwise you may find your- self arguing against positions and principles which cannot be refuted by argument, when your course should be simply an appeal to these innate principles. I pass now to the consideration of another but kindred topic, to the considerations of dif- ferent kinds of evidence as appropriate to dif- ferent subjects of belief. And first, there is mathematical evidence. It is peculiar in its character, and is applicable only to a peculiar class of subjects. But, when it is applied, its conclusions amount to demonstration, absolute, positive demonstration which cannot be doubt- ed, or gainsaid. It can be proved, for exam- ple, that in a right angled triangle, the square of the hypothenuse, or of the longest side, is equal to the sum of the squares of the two other sides. This, I say, can be proved. But how is it proved? It is by mathematical de- monstration. Certain self-evident mathemat- ical principles, or axioms, are taken as t«be start- ing pointSj from these certain inferences are INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 339 ! i drawn, which result in the demonstration of other and before unknown mathematical truths. Then these are taken as a new basis, and inferences are drawn from them, which result in the demonstration of other and before es- tablished mathematical truths, and so on. — Each conclusion is a demonstration, and con- sequently, when once established, may, ever after be taken as a principle fixed and incontro- vertible, and may be used as the basis of fur- ther reasoning. In regard to this kind of rea- soning, there is no possibility of being led astray by the influences of one's passions, prejudices, or wishes. The course, from the starting point to the conclusion, is direct, and there is no opening for the influence of feel- ings or desires. In the second place, if there should be an error in the conclusion, it may be certainly known, by the individual himself, that it is an error, because he may retrace his steps and, in that way, detect the error. In the third place, there is no chance for differ- ence of opinion in regard to the conclusion, you have only to retrace the steps and recon- struct the demonstration or solution, in order to 340 young man's assistant. arrive at a correct conclusion. There is no chance for argument, bickering or contention. Such is mathematical evidence. By this spe- cies of evidence certain things can be proved, demonstrated, and the truth of them put be- yond a doubt. But then, you perceive, that it is only to a peculiar class of subjects that this reasoning can be applied. You cannot prove that Alexander once lived, you cannot prove that Buonaparte conquered much of Europe, by mathematical evidence. These are subjects which, if proved at all, must be proved by an altogether different kind of evi- dence. If you attempt to prove the truth of a position by mathematical evidence, and do not succeed, the position itself may be true, although its truth is to be proved by other and a different kind of evidence. Then there is probable evidence. I will illustrate this kind of evidence, by reference to a theological subject, which has occurred in my own reading, within a short time. There are some, who doubt whether Moses wrote the first five books of the Old Testament, gen- erally called the Peutatench. They contend INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 341 that these books are of a later origin, were written by some one else and ascribed to Mo- ses, in order to secure for them, in the eyes of the Jewish people, the sanction of authority and antiquity. Now bow is the objection met, and by what sort of evidence and of reason can it be proved, that Moses wrote these books? You cannot prove it by mathematical reason- ing. You might expect perhaps to prove it by historical evidence, by the testimony eith- er direct or indirect, of contemporaneous wri- ters, but in this particular case this cannot be done, because tiiere are no witnesses, so old as these, provided Moses was the author of them. That he was the author is proved, then, only by probable evidence, and proba- ble reasoning. And now, just follow the process of probable reasoning, which is pur sued. First, it is admitted, as a fact, that there have existed, from the earliest age*, among the Jews, institutions of a peculiar character, embodying and sustaining a pure theology. From the earliest period, in which the Jews appeared in history, they are found in possession of the doctrine of one all per- 342 young man's assistant. vading spirit, as God, presiding over all things , in distinction from the many local and national Gods of the nations around them. Then too, the Jewish notions of the character and attributes of this God, are pure, compared with the views which appear in the literature and history of other nations. Here then is a historical fact, admitted by all. This fact must be accounted for, in some way or other. Now, if we admit that Moses wrote these books, it serves to explain this peculiar fact, in a very natural and easy manner, and, there- fore, it is probable, from this circumstance, that he did write them. But suppose he did not, still you must account for the peculiar institutions and theological views of the na- tion. Suppose then that these books were written by some one in the time of the Judg- es. But these limes were disturbed and un- settled, not times for establishing peculiar laws, and introducing peculiar views of The- ology. And then, too, these times were too near the time of the alleged ministry of Mo- ses, to admit of a fabricated account of events, which, if real, must have been matter of great INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 343 notoriety,and within the recollection of many. These are the objections to the position that these books were written in the times of the Judges — objections, which render it more probable that Moses wrote them, than that they should have been then written, by some one else, and passed off as his. But, suppose we come down still later to the time of the Kings. There an insurmount- able objection at once arises. The whole character and bearing of the Jewish institu- tions, as described in the first five books of scripture, are thoroughly republican, and of course, when there was a monarch, the time had passed away for any such system to be devised. If we come down later, to the time of Ezra, or of Nehemiah, we are met still with objections. In the first place, the people then manifested a great regard for the authority of these laws, which could not have been the case, had they been a fabrica- tion, then, for the first time, brought forward. Still further, we know that, soon after this period, these books were translated into Greek, and we find, that, in many instances, 344 young man's assistant. this Greek translation must have followed a different Hebrew copy from that which we now have, and this shews us that at that time there must have been different copies. These copies being transcripts of the original, would not have been multiplied, had not the books been well known and favorably regarded. — We conclude therefore, as the result of this whole process, as the result of these several probabilities, that it is more probable that Moses was the author, than it is to sup- pose that they could have been written at any later period. This, you perceive, is a speci- men of probable reasoning. And you will notice that it differs from mathematical rea- soning. In mathematical reasoning each step is proved conclusively and satisfactorily, and is of itself absolutely true, whether the final conclusion be true or not. In probable rea- soning, the different points of argument are not really steps in a regular process, follow- ing each other in the natural order. They are simply different items of evidence, no one of which does, in itself, prove any thing, but ■the cumulative force of which when taken INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 345 together does give to the final conclusion a strong degree of probability. You see too in this, that, unlike mathematical reasoning, there is, at every step, danger of being led astray by the influence of prejudices, pre-conceived opinions, feelings and desires. These may cause one view to appear to one mind the more probable, and another view to appear to another mind more probable. You per- ceive, too, that here is room for the individu- al to be in error, and not be able himself to detect his errors, because, as he reviews his course of reasoning, the probabilities will ap- pear to his mind as at first. You see, still further, that there may be room, at every successive step of the process, and also in regard to the final conclusion, for difference of opinion. Such is probable reasoning. It is the kind of reasoning arid of evidence most commonly employed, that is, it is applicable to a greater variety of subjects. Look into the orations of antiquity. Listen to the de- bates of any modern legislative assembly, or to the arguments addressed to a jury, and you will find the whole a process of probable 346 young man's assistant. reasoning. So too this is the kind of reason- ing and of evidence which is brought forward in the pulpit, in stating the evidences, in set- ting forth the doctrines, and in urging the practical principles of our religion. And so too in all the ordinary walks of life, proba- ble reasoning must be employed, and proba- ble evidence must be relied on. Still further, there is Historical evidence, differing in some respects from Probable. But as this is so seldom employed in the or- dinary pursuits of life and is so intimately connected with probable evidence in secur- ing conclusions I need not dwell at length up- on it. It is important to know when and how to use these different kinds of evidence. Are you engaged in business, and are you called to balance your account with one from whose account you differ in the result, when the items are the same. What evidence do you seek, and what course do you pursue, to con- vince either yourself or him? You simply retrace your steps and repeat your process. Are you engaged in an argument with another INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTITATION. 347 in an ordinary debate? Here you should un- derstand and be able to apply probable rea- soning, to point out clearly and establish fully the real probabilities, on the various points which are made — to detect fallacy, and to point out the true application of the various items of probable evidence, in the establish- ment of the final conclusion. You should then endeavor to understand the nature, the appropriate subjects, and the right application of these different kinds of evidence, and of reasoning, as applied to different subjects. I am next to point out and illustrate the process of reasoning. In a process of reason- ing, there are three different operations of the mind, that should be attended to. First, there is simple apprehension, as it is called in books upon logic, which is simply the con- ception which the mind may form of any sub- ject or objects. Second, there is the judg- ment, as it is called in logic, that is, the com- paring together two ideas and pronouncing that they either agree or disagree; or rather, I should say, pronouncing upon ihe relation, whatever it may be, which they sustain to 348 young man's assistant. each other; and, third, there is reasoning, or the passing from one judgment to another, founded upon or resulting from the first. Let me illustrate by a case taken from the books. In Whately's Logic I find the following pro- cess of reasoning, stated in exact logical or syllogistical form: "Every dispensation of providence is bene- ficial." Afflictions are dispensations of providence. Therefore, afflictions are beneficial. Now in the first place there is simple apprehension, that is, the mind must form an idea of what is meant by the expression, "dispensations of provi- dence," and the term "beneficial" ? We must then compare the term beneficial with our ideas of dispensations, so as to be able to pronounce whether they agree or not, wheth- er the latter may be affirmed of the other or not, and, if so, whether it may be affirmed universally, or only with limitations. Here then are the two first steps — we have formed clear ideas of the meaning of the terms, and, by comparing the two, we have formed a judg- ment in regard to the relation which they bear INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 349 to each. The third step is proceeding from one judgment to another, founded upon and growing out of the first. In the process un- der examination, the first conclusion is, that the dispensations of providence are benefi- cial. But the suggestion is made that afflic- tions are dispensations of providence. Then we pass on to the next conclusion, growing out of or resulting directly from the last, that afflictions are beneficial. Now suppose this process were to be carried still farther, and suppose another suggestion be made, that we should be truly grateful for all benefits bestowed by God. Then another conclu- sion would follow, growing out of the last, that we should be grateful to God for every afflictive dispensation of his providence. I do not say that this process is correct. I have brought it forward simply to illustrate the mode in which a course of reasoning pro- ceeds, when we are enabled to proceed regu- larly. Here the first position, that the dis- pensations of providence are beneficial, may be regarded as the premises from which are deduced all the succeeding conclusions. If 30 350 young man's assistant. you can induce an opponent to admit the truth of these premises in all the length and breadth of this general statement, then it would seem that he must follow on to the final conclusion. But, suppose it were proposed to meet this process of argument, how could it be done ? It might be done in some one of these several ways. In the first place, the premises might be questioned. It might be said that the proposition is not universally true, that there are some dispensations which are not ordered as benefits, and are not to be regarded as benefits; they are ordered as avenging pun- ishments, and should be regarded as such. Then it might be said that afflictions fall un- der this class of dispensations, and are not therefore to be regarded as beneficial. Then, still further, it might be argued that humility and penitence, and not gratitude, are the ap- propriate states of mind under these dispen- sations, and therefore we are not called upon to be grateful for afflictions — but to be peni- tent under them. This is one way in which the argument might be met. Then again, it might be met in this way: The truth of the INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 351 first proposition might be admitted, and then it might be argued that there are many afflic- tions which are not to be regarded as dispen- sations of providence; that much of sickness, and often times even death, is but the natural result of our violation of the laws of our sys- tem, and, consequently, that it does not fol- low from the first position, that we ought to be grateful for these afflictions. I would re- peat again the caution, that I am not express- ing my opinion upon the truth of either side of this question. I am only illustrating pro- cesses of argument and counter argument. Suppose then, a question before you for de- bate were, ^.G'ught men to cherish gratitude to God for the afflictions to which they may be subjected in life? " You see how the one side and the other might be supported. — There would undoubtedly other arguments suggest themselves to other minds, as for ex- ample one might argue from the known good effects of afflictions upon the character, that we should be grateful, and then another might answer that, in some cases, at least, if not in many, the known effects are evil, being des- 352 young man's assistant. pair and even derangement, and, consequent- ly, that the conclusion of the other is unsound, for that we are called upon to be grateful only for good influences, and only in cases where these are manifested, and not for afflictions, which may be followed by evil as well as by good effects. Upon these illustrations, it is obvious, to remark, that, in making an 'argument and es- tablisbing its truth, you are to look at two poi'.Hs. First, you are to look at your pre- mises, to see that they are perfectly true, in all points, well supported, and that they cover the very ground which you wish to occupy and not t-ome other ground nearly resembling it ; and that they cover the whole of that ground. In the second place, you are to look at your conclusions, from these premises, to see that they are legitimately drawn and well supported. Then you are to look in a differ- ent direction, to see if there may not be other premises, established by your opponent, and other arguments draw from them, which, al- lowing all that you have said, to be true, do yet over balance and outweigh your INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIYATION. 353 merits. So in replying to an opponent, you are first to examine bis premises, it may be that if you admit these you must admit his conclusions. It may be therefore that you will be called upon to direct the whole force of your argument against the correctness of the premises; and it may be too, that you will be able to point out a fault in these, which will invalidate his whole argument, and save you the trouble of going further. Or, perhaps, you may admit the correctness of the premises, and then may be able to point out some incorrectness in the drawing of in- ferences from these premises. Or, it may be, that you will admit the correctness of his whole argument, and then overpower the whole by still stronger arguments of a different character. It is often the case, that an essential circum- stance is lost sight of in the argument, which, by being brought to light, gives an entirely dif- ferent view of the whole. For example, sup- pose that in England the question were pro- posed as to the expediency of giving a good thorough education to the lower orders of so- ciety. It is opposed by such an argument as 30* 354 YOUNG MAN S ASSISTANT. this: Society could not exist without some to perform the menial services, which are now performed by these lower orders. But all past experience and observation have shown, that, when an individual of these orders has acquired a good education, he is puffed up and will not consent to perform these labors. Therefore, were all to be educated, these labors would be generally neglected, and society must suffer — consequently, it would be inexpedient to educate the lower orders of society. Such is the argument in opposition. Now, in answer to such an argument, it might be said, we ad- mit the truth of the first position, that these menial services and duties are necessary. We admit the second position that all past experi- ence and observation show that, when one of the lower orders is well educated, he is puffed up and unwilling to perform these duties. But we deny the correctness of the inference from these two positions, because an essential cir- cumstance is over looked. In past times, the reason that one of the lower orders, when edu- cated, was puffed up, was that by that education he was distinguished from ; and rendered superior INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 355 to, his brethren. But, in time to come, should this education become universal, which is pro- posed, this distinction will be removed, and all will be alike— therefore, although the premises ;are correct, the inference is not to be relied upon. The argument might be answered in this way, — then other arguments might be brought forward to shew the probability of a different result. I have thus endeavored to illustrate the pro- cess of reason, of argument and debate. I will now proceed to notice some of the causes of differences of opinion. It sometimes seems to us strange that two men on reading or hearing the same argument, should go away with entirely different, it may be with opposite impressions in regard to it. And we are some- times inclined to believe that one or the other cannot be honest in his opinions. But a little thought will convince us that this is a very un- just, as well as a very unkind conclusion, and this will the more fully appear, if we look at some of the causes of differences of opinion. I. In the first place, men's wishes and in- terests have a great influence over their opin- 355 young man's assistant. ions. Suppose that an individual believed that it would be greatly for bis interest to bold certain opinions upon political subjects, on points in regard to which he had before but vague notions. What course would he pursue, naturally, I mean, and without being aware of any undue influence? Would he not dwell much upon the arguments which are urged on that side of the question to which his interest inclined him? Most surely he would, and the consequence would be, that arguments would have, to his mind, an entirely different appearance from what they would under other circumstances. II. Then, too, a man's pride of character and of reputation has often a great weight and influence upon his opinions. If he has been the champion of certain opinions, and has for years stood forth before the community as such, he cannot view arguments upon the subject as he otherwise would. A few years since, there was a public discussion in one of the country towns of Massachusetts, between two clergy- men of different sentiments, in regard to a point on which they differed. One of them INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTiVATION. 357 stated in a public paper that he should go to that discussion with a perfect devotion to truth, with a single desire to establish or to learn the truth, and with a perfect willingness to make acknowledgment of his past errors, should he be convinced. I have no reason to doubt that he honestly thought that he should do so. And yet, from my own observation of human na- ture, and especially of the operations of my own mind, I believe it to be utterly impossible that he could do so. He had been known for years as the champion of peculiar views, — he had acquired a reputation for his skill in their de- fence. At the debate, his friends would rally around him, looking to him as their champion. Under such circumstances, what would be the operation of his mind upon hearing an oppo- nent's argument ? It would not be a care- ful examination of that argument, to see if it were true or not; but only an examination to see how it could best be answered. — Then, too, he is immediately to follow in a re- ply. Would his pride of character — of repu- tation permit him to rise and say frankly to that argument, I cannot make a reply ? Most 358 young man's assistant. surely not. As for myself, I think that I can read the arguments of an opponent in my study, where there is no eye upon me but that of the Being to whom I am accountable, with a simple desire to know the truth. But I do not believe that I could engage in a public de- bate with such feelings. III. Again, words are used in different sen- ses, and this gives rise to differences of opin- ions. It is not what a hook or an argument actually expresses, but what it suggests to the mind of the reader, which determines its ef- fect on his mind. But words may be used by the writer or speaker, in one sense, which have always been used by the hearer in a different sense. I once knew a singular instance of this. A very pious and devout man was speaking against dancing schools. A young friend un- dertook to defend them. In his defence, he said that he thought that there was no place- in which young ladies and gentlemen acquired so-much grace — using the term grace to express the idea ol gracefulness in attitude, — motion, and manners. The oilier, who had always used the word grace in a reliuious sense, was INTELLECTUAL SELF- CULTIVATION. 359 horror struck at the suggestion. Ck Go to the dancing school", lie exclaimed, " for grace ! Rather resort to the closet and to prayer." Here was a very striking result, — both were honest, — but they used a single word only, in different senses. Had there been no explana- tion, with what prejudices might each have left the other! What prejudices might the pious and devout person have carried away in regard to the religious feelings of the other, who was of a different denomination from himself! In- deed, so often have I found this, the using of the same word in different senses, giving rise to contentions and disputes, that I have been inclined to think that a very large proportion of our difficulties arise from this source. IV. Once more, men's passions and emotions have a powerful influence upon their opinions. It is in this way: Men's minds are affected in a long process of reasoning or argument, by what, in the course of that argument, most ar- rests and fixes their attention. But the pas- sions and feelings and emotions of a man have a powerful influence in fixing the mind upon which, in the Ergument, may be in accordance 360 young man's assistant. with their feelings and emotions. This cir- cumstance, therefore, may occasion some ar- guments to come before the mind more promi- nently and to remain longer in view than oth- ers, — consequently some will make a deep im- pression, whilst others will be forgotten. And as different men may be under the influence of different emotions, so very different impres- sions may be made upon the minds of differ- ent individuals by the same book, argument, discourse, or process of reasoning. Thus, you perceive, that it is not so strange that men should differ in opinion, and that hon- estly too, without being conscious of being un- der any undue influence, and after an equally careful investigation. I have thus, my young friends, offered a few hints and suggestions upon the subject of in- tellectual self-education, which, I would hope, may serve to aid you in your endeavors. I have dwelt longer upon the subject than I otherwise should have done, because I have thought that there are hints, important and practical, contained in books upon mental Phi- losophy, which ought to be laid open to all. INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 361 I have never seen any reason why a young man who is engaged in agriculture, mechanical or mercantile pursuits, should not study men- tal Philosophy, and form the habit of watching and scrutinizing the operations of his own mind, as well as the professional man. My desire is to awaken every young man, whatever his pur- suits may be, to a full faith in himself as an in- tellectual, moral, and spiritual being, and to give some assistance in all efforts at self-culti- vation. I have, in these letters, endeavored to impress your minds with a just sense of the im- portance of the season of youth, to point out to you the true object of life, to guard you against some injurious mistakes to which you are ex- posed, and to awaken you to a watchful study of your own minds. I have also pointed out to you some of the sources of moral danger, and it now remains only that, in a closing let- ter, I should endeavor to impress upon your minds the necessity of religion as the crown and completion of your whole character. You may perhaps ask why I have entered no more fully into the details and processes of moral self-cultivation? My answer is, that I 31 362 young man's assistant. know of no sure, sound, and enduring morality, but that which is prompted by religious mo- tives, based upon religious principles, and guid- ed by the instructions of religion. To enter into the details and processes of moral self-cul- tivation when viewed in this light, would re- quire a volume, and that volume would be truly a religious work. I have thought it best there- fore to speak upon the necessity of religion — and leave my readers to their own religious teachers for counsel in regard to the details and processes of religious and moral self-cul- tivation. LETTER XI. THE NECESSITY QE RELIGION. Introduction — The proposition stated that religion is ab- solutely necessary to man's highest improvement and greatest happiness — This proposition explained — The argument — that man's highest improvement and best happiness is secured only by the proper cultivation and development of all the various parts of his nature — > all the tendencies and capacities of his soul — This il- lustrated — The position stated that man has a spiritual nature — Conscience- — the feeling of reverence and devotion, and a longing for the absolute and the perfect elements of spiritual nature — The cultivation of these not identical with intellectual improvement— /The con- clusion drawn from these premises — An appeal to the young — Religion needful to the formation of afulland perfect character — necessary to the enjoyment of full and perfect happiness — peculiarly necessary to the young — Religion to be secured during the season of youth, of health, and of mental vigor — Conclusion. My Young Friends, As I suggested at the dose of my last letter, I am now to address you in this closing lei- 384 YOUNG man' asssistant. ter upon the necessity of religion, or of reli- gious self-cultivation. In doing this I wish to invite your attention to the consideration of this distinct proposition, that religion is ab- solutely necessary to man's best improve- ment and highest happiness. But what, you may ask, do I mean, when I make the asser- tion, that religion is absolutely necessary to man's best improvement and highest happi- ness? Do I mean that no improvement can be made, and no happiness enjoyed, without religion? I answer, that I mean no such thing. For I admit, not only that some, but that much improvement may be made and much happiness may be, and often is enjoyed, without religion. He whose bodily health has by temperance and exercise, been care- fully preserved, is to a certain degree, happy in the enjoyment of health. He whose in- tellect has been cultivated and whose taste has been refined and purified, will enjoy much happiness in the pleasures of taste and intellect. He will experience a high degree of happiness in viewing a beautiful painting, in reading the productions of gifted minds, in NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 365 listening to the strains of eloquence or the harmony of music. And, most surely, such an one has made great improvement, com- pared with him in whom taste and intellect have heen neglected. He, in whom kind and amiable dispositions have been carefully cul- tivated, and whose social feelings are proper- ly developed, he who is the loving husband, the kind father, the amiable and obliging neighbor and friend, will enjoy much happi- ness in the pleasures of society and of friend- ship, and he is elevated in the scale of im- provement, far above him who is sour, mo- rose, savage and unsocial. Let me be under- stood then, at the outset, as distinctly mak- ing the admission that much improvement may be made and much happiness enjoyed without religion. And let it be understood too, why I make this admission. It is be- cause I know, that in the minds of some, there is a lurking skepticism, when one speaks of the absolute necessity of religion to man's improvement and happiness. Such are ready to say, you need not say this to us. We know that we are more improved, in mind and heart *31 36G and character, than many around us, and we are conscious of enjoying from day to day, and from year to year, much happiness, while yet we are, and acknowledge ourselves to be, destitute of religion. Such are apt to con- clude, when one speaks of religion as necessa- ry, that he speaks as a matter of duty, and because it is a part of his professional labor so to speak, or because he is himself deceiv- ed and has become a fanatic. Now if there are any such among my readers who are be- ginning to compose themselves into a state of indifference as to what 1 am about to say, with the thought that this is but the old story the necessity of religion, to them I would say, I admit the truth of what you assert, that you are more improved than many around you, and that you may and actually do enjoy much happiness, while yet destitute of religion.— Your assertion does not militate at all with the truth of the proposition which I wish at this time to establish, that religion is absolute- ly necessary to man's greatest improvement and highest happiness. And what I mean is this, that the improvement which you have NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 367 made, and the happiness which you do enjoy, are not so complete, and pure, and unalloyed as they would be if you were truly religious, and, still further, that your improvement has not reached the standard which it might have reached, under the influence of religion, and that your happiness falls far short of that, which, under the influence of religion, you are capable of enjoying. These are the points which it will be my object to prove. And, \jpon the ground of the full and fair admis- sion which I have made, I would ask your se- rious and candid attention to the remarks I may offer, I know not but you may here turn upon me again and ask what I mean by religion? do I mean any particular form or mode of worship? do I mean that it is absolutely nec- essary to a man's highest happiness and great- est improvement that he should believe as I do, worship as I do, or even practice in all things as I do? I answer, that this is not what I mean. I would remark that we use the term religion, in our ordinary intercourse with each other, in two different senses. We SG8 young man's assistant. speak of the Mahomedan Religion, the Hin- doo Religion, the Christian Religion. And we mean by this mode of speech, to desig- nate the particular collection of doctrines and precepts and ceremonies and ordinances and institutions, which are respectively peculiar to these different religions. So we speak of the Roman Catholic Religion and of the Protes- tant Religion, in the same sense. When we speak in this way, you perceive that we mean something, which is entirely without ourselves; something which, like different systems of Philosophy may be the subjects of our ex- amination, of our belief or disbelief. But then again, we speak of religion as the perso- nal possession of an individual man. We say, of one under temptation, that his religion has strengthened him to withstand, of one in af- fliction, that his religion has given him sup- port and consolation, of one who is near the approach of death, that his religion has given him peace and joy in the prospects of a fu- ture world. Here you perceive that we use the term religion to denote something, which is within the individual of whom the remark NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 369 is made, to denote the state of his mind, af- fections, desires, principles and feelings. ' We mean that the religious tendencies of his na ture have been properly cherished and devel- oped, that his desires, affections and princi- ples are all in a religious state, that his appe- tites and passions are all under the control of religious influences. It is in this latter sense that I use the term religion, when I say that it is necessary to man's highest happiness and improvement. I mean that man cannot make all the improvement, not enjoy all the happiness, of which his nature is capable, un- less the religious tendencies of his nature are carefully cultivated and properly developed, unless his soul is in a religious frame. Hav- ing made these introductory explanations, I now come to the argument. I. And first, — I suppose it will be admitted by all, that, if any one part of man's nature be neglected, the improvement made and the happiness enjoyed will not be so great as it would have been, had this part been properly exercised, strengthened and developed. And the reverse of this will of course be admitted 370 young man's assistant. by all, that he, in whom all the various parts and tendencies of his nature are properly de- veloped, will, other things being equal, make the greatest improvement and enjoy the high- est degree of happiness. Here, for example, is one who is intent upon the improvement of his intellect. His object is to acquire knowl- edge, and, by storing his mind with knowl- edge, to exercise, strengthen and develope his mental powers. To this he devotes his thoughts, his labors, his time. And he suc- ceeds, for a time. He makes rapid acquisi- tions of knowledge, — he is acquiring great mental power, great depth and justness of thought, great soundness of judgment. But, while doing this, he neglects his physical nature, and soon his health fails before his unremitted application. Now, you will admit, that this individual cannot make so great im- provement, cannot enjoy so great hsppiness, as he would have done had his physical system been properly exercised, strengthened and developed. His intellectual progress is en- tirely arrested, or much impeded, by his ill health. The happiness which he enjoys in NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 371 intellectual efforts is much diminished by his pains of body. You will admit, that in this case, relating only to bodily health and intel- lectual vigor, he who cultivates but one, to the neglect of the other, cannot make so great improvement, cannot enjoy so great happi- ness, as if he had properly exercised, strength- ened and developed both parts of his nature. And so, if you take the reverse, and suppose an individual to have exercised and cultivated his physical system, to the neglect of intellec- tual improvement, he will not make so great improvement, in all in which man is capable of improving, as if both parts of his nature had been cultivated. Take still another illus- tration. — Here is one who has cultivated bodily health and intellectual vigor, but has neglected his social nature, has become sour, morose and utterly selfish, taking no interest in the happiness of those around him, enjoy- ing no pleasure in their society, and ever fretting at their intrusion. I need not, I trust, say that such an one does not enjoy as much, as he would have done, had this part of his nature been properly cultivated. For this S72 all will at once admit. All will admit that ©ur enjoyment of intellectual pleasures even is much enhanced hy sharing those pleasures with other kindred minds. But I will say that he will not make so great improvement. It is often the case that in our private studies we fall into errors, which might be corrected, and imbibe prejudices which might be re- moved, and acquire narrow and contracted notions which might be enlarged, if we were to associate freely and pleasantly with others. It is often the case, too, that he, whose mind is becoming languid and torpid, under long continued solitary study, will find himself refreshed and invigorated by free and kind intercourse with his fellows, so that a certain number of hours, spent partly in study and partly in society, will result in greater im- provement, than the same number of hours spent in continued study or in solitary musings. You will admit then, I trust, that if any part of man's nature be neglected, he cannot make so great improvement, cannot enjoy so great happiness, as he would have done had all the various parts of his nature been properly cul- NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 373 I tivated and developed. But of what practical | importance is this conclusion ? Do not men act in reference to it? Do not those of good ! judgment and rational views in regard to hap- ! piness, regulate their conduct in their individu- al efforts, by a regard to this conclusion? Do they not strive, by temperance and exercise, to strengthen and develope their bodily powers? Do they not, by study, thought, and reflection, seek for intellectual improvement? Do they not strive to purify and elevate and refine their social feelings? And is not this done in order to secure greater degrees of improvement and a greater amount of happiness? And what theoretical inference does this conclusion au- thorize? Suppose, for example, you knew nothing of spiritual capacities-Mhat man was not created a spiritual being, but that you were informed, upon undoubted authority, that a be- ing had appeared upon earth in all other re- spects like man, but possessing in addition to all man's capacities, a spiritual nature — taste for spiritual enjoyments, and capacities for spiritual improvement. Would you not con- clude at once, from what you have learned of 374 young man's assistant. the will of God, as developed in man's con- stitution, that such a being would enjoy greater happiness, and make greater improvement, if these spiritual tastes and capacities were culti- vated and developed, than he could if they were neglected? Would you not feel that, where God has bestowed a power, and es- pecially a power of so high a character as this, it was intended that it should be exercised, strengthened and developed, and that this de- velopment would be productive of increased improvement and happiness? Still further, suppose you could become fully satisfied in your own mind that man, that you yourselves — had been blessed with spiritual natures, tastes for spiritual pleasures, and capacities for spiritual life, progress and enjoyment, would you not, at once, admit that, from what you have learned of God's will in the other parts of your nature, it was his intention that you should cultivate, strengthen and develope these • ial ifatures, and, that by so doing, you ; ; prees of im- enjoyment and happiness, than if you neglect- NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 375 ed them. Are not these theoretical inferences fairly drawn from the conclusion at which we had arrived? And here let us pause and re- view the argument, and see what progress we have made, and where we now stand. We have found that, if any one part of man's na- ture be neglected — if any portion of his ca- pacities and tendencies be suffered to lie dor- mant or to run to waste, he cannot make so great improvement, nor enjoy so great happi- ness, as he would if all the various parts, ca- pacities and tendencies of his nature were properly exercised, strengthened and devel- oped, that there is absolute and insurmountable impossibility in the thing. Now is not this conclusion legitimately drawn? fairly support- ed? I have looked at the argument and can see no flaw in it. And the conclusion seems to me to be as strictly and absolutely true, as that two and two make four. It is often said by writers on health, that you cannot cheat na- ture, meaning man's physical nature, bodily system, — that, if you do not give the body its proper amount of exercise and sleep, and its appropriate kind and quality of nourishment, Odb YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. you must suffer for the neglect, that if you do not experience the evil consequences, at once, you will sooner or later experience them, that pains will be induced, health enfeebled and death caused, by such neglect. So I say of man's whole system. You cannot cheat na- ture. If you neglect the appropriate exercise and cultivation of any part of his nature, al- though you may not experience the unhappy consequences, at once, yet you will sooner or later experience them. Let this conclusion, then, that if any part of man's natural capac- ities and tendencies be neglected, he cannot make so great improvement, nor enjoy so great happiness as he would, were all parts proper- ly cultivated — let this conclusion be fixed in your minds as a simple, undoubted, important truth, yea as a truth of direct and immediate personal, practical application. Thus far have we gone. Nay more, we have gone farther. We have seen that men of sound minds and rational notions, do regulate their conduct by a reference to these views, and we have drawn from our conclusion the theoretical inference that if man does naturally manifest spiritual NECESSITY OF RELIGION. S77 capacities and religious tendencies, he must attend to these and cultivate them, in order to make all the improvement and enjoy all the happiness of which his nature is capable. I have already asked, if this inference be not fairly drawn; to me it seems that it is — that it is as true as it is that if you take three from five there will remain two. And I would hope that this inference will be admitted into your minds, and fixed there, as a real simple truth, attended with important practical bearings.— Thus far have we gone. And here we now stand, poised upon that little word., if — if man possesses a spiritual nature. II. And now I proceed, in the second place, to examine the question which hangs upon that little word — the question, does man possess a spiritual nature ? And here I begin with the assertion that man does possess a spiritual na- ture — tastes for spiritual joys, and capacities for spiritual improvement, progress and growth. I have made an assertion. I will attempt to prove its truth. 1st. Man is possessed of conscience. This you and I know, for we have felt compunc- 32* 378 YOUN0 man's assistant. tions of conscience, and approbations of con- science. There cannot be one among my readers who has not experienced the feeling of self-approval, when he had done what he thought to be right, and the feeling of self-dis- approbation, when he had done what he be- lieved to be wrong. We are conscious of pos- sessing conscience. You may say that con- science is but the artificial creation of human eustoms, and may attempt to prove the truth of your assertion by shewing that the decisions of conscience vary in different circumstances, to accord with different customs. But this proof does not meet the case. On the con- trary it implies an admission of the very propo- sition it professes to deny. It goes to prove that the decisions of conscience vary with the degrees of light and instruction enjoyed by the individual whose conscience decides. But how could this be true if there were no con- science to decide? The very objection then is based upon the supposition that man does possess conscience. And this position it is in vain to argue against. If your child has done what he believes to be wrong, you cannot con- NECESSITY OF ItELIGION. 379 vince him that he did not experience a feeling of self-disapprobation. You may puzzle him by your hard words, and, to him, unintelligible arguments, but still he knows what he has felt. His consciousness has told him that he felt self- condemned, and he cannot disbelieve his own consciousness. Man then is possessed of con- science — it is one of his natural capacities. It is as much bestowed upon him in his crea- tion as the power of locomotion is bestowed upon beasts and birds. Conscience is as truly one of his natural capacities, as locomotion is one of their natural capacities. 2d. Again, man is possessed of the senti- ment of veneration or devotion. There is, in the very constitution of his nature, a tendency of this kind. This tendency may have given strange manifestations of itself — may have led to excesses and abuses, but these only prove the existence and strength of the principle it- self. I say this is one of the inherent tenden- cies of his nature, because wherever man is found, there, in some form or other, is mani- fested this principle of veneration or religious devotion. You find man bowing in worship. 380 young man's assistant. In the language of another I would say, "No matter what may be the immediate ot* ostensi- ble object of this sentiment, a log, a stone, or a star, the God of the hills, or the God of the plains, Jehovah, Jove or Lord; still it is ven- eration, still it is devotion. Neither can the principle itself, by any shew of evidence or just analysis; be resolved into a mere figment of the brain, or a mere creature of circumstan- ces, for, in some form or other, it has mani- fested itself, under all circumstances, and, in every stage of the mind's growth, as having its root and foundation in the soul. There is then in man a tendency disposing him to look up- wards to a higher power and inducing faith in the invisible." Nearly connected with this, is a natural ten- dency in man to reach after the absolute and the perfect. If man thinks of love, of purity, of holiness, of justice, benevolen.ce and truth, there is the feeling that all which he has yet seen, and all which he now knows of these, is imperfect, and only to be found in connection with peculiar circumstances and partial devel- opments. But, why does he feel that there NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 381 is, some where the absolute and the perfect, in love, truth, and holiness? Because he has the power of forming the idea of the absolute and the perfect in these. Let a man advance to as high degrees of love, purity, and holiness, as you can imagine him to advance, and still there will be connected with his satisfaction at having made such progress, the feeling that he falls short — there is the lono-ing, the reaching forth for the absolute and the perfect, and never is this lono-ino; satisfied, this reaching forth assuaged, until the mind is employed upon contempla- tions of the absolute and the perfect, as re- vealed by religion. This reaching after the absolute and the perfect is a natural tendency. It is found in the child, weak and imperfect in- deed it may be, but still there. It is found in the untutored savage, in the ignorant and su- perstitious, as well as in the enlightened and refined, among christians. To use the lan- guage of the author already quoted, "We may say that the very idea of imperfection as such, involves some faint glimmering of the idea of the perfect, with which it is compared, and without which imperfection would be to us ob2 YOUNG MAN S ASSISTANT. as perfection. So likewise, in contemplating things accidental and dependent, the idea of the absolute grows up in the mind; the idea of something that is not accidental and depend- ent, and on which every thing that is acciden- tal and dependent, rests and is sustained. In short, the mind of man is so constituted, that, in the full development of its intellectual pow- ers it can find no real satisfaction, no resolu- tion of its doubts and difficulties, but in the idea of the absolute and the perfect. Take away this idea, and existence itself becomes an enigma. Give back this idea, and it again be- comes a consistent, intelligible, and magnificent whole." I have named conscience, the sentiment of veneration or devotion, and the lon£in£ for the absolute and the perfect, as capacities and tendencies which are found in man, as natural capacities and tendencies. I believe them to be, in a certain sense, distinct irom his intel- lectual powers. The intellectual powers may be cultivated and these comparatively neglect- ed. A man may acquire vast stores of knowl- edge, may acquire great depth of thought upon NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 383 subjects to which his mind has been directed, while yet the tenderness of his conscience may not be increased; the correctness of his moral judgment may not be improved. So a man may have the sentiment of veneration devel- oped, in perfect and correct operation, while yet he is but an inferior man in an intellectual point of view. These capacities and tenden- cies are, then, in some sense, distinct from and independent of mere intellectual culture. In- deed, they are no more dependent upon intel- lectual culture, than intellectual vigor is depen- dent upon physical development. But these tendencies and capacities and as- pirations, and others like them, constitute what I call man's spiritual nature. They distinguish him from all inferior grades of being; they have laws peculiar to themselves, in accordance with which they may be cherished and improved. They require a particular kind of exercise and development, distinct from bodily exercise, different from social or mental culture. They constitute his tastes for spiritual joys, his ca- pacity for spiritual progress. They are capa- ble of being exercised and developed and dwelt 384 young man's assistant. upon, until they shall afford a peculiar kind and degree of happiness. You have seen men so absorbed in intellectual efforts as to be ren- dered unconscious of the cravings of nature — as to forget the appropriate season and place of their meals. So have we seen men so ab- sorbed in their contemplations of the spiritual and the eternal — so sustained by their faith and their hope, so enraptured by religious en- joyment, that they have been rendered calm and even cheerful in the midst of pain and poverty — while under the power of disease, and at the approach of death. Here, then, my young friends, let us pause a second and see where we are. We have found that there is in man conscience, the sentiment of venera- tion or devotion, and a longing for the absolute and the perfect. That these belong to a part of our nature, as distinct from intellectual fac- ulties, as intellectual faculties are distinct from bodily powers. That they require a distinct and separate culture, and that when cultivated, they give a weight of character and an amount of happiness which is independent of the intel- lectual character. I appeal to every one NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 385 of rny readers, are not these facts plain and simple facts? Has not your own past con- sciousness revealed them to you, as inherent in your own soul? I trust it has. These and other similar qualities constitute man's spiritual nature and tastes and capacities, and fit him for spiritual progress and happiness. But, if man has a spiritual nature, you have already admit- ted that it should be cultivated, and if culti- vated, causes him to reach a higher degree of improvement.and to secure a greater amount of happiness than could otherwise be reached or secured ; that it is absolutely necessary to man's greatest improvement and highest happiness; that this part of his nature should be cultivated and developed. But this, the right cultivation and proper development of man's spiritual na- ture, and its influence over the whole man, is what I mean by religion. When I say that religion is necessary to a man's improvement and happiness, I mean that it is necessary to his improvement and happiness, that his spirit- ual nature, his religious tendencies, should all be cherished, cultivated and developed. And have I not proved the truth of my assertion? 33 386 young man's assistant, Is it not a simple verity, as true as that two and two make four? And is not this an im- portant truth and a practical truth? Do you wish to reach the highest improvement, to se- cure the greatest happiness of which your na- ture is capable? Know that it is impossible, utterly and absolutely impossible, unless you become truly and personally religious — unless all the elements of your spiritual nature are cultivated and developed. My young friends, I have treated the sub- ject somewhat differently from the mode in which it is usually treated. I have not ap- pealed to the feelings — I have not endeavored to alarm the fears — I have used only what has seemed to me fair argument. I have drawn only what seemed to me to be fair inferences. I have drawn only what seemed to nie legiti- mate conclusions and inferences. I have based my arguments too, not upon peculiar specula- tions and theological dogmas, but upon what man's nature is, and what it requires, upon grounds which are within the range of every one's consciousness and observation. If I am wrong, you have within your own hearts or under NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 387 your own eyes, the means of detecting any er- ror. If I am right, there is a voice within you and a voice comes from all your past expe- rience and all your various observation, which cries amen to what I have said. And in view of my conclusion, what should be my exhortation? I ask of you nothing wild, extravagant, or unreasonable. I ask only that, like reasonable beings you will give my conclusions their legitimate and proper influ- ence over your conduct, the same influence which you would give to conclusions equally well founded and supported, relative to other subjects. Could I prove to you that a certain course of conduct is absolutely necessary to your enjoyment of health, or to your securing wealth, would you not pursue that course? Or, if you should not, would you not be justly obnoxious to the charge of acting like unrea- sonable beings? Be exhorted then by all your aspirations after improvement of character, and by all your hopes of happiness either here or hereafter, be exhorted and entreated to com- mence at once a religious life, to begin the cul- tivation of your spiritual capacities, to fit, train, and educate vour souls for heaven. 388 young man's assistant. But when, you will ask, is religion to be sought and acquired? The answer is plain. Now is the accepted time? The season of health and strength, and especially the sea- son of youth, is the time. When you can apply your minds to understand its eviden- ces, its doctrines, its duties, and when you have strength of resolution sufficient to cany you onward in the course of Christian im- provement, then is the time in which re- acquire religion. Sickness, and the ap- proach of death, are seasons unfavorable to the acquisition of religious knowledge, to the cultivation of christian faith and love, to the formation of christian character. You will then need its supports and consolations. But if you would enjoy the strongest and best sup- ports of religion in mourning and affliction, in sickness and at the approach of death, you must have been purified, elevated, guided, saved by its influence, when in health and at ease in your mind. Now then is the appro- priate time in which to commence, a religious course. The time that is past is gone forev- er. It cannot minister to your religious im- provement, in any other way than as your re- NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 389 collection of what has been mispent, may- arouse your exertions to redeem what may still remain to you. The future cannot be calculated upon. It may be yours or it may not. Should it be yours, you may be unfit- ted by bodily pain, or by mental distraction, for directing your attention to your own reli- gious improvement. v Now then, now is the time to commence a religious course? And will you not my friends at once commence your religious course. As you look onward into life, you hope to be respectable, you wish to be happy. You are now free from gross vices, and you have confidence, that by your own strength you shall ever remain so. But your confidence is without good foundation. Others stronger and more confident than you, have fallen before the insidious influence of temptation, have yielded to the power of sin. You are equally liable to fall, unless there be within you, religious principle, as a root strik- ing deep into your affections, and spreading wide its influence over your characters. Be assured then that your characters will never be perfected, in the eye of your own con- 33* 890 young man's assistant. sciences, nor in the eye of your God, with- out religion. Be assured that your cup. of happiness will never be full, unless religion be permitted to add her share of the ingredi- ents. Be assured, that in all the scenes of your future life, whether it. be longer or short- er, whether it be more or less varied, in all scenes, religion will be the one thing needful. I repeat, in all the scenes of life, and espe- cially at the approach of death, come when it will, and come it must, sooner or later, re- ligion will be the one thing needful. And would that I could say this with an emphasis that should reach every heart and arouse every soul. Bnt alas! so engrossed are most, even of our young men by worldly cares and temporal pursuits, so entirely taken up are they in laying up for themselves treas- ures on earth, that the oft repeated warnings and calls urging them to commence a religious life are passed unheeded by. Sabbath after Sabbath the call is repeated, week after week the warning that comes up from the grave of a fellow being is sounded in the ears of men, day after day, and night after night, the works NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 391 of nature proclaim this call aloud, and the spirit of God is ever operating to set it home upon the hearts that are open to its influen- ces, and yet we are sometimes compelled to acknowledge that but few have obeyed the call, that but few have listened to the report. And when we look upon those around us and see how frail they are, how liable to disease and death, and yet how carelessly they go, we almost tremble with fear, lest the fiat of the Almighty should go forth, "I will cut them down, why burden they the ground!" We are prompted to pray in the anxiety of our souls for them, Lord, let them alone another year. But what encouragement have we to hope that at the end of another year it will be any better with them? My young friends, I do beseech you, yea, most earnestly do I intreat you, to lay it to heart, that religion is the one thing needful. Seek then first the kingdom of heaven. Strive principally to become per- sonally religious. May 1 not hope that some will at once resolve to strive more ear- nestly, than they have ever yet done, to ac- quire christian dispositions, feelings and tem- 392 YOUNG MAN S ASSISTANT. pers, and to form christian characters. Shall not the recording angel enter the resolve of man}' made as they close this volume, that for the future they will strive for the one thing needful? Shall not the inhabitants of heav- en rejoice at the course of repentance, refor- mation and christian improvement, commenc- ed by many who may pursue these pages. — Do not, oh, do not, I beseech you, forget as you close the book what manner of persons you are. Do not forget that to you religion is the one thing needful. That without this, all other possessions will he comparatively val- uless, that with this every scene of life may be a scene of comparative happiness. Seek then first and principally a religious frame of mind, a religious state of the affections, a re- ligious cast of character, and may the bless- ing of God attend you as you seek. But how, you will ask, shall we commence? In answer, I would say, go to your respective religious teachers for instruction on this point. Different teachers may, perhaps, give differ- ent directions, according to their peculiar re- ligious views. And I would not mar what I NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 393 cannot but hope may be the good influences of what I have written, by any directions which may take their coloring from my peculiar re- ligious views. Then too 3 every religious teach- er must vary his directions to meet the precise state of feelings and of character in the differ- ent individuals who may ask advice. What I wish therefore is to awaken you to a full and feeling sense of the importance of religion — the importance of entering at once and in ear- nest upon the work of becoming religious — the work of religious self-cultivation. Should what I have written awaken you to this feel- ing, and prompt you to go to your bibles, and to ask for counsel and direction from your re- spective religious teachers, I shall feel that I have been an instrument of the greatest good to your souls. I shall feel that I have done something to promote, not merely yourrespec- tibility and usefulness in life, but your prepa- ration for the realities of the unseen, the spir- itual, the eternal world. I shall feel that my efforts have been blessed by God. I shall cherish the hope that parents and religious teachers, who may differ from me in religious 394 young man's assistant. opinions, will rejoice in the result. I would write not as a sectarian, but as a christian. I wish to see our young men becoming truly and personally religious. Could I see this, I should rejoice, how much soever they may dif- fer from me in religious opinions, and with whatever religious denomination they may connect themselves. I would now, my young friends, commend what I have written to your serious and care- ful attention. Remember, as you meditate upon what you have read, that it is for your good that I have written. But remember, too that all which I have written will be of no avail, unless you make personal efforts in ap- plying what you have to your own individual improvement. If what I have written shall excite you to careful thought and to earnest and regular and persevering efforts in your own social, intellectual, moral, and religious self- cultivation, then shall I be amply rewarded for my labor. H 51 88 * ** * J? %IPV 4* "^ •ASP.* «£ % -^ *b# ^'*.tjc/#.^ V- .K* WjP \p