- i
0
j~















THE BRIEF REMIARKER.








1E1 RE
ON THE
WAYS OF MAN:
0O1,
COMPENDIOUS DISSERTATIONS RESPECTING SOCIAL AND
DOMESTIC RELATIONS AND CONCERNS,
AND TJIE
V A RIOUS  ECON0OMY  OF  LIFE.
BY
E Z R A SAMPS ON.
"The spacious West,
"And  ll1 the teemning regions of the South,
"  old not a quarry, to the curious flight
"Of kinowledge, half so templting  or so fair
"As Mfanz to Moonz."  AnEs-stDS.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
346 & 343 BROADWAY
1855.




ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
JOSEPII SAMPSON,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of
New York.




CONTENTS.
NUMBER I.
Of the peculiar causes of so prevalent a restlessness of disposition,...          11
NUMBER II.
Of troubles of our own making,......    15
NUMBER III.
Of self-inflicted tortures,...                                                   19
NUMBP',  IV.
Of greedy amnbitiousness after wealth -ominously tile master-passion of the titlles,. 23
NUMBER V.
Of the tyranny of Fashion in laying enormous taxes upon common-conditionedl folks,
and grinding the faces of tile poor,.                                           21
NUMBER VI.
Of the papal rescript froms the Court of Fashion, indirectly forbidding to marry,.. 31
NUMBIER VII.
Of the elevation of tile condition and character of women by means of Christianity,. 35
NUMB ER VIII.
Of self-ignorance and self-adulation,.                                              39
NUMBER IX.
Of the wide difference between wisdom and cunning,.                                43
NUMBER X.
Of the temporal advantages of uprightness of character,.                            47
NUMBEIR XI.
An exemplification of true Christian honesty,..                                    0... 
NUMBERP  XII.
Of the prevailing  habit of proimise-breakisng in common dealing,..             54
NUMIBER XIII.
Of the heavy tax laid upon all worldly eminence,. 58




6                                    CONTENTS.
PAGR
NUMBER XIV.
Of the inestinrable valune of a pious, discreet, and faithflll motl here,.   62
NUMBER XV.
Truths said of boys, which boys will ne'er believe,.66
NUIT'MBER XVI.
Of the contelmpt of womuankind,.... 70
NUMBER XVII.
Of the increase of consequence ordinarily given a man by marrying,.. 74
NUMBER XVIII.
Of the use and necessity of snmall change in social and domestic commerce,... 78
NUAMBER, XIX.
Of the great social law, enjoining it upon each to yield place to each,.              82
NUMBER XX.
Of the necessity of learning hlow to use money,. 85
NUMABE'R XXI.
Of the wonderful boy,.. S9
NUMBER XXII.
Of bridling tile tongle,...                                             9
N UMAIBER XXIII.
Of saying too much,.                                                                    96
NUMBER XXIV.
Of the salutary effects of the necessity, laid upon man, to labor,. 100
NUMBER XXV.
Of the design and use of the tllhumll,..   104
NUAMBER XXVL.
Of idlers,..108
NUMBER XXVII.
Of productive labor, other than that of the hands,.. 112
NUMBER XXVIII.
A sorrow-soothingl Scottish legend..... 117
NUMBERI XXIX.
Of maternal tendlerness; or the sorrows of tile daughter of Aiah,.... 121
NUMABEII  XXX.
Of prudence in tile ordinary concerns of life,.12
NUAMBE-R XXXI.
Of the vast iInmportance of manner in giving counsel and reproof,.                130
NUIMBER XXXII,
Of trut!l-speaking as denoting courage,...134
(NUMBERTT   XXXIITTT.
Of vulgaritv....i




CONTENTS.                                        7
NUMBER XXXIV.
Of the very great influence of use or custom, as respects children, upon their dispositions and characters in after life,.. 142
NUMBER XXXV.
Of the advantages of the long-protracted weakness and dependence of childhood,.. 141
NUIMBER XXXVI.
Of the moral benefits accruing to paltents by mneans of the good instruction they give
their children,...                                                         150
NUMBERl  XXXVII.
Of the condition of old age —with directions for lightening its burden,.          154
NUMBER XXXVIII.
Of the silly qnlarrel between a venerable old couple about a little goat,.         159
NUMBER XXXIX.
Of friendship, and the choice of friends,.. 164
NUMBEER XL.
Of the importance of learning to say, No,....169
NU3MBER XLI.
Of the calamities of hereditary idleness,.172
NUMBER XLII.
Of the lamentable species of helplessness occasioned by pride and false shame,.. 116
NUMBERI  XLIII.
Of the proper and improper. tas dependilg upon the diverse circumstances and ages of
life,........1SO
NUMIBER XLIV.
Of keeping children from the company of children,...184
NITUMBER XLV.
Of teaching children to lie,.. 183
NUMBEIR XLVI.
Of habitual discontent, arising from imaginary wants,.                            193
NUMBER XLVII.
Of several of the predisposing causes of unhappy marriages,.                      197
NUMBER XLVIII.
Of favoritism in the dealings of parents with their children,...            201
NUMBERI XLIX.
Of the inestimable benefits of law,.... 20'
NUMBER L.
Of a disputatious temper and habit,.......              210
NUMBER LI.
Of overdoing in governing children,.. 215
NUAMIBER LII.
Of Itrocrastinatio,.......21.




S                                       DCONTENTS.
PAG 
NUMBER LIII.
Of the well-informed,. 224
NUMBERI LIV.
Of the vanlness of trying to please everybody,....223
NUMBE}R LV.
Of tile easiness of the transition from Christian civilization to comparative barbarism,,. 231
NUMBER LVI.
A comment upon a celebrated allegory of antiquity,... 236
NUMBER LVII.
Of forgetting old debts, and shtlffling off the payment of small ones,..   241
NUMBER  LVIII.
Of devotedness to pleasure,..                             o.245
NUMIBER LIX.
Of varnity, as mriking part of the warp of our general nature.. 250
NUMBER LX.
Of thle rueful consequences of living too fast,.255
NUMBER LXI.
Of banqueting upon borrowing,..                            259
NUMBER LXII.
Of the principle of shamne,..264
NUMBER LXIII.
Of virtuous poverty,.. 26
NUMBER LXIV.
Of frivolity of character,...... 271
NUMBER LXV.
Of the natural and tile moral Iheart,.                          275
NUMBER LXVI.
Of moral education,...                                                                250
NUMBER LXVII.
Of the power of the imiagination over young minds-instanced in George Hlopewell,. 2SG6
NUMBER LXVIII.
Of the foul nature and direful effects of customary gaming,.                          290
NUMBER LXIX.
Of the almnost insuperable power of habit,.                                              294
NUMABE1R LXX.
Of the world.....298
NUMBER LXXI.
Ofthe inquisitiveness of children,.                             303
lNUMBEIR LXXII.
Of the influence of early imnpressionls upom all tile followingl periods of life,,.. 07




CONTENTS.                                           9
P'AGE
NUMBERP LXXIII.
Of calamitous reverses in respect to worldly circumstances,... 312
NUMBER LXXIV.
Of the attention due both to mind and body,. 317
NUMBER LXXV.
Of the general proneness to petty scandal,.. 321
NUMBER LXXVI.
Of enjoying independence as to worldly circumstances without possessing wealth,. 32
NUMBER LXXVII.
Of the early and ardent desire for power,...81
NUMBER LXXVIII.
Of giving in marriage,...35
NUMBER LXXIX.
Of useful industry, considered as a moral duty,..,.         39
NUMBER LXXX.
Of thle moral use of the pillowv-with reflections on sleep,.                           343
NUMBER LXXXI.
Of the two opposite errors-the extlerne of suspicion and the extreme of confidence,. 384
NUMBER LXXXII.
Of sunshine friends,.                                                                  352
NUMBER LXXXIII.
Of the misuse of the faculties of memory,.. 356
NUMBER LXXXIV.
Of attaining a facility of utterance, or vocal expression,..360
NUMBER LXXXV.
A comment upon the fable of the invisible spectacles,.......             365
NUMBER LXXXVI.
Of the misuse, and the proper use, of reading,.. 8t39
NUMBER LXXXVII.
Of excessive and indiscriminate novel-reading,.                                      3741
iNUMBER LXXXVIII.
Of the impassable and unalterable limits to the pleasures of sense,.9. 379
NUMBER LXXXIX.
Of the difference betwreen ignorance and a natural weakness of understanding,.. 383
NUMBER XC.
Of evil thinking.. 38T
NUMBER XCI.
Of treating children with excessive severity,.                                         391
NUMilBER XCII.
Of drawing  and fixing the attention of children,. 395




10                                   CONSTENTS.
NUMBER XCIII.
Of balancing thie principles of hope and fear in tile governance of children,... 399
NUMIIIBER XCIV.
Of brevity in relation to sundry particulars,.... 403
NUMBE R XCV.
Of sonmle particulars conducive to conjugal peace and happiness.. 407
NUMBER XCVI.
Of regtarding  accomllplishlments as the principal part of female ed(ucation,. 413
NUMIBEl  XCVII.
Of the commnon use of false Nweights and measures in dealing out both praise and censure, 418
NUMBER XCVIII.
Of an officious Iledclling witll, and a total disregard of the affairs of others,.. 428
NUMBEOR XCIX.
Of turning good to ill by tamlperitng  with it,.                                   427
NUMBER} C.
Of a restless desire to know what others say of us,..       432
NUMBER CI.
Summary characteristics,..436
NUMBER CII.
Of the necessity of seasonable precaution,.. 440
NUMBER CIII.
Of our proneness to go from one extreme to another,.                                444
NUMBER CIV.
Of despising small things,..44S
NUSIBER CV.
Of cutting the coat to the clotlh,.. 452
NUMTBER CVI.
A solemn monition,........6




THE BRIEF REIARIKER.
NUMBER I.
OF T-HE PECULIAR CAUtSES OF SO PREVALENT A RESTLESSNESS OF
DISPOSITION.
WHILE somle ruin their circumstances by their indolence, others
do it by their restlessness; always busy, but never pursuing any
plan of regular industry.  No sooner are they settled down in
one business, than they change it for another. They are " every
thing by turns and nothing long." Their attention thus dissipated turns to no account, and poverty overtakes them  while
they are flying so many different ways to escape it. Whereas
a steady, straightforward course in almost any single business
might have secured them a competence.
It is neither an imaginary nor a rare character, that I have
now been describing: it is to be met with every where, in town
and country. Thousands are undone by means of this single
foible; every thing else in their habits and dispositions giving
promise of success.  This restlessness is owing sometimes to
natural temper; but most commonly, perhaps, to the peculiar




12                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
circumstances of the country in which we live.  In China, a
boy must follow the occupation of his father, and stick to that or
starve.  In India, no one can raise himself above the level of
the caste in which he happens to be born.  Nor is the mass of
Europeans altogether free from shackles, that bind them  down
to occupations in which their own choice has had no concern.
If a man there be bred a cobbler, he hardly may aspire to the
honor of making shoes.  But here, on the other hand, a man
may put off his calling almost as easily as his clothes; or he
may patch together several callings, and pursue them alternately
or all at once, as best suits his own fancy.  Here, the field of
individual enterprise is alike open to all.  Here, no one is of a
family so humble as to be precluded from the possibility of raising himself, not only to opulence, but to office and rank.  Here,
wealth is shifting hands with such rapidity that, in one or two
generations, the hills sink and the valleys rise.
Now, as this condition of things animates thousands with
the spirit of enterprise, so it occasions in very many a restlessness and instability of feeling.  Possessing freedom  of choice,
and having before them so many objects to choose betwixt, they
never come to an election that fully satisfies them.  Add to
this, that the last twenty-five years have (by reason of the unexampled state of Europe) furnished instances, in almost every
district of our country, of some rising suddenly to great opulence, by a single stroke in the experiments of speculation, and
without any attention at all to the process of patient industry;a circumstance that has operated powerfully on young minds;
and on minds not young, in rendering them dissatisfied with
slow gains or small profits, and impatient of the drudgery of




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      13
any laborious calling.  Not to mention that our country has, of
itself, for a very long time past, furnished magnificent scenes,
and numerous opportunities of speculation, altogether unexampled perhaps in the history of man.
Moreover, it is obvious to remark, that our enterprising
youth are necessarily, as it were, tinctured with a romantic disposition.  The books that they most read, are of the ro:mantic
kind; alike inflaming the imagination, and misleading the judgment, by descriptions " of a world where events are produced by
causes widely and manifestly different from  those which regulate the course of human affairs.'  Also, for almost the term of
a whole generation, there has been constantly exhibited to view
slch a series of marvels in the civilized world, that the history
of real life carries on it the appearance of romance.
Nothing very strange is it, therefore, that the minds of a
great many are unsettled, notional, and fraught with extravagant expectations.  And this is the less to be wondered at, as
it is customary for our youth to step into manhood earlier than
in former ages, or perhaps than in any country else.  Commencing men at an immature period, and under such powerful impulses to wild extravagances of imagination, it would be marvellous indeed if they were not, many of them, averse to any
sober, rational, and steady plan of life.
To contrast the past with the present in a short biographical
notice of one of the first and wealthiest merchants of the last
age, the writer remarks:-" It was an invariable rule with him
to avoid every kind of dangerous experiment, and to confine
himself to such branches of trade as admitted the surest principles of calculation."-This golden rule of business, which in




14                THE BRIEF REMARKER
former times of "steady habits" was sacredly regarded, not
merely by that merchant, but generally; —this golden rule of
business has, by a concurrence of unparalleled circumstances.
been made to give place to rashness of speculation and a restless spirit of adventure-an evil, which nothing but length of
time, and the smart-giving rod of stern experience will, in any
likelihood, be able to cure.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN~.                    15
NUMBER II.
OF TROUBLES OF OUR OWXN  AKING.
TIIERE is in. our nature such a restlessness of disposition,
that we commonly make to ourselves more than half the evils we
feel. Unsatisfied with what iwe are, or possess, we are still craving something past or to come, and by regrets, desires, and fears,
are perpetually poisoning the streamis of present enjoyment.
The weather is too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry.  If we
have nothing to do, time hangs upon us an insupportable burden.
If our circumstances compel us to daily labor, we fret to see
others enjoying their leisure.  Although we have food and
raiment enough, and good enough, still we are dissatisfied that
we are not rich.  If, on the contrary, we chance to be rich, the
weight of cares, the pains of getting, the difficulty of keeping, and
the fears of losing, give us incessant disquiet and fatigue.
Mrs. Thrift has a decent competence, together with a kind
husband, and fine children; but her heart is sick because she
cannot live in the splendid style of her wealthy neighbor, Mrs.
Modish.  At the same timne, Mrs. Modish, yoked to a surly,




16                THE BRIEF REMAlRKER
snappish, gouty husband, is secretly envying the condition of
Mrs. Thrift.
Honest Abraham  has a good farm, and is an excellent
farmer, and free of debt; but his peace of mind is destroyed
by being disappointed of an office; —an office, too, without emolument.  Farmer Thomas, his more artful neighbor who got the
office, no sooner received his commission, than he began to dash
away like a gentleman, and consequently neglected his farm, and
impoverished his family; and by this time he sincerely regrets
his having been so foolish as to barter solid pudding for empty
honor.
Mercator, having acquired a snug estate by trade, grows
uneasy, and sighs for a country life.  Purling brooks, vocal
groves, fragrant meadows, blooming orchards, and fields covered
with a golden harvest, enchant his imagination.  He sells his
stock in trade, and purchases a farm, which he manages with
about as much skill as a mere landsmnlan would manage a ship at
sea: it brings him in debt; and venting upon it no very gentle
epithets, he longs to leave it, and go back to the situation he had
abandoned.
Agricolus, weary of a dull, plodding way of living and of
slow gains, leaves the plough and becomes a merchant.  He
sells his fast estate, and purchases with it goods, running in debt
a few thousands, as he would needs have a, handsome assortment.
His goods are unskilfully chosen, and meet with a wretched
market.  Pay day comes, and his creditors, blest with excellent
memories, are prompt in urging him to a settlement.  But, alas!
of money he has none.  And now, "to break or not to break,
that's the question."  He struggles hard, makes new debts to




ON THE WAYS OF IAN'.                      17
pay okl ones, sells at great loss; borrows money at 30 or 40 per
cent., breaks at last; and whereas he merely imagined himself
unhappy while holding the plough, he now feels that he is so
indeed.
Thus mankind, from a restless disposition, render themselves
wretched, when they might be much at their ease.
It would be worth to one, more than any, or even all of the
arts and sciences, to lecar'z the art of l.iving hictaljily.  I don't
mean pecfect happiness, which is not to be enjoyed here; but
such a degree of happiness as our Maker has put in our power.
The art of living happily does not lie in stoical apathy; for as
to the real and sharp afflictions of life, while one ought " to bear'
them like a man, he should also feel them  like a  llan."  Nor
does he know the sweets of friendship, who feels little or no pain
at being sundered from a near friend.  Much less does it lie in
the nauseating lap of gross sensuality; for the enjoyment of the
mere sensualist is no higher than that of the pampered  horse in
the stable or stud, or the fattening pig in the sty.  Indeed the
brute has much the advantage, as it lives according to its nature
and destination, while the man is haunted with a perpetual consciousness of the shameful degradation of his moral and intellectual faculties.
The following maxims, or rules of action mnight, if strictly
observed, go filar to increase the happiness, or, at least, to diminish the inquietudes and miseries of life.
Live constantly in the unshaken belief of the overruling providence of an infinitely wise anud good, as well as Almighty Being;
and prize his power above all things.
Observe inviolably truth in your words, and integrity in
your actions.




18                 THE BRIEF RIEMARKER
Accustoml yourself to temperance, and be master of your
passions.
Be not too much out of hutmor with the world; but remember, it is a world of God's creating, and however sadly it is
nmarred by wickedness and folly, yet you have found in it more
comforts than calamities, nmore civilities than affronts, more iastances of kindness towards you than of cruelty.
Try to spend your time usefully both to yourself and others.
Never make an enemy, or lose a friend unnecessarily.  Cultivate
such an habitual cheerfulness of mind, and evenness of temper,
as not to be ruffled by trivial inconveniences and crosses.
Be ready to heal breaches in friendship, and to make up
differences; and shun litigation yourself as much as possible;
for he is an ill calculator, who does not perceive that one
amicable settlement is better than two lawsuits.
Be it rather your ambition to acquit yourself well in your
proper station than to rise above it.
Despise not small honest gains, nor risk what you have on the
delusive prospect of sudden riches.  If you are in a comfortable
thriving way, keep in it, and abide in your own calling rather
than run the chance of another. In a word, mind to "' use the world
as not abusing it," and probably you will find as much comfort
in it as is most fit for a frail being, who is merely journeying
through it toward an immortal abode.




ON THE WAYS OF  IAN.                     19
NUMBER III.
OF SELF-INFLICTED TORTURES.
NOTHING iS more common than the discontent of those who
have not even a shadow  of cause for discontent.  They are
neither sick, nor pinched with poverty, nor called to sustain distressing hardships.  They enjoy both food and appetite.  They
have raiment to put on, and friends to converse with;  and if
not rich, have fully enough for the moderate supply of all their
real wants.  Yet these enjoyments, these bounties of indulgent
Heaven, are poisoned, as it were, by the discontent of their minds,
so that they are wretched amidst health and competence.
What are the illusions that thus obstruct the sources of
enjoyment, and, in this favored country, cheat so many out of the
happiness of which Providence had put them in possession?-They
are such as usually spring from one 01' other of the three following causes; —erverseness of temi?)er; false theories of wVorl(//l/
happiness;  the influence of op2inion.
With respect to enjoying ourselves or not in life, more, a




20                  THE BRIEF REMARKER
great deal, depends upon temper than upon circumstances.  Not
that our enjoyments are not always considerably affected by our
worldly circumstances, and sometimes in a very great degree;
but if they are such, that we are able to supply ourselves with
all the real necessaries and essential comforts of life, it is not
our circumstances, but our tempers that are in fault, if we are
not too happy to complain, and too grateful to repine.  The root
of our uneasiness is altogether in our own minds, and without a
thorough change there, no change of place or of outward circumstances could quiet us. What though all our present ideal wants
were satisfied? other ideal wants would presently start up, and
we should still be weaving for ourselves the web of misery.  A
temper, that inclines to be satisfied with its present lot, is worth
more than thousands a year; whereas restlessness of temper is
one of the greatest of misfortunes.  A full half of human  troubles would vanish, and the rest be lightened, if there were a
thorough cure of this one scrofulous disease of the heart.
Our false theories of worldly happiness constitute another
huge class of troubles of our own making: and the effects of
these false theories are the more deplorable, inasmuch as the
disappointments, inevitably resulting from  them, sour the disposition. and thereby enhance the numbers of the wretched victims
of temper.  Corporeal enjoyments are few and simple; neither
wealth, nor any of the arts of refinement, can add considerably
to their number, or any thing at all to their relish.  The pleasures of sense are limited by narrow boundaries, which never can
be passed without instantly turning pleasure into pain: and
however much we may refine upon the pleasures of sense, our refinements can increase them  but very little.  The most refined




ON THE WAYS OF MAN,                   21
epicure, for example, has scarcely any more enjoyment of the
pleasures of the table, than one who confines himself to the plainest viands.  Wherefore nothing is more plain and easy of comprehension than the true notion of mere worldly happiness: —the
whole sum of it results from health, competence, the friendly society of neighbors and acquaintance, and the pure joys of domestic life.  He that has these, though he have neither wealth nor
rank, enjoys about all the world can bestow.  But these real and
unsophisticated enjoyments, which are bestowed in fully as large
measure upon the peasant as upon the prince, are too vulgar for
the fastidious taste of visionary speculatists; they must find a
something that is quite above and beyond the common blessings
of life, else they are determined not to enjoy themselves at all.
Thus they lose the good, that lies fairly within their reach, by
laying out their endeavors to grasp an abstract something, that
is conceivable indeed, but not attainable;-an ignis fatuus, which
the eye plainly sees, but which evades the touch, and baffles
all pursuit.
The last brood of artificial troubles, which I proposed to
notice, are those that are generated by the influence of opinion:
I mean not one's own opinion, but the opinion of others.  We
are such strange and unaccountable creatures, that we are more
solicitous to appear happy than really to be so; and hence we
willingly abridge our real enjoyments for the sake of seeming to
possess enjoyments superior to those that are altogether common
to mankind. Now the general opinion of society (a very erroneous one indeed) makes the pomp of show a prerequisite for
being deemed happy, or, at least, for obtaining the credit of refined enjoyment; and this general opinion, how much soever we




22                CTHE BRIEF REMARKER
nmay despise it in our judgments, has an astonishing influence
upon- our conduct and feelings; an influence that precipitates
hundreds and tens of hundreds from a condition of competence
to- that of poverty.
That apt Reimarker, Dr. Franklin, observes; " The eyes of
other people are the eyes that ruin us. If all but myself were
blind, I should want neither fine clothes, fine houses, nor fine
furniture."-It is even so; —and it is this supreme regard to the
eyes of others, that leads multitudes into extravagant and ruinous expenses.  Without adequate funds, they build them  fine
houses, and purchase them fine furniture, and array themselves
with costly apparel, that others may gaze upon them as persons
possessed of taste and of refined enjoyments; and by these means
they are presently stripped of the very necessaries of life.




(JN THE'WAYS OF M1AN..~23
NUMIBER IV.
OFr GREEDY AMBITIOUSsESS AFTER, WEALTH-OMI: OITUSLY TIIE MIASTER
PASSION OF TIIE TIMIES.
AIBITrON'S thorny path is too narrow for two to go abreast.
Each struggles hard to get forward of each; and the one that is
foremost of all, must press onward with might and main, else some
other will rush by him.  le that stumbles is trampled over by
the crowd behind him.  It is all a scranmble, in which the suecessful competitors are greeted with shouts of applause, and the
unsuccessful assailed with the hisses of derision and scorn.
In a former age, it was the ambition of the celebrated Cardinal de Retz to be first in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, the
Parisians.  His nmunificence exceeded all former example; his
liberalities were unbounded.  The courtesy of his manners, and
the fascinating charms of his address. won him  universal friendship and admiration. At home he was crowded with visitors:
when he rode through the streets, he was accompanied with a




2)4               WTHE BRIEF RE-AARKEP.
splendid retinue of nobility and gentry, all proud to do him
honor; and whenever he entered the parliament, mnarked respect
and homage. were paid him there.  But there happened an incident that put this friendship to the test, and proved it light as
air.
Upon a time the Cardinal was thought to be on the eve of
ruin.  In that situation he went to the parliament, to clear him
self of heavy charges, which his enemies had raised against hiim.
The account of his reception there is thus given in his memoirs,
written with his own hand.
"We went to the parliament.  The princes had there near a
thousand gentlemen with them; and I may say, hardly one from
the court was missing there.  I was in my church habit, and
went through the great hall, with my cap in my hand, saluting
every body; but I met with but few that returned me that civility, so strongly teas it believed that I was anz unztdoe Ctan2."
Neither is this a solitary example, nor one of rare occurrence.
History abounds with examples that, in the falling fortunes of
the great and noble of the earth, their friends fall off, like leaves
from  the trees in the first frosts of autumn.  Sir Walter REaleigh, alike celebrated as a scholar, a gentleman, a statesman, a
soldier, and a man of genius, in his last letter to his wife, after
his most unjust condemnation to death, says: " To what friend
to direct you I know not; for all mine have left me in the true
time of need."
But not any longer to dwell on the scenes of high life, with
which the generality of my readers have as little concern as myself, I will turn now to the walks of the more common sort.
In countries where distinction of orders is established by




ON THE WAYS OF  IAN.                     25
law, ambition runs in two different channels.  With not a few
its main object is rank, titles, stars, garters, and ribbons; these
baubles being by them preferred greatly to mere wealth, which is
eagerly pursued by those, chiefly, who can have little or no expectation of attaining to the high distinctions of civil, ecclesiastical, or military rank. Whereas, in this free country of ours, where
there is no distinction of orders, and no established rank of one
family above another, the undivided current of ambition is towards wealth.  Avarice is the general and the ruling passion
The pursuit of gain is the only secular pursuit that is nmuch valued or thought of; because, in the common estimation the grand
point of honor is to be rich.  Marmmon is the idol, to which every
thing else is made to bend.  Offices are sought after for their emioluments chiefly.  Nay, the august seats of legislation are unhesitatingly deserted for public employments, barren of honor, but of
greater profit. Men are appraised, and rated high or low, according
to the magnitude of their property. The common question, What
is he tvol'tha? is answered only in one way.  If his estate be
small, he is worth little; if he have no estate left, he is worth
n0othing.  It is but of small account, though he have an ample
fund of moral and intellectual worth; —the worth that is most
eagerly sought, most highly prized, and mlost generally esteemed,
is pecuniary worth.
In the scramble of such multitudes after riches, very many
must needs be unsuccessful; for in no country whatever, can
more than a comparative few  arrive at wealth.  By far the
greater part of the candidates, falling short of their expectations, endure the pangs of disappointment, and pine under the
corrodings of envy.  With some avarice defeats its own aim.
2




26                  THE BRIEF REMARKER
Their greediness of gain, if it impel them not to deeds of fraud
or violence, which bring them to shame and ruin, yet spurs
them on to engage in rash and ruinous adventures. The estates
of others: as Franklin's Poor Richard said, are spent in the
getting. Fondly anticipating a fortune, they dash away as if
they really had it in hand. Others again counterfeit the splendor
of riches, that they may put themselves and their families in the
ranks of honor. But if they have fallen from these appearances,
they had better, in the eye of fashion, have fallen from grace.
Whatever of estimable and amiable qualities they may possess,
they fare with their former visitors and familiars, as the Cardinal did with his, at the time he was thought " an undone man."
Industry, frugality, and thrift, are republican virtues.  But
a scrambling for money, as the chief good, is of bad omen. It
produces meanness of sentiment and sordidness of disposition.
A free people, whose passions are set altogether on the pursuit
of gain, can hardly remain free very long; because the necessary
consequence of such a spirit of avarice is fraud in private life,
and venality and corruption in public life.
An able author, while treating incidentally of the fall of the
Roman republic, remarks:-" The course that a free nation runs
is from virtuous industry to wealth; from wealth to luxury; from
luxury to an impatience of discipline and corruption of morals;
till by a total degeneracy and loss of virtue, being grown ripe for
destruction, it falls at last a prey to some hardy oppressor, and,
with the loss of liberty, loses every thing else that is valuable."




ON THE WAYS OF MAN,                      27
NUMBER V.
OF THE TYRAN'NY OF FASHION IN LAYING ENORMOUS TAXES UPON COMMION-CONDITIONED FOLKS, AND GRINDING THE FACES OF THE POOR.
EVERY one, who reads English history, must know that Richard
the Third had a humped back. And, as ancient story goes,
humping became quite fashionable during his reign.  The courtiers, the Lords, the Ladies, and the under gentry, patterning
after royalty, wore, each, a fashionable crook in the back: so the
English of that day were "a crooked generation," sure enough.
Be this, however, as it may, in point of ridiculous absurdity it
hardly exceeds what is very commonly seen among ourselves.
Though we would fain be called a Christian people, it is a fact,
as notorious as sad, that an anti-christian deity is worshipped
among us, in town and country, and by immense numbers of all
classes, and of both sexes.  Look where you will, you see all
ranks bowing, cringing, bending the knee —to what? to Fashion.
This is the goddess of their idolatry.  They yield implicit obedience to her laws, however absurd and barbarous; and though she




'28                THE BRIEF REMARKiER
changes as often as the moon, they follow her in all her changes,
and ape her in all her freaks,-humping whenever she humps.
They are brought to endure cold and nakedness, when but for
having followed her mandates, they might be comfortably clad.
They reject and despise the diet which she forbids, though wholesome and palatable, and best suited, as well to their constitutions,
as to their circumstances.  They pay tithes to her of all they
possess.  Tithes did I say?  It were well if only a tenth would
satisfy her; she often claims even more than one half.  Did she
tax only the rich, who are able to pay, it would not be so bad;
but she lays her rapacious hands on the middling classes; and
even upon the poor.  Nay, the knavish hussey seizes what ought to
be laid up against old age and sickness, and also what ought to
go to the creditor.  By the decree of fashion, this republican,
and otherwise free nation is thrown into castes, as really in some
respects, as the East Indians have been by their Brahmins; and
the only way to gain admission, or maintain a standing in the
higher castes, is to dress gorgeously and fare sumptuously, no matter by what mneans. Hence the general struggle. The rich march
foremost in the ranks of fashion, and the others keep as close to
their heels as possible, following on in a long train, like files of
geese.  This is comic in appearance, but tragic in reality.  It is
amusing, at first thought, to see families, in narrow circumstances,
struggling to make the appearance of high life; to see them vying, not only with one another, but with the rich, to exceed in
finery and splendor; to see how much pains they take, and how
many arts they use to dazzle the eyes of the beholder with the
mockery of wealth.  But on due reflection, one finds more reason
to be sad than merry.-When we consider that these deluded




0o- TH:E WAYS OF MiAN.                  29
people are following a phantom, that is leadling them  to ruin;
that they are incurring expenses, which they are utterly unable
to support; that they are bartering away solid comforts for an
empty show; that by striving to live splendidly, they are losing
the means of living decently and comfortably: when we consider
that they are bringing wretchedness upon their children by leaving them to the buffetings of poverty, aggravated highly by their
early acquaintance with fashionable life: when we consider, finally, that some of them are defrauding their creditors, by sacrificing
on the altar of fashion what is needed for the payment of their
just debts — when we put these considerations together, we find
them enough to excite deep regret and sorrow.
It is questionable whether great wealth conduces, on the whole,
even to worldly happiness.  It cannot cure an aching head, or
soothe an aching heart; it is no shield from the shafts of misfortune, nor from the arrows of death; it brings to the possessor
an addition of cares as well as of comforts, and is often the means
of bringing moral ruin upon his children; and while it increases
his power and influence, it increases) also, hi~ responsibility.The rich have, however, one exclusive privilege: they have a
right to make a splendid appearance in the world, because their
circumstances can well afford it.  Fine houses, expensive furniture, stately equipage, and sumptuous fare, are within the bounds
of their real means, and therefore not censurable in them.  In
one point of view, the profusion of their expenses is beneficial to
the community, as it gives employment, and affords sustenance to
industry.  Yet there can be shown' a more excellent way." —
Frugality is comely even in the rich.  Not that frugality, which
degenerates to parsimony, and causes the rich to wear the garb




30                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
of poverty, from a sordid spirit of penuriousness; nor yet that
frugality, which saves merely to increase a hoard of wealth, already too large; but it is a prudent saving from the grasp of profusion for the purpose of charity and beneficence.-Take the. following example: -
Benevolus has both largeness of wealth and largeness of
heart.  Content with his present worldly store, he is resolved
that his expenses shall about equal his income.  He lives daily
in the style of affluence, but never in the style of extravagance:
and what he saves by frugality he bestows in charity. To the
children of misfortune and want he is a friend and a father  of
every useful and laudable undertaking he is a bountiful encourager.  Does Benevolus aspire to be a leader of fashion?  Yes.
With all the weight of his influence he tries to make industry,
prudent economy, and frugality fashionable; to make the moral
and Christian virtues fashionable; to make it fashionable to
behave well and to do. good.  Happy man! Happy the children
of such a father, and the community that has such a pattern!
As the richest families may be beggared by extravagance,
much sooner will it consume one's all when that all is but littleand what avails the ruffle without the shirt? Persons who are
in small circumstances must prudently husband what they have,
or it will quickly slip out of their hands.  How unwise is it for
them to make an ostentation of wealth which they do not possess, or to pursue fashion "'when she runs faster than they can
follow." Many thousands, by standing on tiptoe, and reaching
after things too high for them, have fallen flat to the ground.
If you follow fashion beyond your real means, depend upon it,
the skittish jade will throw you into the mire at last.




ON THEJ WAYS OF MAN.'       31
NUMBER VI.
OF TiHE PAPAL RESCRIPT FROM THE COURT OF FASHION, INDIRECTLY
FORBIDDING TO iMARRY.
TIE injunction of celibacy, or of the monastic life, by the
Romish Church, being directly in opposition to the order and ordination of nature, has, more than any other single cause whatever, produced a huge mass of evils, both moral and physical,
in those countries that have been under the papal dominion;
evils too obvious to need pointing out, and too flagitious, some
of them, to name.  With prophetic reference, as we Protestants
fully believe, to the doings of that corrupted church, St. Paul, in
his second epistle to Timothy, expresses himself as follows: —
" Now the spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times, some
shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and
doctrines of demons.'"-And immediately after he particularizes
the unnatural and monstrous rescript,':Forbiddinzg to gmarlry,"
as of the same infernal family, or nearly allied with " the doctrines of demons,"' aforementioned.




32                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
If, however, there were no': forbidding to marry " except in
the Romish Church, we might hope that a full cure of the
deadly evil is at hand.  But this diabolical prohibition,-to wit,
forbidding to marry,-has been enjoined and enforced even more
extensively, in one other way, than it ever was by the canons of
the Vatican.-Iwill explain my meaning by sketching a fragment
of ancient history.
The ancient Ireomans were republicans after their kind, and
continued such for a considerable number of centuries.  Though
they were pagan idolaters, and their worship was deplorably corrupt, yet, previous to their imbibing the atheism of Epicurus,
they generally believed in a future retribution  of rewards
and punishments;  which belief operated so powerfully upon
them, that they were truly exemplary in some few of their social
virtues.  In particular perjury was scarcely known among them,
and infidelity in the connubial state was no less uncommon.
The IRoman republicans were plain men and women, accustomed
to daily labor, and quite unaccustomed to finery of apparel or
luxury of living. A Roman, of even noble blood, tilled his little
field with his own hands, and was proud of tilling it with superior industry and skill; whilst his wife made it her chief ambition to be an excellent housewife.  While this state of things
lasted, and a very long while it did last, the Romans were eager
enough to get themselves wives.  They married generally, and
they married young; for they thought, and well they might,
that whoso found a wife, found a good thing,-a real helpmeet, as well as a dear and faithful companion.  And what is
singularly remarkable, if true, it is recorded by a Roman historian, that there had not been known in the city of Rome, a single




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    33
instance of divorcement during the whole space of five hundred
years; though the law had put it in the power of the husband
to repudiate his wife almost at pleasure.
Unfortunately for the Roman Republic, and more especially
for the female part of it, a great and splendid event quite
changed the morals, the taste, the habits, and the whole face of
the country.  One hundred and ninety years before the Christian era, the IRomans, for the first time, entered Asia with an
army, which, under Scipio, defeated and conquerecd Antiochus
the Great, of Syria: and from hence they brought home such a
taste for the luxuries of the East, as promoted and hastened the
ruin of their commonwealth; and in no way more directly, than by
a practical forbiddance of marriage.  The Roman women, once
so plain, frugal, and industrious, became enamored of the costly
finery that was brought from the East.  One of them, named
Lollia Paulina, when dressed in all her jewels, is said to have
worn the value of three hundred and thirty-two thousand pounds
sterling.  And though this was the most extraordinary instance
of the time, yet it is reasonable to suppose that of the rest of the
ladies, every one strove to get as near the top of the fashion as
she could; and that with all the females, who thought any thing
of themselves, the rage was to be fine and fashionable.  This new
order of things, while it precipitated the republic down the
abyss of ruin, brought marriage almost into disuse: insomuch
that Augustus, the first Roman Emperor, finding among the
men a general disinclination to marry, was fain to pass severe
penal laws, to force them, as it were, into the marriage bonds.
But it was all to little purpose. Despot and tyrant as he was,
he found it as impossible to compel the bachelors to marry, as
Ark"




34                THE BRIEF REMIARKER
Peter the First long since did, to compel the Russians to shave
off their beards. Was it owing to the licentiousnesss of the men?
In part it was, no doubt; but not altogether.  It was partly
owing to their prudence.  A Roman bachelor, naturally enough,
would commune with himself thus:-" These extravagant flirts,
of whose attire a single article costs more than one of them
would earn in her whole lifetime, are fit only for show. I like
mighty well to be in their company at courts and assemblies;
but the gods save me from a union with them  If I marry, unless my wife bring me a fortune, she will quickly devour mine.
Wherefore, I will look out only for number one, in spite of the
edicts of the Emperor."
Consider, ye American Fair, that, in all times and countries,
the like causes will produce the like effects.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     35
NUMBER VII.
ON THE ELEVATION OF THE CONDITION AND CHARACTER OF WOMEN
BY MEANS OF CHRISTIANITY.
IN  all ages of the world, the greatest portion of sorrow and
hardship has fallen to the lot of the female part of our race.
Amongst all the numerous tribes of savages and barbarians, in whatever quarter of the earth, or in the islands of the seas, females
are despised and degraded, and a wife is but little better conditioned than a bond slave.  "W Vhile the man passes his days in
idleness and amusement, the woman is condemned to incessant
toil. Tasks are imposed upon her without mercy, and services
are received without complacence or gratitude." The laws and
customs of Mohammedanism, as well as of Paganism, degrade and
enslave the women; a degradation and slavery of vast extent, since
by far the greater number of the human kind are either Mohammedans or Pagans.
It is only in Christian countries that women rise to their




36                 THE BRIEF REMIARKER
proper rank, and are treated as companions and equals.  For
this happy improvement in their condition, they are indebted to
Christianity, which, as well by humanizing and purifying the
heart, as by the prohibition of polygamy, has loosed the bonds
of their captivity, and, at the same time, adorned them with virtues, the most estimable and amiable.
The New Testament is the great charter of the rights of
women; and not only the great charter of their rights, but the
unerring directory of their duties, and the choice cabinet, as it
were, of their most precious ornaments.  As the benevolent system of Christianity frees them  from vassalage, and exalts their
rank in society, so it inspires them, at the same time, with a
taste for what is morally excellent, and virtuous, and lovely.
Nor is it a little remarkable, that of the religion, which so ennobles their sex, they are the first, the most general, and among
the most effectual teachers.  It is fromn women, that almost our
whole sex, as well as theirs, receives its earliest instruction in
religion and morality.  Though they are neither missionaries
abroad nor preachers at home, yet, as spreaders and promulgators of Christianity, they are hardly less useful than those
venerable orders of men.  Throughout all Christendom, as preceptresses, as mothers, and in their various domestic relations,
they have the moulding of the minds of future men, as well as
of future women, during those infantile years, in which the mind
is conmparable to soft wax, and when the impressions, which are
made upon it, are the most indelible.  So that it would not, perhaps, be extravagant to believe, that a full half of the whole Christian world has been christianized, or first imbued with Christian
principles, by means of female teachers.




ON THE WAYS OF  IAN.                     37
Scarcely any thing admits of clearer proof from history, thai.
that the institutions for alleviating human misfortune and distress have grown outof the Christian religion; and nothing, surely, could confer greater dignity on the female sex, than its active
and zealous co-operation in establishilg such plans of general philanthropy.
All along, from the first age of Christianity, down to later
times, there have been women, highly distinguished for their pious
benevolence, and active beneficence; but, not having learned to
form themselves into societies for joint acts of charity, their solitary or individual efforts could afford relief to but few.  For the
present illustrious epoch, in the christianized world, has been reserved the  honor of multiplying and extending, far beyond all
former examples, their humane plans and institutions. Multiplied
as these have been, and ilultiplying as they are likely to be, no
tongue can tell, no heart conceive, the benefits of the little streamlets, issuing in such innumerable directions friom this single
source; —benefits not only to the Receivers, but also to the Givers; for it is even " more blessed to give than to receive."'  The
occupations of charity nourish and strengthen some of the best
feelings of the heart, and, at the same time, are rewarded with
the enjoyment of a higher pleasure, than the hoards of wealth or
its pageantries can ever bestow.   " What wonders and wh:It
pleasures has civilization procured to mankind! "  So the philosopher exclaimed, and not without reason.   The civilized man
possesses manifold more enjoyments, and stands vastly higher in
the scale of human beings, than the naked savage, or the rude
barbarian.  But it is not mere civilization, nor mere learning,
that has imbued the heart with the genuine feeling of humanity.




38                TiHE BRIEF REMARKER
See, on the page of history only fifteen centuries back, the ladies of Rome, that proud mistress of the world; see them seated
in the alllphitheatre, as delighted spectators of the mortal combats of gladiators; feasting their eyes with the bloody carnage,
and their ears with the groans of the dying. And now see, on
the other hand, tens and hundreds of thousands of females, of the
present age, formed into societies for the alleviation of human distress; for the purpose of ministering to the widow, of sustaining
the orphan, of clothing the naked, of feeding the hungry, or " healing the broken and weak."  Behold these objects of striking
contrast; and remember that the former had quite as much of
polish, as much of elegance, and as much of learning as the latter.  And what is it then, but the influence of Christian principles,
that has made such an astonishing difference between them, in
point of taste and sensibility?




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                       39
NUMBER VIII.
OF SELF-IGNORANCEI AND SELF-ADULATION.
"The nature of mankind is such,
To see and judge of the affairs of others
Much better than their own."
TilE above-cited sentiment has not abated of its force. nor is
it the less applicable to human nature at the present instant,
though two thousand years have passed away, since it came from
the pen of Terence, the poet of Carthage. In one respect, very
few, if any, are altogether free from the imputation of making use
of deception. It is one of the strange properties of our fallen
nature, that we deceive ourselves, even more easily than we are
deceived by others; and, though we are mightily offended when
others deceive us, we are pleased with the deception which we
palm upon ourselves.  We love flattery, because it enables us to
flatter ourselves; and we dislike honest reproof or censure, because it impels us to fix our eyes upon our own fault or frailties.




40                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
We weigh our own actions, and the actions of others, not in
the same balance, or else with different kinds of weights.   We
judge ourselves and our neighbors by different rules, which always gives the advantage to our own side. Imperfect we readily confess ourselves to be; but if one happen to impute to us
any particular imperfection, we deem ourselves insulted, and instantly take fi re. Mortal we know we are, and yet seem scarcely to
expect either death or sickness; for these events, perhaps for the
most part, come unawares. Probably there is not one zwell man in
a hundred, who does not secretly think the fatal arrow more likely
to hit almost any body else than himself.  The young confidently
expect they shall live to be old; and the old, who have already
seen one generation pass away, are not without hope that they
shall survive the greater part of another. The mass of mankind are,
in short, perpetually deluding themselves one way or other; nor are
the wisest and best quite free, in all respects, from  self-delusion.
Perhaps, if life were not, in any wise, gilded by the enchanting power
of imagination, there would be little relish for most of those things,
which God hath given us to enjoy under the sun.
Avery ancientwriter has told us of a poor laborer who, fancying
himself a king, repaired daily to a hillock, where, as on his throne,
he sat in state, and exercised regal authority over the imaginary
subjects that surrounded him; who, being at length cured of that
pleasant error of the imagination, complained hard of his doctors,
that they had physickel him back again to poverty.  Nor is he
a solitary instance.   The most of mankind, in some period or
other of their lives, hale, perhaps, indulged vagaries of the imagination, quite as groundless, if not quite so extravagant; and
which, if they led themn not astray fiom either duty or prudence, did
them benefit, by sweetening their toils, and smoothing the path




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                       41
of life.  The illusions of Hope (which no sooner is disappointed, than it springs anew in the human breast) constitute a large
portion of the earthly happiness of mankind, and are the mainspring of their exertions in worldly affairs.
"Dream after dream ensuesAnd still they dream that they shall still succeed,
And still are disappointed."
However, speaking of worldly good only, their dreams afford
them  more satisfaction, than they ever find in realities.
But when the illusion relates to the moral qualities of our
hearts, flattering us that our vices are virtues, or, at least, that they
are less culpable for being olurs; it is then that it is pregnant
with infinite mischief.
Of all human knowledge, self-knowledge is accounted the
most diffieult of attainment; and why?  Assuredly, it is not
so very difficult in itself.   We are conscious, not only  of
our own actions, but also of the views and motives by which
we are actuated.  The thoughts and affections of our hearts are
all open to our own inspection.  Why, then, is it hard for one
so far to know himself, as to be able to pencil his own true
picture with considerable exactness? The main difficulty arises
from the blinding and deluding bias, that we have towards ourselves.  It is by reason of this kind of sophistry, tha~t, though
we discern the mote in the eye of another, we perceive not the
beam in our own; —that, though we are clear-sighted quite enough
with respect to the faults of our neighbors, we are as purblind as
moles in regard to as great, or even greater faults in ourselves;
that, at best, we weigh our own faults with more than some grains
of allowance, but those of every one else, excepting our particular friends, without any allowance at all.  Finally, to the same




42                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
cause it is owing, that we magnify into shining virtues, such deeds
of our own doing, as we should think but lightly of if done by
persons in whom we had no particular interest.
The sophistry, with which we cheat ourselves, runs into our
social intercourse and our dealings.   In estimating the characters of those about us, we are apt to judge of them according to
the particular bearings they have to our own dear selves. If they
are near of kin, or close friends, our favoritism  blinds us to their
frailties, and magnifies in them every thing that has the appearance of excellence; but if they are aliens from our hearts, we are
apt enough to judge them with all that severity, which appearances
can in any way justify.   So, too, in matters of dealing, it is a
hard thing, indeed, for one to determine right in one's own cause;
the opposite positions of nzize and thine not unfrequently swaying men of honest intentions.   For which reason it is, that in
all the intercourse and business of life, the frequent use or application of the golden rule is, in point of morals, of such immeasurable importance; since, in innumerable cases, it is only by
changing places ideally with those we have concerns with, that
we can know exactly how to do them justice.
And not only is the daily application of that divine rule so
necessary in all our business, but it is alike necessary in the management of conflicting opinions.   The free exercise of private
judgment is, what every man claims for himself, and yet almost
every man grudges it to others. And hence it is, that disputes
upon matters of opinion are, so commonly, acrimonious.  Whereas, if we were no less willing that others should enjoy the free
exercise of private judgment, than to enjoy it ourselves, our disputes would be conducted with fairness, and good temper.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    43
NUMBER IX.
OF THE WIDE DIFFERIENCE BETWEEN WISDOM1 AND CLNNING.
IN one of the tragedies of Sophocles, there is an admirable moral,
couched under the veil of heathen fable.
Philoctetes, to whom Hercules had bequeathed his bow and
arrows, went, with the other princes and chiefs of Greece, to the
siege of Troy.  HIe was son of the renowned Achilles, and no
less distinguished for his valor than his birth.  But, having
been bit by a serpent, an incurable and most painful ulcer ensued; and his perpetual groans and lamentations disturbed and
disheartened the whole Grecian camp.  For this reason, the chief
of that military confederacy had him conveyed to Lemnos, a
desolate island, where he remained ten years, alone, and in intolerable anguish. At the expiration of that time, it being declared by an oracle, that Troy could never be conquered without
the arrows of Hercules, then in the possession of Philoctetes,
Ulysses and Neoptolemus were jointly sent to Lemnos to obtain
them of him.




44                  THE BRIEF lREMARKERt
Ulysses, notorious above all men for craft and intrigue, and
well knowing that Philoctetes bore the Greeks an implacable
hatred for their barbarous usage of him, laid a cunning plan to
get the arrows from  him  by fraud, which he communicated to.Neoptolemus, at the same time insisting that he should become
the instrument of its'execution.  Neoptolemus, who was a generous-hearted young prince, is at first struck with horror at the
base proposal, and says:
"I was not borni to flatterl' or betray,
-    What open arms can do
Behold nce prompt to act, but ne'er to fraud
Will I descend.-        -
-  0 King! believe me,
Rather, much rather, would I fall by virtue,
Than rise by guilt to certain victory."
Ulysses, however, (so easy is it for an arch deceiver to corrupt the integrity of an inexperienced youth,) gained his point
at last, by his cunning sophistry, and honeyed persuasions;
and Neoptolemus submitted to an act of treachery which his soul
abhorred.  He first insinuated himself into the confidence of
Philoctetes, by a train of falsehoods, and then robbed him of his
arrows, which he bore off to the ship, that lay ready to sail-back
to the coast of Troy.  But, reflecting afterward upon the baseness of the deed, and stung with remorse and pity, he, notwithstanding the invectives and threats of Ulysses, went back and
restored the arrows to Philoctetes.
After all the arts of persuasion to induce Philoctetes to go
to the siege of Troy, or at least to send his arrows thither, had
been used in vain, and there seemed no possibility left that the
point could be gained by any human means, Hercules descended




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      45
from Leaven and effected what mere man could not do, a change
of will in Philoctetes, who then voluntarily went with Neoptolemus to the Grecian camp, carrying with him his bow and arrows,
and, by means of them, Troy was conquered.
This, in short, is the moral of the fable:-Open and honest
policy, aided by the powers above, was crowned, finally, with
more complete success than could have been obtained by the
deep-laid, fraudulent plan of the crafty Ulysses.
The arts of falsehood and trick, whether on a large scale or
a small one, are but foolishness, however subtilely managed,.
"The secret snare when Falsehood spreads,
Herself she fetters in the subtile threads."
Craft, partaking, as it does, of moral turpitude, which it perpetually strives to conceal, exposes itself by its very attempts at
concealment, as tihe eapein tells ars vhere to strike him by covering his head.  Whether in the private or public walks of
life —whether in the common intercourse between neighbors and
fellow-citizens, or in the great concerns of princes and statesmen
-an honest policy will be found to wear best.  Our great and
beloved Washington, whom Heaven crowned with such marvellous success, had nothing of the craft of Ulysses.  With a mind
good as it was great, he sought noble ends by honest means-by
means that he could never blush to own.  He was admirable for
his real, unsophisticated wisdom; for the wisdom  that soared
above the base arts of intrigue, and which was without guile,
without hypocrisy.
"' Cunning," says Mr. Locke, in his excellent treatise on Education-" cunning, which is the ape of wisdom, is the most distent from. it tlhat cean be; and. as an ape, for the likeness it  has




46                THE BRIEF REMARKER
to a man, wanting what really should make him so, is by so much
the uglier; cunning is only the want of understanding; which,
because it cannot compass its ends by direct ways, would do it
by trick and circumvention.  No cover was ever made either so
big or so fine as to hide itself. None were ever so cunning as
to conceal their being so."
There are few particulars in which mankind more often misjudge than in this.  They are apt to think that the artful and
unprincipled, because they display considerable cunning, are of
course men of superior parts; whereas, generally speaking, their
minds are narrow.  You will seldom find one of them possessed
of true clearness and largeness of understanding.
So again, many a doting father is secretly gratified with the
slyness and the fox-like tricks of his boy; when, in reality, he
has all reason to apprehend that the boy is getting to be a confirmed villain in grain, and will have a genius for nothing else.
The fox is the most noted of any of the inferior animals for
craft and roguery; yet tile fox is one of the most miserable of
all the brute creation.  He has not a friend upon earth.  The
honester dog hunts and attacks him with peculiar malice. Every
four-footed animal seems to bear him a grudge; the weaker shun
him, and the stronger pursue him. The very birds, knowing his
knavish craft, hover in the air over him, and seem to express
their apprehensions and their hatred.  They alight upon the
trees and hedges, as he is slyly creeping along the ground beneath, and with loud cries and chatterings, give warning of his
approach, as who should say, " yonder goes a cunning, beguiling,
greedy rogue —take special care of yourselves." And thus, also,
it fares with those of Adam's children who have much cunning,
but no principle of honesty.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      47
NUMBER X.
OF TiE TEMPORAL ADVANTAGES OF JUPRIGIITNESS OF CHARACTEP.
" My son, sow not upon the furrows of unrighteousness."
Advice of thle sos of Siracth.
DtR. FRANKLIN, founding his theory upon the principle that the
human body is specifically lighter than water, tells us, in substance; that one fallen into that element might escape drowning,
for some considerable time at least, were he to abstain  from
struggling and plunging, and to let his body down with the feet
foremost, remaining thus in a perpendicular position, except
throwing his head as far back as possible; because in that position, the face would be quite above the surface of the water.
This prescription, or direction from the venerable Doctor,
who knew, as well as any man, how to keep his own head above water, is, of itself, or in its plain literal import, well worth the being held in remembrance.  But craving indulgence for the license, I mean, withal, to make an analogical use of it.
Young men, as soon as they are entitled to the rights of per



4.8                THE BRIEF REM3ARKER
sonal independence, launch out in what is figuratively called the
oceain of life.   Indeed we are, all of us, on that ocean; some
in deeper, and others in shoaler water; some going forward
smoothly with the tide, and others having the tide against them;
sometimes we have fair wind and weather, and at other times we
are under a dark sky, and assailed with tempestuous winds, that
raise aloft the foaming billows.
What then is the safest way, at all times, and for persons of
all ranks and conditions?  It is told in only three words;zincld the pe9pe2zcdicztclar.  Many a young man, and many a man
not young, have I seen ingulfed and lost, not by reason of his
wanting skill and alertness, but because he failed to keep himself
in a perpendicular attitude; whereas, on the other hand, never
did I see a single one totally submerged, who had always been
duly careful in that particular.
If, even, there were nothing to hope or fear beyond the
grave, honesty would be the best policy; inasmuch as it carries
one through this world with most safety, in the long run, as well
as with honor.' He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely."
He travels in a plain and safe path; a fair character is his passport, and the laws of society are his protection.  As long as a
man holds fast his integrity, he cannot be quite undone; for
though, by adverse gusts he be sadly plunged, hisface will still
be above water.  Though he should suffer the loss of all things
else, yet the consciousness of strict integrity will buoy hini up,
and the knowledge that others have of his integrity, will give him
a chance to repair his broken fortunes, or, at the least, will secure
him that good name, which is'" better than precious ointment."'
On the contrary, " he that perverteth his way shall be known."




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    49
Though deceit and knavishness may sometimes procure momentary advantages, they are but momentary, and are much more
than countervailed by the lasting ill consequences, which they
never fail to bring after them. For not only does dishonesty
draw after it many inward disquietudes, but it lays one under
very heavy disadvantages, with respect to his intercourse with
the world. Notwithstanding all his arts of cunning, it will be
known; and when a man's characteris of that sort, as to fill with
suspicions every one that knows him, even his honest acts will
be thought to spring from base motives, or to have some dark design. It will be suspected that the plague of leprosy still remains, either " in the warp or in the woof."
It greatly behooves young men to form fixed resolutions, at
the outset of life, never to swerve from the perpendicular, in a
single instance,-no, not even in the most trivial one; for one
trespass against the laws of honesty leads to another, as it were
by a sort of natural and necessary connection.  So that, though
there be many who, in their intercourse with the world, have
never been guilty of one dishonest act, yet there are few who
have been guilty of one, and but one.  Because the first, by
compromising the moral principle, weakens the power of resisting the next temptation; because one knavish deed often requires another, and sometimes several others, to cover it; and
lastly, because rooted knavishness of heart is harder of cure
than any other moral malady, inasmuch as the corruption of the
principle of integrity is the corruption of the very source of all
moral virtue.
He that has seen a rogue in grain, a thoroughly practised
rogue, turn to a downright honest man, has at least seen one
marvellous thing.




50                THE BRIEF REMI~ARKER
NUMBER XIo
AN EXEMPLIFICATION OF TRUE CHRISTIAN HONESTY.
THE following line of Pope,
"An honest man's the noblest work of God" —
has been pronounced unworthy of that celebrated poet, forasmuch
as honesty is but a vulgar virtue, as common to the meanest, as
to the greatest abilities.  Honesty, though commendable, is so
far from being one of the noblest of human qualities, that the
honest man may, nevertheless, be but a plain simple man, of contracted intellect, of very little education, and of a low condition.
This the noblest work of God! Fy upon such nonsense!
Now, to adjust this matter between the poet and the critic, it
will be necessary to take a cursory view of the different standards of honesty, according to one or other of which reputedly
honest men square their conduct, and of the different principles,
by which they are governed.
Men, sometimes, act honestly from  policy, rather than from




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     51
a principle of probity.  They believe, and believe aright, that
"honesty is the best policy."  According to this sound maximn
they mean to act, and they greatly find their account in it.
In short, none are wiser in their generation than those who are
honest altogether from  policy.  While carefully minding to
keep themselves within the hedge of the law, they, without
mercy or pity, take every advantage that the law will let them.
They escape the infamy and punishment, which commonly befall
the impolitic wights, who are versed in the black art of downright roguery.  Thus they walk in a plain and safe path.  An
honest reputation is their passport, and the laws of society are
their protection.  These are your /hardcl honest men, who are
honest merely for their own safety and profit, and are just as selfish in their honesty as in every thing else.  True enough, the
poet is worthy of reprehension, if he meant them.  But, though
the fear of disgrace or punishment, and the desire of a fair character may give birth to a creditable, but contracted and spurious
kind of honesty, which has in it nothing of the dignity of virtue;
yet the truly honest man, however low in circumstances, or mean
in parts, is one of Virtue's nobility.
The truly honest man would be just as honest without law,
as with it. Guided by the paramount authority of conscience,
he neither withholds aught, nor exacts aught on the mere plea,
that civil law is on his side.
The truly honest is he, who makes it a cardinal point to do
to others, as he would be done unto; and who decides with
justice, when self-interest and justice are in opposite scales.
The truly honest man is never ostentatious of his honesty.
Ostentation of it is always an ill sign; it looks like putting on
a patch to hide a blemish.




52                THE BRIEF REMARKER
But enough of definition. One good example is worth a
score of definitions: and the following example, all will allow to
be a good one. The anecdote is given in St Pierre's Studies
of Nature.' In the last war in Germany, a captain of the cavalry was
ordered out on a foraging party.  He put himself at the head
of his troop, and marched to the quarter assigned him.  It
was a solitary valley, in which hardly any thing but woods could
be seen.  In the midst of it stood a little cottage; on perceiving it, he went up and knocked at the door; out comes an ancient
Hernouten, with a beard silvered by age.'[Father,' says the
officer,'show me a field where I can set my troops a foraging.''Presently,' replied the Hernouten.  The good old man walked
before, and conducted them  out of the valley.  After a quarter of an hour's march, they found a fine field of barley.' There
is the very thing we want,' says the captain.   Have patience
for a few minutes,' replied his guide,' and you shall be satisfied.'
They went on, and at the distance of about a quarter of a league
farther, they arrived at another field of barley.  The troop
immediately dismounted, cut down the grain, trussed it up, and
remounted. The officer, upon this, says to his conductor,' Father, you have given yourself and us unnecessary trouble; the
first field was much better than this.''Very true, sir,' replied the good old man,'but it is not mine.'"
Such an example of honesty, I repeat, is worth a score of
definitions.  Here we have not an abstract notion of honesty,
but we see it, as it were, embodied.  Here we behold the express form and visage of genuine, C2hristiain honesty, acting on
the principle of loving one's neighbor as one's self.  And what




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.            5;;
though the exemplar was an obscure and a lowly man, distinguished neither for parts nor learning?  In the moral frame
of his mind there was a nobleness of heavenly origin; a nobleness far superior to eminent natural parts, which belong alike
to the best, and the worst of human beings.
Compare this humble Hernouten, or Moravian, with the illustrious chieftains who figured in that German war, and whose
bloody deeds are emblazoned on the page of history.  Compare
his disinterestedness with their selfishness; his philanthropy with
their greedy avarice, and fell ambition; his tender and scrupulous regard to the rights of his neighbor, with their unfeeling
spirit of plunder and rapine; —and judge which party is entitled to stand higher on the scale of genuine honor.
One of the best religious confessions extant is that of Zaccheus, a rich publican, who, probably, had been not a little dishonest and extortionous:-" Lord, one half of my goods I give to
the poor, and if I have taken any thing from  any man by false
accusation, I restore him  fourfold."   This is practical orthodoxy.




54                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XII.
OF TImE PRBEVAILING HABIT OF PROMISE-BREAIKING IN COiMMfON
DEALING.
IN the polite world, forms of speech are used, which are not
meant to be understood according to their obvious meaning.
For instance, when one man says or writes to another, Your hnmble servant, or, Your most obedient, he intends not to bind himself to clean the boots of the one he thus addresses, or to do him
any sort of menial service; and much less does he mean that he is
ready and willing to yield him obedience, in all cases whatsoever.
It is hardly worth while, however, to enlarge on this topic, as the
aforesaid forms of speech have almost become obsolete, at least
in these United States.  Pledges of humble service, and passive obedience, mutually given in the interchange of civilities,
are now as rare in this country, as they were once common.  This
is no matter of regret; for it is not a flower that has been plucked
up, but a weed.
But there is one other form  of words. which seems to have




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    55
come into general abuse, over this whole country; and the more
is the pity, as these last are words of grave import, as well as of
obvious sense: I mean the phrase, so abundantly used, —Ipromise to pay. In other times, these words were passed with timid
caution, and when passed they were held sacred; but they are
now coming to be words of mere form, meaning nothing; very
like the old complimentary phrases, —Your humble servant —
Your most obedient. Not but that the promisee always interprets
the text as of old, according to its literal or expressed meaning.
But the promiser perverts the text, that he may accommodate it to
his own heterodox notions; or, rather, after the Romish doctrine
of mental reservation, he mentally interpolates the word-never
-making it run thus;-I promise (never) to pay.
It would be endless to recount all the mischiefs that are
flowing in upon society from this prevailing heresy; nor is it
needful, since most of them  are too obvious to escape notice.
Wherefore, not to mention the sore disappointments, the indignant heart-burnings, daily arising, in ten thousand instances,
from this single source; nor yet to mention its destructive influence upon all confidence between man and man:-passing over
these topics, and others akin to them, I shall consider the matter merely as it affects the interests of the delinquent party.
Be it supposed that he is a man, possessed of several estimable qualities; that he has a large stock of what is called good
nature; that he is obliging and compassionate; that, in the main,
he is a moral man; and, finally, that there is no apparent blemish in his character, save this alone.-Give the delinquent all
these good qualities, and yet " the dead fly, in the precious ointment," spoils the whole compound.




56                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
There is a smack of immorality in every instance of voluntary word breaking; and in this, as in every other vice, one step
naturally leads to another.  The good-natured man, who has
neglected to fulfil his promise, is fain to cast about him for an
excuse, and if he cannot find one he makes one.
This can hardly be done for the first, or second time, without
a considerable struggle with moral principle.  But it soon becomes feasible, and as natural, almost, as to breathe.  In the
process of this ill habit, he quite loses his moral feelings as respects strict veracity; and almost every day he lives, he deals
in fiction without any sort of compunction.
Neither is this all; he is the occasion of falsehood to others.
He steps over to one of his neighbors, to borrow.  His neighbor respects him for his sundry good qualities, but knows well
the particular infirmity of his character.  He is loth to lose his
friend, and quite as loth to hazard his money. What does he
do?  He, also, proceeds to framle fictitious excuses.  " I am
very sorry, sir, that it is not in my power to oblige you. There
is no man living, that I should be more ready to serve; butbut-," and then out comes the excuse, lie and all.
The man who makes it his general practice to shuffle off, as
much as possible, the payment of his honest debts, not only forfeits all claims upon the confidence of society, but loses a main
portion of self-respect.  Hie  often meets with fellow-beings,
with whom he cannot so much as interchange the customary salutation, without enduring the feelings of self-abasement, and in
conversing with whom he is compelled, as it were, to have recourse to prevarication and quibble.
And what does he gain by it, in his secular affairs?  Noth



ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      57
ing at all.  Hie is a loser even there.  If he frequently suffers
the compulsory process of law, he is a ruined man.  Or if he
procrastinate, till he has quite exhausted the patience of his creditors, and then pays, seemingly rather to avoid the expense of
law than fiomn  an honest principle, still he loses that credit,
which, to his secular affairs, might be an incalculable benefit;
and in seasons of pressing emergency, if he have not sufficient
resources in himself, he call find them nowhere.
A strict regard to one's word or promise, is one of the first
of social virtues.  WTherefore, young men, who are entering,
or have just entered the threshold of business, would do well to
keep in memory the following maxims. Be as careful of tcking, as of giving credit.  Never run in debt beyond what,
you have a moral certainty, or, at least, a reasonable prospect
of being able to pay in season.  Never defer payment when it
is needed, and you have the power to make it.




~58               THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XIII.
OF THE HEAVY TAX LAID UPON ALL WORLDLY EMINENCE,
TIE following advisory monition of an inspired prophet, to
his dear and familiar friend, contains a volume of instruction:
-" And seekest thouz great things jbo  thyself?   Seek them,
not."-Nothing is more certain than the vanity of human
greatness, not only by reason of its being transitory and perishable, but, also, because it is often accompanied with much
more than an ordinary share of trouble and vexation.
If we first consider the first and greatest of all worldly distinctions-I mean extraordinary gifts of nature-even these, for
the most part, are heavily taxed by the impartial hand of the
Giver.  The few geniuses (few, indeed, in comparison to the
number of those who lay claim to that high distinction), so far
from being the happiest, are often the most wretched of mortals.
The irritableness and spleen of distinguished authors, and especially of poets, are proverbial.  The same texture, and tone of
the system, which qualify them  for soaring into the regions of
fancy, and for paintng nature in all her hues, do utterly disqual




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     59
ify them, at least in many instances, for enjoying, in an equal
measure with the rest of mankind, the common comforts and blessings of life; not to mention the bitterness of rivalry, and the
torments of jealousy, which they are fated to feel and endure.
So that, as regards ease and comfort, plain common sense, with
controlled passions, is better, by far, than genius, when taxed, as
it so often is, with morbid sensibility, and with passions, violent
and ungovernable.
The greatest Beaucties are seldom the most amiable, the most
discreet and respectable, or the most happy of women; while,
not rarely, their very beauty has been their ruin.
And, indeed, if we were to make a general survey of the extraordinary gifts of nature, and to weigh together, in an even
balance, their advantages and disadvantages, as respects the comfort of the possessors, we should find that, in many instances, if
not in most, the latter are fully equal to the former.
Neither are the gifts of fortune exempt from  heavy and
grievous taxation.  Vast wealth brings upon its possessor a
load of incessant care; generates dispositions and feelings incompatible with quiet enjoyment; and often makes profligates of
her children. Nay, even Power, that idol of human ambition,
-even Power,-for which riches, themselves, are chiefly coveted,-is often accompanied with more of vexation than of substantial enjoyment.  Royalty, itself, has its disquietudes, and dire
vexations.  Mary, Queen of England, and joint partner in the
throne, in a letter to her husband, William the Third, then in Ireland, thus pathetically describes the troubles of her exalted station.-" I must see company on set days.   I must laugh and
talk, though never so much  against my will.  I must grin




60                THE BRIEF REMARKER
when my heart is ready to break; and talk, when my heart is so
oppressed, that I can scarce  breathe.  All my motions are
watched, and all I do so observed, that, if I eat less, or speak
less, or look more grave, all is lost in the opinion of the world."
-How unenviable is such a lot as this, and, yet, how envied!
While on a time I was reading, in General Lee's memoirs,
that Washington, when speaking on the subject of death, used
often to declare, that he would not ~'repass his life, zuwere it in his
op2tion-while reading this extraordinary passage, I was touched
with a momentary surprise.   What! methought, can it be so?
The man whose life was covered with glory, beyond that of almost any other mortal,-could he be unwilling to travel over
again the same brilliant path, and to enjoy anew the same high
honors?  Could he find such a life tedious and irksome?   A
few moments' reflection was sufficient, however, to convince me,
that the thing was neither incredible nor wonderful. In the
seven years' war, and the eight years of his administration, his
solicitude and anxiety, lest haply, by some improper step, he
should commit the interests of his country, far outweighed, in all
probability, every thing of real enjoyment, that mere human
power and greatness can bestow.  Nor is it unreasonable to
think, that, during those fifteen anxious years, many a day-laborer,-nay, many a menial servant enjoyed a greater portion of unalloyed worldly comfort, than did the illustrious man, whom the
world held in such admiration.
The object of the foregoing train of reflections is not, at all,
to decry Genius, or Beauty, or Riches, or Power; but, rather,
to show that man or woman, in moderate circumstances, and ungifted with any uncommon endowments, may be quite as happy




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     61
without these splendid distinctions, as those are who possess
them. For the enjoyment of every essential comfort that this
world can afford, there is need only of health and competence,
together with a contented mind, a pure conscience, and a thankful heart.
Between the periods of birth and burial how short a space!
How very soon will come the time, when, with all the vast congregation now treading this stage of mortality, no distinctions
but of the mo)ral kind will remain!




62                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XIV.
OF THE INESTIMABLE VALUE OF A PIOUS, DISCREET, AND FAITHFUL
MOTHERl.
IT has been often observed, that some of the most illustrious of
human characters were early moulded to the model of excellence by the maternal hand.  Of this I might adduce, from  the
records of history, a goodly number of instances; but, for the
present, I shall mention only one.
Sir Philip Sidney-born about the middle of the sixteenth
century-was the wonder of the age in which he lived; for
though he died when a little more than thirty years old, his fame,
as a wise and profound statesman, was spread over Europe.
Nor was he less distinguished for religious and moral virtues,
and particularly for generosity and tenderness of nature.  It
has been remarked of him, that " the most beautiful event of
his life was his death."
Receiving a mortal wound in a battle in Flanders, the moment after he was wounded, when thirsty with the excess of
bleeding, he turned away the water fiom his own lips, to give it




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     63
to a dying soldier, with these words; " Thy necessity is still
greater than mine."
This extraordinary man was indebted, for the rudiments of
his education, to his illustrious and excellent mother, the eldest
daughter of the Duke of Northumberland, who, in a preceding
reign, had been beheaded.  " Her tender melancholy, occasioned
by the tragical events in her fallmily, together with the mischance
of sickness that had impaired her beauty, inclined her to hide
herself from the gay world, and to bestow her attentions almost
exclusively upon the education of her children."  " It was her
delight," says a biographer of Sir Philip, " to form their early
habits; to instil into their tender minds the principles of religion
and virtue; to direct their passions to proper objects; to superintend not only their serious occupations, but even their amusements."
Had not the loftiness of the house of Northumberland been
fallen; had Lady Mary, the eldest daughter of that house, been
a leader of fashion at the royal court-a distinction to which
her rank would fully have entitled her; her Philip would, in no
probability, have been the exalted character that he was.
To see a mother, herself accomplished, and capable of shining in the first circles of fashionable life; —to see her forego the
pleasure of amusement, and the ambition of show, for the sake
of bestowing personal attentions upon her children; to see her
spend the best of her days in fashioning their minds and manners upon the purest models, guiding them with discretion, and
alluring them to the love of excellence alike by precept and example; to see this is to behold one of the most charming spectacles, any where furnished in this fallen world.




64                THE BRIEF REMARKER
And what though it be not in the power of such a mother
to make a Philip Sidney of her son?  What though nature has
gifted her children with no uncommon strength, or brightness of
intellect? Yet with the divine blessing, she may have such influence upon the moral frame of their young and tender minds,
that they shall be disposed to improve their natural talents, whatever they may be, and to employ them honorably.  The benefits,
in this respect, which highly capable mothers might confer on
their children, during a few of the first years of their earthly
existence, are far beyond the power of calculation, since these
benefits would, probably, descend from  one generation to another, down to distant posterity.  " Delightful task!"  In comparison with the pure and sublime enjoyment, which the faithful
performance of it gives, poor and wretched, indeed, is the whole
sum of pleasure, that can possibly be extracted from the amusements of fashion.
Lamentable, however, would be the condition of things in
this respect, if either wealth, or rank, or superior talents, or any
great degree of literary acquirements were indispensably necessary in a mother, to fit her for the noble and all-important task,
which that relation devolves upon her. So far from it, a woman
of mere plain sense, whose reading extends but little beyond
the divine volume that contains our holy religion, and whose
worldly circumstances are narrow, and even indigent, is capable,
nevertheless, of conferring unspeakable benefits upon her little
ones. As she is the first in their hearts, so, in their esteem, she
is the first of women. Her example is their model; they copy
her ways; they hang upon her lips. The moral and religious
love, inculcated with maternal tenderness by her, they never




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      65
quite forget; and very often, it is the means of forming their
characters for life.
Precious is the mother, whether of high, or low degree, who,
in this respect, acts the real mother, to the best of her abilities.
Hardly can she fail of stamping upon the minds of her children
some salutary impressions, which will never be quite effaced.
Except in the rare instances of most unnatural perverseness, their
hearts will ever cleave to her.  They will not forsake her when
she is old. Their filial kindnesses will soothe and solace the
infirmities and decay of her age. And when she is called " to
put off the mortal, and to put on the immortal clothing," the
genuine expression of their hearts will be,-" We loved, but not
enough, the gentle hand that reared us.-Gladly would we now
recall that softest friend, a mother, whose mild converse, and
faithful counsel we in vain regret."




66                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XV.
TRUTHS SAID OF BOYS, WHICH BOYS WILL NE'ER BELIEVE.
Our life is beset with perils at every step, but no period of
it is, perhaps, quite so perilous as that, in which the boy is stepping into manhood.  Then it is that his feeling is fervid, his
hope vivid, and his self-confidence at the highest.  Then it is,
that he listens with most rapture to the voice of the siren, that
his heart is most susceptible to the allurements of pleasure;
and it is then, that he spurns alike the trammels of restraint,
and the counsels of friendship.
Untaught by experience, he despises the experience of others
wise in his own conceit, he scorns the monitions of age and riper judgment; full of himself, he perceives no need of direction
or advice, and regards it as an insult to his understanding. He
feels a sentiment of indignation and disdain toward those, who
should presume to teach hint how to behave.   His sense is
deceived, " his soul is in a dream, he is fully confident that he




ON THE WAYS OF MAN..                    67
sees things clearly, and yet he sees them in a false mirror, exactly such as they are not."
Nor is it, always, the youth of the least promise, that are in
the most danger.  So far otherwise, those of forward parts, of
lively imaginations, and of strong passions withal, are in peculiar
hazard during those green years, in which is the critical period
of transition from the condition of boys to that of men.  The
very qualities, that distinguish them and set them  above their
fellows, diminish the likelihood of their establishing a sober staidness of character, and, ofttimes, are the means of launching them
into the whirlpool of dissipation, where all is lost; where reputation, morals, and whatever is estimable in human beings, are
all ingulfed together.
How many instances do the perilous times, we live in, furnish-how many deplorable instances of hopeful boys, abandoned
and lost ere they were out of their teens!  And by how much
the more their parents had doted upon them, by so much the
more are their hearts wrung with anguish.
Far less is the danger, for the most part, while the immature
youth remains under the parental roof, or in ": the well-ordered
holne." There he finds it not so easy to shake off salutary restraints; there he needs must feel some respect for the opinion
of the society, in whose bosom he was born and educated, some
reverence of parental authority, and some regard to the feelings of
near kindred.  But when he leaves the haven of home, and is
pushed off into the stream of life, it is more than an even chance
that he will founder in the stream, if he have not previously been
under the governance of moral and religious principle. In his new
situation it often happens, that he finds new enticements to lead




68                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
him astray, and, at the same time, feels himself loosened from
the authority and influences which had, heretofore, repressed his
wayward propensities; and if vicious, but genteel and artful companions get the first hold of him, his ruin is, in all probability,
sealed.
It was in clear view  of these affecting circumstances, that
the celestial poet, Cowper, penned the following lines:
- " My boy, the unwelcome hour has come,
When thou, transplanted from thy genial home,
Must find a colder soil and bleaker air,
And trust for safety to a stranger's care."
It is hard to mourn over the cdeath, but it is, sometimes, still
harder to mourn over the life of a beloved child.  When parents see the one who, they had expected, would be found the
solace of their age, the honor of their family, and an ornament
to society-when they see him, at the instant of their highest
hopes, turn to the ways of folly; no heart but a heart thus exercised, can conceive the sharpness of the pang.   This is sorrow
indeed; and that the best they can do to prevent it, or, rather, all
they can do, is to lay themselves out, in good earnest, to train up
their children in the way they should go.
Good education is the thing in the world, the most important and desirable, but it is of wider scope than most people imagine.   What is called learning, is only a part of it, and so far
from being the most essential part, it is but the husk.  In vain
will you employ your endeavors to educate your children, unless you give seed to the heart, as well as culture to the understanding; unless you make their moral frame, the subject of




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    69
your assiduous and well-directed care; unless you take, at least,
as much pains to make them well-principled and of virtuous manners, as to make them shine in learning and accomplishments:
for intellectual improvement, if their morals be neglected, will
tend to render them wise only to do evil.  If you train up
your boy to a strict regard to truth, honesty, and integrity, and
to a deep reverence for all that is sacred; if you train him up
in habits of industry, temperance, and love of order; —it is then,
and only then, you can reasonably expect, that he willpass through
the perilous crisis before him uncontaminated, and that his manhood will be crowned with honor.




70                 THE BRIEF REMITARKER
NUMBER XVI.
OF THE CONTEMPT OF WOMANRIN(D.
"' When pain and sickness wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou."
SCOTT.
THE man, who expresses or feels a general contentL of womankind, evinces thereby, either that his acquaintance has been
mostly with the baser sort, or that his heart is devoid of the common sensibilities of our nature.  A  satire upon Woma7n!  It
is revolting; it is dastardly and brutish.  Individuals are deserving of the lash of satire, but not the species.  Of women,
as well as of men, there are the artful and treacherous, the unfeeling and cruel, the mischievous, the disgusting, the abominable.-The sex, nevertheless, is entitled to a high degree of respect, esteem and love.
Of one, in the dark ages, who was the gloomiest of bigots,
and the most ruthless of persecutors, it is recorded that'" he
never looked in the face of a woman, or spoke to one."




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      71
In like manner,
— Am" aside the devil turned,"
when the first of female forms presented itself before him.  Woman was, " the last, best gift," to man; moulded out of that part
of his flesh and bone, which lay nearest the heart. And what
though she was first in the transgression?  Was she not principal, also, in the restoration? And when the Divine Restorer,
born of a woman, was in poverty and need, who were they that
ministered to him?  Women.  When the disciples had fled
through fear, who stood by, and so deeply sympathized in his last
agonies, undismayed by the ferocious countenances of the murderous throng?  Women.  Who so affectionately prepared the
embalming spicery, and were the first to visit the sacred tomb?
Wonen.  To whom have all the after generations been most inaebted for the pious culture of infancy and childhood?  To
women.  The Eternal Wisdom  has, if I may use the expression, cast the minds of the two sexes in different moulds, each being
destined to act in a sphere peculiarly its own.
"For contemplation he, and valor form'd,
For softness she, and sweet attractive grace."
The one is destined and fitted for the more active and perilous scenes; the other for the duties and trials of domestic life;
the one to protect, the other to lean on the arm of her protector; the one to exhibit the sterner virtues, the other the mil-:er;
the one possessing more of active courage; and the other, more
of fortitude, of resignation, of unweariable patience, and more of
the benevolent, affections.  This is nature's distinctive  line,




72                THE BRIEF REMARKER
which, on the part of female character. can never be overleaped,
without producing disgust or ridicule.  Hence it is, that, of all
affectation, none is more displeasing than a woman's affecting the
spirit and manners of the other sex.  We have a sort of admiration of the heroic intrepidity of the Spartan women; of their
contempt of danger; of the stoical apathy, or rather the exultation, with which they received the news of their sons and husbands dying bravely in battle. We admire them as prodigies,
but neither love, nor esteem  them  as women.  And why is it
that the atheistical woanz2a is regarded with such singular hor
ror?  Why is the foul oath, the heaven-daring blasphemy, doubly
horrible in the ear of decency, when proceeding from the lips
of woman?  It is because we contrast the outrage with the attributes of timidity, gentleness, delicacy and sensibility, belonging more peculiarly to her sex.
One of the most deplorable wants in woman, is the want of
heart; the want of genuine sensibility, of the radical affection of
sympathy and benevolence. It is a want, which neither beauty, nor wit, nor the rarest accomplishments of person or mind
can, by any means; compensate.  On the other hand, the most
attractive graces of the female character are not the artificial
and showy ones; but those of a meek and quiet spirit, and of beneficent dispositions, guided by moral principle and the discretion
of sound sense: —in a word, graces, the same that our holy religion inculcates and inspires.
In the fair daughters of Eve, domestic excellence is the prodominating excellence; in comparison with which all the ornaments, that literature or manners can bestow, are as tinsel compared with fine gold.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.    173
How much soever woman contributes to refine and amplify
the innocent pleasures of health and prosperity, yet still more
doth she contribute, when she acts the woman, to alleviate the
pains of adversity.  In our sickness and sorrows, she is indeed as
~ a ministering angel."'   What heart else is so sympathetic?
What hand else is so soothing?   Who watches by the sick bed
with most care, with most assiduity, with the most inexhaustible
patience?  Who, in spite of feebleness of frame, foregoes sleep,
and patiently endures a course of remitless watchings of incredible length?  Who, so often, devotes life, and the pleasures of
life to the needs of a helpless parent? to the solitary chamber of
decrepit age?  It is zvoman;-the well-educated, the enlightened, the Christian woman.
4




74                 THE BRIEF RE3MARKER
NUMBER XVII.
OF THE INCREASE OF CONSEQUENCE ORDINARILY GIVEN A MAN BY
MARRYING.
FAMILIES are clusters of little commonwealths, which can hardly
subsist without government, and whose well-being depends greatly upon the manner, in which they are governed.
The ruler of a family, with respect to the children, belonging to his household and under his care, stands in the relation of
a magistrate.  A sort of magistrate he is, of very ample powers;
for he is clothed at once, in a certain measure, with legislative,
judicial, and executive authority.
In this character, it concerns hint to act with the utmost impartiality. To be partial is to be unjust; and the injustice
being perceived and deeply felt, (as it scarcely ever fails to be,)
discontent, heart-burnings, and bitter murmurings will ensue.
Favoritism is the bane of government, in the smallest communities, as well as in the largest. And look! often it is the favorite
child, that wrings the hearts of the doting parents; and no less




ON THE WAYS o0  MAN.                    75
often the child, that shared least in their regards, comes, at last,
to be the solace and the prop of their declining years.
It behooves, that the ruler of a family establish no domestic
rules and laws, but such as are reasonable in themselves, and
conducive to the real good and welfare of the little community
he governs.  Else he acts the part of a tyrant; and one, who is
a tyrant in his own house, would be a tyrant over millions, if he
had it in his power.
As the laws for his household should be enacted with all the
prudence and forethought he is master of, so, also, they should
be executed with discretion and cool judgment.  What would be
thought of a judge, who should proceed to pass a penal sentence
without conviction, or without giving a patient hearing and a fair
trial, or who should fly into a violent passion upon the judgmentseat, and foam with rage while in the act of passing. sentence?
Every one would think him utterly unfit for his place, and would
cry out,-shame upon him! Now the ruler of a family acts as
a judge; while the party, arraigned before him, has neither the
benefit of counsel, nor the privilege of trial by jury. In these
circumstances, it is peculiarly fit and necessary, that the judge
should not act passionately, but with cool deliberation.
Paternal magistracy must be supported by general decency
of behavior, or, inevitably, it will fall into contempt.  It is an
old Latin maxim,'" Jlcaxima debetzur pueris reevereztia,-in English," Very great r-esp2ect is due to chilcdrez.  Parents must respect
themselves, in the presence of their children. A governor, or a
justice of a court, who respects not himself by a steady observance of the laws of decency, brings his office and authority into
contempt: and it is so in domestic government.  Nor does the




76                  THE BRIEF REMARKER
requisite decorum of parental authority, at all, imply moroseness
and habitual sternness. So far otherwise, the father who is
courteous and affable, and, in a proper manner, even intimate
with his children, increases, by it, their esteem and respect, as well
as their love.
A unit standing alone, however great a unit it be, is still the
least of numbers; but place it in close alliance with another unit
and, instantly, there is produced the respectable number 11.
Ordinarily, a man multiplies his importance in society by
marrying.  Instantly, he multiplies the number of his kindred;
the relations of his wife being to him, as his own.  The circle of
friendly acquaintance is enlarged, by the addition of those, with
whom she had been in the habits of friendship.  It is now, that
society begins to have fast hold of him; and it is now, that lie,
himself, begins to cling to society in earnest.  He is no longer a
citizen at large, whose home is everywhere, or rather nowhere.
He now feels that he has, indeed, a particular home, and is attached to the spot.  And what though he have neither rank, nor
wealth, nor talents, to distinguish him  abroad?  I-e, nevertheless, is a man of consequence in his own family. Of that little community he is the legitimate head, by a right more divine, than
any regal authority can boast of. There is at least one individual
who participates, deeply and feelingly, in all his interests and
fortunes.  HI-s prosperity and his adversity, his joys and his
sorrows, are hers.  However obscure, he comes now to be a man
of some authority.  His children are the subjects of his rule, as
well as the objects of his paternal care and love.  I-Ie says to
one, Go, and he goeth; to another, Come, and he cometh; and
to a third, Do this and he doeth it.  Nor is any ruler else obeyed




ON TIE WAYS OF MAN.                      77
with so much alacrity and good-will, as that father, who acts
the father with a proper mixture of discretion and tenderness.
The eyes of his little subjects glisten with joy, while they are
fulfilling his wishes, and obeying his behests.
MIoreover, ordclinarily, a man is more likely to be a virtuons
member of society for marrying.  He feels doubly bound to
good behavior, by placing himself in this relationship.  It is not
only his own interest that is at stake, but the interests of the
partnerj whose earthly destinies are so closely connected with
his;-the interests, too, of the beloved offspring of their union.
If he bring a blot upon himself, she, together with their children,
shares in the infaimy.  Full well he knows that, if he take to bad
courses, he plunges those who are most near and dear to him, as
well as himself, into an abyss of wretchedness.  This circumstance cannot fail of bearing, with considerable weight, upon
minds not entirely lost to the common sensibilities of human nature.




78                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XVIII.
OF THE USE AND NECESSITY OF SMALL CHANGE IN SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC COMMERCE.
THE commerce of neighborly social life is carried on, chiefly, by
small change.  Vast favors are seldom  bestowed, and heavy
obligations are seldom incurred.  It is the constant interchange
of little obliging attentions, that constitutes connubial happiness.
It springs from an uninterrupted series of little acts of mutual
kindness, light as air of themselves, and costing little or nothing,
but of immeasurable importance in their consequences; as they
furnish the only kind of food, that will long sustain that delicate
kind of friendship, and as the absence of these small attentions
occasions, first coldness, then distrust, and finally alienation.
Setting aside the brutish and the dissolute part of the community,
wives and husbands disagree oftener, by much, about trifles, than
about things of real weight. Perhaps nine in ten of their disputes and squabbles grow out of little things, such as trivial
neglects, petty faults, or a word unkindly spoken.  Nay, merely




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                       79
a hard look, sometimes, lays the foundation of a hard quarrel.
A husband never can please his wife any longer, than his general
conduct evinces that he is, in most respects, well pleased with
her; and still less, perhaps, may a wife expect to please or gain
her husband otherwise than by treating himl  with conjugal affection.  If, for even his real and gross trespasses, she administers
acids rather than sanatives, the oil of vitriol instead of the healing
balsam, she will but increase the moral malady, that she wishes
to cure.
If we extend our view to the larger circle of social intercourse
which comprehends relations, friends, and acquaintance of every
kind and degree, we shall find, that the frequent interchange of
courteous attentions and little kindnesses is the thing, that keeps
-them united together, and pleased with each other; and that, in
default of this, they presently lose all relish for one another's
company.  The truth is, as our tempers are oftener ruffled by
trifles than by things of moment, so, on the other hand, our affections are won more by a long series of trivial obligations, than
by one single obligation, however great.
Mlan, put him where you will, is a proud-hearted little animal.
And hence, we become attached to those, who are in the habit of
treating us, as if they thought us worthy of their particular notice and regard, and, at the same time, cold and secretly resentful toward such, as habitually neglect us in these little points:
even though the former never have done us a single important
favor, and the latter, in some one instance or other. have essentially befriended us.
With regard to neglect and trespasses in those little things,
which constitute the main substance of social life, the worst of it




80                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
is, that they are incapable of free discussion; and of course, the
wounds from them admit of no healing.  We are deeply touched
with omissions or slights, for which it would be ridiculous to expostulate or complain.  They leave a sting, which secretly rankles in our memories, and festers in our imaginations, and inwardly we feel sore, while we are ashamed to fret outwardly; the
cause of our provocation being an undefinable, nameless something, upon which we never can ask for an explanation, and, consequently, can never obtain any satisfaction.
True enough, all this is often ill-grounded, or the offspring of
mere jealousy.  But that makes the case more remediless; for
ill-grounided enmities are the most obstinate, because, as their
causes exist altogether, or chiefly, in the imagination, the imagination is ever busy in coloring and magnifying them; whereas,
when the offence, though real, is of a definite form and shape,
it may be got over.
I have seen two friends dispute and quarrel violently about
an affair of moment, and then settle it, and, presently, become as
kind and loving together as ever.  And I have seen other two
friends, who never quarrelled together at all, become first cold,
and at last utterly estranged, by reason of a neglect or slight, on
the one side or the other, which, of itself, was too trivial to be
so much as mentioned to the offending party.
There are those, who are willing to oblige, but are unwilling
to receive obligations, though never so small, in any way or in
any thing; and they boast of it as a noble quality.  But whatever they may think, themselves, they violate; in this respect,
the general law of social commerce, which requires some degree
of reciprocity, or a mutual exchange of commodities.  One, who




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     81
is in the way of often receiving from  another little kindnesses,
which he is never permitted to requite, sinks into a dependent;
and his nominal friend is not, indeed, a friend, but a patron.
The show of utter averseness to being obliged, in any case whatever, is, commonly, understood aright; it is taken for pride, or
contempt, or coldness, and naturally gives displeasure; while,
on the contrary, to accept little obligations with frankness, and
to be alike willing to oblige and to be obliged, is the proper line
of social intercourse.
I will only remark further, that the little daily attentions,
upon which social feeling and happiness so much depend, ought
to be natural and spontaneous; and not loaded and stiffened with
ceremony: and that the only way to make them  quite natural
and spontaneous; is to have written on the heart that first of
social laws,  ThoZu shalt love thy meig'hbor acs thyself."




82                THE BRIEF RE3MARKER
NUMBER XIX.
OF THE GREAT SOCIAL LAW, ENJOINING IT UPON EACH TO YIELD PLACE
TO EACH.
IN the crowded streets of a great city, where multitudes are
passing in opposite directions, while some are crossing obliquely,
and others at right angles, it is necessary for every one to give
way a little to those he meets; by which means they will have a
free passage.  Were the whole multitude to pass directly onward, without any one's yielding an inch of ground to any body
else, all would be obstructed more or less, and confusion must
ensue.-Or, if a churlish individual should take it into his head,
to march forward in a straight line, and, in no case, make way
for man, woman, or child, nor even for a procession, he would
be sure to jostle against some one or other, at almost every step,
and would receive many an insult, and, perhaps, hard blows, for
his obstinacy and impudence.
And very much so it is in our journey through life, and with
respect to our general intercourse with mankind.  " In the march




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      83
of life, no one's path lies so clear, as not in some degree to cross
another's; and if each is determined, with unyielding sturdiness,
to keep his own line, it is impossible but he must both give and
receive many a rude shock."  In society, in neighborhoods, and
even Uamong close friends, there will spring up rivalries, and be,
sometimes, a clashing of opinion, and if all were mutually obstinate, there could be no bounds nor end to contention.  Whereas,
by the exercise of mutual condescension, social harmony is preserved, and the pleasures of society enjoyed.
The exercise of condescension is ranked among the precepts
of the gospel, and is enjoined as a duty upon Christians, who are
expressly told, from divine authority; to be patient towards all
mzen,-to be couzrteous. IHence it follows, that the extremely
obstinate man, who will not yield an ace in matters of interest or
opinion, but runs foul of every one that chances to cross his path,
does really transgress the rules of the gospel, as well as those of
decorum.
Here let me not be misunderstood.  Condescension has its
bounds, and those bounds are strongly marked.  One should
never yield opinions, much less principles, that are of great and
serious importance.  One should never sacrifice conscience to
please friends, or for fear of foes.  One should never " follow a
multitude to do evil."  One should never suffer himself to be
conformed to the world in vicious practices and customs; or in
fashions, which, though innocent in themselves, are too expensive
-for him to follow.  One should never yield any thing to importunity, which self-justice forbids him to yield at all.  In these
points, the person, who would go through the journey of life well,
must be firm and inflexible..But in matters of indifference, or




84                  THE BRIEF REMARKER
of no serious consequence, whether respecting opinion or interest,
a yielding, accommodating spirit is not only desirable, but a
moral and Christian duty.  And even in points which are not to
be yielded, one should maintain firmness in such a manner, if
possible, as to make it evident that he acts from principle rather
than from obstinacy.
It would be easy to apply these observations, to the various
relations of social life, in all which the custom  of well-ordered
society, imposes upon us a regard for the opinions and feelings of
others; but more particularly are they applicable to those in the
married state, for it is here that mutual obstinacy of temper,
meets with daily and hourly opportunities and occasions of collision.  " Trifles light as air," are perpetually disputed between
them, and with as much warmth and pertinacity, as if they were
articles of faith.
Courtesy of manners is the congruous drapery of a benevolent mind, and is both seemly and pleasing, at all times, and in
every relation of life.  Nor does it need any laborious study to
attain it. A great part of the essence of courtesy, or of genuine
politeness, is expressed in these three words, "'eve' prefer youersef."  This rule of social intercourse, which is of excellent use, is
the more highly to be regarded, as it is drawn, not from the school
of pagan philosophy, but from  the pure fountain of the gospel.
One of the parables of our blessed Saviour begins thus, —   When
thou art bidden of any man to a wedding, sit noot clown iln the
highest roomz."  That is, in modern phrase, prefer not thyseij
They, who carefully abstain from  giving to themselves any
undue or even questionable preferences, will seldom  meet with
incivilities from others.




ON  THE WAYS OF MAN.                       85
NUMBER XX.
OF THE NECESSITY OF LEARNING HOW TO USE MIONEY.
-— " To know
That which before us lies in daily life
Is the prime of wisdom; what is more, is fume,
Or emptiness, or fond impertinence."
MILTON-.
THERE is one inferior, or subordinate branch  of knowledge,
which great learning overlooks, and great genius contemns;
though, in all ages of the world, learning and genius have suffered sore hardships and perplexities for the lack of it: I mean the
knowledge of the use of money.
This is, it must be owned, a vulgar kind of knowledge; antply possessed, not unfrequently, by minds of the baser sort. So
far is it from entering into the scope of scholastic education, that
few are more destitute of it than some of the deepest scholars.
The studies they pursue are altogether foreign from this, and
the classical authors which they most admire speak of it with
contempt, It is the ambition of the studious boy to be a fine




86                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
scholar.  This object, along with virtuous dispositions, embraces,
in his estimation, every thing desirable in character.  After a
painful, and laudable course of exertions, he attains it.  He steps
forth, into the busy world, in the majesty of learning. By all
men, that are scholars themselves, his parts and his progress are
admired.  He has great talents, rare talents, shining talents, and
all sense but common sense.  He knows the reputed number of
the visible stars in the firmament, and not a few of them  he can
call by their names.  He has explored the depths of natural
philosophy.  In metaphysical acumen he is keen, and can split
hairs as with an edge, finer and sharper than a razor's.  In the
most celebrated languages of antiquity, and, perhaps, in several
modern languages, he is marvellously skilled.  But in respect to
that ordinary traffic, which all, who have bodies to feed and
clothe, must be concerned in, he knows less than a market boy of
the age of twelve.  And how will he ever get this kind of knowledge?  His books teach it not, and, besides, to make it an object
of practical attention, is repugnant, alike, to his habits and feelings.  Thus richly endowed, and, meanwhile, deplorably lacking,
he steps into the busy world:-and experience tells the rest.
It is no uncommon thing, to find men of excellent parts, and
profound erudition, who, nevertheless, of the little affairs of
practical life are as ignorant as children. In their dealing, they
are exposed to daily impositions; the sharks of society prey upon
them, and they perceive it not. If they employ laborers, they
know neither how to direct them,  nor how to estimate their services; and are quite as likely to find fault with the honest and
faithful, as with those who defraud them, and artfully cover the
cheat.  If they have an income which, rightly managed, would




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     87
be sufficient, it melts away in their improvident hands, and they
suffer want. In whatever pertains to abstract science, they are
entitled to rank with the great; but in every thing that relates
to the supply of their daily necessities, or those of their faimilies, they are the least among the little.  Though they have
an accurate knowledge of the map of the heavens and of the
earth, as they know nothing, or next to nothing of the things
about them, they are more pitiable for their ignorance, than enviable for their learning.
This sort of helplessness does not, however, befall the learned
only: it is, alike, common to the inheritors of opulence. As
they who, from childhood. have been altogether engaged in scientific pursuits, know less of the economy of a family, than of the
economy of the visible heavens; so they, that are born to the
inheritance of wealth, are naturally inclined to despise the very
name and appearance of economy, as little and mean.  Possessing
a superfluity of money, which they never knew the getting of, they
squander rather than spend it; and in a very little while, the fruits
of a whole age of painful industry are utterly wasted and gone: not
always from  any uncommon depravity of heart, but sometimes,
nay often, from merely the lack of ordinary prudence; of that
worldly prudence, the study or observance of which they deemed
beneath their condition.: The love of money" (not money itself) " is the root of all
evil." There is almost no evil, to which the inordinate love of
money has not given birth or aid. But if things were to be estimated, merely by the abuse of them. Literature, Science, the
lights of Reason and even Reason itself, must fall under reproach.
What though money be the idol of griping avarice, and the pil



88                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
lar of devouring ambition'?  What though it minister, in a thousand ways, to the lusts of men?  What though to many it opens
the floodgates of vice?  What though the sordid seek it as the
chief good, and the knavish snatch it by whatever means? —Is
money itself in fault?  Is it not a blessing after all?  If it be
not a blessing, then it follows that the naked; famishing savage
is as well off as the well-fed and well-clothed European or American; that vile, smoky cabins are as comfortable as choice houses;
and that civilization itself is no better than the forlorn state of
nature.
Money is, indeed, a great blessing, and the knowledge of
using money as not abusing it, —-charitably, whenever charity
calls, but, always, discreetly-is an interesting branch of knowledge, and well deserves a place in our systems of education.
For it is far more important to learn to guide our affairs with
discretion than to " speak with tongues."  Neither is any other
science so often and so urgently needed, as homely household
science-or practical skill in managing those little domestic and
personal concerns, which every day of life brings along with it.




ON THE  WAYS OF MAN.                   89
NUMBER XXI.
O F TE WO N D E  FUL BO3 Y.
THERE is a remarkable variety in the growth of mind, from
the first visible dawnings of reason, to the full maturity of its
powers.  Of minds, that finally attain to an uncommon degree
of intelligence, some have a slow growth; an ample harvest of
fruit succeeds to no extraordinary blossom.  Neither their childhood nor their youth gave promise of the parts, which the process
of time gradually and slowly developed. It has been remarked
of the late Patrick Henry, so celebrated in the annals of Virginia,
" that he did not appear at the bar until he was about thirty years
old, and that he had attained nearly to forty, before the extent
of his talents Was discovered by the public, and, probably, before
it was known to himself."  Other minds have a rapid growth, and
shortly become stationary, or even go to decay; and the maturity
of age disappoints the high expectations that had been built upon
the singular forwardness of childhood and youth.  Their premature brightness passes away, and is presently gone, like the
passing blaze of a meteor.




90                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
" The wonderful boy, being no longer a boy, is no longer a
wonder. "  Not that this is the fact in all instances: there have
been men of gigantic minds, who discovered marks of superiority
in mental stature, almnost from the cradle. One remarkable instance
of it, was Dr. Samuel Johnson, and another, the late Chief Justice Parsons.  Of the latter the Hon. Judge Parker in an address
to a Grand Jury observes: —" From the companions of his early
years I have learned, that he was comparatively great before he
arrived at manhood; that his infancy was marked by mental labor
and study, rather than by puerile amusements; that his youth was
a season of persevering acquisition instead of pleasure; and that
when he became a man, he seemed to possess the wisdom  and
experience of those, who had been men long before him."
But notwithstanding these, and sundry other similar instances,
experience teaches that the wonderful boy not seldom makes but
an ordinary, and, sometimes, an inferior man: and this is owing,
perhaps; for the most part to the two following causes.
In the view that is taken of childhood and immature youth,
the partial or superficial observer is very apt to mistake loquacious vivacity for brightness of intellect, and a forward pertness
for genius; and the fond hopes that are founded upon this common
nistake, are at length blasted of course.  In the progress of age
there is discovered the want of solidity and depth.  The mind has
no bottom.  It retains its sprightliness through life; but it is
still the sprightliness of childish years.
But the most common cause of the deplorable failure of
youths of great promise, is the indiscretion, not to say vanity of
their friends.  It is quite common for parents to mistake their
own goslings for swans; to think their children very bright, if




ON THE WAYS OF  IAN.                    91
they have merely common sense.  But if any one of them happen to be more forward for his age than is usual, he makes a prodigious figure in their partial and doting eyes; nor can they be content to smother or conceal the delicious sensations of their hearts.
They exhibit the prodigy of intellect to their acquaintances and
visitors; and these, out of courtesy, praise the wonderful boy to
his face, and express quite as much admiration of his parts as they
feel-and, peradventure, a little more.
Young master listens-" nothing loth" —to these notes of adulation.  Ere he is out of his teens, be thinks himself too wise for
instruction, and too important for advice.  tie looks down with
scorn upon the beaten tracks of life, and must needs strike out
some eccentric path for himself.  Or, depending on the mere force
of genius, he despises plodding industry even of the intellectual
kind, as fit only for vulgar souls. The deplorable consequences are
inevitable.
A boy flattered much for his genius, or a girl, for her beauty,
is, of all human wights, the most likely to become tunid with
vanity, which alike deforms the mind and hinders its growth.
The natural gifts of the mind are dealt out with a frugal
hand; to none so abundantly as to supersede the necessity of mental labor; and to few so sparingly, that they may not, under the
enjoyment of suitable means, and with well-directed industry, attain to a respectable standing for knowledge; and whatever difference there may be between men in regard to the original powers
of their minds, the most common and the greatest difference between them, arises from a diligent cultivation of these powers on
the one hand, and a slothful neglect of them on the other.  With
respect to intellectual, as well as to worldly treasure, it is the




92                THE BRIEF REM[ARKER
hand of the diligent that maketh rich; while the sluggard, who
neglects to cultivate and improve his mind, will find that mind a
wretched waste at the age of fifty, of however great promise it
had been at the age of twenty.  Like rare-ripe fruit, its maturity
and its decay will be simultaneous.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   93
NUMSBEIR  XXII.
O F BID LING THE  T O N GUE.
"The tongue can no man tame."
TF this were not the language of inspiration, experience has
proved it to be the language of truth.  The tongue is the most
untamable thing in nature.  " Every kind of beasts and birds,
and of serpents, is tamed and has been tamed by mankind." But
not so with the tongue.  Who, amongst the sons of men, ever
yet tamed his own tongue?  Not one.-A person can b6ide his
tongue, or hold it; but no sooner does he take off the bridle, or
let go his hold, than this little member runs wild, and out slips
something fiom it, in the moment of passion or of levity, which
the speaker, presently, wishes back.
Mark Anthony, it has been said, tamed lions, and drove them,
harnessed to his chariot, through the streets of Rome.  Had
he- taned his own tongue, it had been a greater wonder still.The rattlesnake has been tamed, and so has the crocodile: but
the tongue, never.  Pythagoras imposed on his pupils constant




94                 THE BRIEF REMIIARIKER
silence, for months, and years together.  But what did it all
signify?  No sooner were they permitted to talk, than they
gabbled a deal of impertinence.-Besides, to withhold the tongue
from speaking at all, is destroying its end and use, rather than
taming it.  The gift of speech is too precious to be thrown away.
Let the tongue be accustomed to speak, and to speak as it ought
to. "A word spoken in season, how good is it! "  Unruly tongues,
on the contrary, produce "'a world of iniquity.' —Some are
" full of deadly poison."  Such are they, that curse men and blaspheme God, and which utter lies for mischief, or for sport. Such
too is the deceitful tongue,' whose words are smoother than oil;
yet are they drawn swords."' Tlhere is the sly, whispering tongue,
and babbling, tattling tongue: each of which "' separateth very
friends."  " The words of a tale-bearer are as wounds."  He
wounds others thereby, and himself too.  For the mouth of such
a fool is his destruction.
An impertinent, meddling tongue makes bad worse, even when
employed in offices of friendship.  When Job was smit from
head to foot, the busy tongues of his wife and his friends were a
sorer plague to him than all his pains.  And thus it often happens, that a person under misfortune suffers as well from  the
meddling tongues of friends, as froim the malicious tongues of
enemies.
There areJfiery tongues.  " The tongue is a fire."  Such is
the tongue of the passionate man, or woman, whose mouth, foaming
with rage, casteth abroad words, which are as " firebrands, arrows,
and death."  Such also is the tongue of the slanderer and backbiter, which, being itself " set on fire of hell," puts whole neighborhoods and communities in a flame, and setteth on fire the




ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                    I5
course of nature."  How many a sweetly fashioned mouth has
been disfigured, and made hideous, by the fiery tongue in it.
What, then, is to be done with this unruly little member,
which " boasteth great things,' and occasioneth infinite mischief in
the world? Since no man, or woman even, can quite tame it, what
is the best way to manage it?
First, correct the heart, and keep that with all diligence.  The
foolishness of the lips is first uttered in the heart. " For out of
the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh."
Next, carefully bridle the tongue.  Keep the bit upon it at
all times; especially in the moment of sudden anger~ and in the
hour of joy and conviviality.
Self-command, as respects the tongue, is as necessary as it is
difficult. For we are told from divine authority, " If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man, and able also to bridle the whole body."
As it is of the utmost importance that we rule our own
tongues, so, on the other hand, it is of no small importance, that
we be guarded against the unruly tongues of others. And here I
will lay down one caution, and commend it to the particular remembrance of the young and inexperienced.  Beware of close
intimacy with those, whose tongues are calumnious towards almost
every one except the present company, to which they are ever
smooth and fair.  For, he who commonly indulges himself in calumniating or ridiculing the absent, plainly shows his company,
what it has to expect from him, aftor he leaves it.




96                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
LNUlMVBER XXIII.
OF SAYING TOO TMUCH.
THE art of holding the tongue, is quite as necessary as the art
of speaking, and, in some instances, it is even more difficult to
learn.
In a biographical notice of a celebrated  speaker in the
British I-louse of Commons, it is remarked that " he never scaid
too nzuck."  This is, in truth, a rare commendation of a public
speaker.  One who, without circumlocution or parade, comes to
the matter in hand at once, and pertinaciously sticks to it throughout-who seizes on the strong points in the argument, and sets
them to view in the clearest light-who says all that is proper
and nothing more-whose every sentence, and almost every
word, strikes hone, and who C"minds to leave off when he has
done"-such a public speaker, whether in the Forum, in the Pulpit,
or at the Bar, will neveir tire ihis hearers.
But my present business is not with Scakers, but with
Talkers; the last being much the most numerous tribe, and entitled, of course, to the first notice.




ON THE WAYS OF MiAN                     97
Man, or even womain, when enjoying freedom of the tongue,
and gifted with the faculty of using it fluently, is a great deal
more apt to say too much than too little.
When a room full of ladies are all speaking at the same instant, only with this difference, that some tune their voices higher
and some lower, it is pretty clear that they say too much.  But
this is tender ground, on which I would tread lightly.
They who expect to be listened to by every body, but are unwilling, themselves, to listen to any body; who will hold you by
the sleeve or button, if you attempt to escape them, and din you
the harder, the more you show signs of weariness;-this tribe
of talkers (as all but themselves will readily admit) say too much.
Persons, who have wit, or (what is as bad) who think they
have it, are in particular hazard of saying too much.  It is one
of the hardest things in the world, to make a temperate use of
real or of self-supposed wit, and more particularly, of the talent
for raillery. And hence many a one, not wanting in good nature,
and meaning nothing more than to show off his wit, multiplies
enemies, and sometimes wounds his best friends.  To make use
of a line in one of Crabbe's poems,
H' He kindles anger by untimely jokes."
They who talk merely with the intent to shine in company, or
for the sake of showing off to advantage their own parts and learning,-always say too much.
The fond pair, who entertain their visitors, by the hour, with
setting forth the excellent qualities, or clever sayings of their own
children, or with mawkish details of the rare conjugal affection
that subsists between themselves,-say too much.
5




98                THE BRIEF REMARKER
Those who are inordinately fond of speaking in the first person-I l yself,-it is more than an even chance that they will
say too much.  When a young man, whose stock of wisdom  is
small, is more eager to expend it in talking, than to increase it by
patient listening-he is very apt to say too much.
Old men are prone to say too much, when, getting into the
preter-jpluperf/ect tense, they represent the former days as every
way better than these. As if the human family, notwithstanding
the perpetual accumulation of experience, were constantly retrograding instead of advancing; and as if men and women, nowadays, were like grasshoppers in comparison of their progenitors.
It is seldom that men do not say too much, in their convivial
moments.  It is then, that they are peculiarly apt to let off with
the tongue something which they are sorry for on the morrow;
for "' when wine is in, discretion is out.'
As to those persons, whose staple of conversation is telling
stories in long metre, though it is hardly to be expected that
they can be prevailed with either to refrain or to abridge, yet the
following direction from Cheste2field t-cavestie, may be of use to
them, as a general regulator.-" When you mean to introduce an
interesting story, make out a kind of preface about an hour's
length, by way of impressing upon your hearers the pleasure they
are about to receive.  If they should be disappointed, that is not
your fault. You did your best; and so much time has been passed
away, at least to your own satisfaction."
I will conclude with a caution.- Let not him  that talketh
not, despise him that talketh.  There have been some wights of
the human family, both male and female, who have obtained the
reputation of abilities and wisdom by their grave taciturnity,



OR THE WAYS OF MAN.                    99
every body thinking that they could say a great deal if they
wouldl —when in sober truth, their habitual silence was owing
rather to dearth of ideas or to dulness.
To be humdrum in company, is as wide from the true mark
as to be garrulous.




100               THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBERL XXIV.
OF THE SALUTARY EFFECTS OF TIIHE NECESSITY? LAID UPON MAN, TO
LABOR.
NECESSITY is the mainspring of industry, and the mother of useful arts.  The earth was given to the children of men, in a rude
and forlorn condition. And why? Assuredly, not because it
was out of the power, or beyond the benevolence of the Creator,
to have rendered the whole face of it " like blooming Eden,
fair," and so fertile every where, as to yield a plentiful abundance
for human sustenance, without any human labor, care, or forethought. This did not, however, consist with the plan of Divine
Wisdom.
Man is a being compounded of mind and matter; and a
great part of his necessary employment is such, as tends to
evince the superiority of the former over the latter.  The stubborn glebe he meliorates, softens, and fructifies. Regions of
forest he subdues, and turns them into fruitful fields, and blooming gardpes.  The droughtv soil he irrigates, and the fenny he




ON THE WAYS OF BIAN.                   101
drains.  Earth, Air, Fire, and cWater, are all laid by him under
contribution, and he compels them, as it were, to minister, not
only to the necessities and comforts, but to the embellishments
of life.  In ten thousand ways, by skilful contrivance, and the
dint of industry, he overcomes the resistance of stubborn matter, and forces it to yield to his use-to his comfort-to his
adornment.  And by all this busy round of contrivance and of
labor, the faculties of his mind are developed, his body is made
more strong and healthy, his morals more virtuous or less corrupt, and his life unspeakably more contented and happy.  For
hie rejoices in the work of his hands, nor feels he the burden of
time, which hangs so heavily on the sons and daughters of sloth.
Man is nowhere found more degraded, than in climes the
most delicious, and upon a soil that produces, spontaneously, an
abundant supply of his wants.  It is ther e that his faculties are
torpid, his mind and his heart most deeply corrupted, and his
existence superlatively wretched.  If we may credit the accounts
of voyagers, some of the South Sea islands are earthly paradises
in regard to climate and soil, but border upon the infernal regions as to customs, morals, and manners; both the men and
the women being so deeply corrupted, that their abominable vices
alone, not only prevent any increase of population, but threaten
even to extirpate them entirely from the face of the earth.  Nor
would it, perhaps, be much better with the human race over the
world, if the whole world were in a condition that superseded all
necessity for labor.
If it seemed meet to the all-wise Creator, that man, in his
primeval state, should be subject to labor-that lie should be




102                THE BRIEF REMARKER
made to dress the garcden, aCnd to kee~p it-much greater is the
urgency for industrious habits in his lapsed state, in which idleness is sure to be prolific of vice.  And, accordingly, upon the
moral change of human nature, the earth, too, underwent a
change. The thorn and the thistle grew up, in place of the fragrant flower and the nourishing plant.  The heat consumed by
day, and the frost by night.  The inert matter, that he had to
deal with, became doubly intractable.  Obstacles to sloth, and
imperious calls to industry, multiplied.  So that man was compelledl to eat his bread in the sweat of his face.
Happy necessity! the necessity that prevents a fiightful
mass of moral evil, and produces an immensity of good.  W ithout it, the wickedness of man would be doubly great upon the
earth; and so far from enjoyment-feeling the fulness of satiety,
and the intolerable burden of time-like 3Milton's fiend in paradise. he would " see undelighted all delight."
Among the vain sons and daughters of men, there are those
who despise labor, even though their circumstances urgently need
it. As if the point of honor lay in being useless, improvident,
and helpless.  This is Folly's pride.  Whoso despiseth iabor,
despiseth an ordinance of heaven.  Not only is labor made necessary by the law of our general nature, but it is enjoined by a
positive law from above.-" Six dlays shalt thou lacbor, ancd (lo all
thy zvork.'"  The truly wise, so far from despising it, ever hold
it in honor.  To honor useful labor-to encourage the industrious-to bring up children to early habits of industry and frugality-and, on the other hand, to discountenance and hold in
reproach a life of sloth, of improvidence, and of dissipation,



ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   103
are indispensable, and ought to be engrained in the public mind.
They are truly republican sentiments and habits; and as far as
they prevail, so far will there be order and thrift in any free republic, and especially in this free country, in which there is such
an unbounded scope for industry.




104               THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XXV.
OF THE DESIGN AND JSE OF TIlE THUMB.
THE whole frame of the human body so clearly evinces design,
and, of course, an all-wise Designer, that atheism would appear
the extreme of folly, if even there were no other arguments to
confute it, than those which are, in a manner, forced upon us,
whenever we take a careful survey of ourselves.
The mechanism of the eye is marvellously complex, and yet
nothing in it is superfluous; every part bearing a necessary and
obvious relation to the purpose for which it was formed.  Nor is
the mechanism of the ear less adapted, in every part, to the design of its formation. These wonderful organs of sense are given
us, however, in common with the lower animals, of which there
are some, that far excel us in clearness of sight, and quickness of
hearing. But the human body has one appendage, which belongs
not to any of the brute creation, and which evidences design or
contrivance, as clearly as the eye or the ear.  I mean the
Thzm6b.  This puny member, which scarcely ever is noticed by




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   105
poet or philosopher, has been the main stay of the human family,
in all ages and countries.
Had the human body lacked this little limb of labor, man
would have been the most forlornly helpless of all animals, and,
indeed, the whole race must nearly have perished thousands of
years ere the present time.  He neither could have tilled the
ground, nor drawn a fish from the water.  He neither could
have felled the forests, nor furnished himself with weapons of
defence against the ferocious beasts, with which they were inhabited.  He would have been alike incapable of making, and of
using any of the instruments necessary for his sustenance, or
clothing, or defence. Suppose that the thumb, and that only,
had been overlooked in the general contrivance of the human
body, suppose that all the organs and members of the body, and
particularly the hc;dcds, were exactly as they are now, save that,
instead of four fingers and a thumb, there were five fingers standing parallel to each other:-the body, in that case, would have
been a machine wonderfillly curious, but utterly inadequate to
the purposes of human life.  Suppose further, that, as a recompense for the want of a thumb, man had been gifted with a
double or treble portion of intellect; he, notwithstanding,
must have been helpless and wretched; for it would be out of
the power of finite intellect to suply that deficiency, or even so
much as to provide for the mere necessary wants of the body.
alan, upon his expulsion from paradise, was cast into a wilderness world, and a wilderness it must have remained to this
day, but for the thumb upon his hand. He was commanded to
subdue the earth, and was authorized to exercise dominion over
the beasts of the field;-things as much out of his power had he
5-"'




106                THE BRIEF REMARKER
been thumbless, as arresting the stars in their courses.  But this
feeble being, through the constant aid of the thumb, what wonders has he wrought! See the forests felled; see blooming gardens and fields waving with golden wheat; see villages, towns,
cities, the spacious and well-furnished tenements of man; see
his convenient and comely attire, the fulness of his cup, and the
comforts of his table; see thousands of ships proudly traversing
the ocean, freighted with the superfluities of some countries for
the supply of the wants of others; see the finer works of art,
pictures, statuary, engravings, embroidery — see all these, and
a thousand other things, and you will recognize in every one of
them the agency of the thumb.  Nay, all our books of Divinity,
Law, Physic, Surgery, History, Biography, Philosophy, Poetry,
or of whatever name or description, were first thu2zbecl out by
the laborious penmen of them.  So true is it, that, as the hand
is the instrument to all other instruments, it is the thumb, chiefly,
that ministers ability to the hand.
The thumb points to duty.  Its admirable contrivance manifests both the wisdom  and the goodness of the Contriver.  It
plainly shows, at the same time, that man is destined by his
Maker, to employments of manual labor; and, conseqluently, that
manual labor, so far from being a reproach to him, is one of the
essential duties of his nature and condition, and ought rather to
be held in honor than in disgrace. And if there be some excep.
tions, they include but a very small proportion of the human
fanmily: for, of the whole world there are not more, perhaps,
than a hundredth part, who are fairly exempted by rank, or fortune, or mental occupations, from the necessity of laboring with
their hands.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    107
" Suck/ing tlhe thum2bs," is a proverbial phrase, denoting a
total neglect of employing them in any useful way, answerable to
the design they were made for.  A great many of this " untoward generation " have the vile trick of" sucking their thumbs;;"
-a great many, too, whose circumstances imperiously demand
a better use of them. It is a pitiful practice, whether in man
or woman, directly leading to poverty and want, and, not unfrequently, to the worst of vices.  It behooves that parents keep a
sharp look out, lest their boys and girls get into this way, so dangerous to their morals, so deadening to all their faculties,
and so destructive of their future prospects in life.
But there is one use of the thumb, that is infinitely worse than
not using it at all; it is employing it in spreading abroad falsehood and moral poison, with the pen, and with the type. It
were far better to be born without thumbs, than to use them so
abominably.




108               TIHE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XXVI.
OF IDLER S.
THERE are multitudes who pass along the stream of life without
laboring at the oar, or paying any thing for their passage; so
that the charge of their fare falls, most unreasonably, upon their
fellow-passengers. This is an evil of a very serious and dangerous
nature; for such idlers not only burden the community, but corrupt it. To say that it were as well for their country that they
had never been born, and that they are unworthy to be numbered
in the census of its population;-to say this, is saying too
little. They not only do no good, but they do much harm;
they not only prey upon the fruits of other men's industry, but
they deprave public morals.  It is in the nature of this kind of
gentry to multiply very fast if they are not checked; for besides
that they commonly bring up their children, if children they
have, in their own way of living, they are perpetually miaking
proselytes from the families of their neighbors; leading astray,
by their examples and enticements, a great many youth, who,




ON THE WAYS OF BIAN.                   109
but for them, might have been industrious, and useful to society.
In some countries, the wisdom of legislators has been much
employed on this subject, and the arm of executive power has
enforced industry, as a political duty which every person owed
to the State.  The Hollanders in particular, in the early age of
their Republic, considered idle persons as politically criminal,
and punished idleness as a crime against the comnmonwealth.
Those, who had no visible means for a livelihood, were called
before the magistracy, to give an account how they got their living; and if they were unable to render a satisfactory explanation
on this point, they were put to labor.  Those thrifty Hollanders
are said to have employed, also; the following singular expedient.
They constructed a kind of box, sufficiently large for a man to
stand therein upright, and exercise his bodily faculties.  In the
interior of it there was a pump.  The vagrant or idler was put
into this box, which was so placed in the liquid element, that
the water would gush into it constantly, through apertures in its
bottom and sides; so that the lazy culprit had to work at the
pump with all his might, and for several hours together, to keep
himself from drowning.  The medicine, it is said, was found to
be an infallible cure for the disease; insomuch, that no one was
ever known to work at the pump for the second time.
I do, by no means, recommend those old Dutch laws and customs for domestic use here. Sacred Liberty! I would not hurt a
hair of thy head.  Yet every thing ought to be done in this case;
which can be done consistently with that personal liberty, which
our free constitutions of government guarantee to every citizen
of the United States. How far our laws, in consistency with the




110                THE BRIEF REMARKER
rights of citizens, might go towards restraining notorious idleness
and dissipation with respect to adults, it is not for me to say.
I leave it to men, gifted with superior wisdom.  Thus far, however, I will venture to affirm —that as children, in some sense or
other, do actually belong to the community, so it ought to be in
the power, and to be made the duty of the political guardians of the
public welfare, to see to it that they be brought up in such a manner, that they may be likely to strengthen and adorn, rather than
to weaken and deprave society. For which reason, when idle profligate parents are manifestly leading their children in their own
footsteps, they ought to be taken fiom the dominion of such unworthy parents, and placed under the care of those, who would accustom them to habits of virtuous industry. It would be an act of
charity to the children themselves; and would give to the general
community a vast number of sound and useful members, who, else
would grow up to prey upon its earnings, and poison its morals.
If all suitable pains were taken with the rising generation to induce them to form sober and industrious habits, by example,
by the incitements of persuasion, and even by reasonable force
whenever force is necessary, the effects would be happy beyond
measure.  An infinite mass of mischief and crime would be prevented; the officers of justice would have little to do; our jails
would, comparatively, be empty.
I will only add, Puzblic Sceztinzent, as it now stands in some,
if not in most parts of our country, must needs be rectified;
else idleness and dissipation will continue to gather numbers and
strength.  So long as an idle, worthless fellow, perchance a
gambler and sharper, by means of a fine coat, a lily hand, and
graceful bows, is able to take rank of an industrious, worthy




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   111
young farmer, or mechanic, who gets an honest living by the sweat
of his face,-it will be vain to denounce idleness, or recommend
industry. Under such circumstances, young men, whose ambition
is more than a match for their moral principle, very naturally
turn idlers, or set out to live by their wits, well knowing that if
they can only keep up a gentlemanly appearance, by almost whatever means, they will be much better received, and rank much
higher than if they were plain, industrious, laboring men.
Lo, a ball! a splendid ball,-And who enters now?  Who
is he, that all the gentlemen greet so heartily, and all the ladies
notice so readily?  It is Mr. Flactsh, an itinerant, who, without
funds, without industry, without any visible means, always dresses
in high taste, and has at his fingeis' ends every punctilio of fashionable manners-He is quite the gentlevzan, every inch of him.




112               THE BRIEF REIARKER
NUMBER XXVII.
OF PRODUCTIVE LABOR, OTHER THIAN TIIAT OF THE HANDS.
" KNOWLEDGE is power."  This was a favorite maxim of Bacon,
so eminent in the ranks of philosophy.
The weakness of man is marvellously strengthened by his knowledge.  It is by his superior knowledge, that he gains dominion
over the various races of animals, of which many are much
stronger, and swifter than he; over the stubborn earth, and over
the powerful elements, Fire, Air, and Water. Naked came he
into the world, and naked must he ever have remained, had not
the inspiration of the Almnighty given him understanding, and
furnished him with motives to employ this noble faculty in an
infinite variety of useful ways.
Man is feeble of body; his main strength lies in his mind.
Apart from his superior intellectual faculties, he would be one of
the most helpless, forlorn, and wretched animals, upon the face of
the earth.
The invaluable worth of knowledge, and of education by




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    113
which it is acquired; has been ever, in all civilized countries, the
standing theme of profound discussion, or, more often, of splendid
but empty declamation; so that only scanty gleanings are left
to the modern pen. There is, however, one respect in which the
subject has been neither exhausted, nor frequently touched; it is
the intimate connection between knowledge and Pr'oductive
Labor.
Productive Labor, so essential to the sustenance and support of
the general community of man, is twofold —direct, and indirect..Direct productive labor consists of that bodily exercise, that
" sweat of the face," by means of which we are furnished with food
and raiment, and with all the various necessaries and elegancies
of life.
By this it is that life is sustained and decorated, and it is in
this way that the great bulk of mankind is necessarily employed.
Those who labor with their hands in husbandry, and in the various
useful arts, are, as it were, the strong pillars that support the living world. But then they are, in no wise, entitled to arrogate the
honor to themselves exclusively: —" The hand cannot say to the
eye, I have no need of thee."
Inzdirectly, there are in the common vineyard productive and
efficient laborers, other than those who work with the hands.
They are the ones who invent, conceive, plan: guard and regulate.
So that, after all, mnindz is an essential and a most eminent operator throughout the whole process.
I will barely suggest a few particulars; leaving it to the
reader to enlarge upon them, and to combine then with others
which are alike obvious.
Very little would it signify, though we had hands to labor, if




114               THE BRIEF REMARKER
we knew not how to use them; nor should we know how to use
them  skilfully, but for the inventions of those who have gone
before'us. Without the aid of the arts our hands must be idle,
or work to no purpose. In all the multitudinous occupations
that are now going on, whether upon land or water, whether for the
sustenance or the adornment of life, there is a never-ceasing dependence upon the arts. And how were the arts explored, and how
brought to the state of wonderful perfection, in which they now are?
By intense labor of the lliMind.  From one generation to another,
very many who labored not at all with their hands, have labored
abundantly, and nmost efficiently and usefully, with their intellects.
Their inventions and improvements have directed and guided
manual labor, and have facilitated and abridged it in a marvellous
manner and degree. And assuredly, theirs is to be regarded as
belonging to the highest class of productive labor; assuredly, he
that contributes to the general stock of knowledge in the arts, is
a benefactor of the public, and is entitled to the gratitude of all;
assuredly the laboring man is bound to encourage the arts,
which so mightily aid the work of his hands.  Nor ought he to
think lightly of mere science; it is the mother of the arts, and in
sundry instances it has, undesignedly and unconsciously, led to
the discovery of them. The star-gazers of ancient Chaldea never
once dreanmed of the vastly important practical purposes, to which
the world, in succeeding ages, would apply the knowledge of astronomy.
Again, it is to be considered and distinctly remembered, that
the laboring classes spend their strength for nought, unless the
fruits of their industry be securely guarded from plunder and robbery, and against the hand of rapaciousness, in whatever manner, or




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     115
under whatever guise it may assail them.  Hence, of necessity,
there must be government, laws, and courts of justice; and of necessity, also, there must be lawgivers, executive and judicial officers, advocates, &e.  Now, all these must be paid out of the common stock.  But provided they discharge their duties ably and
faithfully, and are content with reasonable recompense, no laborer
is more worthy of his hire.  By no means are they to be regarded
as drones in the hive. As they are the necessary guardians over
the general treasure which manual labor accumulates, so they
have a right to a share of it; —at the same time, on the part of
the general community, special care must be taken lest the guardians of its rights and its property, like the ravenous sons of
old Eli, should make such free use of the fleslah-ooa/, as to leave
little else to the commonalty but the broth.
MIoreover, since laws can afford us no effectual protection, unless the morals of the community be preserved from  general corruption, it clearly follows that the professional men, who faithfully
devote their time and attention to the interests of pure morality,
are really, though indirectly, productive laborers, in even the secular sense of the term.  I will particularly instance the venerable
Ministers of our holy religion, who-laying out of the question
all considerations of the future life —do, I presume to affirm,
greatly increase the amount of productive labor, by the weight
of their exhortations and influence against idleness and profligacy,
at the same time that they no less contribute to the security of
the fruits of labor, by the generally moralizing effects of their
ministrations. So, also, the well-qualified and faithful instructors
of our children and youth are to be regarded in nearly the same
point of view-as among the most productive and useful of laborers.




116               THE BRIEF REMARKER
Neither is it true that no labor is hard, except that of the
hands.  So far otherwise, many an excellent man, by intense
labor of mind in his profession, has worn himself out much sooner
than he would have done, had he employed an equal measure of
industry in the labors of the field.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    117
NUMBER XXVIII.
A SORROW-SOOTHING SCOTTISH LEGEND.
OLD age is justly considered as situated on the confines of the
grave; and, of course, the ravages that death makes in that uttermost province of human life, excite no surprise.  It is an
adage nearly as ancient, perhaps, as time, that the old must die.
Indeed, the aged may be said to die while they live. By little
and little, they are losing, almost every day, somewhat of the
very stamina of life; and, even if no mortal disease supervenes,
their earthly tabernacles must, ere long, be dissolved of mere decay.  This natural process of dissolution is often so gradual as
to be little perceived, and least of all by the subjects of it; but
the process is constantly advancing, whether perceived or not. So
far, therefore, from its being a marvel that the aged die at last,
the marvel is that they live so long, considering the extreme
brittleness of the thread of life, and the many hairbreadth escapes from death, which they must have had during such a great
length of time.




118                THE BRIEF REMARKER
On the contrary, premnature deaths occasion not merely the
bitterness of transient sorrow, but that rooted anguish which
rises from  disappointed hopes.  And it is particularly so with
regard to children, cut off in the flower of youth, or in the bud
of infancy.  Parental affection " hopeth all things; " and when
the object of its fond hope is snatched away, it faints under the
stroke, and is ready to say repiningly, —" It were better not to
have had the gift at all."  But when this object is an only
child, the cup of anguish is not merely full, but it overflows.
Bereavement of this last description is frequently noticed, in the
Holy Scriptures, as most deeply affecting; and, accordingly, pious
writers, in all ages and countries, have been assiduously anxious
to pour the balm of consolation into hearts, thus torn with anguish.
With such benevolent views, no doubt, was fabricated the
ancient legend, or fable, with which I shall conclude these reflections. It originated in the Scottish highlands, whose inhabitants
have, in great part, borne a resemblance to the people of the
patriarchal ages; having, from time immemorial, led a pastoral
life, and been remarkable for frugal plainness of living, for sobriety, and for zealous attachment to the holy religion they profess.  And a singular circumstance, which to thzen has given
peculiar efficacy to the legend hereafter related, is, that they have
been, and are, generally speaking, so tinctured with superstition,
as firmly to believe in the frequency of supernatural visions and
apparitions.  I will only remark further, for explanation, that
every highland householder, agreeably to an ancient custom,
makes a festival for his friends and neighbors, on the death of
any one of his family; which funeral is called, Tlhe late Walke.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    119
A married couple of the Scottish highlands, had lost thrice
their only child, each dying at an early age.  Upon the death of
the last, the grief of the father became boisterous, and he uttered
his plaints in the loudest terms.
" The death of the child happened late in the spring, when,
in the more inhabited straths, sheep were abroad; but, from the
blasts in that high and stormy region, they were still confined in
the cot.  In a dismal, snowy evening, the man, unable to stifle
his anguish, went out, lamenting aloud, for a lamb to treat his
friends with, at the late wake.  At the door of the cot, however,
he found a stranger, standing before the entrance.  HIe was astonished, in such a night, to meet a person so far from any frequented place.  The stranger was plainly attired; but had a
countenance expressive of singular mildness and benevolence,
and addressing him in a sweet, impressive voice, asked him, what
he did there, amidst the tempest.  He was filled with awe, which
he could not account for, and said, he camne for a lamb.-' What
kind of lamb do you mean to take?' said the stranger.'The
very best I can find,' he replied,' as it is to entertain my friends;
and I hope you will share of it.'' Do your sheep make any resistance when you take away the lambs, or any disturbance afterwards?'Never,' was the answer.'How  differently am  I
treated,' said the traveller.'When I come to visit my sheepfold, I take, as I am well entitled to do, the best lamb to myself;
and nmy ears are filled with the clamor of discontent by these
ungrateful sheep, whom I have fed, watched, and protected.' He
looked up in amaze; but the vision was fled."
If it be proper to add any thing at all here, I can think of




120                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
nothing better than the Epitaph  of Mr. Wesley's, upon au
infant child:"When the Archangel's trump shall blow,
And souls to bodies join,
What crowds shall wish their lives below,
Had been as short as thine 1"




ON THE WAYS OF 3IAN.                 121
NUMBER XXIX.
OF MATERNAL TENDERNESS —OR TIIE SORROWS OF THE DAIUGHiTER OF
AIAH.
AIMONGST the short but admirable sketches of nature, which the
historical part of the Sacred Volume furnishes, there is one that
has been very little noticed; though had it been found in any
other book of so early date, it would have been quoted, again and
again, with peals of applause. It is recorded in the 21st chapter
of the 2d book of Samuel, and consists of a simple, unvarnished
tale of maternal tenderness, taken from real life.
In the beginning of barley-harvest, seven sons of Saul were
hanged up, all together, and it was ordered that their dead bodies
should remain upon the gallows or tree, exposed to the birds and
beasts of prey.  Two of those young men were the sons of Rizpah, Saul's concubine, whose conduct on that distressing occasion
is described as follows:-" Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took
sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning
of harvest until water dropped upon them  out of heaven, and
6




122                THE BRIEF REtMARKER
suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor
the beasts of the field by night."
The sacred historian records this story as worthy of notice and
remembrance, and, according to the usual manner of the penmen of
the Holy Bible: he merely records it; adding not a word of cornment, or a single reflection of his own.  Indeed, it is, of itself, a
picture which needs no coloring, and which no art could improve.
What was the moral or religious character of Rizpah, we are
not told.  Her being called Saul's concubine is no evidence that
she was an abandoned character; for concubine, probably, mealns
here nothing more or worse than a wife of the secondary or subordinate rank, agreeably to the custom  tolerated, though not sanctioned, under the Mosaical dispensation.  Nor do we know if the
two unhappy sons had treated their mother, at all, with filial kindness.  Considering that they were branches of Saul's ungracious
house, the greater likelihood is that the mother had suffered many
a pang from the churlishness of their behavior.  Anid be it even
so, she but acted the genuine character of llIotzhe', when she forgot the undutifulness of her sons in the yearnings of her compassion.
If we except the few, in whose hearts natural affection has
given place to the ambition of making a figure in the eyes of the
public,-maternal tenderness is of universal extent, unless in those
benighted regions where it has been blighted by a horrible superstition.  This species of affection is one of the primary qualities
of human nature, and no talents nor accomplishments can supply
its place. It is one of the main pillars of our race, which, without it, would quickly tumble to ruin.
The child that has the mother with it, though born in the




ON THE WAYS OF'MAN.                    123
most abject condition of life, has one friend at least; —a friend,
who loves it as naturally as she loves herself, and guards and
fosters it from the same powerful feelings of nature, from which
she guards and fosters her own life.  And what though, as to the
greater part of mothers, the maternal tenderness partakes more of
animal instinct than of any rational exercise of the mind? What
though it is apt to run into a blind, excessive, and pernicious
indulgence?  What though their misguided fondness for their
infant progeny is aptly represented in the fable of the ape, that
stifled her youngling with the violence of her embrace?-All this
only shows that the gifts of nature are pervertible, and that ill
may be educed from  good.  The affection itself, peculiar to the
maternal bosom, is implanted by the hand of God: it is a precious part of female nature, and of immeasurable importance in
its consequences.
As a celebrated writer remarks, "' The authority of a father,
so useful to our well-being, and so justly venerable on all accounts,
hinders us from having that entire love for him that we have for
our mothers, where the parental authority is melted down into
the mother's fondness and indulgence."
Experience fully testifies to the truth of the above remark,
and, at the same time, evinces the wisdom of the divine economy
in this important particular.  Filial affection, which is one of
the most useful affections of our general nature, obtains its root
and earliest growth from  maternal tenderness.  The fond and
doting mother has our first love, which by degrees extends itself to the other parent.  Whereas, but for the indulgent softness of female nature, which so irresistibly attracts the affections




124                 THE BRIEF REMARIKERI
of our infancy and early childhood, there would be much less of
pure, unsophisticated filial love than there now is in the world.
Alas for the conduct of those children, who neglect their
mother when she is old! It manifests an unfeelingness of heart,
and a brutality of disposition, exceeding the ordinary bounds of
human depravity.
While I am upon the subject of maternal tenderness, I will
notice one of the bitterest of the bitter drops in the cup of early
widowhood; it is the loss of the only human being, who can so
naturally participate in her yearnings to her infant offspring.
This is exquisitely expressed in one of the poems of Mrs. Opie,
a young widowed imother.
" When to my heart my child I fold,
She only deepens every sigh:
I think, while I her charms behold,
How she'd have pleas'd her father's eye.
And while I fiom her lisping tongue,
Soft childhood's artless accents hear,
I think, with vain remembrance wrung,
How she'd have charm'd her father's ear."




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    125
NUMBER XXX.
OF PRUDENCE IN THE ORDINARY CON'CERINS OF LIFE.' I, Wisdom, dwvell with Prudence."
AND what is this close intimate of wisdomi?-N-ot that niggardly, craving propensity, which occasions one to toil and moil like
an emmet, without cessation, and without enjoyment —not that
sordid disposition, which, appropriating every thing to selt,
withholds bread fronm the hungry-not the worldly spirit, that
makes all its calculations with the sole view to present loss and
gain-not the jealous temper that keeps, by day and night, a catlike watch, and dares trust nobody —not the slyness that habitually prefers stratagem to openness of conduct-not the cowardice
that shrinks from the responsibility, or the dclanger, to which duty
calls.-Though by a Inoral abuse of words, these, severally, hlave
been dignified with the name of Prudence, they are very unlike
that genuine prudence, with which wisdom deigns to dwell.
Prudence of the right stamp, is the prcctical exposition
both of a correct judgment and a correct heart.  It regards the
future as well as the present; immortality as well as time; and




126                 THE BRIEF RES1AIRKER
each according to their respective importance.  It seeks the attaimnent of worthy objects by worthy and suitable means.  It
keeps the end in view, and the means it properly adapts to the
end.  It shuns the evil that is avoidable, and what is unavoidable it meets with resignation and firmness.
An ounce of genuine prudence is worth a pound of unbridled
genius.   What signifies fine sense, exalted  sense, even  the
best theoretical sense in the world, if it produces worse than nonsense in practice?  What signifies it that one has great parts and
great learning united, if, notwithstanding, he acts the part of a
fool?
"IEow empty learning, and how vain is art,
Save where it guides the life, or mends thle heart."
Look at Bibulus, the most exalted, yet the most self-degraded
of men [ Seemingly, le never thtin/ks foolishly, nor ever acts
wisely.  Endowed with uncommon talents, and possessing the
advantages of superior learning, his whole life, nevertheless, is a
series of inconsistencies, errors and follies; and all from  the
want of prudence, without which no man is truly great, nor can
be useful to others, or even to himself.
Prudence consists of soundness of judgment, together with
firmness of resolution to follow the dictates of judgment.  For
want of such firm resolution many act absurdly, though they
speculate wisely; being drawn astray, contrary to their better
knowledge, by indolence, by timidity, by ungoverned passion, or
by their propensities to particular ruinous vices.
Prudence, as particularly respects the concerns of this life, is
a gift of Nature, distributed like intellect, in different degrees




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    127
among mankind.  Some discover the rudiments of it even from
childhood.  Others are naturally rash, headstrong, and disposed
to follow the impulse of the moment, without either foresight or
reflection, till taught to their cost, and, sometimes, happily cured in
the school of experience.  While others again, notwithstanding
excellent advantages for learning discretion, continue, as to this
particular, radically defective to the end of their lives.  They
have quickness of apprehension, readiness of wit, volubility of
tongue, and, besides, Dame Experience has severely disciplined
them  in her school.  But, all this notwithstanding, they still
have the weakness of infancy in this particular; in middle age,
and even to old age, their minds are yet in the cradle.
But though the prudence, of which I am now speaking, is a
natural gift, it is an improvable gift.  Where there are any
rudiments of it at all in the young mind, it may, by proper mleans,
be strengthened and increased; and it is one of the essential
parts of education to lead the pupil into the habit of forethought
and reflection, and to cultivate in him a sturdy growth of welldirected Resolzuteness; which, in fact, is a main pillar of the
human heart.  As many persons are imprudent for want of
education, so, unquestionably, the ruinous imprudences of many
others are owing to a perverted or an unsound education; an
education that leads them to contemn the condition allotted to
them by Providence, and to restless aspirations after one that is
unattainable.
Some certain circumstances have been the means of imbuing a
whole population with remarkable prudence, continuing for ages.
In  Holcroft's Travels in  I-olland  it is remarked: "The
Dutchman living in continual danger of inundation, and of losing




g128               THE BRIEF REMARKER
not only the frults of his industry, but his life, becomes habitually
prudent. His foresight is admirable, his perseverance not to be
conquered, and his labors, unless seen, not to be believed."
The Scotch, also, have, time oat of mind, been, as it were,
inoculated with prudence, as it relates to the various branches of
economy; and it is clearly accounted for from  the peculiar
circumstances of their history.  In some other countries (unfortunately, in our own, for one instance), a concurrence of several
extraordinary circumstances has occasioned very many thousands
to be imprudent, rash, and desperately adventurous.  And as on
the large scale, so on the small, a sound education, correct
habits, and a just way of thinking, in early life, generally lead to
prudence of conduct in its following stages; and so contrariwise.
One of the many important branches of prudence, is carefully
to avoid incurring enmities, as far as it can be done consistently
with uprightness of character, and a good conscience.  For seldonm  does one unnecessag'[ly make an enemy of his fellow-creature
that he does not find cause to regret it afterwards; and as
seldom has one had reason to be sorry that he has used the soft
answver vwhich turitzeth raway wZrath.  But instead of arguing
this point, I will merely adduce a very curious and very instructive specimen from the Memoirs of Franklin.
" In 1736;" observe the Reviewers, in the Ancalectic ZI'Iaactzine, " Franklin was chosen clerk of the General Assembly of
Pennsylvania; his first promotion, as he calls it in his narrative.
The choice was annual, and the year following, a new member
made a long speech in opposition to his re-election.  We copy
what he relates on this occasion, because it is every way characteristic.'




ON'1lE WAYS OF'MIAN.                129
"' As the place was highly desirable for me on many accounts,
I did not like the opposition of this new  member. who was a
gentleman of fortune and education, with talents that were likely
to give him in time great influence in the House, which indeed
afterwards happened.  I did not, however, aim  at gaining his
favor by paying any servile respect to him, but after some time
took this other method.  Having  heard that he had in his
library a certain very scarce and curious book, I wrote a note
to him, expressing my desire of perusing that book, and requesting that he would do me the favor of lending it to me for a few
days. HI-e sent it immediately;  and I returned it in about a
week with another note, expressing strongly my sense of the
favor.  When we next met in the House, he spoke to me (which
he had never done before), and with great civility; and he
ever after manifested a readiness to serve me on all occasions,
so that we became  great friends, and our friendship  continued to his death.  This is another instance of the truth of
an old maxim  that I had learned, which says, " he that has
once done you a kindness, will be more ready to do you another,
than he whom you yourself have obliged."'  And it shows how
much more profitable it is prudently to remove, than to resent,
return and continue inimical proceedings.' t




130               THE BRIJEF REMIARKER
NUMBER XXXI.
OF THE VAST IMPORTANCE OF MANNER IN GIVING COUNSEL AND REPr OOF.
To exasperate is not the way to convince; nor does asperity of
language or of manner necessarily belong to the duty of plain
dealing.  So far otherwise, a scolding preacher, or a snarling
reprover, betrays alike a gross ignorance of the philosophy of the
human mind, and the absence of Christian meekness; and however zealous be his aim to do good, the provokinguess of his
manner will defeat the benevolence of his intentions.
The following remarks are from the pen of a man, as distinguished for Christian piety, as for superior genius —the immortal
Cowper.  " No man" (says that evangelical poet) "was ever
scolded out of his sins. The heart, corrupt as it is, and because
it is so, grows angry if it be not treated with some management
and goodc manners, and scolds again.  A surly mastiff will bear
perhaps to be stroked, though he will growl under that operation,
but if you touch him roughly he will bite.  There is no grace




ONT THE WAYS OF MAN.                     131
that the spirit of self can counterfeit with more success than that
of zeal.  A  man thinks he is fighting for Christ, when he is
fighting for his own notions.  HIe thinks that he is skilfully
searching the hearts of others, when he is only gratifying the
malignity of his own, and charitably supposes his hearers destitute of all grace, that he may shine the more in his own eyes by
comparison."
Nor is either scolding or ridicule the proper way to cure men
of their religious prejudices: for by inflaming their anger, it renders their prejudices the more stubborn and inveterate.  It is
no matter how absurd, or even how monstrous their errors and
prejudices may be; if you offend them by the grossness of your
manner, there is little hope of your convincing them afterward
by the cogency of your reasoning.
The Baptist missionaries in India, at the first insulted, as we
are told, the superstition which they attacked; and ridiculed
and reviled the Bramins, in the streets and at their festivals, when
the passions of the blinded and besotted populace were Ynost likely
to be inflamed.  But experience taught those pious and apostolieal men, that this was not the right way to make converts:
for which reason, in 1805, they made a declaration of the great
principles upon which they thought it their duty to act.  " It is
necessary," say they, " in our intercourse with the Hindoos, that,
as far as we are able, we abstain from those things which would
increase their prejudices against the gospel.  Those parts of English manners, which are most offensive to them, should be kept
out of sight; nor is it advisable at once to attack their prejudices,
by exhibiting with acrimony the sins of their gods; neither should
we do violence to their images, nor interrupt their worship."




132                THE BRIEF REMARKER
Now if this forbearance from every thing provoking, wh'lther
in language or in mianner, was expedient in dealing with Se
errors of the grossly idolatrous pagans, it is, assuredly, not less
expedient for fellow-christians, in their treatment of the real or
supposed religious errors of one another. Bitter revilings and
contumelious denouncements always provoke, but never convince.
If they are used instead of argument, they betray a conscious
weakness, for it is much easier to revile and denounce than to
argue.  And furthermore, we are quite as apt to be furiously in
the wrong as to be furiously in the right  or, if even we know
ourselves to be right as to matter, we put ourselves in the
wrong as to manner, if we make use of foul weapons rather than
of those which the armory of reason supplies.
/lltnnzer is to be carefully studied by every one, whether in a
public or a private station, who undertakes to reclaim  the
vicious or convince the erring; for what would be beneficial if
done in one manner, would be worse than labor lost if done in
another.  A  haughty, supercilious manner never wins, seldom
convinces, and always disgusts; whereas that which indicates
meekness, and unmingled benevolence and compassion, rarely
fails of some salutary impression; especially, if suavity of manner
be accompanied with force of reasoning, and a due regard be had
to time, place, and circumstances.
No very long while ago, MIr. —, an American clergyman,
as distinguished for pious zeal as for eminent parts, was passing
a river in a ferry-boat, along with company of some distinction,
among which was a military officer, who repeatedly made use of
profane language.  Mr. -- continued silent till they had landed,
when asking him aside, he expostulated with him in such a mov



ON THE  WAYS OF MAN.                    133
ing manner, that the officer expressed his thanks, and his deep
sorrow for the offence; but added withal, " Sir, if you hact rep~roved size before thze compranzy, I shoulcd have dcraw~n mizy swocld uplon
you. "
There are some who glory in it, that by their plain-dealing
they wound the pride of those they deal with. Peradventure
with greater pride they do it.  Often we are so little aware of
the obliquities of our own hearts, that we may be feeding and
nourishing pride within ourselves, whilst we are zealously aiming
our blows at the pride of others.  Our love of chiding, our coarse
bluntness, which we fondly term an honest plain-heartedness, or
a warmth of zeal, may, possibly, spring from other motives than
those of pure Christian benevolence.
In the governance of children, very much indeed depends on
Manner.  If you provoJce yozur chilclre7n to anger, little will they
regard, at the time, the wholesome counsel that is mingled with
the provocation you give them.  IReproof is ever a bitter pill to
the receiver, and when administered, even to children, it must be
done with visible marks of tender affection to sweeten it; else it
will be more likely to do harm than good.




134                 THE BRIEF REEMARKER
NUMBER XXXII.
OF TRUTIH-SPEAKIING AS DENOTING COURAGE.
"Dare to be true; nothing can need a lie;
The fault that needs it most, grows two thereby."
IT requires no inconsiderable degree of courage always to speak
the truth.  And hence, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries,
commonly termed the age of chivalry, the two points of honor in
the male sex, were Valor and Veracity; particularly a steadfast
adherence to plighted faith, or one's word and promise; lying or
falsehood being considered as indicative of cowardice, and abhorred rather for its meanness than for its moral turpitude. Accordingly, the chivalrous knights, whilst little regarding any part
else of the second table of the holy decalogue, and least of all
the sixth., sevenzth, and teztlh commandments, would, nevertheless,
suffer any pains and penalties in preference to the imputation
of word-breaking, lying, or prevarication.  In the old Romance,
Aadaclis cle Gaizl, King Lisuarte being reduced to the dire alternative of breaking his word, or delivering up his daughter into
the hands of an utter stranger, he is represented as exclaiming,




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    135
"My daughter mlust fare as God has appointed; but ny word
shall never be wilfully broken."
The age of chivalry has long since past; but some of its
relies have floated down the stream of time, and are visible even
at the present instant.  In some of the high circles of fashion,
as well among descendants of Europeans in other countries as
in Europe itself, Valor and Veracity are considered not merely
as indispensable requisites of a gentleman, but as almost the only
points of honor that are necessary to his character. A man may
be a blasphemer of God and religion, a notorious profligate, an inmate of the brothel, a seducer of female virtue; he may be all
this, and yet be received into what fashion calls good companZy,
with as cordial welcome as if his character were pure as the driven
snow. But if he lie under the imputation of either direct cowardice
or of the indirect cowardice of uttering a wilfui falsehood, he is
despised, banished, and proscribed, as unfit for the company of
ladies and gentlemen.  For which reason, a man of this sort of
high fashion, when charged directly or by implication, with being
a coward or a liar, finds his chivalrous spirit roused, and lifted to
the highest pitch.  Call him a foe to God, a debauchee, a violator
of the connubial ties,-and he is able to laugh it off; for it does
in nowise touch his honor: but call him a coward, or a liar, and he
thinks nothing but your blood can wash away the stain.
Apart, however, from  the notions of chivalry, the vice of
lying ranks among the meailest of vices.  It is the vice of slaves.
It is the vice that chiefly abounds among nations in political slavery
and with that low and wretched class of our fellow-beings who
are in personal bondage. Slavish fear prompts them to prevaricate
and lie, as it were in self-defence.  Nor is it the less mean for its




136                 THE BRIMF  REiARKER
becoming an attribute of freemen.  Its meanness, as well as its
guilt, is increased by this circumstance; since in the last case
there is far less urgency of temptation, and a far clearer knowledge
of duty. Assuredly, with people possessing freedom and enjoying
the light of Christianity, a strict regard to truth should be considered as a cardinal point in character, and every species of wilful falsehood should be held in utmost disgrace; not merely
in disgrace for its meanness, but in abhorrence for its moral
turpitude.
Though, as I observed before, it requires courage to speak
the truth at all times, and under all circumstances, yet this sort
of courage is of no difficult attainment in the school of Christian
morals. And as to the rest, speaking the truth is one of the easiest
things in the world; for it is merely the expresssion of one's
own perceptions, or of what lies clearly in his own memory.
The veriest child, that has attained the use of the organs of
speech, is capable of this.  Whereas, to speak falsehood requires
effort and art.  Falsehood is fiction, and needs invention and
contrivance so to frame and fashion it as to make it bear the semblance of truth.  As he that dances upon the rope, is not a moment at his ease, but mnust constantly employ effort to keep his
balance, even so it fares with a liar.  His mind is ever on the
alert to escape detection.  And after all, the very expedients he
uses for this end, often produce the consequences which he wishes
to avoid.   He proceeds, with cunning art, to cover one lie with
another, till at last, the covering being too thin or too narrow, the
whole series is clearly seen through.
I will only remark further, that lying, even in its simplest and
must inoffensive forms, is by no leans free of all mischief. Con.



ON THE SAYS OF MAN.                      137
fidence is the cement, or rather the main pillar of society. Without it friendship is but a name, and social intercourse a sort of
war in disguise.  And as falseness of speech, in any shape or
degree whatever, has a tendency to destroy or weaken social con-.
fidence, so it tends, of course, to unhinge society.  From this, as
well as from the more solemn and miore awful view of the subject, it clearly follows that nothing is of greater necessity in the
moral education of children, than to teach them betimes to pay a
strict regard to truth




138               THE BRIEF REMARKEP
NUMBER XXXIII
OF VULGAEITY.
THERE are but few words in our language, that have a more
grating sound in the ears of those who lay claim to good breeding, than the word vulgarity, insomuch  that many  a one
had rather be thought vicious than vulgar.  Anid what is vulgarity?  This is rather a puzzling question, for the word is nowhere clearly defined, nor is it capable of being exactly marked
out by a definition.  Profaneness, filthiness of speech, and a
clownish awkwardness of manners, are only the grosser parts of
vulgarity, which extends itself to almost innumerable particulars
of human conduct, and not unfrequently into the fashionable
ranks of society.  But though it is in a manner undefinable, it
admits of being explained, as it were, by piecemeal; and this may
be the better done by contrasting it with a quality, which every
body of any decency of mind and character, professes to hold in
respect.
Vulgarity, then, is the direct opposite of courteousness.  But
here, again, arises a question - /V7at'is coZrteoZusness?  Your




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      139
dictionary will tell you, it implies something elegant-something
beyond the reach of plain men and women of the common sort.
But so it is not.  When St. Paul, addressing himself to Christians of all worldly grades and classes, even down to menials or
slaves;-when addressing himself to the lowest as well as to the
highest, he bade them  " be cozurteozs," assuredly he did not mean
that they must needs all be of elegant manners.  No: it is full
likely that Paul himself did not excel greatly in that particular:
it was not, surely, the eleganzce of his manner, that made Felix
tremble.  Courteousness must mean, therefore, a something which
is within the reach of all sorts of people; and in its primary and
best sense, it may be understood to mean exactly such a behavior
as spontaneously springs from  a heart, warm with benevolence:
-whilst, on the contrary, vulgarity, as respects people of some
rank in life, is the growth of cold selfishness always, and often
of selfishness and narrowness of intellect combined.  Vulgarity,
in some shape or other, betrays itself as clearly at the very top
as at the very bottom of the scale of life.
Cardinal de Retz remarks of Cardinal Richelieu, a most puissant primie minister of France, "that he loved to rally others
but could not bear to be rallied himself."  So, also, it is said of
the Great Frederick of Prussia, that his manner was to harrow
up the feelings of his courtiers and attendants, by breaking his
cutting jokes upon them without measure or mercy; well knowing
that they durst not offer any retort.  These two instances clearly
show that vulgarity may be found in the palace as well as in the
cottage. The like may be frequently seen aniong the little great;
many of whom take a delight in wounding the feelings of those
below them, merely because they arce below them; -a detestable




140                THE BRIEF REMARKER
fault, which sudclcn wealth, or szcddcenz consequence of any kind,
is peculiarly apt to draw after it. I say a dletestable fault, because
scarcely any thing betrays a more reprobate heart, than an unfeeling, brutal conduct toward inferiors; as it usually springs from
the odious compound of arrogance, vanity, and cowardice.
We have no more right, wantonly or causelessly, to wound
the mind than to wound the body of a fellow-being; and in many
instances the former is the more cruel of the two.
Some persons, even in the blessed deed of giving alms to the
needy, poison the gift by an ungracious manner of bestowment,
accompanying it with a sour look, or, peradventure, with a bitter
taunt.  One of the wisest of the ancients noticed this species of
vulgarity, and reproved it with the sound words following: "iMy
son, blemish not thy good deeds, neither use uncomfortable words
when thou givest any thinlg."
There are some again, both men and women, who value themselves highly upon a coarse bluntness, which they themselves call
downright honesty and plain-heartedness.   "~We can't flatter,
not te-zve must speak truth-if they will take it-so —if notwVe're plain."
But hark! not so fast.  Pause a moment) and examine your
own hearts, and, perchance, you may find that your manner partakes more of pride or sourness, than of benevolence.  If you
wish to amend the faulty, assuredly this is not the way.  Again,
have you no faults at all of your own?  Hardly will y ou pretend
to absolute immunity in that respect.  Well, then, ask your own
hearts if you are willing to receive the same measure, which you
mete out to others.  If you can bear, in all cases, to be told
roundly of your own faults, even the minutest of them, then, and




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                  141
not otherwise, you may seem fairly entitled to the privilege of
giving it off so roundly to others.  Then, and not otherwise, may
you be at liberty, to deal out your bitter pills, without any regard
at all to gilding or sweetening them.
In short (for many things must I leave unsaid), any body,
that knows the world, might easily show that the family of the
Vilgars has branched out into a great many divisions and subdivisions; one or other of which embraces not a few, who would
be very loath to own themselves members of that unhonored
household.




142                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XXXIV.
OF THE VERY GREAT INFLUENCE OF USE OR CUSTOM, AS RESPECTS CHILDREN, UPON THEIR DISPOSITIONS AND CHARACTERS IN AFTER-IfIFE.
"Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclin'd."
Porp.
IT can hardly be imagined how much we are under the power of
custom: it binds and fixes our inclination in almost any direction.  That which we are accustomed to, almost whatever it may
be, acquires our attachment, and we are uneasy without lt. If
our customary food have been plain, simple, or never so coarse, it
is sweet to our relish; on the other hand, if we have been accustomed altogether to dainties, we shall feel a kind of loathing for
the ordinary provisions of the human kind.  The Black Br'oth
of the Spartans (they being always used to it) was to them delicious, though loathsome to every body else.
I once dined at an inn, in company with a lady who had
"fared sumptuously every day."  It was a plain dinner, and
substantially good, but not such as she had been accustomed to,
and the very sight of it threw her into tragical distress.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   143
She was not hectical, nor in any manner sickly.  Her form
was the index of nothing less than of habits of abstemiousness.
But, alas! her stomach turned against every thing.  She barely tasted of this, of that, and of the other morsel, and laying
down her knife and fork, her visage could scarcely have been
more rueful, had she been under the hands of the executioner.
Man is said to be " a bundle of habits." And what is habit?
Habit is the aptitude we acquire for what we are accustomed
to, whether it relates to the body, or the mind, or both. As by
frequency of repetition, we come to be more ready and expert in
whatever we have to do; so, also, by frequency of repetition, the
appetite, the taste, the inclination, acquire a settled direction
that way. Nay, if the thing we are accustomed to gives us little
or no pleasure, its absence gives us pain.
" I remember," says the far-famed Burke, " to have frequented a certain place every day, for a long time together; and I
may truly say, that so far from finding pleasure in it, I was affected with a sort of weariness and disgust; I came, I went, I returned,
without pleasure; yet if by any means I passed by my usual time
of going thither, I was remarkably uneasy, and was not quiet
till I got into my old track."-And lihe proceeds to say, " They
who use snuff, take it almost without being sensible that they
take it, and the acute sense of smell is deadened so as to feel
hardly any thing from  so sharp a stimulus; yet, deprive the
snuff-taker of his box, and he is the most uneasy mortal in the
world."
It might indeed be shown, in a great variety of instances,
some of an indifferent, and others of a moral nature, that being
accustomed to a thing induces, for the most part, such a settled




144               THE BRIEF REMIARKER
habit as is aptly denominated a second nature.  But my object
is to apply the general principle to the all-important concern of
education.
Training up a child in the way he should go, consists not altogether in pointing out the way, but also, and chiefly, in accustomn
ing him to walk therein. As the tree grows up straight or crooked, according to the direction given it when a plant, so, in a
great measure, it is with animal nature.  Of this truth we are
deeply sensible in its application to the inferior animals, and our
practice accords with our way of thinking.  In training up
young animals for use-a colt, for instance, or one of the canine
breeds-much care is taken to break them betimes of their faults,
and to render them docile, and such as we wish them to be at
mature age. Because experience teaches us, that if their faults
are permitted to grow up with them, they will become inveterately fixed, and exceeding hard to cure.  We know that if the
one be suffered to kick, and the other to snarl and bite, at every
body that comes near them, or if any other vicious trick be permitted to " grow with their growth," it would be unreasonable to
expect to fashion them aright in after-time, when age shall have
matured and confirmed their ill habits, and redoubled their obstinacy.  Rightly judging on this point, we are practical, because, forsooth, it would be a pity the young animal should be
spoiled for want of attention to his training.
How much less care, in this respect, is ordinarily paid to the
training of the human offspring! Not that we are sparing of
pains and expense for the purpose of imbuing the young mind
with the rudiments of learning.  But having done this, we
unscrupulously leave undone a still more important part, namely,




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    145
the care to settle those habits, without which the possession of
learning can turn to no good account.
It is foolish to expect that children, accustomed to do evil,
will in after-life learn to do well; no less foolish than to look
for the growth of a fragrant flower in the spot, where you had
dropped only the seed of a thistle.  For the generality of human beings are, throughout life, such, or nearly such, as early
custom has fashioned them; no animal being more wilful, more
obstinate in the wrong, or harder to be cured of the ill habits
which early custom has riveted.
Consider it, ye who are parents of young children.  If it be
your choice that they should be idle men and women, rear them
up in idleness.  If you would render them  helpless all their
days, never compel nor permit them  to help themselves.  If
you wish them to be fastidious and squeamish about their food,
feed them daily with dainties.  If you would have them  gourmands, cram their little bodies well, from morn till eve.  If you
would entail upon their mature age various ill humor,-as sullenness and obstinacy, discontent and peevishness,-indulge and
foster betimes these wayward propensities.  If you admire a
quarrelsome, a violent, a revengeful spirit, permit their little
hands to strike, and their little tongues to lisp out rage. Again,
if you would train them up for cheats and liars, laugh at their
cunning tricks, their artful falsehoods and equivocations; or, if
you rebuke them, let them see withal that you are more pleased
with their wit, than displeased at the inceptive marks of their
depravity.
But if your desires and wishes be quite the reverse of all
this; why then, take care against teaching your children, what
7




146                 THE BRIEF RIEMARKER
it will be necessary for them  to unlearn at a riper age.  Take
care to make such impressions on their tender infancy, as you
would wish should be permanent and lasting. Never let it be out
of your memories, that " habits woven into the very principles
of their nature are unspeakably better than mere rules and lessons, which they so easily forget."




ON THE WAYS OF MAN,                     147
NUMBER XXXV.
ON THE ADVYANTAGES OF THE LONG-PROTRlACTED WEAKNESS AND DEPENDENCE OF CHILDHOOD.
THERE are none of the inferior animLals that come into the world
so helpless, and continue helpless for so great a length of time,
as the human progeny.  The young of the lower part of the
animal creation are endowed with strength and activity, and, in
many instances, with a sagacity that astonishes the beholder, and
sets his philosophy at defiance.  Very shortly they quit the
dam, and become their own providers.  But the infant is puling
in the nmother's arlms for many months, and dependent on parental care for as many years.
Is this remarkable circumstance in the economy of our nature
meant to be a burden, or a blessing?  A  blessing doubtless.
Because in the helpless condition of the infant, which continues
so long dependent on others, is laid the groundwork of the social ties.  We learn first to show kindness at home.  It is there
that the social principles of our nature, ordinarily, are first put
in exercise, and drawn forth into practice.




L48                THE BRIEF RE3MARKER
The keystone of the fabric of society is laid in marriage, and
the strong pillars of the superstructure are established in infancy.
The helpless progeny —for a long while helpless-incessantly
occupy the kind attentions of the parents, who are the more attached to their offspring from  the very circumstance of their utter weakness and dependence.  The mother in particular, how
cheerfully  she foregoes her accustomed amusements and pastimes, and how constantly she confines herself to the charge of her
infantile brood! With what unspeakable tenderness does she
nourish and cherish them, and watch over them clay and night!
With what heartfelt joy does she perceive in them the dawning
of reason and listen to their lisping prattle.  And if too discreet
to blaze abroad their little feats of activity, their pertinent questions, and their witty remarks-so much beyond the ordinary
condition of their age-yet all these she treasures up in her
heart:-and in that fond heart are continually blooming new
prospects, new hopes, and new joys.
The affection of parents for their offspring is a species of
affection that belongs to our universal nature.  Whether in the
civilized or in the savage state, in every clime, and among all
the tribes of man, parents love their children.  This primary human affection was exercised as soon as men began to multiply
upon the earth.  Ever since that period it has been a ruling passion, every where, and under all the different modifications of society; and though, strictly speaking, it is not of itself a moral
virtue, yet to be without it, is to be a monster.
On the other hand, the long term of the infantile, dependent
condition of children, is what chiefly generates filial affection,
accompanied with respect, reverence, and obedient dispositions.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    149
What if the human offspring, like the young partridge or quail,
could shift for themsel-es almost as soon as born?  What if they
could presently become their own protectors, and their own providers?  Small, if any, would be their regard for their parents:
feeble, if any, would be the ties of filial love.  But; by means of
their long condition of dependence and tutelage, there are superinduced in their minds sentiments and habits of love, respect
and submissiveness:-sentiments and habits, which seldom wear
off in the succeeding periods of life, but are carried into society
with unspeakable benefit.
On the same ground rests the whole fabric of education.
The child, conscious of weakness and utmost dependence, finds
none on earth to look to for protection, food and raiment, but
the tender and ever attentive parents, who, of course, in hzis estimation are of pre-eminent wisdom and worth. Hence he receives
their instructions into willing ears, hearkens to their advice, and
treasures up their precepts in his memory.  In their hands he is
capable, in some important respects, of being moulded like soft
wax.
Thus every family is of itself a little government.  Every
family is also a little academy, in which education, good or ill,
has its beginning.  Clusters of families form a particular society;
and clusters of societies form  a commonwealth or nation, which
is exalted by righteousness, or. debased by vice, in proportion
as the discipline of the general mass of the families, that compose
it, is good or bad.




150                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XXXVI.
OF THE MORAL BENEFITS ACCRUING TO PARENTS BY MIEANS OF THE
GOOD INSTRUCTION THEY GIVE THEIR CHILDREN.
THE benefits resulting to children, from a due attention to their
early instruction in the rudiments of learning and virtue, have
frecquently been the subject of able pens. [Both in prose and in
verse they have been described so clearly, and with so much fulness, that it would be difficult to add to what is written already.
But it has been too little considered, of what unspeakable benefit
good family instruction is to parents themselves.
He that is teaching another, is teaching himself: and more
especially is it so in a moral point of view.  Those attentions,
which parents give to the moral and religious instruction of
their offspring, have a powerful tendency toward guarding and
strengthening their own moral and religious feelings and habits.
Hardly can they in serious earnest dehort their children from
vice, without experiencing an increase of resolution to guard
against it in their own lives; or earnestly inculcate upon them




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    151
the necessity of virtuous conduct, without acquiring an increase
of desire and of carefulness to act virtuously themselves.  They
must needs be sensible that example has more influence on the
young mind than precept, and that their good precepts will be
thrown away unless they be careful to exemplify them in their
domestic life and habits.  They cannot but be conscious that
their own example has a most powerful and decided influence in
training up their children to honor or disgrace, to happiness or
misery' and, consequently, they have in their children a constant
stimulus to a virtuous, respectable course of behavior.
While your attention is daily employed in training up your
child in the way he should go, you are at the same time nurturing
in yourself the things that are virtuous and'lovely; you are
ameliorating your own temper and disposition; and are attaining
a double security against aught of word or act, that has the
appearance of vice, or even of indecorum.  So true is it, that
your daily efforts to render your example worthy of the imitation
of your child are daily remunerated-richly remunerated, by the
benefits resulting from it to the frame of your moral nature, independently of the benefits accruing to the child.  Nor would it
be hazarding too much to say, that the parents who have discharged
the parental duties faithfully and discreetly, never yet failed
of reaping, for themselves, an amount of profit far exceeding all
the pains, even though the welfare of their children were altogether out of the question.
The scene of marriage was originally laid, not amongst " the
thorns and thistles" of the curse, but in the blissful abodes of
paradise.  The first divine benediction was pronounced upon the
conjugal union of man and woman: and in no wise is it evincive




152                THE BRIEF REMARKER
of the narrowness of superstition to indulge a religious belief, that
virtuous marriage has generally, in some respects or other, been
crowned with the blessing of God, from the time it was first consunmmated in the garden, up to the present day.
"Domestic happiness, thou only bliss
Of Paradise, that has surviv'd the fall!
Thou art the nurse of virtue." —
A well chosen conjugal relation tends to smooth the natural
asperities of man, to soften his manners, to sweeeten his temper,
and to expand his heart.  The bachelor thinks of himzseqf; the
married man of his family.  The former becomes thile more selfish by reason that he has none but self to look after and provide
for: the latter the more benevolent, for his having a wife and
children dependent upon the daily kindness of his attentions.
Having learnt first to show kindness at home, he is the better
disposed and qualified to extend the charities of life to those
about him  in the circle of society.  Other things being equal,
the single circumstance of his having a family of his own, as it
connects him more closely with society, so it renders him a more
feeling, a more beneficent, and a more estimable mnember of it.
It is agreeable to the order of nature, that we learn first to
show kindness at home, and to those near about us; that we regard, in the first place, the little parcels of human beings with
whom we are the most intimately connected —our families, our
near kindred, our neighbors and familiar accquaintances.  The
daily exercise of practical benevolence toward these, has a tendency to expand our hearts, and to replenish them with humane
sentiments towards the rest of our fellow-beings.  The braggart




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    153
philosophers of modern time inverted this order of nature, and
by means of that inversion they made philanthropy to be a mere
ideal phantom, instead of a practical principle. Under the pretence of embracing the whole human species, alike, in the bonds
of affection, they left no room in their hearts for any individuals
of that species-not even for those who were nearest them  in
blood.  Rousseau, the apostle, if not the father, of this counterfeit philanthropy, turned his own infant children (all of spurious
birth however) into a foundling hospital, and never afterward,
as it has been said, took-the least notice of them, or so much as
inquired about their welfare.  Rousseau loved every body collectively, but nobody par'ticularly; he was an enthusiastic friend of
the human race considered as a whole; but there was not, perhaps, one individual of that race, that he would have put himself
out of the way to serve.
7*




1J54              THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XXXVII.
ON THE CONDITION OF OLD AGE-WITHI DIRECTIONS FOR LIGHTENING
ITS BURDEN.
WE are naturally desirous of long life, and yet are unwilling to
be old; agedness being regarded by us as the most dreary period
of our earthly existence, not only as it borders upon the grave,
but, also, by reason of the grievous infirmities with which it is so
commonly visited.  It is affecting to contemplate the ruins of art,
-the once superb palaces and cities of antiquity lying in unsightly
rubbish; it is more affecting still to contemplate the ruins of that
curious workmanship of nature, the human body; and most affecting of all is it to contemplate the ruins of illizd.
In the life of the Dean of St Patrick's, Dr. Swift, the following anecdote is peculiarly affecting. That celebrated genius, for
a considerable time, had anticipated with anguish the calamity
that befell him in the loss of his mental faculties. Not long before the calamity came upon him, he was riding out in the company of a number of ladies and gentlemen. On a sudden he
put spurs to his horse, and rode forward till he was out of sight




ON THE WAYS OF  tAN.                   155
of his companions; who, when they came up, found him upon his
knees, under an aged oak, whose upper branches were dry and
sapless while the stock was yet green.  Upon being questioned
about the singularity of his conduct in that instance, he replied, he
had been making his fervent supplications to God, that he himself
might not, like the tree he was under, be withered at the top.
There is often a prematuhtre decay in mind.  Ere the corruptible body stoops with age, the immortal part shows evident signs of
impairment.  It not only grows forgetful, but feebler in intellect;
and this not unfrequently happens to persons, well informed and
of excellent intellectual faculties.  In so far as it comes by
the immediate act of God, or from contingencies which cannot be
prevented or foreseen, it is a calamity that we can only deplore
with humble reverence of the righteous hand that inflicts it.  But
in most cases it is owing to preventable causes: such as intemperate drinking, gluttony, debauchery, and the general train of kindred vices, which war against the whole man, and bring both the
body and the mind into premature decay and ruin. But not to
speak of the causes which are so well known, and so generally acknowledged, I will mention one that has been little noticed —it is
the hacbitual clereliction, or0 inaction of' our''ational faculties.
Intellect often degenerates for want of exercise.  Mental exercise is no less necessary for sustaining the faculties of the
mind, than is corporal exercise to the vigor and alertness of the
body.  Nothing so much strengthens the memory as the frequent
employment of it, by which it gains strength, as it were, mechanically; whereas, on the other hand, habitual disuse never fails to
abate its power. Also, our reason is a faculty, to which exercise
gives development, growth, and strength. We learn to reason




156                THE BRIEF REMIARKER
by reasoning, as we learn to walk by walking.  As one whose
limbs have for a long time been confined and motionless, loses, in
some degree, the power of walking, so one who suffers this faculty
of reason to remain inactive, loses in some degree, the power of
reasoning.  Moreover, even speech is lost by long disuse.  Some
who had, for several years, been in a condition of solitude and
utter seclusion froom  the company of fellow beings, were, when
first restored to society, unable to articulate their mother tongue.
Such, in particular, was the case of Alexander Selkirk, whose real
history is veiled under the fictitious but pleasing tale of Robinson
Crusoe.  Now it is obvious that age naturally delights in repose;
in a conditon of quiet, both of body and mind; of quiet bordering
on inaction. It is visited with the feeling of lassitude not easily overcome; for which reason, the most of those whose prime has
been spent in vigorous labor of thought, do in the evening of life
remit this labor, considerably or altogether, and their minds fail
for lack of exercise.
It is, further, obvious to remark, that age seldom enjoys an
equal participation in social intercourse.  "Iron sharpeneth iron;
so a mlan sharpeneth the countenance of his friend."  The mind
can doze over a book, but engaging conversation arouses its
dormant powers, and tends more, perhaps, than any thing else to
give it tone and tension.  But a great many of the aged are solitary and desolate.  The companions of their youth, and even of
their riper years, are mostly gone, and they have found none to
supply their places.  Living, as it were, alone in the world, their
minds are no longer expanded and quickened by a living intercourse with society.
If the topics, which have now been merely suggested, were




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    157
considered in all their bearings and consequences, it would, I
conceive, appear at least as a probable fact, that the imbecility of
minds once strong, is more frequently the effect of their own
torpid inaction, than of the impairing hand of time.
To those who wish for the prolongation of their rational
faculties (and who would not wish it?) I will venture to suggest
the following short hints.
Ist. "Be temperate in all things "' —in your desires, as well
as in your enjoyments.
2d. Cultivate contentment and cheerfulness of temper.' A
cheerful heart doeth good like a medicine."  Like a medicine,
it harmonizes and invigorates the body and the mind; while
morbid melancholy and peevishness powerfully tend to impair
both.
3d. So educate and so train up your children, if children you
have, that they will, likely, be not only the props, but the
delightful companions of your old age.
4th. Whllen the years draw nigh, or are actually come, in which
the hand of time begins to bear hard upon you, beware of sinking
into mental torpitude or inaction; by reading and contemplation,
exercise daily the faculties of memory, of reason, and of judgment.
5th. Neither withdraw from society, nor give society occasion
to withdraw from you.  As fast as the friends of your youth drop
away by death, make to yourselves other friends from among the
succeeding generations.  It is not good that the old should consort with none but the old; it tends to deepen the shade of the
gloomy valley which they are passing through, and to accelerate
the impairment of their minds.  The company and conversation




158                THE BRIEF REMARKER
of the young,-nay, even the prattle of little children is animating
to well-tempered age: and, on the other hand, age, that carries
with it experience and good information, and possesses a due mixture of pleasant humor with becoming gravity, has it in its power
to please, as well as to profit, the decent and ingenuous part of
younger society.
In conclusion:  Lay hold of wisdom, as the only sure anchor of age.  i' In her right hand is length of days."  The firm
belief and steadfast practice of our holy religion,-as it yields
the consolation of hope, which as to the aged can no longer
spring from the prospect of earthly enjoyments,-so it tends much,
in every way, to invigorate the understanding and to preserve it
from decay.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                  159
NUMBER XXXVIII.
OF THE SILLY QUARREL BETWEEN A VENERA3BLE OLD COUPLE ABO'UT
A LITTLE GOAT.
TOBIT of old and his wife Anna, unluckily fell into a quarrel
upon the question, how she came by the kid that he heard
bleating in his house. He very uncourteously accused her of
stealing it; while she, in return, broadly hinted that, notwithstanding his pretensions, he was no better than he should be.
Beholcd, thou ancd all thy works are known."
" The tongue can no malln tame." And besides, it is agreeable to the laws of pneumatics that the lightest bodies should rise
the highest, especially in a tempest.  Wherefore, in spite of the
degrading subjection in which the wife was held under the husband in that age and country, Anna had the last word; and a cutting
word it was. Poor Tobit, it seems, had more'than his match;
for the retort that his wife made upon him was so keenly sarcastic, and touched him so deeply, that he fell a weeping. Indeed
he was not much to be pitied, as he was manifestly the aggressor.
Had he patiently inquired into the matter instead of blurting




160               THE BRIEF REMARKER
out his provoking suspicions, the bitter fray between them had
never been.
This apocryphal text, which, peradventure, was never treated
of so formally and methodically before, embraces several points
of sound and wholesome doctrine.  1st.  The serenity of connubial life is very apt to be disturbed by sudden and unexpected
gusts, unless special care be taken in this particular. If both
husband and wife be of a mild and even temper, there is no danger; or if one be so, and the other hasty, the danger is not so
great; but if both be inflammable, there is need of the utmost
watchfulness.  A couple so tempered may, notwithstanding, be
faithful, generous, noble-spirited, and kind-hearted, and may live
together very lovingly in the main; but if they fail to keep a sharp
look-out, now and then a gust arises, all of a sudden, and quite
unexpectedly to themselves, and the house is made to ring from
side to side.  Some one, in his speculations on this subject, has
recommended it, that a hasty couple should accustom themselves,
ere they fly into a passion with one another, to utter in their hearts
thrice the three following cooling words-BEAR   AND FORBEAR.
2d. The most part of domestic feuds, perhaps nine in ten,
spring from  trifles..  "~ Behold how great a matter a little fire
kindleth."  A word unfitly spoken, a sour look, a neglect, touches
and stings the mind, and sometimes fires the tongue, and occasions
a boisterous dispute; even though neither party can accuse or
blame the other, in any matters of considerable moment..  For
the prevention of this kind of domestic evil, permit me to offer the following recipe: " The Jesuits," according to an Italian author-" The Jesuits, with whom none could vie in the
pleasures of civil life, were exceedingly attentive to appear to




ON THE WAYS OF MAiN.                   161
each other in the most amiable light.  The polite behavior of
the first day was uniformly preserved by them, during the many
years they continued together; so that the honeymoon of their
consociation, if this expression may be allowed, lasted for their
lives. This reciprocal complaisance, at first merely adopted, was
improved by habit into a solid, uninterrupted, and happy friendship.'
The application is obvious —Go, and do likewise.
3d. As amongst neighbors, so in domestic or conjugal life, sharp
contentions arise from judging of matters prematurely, or before
they have been duly investigated and weighed.  In this respect,
Tobit was sadly out of the way.  He should have questioned Anna
mildly about the bleating kid; asking her in a pleasant tone,
how and whence it came; and, if not satisfied with her answers, he should have searched elsewhere for the truth.  But no.
Such was the flurry of his spirits, that he acted with as much
assurance and decision upon a mere impression, as if he had had
proof positive.  Neither is this a solitary instance: the like has
often happened to the great discomfort of social and domestic
life.  It ought to be deeply engraven on the mind and memory
of man and woman, that' he that answereth a nmatter before he
heareth it, it is folly and shame unto him."
4th.  In the state of matrimony, hardly any thing is more
discomforting, or more deadening to the delicate affection of love,
than overmuch suspiciousness of temper.  Groundless suspicions,
repeatedly manifested, never fail to cool the love and excite the
ire of the suspected party.  And here again, Tobit deserves the
lash of severe censure.  He acted the part of a suspicious husband.  And no wonder that Anna, an honest as well as indus



162               THE BRIEF REMARIKEt
trious housewife-no wonder that she was stung to the quick at
being suspected of so heinous an offence It was no wonder that
her spirits were aroused, and being well gifted in that particular,
that she used her tongue in the able manner she did.
One thing more, and I shall have done.  Let no man take
occasion from this subject to ridicule or despise marriage. It has
passed into a proverbial saying, that there are but few happy
matches: and, in one sense, it is true. There are few in comparison of the whole, who are very happy in marriage.  But permit
me to ask,-are there a great many that are very happy in the
single condition?  Is the bachelor entitled to glory in his choice,
or to boast of a superior degree of felicity? I-e, who has no one
that naturally cares for his person-no one that takes a lively
interest in his concerns —no one that participates of his feelings
of joy or deeply sympathizes in his adversities, sicknesses and sorrows-no tenderly-throbbing bosom, on which to rest his weary
head.
On the reverse of this picture, behold the married man.
Perhaps his wife is not, in some respects, quite as he would wish.
Perhaps she has turns of unpleasant humor, and sometimes gives
him pain by her peevishness or obstinacy. Yet she is faithful to him,
and to his interests.  Though, at times, she herself assaults him,
with her tongue, oP n0o account will she szjfetr any body else to do
it.  His joys and his sorrows are hers.  In his outgoings, her
heart blesses him; and after days or weeks of absence, she affectionately greets him on his return.  His food, his apparel, the
decencies of his appearance, are objects of her daily attention.
His every ailment of body meets her sympathy, and quickens




ON THE WAYS OF'   ANN.                    163
her care.  In his heavy sicknesses, scarcely does she give sleep
to her eyes, or slumber to her eyelids.
"With a soft and silent tread,
Timble she moves about the bed."
Anxiously she watches the symptoms; carefully she administers the medicines; she responds to every groan, and with
eagerness catches at every glimmer of hope.
Judge now, which of the two is the happier maln.




164                   THE BRIEF RE!MARKER
NUMBER XXXIX.
OF FRIENDSHIP, AND THE CHOICE OF FRIENDS.
" Give me the mail, whose liberal mind
Means general good to all mankind;
Who, when his friend, by fortune's wound,
Falls, tumbling headlong to tile ground,
Can meet him with a warm embrace,
And wipe the tears from off his face."
IN the choice of friends, much regard is to be had to the qualities
of the itectd, but much greater still to those of the lheart; for if
thait be radically wanting in integrity and honor, the more alluring is every thing else in personal character, the more dangerous.
Catiline, with the worst of hearts, was possessed of personal accomplishments in a transcendent degree.  He had the art of accommodating his manners and conversation to people of all tempers
and ages.  Cicero said of him; Ie lived wvith the sad severely,
with the cheerfadl acreeably, with the old gravely, with tIhe yozung
yleasazntly.  All accomplished as he was, the viciousness of his
moral character was manifoldly the more seductive, contagious,




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   165
and pernicious to the community at large, antd to the young especially.  He easily insinuated himself into the friendship of the
Roman youth, whom he corrupted and ruined.
Close intilmacies, suddenly formed, often end in disappointment
and disgust, and to the injury of one or other of the parties.  It
is a dangerous imprudence to trust any one as a friend, without
good evidence of his being trustworthy;  without good evidence
that he has neither a treacheous heart, a fickle temper, nor a
babbling tongue.  Often, very often, have the young of both sexes
smarted under the consequences of such imprudence.
Equality in point of external circumstances, is not always a
necessary preliminary to intimate and permanent friendship. The
friendship between David and Jonathan, for unshaken fidelity and
sublime ardor, has scarcely a parallel in history; yet the one was
a shepherd of mean rank, whilst the other was of blood royal,
and heir apparent to the throne.  But though it is not always
necessary that two close friends should be equal in their worldly
conditions, it is necessary that their deeds and offices of kindness
be reciprocal, else one becomes a patron. and the other a cdependent.  If one be greatly outdone by his friends in acts of kindness, or receive benefits at their hands which he can never in any
wise repay, they will regard him as their debtor on the score of
friendship, and he himself must be wounded by the mortifying
consciousness of bankruptcy in that respect.  Hence there have
been instances of proud-hearted men becoming the enemies, and
even the destroyers, of their greatest benefactors, in order to rid
themselves of a burdensome debt of gratitude.
One should be careful to show as much fidelity, as much at



166                 T'THE 3nIEF RIEMARIKEtR
tention, as much kindness to his friend, as he would require of
him in similar circumstances.
Between frail imperfect creatures, there cannot be perfect
friendship; and when one discards a friend for some trifling
negligence, for an ungracious expression, or for his not having
added the hundredth to his ninety-nine obliging acts, he is not
worthy of having a friend, nor can he have one long.
It has been said that warmn friends make warmn enemies; but
it is seldom so; except in cases of flagrant infidelity on the one
side or the other.  The truth is, very warm friendships (unless in
the domestic state) are rarely lasting, by reason that they are
above the ordinary tone of hunan nature, and therefore require
much attention, and a constant exchange of obliging offices to
keep them good.  Whenever attention abates on the one side or
the other, such friendship experiences a chill; and gradually cools
down at length to indifference; but no positive enmity necessarily
follows.
The friendship between persons notoriously wicked (if fiiendship it may be called) naturally turns to fear.  As they know
they cannot trust one another, so they  constantly  harbor a
mutual jealousy, bordering upon, and often ending in downright
hatred.
There is too much truth, generally speaking, in the following
lines of Goldsmith:
" And what is fiiendship but a name,
A charml that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep."




ON' THE WAYS OF BVN.',                 167
When a man falls into misfortune, it often happens that some
of those he had most befriended while in prosperity, are the first to
forsake, and even to censure and reproach him.  The reason is
plain: they forsake him because they think him a pigeon no
longer worth the plucking; and they reproach him to balance old
scores.
The book in the world that best unfolds the human heart, is
the Bible.  There we find a man of vast substance; as liberal as
he was rich, and as pious as liberal.  A man who was " eyes to
the blind, and feet to the lame," who "was a father to the
poor;" and whose charitable hand and consoling voice " made the
widow's heart sing for joy."  While "'the candle of the Lord
shined upon his head, " unbounded respect was paid him.  The
old as well as the young, princes and nobles as well as peasants,
did him obeisance.  Hle had friends without number: close
firiends-friends fixedly determined never to forsake him in his
prosperity.
With unerring aim, and to answer the mysterious purposes
of infinite wisdom, heaven's arrow was pointed at the bosom of
this very man.  In a single hour he fell from the height of
prosperity to the lowest depths of human wretchedness. Bereft
of all his child renat a stroke, reduced to poverty and need, covered
from  head to foot with disease, he sat upon the ground,-left
there to weep his woes by himself.  His friends as well as his
fortune had left him.  They stood aloof, and, with scorn rather
than commiseration, eyed him  afar off.  He called after them
-;' Have  ity upon mze! have pity lpjon mze! "-but called in
vain. Even the very few that drew near, ostensibly to comfort
him did but add grief to his sorrow.  With rugged hands and




168               T'HE BRIEF REMARKERI
unfeeling hearts, they tore yet wider his bleeding wounds, but
poured in no balsam.
Suddenly, ": the Lord turned the captivity " of this self-same
man, and even doubled the prosperity of his best days.  And no
sooner was that known, than his old friends, who had forsaken
hi~m, came back of their own accord, and were ready enough to
fasten themselves upon him.  Tlzen, and not till then, " came
all his brethren, and all his sisters, and all that had been of his
acquaintance before, and did eat bread with him in his house."
His good cheer restores him to their good li/kil.g.
Yet, unfeeling as the world is, there are some in it, and I
hope not a few, who are the same in the black night of adversity
as in the sunshine of prosperity.  These are of the right stamp.
-Reader, hast thou a friend of this sort; one who was thy father's or thy mother's fiiend in distress; one who has readily
befriended thyself in time of utmost need? —Then hast thou
a pearl of ilestimable worth-lock it close to thy bosom.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   169
NUMBER XL.
OF THE DIPORTANCE OF LEARNING TO SAY, NO.
A vErY wise and excellent mother gave the following advice,
with her dying breath-" My son, learn to say, No."  Not that
she did mean to counsel her son to be a churl in speech, or to be
stiff-hearted in things that were indifferent or trivial-and much
less did she counsel him to put his negative upon the calls of charity
and the impulses of humanity; but her meaning was that, along
with gentleness of manners, and benevolence of disposition, he
should possess an inflexible firmness of purpose-a quality beyond
all price, whether it regards the sons or the daughters of our fallen
race.
Persons so infirm of purpose, so wanting in resolution, as to
be incapable, in almost any case, of saying No, are among the
most hapless of human beings; and that, notwithstanding their
sweetness of temper, their courteousness of demeanor, and whatever else of amiable and estimable qualities they possess.
Though they see the right, they pursue the wrong; not so much
8




170                THE BRIEF REMARKER
out of inclination, as from a frame of mind disposed to yield to
every solicitation.
An historian of a former and distant age, says of a Frenchman
who ranked as the first prince of the blood, that he had a bright
and knowing mind, graceful sprightliness, good intentions, complete disinterestedness, and an incredible easiness of manners;
but that, with all these qualities, he acted a most contenmptible
part for thewant of resolution; that he came into all the factions of
his time, because he wanted power to resist those who drew him
in for their own interests; but that he never came out of any
but with shame, because he wanted resolution to support himself
whilst he was in them.
It is owing to the want of resolution, more than to the want
of sound sense, that a great many persons have run into imprudences, injurious, and sometimes fatal to their worldly interests.
Numerous instances of this might be named, but I shall content
myself with naming only one-and that is, rash and hazardous
suretiship.  The pit stands uncovered, and yet men of good sense,
as well as of amiable dispositions, plunge themselves into it. with
their eyes wide open.  Notwithstanding the solemn warnings in
the Proverbs of the Wise Man, and notwithstanding the examples
of the fate of so many that have gone before them, they make
the hazardous leap.  And why?  Not from inclination, or with
a willing mind, but because being solicited, urged, and entreated,
they know not how to say, No.  If they had learned not only to
pronounce that monosyllable, but to make use of it on all proper
occasions, it might have saved from ruin themselves, and their
wives and children.
But the worst of it, is still behind.  The ruin of character, of




ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                    171
morals, and of the very heart and soul of man, originates often in
a passive yieldingness of temper and disposition, or in the want
of the resolution to say No.  Thousands and many thousands,
through this weakness, have been the victims of craft and deceit.
Thousands and many thousands, once of fair promise, but now
sunk in depravity and wretchedness, owe their ruin to the act of
consenting, against their better judgments, to the enticement of
evil companions and familiars.  Had they said No, when duty,
when honor, when conscience, when every thing sacred demanded
it of them, —happy might they now have been-the solace of
their kindred, and the ornaments of society.
Sweetness of temper, charitableness of heart, gentleness of
demeanor, together with a strong disposition to act obligingly,
and even to be yielding in things indifferent, or of trifling moment-are amiable and estimable traits of the human character:
but there must be withal; and  as the ground-work of the
whole, such a firmness of resolution as will guarantee it against
yielding, either'timIrutde1ntly or immor3lly, to solicitations and
enticements.  Else one has very little chance, in passing down
the current of life, of escaping the eddies and quicksands that lie
in his way.
Firmness of purpose is one of the most necessary sinews of
character, and one of the best instruments of success; without it,
genius wastes its efforts in a maze of inconsistencies, and brings
to its possessor disgrace rather than honor.




172,               THE BRIEF R EMARKER
NUMBER XLI.
OF THE CALAMITIES OF IIHEREDITARY IDLENESS.
WE cannot, if we will, make ourselves torpid, like an oyster.
WVe must needs be doing something with our existence, or endure
else a wearisome load, as undescribable as it is intolerable.  Indeed, occupation of one kind or other is so necessary to human
quiet, that life itself is burdensome without it.  For short as life
is. there are but few who never complain at heart of the superfluity of their time.  Whereas the wights, great and small, who
have nothing at all to do, are, for the most part, perpetually
uttering this most dolorous kind of complaint, or, at least, manifest no ordinary degree of restlessness-being burdened with
their time much more than the most busy are burdened with
their business.
The misery of idleness is to be seen nearly as much in high
life, as in the rags and filth of extreme poverty.  In Europe
there are classes of people who are idle, as it were, out of neces



ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                   173
sity: not that they are unable to find employ, but they are unable
to find such employ as they think comports with their dignity.
Manual labor of any kind would degrade them; nor does the
condition of their rank allow them to enter into trade, or even to
embrace any of the learned professions.  In fact, save those few
who are selected to take part in the administration of governnent, or who are placed in high military stations, they are condenmed, by the exalted condition of their birth, to perpetual idleness.  And what is the result?  It is that this very exaltation
of birth, which places them  so far above all ordinary business,
makes them doubly wretched.
" There is scarcely any truth nmore certain or more evident,"
says a writer who was possessed of a personal knowledge of the
splendid group whose picture he has delineated.  than that
the noblesse of Europe are, in general, less happy than the cornmnon people.  There is one irrefragable proof of it, which is, that
they do not maintain their own population.  Families, like stars
or candles, which you will, are going out continually; and without fresh recruits from the plebeians, the nobility would in time
be extinct.  If you mlake allowances for the state, which they
are condemned by themselves to support, they are poorer than
the poor-deeply in debt —and tributary to usurious capitalists,
as greedy as the Jews."
Persons in the intermlediate grades between the very top and
the ver'y bottom of the scale of life, have precious advantages
over those who are placed in either extreme.  That they have
advantages over the lowest, all will readily admit; and that they
have some important advantages over the highest, is a position
equally true.  In point of real, solid comfort and happiness, the




1.74                THE BRIEF ItEMl\ARKER
condition of the farmer or mechanic, who supplies his daily wants
by the labor of his own hands, is infinitely preferable to that of
the noblesse, above described; who, for want of regular occupation, are under the hard necessity of taking a deal of pains, and
of resorting to numberless expedients and devices, to wear out
the tedious moments of their earthly existence.  Even whilst,
with utmost eagerness, they are seemingly pursuing pleasure,
their chief efforts are to escape from misery, by killing the time
which hangs so heavily upon their minds and hearts.  For as to
pleasure, they are so surfeited of it, that they seek it only as
preferable to the distressing tediousness of total inaction.
Although, fortunately, in these United States, there are no
hereditary ranks, that fix, as it were, by never-ending entailment,
the baneful disease of sloth upon particular fainilies; yet excessive wealth produces, not unfrequently, the like effects.  " After
a gatherer  comes a scatterer" is a proverbial saying, which. in
whatever country it originated, is nowhere, perhaps, more strikingly nmatter-of-fact than in our own.  Indeed, nothing can be
more natural than the process.  The " gatherer," if he have
gathered a very large heap, is, of course, a man of great worldly
prudence; but so far from being able to bequeathe that quality to
his children, the single circumstance of their being set up in the
world with fortunes, has an almlnost irresistible tendency to render them  imprudent and improvident.  You cannot put the old
head upon the young shoulders.  You can hardly convince the
rich-born youth, that considerable care and attention will be necessary on his part, merely to keep the fortune that falls to him.
There is more than an even chance that lie will be either carelessly
indolent, or prodigally dissipated; that he will either waste his
time in idleness, or spend it in vain, if not vicious pursuits.




ON THE WAYS 0Fo MAN.                   175
The vanity of wealth will alike affect hbis children and his
children's children. They will dote much upon the circumstance
of their springing from an opulent stock, and, by natural consequence, will feel themselves quite above the ordinary occupations of life.  Meanwhile, the family estate will have been
divided and subdivided, till the share of each comes to be very
small.  A  sort of stateliness, is, however, kept up in their narrow circumstances, and even in their poverty.  They preserve,
with a sort of religious reverence, old pictures, little fragments
of plate, or some precious memorial or other of what once vwas.
For the pride of family, founded altogether upon wealth, seldom
suffers much abatement by the ruin of that foundation.  Thus it
is, that the needy descendants of a very rich family are in a
worse condition, by far, than most others of the sons and daughters of want; since the indolence of their habits, and the magnificence of their notions, alike disable them for procuring a comnfortable livelihood, and for enjoying the little they possess.
There is one kind of revolution that is perpetually going on
in this country; —the revolution in fortunes. The rich families of
the last age, all but a few, are utterly extinct as to fortune; and,
on the other hand, the families that now figure in the magnificence of wealth, are, in general, the founders of their own fortunes; not a few of them having emerged from obscurity, and some
from the deepest shades of poverty.  The revolutionary wheel is
still turning, and with a few turns more, it will turn down a great
part of the present rich families, and will turn up, in their stead,
an equal, or perhaps greater number, from the poor and the mliddling classes.  This course has well nigh as firmn a fixture, as
have the changes of day and night.




176                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XLI.
OF THE LAMENTABLE SPECIES OF HELPLESSNESS OCCASIONED BY PRIDE
AND FALSE SHAME.
Teach yozur childcre? to helpl thmczselves, is a practical maxim, deserving more general notice than it ever yet has obtained, or peradventure ever will obtain, in this scornful and foolish world.
The highest and most important part of the art of teaching is to
train the young mind to think for itself, and to exercise and
exert its faculties of judgment and understanding, as well as of
memory; for these faculties grow and increase only by exercise.
The less they are exercised in childhood, the mnore feeble they
come to be in manhood, And besides, one who has been unaccustomed to the exertion of thought in the early years of life,
commonly lacks all disposition to accustom himself to it afterwards; it being a kind of labor, which early habit makes pleasant, but which early neglect renders intolerably irksome.
And as children should be led to think for themselves, or to
exert those faculties which pertain to the mind only; so, also,
should they be inured to the exercise of those mixed faculties,
that call forth the exertion of the mind and body conjointly.




ON THE  WAYS OF IMAN.                  177
This class of exercises is of more easy performance, especially in
childhood, than the other.  It is altogether natural too; and it
tends to give vigor and alertness alike to the mental and the corporeal frame.  If children be made to help themselves as soon
and as much as they are able, it wonderfully conduces to the improvement of their faculties, and has, at the same time, an auspicious influence upon their dispositions.  Whereas, if they are
accustomed to have every thing done for them by others, that others
can do, the rust of sloth and the canker of pride will be full apt
to spoil'whatever of excellence nature has bequeathed them.
Childhood and youth are periods of life, which materially influence all its following periods.  Whether these early years be
passed in torpid indolence, or in well-directed industry, is a point
on which greatly depends the worth or the worthlessness of
human character.  What man or what woman, that has a relish
for intellectual pleasure, cannot trace that relish down to the
days of childhood?  Where is the man who guides his affairs
with discretion, or the woman that " looketh well to the ways of
her household,'? and yet was not in some measure imbued with
industrious and provident dispositions, in early life?  On the
other hand, who that had been treated, till the age of twenty,
like a helpless infant, and had every want supplied without
being put to either mental or bodily exertion, was ever good for
any thing afterwards?   I freely admit, indeed, that there are
some honorable exceptions; but they are like the few exceptions
to a well-established general rule.
It is the misfortune of high rank and great wealth, that the
children of families, so distinguished, are often treated as helpless till they become so in reality.  They must have waiters
8:X




178                THE BRIEF REMARKER
to do for them  a multitude of little things, which it would be
greatly for their benefit to do for themselves.  They must be
served with such assiduity as to supersede, almost, the use of
their own limbs.   They have feet, but they walk not; hands
have they, but they use them not, except for putting their food
and drink to their mouths.  And are they happy?  No: it is of
the nature of this kind of training to render them discontented,
peevish and querulous all their lives, even though fortune should
never forsake them.  And if they chance to fall into poverty,
they are wretched indeed-no less incapable than unwilling to
earn a livelihood by industry.
But the sum of the mischief would be not so great, if it were
confined altogether to families of high rank or great wealth; for
these are comparatively very few.  It is the feverish desire of
aping the stateliness of rank and the pomp of wealth, that occasions the commonness of this perverted education, and the huge
mass of wretchedness which follows it.
Madam ---  is a branch of what had been called a good
family.  The estate is run out, and she is poor and dependent.
She retains, however, some precious relics of former splendor.
With these she feeds her vanity.  Not unfrequently she boasts
that never in all her lifetime did she defile her hands with labor;
and she would swoon at the thought that one of her maiden
daughters should descend to the business of a milliner, or that
the other should marry a substantial tradesman.
Mrs. ---  has no rich ancestry or great connections to
boast of, and her worldly circumstances are but indifferent; but
the darling wish of her heart is, the elevation of her children.
Wherefore she moils and toils day and night, gives herself no




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    179
rest, impairs her constitution by overwork, for the goodly purpose
of bringing up her children in genteel idleness, that so perchance
they may obtain the notice of the better sort.
Not a few, but numerous are the instances of those, who voluntarily encounter dolorous straits and hardships merely through
the instigation of vanity and pride. Comfortable, if not happy,
might they be, if they would only discard these foes to their
peace, and consumers of their substance. And what makes it
the more strange, these same persons, in other respects, are in
their sober senses, and some of them  not only rational, but
agreeable; it is only in this one particular that they show marks
of insanity.




180                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XLIII.
OF TIHE PROPER AND IMPROPER, AS DEPENDING UPON TlHE DIVERSE OIRCIAISTANCES AND AGES OF LIFE.
TIIE love of propriety, along with an accurate perception of the
difference between the proper? and the i2mpreoper) is an estimable
quality in. human beings; for though it is not a virtue in its best
and highest sense, it is virtue's shield and ornament.   To
oonman, in particular, it is a pledge of homcr, and a diadem  of
beauty.
There are women who, without any extraordinary strength of
intellect, or advantage of education, discover a sort of intuitive or
instinctive perception of propriety, on all occasions and under
all circumstances-far surpassing, in that particular, most mzen
of even talents and learning. Solomon, with a single stroke of his
pen, has given us the portraiture of such a woman. " She opezetlA
her mnout/h with, wisdom; acdrl int her tonzgu'e is the law of kindness. "   Here are blended two characteristic traits. of which
neither would show well by itself.  Discretion unaccompanied
with kindness-mere selfish, cold-hearted discretion, whether




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     181
found in man or woman, has very little claim to commendation.
She is a woman but in name, who has no heart in her bosom. On
the other hand, kindness is very liable to error, and even to fatal
error, when it lacks the guidance of discretion.  Whereas the
union of these two qualities, crowned withal with that essential
requisite, thefear of the Lo'd —renders female character alike
respectable and lovely.  A woman of this description, though destitute of the advantages of beauty, or youth, or wealth, or wit, is
an ornament to the human family; while to her own family she
is one of the first of blessings.
The laws of propriety not only comprise all the laws of
morality-for nothing that is immoral can be proper —but they
reach to a vast variety of things, that in themselves are indifferent:-their propriety or impropriety depending on time, place,
age, circumstances or cases, without name or number. Far from
attempting to explore this boundless field, I shall but mention
two articles culled from it.
First. What may be quite proper for some persons, may be
very improper for others.  For instance, it is proper for the rich,
if they choose it, to make the appearance of riches in their buildings, their furniture, the elegances of their tables, the superior
quality of their apparel, or in any lawful way else, which their
circumstances can well afford.  If a rich man make him  great
works —if he build him  costly houses-if lie plant him  fine
gardens, furnished with pools of water,'" to water therewith the
wood that bringeth forth trees,"-or if he array his household in
splendid apparel-there is no impropriety in all this, provided
the clear income of his estate be fully sufficient to defray these
expenses, over and above what is due to the calls of charity.  It




182                THE BRIEF REMARKER
is much better than to let his gold and his silver lie and rust in
moth. eaten bags; for, by giving employ to so many artists and
laborers, he encourages and rewards industry, and becomes the
prop and support of the industrious poor that are about him.
But —mark the difference —when a man that is not rich,
affects the manner of the rich, the impropriety of his conduct is
manifest to all but himself, and he is only laughed at for his pains.
Would it were an uncommon case! So it is not.  There are
thousands of this sort; thousands that are pawning the first and
essential necessaries of life, and sinking themselves into debt and
pitiless poverty; —and all for mere show.  What a mass of
wretchedness and misery might be prevented by a timely cure of
this single folly! No kind of fascination is more generally prevalent, and there is scarcely any one that draws after it more ruinous consequences.
Second. The other of the two points that I proposed to notice,
is, that certain things, which are proper at one time of life, are
improper at another.  In a qualified sense, " to every thing there
is a season."  Childhood is the season for childish things, which,
in the succeeding periods of life, must be put away.  Youth,
also, is the season for certain things which peculiarly belong to
that age.  It is the spring-time of life; and there is in it a certain indescribable hilarity of look, air, and manner, that exactly
befits it, but which ill suits the season of old age.  A boyish old
mlan, or a girlish old woman, is as unnatural a phenomenon as the
flowers of May in the month of December.
Few things are more difficult than to grow old with a good
grace; and, perhaps, the burden of the difficulty lies, with a disproportioned weight, upon the female part of our race. To the




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    183
vainer and more superficial part it is bitter as death to lose the
youthful bloom, for which alone they had been admired, and for
which they had so much admired themselves. And hence there are
to be found matrons, affecting, in dress and manners; the frivolity
of girlish years-in spite of obtrusive wrinkles, and silvery locks.
It is far otherwise with the women, whose minds and hearts
have been properly cultivated and replenished with intellectual
and moral treasure, along with the benignant dispositions which
pure Christianity inspires.. The decay of their youthful bloonm,
or personal attractions, is succeeded by self-satisfaction, and the
high esteem and respect of all around them.




184                THE BRIEF REIARKER
NUMBER XLIV.
OF KIEEPING CHILDREN FROMI TIHE COMPANY OF CHILDREN.
HE, that formed man, and knew best what was in him, and what
he was made for, sawv that it was -Iot good that he shoulld be
alone.  This single sentence confutes the volumes of glowing
declamation in favor of solitude, or total abstraction from  the
world.  To man the'social state is the natural state: it brightens
his intellect, expands his heart, strengthens his weakness, and
multiplies his enjoyments; whereas, habitual solitude tends to
narrowness of heart and sourness of temper.  Not that it is good
to be always in company.  That opposite extremle, which so
many have run into, is quite as bad as the other.  The solitary
being who shuns all company, and the empty flutterer who finds
no enjoyment out of company, are alike wide of the true mark;
which is a due mixture of intervals of well-spent solitude with
the business and duties and enjoyments of social life.
As zoologists tell us, " It has long been observed that those
races of animals which live in societies, and unite their efforts




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    185
for the attainment of one common end, exhibit a great superiority
of intellectual faculties over those which lead a life of solitude
and seclusion: and the observation applies equally to the small as
to the larger animals; although among the insect tribes the distinction is most strongly marked."  It has, also, been noticed by
careful observers, that the gregarious races of animals, in many
instances, evidently learn of one another, and so become more
sagacious, and more expert in their operations, by reason of their
living in a social state.  Young singing birds, for example, are
known to improve in voice and skill, by listening to the notes of
an old and experienced songster.
In human beings, the social affection seems to be nearly coeval
with the first dawn of reason. An infant not unfriequently has been
seen to leap with joy, in its mother's arms, at the sight of another
infant; reaching out its little hands to embrace the stranger.
Emulation, also, is of the like early growth.  Infants that have
small children constantly about them, if other things be equal,
learn to walk and to speak earlier than those that are confined
altogether to the company of full grown people.  Equally true is
it, that both small and large children enjoy themselves a great
deal better for being much in the company of their equals.
Moreover, it increases the growth and strength of their minds,
improves the faculties of their bodies, and furnishes them with a
sort of information highly necessary to their childish years.
How much children learn from  children is beyond account.
It is true, in this way they learn some things which they must
be made to unlearn.  But that is not so bad as to deaden their
faculties and make mopes of them, by debarring them altogether
from the society of those of their own age. There is a mixture of
^' "" "" """''J " "'""' "' ~""' ""^-I~i




186                THE BRIEF REMAIIRKER
good and evil, as in all other human affairs, so also in any system
of education which human wisdom  can devise; that being the
most eligible one, in which the good most clearly preponderates 
and upon this principle, to suffer children to enjoy the company
of children, and at the same time to keep a watchful eye upon
them, is a much better way than wholly to immure them, as
some parents have done, either firom pride, or through fear of
contamination.
No topics have been worn more threadbare than those relating
to the comforts, and benefits, and blessings of society: topics that
have been the standing dish from time immenmorial; and that have
been treated of so often, and in some instances so ably, as almost to
preclude the possibility of adding a single thought altogether
new. There is one important particular, however, which seems to
have been less heeded than the rest; and that is the salnta.ry
rcstraiints which well regulated society imposes upon its members:
I mean not the restraints of law, but merely those of opinion.
If there be persons who care not at all what any think of them,
their minds are either far above, or far below the natural feeling
of humanity.  Indeed it is mnore than doubtful whether any person of this description exists, ufiless among the vilest and most
abandoned of the species.  It is human nature to love esteem,
and abhor reproach; and, for this reason, no law has so general
influence over civilized man, as the law  of JDecency; inasmuch
as it governs the external conduct, or the manners, even of those
who have little or no regard for moral principle.  A  sense of
shame is one of the most powerful checks upon the atrocious
vices which society deems scandalous; so that decency of manners in society is owing not so much to its laws, as to public sen



ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    187
timlent, or the authority of opinion.  How happens it that they
who emigrate from places where public sentiment is decidedly in
favor of the virtues and the decencies of life, and settle themselves
down in a solitary situation, or among neighbors of corrupted
sentiments-how happens it that often they are so changed-so
strangely degenerated in their morals and manners'? The reason
is that they have lost, or thrown off, what had been the main
check upon their behavior.  As they are no longer under the
stern, scrutinizing eye of virtuous society, they no longer scruple.
to indulge freely the irregular propensities of their minds and
hearts.
There are those in private life, who are capable of doing
nearly, if not quite as imuch good as can be done by legislators
and magistrates: they are persons possessed of great or considerable wealtll.  In our' country, there is no one thing that confers
so much weight of personal influence as riches. The rich, if they
possesa parts withal, have a matchless influence upon the morals
and manners of society.   They are looked up to; they are
imitated; in things pertaining to manners they take the lead, and
have considerably the direction. Happy were it, if their influence
were always directed to shame vice, and to make virtue fashionable.




188                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XLV.
OF TEACI-IING CIIILDR)EN TO LIE.
-- " To be branded ith the nam-e of liar
Is ignominy fit for slaves alone."
SOPIIOCLES.
Tins was the sentiment of an ancient Greek poet of great and
deserved fame;-a man who, unenlightened with the rays of
Christianity, spoke merely from the impulse of nature.
The ancient Persians, as history informs us, were at great
pains to teach and habituate their children to speak the truth, and
thought this a main point in their education.  The old Greeks
and Romans considered lying so infamous as to degrade a freeman to a level with their slaves.  Even the Turks are reported
to hold a liar in the utmost contempt.  And, indeed, by a sort of
general consent, in most parts of the world, this vice has been
reckoned a part of cowardly meanness of nature, and branded
with infamy.  While the laws and sanctions of Christianity most
solemnly forbid lying, and threaten it with all that is awful, the
laws even offcasAion condemn and reproach it, as the offspring of




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    189
a pit:fal, dastardly spirit.  So that a notorious liar is excluded,
as by general suffrage, not only from the communion of the pious,
but also from the society of the polite.
It is not to my purpose, however, to treat here of the vice itself, or of its direful consequences; but rather to suggest ways and
means to prevent its going into a habit with young children.
For of these two things I am confident: first, that few, if any,
have become notorious for lying, who did not begin to learn it
while young; and secoZnd, that few children, if any, are deeply
initiated in this black art, unless through the fault, directly or indirectly, of those who have had the immediate care of their persons and their education.  Truth is as easily spoken as falsehood; and the habit of speaking the truth, when once fixed, is,
perhaps, nearly as.hard to be broken off as the habit of lying.
They both grow into habits by degrees, and most commonly according to the management and moulding of early childhood.
Tell me not that there is in some children, even in some
little children, such a strong propensity to lying that the habit
cannot be prevented by any human means.  How many thousand Ipcagac's (the old Persians, for instance) took such pains
with their children in this particular, that among them  all a
single liar was scarcely known.  And it is hard to tell why
Chr'istiacn parents and instructors might not be equally successful, if they would only use the same prudence and unweariable
diligence.
It is said that the children of the oppressed poor, in jolly and
generous-hearted Ireland, are remarkably quick and intelligent,
but almost universally addicted to lying, which they are taught
even by their own mothers.  The boy is sent off, by his mother,




190                THE BRIEF RElVIARKER'
to pilfer and bring home fuel from the landlord's turf-rick.  If
the little urchin succeeds and returns well-laden with plunder,
he is applauded.  If he happens to mneet with the landlord, or
any of his domesties. and is asked whither he is going — provided
he brings himself off by lying, he is praised for his art and cunning.  But should it bechance him to speak the truth in reply to
the interrogation, he is sure of a whipping upon his return home;
or, at best, of a sharp reprimand from his mother, in terms like
the following:" Ah, ye little brat! And what made ye tell the gentleman
when he met ye, ye rogue, that ye were going to the rick.  And
what business had ye to go and belie me to his honor, ye unnatural piece of goods! I'll teach ye to make mischief through the
country! So I will.  Have ye got no better sense and manners
at this time o'day, than to behave, when one trusts ye abroad, so
like an innocent? "
I would fain believe that, in this free and goodly country of
ours, there are not very many mothers, or fathers, disposed to
teach their children to lie, wittingly, directly, and even by their
positive injunctions; yet I do fear there are very many who do
it, either unwittingly, or indirectly, or consequentially.
Some do it unwittingly, or without consideration.  The child
(be it supposed) begins to lie ere it can fairly be regarded as a
moral agent.  In such a case,-and such cases are not uncommon
-it is diverting, particularly to parents, to hear the cunning little
thing f-b. —   And where is the harm? "  So say, and so think
some inconsiderate ones.  But they wofully err.  The harm lies
here.  The fibbing child, though only three or four years old, is
now beginning to be fashioned to the awful habit of lying; and




ON THE WAYS OF MAN,                    191
though easy to be cured at this age, the cure may, a few years
hence, be very difficult, if not impossible.
Others, again, indirectly teach their little children to lie by
passing deceptions upon them. —Now every deception that is
passed upon the child, goes to teach the child to deceive.  The
deceptive arts that are played off upon himself, he is quickly prepared to put in practice upon others.  Especially if his parents,
to whom he looks for example, deceive him with falsehoods for
whatever purpose, he, also, will not scruple to utter falsehoods
to gain his ends.
Finally, some so keenly mark, and so severely punish even
the petty faults of children, that they are strongly tempted to a
denial of the truth, whenever they see the least chance of escape
by that means — and thus they begin to form the habit of lying,
as it were, in their own defence.
To teach children to despise and detest falsehood and prevarication, and on no account to be guilty of an untruth, is one of
the most essential articles in a good education.  This is among
the good seed that should be sown, betimes, in their minds, by
their parents and instructors; so as to prevent, if possible, their
ever uttering a wilful falsehood, or, at least, to cure the evil at its
first budding: else the force of habit being superadded to the
vicious propensities of nature, a cure will be doubly difficult, and
next to hopeless.
Great care should be taken, not only that children be not led
into temptation to this pernicious evil, but, also, that they be
early and constantly guarded against it by all prudent means,
and be made to form the habit of honestly speaking the truth on
every occasion. Be not over much prying and severe in regard




192               THE BRIEF REMARKER
to the mere frailties common to childhood.  Many things you
must overlook, and forbear to notice, unless you would render
your government over your children both odious and contemptible by your perpetual chiding. Never deceive your children by
word or deed.  Never fail to reprove them seriously for any, and
every act of falsehood, or equivocation, that you find them guilty
of; however much your parental vanity may be flattered with
the dexterity of the little deceivers.  Whenever they frankly
own a fault, whilst you blame them for the fault, forget not to
commend them for speaking the truth about it.




ON THE WAYS OF 3IANo                  193
NUMBER XLVIo.
OF HABITUAL DISCONTENT, ARISING FROM IMAGINAR'Y WANTS.
TuE following sho5t apologue of Sacli, an Asiatic sage, is full of
valuable instruction: —" I never complained of my wretched, forlorn condition, but on one occasion, when my feet were naked,
and I had not wherewithal to shoe them.  Soon after, meeting a
man without feet, I was thankful for the bounty of Providence
to myself, and with perfecet resignation submitted to my want of
shoes."
The true secret of living happily, lies in the philosophy of contentment, which is of more value than the imagined stone of the
alchymist, that turns every thing to gold.
It is to be lamented, however, that in this age of boasted light
and improvement the philosophy of contentment is very little
studied or regarded. From various corrupted sources we have
learned not to be content, but dissatisfied with the ordinary conditions of life. And though neither shoeless, nor destitute of any
9




1.94               THE BRIEF REMARKER
essential article of raiment or food, we are ready to consume our
hearts with vexation because we are not seated at the upper end
of fortune's table. The semblance of happiness is more sought
after than the reality; the mere phantom of it; rather than the
substance.  The simple plainness of former days is despised.
Plain apparel, plain fare, and plain houses and furniture, such
as our worthy progenitors were quite contented with, and very
thankful for, our fastidious delicacy regards with scorn, and we
must needs be fine and fashionable, or pine our lives away in
grief and shame. Nor would it be either so alarming, or so lamentable, were this the folly of only a few. But the worst of it
is, it has spread, like an epidemic, over the whole land, and
throughout almost every class of society.  Tens and even
hundreds of thousands, embracing both sexes alike, are the miserable victims of a morbid sensibility, and squeamishly dash
from their lips the cup of ordinary comfort, which is presented to
them, because it is not filled to the brim, or because it is not
spiced and sweetened exactly to their taste.
And where lies the remedy? It is not within the art of the
apothecary, or in the power of any nostrums of partial and limited effect. No, the people must be wise for themselves. The
great body of the people, coming once more to their sober senses,
must agree to return to the plain, frugal, uncostly habits of other
times; and must strive, with general accord, to bring those longdiscarded habits into fashion again, and to render them honorable
by the suffrage of public opinion.
As the want of contentment is one of the most grievous wants
that affect human life, it ought to be provided against with the
utmost care, and particularly in the following ways.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    195
1st. In training up children, scarcely anything is of greater
importance than guarding them against the intrusion of too many
artificial wants.  I say too many, because some wants of this sort
do naturally and necessarily grow out of civilization, and it is only
their excess that tends to discontent and wretchedness.   Of
that excess the danger is great, inasmuch as the  effects
are always deplorable.  What multitudes, at this very instant, are discontented and wretched, who might enjoy life
comfortably, had they been early taught to conform their desires
to their conditions, and to act upon the principles of sober and
rational economy.  Nor is it of small importance in training up
children, to accustom them  to useful employment.  A useless
life is seldom found to be a contented one.  Occupation is so
necessary to human quiet, that to bring up children in idleness,
is the way to make them  a burden to themselves, as well as to
the community.
From this twofold cause, the excess of artificial wants and the
neglect of forming habits of useful industry in the early period
of life, has sprung, perhaps, full half of the discontent that secretly
preys upon so many bosoms. In short, important as it is to
teach children reading and writing and the use of figures, it is of
still greater importance to regulate their tempers, to curb their
wayward desires, and to fix them  in habits of industry, temperance, and frugality, without which the acquisition of learning
could be but of little benefit to them.
2d. The self-discipline of adult age is an essential requisite
towards leading and enjoying a contented life. A well disciplined
mind studies to be content, and most commonly is so. It attains
its desires by moderating and limiting them, and thus bringing




196                THE BRIEF REMARKER
them within the compass of its means. It accustoms itself to view
without envy the wealth and grandeur which fall not to its lot,
and which seldom render their possessors more happy; and to
be satisfied with, and thankful for, the mere necessary and conimon accommodations of the journey of life. In short, it depends
much less upon our circumstances, whether we shall be happy or
miserable in life, than on our tempers, and our view of things.
MIany enjoy themselves well in narrow circumstances: because they
bring their minds to their situations.  But when to narrow circumstances are added, large desires and magnificent notions, it
is then, and only then, that unhappiness results from the want of
a fortune.




ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                   197
NUMBER XLVIIo
OF SEVERAL OF THE PREDISPOSING CAUSES OF UNHAPPY MARRIAGES.
IT is a common saying in the world, that there are but few happy
marriages; and doubly deplorable would be the condition of
mankind were it wholly true. It is true, however, only in a
qualified or limited sense.
What! is marriage, in itself considered, a source of wretchedness rather than of weal?  Do they who marry, change their condition generally for the worse?  Are the married, for the most
part, less happy than the unmarried?  So it is not; nor will any
assert it but the profane and licentious, or the inconsiderate.
Yet, after all, but few marriages are exceeding happy. And
why? It is not for lack of excellence in the institution, nor because the connubial state is not, in itself, conducive to human
comfort and weal.  Elsewhere lie the reasons; of which some
will be included in the following particulars.
1st. It often happens that too much is expected beforehand.
In none of the conditions or relations of this life is unalloyed




1.98               THE BRIEF REIMARKER
happiness the lot of man; and, by consequence, those who indulge the unreasonable expectation of finding it in marriage, must
inevitably drink of the bitter cup of disappointment.
2d. Since the fall, the intercourse of married life has never
been (such as it primitively was) between persons of perfect innocence and virtue; but it is in all cases between those who are
frail, infirm of mind, and more or less defective in heart.  Now
it is for want of duly considering this matter before their marriage, that a great many couples are unreasonably vexed at the
infirmities, failings, and petty faults, which they perceive in each
other afterwards; charging upon wedlock the disappointment
that originated in the illusions of their own fancies.
3d. As in other contracts, so in that of marriage the parties
too often deal unfairly with one another, by artfully concealing
their personal defects and affecting qualities of which they are
devoid.
That ornament of human nature, as well as of the society of
Friends, to which he belonged, namely, Dr. Fothergill, of London
-a man alike distinguished for parts and learning, for benevolence and piety-being informed that a gentleman, at a house
where he visited, was paying his addresses to a young lady, desired leave to offer him a piece of advice. The gentleman making
a bow of submission-'" Friend," said the shrewd physician, "my
advice is this-that tiou shoulcdst cour-t in thy every-dcay clothes."
What a deal of matrimonial disappointment and strife might
be prevented if, while the treaty was going on, both the wooers
and the wooed would appear in their every-dayc clothes;-or in no
better character for temper and disposition, or for any attractive




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      199
and estimable quality, than such as they were determined to maintain, after marriage, constantly, throughout the whole of their lives.
4th. The little obliging attentions which are the food of
friendship, and without which close and ardent friendship can
hardly be kept alive for any long while, are too often remitted
after marriage, and even discontinued. And hence, without any
flagrant fault on either side, coolness arises, then indifference,
and finally alienation.
5th. Among the higher classes, marriage, in too many instances, is the old, calculating chaffery of avarice and ambition for
money or for rank.':  And as neither love nor friendship has any
concern in the contract, it is no wonder that neither love nor
friendship should ever after spring up and bless the union.
6th. Amongst the lower classes many rush into marriage improvidently, or without being furnished with any competent means
of supporting a family.  Poverty and want follow  of course.
Their own suffering is aggravated by the sufferings of their little
ones; and they look back, with deep regret, to the comparative
comforts of their single life.
Lastly, there are those of the baser sort, who, by reason of
the perverseness of their tempers, or the pravity of their hearts,
and the viciousness of their lives, would needs be wretched in
any condition.  As husbands and wives, they mutually are
fiendlike tormentors, if equally matched; or if they are yoked
together unequally, the connection proves the sorest of calamities
to the better party.
And yet, after making all these deductions, it is unquestionably true that more than a full moiety of the social comfort enjoyed in this world, is the fruit of marriage.  In it the extreme




200                THE BRIEF REMARKER
cases either way are comparatively few.  Of married men and
women, the most, by far, are made neither very happy, nor very
wretched by this connection. Between these two extremes there
is an intermediate class, immense in number, who, though they
constantly experience a mixture of good and evil in the married
state, will perceive, nevertheless, upon a fair estimate, that the
good considerably preponderates.
One observation more and I shall conclude.  The surest basis
of connubial happiness is genuine piety. 1" Wisdom," as observes
a venerable sage in the Apocrypha, " is a loving spirit."  The
wisdom that is from above is peaceable, gentle, and easy to be
entreated.   The humility, the meekness, the benevolence, the
gentleness of real Christianity, and indeed the whole body of the
Christian virtues, when heart-felt and acted out' in sincerity, do
directly and powerfully tend to sweeten the trials and multiply
the comforts of those who are partners together in marriage, while
the hope of meeting in a better world " strews their path to the
grave with flowers."




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   201
NUMBER XLVIII.
OF FAVORITISMA IN THE DEALING OF PARENTS WITH THEIR CHILDREN.
As parents naturally love their children, so they naturally wish to
be loved by them; and yet, very often, this darling wish of their
hearts is defeated by their own imprudence. Upon this point it
would be easy to enumerate facts or instances; but I shall mention only one-and that is, the partial favor and disfavor of
parents towards their offspring.  Parental favoritism  springs,
sometimes, from motives that are seemingly reasonable, as some
children are possessed of dispositions much more attractive than
those of others.  But even where this difference is clearly seen,
it concerns the parents to take heed that the bias of their hearts
becomes not too visible in their conduct.  It is no wonder that
the venerable patriarch felt a superior degree of affection for the
son, who, in regard to every thing morally excellent and lovely,
was so manifestly above his brethren: nevertheless, the manifestation of the partiality, so reasonable in itself-the coat of rany
colors, for instance-led to consequences of the most tragical nature.




202                THE BRIEF REMARKER
Happy would it be, however, if there were no parental bias
but such as is founded on merit, as in the instance just mentioned: whereas it sometimes springs from causes that can afford it
not the least shadow of excuse.-Of these I will name only two.
1st. Personal beauty, and especially female beauty, is frequently the ground of parental partiality.  Notwithstanding that
the mere possession of beauty neither implies merit nor gives
promise of any real exellence, yet it often happens that the most
beautiful of the daughters is, for that single reason, the most
caressed by the ill-judging parents, who, on the samle wretched
principle, are the most negligent of the one that has the least
personal comeliness.  The unfeeling cruelty of this species of
domestic favoritismn is too obvious to need remark: its results
are unhappy every way.  Even the favorite herself is a great
loser, for in proportion as her vanity is fostered, and by such/2
hands, every estimable quality, that might grow up in her mind
under proper culture, is stifled. On the other hand, the smothered
discontents and heart-burnings of the children who lie under
unmerited neglect, and their feelings of envy toward the favorite,
are the seeds which often burst up finally into violent and intermainable contentions.
Parental discretion acts a part quite different from that which
has now been described.  It warns and admonishes her to whom
nature has been lavish in personal attractions, and teaches her
betimes not to value herself upon them; while it encourages those
of the family that possess the least of personal comeliness, by imprinting it upon them that the due'cultivation of their intellectual
and moral faculties will make them respectable and respected.
2d. There is another species of favoritism  practised by




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    203
parents, which, if not so common, is yet more reprehensible: it is
treating the prosperous child with fond attention, and the unprosperous one with cold neglect.  Worldly prosperity is no
evidence of merit, nor adversity of demerit. It often happens
that of the members of the same family, having in their outset in
life the like prospects-it often happens that some come to wealth,
whilst others are cast into the shades of poverty, through misfortune rather than from  any faultiness in their own conduct.
In cases of this sort, the partiality of parents, if it be allowable
at all, should lean to the unfortunate child: at least, they are bound
by the ties of nature and duty to show quite as much attention
to the unfortunate, as to the fortunate part of their offspring.
And it would be a libel upon parents to say, that, in general, the
tide of their affection flows or ebbs according as their children
make out well or ill in the world.  The thing is not common, nor
yet is it very rare. There are few persons of considerable age
and observation, who have not witnessed it in more than one instance. And whenever and wherever this happens, it excites
emotions of disgust and abhorrence.  When the unfortunate
son is treated with coldness, because lie has been unfortunate,
and is poor; when the unfortunate daughter, along with her needy
little ones, is neglected and in a manner forsaken-not by the
world only, but by father and mother-when persons bearing
the sacred name of parents, are kind only to those of their
children who need not their kindness, and forsake those who
need it most-when such a horrible thing is seen in the land, it
is seen to be detested.




204               THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XLIX.
OF TIHE INESTIMABLE BENEFITS OF LAW.
OF all human institutions, that of Law is of primary importance.
The benefit of government consists not so much in its being a
guard against external, as against internal violence. For it is
not certain that a people living without government would be
invaded from abroad; but it is quite certain that they would invade, pillage, and murder one another at home. In every age,
and in every country, man, unfettered by law, has been a tiger
to man.  Not that, at all times and in all countries, there have
not been some persons, inclined of their own free will to do
aright, but their number and strength have never been sufficient
to stem the torrent of violence without aids from the arm of civil
government.  So far from it, where anarchy has prevailed, the
more virtuous have ever been its marked victims.
If we trace back the stream of time as far towards the source
as there are any lights furnished us from history, we shall find
that no tyranny has been so horrible as that of anarchy.  In the




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    205
antediluvian ages, in which no regular government of general
extent was, perhaps, known, " the earth was filled with violence."
Those giants, those mnenx of renown, so termed by the sacred
penman, were, there is reason to think, daring and mighty robbers, who, at the head of their companies of bandits, traversed the
countries, committing pillages, murders, and violence wherever
they went.
In the patriarchal ages there were men of exalted piety, who
ruled well their own children and domestics.  But even then,
well-regulated civil government was scarcely known any where:
else the most venerable patriarch could hardly have been so distressed with fear for the honor of his wife, and lest he should,
himself, be murdered on her account; when they were journeying
together to Egypt, which at that time was the most renowned
for arts and sciences of any country in the world.  There were
periods of the like anarchy and its horrible concomitants in the
history of the tribes of Israel; when "every man did that which
was right in his own eyes;'" when "' the highways were unoccupied, and the travellers walked through by-ways," for fear of the
swarms of robbers and murderers that infested the country.
In the 1Ieroic Ag'es of ancient Greece, there was very little of
government or law; mere brutal strength, united with ferocious
courage, being the only passport to.eiminence.  Theseus and
Hercules were renowned and deified for their valorous exploits
against robbers.  Not that they themselves were scrupulous
of committing robbery and murder every now and then; but
they were renowned and deified, because they had been the
means of extirpating a race of banditti. more execrable than
themselves.




206                THE BRIEF REMARKER
The age of chivalry, in modern Europe, bore a considerable
resemblance to the heroic ages of Greece.  Chivalry, or knighterrantry, had its origin in the deplorable condition in which
the countries of Europe were placed. The knights-errant, or
roving knights, were professedly the protectors of the weaker
part of the community, and particularly of the fair sex, whose
champions they pretended to be, and whose ravishers they very
often were. The licentiousness of manners, during the anarchical
age of chivalry, was, if we may credit the fragments of its history, both general, and shockingly enormous.
Even so far forward as the ninth century, there was no public
maritime law in Europe; and in consequence of this lawless condition of the seas, piracy was not only tolerated, but held in
honor.  The petty sovereigns of the nations upon the Baltic, provided each of their sons with a ship or ships, and enjoined it upon
them to make their fortunes by piracy and plunder.
There is an instance comparatively recent, and yet bearing
an affinity to those that have been adduced above.  Scotland, it
is well known, is at present, and long has been, one of the most
moral countries in the world: yet, only three centuries ago, for
want of a stable government, it was a land of robbers and ruffians.
Camden, in his Britannia, speaking of the robberies committed
by the Scotch Borderers, in the sixteenth century, says: " They
sally out of their own borders, in the night, in troops, through
unfrequented by-ways, and many intricate windings.-All the
day-time, refresh themselves and their horses in lurking-holes
they had pitched upon before, till they arrive, in the dark, at
those places they have a design upon.  As soon as they have
seized upon the booty, they, in like manner, return home in the




ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                   207
night, through blind ways, and fetching many a compass. The
more skilful any captain is to pass through those wild deserts,
crooked turnings, and deep precipices, in the thickest mists and
darkness, his reputation is the greater, and he is looked upon as
a man of an excellent head.  And they are so very cunning, that
they seldom have their booty taken from them, unless sometimes,
when, by the help of bloodhounds, following them  exactly upon
their tracks, they may chance to fall into the hands of their adversaries.  When, being taken, they have so much persuasive
eloquence, and so many smnooth and insinuating words at command, that if they do not move their judges, nay, even their adversaries (notwithstanding the severity of their natures), to have
mercy, yet, they incite them to admiration and compassion."
Two important particulars clearly follow from these historical
sketches.  The one is, that since we live in an age of regulated
government and superior civilization, in which life, character and
property are well secured by law, we cannot too highly prize'
those blessings: and the other, that it behooves all persons, possessing any regard for religion, or morals, or even for their own
personal interests, to use their best endeavors to preserve social
order, and to set their faces steadfastly against all wanton violations
of good and wholesome laws.  Neither is it an unimportant part
of Clz/-istian education, to'teach and habituate children to prize
and venerate the wholesome institutions of government and law.
In a free republican government, such as ours, the laws are
not only for but fronz the people, and it is indispensably requisite that its youth should have a general knowledge of its constitution, and of the most interesting parts of its code of civil and
criminal law; since without it they will be poorly qualified to act




208               THE BRIEF REMARKER
their parts properly as freemen, either in a public or eyen in a
private capacity. Not to mention that some hapless youth, now
in vile confinement, might have been deterred from the transgressions which brought them thither, had they been seasonably
and fully aware of the penalties that would be incurred by such
transgressions.
The Prussian Frederick the Great is said to have remarked,
that the laws of a whole realm might be comprised in a pocket
volume.  And so it might be in an absolute despotism; but in a
free, and rich commercial country, the laws must needs be
voluminous, and the professors of law numerous,  This body of
men, whatever be their aberrations in any other respects, have
ever been found the strenuous advocates and powerful defenders
of civil liberty.  The reason is obvious, and a cogent one: it is
only in a free country that the lawyers can obtain wealth and
consequence; for where the judges are the creatures of a despot,
it is not the pleading of the advocate that avails, but the bribe of
the client.
Before I end, it is proper to mention the absolute necessity
of an impartial and a vigilant administration of the laws, without which they are useless, and sometimes worse than useless.
And here, instead of argument, I will merely transcribe a wholesome anecdote from Malcom's History of Persia.
From  the year 1757 until the period of his death in 1778,
Carim Khan reigned, with great reputation, over the whole of
Persia, with the exception of two provinces.  Carim one day was
on the point of retiring from his judgment seat, harassed and
fatigued with a long attendance, when a man rushed forward in
apparent distraction, calling out in a loud voice for justice.



ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                  209
"6 Who are you? " said Carim.  " I am a merchant,"' replied the
man, " and have been robbed and plundered, by thieves, of all I
possess." —'" What were you about," said the prince, " when you
were robbed? —' I was asleep," answered the man.-" And why
did you sleep? " exclaimed Carim, in a peevish and impatient
tone. —"Because," said the undaunted Persian,' I made a mistake, and thought you were awake."




210                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER L.
OF A DISPUTATIOUS TEMPER AND HABIT.
IT is a saying often quoted as Dr. Franklin's, that " by the collision of different sentiments, sparks of truth are struck out,
and light is obtained."  But it seems to have been current,
though in another manner of phrase, before it came from the pen
of the justly celebrated Doctor.  In an Almanac, dated one
hundred and fourteen years back, I have met with the following
homely but pithy verse:
"But quill to quill, like flints on steel do smite,
Which kindle sparks, and those sparks give -us light."
On the other hand, a writer possessed of masterly powers of
reasoning, who flourished in the beginning of the last century, appears to have thought that disputing, whether by means of the
quill or otherwise, is apt to produce a great deal less of light than
of heat and smoke.
Mr. Locke, in his Treatise on Education, observes," If the
use and end of right reasoning be to have right notions and a




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    211
right judgment of things; to distinguish betwixt truth and falsehood, right and wrong, and to act accordingly, be careful not to
let your son be bred up in the art and formality of disputing."And, as a reason for that conclusion, he goes on to describe the
wretched manner in which disputes were generally managed: —
"Whether pertinent or impertinent, sense or nonsense, agreeing
with or contrary thereto, what he had said before it matters not:
for this, in short, is the way and perfection of logical disputes,
that the opponent never takes any answer, nor the respondent
ever yields to any argument.  This. neither of them  must do,
whatever becomes of truth or knowledge, unless he would pass for
a poor, baffled wretch, and lie under the disgrace of not being able
to maintain whatever he has once affirmed, which is the great aim
and glory of disputing.'"
Here we find a "collision of different sentiments " on the very
question whether disputing tends to advance correct knowledge
or to retard it.
Now, to do justice to both sides, it must, I think, be granted
that each is in the right, provided allowance be made for the opposite views in which the subject presents itself. Were disputing
conducted as it ought to be, with sincere and paramount love of
truth, and a benignity of temper, there might spring from it much
good, without any considerable mixture of evil.  But conducted
as it most commonly has been, with acrimonious feeling, and the
fierceness and obstinacy of pugilists, rather than with the honest
candor that is willing in all cases to yield to evidence, it too
often serves but to exasperate and mislead; so that nothing is less
desirable in youth, or less to be encouraged, than a disputatious
or cavilling temper.




212                THE BRIEF REMARKER
In certain memoirs of the life of Frederick the Great, it is
related that, aspiring after the fame of a philosophical reasoner, he
was much inclined to exercise his talents, now and then, in disputing with the learned men of his court.  Accordingly, he used,
at his leisure. to send for the philosophers whom he kept in waiting, to reason with them; professing, the meanwhile, that he laid
by the monarch, and put himself on an equal footing with them,
and encouraging them to be free and do their best.  But if any
one of them happened to invalidate his arguments, or to get the
better of him in any way, he instantly flew into a violent passion,
and bestowed upon the offender the most scurrilous epithets.
The memoirs further relate, that at one of his literary entertainments, when, in order to promote free conversation, he reminded
the circle that there was nlo 9monarch present, the conversation
chanced to turn upon the faults of different governments and rulers.
General censures were passing from mouth to mouth, with a kind
of freedom which such hints were calculated,:, and apparently intended, to inspire. But Frederick presently put a stop to the topic,
exclaiming, "Hold your peace, gentlemen, be upon your guard, else
the king will be among you."  This instance, while it speaks the
imperious, insolent despot, is characteristical of our general nature.  Of disputants,.in all ages of the world, there have been
but few that were scrupulous of using all the means in their
power to baffle, bear down, and silence their opponents; but few,
whose unfairness of manner and bitterness of temper have not
furnished clear proof that they were more actuated by the proud
desire of victory, than by a sincere regard to truth; very few,
who have shown themselves willing, in all cases, to give truth
fair play.  Contrariwise, men, that are naturally, or by custom,




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    213
of a disputatious temper, seldom are so for truth's sake.  Generally,. something else than the love of truth has the strongest hold
of their hearts.
Perilous, in this respect, is the moral condition of that class
of men, whose professional business of disputing, and whose fame
and renown, depend upon success in gaining their causes, just or
unjust.
" Anz inzdiscr'imiznate defence of'ig/t and wrong', coztracts
the under'standing', wzhile it corrzypts the heart."  This short
sentence of the celebrated Junius, is deserving of the serious attention of young men of ingenuous dispositions, who have recently
entered, or are about entering, upon the profession of the law.
One, accustomed to argue indiscriminately for and against truth
and right, and whose main road to distinction lies in his talent
" to make the worse appear the better reason," needs, of all men,
to keep a careful watch over his moral frame.
Theological disputes are of a nature, that would seem to secure them from  the aberrations incidental to those of worldly
men. The theologian stands upon hallowed ground. Truth,
Divine Truth, is his pole-star.  The inspired volume is his
directory; of which he must not wittingly misconstrue any part
for the sake of gaining his argument, or even though he might
gain by it the whole world.  His case is similar to that of the
Persian judges, who were made to interpret the laws of the realm
with ropes about their necks, as indicative of the punishment that
awaited them  if found guilty of any wilful misinterpretation.
And besides, as truth must be his sole aim. so his manner of
defending it must be consonant to the spirit of Him, who was
CC meek and lowly in heart "-who, " when he was reviled, re



214                THE BRIEF REMARKER
viled not again.'"  Wherefore, in that sacred department, if any
where, it might be expected that disputes would be conducted
with the utmost fairness, and with exemplary benignity of temper.  Would it were always so!
c" The man who, in controversy, pays a strict regard to truth
and candor, gives clear evidence of the excellence of his understanding and the uprightness of his heart whereas, sophistry
and quibble, rancorous invective and scurrilous abuse, warrant a
suspicion of the advocate, however righteous be his cause."




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   215
NUMBER LI.
OF OVERDOING IN GOVERNING CHILDREN.
As nothing more clearly evidences the weakness of a legislature
than a strong propensity'to multiply laws beyond what real and
absolute' need requires, so also is it in regard to domestic government. In families, as well as in larger communities, there often
is too much Law.  A few rules are necessary for the government of children, and but a few. These should be too plain to
be misunderstood; too reasonable to admit of any dispute or
doubt; and too important to be violated or neglected,  They
should be engraven early upon the memories of the children, and
enforced, when need requires, with steady and inflexible firmness;-and, by and by, they will grow into habits. Submission
and obedience will become natural and spontaneous.
Children managed in this manner from infancy, and by parents,
too, whose examples comport with their:rules and injunctions,
and whose exercise of authority carries along with it evident




216                THE BRIEF REMARKER
marks of tender affection — children reared up under this steady,
mild, and yet firm discipline, soon become tractable, except in
extraordinary instances of perverseness.  They feel the yoke to
be easy, and are withheld from acts of disobedience, more out of
filial love and respect, than from  the dread of chastisement.
Hence it is, that in some houses, family government goes on with
singular regularity, though so silent as to be scarcely perceived.
There is no violent scolding; no boisterous threats; no fierce
looks.  Both the father and the mother are so mild and even in
temper and behavior, that they seem  scarcely to display any
authority at all; and yet, their children are orderly, submissive,
and dutiful, in a very uncommon degree.  A  single word, or a
mere glance of the eye, from either parent, they mind more than
the children of some families do the pelting of hard blows.
Neither is it the only advantage of this method of family
government, that it accomplishes its object the most effectually,
and with the least trouble;-there is another of equal, if not of
greater moment. Children thus managed are led to delight in
the company and conversation of their parents, and to receive
counsel readily from their lips: and when they come of age to act
for themselves, the transition from the state of subjection to that
of personal independence is easy and scarcely perceivable. They
don't feel like emancipated slaves.  They are not intoxicated
with liberty, but enjoy it soberly; still looking back, with
mixed emotions of respect and love, to the salutary discipline they
had been under, and still accustoming themselves to consult their
parents, and to receive their advice with deference.
Nothing, indeed, is more clear, than that the simplest government is the best for children; and yet this plain matter of fact is




ON THE WAYS OF nMAN.                     217
often overlooked, and that too, by some of excellent minds and
hearts.  Many parents of good sense and great moral worth, fearful of failing in their duty by not governing enough, run into the
opposite extreme.  They maintain a reservedness, a distance,.
stateliness toward their children, who hardly dare to speak in
their presence, and much less to manifest before them  any
symptoms of the gayety of their youthful hearts.  They encumber them with a multitude of regulations;  they tire theml with
long lessons of stern monition; they disgust and alienate them
with a superabundance of sharp reproof; they treat their littie
levities as if they were heinous crimes.  Instead of drawing thlem
with " the cords of love," they bind them fast with cords that are
galling and painful.
This mistaken, thoughi well-intentioned  manner of family
government, is very apt to draw after it several unhappy consequences.  Children so brought up, how much soever they fear
their parents, do rarely love them  -very much.  However much
they respect their virtues, they seldom  yield them  the warm
affection of their hearts.  Of some, it breaks the spirits, and
renders them  unenterprising, tame and servile, in all the succeeding periods of their lives.  Others, who have mnore native
energy of mind and stiffness of heart, it makles exceedingly restless; and whenever these can get aside from parental inspection,
they are particularly  rude and extravagant in their conduct.
With longing eyes, they look forward to the day of emanciption
from parental authority, as to a jubilee; and when the wished for
time has come, they are like calves let loose from  their stalls.
The transition is so great and so sudden, that it wilders them;
I 0




218              THE BRIEF REMARKER
and it often happens that their ruin is involved in the first use
they make of their freedom.
They are wide of the true mark in family government, who
make a mighty bustle about it. In their laudable attempts to
excel in that way, they spoil all by overdoing.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   219
NUMBER LII.
OF PRO  RASTINATION.
THE nation from which we derive our language, has been distin.
guished, perhaps above all others, for steady, persevering industry; and several English old sayings, or proverbs, correspond
with this prominent feature of national character.  One of these
ancient sayings of English origin, is,' Never put off till to-morrow what may be done to-day." On the contrary, sluggishness
and procrastination are national attributes of the Spaniards, who,
though acting with great spirit and vigor whenever roused to
action, continue slothful and dilatory at all other times.  Nor is
it a little remarkable, that there is a Spanish proverb directly
of opposite meaning to the English one, just now mentioned.
Laborde, in his View of Spain, affirms it to be a Spanish proverbial
maxim, " That one should never do to-day what may be put off
till to-morrrow."
Whether it be owing to nature, or to education and habit,
or from whatever cause else it may spring, there is, in this goodly




220                THE BRIEF REMARKER
country, a prevailing disposition to follow the last of these two
opposite maxims; though we are all ready to admit the reasonableness of its contrast.  No infatuation is more deplorable, nor
yet more general, the whole Christianized world over, than the
vain hope that leads us to put off, from day to day, the great
work which must be done, or ourselves be for ever nundone.  But
I am now to speak not of the common and most deplorable infatuation which relates to the concerns of immortality, but of that
which concerns our temporal interests.-Of the fatal error of the
former, the Holy Volume and the Pulpit give solemn warning;
— of some of the mischiefs of the latter, it is mine to treat in this
short essay.
Few things are more ruinous, even to our secular affairs, than
customary procrastination.  It confuses and blights every kind
of worldly business; for business not attended to in the proper
time and season, is either not done at all, or done with mnore
labor and difficulty; and to less purpose.
Some men are in the practice of letting their accounts lie
unsettled for several years together.  It is no matter, forsooth;
they are near neighbors and close friends, and can come to a
reckoning at any time.  At length, a settlement between them
commences.  The accounts of each, however honest, are swelled
beyond the expectation of the other.  On both sides, several
items have vanished from the remembrance of him who is charged
with them.  A warm  dispute ensues; perhaps an arbitration;
peradventure an expensive lawsuit; and these close friends are
severed for ever.
Some men neglect to make their Wills, though they know
their estates would be inherited contrary to their own minds and




ON, THE WAYS OF  s MAN.               221
to the rule of equity, if they should chance to die intestate.
Knowing this, and sincerely wishing that right may be done to
their heirs, they are fully determined to perform the necessary
act and deed, some time or other.' But why just now?  Another time will do as well."  And thus they delay the thing
from  year to year, till, at the last, the time of doing it is gone
by; a precious widow, or a beloved and deserving child, is left to
suffer, through life, the bitter consequences of this default.
Some farmers double their labor, and lose half their profits,
for want of doing things in the proper season. Their fields
are overgrown with bushes and thorns, all which a little seasonrable labor might have prevented.  Their fences, and even
their buildings, are neglected, till the cost of repairs becomes increased several fold; besides their sustaining a train of inconveniences, and of serious injuries from the neglect.-And so, also,
their crops cost more labor, and at the same time are leaner in
bulk, or inferior in quality, by reason that much of the labor that
had been bestowed upon them, was out of season.  Nor is it uncommon to see farmers of this sort in a mighty hurry and bustle.
They are behind their business, and running to overtake it,
which is the cause of their being so often in a greater hurry than
their neighbors.
Many a one loses his custom, as a mechanic, by not doing his
work in season.  It makes no odds, he thinks, whether the thing
be done precisely at the time agreed upon-but so think not his
customers.
WVhat does not a merchant lose in custom. in credit, and in
cash, by neglecting his books, though it be only for a few months
or for a few weeks? How hard does he find it to set to rights




222                THE BRIEF REMARKERI
what might easily have been kept right, if he had done the work
of each day within the day.
IIonest Jonathan borrows a sum of money of his particular
friend, on the express promise of scrupulous punctuality in repaying it.  He gets the money by the day of payment, but being
busy here and there, he delays to carry or send it. The money
happens to be sorely wanted the very day it becomes due;-and,
with that particular friend, Jonathan's borrowing credit is utterly
lost.
His Reverence,-a clergyman of no mean abilities, appears
below himself in the pulpit, merely from his having got into the
practice of delaying preparations for the Sabbath to the very last
of the week, when, not unfrequently, company unexpectedly
falls in, or he unexpectedly is called out: so that a considerable
proportion of his sermons, composed in the hurry of his spirits,
bear no great analogy to the "' beatenz oil" of the sanctuary. A
reversal of merely tinzing his preparations, would contribute as
well to the comfort of the respectable gentleman himself, as to
the edification of his hearers.
Doctor  ~  possesses undoubted skill in his profession, but
loves talk better than practice.  Called away in a case of pressing emergency, he sets out with speed; but meets an old acquaintance, to whom he opens a budget of news and politics, which
takes up half an hour in the relation; and by the time he arrives,
all is over.  Half an hour sooner, and his patient mlight have
been saved.
Violent pains and feverish chills seize us. If they go not off,
we will send for a physician to-morrow.:Ere to-morrow arrives




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    223
the distemper gains a firmness of fixture that baffles the physician's skill.
One instance more, and a common one. —" Not ready," says
the sharp-eyed lawyer, when the court is in waiting, and the
patience of the witnesses is tired with long attendance.-And why
not ready?  Procrastination lies at the bottom.  Here, however,
procrastination itself turns to good account.  The case is laid
over, and the fees are augmented, —it is only the pigeons that are
plucked.




224               THIE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LIII.
OF THE WELL-INFORAIED.
WPHAT has been commonly termed the Republic of Letters,
till a late period had been no other than a monopolizing and an
overbearing aristocracy. The precious treasure was in the possession of only a few, who, with miserly feeling, locked it up from
the mass of the people; communicating of it merely to one
another, and to their select pupils., Knowledge that is hid, and treasure that is locked up, what
profit is in them both?"  This question of the ancient sage,
that penned the book of Ecclesiasticus, carries its own answer
along with it.
Of very little profit indeed to the world, were those philosophers of antiquity, whose philosophy was either -wrapped up in
mystery, or withheld from all but the initiated few.  For as gold
is of no service while it remains hoarded, and is made serviceable
only when put in circulation, so also intellectual treasure can
benefit mankind only in so far as it is generally diffused.




O'Ill H  W\AYS OE ML-1NT.           225
The Art of tPrintidng~ produced an astonishing change in this
important respect; a change that is still progressing, and that
promises a most happy consummation.  Ere its discovery, the
whole rational world consisted of only two classes; namely,
learned scholars and an illiterate vulgar; between which there
was very little of fellowship, or of any thing in common. Whereas
printing, by multiplying copies with so much ease, and furnishing books in such plenty and cheapness, soon began to break
away that  r middle wall of partition.'  Yet it was Cnot till a
considerably late period, that the tree of knowledge was brought
fairly within the reach of the multitude.
From the beginning of the last century, and thence up to the
present day, literature and science have advanced chiefly by
ditiftsion.  In the former ages, there were giants in the literary
departments  men of iron constitutions of body and mind, who,
by indefatigable industry and patience of toil, treasured up in
their minds and memories such a prodigious abundance of learning as would now seem incredible.  This race of Anackign is well
nigh extinct, and of learning there are no living prodigies comparable to those of earlier time.  Nevertheless, knowledge has
rapidly progressed by the general spread of it.  It being no
longer confined to scholars by profession, or inherited exclusively
by the lordly sex, there now are of both sexes very many readers,
who without any pretensions to deep scholarship, have arrived to
respectable degrees of information.  The truth of it is, among
those especially who speak the English tongue, there has risen up
a nzid-dle c/ass, aptly denominated the WIVell-_Iformnzed.
And who are Theese?  These are persons who, though not to
be ranked with men of deep scholastic lore, nor by any means
10



226                THE BRIEF REMARKER
affecting such distinction, are, notwithstanding, possessed of a
fund of useful knowledge, whether for conversation, or for the
various practical purposes of life.  They are often found, in
short, to have a great deal more of ggenzeral pI-ractical knowledge
than commonly falls to the lot of men of profound science or
literature.  For one who devotes himself to science alone, or to
literature alone, however deeply intelligent in that single respect,
must needs be ignorant as to most other things.
But the class of the Well-Informed requires a more particular
description.  By no means does it include all readers, and much
less all that cant read.
Of those who cant read, the greater part make very little use
of this inestimable advantage, and are very little the wiser for it.
Again, of those who do read, a large proportion choose rather to
be diverted or amused than instructed.  They acre diverted;
they are amused; but enlightened or informed in any respectable
measure they are not.  There are great readers both male and
female, who in no wise are well informed.  Either their reading
is chaffy and uninstructive, or they neglect to join with it the
close exercise of their intellectual faculties; so that their judgments are not strengthened, nor their understandings enlarged,
though an abundance of truths and facts are confusedly heaped
together in their memories.
To attain the character of well-in'6fofr?2ed, one must read
with prudent selection as to books; with an attentive exercise of
one's own reason and judgment; with close application of
thought;-and one must improve one's own mind, not by reading
only, but also by a living intercourse with intelligent society.
For it is not in abstraction front the world, but in the




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                  227
bosom of society-of well-regulated and well-informed societythat the mind enjoys the best opportunities for obtaining expansion
and vigor.  Here alone, it experiences a genial warmth, and
powerful stimulations to laudable exertions. Here alone is it, also,
that the fallacies and errors of its own crude conceptions are
corrected by means of their frequent contact, comparison, and
collision, with the conceptions of kindred minds.
The road is open.  The means of information are so ample
and so easy of access, that the reading youths of the present day
seem to have it fairly in their power to become well-informed
men and women.  Two hours in the twenty-four, employed in
well-directed intellectual industry, might suffice, in no very long
course of years, for gathering a respectable treasure of valuable
knowledge. A person who should walk only one hour, or three
miles and a half, every day, would in the course of twenty years
have travelled as many steps as would reach round the globe.




228               THE BRIEF ItEMARKER
NUMBER LIV.
OF THE, VAINNESS OF TEYING TO PLEASE EVERY BODY.
TIIERE is a happy medium betwixt the heartless disposition to
please nobody, and the absurd aim to please everybody; and fortunate are they who find this middle line, and keep to it so
steadily as seldom to run into the extreme on either side.
It is no good sign to be indifferent with respect to what the
world thinks or says of us, since it would argue either a fulness
of pride, or a total lack of sensibility.  This would be the character of such indifference, were it real; but, in truth, it is mere
affectation or pretence.  If we except those that are at the very
bottom of the scale of human life, and only a small proportion even of them, it may be fairly concluded that no man nor
woman is altogether indifferent about the good or bad opinion of
fellow beings.  So far from it, the few, who lay claim to this
unamiable distinction, have been found, generally speaking,
peculiarly rancorous and vindictive toward such as had made
free with their characters, or had merely spoken disrespectfully




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    229
of their talents.  No authors, for example, have writhed with
more agony under the merited lash of criticism, or have been
more jealous and vindictive, than some of those who pretended to
look down with cold scorn upon the whole fraternity of critics.
Social qualities and feelings are among the primitive ingredients of our nature, and to divest ourselves of them would be to
divest ourselves of humanity itself.  They are rather to be
cherished and cultivated, in every way, and by all lawful means.
It is not only right, but laudable, to wish to be generally esteemed
and beloved-to cultivate friendships-to avoid giving unnecessary offence-and to conform to the feelings and customs of those
about us, so far as may be done with a good conscience, and consistently with one's personal circumstances.  It is not only right,
but laudable, to make it a part of our own pleasure to please others;
and, when we are compelled to differ firom them, to do it, if possible, without rancor or bitterness.
There is such a thing as a union of condescension and firmness,
and a happy thing it is.  To condescend in things indifferent, in
things trivial, in things that touch not the conscience, nor
seriously damage or endanger one's earthly interest and welfare;
and meanwhile to go not a step farther for any persuasion whatever —no, not to please one's nearest friends-that is the golden
mean.  As some pretend to care for none, there are those, who,
on the other hand, try to please all by becoming —not in the best
sense —"C all things to all men."  Some do it friom selfish designs
altogether; and others from a too great persuadableness of temper and yieldingness of heart.  The last can't bear, in any case,
to be opposed or to oppose; and so they readily fall in with the
sentiments and views of their present company, and side with




230                TIlE BRIEF REMARKER
every man they meet.  Often this pliability of mind or temper
is owing to a sort of amiable weakness, but it is destructive of
all respectability of character.
I know not how to illustrate this point better than by the
following story, which as to substance and pith may be regarded
as undoubtedly true.
Some very long time since, Parson   --—, of Massachusetts,
(then a British colony,) happening at Boston, bought him a wig
there, and returning home, wore it at church the next Sabbath.
As a wig of such size and shape was quite a novelty in that
obscure place, it gave offence to almost the whole congregation,
who, both male and female, repaired the next day to their minister's house; and stated their complaint, the burden of which was,
that the wig was one of the Boston notions, and had the look of
fashion and  pride.' The  good-natured  minister, thereupon,
brought it forth, and bade them fashion it to their own liking.
This task they set about in good earnest, and with the help of
scissors cropped off lock after lock, till, at last, they all declared
themlselves satisfied, save  one-who  alleged, that wearing
any wig at all was, in his opinion, a breach of the commandment, which saith, "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven
image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above,
or that is in the earth beneath."  This last objector Mr. TM —
silenced, by convincing him that the wig, in the condition in
which it then was, did not resemble any thing either above or
below.
Even so fares it with the characters that make it their aim
to please every body.  Slashed on this side and on that, and
twisted into every shape and out of a11 shape, they finally come
to the condition of his Reverence's wig.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                  231
NUMBER LVo
ON THE EASINESS OF THE TRANSITION FROMI CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION TO
COMPARATIVE BARBARISM.
T-IRm philosophers of the last age expatiated often and largely on
the felicitous condition of savages.  Those simple children of
nature, they held up to view as models of human excellence, and
as possessing the greatest sum  of human enjoyment.  With
minds unwarped by prejudice, and with hearts unsophisticated~
and true to the genuine impulses of nature, their lives reflect,
forsooth, the express image of primeval innocence.  Knowing
neither the galling fetters of law, nor the unnatural and odious
distinctions of civilization, they, free as the air they breathe,
roam their forests, or together enjoy the sports and pastimes
of social intercourse, without obstacle or hinderance.  And
what though their dwellings are smoky cabins, or nothing better than dens and caves of the earth?   What though their
raiment, if raiment they have, is foul and squalid? And what
though their scanty food is rancid and loathsome?  No matter.




232                THE BRIEF REB3ARKER
Being always accustomed to this way of living, they desire
nothing better, and, without any repinings or discontent, they
joyfully receive what nature gives.  Happy savage! happy in
comparison with civilized man, pining under the cruel power of
prohibition, doomed to delve the earth or plough the ocean, the
slave of artificial wants, the prey of ambition and avarice.
Thrice happy savage! Threefold more happy than the child of
restraint, of labor and of care; threefold more happy than the
slavish imuck-worm  of civil society, maugre all his superfluous
wealth, and his boasted arts and institutions.
Such were the dreams of former days-even of days not long
past.  But they are known now to be bait dreams.  Subsequent
discoveries have confounded the philosophism of Rousseau, and
put to shame the disciples of his school.  lian2 /have runl to and'o, ancl kinowledgge has been inzcreased.  Great indeed, and far
beyond all former example, has been the accession of knowledge,
within the last forty years, respecting the habitants of our globe.
Travellers and voyagers have traversed, as it were, the whole
living world in every direction.  New regions have been explored.  Nations and tribes, formerly unknown or scarcely known,
have been closely inspected; their morals, their manners, and
their modes of living, carefully noted and accurately described.And the results are unfavorable alike to the condition, and to
the character of the mere child of nature.  It is found that the
dim  lights, which are beheld here and there amidst the thick
darkness of the pagan world, sprang from patriarchal tradition;
that even in civilized countries, in no wise illumined with the
rays of the gospel, the most abominable idolatries, and the most
horrible practices in social and domestic life, are sanctioned by




ON THE WAYS OF MA~N.                    233
long and immemorial custom; and that the child of nature, the
mere savage,': is every where found to be a restless, unfeeling,
treacherous and ferocious animal."
There is one respect, however, in which philosophism has been
not altogether in the wrong.  It is, that the savage state is the
most nzatural, that is to say, the most congenial with the depraved
feelings and propensities of the human kind.   Well-ordered,
social institutions are mounds which virtue erects against vice,
and which vice is ever struggling to demolish.  Whereas, in
what is called the state of nature, every man does what seemeth
him good; indulging with little or no restraint in whatever his
heart inclines him to.  And of all things in the world, this is the
sweetest; more gratifying than to be " clothed in purple, to drink
in gold, and to sleep upon gold."  Nothing is more natural to
man than the love of liberty, or more delicious to his heart than
the uncontrolled enjoyment of it;-of the liberty of doing as he
pleases; of openly acting, in every way, and in all cases, according to his inclinations, without dread of punishment or fear of
shale.  Upon this liberty-which indeed is the only liberty for
which our fallen nature has a sincere and an unreserved likingthe laws of regular government, the customs and opinions of virtuous society, and, above all, the institutes of a most holy religion, are galling checks.
Hence it is, in a considerable part, that the transition from
civilization to savageness is much easier than fronm the latter condition to the former.  Almost always, a savage feels a decided
preference for his own way of life, and looks down upon the accumulated conveniences of civilized man, not with a cold indifference, but with utter disgust and contempt.  Not for all the




234                T HE BRIEF REMARKER
wealth that the world could confer, would he barter his liberty.
If you take away a savage boy, and bring him into the bosom of
civilized society, he pines for his native wilds.  Though you feed,
and clothe, and instruct him, and even caress him as your own
child, he still pines with discontent.  Or even if, perchance, you
get him to be apparently satisfied with his new situation, after
a short sojourn with savages, he becomes as much a savage as
ever. But though the ascent is hard and painful, the descent is
easy.  A boy taken from civilized life, and made to live with
savages, how soon he is identified with them, in feeling as well as
in manners!-When brought back, after a few years, to his
native honle, how difficult, how next to impossible it is, to dissolve the charm that had fastened itself upon him; to cure hiDm
of his wildness; to make him steady, and industrious, and satisfied
under the wholesome restraints of law and religion.  It is not
theory, but experience that speaks in this wise.
Nor are these the only instances with which experience furnishes us.  There is one of much greater importance, and of
far deeper interest; it is the apparent unconcern, not to say
eagerness, with which multitudes of our countrymen recede from
civilized life.- Look! what perpetual streams of emigration from
the bosom of a civilized and religious society to the outskirts of
the living world.  Look! how new levies of the forlorqz hope
eagerly advance forward, year by year, beyond the last ulterior
limits; leaving behind them regions of wilderness, thinly checkered, here and there, with marks of cultivation.
"The world is all before them where to choose."
See the population of an immense frontier,-a population of




ON THE WAYS OF IMAN.                     235
millions " of our own color, flesh and blood,'"-nearly as destitute
of the means of moral and religious improvement as the savage
"who yells on the banks of the Missouri "-without schools, without a ministry, without religious institutions, without the Sabbath,
without Bibles; sunk and still sinking into the depths of moral debasement; their children growing up under the blasting influence
of an unchristian culture, with scarcely any sense of moral or religious obligation!
Not that no part of the spectacle is cheering.  The sight of
so many frightful wilds, the dreary haunts of ravening beasts,
turned into fruitful fields, is delightful, at the same time that it
reflects credit upon the industry, the enterprise, the hardihood,
and the perseverance of our countrymen.  But it is advancing
too fast.  There are few, if any, even of those old settlements
whose population is yearly drained away by thousands, which
might not, by improved cultivation, by husbanding all their resources, and by returning to the plain living of former times, be
made to support even a great increase of population, while their
superior intellectual, social, moral, and religious advantages would
much more than countervail any advantage obtainable by emigrating into foreign deserts. The emigrations are not, however,
from the old settlements only.  The roving spirit of the Tartar
and the Arab. seems to have seized the Americans.  Even when
a recent frontier is scarcely populated in the proportion of the
twentieth part of it, they begin to remove further out; as if it
were the object nearest their hearts to recede as far as possible
from the very appearance of civilization.




236               THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LVI.
A COMMIENT UPON A CELEBRATED ALLEGORY OF ANTIQUITY.
A CELEBrrATED ancient philosopher of the pagan school, has represented human nature under the similitude or analogy of a
chariot drawn by two horses; the one of excellent mettle and
lively motion; and the other sluggish and obstinate; so that
while the former sprung forward, his mate hung back.  And it
must be owned that there is a striking aptness in this little allegory.
Of all the animals in the whole living world, none are seen
to act inconsistently but those of Adam's race.  The lower
animals, acting from what we call blind instinct, are, nevertheless,
uniform and consistent in their conduct; while we, who proudly
lay claim to the high endowments of reason. run into inconsisten.
cies and absurdities every day of our lives. We know the righlit,
and approve it; we see the wrong, and condemn it; and after all,
very often the right we reject or forsake, and the wrong we pursue.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    237
This marvellous phenomenon, namely, the disjointed condition
of human nature and the perpetual variance of man with himself,
has been plainly visible in all ages; and oft and many a time,
has imole-eyed philosophy puzzled herself in vain to account for it.
It used to be thought by the engrossers of the wisdom  of this
world, that the mind and the body were unequally yoked together; that the former, being of celestial mould, was naturally inclined to mount upward, and that the latter ever checked the
noble flights of its yoke-fellow, forcing it back to kindred earth.
The wise son of Sirach seems to have been tinctured by this fashionable philosophy, when he remarked, " The corv'zupti6be body'weig'heth cdozovu the soul."
For which reason, the body has met with hard usage among
the religionists of different schools.  The bigots of paganism,
and the bigots of popery in the dark age, regarding their bodies
as clogs to, and polluters of their nobler part, proceeded to treat
these unworthy co-partners with unmerited scorn and cruelty.
Revelation, fairly understood, sets this whole matter in a
clear light.  In it we see whence sprang the strange inconsistency
in human nature, and from it we learn that, as neither the soul
can subsist in the present state without the body, nor the body
without the soul, so they should live together in harmony —provided that the inferior be never permitted to get the upper hand,
but be kept at all times in due subjection to its superior.
This allegory of Plato, aptly represents the strange disparity
of the litincd and Hleat, and the unnatural discord and strife so
often existing between these two neighboring powers.  And here
I must premise that by the nzind is meant the intellectual faculties, and by the hear't, the turbulent tribe of appetites, passions,




238                THE BRIEF REMVARKER
prejudices, and wayward volitions, as well as the benign family
of moral virtues.  The subject is no less prolific than interesting;-but here it must suffice barely to mention two prominent
particulars.
1. Not unfrequently there are yoked together minds and
hearts, very unequal as respects Icattral strength.  Some have
stout hearts, but feeble minds; what is called valor they possess
in a high degree, but their understandings are dwarfish.
On the other hand, some men of large and powerful understandings, are devoid of valor, and even remarkable for their
timidity.-Horace, the first of geniuses, threw away his shield in
battle, and took to his heels.  And Cicero, a man of a most
luminous mind, had far less active courage than Pompey, who was
many degrees below him on the intellectual scale.
2. There are some persons, strong in understanding, and yet
weak to resist the impulses of passion and appetite; and this
moral defect is fatal to their character and ruinous to their happiness.  A firmness of WTll to obey the dictates of reason, in
despite of the din of clamorous appetites and passions, is the
parent of every thing morally good and noble.  On the contrary,
if this strength be wanting to the heart, the highest degree of
intellectual strength and brightness may be associated with the
lowest degree of moral debasement.
How powerful, and almost seraphic the mind of Bacon! How
pitifully weak the fortress of his heart! The reverse of this
appalling picture may be seen in the. life of him, whose memory
we so delight to honor.  A biographer of Washington remarks;-'Possessing strong natural passions; and having the nicest sense
of honor, he was in early life prone keenly to resent practices




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    239
which carried the intention of injury or insult, but the reflections
of maturer age gave him the most perfect government of himself."
His characteristic feature was a persevering resolution to act, on
every emergency, according to his sense of right and duty.-And
it is probable that there is no man, either among the living, or
mentioned on the page of history, who followed more unswervingly the dictates of his profound and discriminating judgment, and
of his enlightened conscience; and it is that which makes his
character so peculiarly venerable.: Illustrious man! deriving honor less from the splendor of
his situation than from the dignity of his mind; before whom all
borrowed greatness sinks into insignificance, and all the princes
and potentates of Europe become little and insignificant.  He
has no occasion to have recourse to any tricks of policy or arts of
alarm; his authority has been supported by the same means by
which it was acquired, and his conduct has uniformly been characterized by wisdom, moderation and firmness."
Resolutely to deny, in all cases, one's appetites, passions and
desires, when they are inconsistent with reason and duty, is a
cardinal virtue in human character, which, however, is rarely
seen in persons who were not disciplined to it in their early years.
Wherefore, to lead its pupils to master their appetites and passions, is one of the essential arts of a good education; nor is any
thing more necessary through the whole course of life, than to
suppress and to subdue those rebellious emotions of the heart,
which war against the law of the mind.
The goodness and wisdom of Providence, directed to the production of human happiness, puts the means, in a great mea



240                THE BRIEF REMIARKER
sure, within  our reach.  " The efficacy of conduct of every
sort does not depend so much on Jborce of unierstcandi'ng', which
is not in our power, as on iztegrity of WT/ill, which is in our
power. a"




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   2411
NUMBER LVII.
OF FORGETTING OLD DEBTS, AND SHUFFLING OFF THIE PAYMENT OF
SMALL ONES.
THEnE -iS a pretty large number of men in this country, who,
though not of the Hebrew stock, do, nevertheless, cleave fast to
that part of the old Mosaical law, which enjoins a Release.  They
think, or seem too think, that the debts owed by them  are by
so much the less binding, by how much the older they have
grown; and that when they come to be seven years of age, they
are of course cancelled in the chancery of equity and conscience.
This is more particularly the case as respects small debts; about
which a great many, otherwise of good memories, have a convenient lack of recollection.
The following story I have heard related as matter of fact.No very long while since, A. lent his neighbor B. a small sum of
money, to be repaid in one week. However, without any thing
being said about it on either side, it ran on a whole year, when
the lender asked for the money, and got a prompt renewal of the
old promise of payment in a week's time. In the same way it
11




242                THE BRIEF REMARKE1R
was permitted to run on another year, when the loan was craved
again, and again was the same promise renewed. At the end of
the third year, A. solicited payment for the third time, and in
the presence of a third person; and receiving naught but a new
edition of the same fair promises, he expressed his determination
of speedily doing himself justice, and went his way in a pet. B.
was amazed at this uncourteous behavior —for they had ever before
been loving friends —he was struck with amazement, and addressing himself to the said third person, remarked: " That neighbor
of mine, sir, I must needs say, is a worthy man in the main, but;
after all, he is an oddity.  The trifling debt, do-you see, is an old
affair, an affair of several years' standing, and yet he duns me as
hard as if I had borrowed the money but a month ago!"
It is a curious fact, of no very auspicious omen, that, while
most other things have been growing dearer, promises have been
growing cheaper. They have come to be like that kind of drug
that operates speedily, or not at all.  They become stale, as it
were, by time; so that the longer the exaction of performance is
forborne, the more difficult it is to obtain it.  Hence small debts
that have waxen old, are as bad as lost, being scarcely worth the
trouble of collecting.
Nor is it altogether among the baser sort that this delinquency is found.  You may find it among men of high standing,
and of honorable feelings in most other respects.  They would
scorn the imputation of meanness, or falsehood, or roguery; but,
nevertheless, permit themselves to forget their promises, especially
in little matters, and the rather, perhaps, from  thinking that
their creditors, out of respect or fear, would as lief lose the debt
as urge for payment in good earnest.  It is found, often found,




ON THE WAYS OF IrAN.                   243
among men, mild in temper, courteous in their manners, kind and
neighborly, hospitable in their houses, and, in short, of excellent
reputations, save in this single particular.  If you are in distress
and need their charity, they will give; but if they owe you, they
will shuffle off payment without any regard to your interest or
-feelings.
Mtarvellous inconsistency! Are they so blind as not to see
that withholding just dues, of however small amount, is positive
injustice?  That it scarce makes any difference on the moral
scale, whether one filches from his neighbor, or intentionally withholds what belongs to him? Are they unaware that it destroys
their credit, and blots their reputation?  That it attaches to
them a general suspicion of want of principle, or rather of wilful
falsehood and dishonesty? Are they unaware of the smothered
indignation that burns in the bosoms of those they so lightly
disappoint?  Of the hard and bitter things that are privately
said of themn, on this account, even by their friends? Or, finally,
are they unaware that the public interest suffers more from this
species of evil than from all the theft and robbery committed
in the land; and that, if all men acted in this respect like
them, there would be an end to private credit and mutual confidence?
Small debts are entitled to be regarded as debts of honor.
A man of strict honor, and competent means, will be particularly
careful to discharge, spontaneously and punctually, those trifling
debts, which it is so unpleasant even to ask for, and much more
to zdun for over and over again.  A man of strict honesty will
say not to his neighbor, " Go, and come again, and to-morrow I
will pay," when he has it, by him.  Instead of which, it is his




244               THE BRIEF REMARKER
settled rule, as far as his circumstances will permit, to pay without delay, without hesitation, without grudging, without giving
his neighbor the trouble and pain of repeated requisition and importunate solicitations.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   245
NUMBER LVIII.
OF DEVOTEDNESs TO PLEASURE.
IT is an irrefragable maxim, as well of experience as of revelation,
that Iie that loveth pl&asu-e shall be a poor iran.  Indeed scarce
any maxim is so fully sanctioned by experience; since, in all
ages, and among all ranks and classes, an inordinate love of
pleasure has proved the certain road to want and ruin.
Most strikingly verified is this sacred text in the instances of
drunkards and debauchees, who give up themselves, soul and
body, to the embraces of pleasure, in her grossest and most disgusting forms.  Always and every where, those profligates, after
a short run, come out not merely poor men, but poor creatures.
Inevitably, and very shortly, they become the poorest of the poor,
alike destitute in circumstances, and contemptible in character;
a burden to their friends, and a heavier burden to themselves.
Mark the young beginner in the career of profligacy; one not
of the baser nor even of the commoner sort-a child of fortune.
How accomplished! how blithe and jovial!




246                TIHE BRIEF REMIARIKER
Mark him again in his next stage, when. youth is just ripened
into the maturity of manhood.
" If thou beest he, but 0 how fallen! how changed!"
See his bloated countenance, his livid cheek, his beamless eyes!
Once more, llark his mid-age. The crop is now fully ripe. See
what it is!-scqualid poverty, loathsome disease; bodily decrepitude and mental imbecility; alike loathsome and self-loathing.
Finally, mark his end.  "This man of pleasure, when, after a
wretched scene of vanity and woe, his animal nature is worn to
the stumps, wishes and dreads death, by turns."-Now he is sick
of life, and bitterly chides the tardiness of time:-anon he starts
back with horror, lest the grave should not prove a " dreamless
bed."  The classes of downright drunkards and debauchees include, however, but a small proportion of the hapless mortals,
whom the siren Pleasuctre allures to their ruin and destruction.
" Come on, let us enjoy the good things that are present.
Let us crown ourselves with rose buds, before they be withered."
With  such language it is that the sorceress persuades and
prompts the youthful heart - nor does she persuade and prompt
in vain.  The delicious poison insinuates itself, and spreads over
the whole frame.  The youth, thus infected, becomes unstable in
all his ways.  All close and steady application, whether to study
or to business, he heartily loathes.  Plodding industry of every
kind, he regards with scorn.  To make, as it were, a holiday of
the whole year round, is the object of his desire, and the summit
of his ambition.  As years multiply upon him, his habits of
fickleness are but the more riveted.  He is within the circumference of a whirlpool, with a, heart and mind too enervated to




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    247
force his way back.  Perhaps he remains, however) on the extremity, and never, in his whole lifetime, is drawn to the fatal
centre, where is utter wreck of reputation, and of the whole moral
frame.  Perhaps he escapes the grosser vices.  Perhaps no foul
blot cleaves to his character, and the worst that can be said of
him is, that he is a careless, imprudent, and improvident man, a
devoted lover of jolly company; that he is here, and there, and
every where, except at home and about his own proper business.
Lucky indeed, if he be no worse off; but lucky as he is, he must
needs be ca poor 2zan; poor in worldly circumstances, and of a
character almost worthless at the best.  If he is left with a fortune, it melts away in his improvident hands.  If he begins the
world without fortune, hle lays up nothing for sickness and old
age; instead of which, he ever lives beyond his income by leeching his friends, and abusing the confidence of his creditors.  If
he have a family, his wife mingles her scanty meal with her tears,
while their children receive little from him but an example that
powerfully tends to lead them  astray.  In short, he is exactly
such as no downright honest and honorable man would choose to
be. If all were like him, poverty, wretchedness and misery, would
pervade the whole fabric of human society.
It need scarcely be added, that a lover of pleasure (even one
of the comparatively innocuous sort last mentioned) seldom enjoys
his proportionable share of that commodity. At best, his empty
pleasure is so mixed up with vexation of spirit, that he more
abundantly feels the one than enjoys the other.  Not to mention
that an idle, useless life, however free from gross immorality, is
in the sight of heaven a criminal life; it is burying the talent




248                THE BRIEF REMARKER
that ought to have been employed diligently, and to useful purposes.
We have received our earthly existence, not on conditions of
our own prescribing, but on the conditions prescribed by Him
who made us. With respect to the present life as well as the
future one, it is to be expected that the quality of the harvest
will be the same as that of the seed. If we eat up the seed, we
prevent the crop. If we sow the tares of idleness and prodigality, we shall reap the tares of poverty and shame. —There is
no such thing as abolishing, or bending, or evading the fixed laws
of nature; whether we like them or not, they will go steadily into
effect.
See you a young man diligent in his business, frugal, provident
and sober? you see one who will be respected and respectable;
who, in all probability, will enjoy, through life, at least a competence; and who will be a blessing to his family, to his friends,
and to society at large. On the other hand, when you see young
men idle, improvident, extravagant, averse from all regular and
close attention to useful- business; and practically saying in the
general course of their lives,' Go to now, let us enjoy pleasure;"you then see such as are speeding. if not into atrocious crimes, at
least into the condition of beggarly want; such as will wring the
hearts of fathers, mothers, wives, and children; such as will be
moths upon society, rather than its useful and worthy members.
Even worldly interest imperiously requires self-denial.  One
who can deny himself nothing, will be good for nothing, however
excellent be his talents, and however great his advantages.  To
teach youths the art of self-denial, is one of the essential branches
of good education.  That is best done by storing their minds,




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   249
seasonably, with the precepts, prohibitions, and warnings contained in the Holy Bible. Next to this, they should, by all means,
be kept from contracting habits of idleness and dissipation, and
be so inured to some kind or other of laudable industry, that
their very toil, whether of business or of study, will be at length a
pleasure.




250               THE BRIEF REMIARKER
NUMBER LIX.
OF VANITY, AS MAKING PART OF THE WARP OF OUR GENERAL NATURE.
VANITY, or the undefinable human quality called by that name:
being the subject now under consideration, the following plain
little story is somewhat proper to open with.
The Baron de Tott, happening to come of a sudden into the
company of a knot of Turkish ladies, who, from the usage of their
country and the precepts of their religion, were in duty bound to
be veiled always in the presence of strangers of the other sex; he
remarks in the book of his travels, that the elderly matrons made
haste to veil themselves, but the young and the handsome remained
with their faces uncovered for some time after his entrance.
Now, if this be a notable instance offenmale nature, it springs,
nevertheless, from a principle belonging to the general nature of
our species, and which operates with nearly equal force in both
sexes. It is not Woman alone that is vain.-" Surely every lman
walketh in a vain show"' —at least in some one respect or other.
There is scarcely any single ingredient that more thoroughly
pervades human nature, than the one that goes by the general name




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    251
of Vanity.  Hence it was to vanity that the cunning tempter addressed his temptations in the garden, with such deplorable success; and to vanity he addressed his temptations in the wilderness, where he was so signally foiled.  li-e knew the weakest side
of humanity, and there made his attacks.
The strange quality called vanity, is a particular modification
of the general principle of selfishness, and is exactly the reverse
of the scriptural precept, Let eacfh esteenz other better) than
hinzself.  It would be difficult to define it, and still more difficult
to describe it, in all its symptoms, and trace it throughout all its
numerous branches: and yet, if you observe with a close and
discriminating eye, it is impossible to mistake it; for to the
mind's ken it is clearly visible, in its every shape, however undefinable and indescribable. Vanity is, as it were, " the froth of
pride," and is distinguishable from downright, unmixed pride,
which is stiff and unbending: whereas vanity is flexible, and
bends any way, and every way, to set itself off. But though vanity
is different in some respects from pride, it has in its nature, perhaps, quite as much selfishness; self-display being its constant
and invariable object, or rather the pole star, towards which its
every thought and every action tend.
Although the principal food of vanity is wealth, rank, learning, wit, beauty, eloquence, strength, valor, or the whatever something that distinguishes the individual from the multitude; yet
it can live and thrive on food of almost every kind and nature.
"We may see vanity living in a hovel, vanity clothed in rags,
vanity begging by the way, vanity conjoined with bodily ugliness
and deformity:" it is to be found as well in savage, as in
civilized life; as well amongst the squalid and beggarly race of




2i2                THE BRIEF REMARKER
gypsies, as in polished society. In a word, it can find nourishment and gratification in all extremes; in the haggard looks and
squalid habiliments of a hermit-provided they confer distinction-as much as in brocades, pearls and diamonds.  It is quite
as much gratified with the distinction of 2humility, as with that
of loftiness and splendor.  If a Cardinal of the Romish church is
vain of the lofty title, His Emizinence, the Greek Patriarch of
Constantinople is, probably, no less vain of the humble title,
His Lowliness.  Nor was the vanity of the most lordly and aspiring of all the Popes of Rome, ever more gratified, perhaps,
than when, under the gaze of the public, they were employed,
upon their knees, in washing the feet of some of their beggarly
vassals.  In sober truth, vanity is never more conveniently
lodged, than when she lies concealed under the disguise of extreme humility.
Sometimes, Vanity, to gain her point, disclaims even her own
existence.  1 say it without vanity-1 speak it without the
least ostentation-is often made the prelude to self-commendation.
It is questionable whether man would be a la-ughing animal,
if he were not a vain one  But, without all question, it is vanity
that most generally affects his risibles, when he laughs at his fellow-man.
In many instances, Public Virtue would never have gone so
far, if Vanity had not borne it company. Jehu, for example,
never had driven so furiously to carry forward a holy cause, had
not Vanity ridden with him —" Come, see my zeal."
What is called liberality, frequently is nothing more than the
vanity of giving.  We are exceedingly prone to give (whenever




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    253
we give at all), hoping to receive-if not in kind-at least in credit and honor. So, also, Vanity gives praise, in hope of receiving
it back again with interest.
It is owing to vanity that we voluntarily endure unhappiness
to appear happy; that we rob ourselves of necessaries, to appear
as if our circumstances were plentiful and affluent.  Many a one
is at more expense in maintaining Vanity's brood than it would
cost him to bring up, in a plain way, a family of children.
Vanity undervalues itself with a view to extort praise.
" When any one," says Dr. Johnson,' complains of the want of
what he is known to possess in an eminent degree, he waits with
impatience to be contradicted."
Reproof is often given, not so much to mend the reproved, as to
show that the reprover is free from the faults himself.  Advice
is often offered, rather to give the adviser the air of wisdom than
to benefit the advised.
Secrets, oftentimes, are divulged more from the vanity of
one's having been intrusted with them, than from any other motive.
As vanity, in different proportions, variously directed, mixed
up with different elements, and displaying itself in different
forms, is a universal quality or principle in mankind, so it belongs
to our species exclusively perhaps.  For we have no reason to
think that, either above or below us, in the whole universe of
God, there is any other race or order of creatures fully like to
man in this respect. Nor man, nor woman, is there, who hath
not so much as a little spice of vanity, either in external conduct,
or in the secret folds of the mind and heart.  In a moderate degree, this marvellous quality of our species, is not inconsistent




254                THE BRIEF REMARKER
with real and great moral excellence; but in the extreme, or when
it is the master-principle, it is that plague of the heart, which
taints all the springs of action.  Neither is there any thing more
carefully to be guarded against, and nipped in the bud, in the course
of early education.  Because the extreme of vanity is of near kin
to the extreme of avarice.  The very vain person, like the very
avaricious one, makes every thing centre in self, and will use as
many low and vile tricks for applause, as does the other for wealth.
Moreover, vanity, like avarice, commonly increases with age, and
like that, the more plenteously it is fed, the more voracious grows
its appetite.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    255
NUMBER LX.
OF'THE RtUEFUL CONSEQUENCES OF LIVING TOO FAST.
FEW practical errors of a secular nature are of so innocent intention, and yet of so direful consequence, as that of over living2P',
for the special sake of making a figure.  The men and women,
who are first the subjects of this error and then its victims, are
not usually of the baser sort.  This path, bordered on every side
with precipices, is often gone into unawares at first.  It is indiscretion mixed up with vanity, and that without a single particle
of the corrupt leaven of intentional dishonesty, that leads men
into it. But though overliving may, in its commencement, be
owing to mere indiscretion combined with vanity, yet in its progress it becomes deserving of a far worse name.  That is indeed
a pernicious and mortal error, by which one puts himself into
circumstances which, as it were, compel him to commit new errors
increasing in magnitude as fast as in number.
The error I have been describing, would be not so direful if
it admitted of an easy cure; but though there is an obvious
remedy, yet, in some cases, to apply it in season requires uncom.




256                THE BRIEF REMARKER
mon fortitude.  Indeed in the single state, or even in the married state while the children of the fanmily are in their infancy, it
is not very difficult to retrench inordinate expenses, provided the
twain happen to be one as to opinion of the expediency of it; —a
thing that might be as common, perhaps, as it now is rare, if husbands would only inform their wives in good season of the unprosperous condition of their worldly affairs. But through pride,
false delicacy, or whatever motive else, wives are often held in
ignorance of the true state of their family circumstances, till the
moment that ruin breaks upon them; and then are they upbraided by the world for, an extravagance, which they had not
run into but for the bandage upon their eyes.
In families where the children, and particularly the daughters,
are grown up, or nearly grown up, the impediments to a prudent
retrenchment of expenses are multiplied.  For though both father
and mother see the absolute need of it, it is no easy matter to convince the youthful gentry of it, or to dispose them, if convinced,
to sink, of their own free wills, from splendid young ladies, into
plain, industrious, frugal girls.  Their remlonstrances, their entreaties, and especially their tears, it is hard to resist:-and so
it happens that a great many continue to steer toward the fatal
gulf, though it be clearly in their view.
When a man is once resolved to keep up expensive appearances till he can hold out no longer; his moral frame goes to
wreck as fast as his circumstances.  However honest, however
trustworthy he may have been in his better days, he no longer
possesses these estimable qualities, nor any just sense of honor.
He casts about him for arts of shift and evasion.  The perpetual
duns at his door, he tries to satisfy with fair promises, which he




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    257
has no expectation or intention of performing.  His heart becomes callous toward his creditors, and he grows quite regardless
of their feelings, however deplorably they have to suffer by him.
Like a drowning man he catches at every thing. To gain a little
respite, he will inveigle his near friend into suretiship for him, and
will drag his friend along with him to ruin.
Poor human nature is seldom proof against strong temptations voluntarily run into; and as seldom, perhaps, in the instance under consideration as in any other. Nor are there any
who are fairly entitled to promise themselves beforehand, that
their integrity can stem the moral whirlpool, in which so many
characters, once fair, have been overwhelmed.
An excellent rule has been laid down by the eminent moralist, Dr. Johnson; and it were to be wished, that young men, in
particular, would remember it, and make a practical use of it at
the outset of active life.  The rule is this-" A man's volunta'ry
expenses should not exceed his income."  A huge mass of misery
and mischief might be prevented, were it the general custom  to
adhere to this maxim.
Honest young householders, ye that are now beginning life
together in the wedded state, guard with particular care against
the lust of the eye.  Of all our senses, that of eye-sight seems to
have the nearest affinity with the heart, and the most often to
lead it astray. The philosophers of antiquity were so sensible of
this, that, to concentrate and rectify their ideas, one of them,.Democi-itus, was said to put out his eyes, and another, Pytha70o)as, to shut himself up a whole winter in a subterraneous cave.
Now though, fortunately for our age and country, these examples are as destitute of admirers as of followers, yet the ex



258                THE BRIEF REMARKER
ercise of constant watchfulness over the eyes was never, and nowhere, more needful  the common folly of large expenses where
there is but small income, being committed, for the most part,
rather to please the eye than from any other motive-and not so
much for the sake of the spender's eyes, as to attract the eyes of
others.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      259
NUMBER LXI.
OF BAXNQIUETING UPON IBORR1OWIxNG.
"Be not made a beggar by banqueting upon borrowing, when thou hast nothing in thy
purse."'-EccLIS. xviii. 38.
TaE moral philosopher of old Jewry, who penned this admirable
book, is pr'actical in his observations, and, at the same time,
acute and discriminating. He dips not into the incomprehensible
subtleties of abstract science, relative to the mysterious frame
and texture of humanity, but describes the wonderful creature,
lgIanz, such as he is shown to be by his actions, and adapts his
moral and prudential cautions and precepts to man, cs hie is-to
his condition and conduct in real life.
Whether the sage had himself been taken in by some of theIm,
or from whatever cause, he hits off certain borrowers of his own
time with a peculiar keenness of description, in the passage that
here follows.
" Many, when a thing was lent them, reckoned it to be found,




260               THE BRIEF REMARKER.
and put them to trouble that helped them.  Till he hath received, he will kiss a man's hand; for his neigbor's money he will
speak submissively; but when he should repay, he will prolong
the time, and return words of grief, and complain of the time.
If he prevail, he shall hardly receive the half, and shall count as
if he had found it: if not, he hath deprived himi of his nioney,
and he hath gotten him an enemy without cause: he payeth him
with cursings and railings; and for honor he will pay him  disgrace."
The sage next proceeds to relate how the aforesaid conduct
of some certain borrowers went to discourage all liberality in
lending.:: Many therefore have refused to lend for other men's
ill-dealing, fearing to be defrauded."
And here one might amuse himself not a little with comparing the past with the present-things relative to borrowing and
lending, as they stood some thousand years ago, with what they
are now-a-days, in this goodly country of ours.
But to proceed: our venerable author is not as a cold-blooded
satirist, who rather labors to excite the feelings of scorn and hatred, than of compassion.  He gives, on the contrary, no countenance to covetous hoarding; —much less to griping extortion.
He saith not, " Since things are so, it is best to trust nobody."
No.  So far was this ungracious sentiment from the heart of the
son of Sirach, that he warmly inculcates a noble liberality, a disinterested benevolence.  For after having observed, that many
re'qised to lend for other' men's ill-dealing, fea'ing to be defrSacuded, he immediately adds, "Yet have thou patience with a
mnan in poor estate, and delay not to show him mercy.  Help the
poor, for the commandment's sake, and turn him not away, be



ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   261
cause of his poverty.  Lose thy money for thy brother and thy
friend, and let it not -rust under a stone to be lost."  Again, in
the same chapter he says, "' He that is merciful will lend unto his
neighbor.-"'Lend to thy neighbor in the time of his need."
And elsewhere,  he cautions against a churlishness of expression
and manner in the act of giving, and by parity of reason,
in lending. " My son, blemish not thy good deeds, neither
use uncomfortable words when thou givest." All which is
accompanied with this wholesome injunction to the other party.
" Pay thou thy neighbor again in due season.  Keep thy word,
and deal faithfully with him, and thou shalt always find the thing
that is necessary for thee."
Upon the whole, then, it may be fairly concluded, that the
precious book now under consideration-which indeed possesses
every venerable attribute, with the exception of inspiration alone
-is very far from altogether discouraging the neighborly intercourse of borrowing and lending; seeing that the scope of its
lessons on this subject, is to recommend moderation and scrupulous punctuality to the one class, and a humane and generous
line of conduct to the other.
One may borrow occasionally, and be the better for it, and, at
the same time, the lender suffer no injury or inconvenience: but
to banquet upon borrowing, is a beggarly way of living.  If thou
hast nothing in thy purse, replenish it, if possible, with thy own
earnings, rather than by borrowing; or if that be impossible for
the present, yet be cautious against borrowing more than is
needful, and ever be careful to pay it back in due time. Forto repeat the admonition before cited-" Pay thou thy neighbor
again in due season.  Keep thy word, and deal faithfully with




262               TIIE BRIEF REMARKER
him, and thou shalt always find the thing that is necessary for
thee. "
I entreat the reader's particular attention to the matter which
I have just now rehearsed, since it comes from no ordinary authority, and is of superior excellence in itself.  For the rest, the
few observations that will follow, must suffice.
In the simple old times of our author, borrowing for a premium, or on interest, was scarcely known.  So that they who, in
those days, banqueted on borrowing, must have done it only in a
small way, which bears no sort of comparison with the every
day's experience of the present age.  This thing has, with us,
been carried to a wild extreme, utterly unknown to any former
age, or in any other country; and a frightful mass of wretchedness has been the natural consequence.  But passing this over,
what remains is to consider the subject of borrowing, on the small
scale, and according to the most general acceptation of the word.
In this sense of the term, one-who borrows, contracts a debt,
with respect to which every principle of honesty and honor binds
him to observe the utmost punctuality.  For the lender gives up
the use of his property without fee or reward.  All he demands
or expects is, that the thing be returned in good condition, and
punctually, according to promise.  Wherefore, a loan is a sort of
sacred debt; and to delay payment-much more never to pay
though there be no want of power, is returning evil for good, injury for kindness.  Would that this vexatious frailty of character
were rare as it is common   In order to a radical reform in this
important particular, much attention must be paid to it in the
early season of education.  It is a great deal easier to form  the
young mind to correct habits, than to cure it of bad ones once




ON THE WAYS OIrF IAN.                 263
contracted.  For which reason, children should be carefully
taught to mind their promises, and to restore whatever they borrow, in good condition, and by the set time.  Nor is it enough
merely to give them precepts upon this subject; it must be worked
into their practice, even from their earliest years.
In conclusion, there is one description of borrowers, who may
fitly be termed leeches or sponges.  These are persons who, out
of pure stinginess, are in the habit of borrowing of their neighbors the necessary implements of their daily business.  They
think it cheaper to borrow than to buy, but generally, in the
long run, they are losers by it themselves; and meanwhile, in
this way, they are giving a deal of trouble to those about
them, whose smothered resentments are neither few nor small.




264                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LXII.
OF THE PRINCIPLE OF SHAME.
No point is more clear, than that moral worth is superior to
every thing else which bears the name of worth; that virtue in
rags is more respectable than vice in brocade.
" In the drama of life it is not to be considered who among
actors is prince or who is beggar, but who acts prince or beggar
best."  So taught Epictetus, a celebrated philosopher of ancient
Greece; and Pope has versified him in the following couplet.
"Honor and shame from no condition rise:
Act well your part;'tis there true honor lies."
All this is well said.  That the point of honor lies, not so
much in having a grand or a conspicuous part to act, as in acting
well the part that Providence allots us, is a position that admits
of no dispute. But although it contradicts the theory of almost
nobody, it is contrary to the practice of almost every body.
He that acts upon the stage of life a high part, will be
courted, and he that acts a low part will be slighted; though the
latter should very far excel the former in all that relates to the




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     265
qualities of the heart.  The man that comes in with the gold
ring, and in goodly apparel, is respectfully invited to sit here, in
a good place' while the child of poverty, whose raiment is vile, is
ordered to sit there, at the foot-stool; and that without any regard to real merit or demerit.  This is the fashion of the world;
a fashion which all do more or less follow.
It would in nowise be difficult to carry this train of thoughts
to any reasonable length; since the subject is no less prolific,
than evincive of the distempered condition of the world we live
in.  But all that I further intend, is to remark, in few words, on
sha/cnze-understood not in the sense here given it by the poet,
as synonymous with dishonor or disgrace; but as denoting a certain kind of bosom sensation, utterly indescribable, and yet most
clearly distinguishable from every other feeling of the heart.
Shame then, meaning the sense of shamle, is one of the powerful principles of our fallen nature; and, like our other natural
principles, it does good or mischief according to the direction it
takes.  It operates most powerfully in the seasons of childhood
and youth, and effects on the whole much more good than ill;
for it is a preventive of indecency, and an incentive to laudable
emulation.  An over-diflident youth, if properly encouraged, will
exert himself to arrive at such attainments as shall give him
confidence; but an over-confident one, being full of himself, thinks
he has attained enough already, and of course bcomoes remiss.
I believe it would be found, upon a close inspection of mankind
in past ages as well as the present, that of truly great and excellent characters, a very large proportion had felt the pains of diffidence, and displayed upon their cheeks the blush of shanle in
their juvenile days.
1. 2




266                THE BRIEF REMARKER
The most virtuous do nothing to be ashamed of before men, and
the most vicious are without shame.  But between the utmost
limits of human virtuousness on the one side, and viciousness on
the other, there is a vast interval which is filled up with mixed
characters of both sorts; and upon themb well directed shame has
a great and powerful influence.-" Many who have not resolution
enough to avoid a bad action, have yet feeling enough to be
ashamed of it."  And that feeling of shame may prevent their
repeating the misdeed; whereas, of an offender who is utterly
shameless, there is no hope.
Shame has a prodigious influence in enforcing the laws of decency.  Multitudes of people would not act as well as they do,
if they were not ashamed to act worse.  And it is better at least
for society, that they have the grace of shame than no grace at
all.
Vice loves the company of its like.  And why?  It is that
it may keep itself in countenance, or escape the confusion of
shame.  Vice is conscious deformity; and vicious persons are
enabled to hold up their heads in society, chiefly from the knowledge or supposal that numbers about them  are deformed like
themselves.  Whereas, if one stood quite alone in the practice
of vice, and at the same time had the eyes of the good upon him,
lie would, unless desperately hardened, be ashamed of himself.
Hence. a notoriously vicious person, living in a place where all
the rest were virtuous, would be impelled, as it were, of very
shame, either to amend his ways, or to remove to a more congenial society.  In short, the benefits of shame are alike great in
number and in magnitude; so far forth, that it is questionable
whether, in the society of civilized man, there be not more persons




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      267
who act decently from the sense or fear of shame, than fromn the
impulse of a sound moral principle.
This matter was well understood by the sophists of the last
age, who in the war they waged against Prejdcice, —or rather in
their nefarious efforts to banish firom society not only pure morals
but even the common decencies of life, —artfully directed their
efforts particularly at the total extinction of the feeling of shame.
And for some time their success corresponded to their zeal.  It
is a recorded fact, that, during the short-lived popularity of the
writings of Mary Wolstoncraft, a bluseh incurred a rpenalty at
several of the boarding schools for young ladies in England.
Here two things are to be observed very carefully in the
training of children.
1st. Their natural sense of shame should not be put to trial too
frequently, or too severely.  " Shame,7' says Mr. Locke, "' is in
children a delicate principle, which a bad management of them
presently extinguishes.  If you shame them for every trespass, and
especially if you do it before company, you will make them shameless.  Moreover, if you expose them  to excessive shame for their
greater faults, they will be very likely to lose all shame, and if once
lost it is gone irrecoverably.  By tampering with this feeling too
often or with a rough hand, children the most susceptible of
shame, amay be made quite callous to its influence.'
2d. Children should be guarded betinies against false shame,
which, in all its multifarious ramifications, and, oftentimes, in the
name and under the disguise of hotnor, has done frightful mischiefs to our misjudging and deluded race.




268                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LXIIT.
OF VIR TUOUS POVERTY.' Man needs but little here below,
Nor needs that little long,."
AND yet to possess but little, though it be full enough for the
real wants of nature, is deemed wretchedness.  Poverty is to
many a delicate ear one of the most frightful words in the whole
vocabulary of our language; but it should be remembered that
the word has several degrees of signification, and is really frightful in the extreme degree only.
True enough, the rags and filth, and the corresponding ignorance and depravity, so common in the abodes of squalid poverty,
are objects of disgust and horror; as they exhibit human nature
in its utmost deformity, without aught to shade the picture. The
lazy poor, the vicious and profligate poor, compose a mass of
wretchedness that is frightful indeed, and not only frightful, but
loathsome; and but little pity can be felt for the suffering
which they bring upon themselves by their idle and vicious
habits.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    269
This is not, however, simple poverty, but poverty and the
grossness of vice in alliance; and it is the latter that gives the
former its hideous coloring.  Virtuous poverty, on the other
hand, however disrespected by a scornful world, is, in sober truth,
respectable.  It has a moral gracefulness that is peculiarly its
own.
It is not in the splendor of wealth, or on the lap of ease, that
man, considered as a moral being, usually exhibits the finest features of character.  For the highest order of virtues can be developed only in a condition of considerable hardships or suffering;-namely, the virtues of fortitude, self-denial, patience, humility, and quiet resignation.  A fanmily, that once had seen better days, struggling with misfortune, suffering "the rich man's
contumely," and the neglect and scorn of former familiars, but
Suffering with fortitude and with pious resignation;  a family
always poor and accustomed to endure hardships, but of pure
morals, industrious, honest, unrepining, contented, daily offering up
thanks to God for that little which it enjoys; a father, a mlother,
oppressed with poverty, yet striving with all the little means in
their power to send their children to school, and at the same time,
both by precept and example, training them  up at home, in the
way they should go;-these, to the moral ken, are among the
most lovely spectacles that are ever exhibited in this fallen
world.  True, these humble virtues are like the flowers that
"blush unseen."  They are scarcely noticed, and much less admired; while thousands greet with admiration and applause,
whatever of shining virtue the eye can descry in the ranks of
wealth and grandeur.
Tle Rev. G. Crabbe, "the poet of reality, and of reality in




270                 THE BRIEF REMARXKER
low life," has portrayed with Imasterly powers of description both
vicious and virtuous poverty-not from' fancy, but from what he
saw: andl knew.  If the images of depravity in his poem: T/he Bo-'ozugh, be too coarse, too naked, and too hideous, to excite other
emotions than those of disgust,-the images of virtue, which,
also, were taken from the deepest shades of poverty, possess almost unrivalled chartms.  The tale, for instance, of the Sacl
Girl, a poor maid of the Borough, who, after waiting a long time
in anxious expectation of the return of the young sailor who had
promised to marry her, at length received him  emaciated and
mortally sick, and nursed him  day and night with the utmost
tenderness, till he breathed his last;-this tale, in point of heartmuoving interest. perhaps has scarcely a rival in the history even
of romance and fiction.
The following few lines of it show how venerable, how sacred,
how lovely is the cottage of the poor when adorned with virtue
and pure religion.
"Still long she nurs'd him; tender thoughts meantime
Were interchang'd, and hopes and views sublime;
To her he came to die, and every day
She took some portion of the dread away;
With him she pray'd, to him his Bible read,
Sooth'd the faint heart, and held the aching head:
She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer;
Apart she sigh'd; alone, she shed the tear;
Then, as if breaking fiom a cloud, she gave
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave."
Blessed iideed are such poor! and of such the number is, in all
probability, far greater than is generally imagined; the virtuous
deeds and heavenly dispositions of the obscure children of poverty
being very little known or noticed, save by the Omniscient eye.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                  271
NUMBER LXIV.
OF FRIVOLITY OF CIIHARACTER.
THRERE are of both sexes a number of volatile persons, who bear
a near resemblance to the little playsome birds that skip perpetually from bush to bush.  Their attention is never fixed; their
thoughts run upon every thing by turns; and stay upon nothing
long.  In conversation they are unsettled and flighty; when
they read, " they gallop through a book like a child looking for
pictures."
Characters of this sort abound in the upper regions of life,
among those who have been badly educated, and have nothing to
do; and by a celebrated writer they are admirably hit off in the
following pictorial sketch of T7et'asta.
"She is to be again dressed fine, and keep her visiting day;
again to change the color of her clothes, again to have a new head,
and again to put patches on her face.  She is again to see who
acts best at the playhouse, and who sings finest at the opera.
She is again to make ten visits in a day, and be ten times in a
day trying to talk artfully, easily, and politely about nothing.




272                THE BRIEF REMARKER
She is again to be delighted with some new fashion, and again
angry at the change of some old one.  She is again to be at
cards and gaming at midnight, and again in bed at noon.  She
is to be again pleased with hypocritical compliments, and again
disturbed at imaginary affronts. She is to be again pleased at her
good luck at gaming, and again tormented with the loss of her
money.  She is again to prepare herself for a birthnight, and
again to see the town full of company.  She is again to hear the
cabals and intrigues of the town; again to have secret intelligence
of private amours, and early notices of marriages, quarrels, and
partings. "
Such is the description of an elderly fashionable lady, of the
London stamp; a description which, under the fictitious name of
a single individual, was meant to embrace a large class.
Nor is it only in the regions of fashion and high life, that fri;volity of character is seen; though there it has the strongest
stimulants, and the most ample means of displaying itself.  Fortunate are they, on whom is imposed the salutary necessity of
doing something valuable with their existence; whose daily occupations, as well as worldly circumstances, withhold them  from
an imitation of those called the great, but who by their frivolous
pursuits, render themselves least among the little.
A flighty, frivolous turn of mind, is owing partly to nature,
partly to education, and partly to habit.
Every body that is observant, must have seen that some
children are more sedate. and others more volatile; and that
the latter, during their infantile years, are peculiarly pleasing
for their pert vivacity.  They perform  childish things in the
most engaging manner.  And not in childhood only do they




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    273
gratify and please; in the following stage of early youth there is
a charm in the vivaciousness of their temper, which we are apt
to mistake for the germ of genius.  But the expectation is often
disappointed at the period of mature age.  There is then found
a gay surface, but no depth; a high-fed fancy, but a lank understanding and feeble judgment.  The man, even the aged man, is
still as volatile, still as fond of little sports and of little things,
still as boyish, as when he was a boy.
The fruit of age is generally corresponding to the education
of childhood.  Education goes far, very far, in determining and
fixing characters; and of none more than of young minds remarkably vivacious.  Though a more than ordinary degree of
vivacity, in the early years of life, affords no sure promise of superior strength of understanding, neither is it to be interpreted,
on the other hand, as a sign that the understanding will be
weak; for it sometimes is an accompaniment of great and
shining parts.  But in either case, the management of children
of this description is a matter of peculiar delicacy.  If prudent
care be taken to curb and regulate, without extinguishing, the
vivacity of their termpers; if their attention be directed betimes
to things most important and serious; if the solid parts of education be well wrought into their minds — in such cases, although,
at last, they should turn out to be but merely of moderate
abilities, yet they would stand a fair chance of being not only useful; but peculiarly agreeable members of society.  Contrariwise,
if their education be conducted, as too often it happens, in a
manner calculated to nourish and confirm  the volatile bias of
their nature, there will be very little hope of their future respectability or usefulness. For should they have talents never so
I 2




274                THE BRIEF REMARKER
bright, the chances are ten to one that they will misemploy them.
Or, on the other hand, if their understandings prove but slender,
they will be always children in manners and behavior — pert,
lively, frolicksome children, with hoary heads, and spectacles on
the nose.
" Habit is second nature."  Especially when habit is superadded to the strong bias of nature, it is the hardest thing in the
world to overcome it.  And thus it happens that children of
more than common liveliness of temper, so seldom learn to " put
away childish things," when they come to be full grown men and
women.  Permitted to spend their early days in little else than
trifles; the habit of trifling becomes firmly rooted, and triflers
they continue to be throughout the whole of their lives.  The
same volatileness, which made thenm so pleasing in their child.
hood, renders them shiftless, worthless, and of small repute,
ever after.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    275
NUMBER LXV.
OF TIlE NATURAL AND THIE MORAL HEART.
" Thy own things, and such as are grown up with thee, thou canst not knowv."
To obtain conviction of the truth of this observation of Esdras,
the Jewish sage, we need look only to that part of our own system, called the heart.  Both the mnaterial and the mzoral heart
of man are of mlysterious and wonderful construction; too deep
to be fathomed by the line of philosophy, and too intricate to be
explored by human ken.
In regard to the qnater'ial heart, as stated in Keil's Anatomy,
"each ventricle of the heart will at least contain one ounce of
blood.  The heart contracts four thousand times in one hour;
from which it follows, that there passes through the heart, every
hour, four thousand ounces, or three hundred and fifty pounds of
blood.  Now the whole mass of blood (in a common-sized human body) is said to be about twenty-five pounds  so that a
quantity of blood equal to the whole mass of blood passes through
the heart fourteen times in one hour; which is about once in
every four minutes."




276                THE BRIEF RE3ARlKER
Dr. Paley upon this stupendous subject, says, "' The heart is
so complex in its mechanism, so delicate in many of its parts;
as seemingly to be little durable, and always liable to derangement; yet shall this wonderful machine go, night and day, for
eighty years together; at the rate of a hundred thousand strokes
every twenty-four hours, having, at every stroke, a great resistancte to overcome; and shall continue this action this length of
time, without disorder; and without weariness.
It is a fact worthy of notice, that in this wonderful piece of
mechanism, there is, as it were, the power of repelling the meddlesome eye of curiosity; since, whilst we are in sound health,
the mighty labor that is perpetually going on in the little laboratory within, gives us no sort of disquietude, so long as we pay
no close attention to the process; but no sooner does one contemplate it with close and undivided attention, than unpleasant
and almost insupportable sensations check his impertinent inquisitiveness. Perhaps no one living would be able to fix his whole
mind, for the space of a single minute, upon the pulsations of his
own heart, without experiencing sensations of indescribable uneasiness.
All this is wonderful.-" A mighty maze, but not wvithout a
p2lcan.'  Who, that takes a sober view of the mechanism  of his
own heart, can say in that very heart, There is no God!
Nor is the mnoral heart of man less wonderful than the mnater-ial. It is remarkable that this too, as well as the natural heart,
is repulsive to careful and strict scrutiny. It is one of the most
difficult of performances, for one to scrutinize the moral frame
and operations of one's own heart with a steadfast and impartial
eye; the difficulty principally consisting in a violent aversion to




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     277
that kind of scrutiny, and the irksomeness of the process.  And
hence it is, that a great many persons know less of their own
hearts, considered in a moral point of view, than of any thing else
with which they are in a considerable degree conversant.  Partial as we always are to our own understandings, and to our intellectual powers in general, we judge of them with a great deal
more uprightness and truth than we do of our hearts.   The
defects of the former we perceive, and own; but those of the latter we conceal as much as possible, not only from others, but from
ourselves; and are mightily offended when the finger even of a
friend points them out to us.
As the heart is the source of the affections and the volitions,
so it is the seat of all real beauty and of all real deformity belonging to man or woman.  By its qualities, and by no standard
else, is the worth or the vileness of every human character to be
determined.  No splendor of talent, no brilliancy of action, even
on virtue's side, can countervail the want of rightness of heart.
Hence, while we are bound to judge others to be virtuous, in so
far as they appear so from the tenor of their overt acts  we must
look deeper, far deeper, in forming a judgment upon ourselves.
In choosing a wife, a husband, or any familiar and bosom friend,
the first consideration is to be had to the qualities of the heart;
for if those be vile, no intellectual excellence can give promise of
good.  A man or a woman, either bad-hearted or hetartless, however gifted with intellect, or furnished with accomplishments, is
not one that will brighten the chain of friendship, or smooth the
path of life.
The heart that gravitates the wrong way, draws the understanding along with it; blinding, perverting, and duping that




278                THE BRIEF REMIARKER
noble faculty; so that it judges of a thing, not according to what
it really is, but according to the feeling and inclination of its
treacherous adviser.  This makes it so difficult for one to determine right in one's own cause.
It is no less melancholy than true, that, in general, we take
infinitely less pains to improve our hearts, than to improve our
understandings.  Yet no point is clearer than that the improvement of the intellectual faculties can turn to no good account,
without a corresponding improvement of the moral faculties.
Again, in educating children, the least degree of pains is
usually taken with their hearts.  It is not their zorcal education
that is so much attended to; the body and the mind are too
generally made the chief subjects of tuition, and not the heart,
the temper, the moral frame.  The vast superiority of the Christian morality over the best part of the morality of the wisest pagans, consists very materially in this, that the former embraces
the views, motives and feelings of the heart, whereas the latter
regards the outward act only.  Socrates taught some things excellent in themselves, but his system reached only the surface of
morality.  It was for the Divine Teacher, alone, to inculcate
moral duties upon true principles, by prescribing the cleansing
of the fountain, as not only the best and the shortest, but as the
only way to purify the streams.
A word on sensibility.  No quality, especially in female character, is so much praised, admired, and loved; and for that reason, no quality is so often counterfeited.  And what is it?
Not the susceptible temperament, which feels only for self or
for one's own.-Not that sickly sensibility, which so enervates
the mind, that it yields to even the lightest wind of adversity.




ON THE  WAYS OF MAAN.                    279
— Not that mock-sensibility, which weeps over a fictitious tale of
woe, but has no sympathy for the real woes of life.  No.  These,
and various others that might be named, are of the spurious
brood.  Genuine sensibility-that sensibility which is indeed so
estimable and lovely —is a moral quality; of which it would be
difficult to find a better definition, than is given in the following
admirable lines of the poet, Gray.
"Teach me to love and to forgive;
Exact my own defects to scan;
What others are to feel; and know myself a mall."
Extraordinary sensibility, under the guidance of sound discretion. is the source of noble virtues; but if discretion is want
ing, it may be the source of lamentable errors and faults.  We
are rational, as well as sentient beings, and our sensibilities, however genuine and generous, will lead us astray, if they are at variance with the sober dictates of the understanding.




280               THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LXVI.
OF ~MORAL EDUCATION*
FEW subjects have employed a greater number of tongues and
pens than that of education, and yet few subjects are so generally
misunderstood.  MIost admit the importance of education, and
are forward to laud it, though, perhaps, scarcely one in twenty
is sensible of the full meaning of the term.
Education, in the common or popular acceptation, is made to
mean imere learning.  So that, when people talk of education,
they generally understand by it little or nothing else than teaching children reading, writing, orthography, gralmmar, arithmetic,
and so on' and when they have got these, and whatever else of
learning is taught in the schools, they are accounted vwell educated, and it is thought to be altogether their own fault if they
fail to act well their part upon the stage of life.  Often it is
said that such and such youths have an excellent education,
when nothing farther is intended by it than that they have been
accurately taught in the rudiments of what is called learning.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    281
But that learning is not the whole of education, or even the
most essential part of it, is a truth evinced by the divine testimony concerning Abraham, which here follows:  " I know him,
that he will command his children and his household after him
to do justice and judgment."
Abraham, one of the greatest and best of the race of Adam,
was, perhaps, of all men the most careful to train up his children
in the way they should go; and his unequalled care in that
respect, was the means of entailing distinguishing blessings upon
his posterity.  Yet, till several ages and centuries after Abrahamm's day, nothing that we call learning, had existence in the
world.  There were no writers or readers: not even the letters
of the alphabet were known by anybody li-ving.
AiThat has been said above, is by no means meant to depreciate learning, which is to be regarded as one of the choicest of
human blessings; far more to be valued than treasures of gold
and silver.  Indeed, we can hardly be sufficiently thankful that
we live in an age, so far exceeding all former times in the facility of the means of imparting learning to the rising generation,
and for zealous co-operations to diffuse it among all classes of
society. A happy prospect will this open, provided the means
be directed to the right end.  Otherwise, giving children learning makes them wise but to do evil; for the increase of faculty
effected by learning, will be turned to good or ill, to benefit
or mischief, according to the direction it receives in the early
years of life.
Now, as learning only supplies ability, the great thing is to
turn that ability to good account; to prevent its running into
mischief, and to incline it toward things that are excellent.




282                THE BRIEF REMARKER,
For what though one had all the learning of the schools?  So
imuch the worse would it be for himself and for society, if his
inclination led him to make a vile use of it.  Though a man have
all knowledge, if he have not sound moral principle with it, he
is the more dangerous and pestilent in proportion to his superior
advantages and faculties.
Every day's experience gives proof of this.  The fraternity
of forgers; swindlers, and cheats, so numerous and formidable
at the present instant, consists, for the most part, of men of
good education, as far as mere learning is regarded.  Of that
they have more than an equal share.  But their early moral
education having been neglected, their learning is a curse to
themselves and to all about them.  WTho would not choose that
his son should rather never learn to write, than be tempted
anid led by means of his adroitness in penmanship, to the commission of felonious deeds, that would fix him  in "durance
vile" for years or for life? And who can reasonably expect that
the learning given his children, will not be abused to their
own shame, and to the shame of their kindred, unless he takes
at least as much pains to shape aright their moral frame, as in
their intellectual training 
MIoral education, without which there is nothing of literature
or of science that is not liable to be perverted to the worst purposes, is to be begun from the cradle.  The first step is to teach
the infantile subject implicit obedience to parental authority;
and then to rule with such moderation and sweetness, that it
shali entirely trust and love the hand that guides it.  In this
way; the good impressions made upon the young mind are likely
to be indelible, and there is ground to hope that the moral and




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    283
religious instructions you instil, will sink deep in the heart.
Nor is it precept alone that will suffice.  Though "' precept upon
precept " be given children, and their memories be stored with
moral and religious lore of the purest kind, it will be of little
avail, except a corresponding example be daily presented before
their eyes.
" It is well known to the students in ornithology, that the
younglings of singing birds listen to the old ones, and carefully
learn their notes." And this propensity to imitation is no less
obvious in children.  Like those little birds, they are prone to
mimiic whatever is done or said in their presence, and especially
the ways and manners of their parents and instructors.  So that
the example set before them by those who have the care of their
education, together with that of their young companions, has, of
all human means, perhaps, the greatest influence in forming and
fixing their characters for life.
In closing this subject, I will venture to throw out a few hints
on a particular, to which has been paid far less attention than it
obviously deserves.
The education of our youth should be adapted to the nature
of our government.  A free people, whose rulers by election
proceed from  themselves, have virtues to maintain as well as
rights to defend  and unless they pay assiduous attention to the
former, they must inevitably lose the  latter: the only sure
foundation of their liberty being an enlightened morality pervading the general mass.  Nor is this all.  In educating the
rising generation, which will soon succeed to the present busy
occupants of the stage, besides teaching them useful learning in
such measures as their various conditions and occupations may




284                TIHE BRIEF REMARKER
require, and besides the careful inculcation of religion and
morality, which is the elixir of life to a community; there
should be woven into their principles and habits, the republican
virtues of industry, economy, and frugality, together with pjrtacticcllgatriotisnm; the patriotism, which consists in the assiduous
discharge of all the social duties; which venerates our republican institutions, and makes the public good its paramount
object;-a patriotism which the female part of the community
are capable of cherishing and promoting in a superlative degree
by their united influences and examples.
Though human nature is radically the same every where, the
varying modes and customs of different nations give it a diversified appearance: pomp and grandeur are the natural appendages
of monarchy, while simplicity or plainness is a natural characteristic of a free republic, whicl ever assimilates to monarchy in
proportion as it apes its manners, and arrays itself in its trappings. It is, therefore; of no small importance that our customs,
manners, and habits, be congruous with the genius of our political institutions, or that there be a distinct  uationalzess in the
American character; and this can be effected only by a general
system of education, possessing, in certain respects, repulblicna,
ypculiarlities.
Such was the manner of Athens and Sparta; whose youth,
however, in one most important respect, were incomparably less
privileged than ours, who, not left to nature's light alone, have
an unerring guide in the Sltar of Bethlehez —who are blest with
a system of religion and morals, which, wrought into the hearts
and practice of the general community, would contribute, more
than all other means, to exalt its condition and secure its freedom.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                 2855
It may be laid down as a maxim, which should be engraven
in the minds both of the rulers and the people, that the strongest bulwark of liberty is mgoral force, consisting in the united
influences of knowledge and virtue.




286                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LXVII.
OF THE POWER OF THE IMAGINATION OVEP, YOUNG MIINDS-INSTANCED
IN GEORGE HIOPEWELL.
"The man that once did sell the lion's skin
While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him."
SIIAKES E ARE.
IN the season of youth especially, the imagination often runs
away with the judgment.  A young man gifted with a warm i;nagination, but whose judgment is immature for want of experience, views things through a deceptious perspective.   His
throbbing head teems with flattering visions.  Every thing that
qnay turn to his own favor hlie takes for granted, and every untoward incident, on the contrary, that may chance to thwart and
disappoint him, he leaves out of his calculations.  A bold adventurer in the lottery of life, he feels quite sure of drawing a prize;
and his too great confidence is the very means of turning him up
a blank. For as, on the one hand, it prevents that care and circumspection in business which is necessary to success; so, on the




ON THE  VAYS OF MAN.                   287
other hand, it leads him to square his expenses, not to his real
circumstances, but to his visionary prospects.
George Hopewell,'a goodly youth, took in a decent cargo of
ideas for the voyage of life, but forgot to take with him a single
idea of meeting with adverse winds and with misadventures. He
was neither a simpleton nor an ignoramus. An honest heart had
he, and a brain rather fertile than barren.  Hle was weak in one
particular only:-he was inclined to believe every thing that he
found written in, the chronzicles of the inzaginatiozn.  In short,
none was more skilful in building aerial castles; an art which,
though it always gives pleasure to the artist, very seldom  brings
him any profit.
Thus equipped with mental stores, and furnished also with
some cash, Hopewell begins business.  He begins on a large
scale, and naturally enough; for who, with a warm and pregnant
imagination, could bear to be occupied with small things?  His
great stock in trade, the most of which, by far, he had taken on
credit, he now views with rapture.'-'All this is worth -, and its
profits from the first turn will increase to the sum of —.  Well,
I can turu it seven times in seven years, and shall then be worth
full thirty thousand dollars clear to myself."  Hopewell, so rich
in prospective funds, feels as if he had this wealth all in hand,
and comes quite up to the reasonable expenses of a nian already
worth thirty thousand dollars.
A worm may penetrate and sink a ship as effectually as the
ball of a cannon.  Hopewell met with no uncommon gust of adversity.  Nothing did he lose by fire or water, and not much by
bad debts; yet his circumstances grew more and more narrow
year by year, till, in less than seven years, he became insolvent to




288                THE BRIEF REMARKER
a considerable amount. All this was owing, or principally owing
to one single circumstance,-living upon prospects, his outgoes
constantly exceeded his incomes.  If, instead of being led away
by the sorceress Iagcqinzatio?,l he had all along conformed his
management and the expenses of his living to his real circumstances, he might have had, if not wealth, at least competence.  Many
a promising and fine young man has been upset, by carrying more
sail than his bark and his ballast could bear.
And here permit me to offer a serious caution against running
rashly and deeply in debt, —  ruinous imprudence, to which all
the numerous, and in some respects respectable, family of the
IiioPew7ells, are exceedingly prone.
It is no new remark, and yet not the worse for wear, that
multitudes are undone as to their worldly affairs, by viewing
things at a distance.
It is thus the inconsiderate and sanguine deceive themselves,
when they contract heavy debts.  Viewing the thing at a distance-at a distance of tinme —they view it in a false mirror.
In the days of our youth, and as to many of us even up to the
days of our old age, we are apt to feel as if we should be abundantly able to pay a debt six months or a twelvemonth hence.
Imagination furnishes us with ways and means in abundance in
aftertimes, though we have none for the present.  Only give us
a long pay-day, and we can do this, or we can do that,  But the
wheel of time presently brings round the six months, or the twelvemonth, or the yet longer period.  It vanishes like a dream: and
the debtor, failing in his calculations, if he calculated at all, is
quite as unable to pay as he was at the instant the contract was




ON THE WAYS OF BMAN.                   289
made.  He is now in the hands of his creditor, who can spare
him or ruin him, as he pleases.
Running in debt is a serious business, which, if proper caution be wanting, jeopards not only property, but character also.
Of those who have been adventurous and rash in this respect,
how  many have been utterly ruined in estate?  How many
lave forfeited the character for truth and integrity. to which
they were once fairly entitled? How many, prompted by the
violent temptations arising out of their embarrassed circumstances, have acted in a manner astonishing to all who knew them in
their better days?
Credit, so invaluable to all who are in any reputable kind of
business, and especially to those who have little else to depend
upon, is of a delicate and frail nature: it must be used with
moderation, or it languishes and dies.  A man disposed at all
times to extend his credit as far as he possibly can, or to take up
all the credit he can get, has many chances to one of being a
bankrupt in credit as well as in circumstances.
A word to spirited young men; —a word that will apply fully
as well to a great many who are znot young.
If credit, long credit be offered you-pause awhile ere you
swallow the bait.  Consider the thing on all sides, and in all its
bearings-its znischa2lces as well as its chances.-Credit, long
credit, with interest.   With interest!': There's the rub."
This sanme interest is a devourer: it eats like a canker.
13




290                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LXVIII.
OF THE FOUL NATURE AND DIREFUL EFFECTS OF CUSTOMARY GAMING~
THE Play at Cards, which at the first was used for mere amuseInent, no sooner was adopted by avarice than it turned to be
gainingi;- and through this transmutation of its nature as well
as name, it has proved one of the greatest scourges of the community, every where, in all the four quarters of the world.
Avarice is a mother-sin, of whose numerous brood Gami2zg
is the most haggard and wretched; for however abundant be its
prey, it never thrives.  It devours innumerable fatlings, and yet
remains ever lean itself.  There is a curse upon its basket and
store; a curse that blights its gains, and turns its enjoyments to
wormwood and gall.  Neither is this to be wondered at, when
we consider the objects of gaining; the principles of the art;
and the certain and necessary consequences of the practice or
habit.
The main object of the gamester, is to acquire wealth by
plunder, without regard to the age, or sex, or circumstances of




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      2991
any who fall into his toils.  For it malkes no difference whetber
the victim be a stranger or a familiar acqruaintance, a man of age
and experience or a stripling, an alien from his blood or his own
mother's son.
Gamesters by profession, are a migratory tribe, as strongly
marked with peculiarities as the gypsies.  They have a jargon
that is all their own; a jargon which, interlarded with oaths and
blasphemies, is in common use at their board.  Also, they have
a kind of police belonging exclusively to themselves.  Other
men forml themselves into distinct bodies, for valuable and noble
purposes; some for the improvement of the individual members;
some for the furtherance of the arts and sciences; and some for
the promotion of the holy cause of religion and morality, and
particularly of charity: and all these have by-laws and regulations correspondilng  to the worthiness of the ends in view.
So, also, gamesters have a code of laws-the  laws  of the
table-perfectly corresponding, in the main, to the base ends
they aim at.   But it may be said, and indeed it has been said
that the lasws of the galing room prohibit foul. pacy, under the
penalty of expulsion; that a considerable portion of gamesters
are mn-en of rank. and of a delicate sense of honor -men who
would sooner lose their heart's blood than trespass upon the rules
of the game.  Be it so.  Thle question then arises,'YT/,cat is foul
play?  Its meaning, I believe, is pretty much confined to direct
fraud, or downright cheating in the management of the cards.
This touchles the lIonor, and the zmo)lal  sezse, forsooth, of gamesters so that the delinquent, if his fraud be manifest, falls under
the general reprobation, and is no longer considered fit for the
company of gentlemen.  On the other hand, what is faiir1 plty?




292                THE RRIEF REMIARKE R
Assuredly it has a marvellous latitude of meaning.  For according to the casuistry of even the most upright and honorable gamesters, " Every advantage may be legitimately taken of the young,
the unwary, and the inebriated, which superior coolness, skill,
address, and activity can supply."  Yes, the gamester may inveigle the unwary youth to the table, and artfully lead him on,
step by step, till he has stripped him of his whole patrimony;
or he may secretly help to intoxicate a fellow player, and, taking
advantage of his inebriation, instantly plunge him into a condition
of wretchedness and ruin-be may do all this, and much more,
and yet be considered as a fair gamester, a gentleman of honor!
The dreadful consequences of gaming are too numerous to
be told in a short essay, and some of them are too obvious to need
it.  I touch not upon the most awful part of the subject-the
hopeless death of the unrepenting gamester, and the peculiar
terribleness of his audit.  Nor will the narrow  limits I have
prescribed to myself, permit me to detail the deplorable consequences that this practice brings after it upon society at large.
I will only mention, therefore, some instances of the harm which
gamesters inevitably bring upon themselves in the present life:
meaning this for the special benefit of those, who are but on the
threshold of the practice.
" Every amiable propensity in the heart of man, every endearing
tie, every sacred pledge, every honorable feeling, are set aside
and forgotten when gaming takes possession of the human mind."
This is not said at random; it is the voice of truth and experience, and has been exemplified in innumerable instances.  And
yet the danger is neither seen nor apprehended by the young
beginner.  Many a youth of fair promlise enters upon the career




N' THE WAYS OF MAN.                    293
of gaming more out of thoughtlessness than viciousness.  Not
aware of the fraud with which the system  is implicated, nor of
thle train of bad propensities that necessarily enter into the conmposition of a gamester, he steps into the fatal path without intention of pursuing it far, and without fear of being lost in its
labyrinths.  But presently the leprosy seizes him, and the plague
of it overspreads his whole mind and heart.  His love of gaming
increases alike, whether he gains or loses.  It fixes; and as it
were fascinates his whole attention; so that every thing else is neglected.  The company he keeps, the language lie hears, the
scenes of depredation he daily witnesses, poison within him  the
source of moral feeling.  The jealousy, the rage, the revenge, incidental to the employ in which he is engaged, generate a ferocity of temper. He is lost to all that is good, and prepared for
every evil.  He who, by habits of industry, might have been of
competent wealth; he who might have been the source of joy
and felicity to an amiable wife, and the father of children that
would have blessed his memory  he who might have been an
ornament to society, and an honor to the falmily of man, is
at last a vagabond-as destitute of property as of principle-the
grief and shame of his kindred —despised of the world, and a
burden to himself.




294                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LXIX.
OF TinE ALMOST INSUPERABLE POWER OF HABIT.
Tnu Brazilians had been so long' and so generally inured to the
abominable practice of eating human flesh, that the Christian
missionaries found it less difficult to reform them of any other of
their evil practices than of this.  The chief joy of these savages
was in their cannibal feasts; the women and the children, as well
as the men, partaking of them with delight; insomuch that nothing was harder of cure than this unnatural appetite.
IMr. Southey, in his history of Brazil, relates a story of the
following tenor.  No very long time after the Portuguese had
obtained possession of Brazil, a Jesuit undertook to Christianize
a Brazilian woman of great aage. He catechized her, he instructed her, as he conceived, in the nature of Christianity.  Finding
her at the point of death, he began to inquire whether there was
any kind of food which she could take. —' Grandam,"  said he
(that being the word of courtesy by which it was usual to address
old women), " if I were to get you a little sugar now, or a mouth



ON.r THE WAYS oF' 1BIAN.                295
ful of some of our nice things which we get from beyond the sea,
do you think you could eat it? "-" Ah, my grandson," replied the
old woman, "my stomach goes against every thing.  There is
but one thing which I think I could touch.  If I had the little
/zand of a little tapuct boy, I thinkz Icouzl picko the little bones;
-but woe is ze, there is no one to g'o out azcl shoot onze.fbo  Ize  me
As this extraordinary morsel of history corroborates an observation not unfrequently made, that with some of the pagans, among
whom Christian missionaries have labored, cannibalism had been
found the most incurable of any of their vices; at the same time,
it strikingly exemplifies generally the almost incurable nature
of inveterate, vicious habits.  It is a counterpart to that portion
of inspiration, which represents it as extremely difficult, and next
to impossible, for one that is accustomed to do evil to learn to do
well.
It is a proverbial saying, that habit is second nature; meaning.
I conceive, that whatever of taste, appetite, inclination, or affection, we acquire by habit, becomes as natural to us as if it were.
born with us.  This is a thing obvious to general experience and
observation.  But there is one other thing near akin to it, which
though not quite so obvious, is perhaps equally true.  It is this:
the second nature, that has grown out of evil habits, cleaves to
us, in some degree, as long as we live, and that, notwithstanding
principles of real piety at heart.
It is freely admitted that the grandalm, whose strange story
has just been rehearsed, was merely a nominal Christian, and but
very imperfectly instructed in even the doctrinal knowledge of
our holy religion.  But suppose the reverse of this; suppose
she had become a Christian indeed.  What then?  No doubt she




296                THE BRIEF REMARKER
would have abhorred the idea of shooting a tapua boy, that she
might pick the little bones of his little hand.  No doubt she would
have abhorred cannibalism as a monstrous crime.  But it is not
quite so certain that her cappetift would at all times have been
entirely free from hankerings after the unnatural food to which
she had been so long accustomed, and which, of all things, was
the most delicious to her taste.
The truth is. any one who contracts bad habits, admits into
his garrison inveterate and restless foes, wholm he can never entirely expel.  Sometimes he may seem to get a complete mastery of them, when, of a sudden, they muster anew their rebellious forces, and quite overpower him.  Or even though, by the
force of moral and religious principle, along with ever-wakeful
vigilance, he keep under these foes, yet they give him  incessant
alarm, inquietude and vexation.  They are the torment of his
life, and embitter his last moments.  In many a virtuous bosom
there is a hard struggle between principle and propensity; between
a deep sense of duty, morality, and religion, and the violence of
appetites and passions that had been nourished by habit till they
were grown up to gigantic strength.  A  struggle, in which
though virtue gain the victory, it is gained at the expense of pains
which are neither few nor small-of pains comparable to those
occasioned by cutting off a hand, or plucking out an eye.  So true
is it that vicious habits nare either our ruin and destruction, or, at
tile best, will be a plague to us, however much we may wish and
strive to uproot them utterly froml our minds and hearts.
It was with reference to the almost invincible force of habit,
that the wise man penned the aphorisms so worthy to be put in
letters of gold, and hung up in the mansion of every rising family:




ON THE WAYS OF IMAN.                   297
-"Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is
old he will not depart from it."  Upon the same principle of the
power of habit, if, reversing the aphorism, you train up your
child in the way he should not go; if you countenance his faults;
if you encourage rather than check his vice; there are many
chances to one, that shame and ruin will be his portion. B13ut
though this is clearly the voice of truth and experience, yet many
infatuated parents lull themselves in the expectation that the
faults of their children will be cured by time: a notion no less
fatal than it is false.  Indeed, time may; perchance, correct the
errors of inexperience, or the mere follies of childhood and immature youth; but not immoralities-not real viciousness of
disposition and action-not falsehood, fraud, profaneness, profligacy, or any real vice that can be named.  Diseases of the mind,
like those of the body, usually become the more inveterate by
time. Time ripens the inceptive evil into habit; and time again
strengthens and confirms the incipient habit.  Every day adds
somewhat to its strength: every new indulgence gives it a firmer
root; and it incorporates itself at last with the very fibres of
the heart.
See the knurly oak, which no arm of flesh can bend; which
nothing but the bolt of heaven can rive:-this same oak was once
a pliant twig.
Guard, then, with utmost care-let parents guard their children, and let all those of the young, who have come to years of
discretion, gua1lr themselves-against the inceptive ingress of
any and every vicious habit: for —
"-'-When the fox has once got in his nose,
I-e soon finds means to make his body enter."
1?-%'




298                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LXX.
OF THlE WORLDe
Two English poets, of eminent but very unequal genius, are
diametrically in opposition to one another in their descriptions of
the same great object-The WTlorald.  The following lines of Milton, give only the bright side of the picture.
" Wherefore did nature pour her bounties forth
With such a full and unwithdrawing hand;
Covering the earth with odors, fruits, and flocks,
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable,
But all to please and sate the curious taste,
And give unbounded pleasure unto man. "
On the contrary, the disappointed Dr. Young, contemplating
the world through the spleen and gloom of his own humor, describes it as an abode altogether dismlal.
"A part, how small, of this terraqueous globe
Is tenanted by man! The rest a waste,
Rocks, deserts, frozen seas, and burning sands,
Wild haunts of monsters, poisons, stings and death!
Such is earth's melancholy map! "




ON THE WAYS OF IANT.                  299
A melancholy nmap, indeed; but, thank God, not the true
one.
There are some who seem to make it a point of conscience to
speak disparagingly of the world they live in, as if they thought
it was honoring the Maker to despise his workmanship.  True
enough, it is an evil world; and why?  It is not so of itself, but
by reason of the evilness of the race of moral beings that inhabit
it.  It is the moral, rather than the natural nap of the world,
that is unamiable and hideous.
The original frame of the world was good: a commodious,
beautiful and superb mansion, altogether fit for the abode of an order of sinless creatures, compounded of the rational and the
animal natures.  And notwithstanding the frightful change it
underwent by means of the apostacy, it is still in itself a good
world; that is to say, it is a building well adapted to the condition of the guilty tenants —' prisoners of hope"-who are destined to pass a short residence in it.  What though the " thorn
and the thistle,"' the noxious weed and the prickly brier, grow up
spontaneously, whilst plants and trees that are good for food,
must be cultivated with great care and toil?  And what though
man is impelled to eat his bread in the sweat of his face, and to
be daily mustering up the resources of his mind and body in order to reduce stubborn matter to his use and convenience?  All
this is entirely befitting his present condition,-to wit, the depravation of his affections, appetites and passions, and his state
of trial: it precludes the possibility of general idleness, which
would render him more vicious by many degrees than he is now.
What though crosses and disappointments, sickness and sorrow,
are common to the lot of man, and there is such an emptiness or de



300                THE BRIEF REMARKER
ficiency in even the best of his enjoynents, that not a single individual of the whole race is in all respects happy? These very
evils are preventives of moral evil.  Through the divine influence, in a thousand instances they curb our passions, humanize
our dispositions, and bring our minds to a right state of recollection, and to new and better purposes of action,  And finally,
what though, while worldly enjoyments are ever mixed with alloy
and are ever unsatisfactory, life itself is frail and fleeting?
What though death is daily mowing down his thousands and tells
of thousands without distinction of age or degree? Awful as is
this law of mortality, and clearly evincive as it is of original
transgression, it is a dispensation of which there is a moral necessity. If men were in this world immortal, or held their lives
upon a secure lease for hundreds of years, in all probability a great
proportion of them would extend their transgressions far beyond
the present bounds of human depravity.  The consciousness of
the shortness and brittleness of life, bridles in avarice and ambition.  The fear of death is a strong curb upon appetite and
passion.  Death breaks in pieces gigantic schemes of oppression,
delivers the world from unfeeling oppressors, scatters abroad the
unrighteous hoards of avaricious worldlings, and is the great humbler of upstart pride and arrogance.
It is, I repeat, the moral condition and conduct of the tenant,
that mars the beauty and poisons the comforts of the tenement.
The promised " new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness," would
be no unhappy world, even with the physical form and properties
of the one we inhabit.
Were the heavens above as black as sackcloth, or glaring
with light of a frightful hue, and were the earth beneath us pre



ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      301
senting to our senses nothing but objects of disgust and horror;
then, indeed, the world would correspond with the rueful descriptions which querulous genius has given of it.  Then, indeed, the following lines of poetry would possess no less truth
than beauty.
"For ah! what is there of inferior birth,
That breathes, or creeps upon the dust of earth,
What wretched creature, of what wretched kind,
Than man more weak, calamitous and blind? "
But the truth is, though fallen man is weak, and blind, and
sinful, yet his earthly condition, so far from being catlcmzitozcs beyond that of all other creatures, is attended with a great many
circumstances of comfort and delight.
The earth, even in its present state, is filled with the goodness of the beneficent Creator; and c111az is the object of his especial care and bounty.  Is it nothing that, above and around
us, light and colors, with their corresponding shades, are infinitely diversified, to soothe and gratify the eye?  That we are furnished with such sweet and melodious sounds to charm the ear?
That the earth affords such a variety to delight the palate?
That it is decked with the enamel of innumerable flowers of varied
colors and delicious fragrance?  That by a nice admixture of its
different elements, the atmosphere is so exactly fitted for respiration?  That the silk-worm  spins to adorn, the sheep bears a
fleece to warm, and the ground itself yields the rudiments of fine
linen to array our frail bodies?  That, in all parts of the world,
there is furnished a supply of medicaments for the particular
diseases of the climates? That fire, air, and water, along with




302                THE BRIEF nRETIAnIKE
a great variety of minerals, are made, in so many ways, to iminister to the convenience and adornment, as well as to the subsistence of our race?  Is all this aggregate of earthly benefits and
blessings to be accounted as nothing?.Shall man, loaded as he
is with so nmany unmerited temporal blessings, complain and fret
because they are mixed with natural evil? Especially shall he
do it, when a full moiety of the calamities he suffers, are brought
upon him, not by the direct hand of Providence, but by his own
follies and crimes?
To love the world more than Him who made it, and life more
than Him who gave it, is that worldly mindedness which is base
and criminal.  But a moderate or subordinate love of the world,
of life, and of all its innocent enjoymelts, along with lively
gratitude to their donor, is what becomes our rational and moral
nature.  Whereas, on the other hand, to think or speak contemptuously of the common gifts of Providence,  betokens as little of
humility as of thankfulness.




ON THE WAYS 01F' IAN.                    303
NUtMIBER LXXIo
OF THE INQUISITIVENESS OF CIHILDEIEN.
ONE of the distinctive qualities of our nature is the principle of
curiosity; whereby we are distinguishable even more clearly than
by the principle of reason from the brute animals, of which several kinds seem possessed of some small degree of rational faculty,
but very seldom, or never, manifest an inquisitive curiosity after
any kind of information.  Whereas, in our own species, the disposition to pry into the Jl-iow, and the Wlhy; is sometimes seen
from the very cradle, and is always to be regarded as an auspicious
token; it being, in fact, the germin of all future improvementthe genuine bud of intellectual fruit.  Nor scarculy is it conceivable, how great advantage might be taken of such a toward disposition, were it under the constant management of superior skill
united with patient industry.  But in the nurture and training
up of children, this important particular is, for the most part,
overlooked, and their early curiosity either damped or misdirected. And, in this way, many are made dullards or frivolous, who
might ave been shaped to intellectual excellence.




304                THE BRIEF REMIAiKER
( Curiosity in children," observes the admirable Locke. " is
but an appetite after knowledge, and therefore ought to be encouraged in them, not only as a good sign, but as the great instrument nature has provided to remove that ignorance they are born
with; and which, without this busy inquisitiveness, will make
them dull and useless creatures."
The passage here quoted, is a text, which might furnish matter enough for a long practical discourse on education.  But my
design is only to throw out hints, to be improved and enlarged
upon by the intelligent reader.
Were we ourselves cast upon a strange country, where every
thing was unknown to us, and were we destined to spend our lives
there, our only way of acquiring the knowledge of it, would be by
questioning the experienced inhabitants.  Accordingly, if not
downright dolts, we should feel disposed to ask them a multitude
of questions, of which the most part would seem frivolous, imrpertinent, and even ridiculous, to those who knew the country well.
Now should they all, with one accord, refuse to answer our questions, or turn us off with false or improper answers, or laugh us
to scorn for our ignorance and impertinence, and even proceed
to chide us, with contumelious expressions, for the interruption
and trouble given them by our inquisitiveness; such treatment
would naturally damp and discourage us, and involve us at last
in the hopeless condition of contented ignorance.
But should we find there only a few to heed our inquiries; to
give patient and correct answers to our questions; to encourage our
curiosity by the gentleness of their manners and the readiness of
their replies; how deeply should we feel ourselves indebted to




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                       305
those precious few, and how happily facilitated would be our progress!
And such as this, but yet more eminently so, is the condition of little children. Not merely are they strangers in a strange
land; they are come into a world, where to them every thing is
new and strange;  a world, of which, and of all therein, they are
utterly ignorant.  And how do these newly-born citizens of the
world act?  W hy, just as persons come to years would act under thle like circumstances.  God hath given them an appetite for
knowlecge, and they seek after it with ardency.  TWhiat is this?
IWhat is theat  adcle for?  flow is it done, acz(l wvhy is it so?
These, and scores of similar questions are asked in early
childhood; and though they would be impertinent and ridiculous
if coming from the lips of adult age, ycet from  the mouths of
these little prattlers they are strictly proper.  To theni the information they inquire after is material, though their questions
may seem trifling in the eyes of those to whom  the things were
long since known.
A great deal might be made out of the inquisitiveness or
curiosity so natural to children. If rig-htly managed, it would be
the mainspring to intellectual improvement.  Were their inquiries
properly encouraged, it would lead them to thinlk for themselves;
it would put them upon the exercise of their reason, as well as of
their memory; and would settle in them  the habit of inquiry.
At the same time, whenever there was observable in them a forward pertness, or any real impertinene'e, it might easily be checked,
without dampening their curiosity, by parents or teachers possessing any considerable degree of prudence and skill.
But all this requires a considerable degree of toil.  It is by




306                THE BRIEF' REM.IAlKER
much the easier way, barely to give the child a lesson to learn
by heart, and whip him if his memory fail, than to aid in enlightening and enlarging the infantile faculties of his understanding.
And so, we generally take this easier way.  We stop their little
mouths, when they presume to interrupt, orpuzzle us, with their
questions, and instead of encouraging them to start subjects of
themselves, we confine them  to our own prescriptions.  We
pinion the young mind, and then bid it soar.
Some parents, observing carefully the old proverb, to " nip
in the bud," indignantly rebuke the inquisitiveness of their chilclren, as insufferable impertinence.  And sure enough, such children are effectually nilzt ivn the budl; for it is ten to one that they
Awill never become men and women of inquiring minds.  Others,
aoain, turn off the questions of their children with false answers,
and thereby directly lead them to the practice of lying.  I have
seen fathers so stately and stern, that their children scarcely durst
speak to them, and much less familiarly question them.  And I
have seen schoolmasters, who would requite the familiar questions
of a little pupil with a frightening frown, if not with a hard
blow.




ON THE WAYS OF MArN.                  307
NUMBER LXXII.
OF TI-IE INFLUENCE OF E ARLY IMrPRESSIONS UPON ALL THE FOLLOWING
PERIODS OF LIFE.
Mn. Locke, in his invaluable treatise concerning Education, relates the story which here follows.
"' There was in a town in the West, a man of disturbed brain,
whom the boys used to teaze, when he came in their way.  This
fellow, one day seeing in the streets one of those lads that used
to vex him, stepped into a cutler's shop he was near, and there
seizing on a naked sword, made after the boy, who, seeing him
coming so armed, betook himself to his feet, and ran for his life,
and, by good luck, had strength and heels enough to reach his
father's house before the madman could get up to him.  The
door was only latched; and when he had the latch in his hand,
he turned about his head to see how near his pursuer was, who
was in the entrance of the porch, with his sword up, ready to
strike, and he had just time to get in and clap to the door, to
avoid the blow, which, though his body escaped, his mind did not.
This frightening idea made so deep an impression there: that it
lasted many years, if not all his life after; for, telling this story




308                  THE BRIEF REMARKER
when he was a man, he said, that after that time till thenI he
never went in at that door (that he could remember) at any time,
without looking back, whatever business he had in his head, or
how little soever, before lihe came thither, he thought of this nmadin an. "
This instance,  though a most extraordinary one, is rather so
in degree than in kind; for thousands have been haunted, all
their lifetime, with frightening ideas received in childhood.
I will venture to lay it down as a position at least probable,
that the children of Adaim's race are born into the world very
much alike, excepting the rare instances of idiotism.   Their
faculties and inclinations are nearly the same, and the differences
which appear in after-times, are owing, in a great measure, to the
instruction they receive, the company they keep, and the manner
in which they are managed.   This assumption is, I humbly conceive, fully defensible on the broad ground of reason and experience, and too obvious to escape general observation.   But it is
far less obvious, though equally true, that early imlip'essionl s con.
tribute very mnaterially to make the difference in human characters
-relative to their tastes, their dispositions: and thie bent of their
faculties.
WThilst the infant is yet cradled  in the mother's arms, long
ere it can articulate words, it is beginning to receive impressions,
which will influence, more or less, the future periods of life.
And though we know not in what precise degrees such early impressions operate; how far their opposites render somne irascible,
revengeful, or sullen, and others mild, well-tempered, and social;
how far they contribute to the firmness of the future character on
the one hand, and to a cowardly timidity on the other; yet it is




ON THE WAYS OF  ABN.                     309
beyonid all reasonable doubt, that their influence is great and
durable.  The Arabs of the Great Desert, have all a sameness
of character among themselves, together with striking points of
difference firom every other class of mankind; and their character
has been all along the same, from  the time of the patriarch
Jacob to the present day.  Nor is it altogether unaccountable.
though truly wonderful.  For they have all, always, been used
to the same scenery, and derived their earliest, as well as their
later impressions fromn the same objects and sources.   Now,
were it possible to reverse the conditions of two newly born
infants-the  one an Aralb, and the other of good Christian
parentage-by placing each in the family of the other; it is full
likely that the latter, when come to years, would be altogether
an Ishmaelite in feeling and manners, and the former considerably assimilated to the family that adopted him.   Nay, there
will be no great hazard in saying fartller —It is full likely that
this assimilation would begin to be visible in each, antecedently
to any direct and positive education; that the one would take
the stamp of the fierce and furious-looking mother, while at her
breast; and that the other, at the same early period, would
begin to be oppositely rmoulded from  impressions occasioned by
the mildness and sweetness of maternal care.
A simple metrical verse learnt in infancy, is clearly remembered for scores of years.  And much more; early incidents
occasioning horror, terror, distressing shame, or violent indignation, leave such deep and distinct impressions upon the memory
as are seldom, or never, effaced entirely.   I am  told by a respectable, pious woman, advanced very far in age, that even now,
as all along heretofore, she seldom  shuts her eyes for sleep but




310                THEI  BRIEIF niLrLtMAJKETI
she is haunted with the horrible spectres, as it were, of the
savage Indians, who murdered her father and mother before her
face when she was a little child.  How great must have been the
whole amount of her sufferings fromn that circumstance, during the
long space of upwards of sixty years!
And neither few  nor small, throughout the whole course of
their lives, must have been their sufferings, whose infantile minds
had been accustomed to the firightening bugbears of superstition.
For even though, in riper years, their reason should convince
them never so clearly of the absurdity of such fears, yet, the
impress upon the imagination is indelible.   Times have been,
when stories of witchcraft, of spectres in the dark, and especially
about the sepulchres of the dead, were commonly reported and
fully believed; when a candle burning blue was the sign of a
spirit in the house; when the tallow rising up against the wick
of the candle, was styled a winding-sheet, and reckoned an omen
of death in the family; and when a coal in the shape of a coffin,
flying out of the fire toward any particular person, betokened
that the death of that person was near.-With what, labor and
pains did they weave for themselves, and for their children, the
web of misery    In those ages of gloomy superstition, which
even now are but recently past away, the real ills of life were far
exceeded by the imaginary ones.
But to return firom  this digression: children possessed of a
more than common susceptibility of shame, may be injured for
life by putting that distressful feeling to a too severe trial; and
others nmay be made shameless by shaming them  too often;
while a temper naturally stiff and unyielding, may be made re



ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    31I
vengeful, and desperately malignant, by impressions of injustice
and cruelty experienced in the season of childhood.
In families, and in schools, where almost the popish inquisition is practised upon the children; where they are compelled
to confess unproved and unprovable faults, and sometimes made,
by the torture of the whip or ferule, to confess faults of which
they are not guilty;-how  pernicious are the impressions left
upon their minds, which ever after will rankle in their memories!
And so again, when children, by bad managenent at first, are
made disgusted with their learning, seldom, and not without
great difficulty, call they be brought to love it heartily thereafter.




312                   THE BRIEF REMIARKER
NUMBE3R LXXTII.
OF CALAMITOUS REVERSES IN RESPECT TO WORLDLY CIRCUMSTANCES.
" Think how fi'ail
And fiill of danger is the life of man,
Now prosperous, now adverse; who feels no ills
ShoLld thereforo fear them; and when fortune smiles
Be doubly cautious, lest destruction come
Rcmorseless on him."SOPIIOCLES.
IN this free, commercial, speculating and money-loving country,
the wheel of fortune is turning up blanks and prizes alternately;
some families decaying and sinking, and others rising to wealth;
the griefs of the former greatly overbalancing the recal joys of
the latter.
One of the bitterest calamities of life, is the sudden fall from
affluence, or competence, to poverty.  Not that what wez  call
poverty, is so very distressing of itself.  In  some countries, it
implies a privation of the indispensable necessaries of life, or the
sufferance of hunger and nakedness: but he}re, few are so poor that,
with prudent care and assiduous industry, they may not provide




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    313
themselves with wholesome food and comfortable raiment.  Multitudes, in this country, of the poorest classes, are neither the
least contented, nor the least happy.  Unaccustomed to the
elegancies and luxuries of life, they feel no hankering after them 
and accustomed to earn their bread by their toil, they regard
labor as no hardship.  It procures them two very essential enjoyments-keen appetite and sound sleep; and with respect to
real and heartfelt jovialness, they very often have more than an
equal share.
That degree of poverty, which includes not in it the pinching
want of real necessaries wounds the mzi2zd alone: and it often
deeply wounds the minds of those who have fallen from easy and
plentiful circumstances.  To themn it is an evil indeed.  A comparison of the past with the present, renders the present irksome
to them, if not intolerable. The real or imaginary neglects they
experience in society, and from even their former familiars, plant,
as it were, thorns in their hearts.  Time wears away, however,
the pungency of first impressions.  There is (and the goodness
of the Creator is clearly manifested in it), as it were, a principle
of elasticity in the minds of human beings, which enables them
to recover themselves when crushed down by the shocks of adversity, and to accommodate, after a while, their feelings to their
circumstances with marvellous facility.  But far above and beyond this, the balm that Religion furnishes has the never-failing
virtue of removing the corrosions of the heart, occasioned by
worldly misfortunes.
No human prudence can always secure its subject from disastrous reverses in worldly circumstances. In times of old,
"there came a great wind from  the wilderness, and smote the
1 4




314                 THE BRIEF REMAIJKERt
four corners of the house," in which the sons and daughters of
the man of the East-as distinguished for benevolence and
charity as for wealth —" were eating, and drinking wine."  In a
single hour, his vast substance, and the natural heirs to it, were
all swept from him.   And recent experience teaches that, in
Amierica as well as in Asia, c g'rcat r iccindC may destroy in a single
hour, what many years of painful industry had accumulated.
The most flattering condition of worldly prosperity is sometimes
found to be like the smoothness of the surface of the waters, in
their approximation to a cataract.
But though it is not in the power of prudence to secure
earthly possessions in all cases, yet often, and for the most
part, they are lost by imprudence.  It ought to be held in general remembrance,   that nothing will supply the want of prudence; that negligence and irregularity, long continued." will
sink both fortune and character, and that if there be but little??or'da good in worldly prudence, there is a great deal of moral
evil in imprudence, or in such wastefulness and improvidence
as not only lead to want and wretchedness, but often to the
ruin or deep injury of creditors.
If we take a careful survey of American society, I believe
we shall find, that the greater part of the families who have experienced a distressing reverse in their circumstances,  owe it
to one or other of the three following causes: the inheritance
of wealth-the  greediness of wealth-or the affectation of
wealth.' Riches certainly mlake themselves wings; they fly away."
Now these wings, as of an eagle, that bear away riches from the
places of their wonted residence, it is worthy of particular no



ON THE T WAYS OF MIAN.                 315
tice, are such as naturally grow out of riches; they are wings
which riches  az/cae themselves;-they are idleness, wastefulness,.
improvidence, and prodigality; all of which a very large proportion of the children of wealth inherit, along with their
estates.
A great many fall into poverty, not for lack of industry, but
froml inordinate greediness of wealth.  Gs They make haste to be
rich."' Scorning the secure competence they already possess, or
which is fairly within their reach, they put it to risk upon the
precarious contingency of suddenly attaining the condition of opulence.  Impatient of slow gains, the fruits of regular industry,
they dash into hazardous enterprises.  If unsuccessful-and they
have more than an even chance to be so-they are presently
ruined: or if brilliant success attend their steps for awhile, so
that they heap up riches in sudden abundance; this run of good
luck expands their hopes and desires, and they plunge anew into
still deeper speculations. till, unexpectedly, the fallacious ground
on which they stand cleaves from  under them, and their fortunes are all swallowed up.
If the two great destroyers, which I have just mentioned,
have devoured their thousands, the one that is yet to be mentioned
has devoured its ten thousands.  The heritors of overgrown wealth
are but few: and though there are very many greedy and rash
adventurers, yet their numbers bear no proportion to the numbers
of those whlo are ruiing their circumstances by an absurd, and
a pitiful affectation of wealth.  This last is in economics, what
consumption is among bodily distempers, the most common and
fatal disease of all.  The affectation of wealth, or the vanity of
making a show beyond our condition, in apparel, in the elegan



316               THE BRIEF REMARKER
cies of the table, in furniture, and in every thing else that is
thought likely to attract attention and admiration, is the consuming Plzague that has already destroyed, and which is even
now destroying, the earthly substance and comforts of innumerable families who, but for this disease, might rank with the happiest of mankind.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    317
NUMBER LXXII.V.
OF THIE ATTENTION DUE BOTH TO MIND AND BODY.
"' To hold the Golden meanTo keep the end in view, and follow nature."
THE union of an eminent degree of moral, intellectual, and litirary endowments, with such bodily activity as is common among
the savage tribes, would form a singular but a very desirable
character.  The wild man of the woods can run as fast as the
four-footed animals with which he associates; and sometimes, it
is said, runs them  down, and seizes them  as his prey.   A
savage who depends upon his bow, has not the swiftness of the
wild man, yet he can walk, or amble along, seventy or eighty
miles a day, and thirty or forty miles upon a stretch. One cannot
help observing a peculiar dignity and gracefulness in the gait of
our American Indians, particularly in that of the chiefs of their
tribes.  They go forward with a firm step, their body kept in a
straight line, their head erect, and seem to move with as much ease
as a boat in a fair wind. Strength, agility, and hardiness of body,
together with courage, being with them the highest point of per



318                THE BRIEF RIEMARKEIR
fection, the whole course of their education has a bearing towards
this end.  They live in the open air, and exercise and repose
themselves alternately, and so as to give suppleness to their joints,
and ease and nimbleness to their motions.
Mr. Bartram, in his account of the Lower Creeks; a tribe of
Indians inhabiting East and West Florida, says: —' On one hand
you see among them troops of boys  some shooting with the
bow, some enjoying one kind of diversion, and some another: on
the other hand are seen bevies of girls, wandering through orange
groves, and over fields and meadows, gathering flowers and berries
in their baskets, or lolling under the shades of flowery trees, or
Ohasing one another in sport, and striving to paint each other's
faces with the juice of their berries."
These Creeks, I would venture to presume, resemble considerably the ancient Greeks, about the time they instituted their
celebrated games, consisting of running, wrestling, boxing, &c.;
which are often alluded to in the writings of St. Paul.  In the
Heroic, or rather in the Barbarous ages of Greece, that people was
little, if any, better informed or more civilized than our American
Creeks. Their first object, in the education of their children, was
to inspire theim with courage, and give them  strength, agility,
swiftness, and all the other bodily perfections; so that they might
be able to defend their liberties, and the independence of their
respective tribes.  After a while they were smit with the love of
learning, and Greece became finally the fountain of literature, and
even spread tile arts and sciences over Italy; whence at last they
were diffused throughout Europe.  But the Greeks still kept up
their games, and all their customary exercises of body: and they
are the only people upon history, who have taken much care and




os THE WAYS o1' IAtiN.                  319
pains to make the improvements of body and mind keep an even
pace together.  Their circumstances were peculiarly favorable to
this; since, as to labor, it was all done by their slaves.
Amongst modern civilized nations, the great masses of the
people follow daily labor for a livelihood; and among these again;
the tillers of the ground stand in the foremost rank.  They,
living in the open air, and using exercises which expand the
chest ancd brace the nerves and muscles, acquire an uncommon
degree of hardiness and vigor of body; yet, by reason of the intensity of their toils, they soon lose that jauntiness of limbs,
that ease of motion, that nimbleness of gait, which the savage
retains even to old age.  Laborers in the mechanical arts have
more or less bodily activity, generally, according to the nature
of their occupations.  Those trades which require a sedentary
life, a seclusion from the air, and a curved posture of body which
compresses the lungs, as well as those that expose the artificers to
poisonous effluvia, tend to bring on weakness and disease, and
oftentimes hasten death.
The wealthy part of mlankind; whose circumstances free them
from the necessity of constant, drudging toil, might, one would
think, rise superior to others in proportion to their superior
advantages. But how rarely is it so in fact.  Their luxury and
debauchery poison both mind and body; insomuch, that where
vast possessions are vested unalienably in certain families, as in
some parts of Europe, most of those enormously wealthy families,
in the course of ages, dwindle down to a race of pigmies, in comparison with whom the savage holds an enviable rank.  The savage state, and the state of luxurious refinement, are the two
extremes; between which, somezohere, there lies a point that is




320                THE BRIEF REMARKER
most favorable to the happiness of man, and to the general development of his faculties.
The learned might have the best chance to unite in themselves
bodily and mental excellencies, if prudent care were early begun and constantly continued.  If there were used frequent exereise in the open air, both at the commencement and throughout the whole course of a life of study; if study and exercise were
alternate, at short intervals, the body would retain its vigorous tone, the mind would be relieved, and the progress of
learning would be promoted rather than retarded.  But this is
often reversed in practice.  Observe a scholar that has just left
the occupations of agriculture; observe his ruddy countenance
and florid health.  Observe the same scholar two or three years
after; see his dim eye, his faded cheek, his emaciated body, the
debility of his whole frame! And what has wrought this melancholy change?-Continued mental exercises, without corresponding exercises of the body.  I-le has been a hard student,
and has treasured up Greek, and Latin, and Algebra, and Logic; but for want of frequent intervals of exercise in the open
air, the juices of his body have corrupted, like the water in a
standing pool.
5We are compound beings, consisting of physical and of mental parts and faculties.  It is a most desirable thing to have
"a sound mind in a sound body;" and, therefore, whilst the
principal attention is to be paid to intellectual, moral, and religious improvements, there is no small attention due also to the
health, soundness, and agility of the corporeal part of our nature.




ON THE WAY'S OF MAN.                 321
NUMBER LXXV.
OF THE GENERAL PRONENESS TO PETTY SCANDAL.
As if there were not prattle enough from human tongues. a great
deal of care is taken to teach birds to talk.  Some families of
opulence and rank are said to have devoted a considerable portion of their time to the advancement of this species of education:
nor would it be altogether time lost, if they would mind to teach
their birds a few sound and pithy maxims for domestic use, and
the benefit of their visitors.
The following anecdote I will cite as an example, for the
purpose of showing to what good account the lingo of speaking
birds might be turned, if their education were conducted either
on moral principles, or upon principles of domestic economy.  In
the city of London, as Goldsmith informs us, two men, living
directly opposite to one another, in the same street, had a quarrel
together, on account of the one having informed against the
other for not paying the duties on his liquors; and the aggrieved
party, after teaching his parrot to repeat the ninth commandment,
14*




322                THE RRIEF REMARKER
placed the cage at the front of his house; so that, whenever the
informer on the opposite side of the street stepped out of his own
door, he heard from the parrot this admonition, Tihozt shalt not bear
false'vit'ness agCainzst tZhy zeighbor.
This sacred precept is to be understood as possessing a very
wide latitude of meaning; comprehending not only perjury and
gross calumny, which are both punishable by civil law, but also
evil speaking, in all its multifarious shapes and degrees.  It is
obvious to remark, that although the prohibitory precepts in the
eighth article and the ninth of the holy decalogue, are both levelled
against evils that are alike prejudicial and pernicious to society,
yet the laws of society take much more concern in the one than
in the other.  Every well-regulated  civil society arms itself
against theft, and metes out punishments as well to petty pil
ferers as to the highway robber; and yet the violations of the
next succeeding article of divine prohibition pass, for the most
part, without punishment, and almost without notice.  Not but
that money is trCash,, in comparison with character; so that he
who steals the one, does far less injury than he who wounds the
other.  But the fact is, civil law is quite incompetent to the task
of taking cognizance of the violations of the ninth commandment,
save in a few instances of flagrant enormity.
The trespasses of the tongue, in this way, are so innumerable,
so diverse, and ofttiime- so artful, that no legislator could classify them, and much less enact laws that would reach them
wholly, without destroying the liberty of speech altogether.
And, besides, there is in society a great deal less averseness to
evil speaking than to theft.  If one have his money or his goods
stolen, he no sooner makes it known, than his neighbors join with




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     323
him in searching for the thief, who, if found and convicted, is
sure to be punished; because common zeal, as well as common
consent, takes side against the culprit.  But the pilferers from
character fare less hard; or rather, they are tolerated, provided
they manage with art and address, and mingle some wit with
their malice or their levity.
And as petty violations of this part of the decalogue meet
with impunity, so also they meet with encouragement.  Few are
altogether without envy, which ever takes delight in a backbiting or detracting tongue.  Few  are without some conscious
and visible faults; and the faulty are naturally prone to take
pleasure in the noticeable faults of others, as they tend to quiet
them about their own. From these causes, and still oftener, perhaps, firom  thoughtless levity, encouragement is given almost
every where to the small dealers in detraction, who, altogether,
compose a pretty numerous body.
It requires no great stretch of charity to believe, that there
are many persons who never have been guilty of any dishonest
action, and much less of downright theft.  But it is to be apprehended that there are very few indeed, who have never, in all
their lives, 6orne false wvitness agr'inst ca neiglhbor, in some dclegiee or manner, either by unwarrantably spreading ill reports, or
else by giving too willing an ear to slander and defamation.  It
is the evil that most easily besets us, of which we are least
apt to be aware; and which many men and women practise without
compunction, and almost without thought, although apparently
of estimable characters in other respects.
SEMPRONIA is such a very fury in the cause of virtue and
decorum, that, first or last, nearly the whole sisterhood of her




324                THE BRIEF REMARKER
acquaintance has been lampooned by her tongue.  So far firom
showing partiality to her own sex, nothing heats her temper, and
throws her into a fit of boiling rage, like the faults of wzvomen.
Not to mention the abhorrence with which she ever speaks of the
wretched victims of seduction, she is of purer eyes than to be
hold, in a female especially, even the least aberration from the
path of propriety, without emotions of indignation and expressions of reproach.  Frugal of praise, and liberal of censure, she
speaks but little of those whose characters furnish no topics for
scandal; whilst all her eloquence is employed in expatiating on
faults, frailties, and follies.  The truth of it is, there are very
few whose garments are so white that she can discover on them
no spots; and it is on the spots, rather than the fair parts, that
she fixes her attention and bestows her remarks.
Yet, after all, Sempronia is remarkably perpendicular in
much of her conduct.  Not for the world would she tell a downright, wilful lie. She means to speak the truth, and nothing else;
but the truth she spices with a vengeance. Sour in nature, elated
with an extravagant opinion of herself, jealous of qualities that
threaten to eclipse her, and thinking her own excellencies will
show to the best advantage by displaying them in contrast with
the foibles of other women, she no sooner finds that a female
acquaintance has spoken or acted a little awry, than her passions
are let loose, and she talks herself into a sore throat.  In the
meanwhile, she mistakes her fastidiousness of humor for delicacy
of taste, and her censorious, irritable temper, for extreme sensibility.
Were one to admit the old absurd notion of our being born
under some particular planet or constellation, one could hardly




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     325
help exclaiming:' TWhat a pity that the birth of Sempronia, a
woman of some very respectable qualities, instead of the constellation of the Crab, had not been under the szveet izfluences of.Pleiades! "
In an old Asiatic tradition it is storied, that while Adam
and Eve were in the blissfill bowers of Eden, there were sent
down to them twelve baskets of chit chat, which was scattered
about the garden: that Adam, being in a thoughtful mood, and
neglecting to exert himself in season, gathered up the contents
of only three, while his fair partner nimbly collected, and carefully laid away for her use; the whole of the other nine; and
that, by natural consequence, the stock of small tallk belonging
to women is, in proportion to that of men, as three to one.
This tradition, though apocryphal, is not unapt; women
have naturally a greater volubility of tongue than men; whether
that their organs of speech are more flexible, or that their animal
spirits are more volatile, they begin to speak at an earlier age,
and are more generally fluent in conversation.  They have, besides, a more ample fund of small tctl, which, so far from being
any defect or blemish, is a real boon, bequeathed to them for several valuable and obvious purposes.  But, though good in its
kind, it has an aptness to the evil of petty scandal; an evil,
that cannot be too carefully guarded against in female education.
It would be passing no imposition upon a young miss at
school, to tell her, along with more solemn dehortations, that the
feelings and dispositions from  which spring calumny and backbiting, would deform her face.  For what is that beauty in the
female face which pleases all beholders?  It consists chiefly in




326                THE BRIEF REMARKER
the aspect that indicates good affections.  Every indication of
candor, gentleness, and benignity, is a beauty; on the contrary,
every feature, or aspect of countenance, that indicates pride,
envy, or malignity, is a deformity.  Nor does it need proof that
in frequent instances, the face becomes at length the index of
the passions which one habitually harbors, whether they be of
the benevolent or the malignant kind.
One remark more, and no trifling one; there scarcely can be
a more attractive feature in the character of a woman, than her
veiling, or treating with a sisterly candor, those petty  blemishes in her female acquaintance, from  which she is happily
exempt herself.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    327
NUMBER LXXVI
OF ENJOYING INDEPENDENCE AS TO WORLDLY CIRCUMSTANCES WITHOUT
POSSESSING WEALITH.
INDEPENDENCE in regard to worldly condition, is an object of
rational desire and laudable pursuit.  But the word,  dzcepel-zdence, must here be understood in a qualified and very limited
sense.  Strictly speaking, no man living is independent.  For not
to mention, that all depend alike on Him in whom we live and
have our being; there is amongst mankind a mutual dependence,
from the lowest even up to the highest point in the scale of
society: so that the rich man needs his poor but industrious
neighbors well nigh as much as they need him.  Should they refuse to sell him their labor, he would be fain to drudge for himself, notwithstanding the vastness of his wealth.  This mutual
dependence is a salutary restraint both upon the rich and the
poor j it curbs the pride of the one, and the envy of the other;
and even tends to link them together in mutual amity.,Moreover, that independence of circumstances, which should
be made the object of general desire and pursuit, does in no wise




328                THE BRIEF REMARKER
imply large possessions.  So far otherwise, one possessed of but
barely competent means of support, provided he lives within his
means, is hardly less independent than if he were in the enjoyment of a fortune.  Does the possessor of an ample fortune enjoy
personal independence?  So also does the possessor of a small
farm, which furnishes him with only the necessaries of life: and
so also does the useful laborer, whose labor affords a supply to
his real wants.  But if the small farmer must needs be a man
of fashion or pleasure, he loses his farm, and Awithal his independence.  Or if the laborer neglects his calling, or spends faster
than he earns, his independence is quickly gone.  Nay, even
though  the  laborer should  support himself independently
throughout all the days of his health and vigor, yet, assuredly,
he must fall into a condition of dependence at last, unless he
have the foresight and prudence to lay up some part of his earnings against the seasons of sickness and old age.
" Our views in life," says the celebrated British Junius,
"should be directed to a solid, however moderate independence;
for without it no man can be happy, nor even honest."
This sentiment has in it, however, as I humbly conceive,
some mixture of error.  Virtuousness of disposition depends not
upon exterior circumstances.  In the deepest shades of poverty,
and even in situations of abject dependence, there are persons
not only very honest but very pious, and who are happy in the
daily enjoyment of the banquet of contentment.  There are
those, and not a few, in almost every part of the Christianized
world, of whom the following lines, in a Scotch ballad, are no
less descriptive, than of the happy old couple, in whose mouths
they are put.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     329
"We have lived all our lifetime contented,
Since the day we became first acquainted;
True, we've been but poor,
And we are so to this hour,
Yet we never repin'd nor lamented."
Nevertheless, ozur views in life shodcld be d r'ectecl to a solid,
however vzoclerate incldeplendence.  It is as much our duty as our
interest, to employ diligent and prudent endeavors to escape
poverty and want; to provide " things honest " for ourselves and
our families; to lay up against seasons of sickness and the decay
of age; and even to strive hard to put ourselves in a condition,
in which we can be rather the dispensers than the receivers of
charity.  Utter negligence in these matters, so far from evincing
nobleness of spirit, is, for the most part, dishonorable and mean,
and comnmonly terminates in abjectness both of circumstances
and of mind.  The loss or destitution of personal independence
or the condition of beggarly want, has no little aptness and likelihood to occasion the loss of integrity and of all moral principle.  It was when Esau came from the field, at the point to die
of famishment. that he sold his birthright.
It would be impossible to tell what precise quantity of worldly estate is just sufficient, and no more than sufficient; since it
would depend upon a variety of circumstances growing out of the
particular state of society, and on a number of other items which
could not be calculated with precision.  The best rule is, to rest
satisfied with the appointment which Providence makes, and,
having food and raiment, therewith to be content.
The middle state of life has been thought, by the wise, to
afford the best means both for the enjoyment of comfort and for the




330                TIHE BRIEF RIEMIARKER
practice of virtue. Under this impression, a pious sage of old
made the following petition to heaven: " Give me neither poverty
nor riches."  I know of none among the moderns, however much
they may differ in points of religion or of politics, who have any
objection to the first clause of this prayer of Agur; but in
this money-loving age, it is questionable whether many can be
found, either male or female, who pray heartily that riches may
not fall to their lot, or who would run with all their might to
escape from a shower of gold that should threaten to fall into
their laps. It is however certain, that riches and poverty are
two extremes, each encompassed with peculiar evils; and without saying what none will believe, that extreme riches are as
much to be dreaded as extreme poverty, I would wish to impress
this useful truth, that people in middling circumstances, if they
would only think so themselves, have enough; and have reason to
be thankful for their lot, rather than to repine at it.
Sir William  Jones, alike eminent for genius, learning, and
Christian philosophy, wrote his own epitaph, which begins with
these expressions: —' Here was deposited the mortal part of a
man who feared God, but not death, and maintained independence
but sought not riches."
If any worldly happiness is enviable, it is that of such a mind.
They only are truly rich, who are sensible they have enough,
and have no disquieting desires after more; a happy condition,
which does not necessarily imply large possessions, nor is often
the consequence of them.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   331
N UMBER LXXVII.
OF THE EARILY AND ARDENT DESIRE FO1  POWER.
THE love of power is as natural as to breathe.  It shows itself
in the first dawn of reason.  How soon the infant begins to struggle to have his will and way! Ere he can speak, or walk; in the
tone of his cry, and in his visage and motions. you may plainly
read the stout words, 1 will ancd IZwont.  With impotent violence
he squirms in his mother's arms, in order to command the utmost
of her attentions.  The oftener he gains his point, with the more
resolute boisterousness does he proceed to assert his claims to
her submlission, and to the devotion of all her time and faculties
to the service of his single self.
Having brought under him his nursing mother, no sooner is
he able to run about upon his legs, than he strives to extend his
dominion. He exacts of the other children, and of all about him,
an implicit compliance with his will.  When opposed or thwarted, he regards it as downright rebellion against his rightful
authority; and accordingly swells with rage, which he deals out
by blows, or vents in harsh and grating music.




332                THE BRIEF RE3MARKER
Mioreover, among the earliest of his covetings is that of property.  Scarcely any thing is more comlmon than for little children to ask, with peculiar earnestness, l/Iacy wve lhave this for outr
owzn?  Nor are they willing to take up with any thing short of
such a covenant.  And why is it, that, not content with the mere
use of the thing, they are so fain to have it as their own?  It is
because property is power.  One has exclusive power over that
which is exclusively one's own.  Of this matter of fact, the child
of four seems almost as sensible as the man of forty; and hence
it is, I conceive, that our appetence for property-which is but
another name for power-begins even in infancy, and enlarges as
our years increase. So true is it, that the passion for power is
the ruling passion in human nature.
A question then arises here, as to the bearing that early education and discipline should have on the predominant passion
or principle under consideration:-a question of vast importance,
which, however, I could but barely touch now, even were I better
able to do it justice.
In weeding a garden we take great care lest, with the weeds,
we root up also some precious plant.  In like manner should we
endeavor to weed, as it were, the faults out of the minds of our
children; looking diligently that we neither spoil nor mlar what
the Eternal Wisdom  has planted in them, or any part of the
natural constitution of their frame.  If, then, the love of power
be a part of the radical constitution of man, the proper method
of education is not to eradicate, but to temper and curb it.
This species of discipline should be begun at a very early
age, and managed with a firm but prudent hand.  It is a task,
which, for the most part, devolves chiefly upon the mother.  As




ON THE WAYS OF  ARN.                    333
soon as her infant offspring evidently appears to set up a resolution for the mastery, she has no alternative but either to conquer
or submit; for there is no such thing as balancing or dividing the
power betwixt them.  If she submit for the first time, it prepares
the way for a second defeat, and indeed for an endless series of
submissions; as the child, in such a case, constantly becomes
more refractory and usurping, and she more tame, yielding, and
slavish.  Thus she nurses up, not so much a son, as an imperious
master.  But provided the mother begins betimes, and manages
the matter with discretion, she may subdue the infant to her authority, and that without overmuch correction, even though she
should have to encounter a more than ordinary obstinacy of temper; which, so far from being an ill symptom in children, might,
by proper curbing and culture, be made to issue in manly firmness of character.
The strife for mastery, as I said before, begins in the cradle;
and if not properly decided and settled there, it will be full likely,
as years increase, to appear in frightful shapes.  For the contentions of little children, first with their mothers, and afterwards
with one another, are the germen, as it were, of the contentions
of grown  men, which fill the earth with violence and blood.
Wherefore, nothing of human means would, perhaps, so much
conduce to the future peace and happiness of mankind, as to
break children betimes of a domineering spirit, and to weave,
as it were, into their tender minds, sentiments and habits of mutual deference, civility, and benevolence.  If it were generally
made a main part of education (as assuredly it ought to be of
Christianz education), to teach children to curb their wills and to
respect the rights and feelings of one another, an auspicious




334               T:THE BRIEF REMIARKEr
revolution in the affairs of the human kind might be reasonably
looked for. A new and happy era might be expected, when
fighting and killing would not, as always hitherto, be the main
subject of the history of man; when the fame and renown of men
would no longer be built on the destruction of their fellow-men.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     335
NUMBER LXXVIII.
OF GIVING IN MARRIAGE.
MARRIAGE, which is the first and most important of social institutions, is, in civilized countries, generally regulated by law; but
giving in marriage is a matter of custom.  And upon this last
point, custom is very diverse in different parts of the world.
In the simple patriarchal ages, a father was, as it were, a
sovereign and independent ruler over his own household.  His
daughters, especially, were quite at his disposal.  Yet, in giving
a daughter in marriage, it was the custom  to consult her own
inclination, as appears in the twenty-fourth chapter of the book
of Genesis, with respect to the case of Rebekah.  In process of
time, however, it seems to have become customary in Asia, for
fathers to betroth their daughters with little or no apparent regard for their preferences or wishes.  In that enslaved country,
where women are held in a condition of extreme debasement, a
irl is compelled to accept the husband assigned her by family
authority, how much soever she may detest him in her heart.




336                THE BRIEF REIARKER
Not that it is quite so all over the vast continent of Asia.
For there are in it some nations, simple in their manners, that
still retain the primitive custom of allowing females the privilege
of a nzegative upon such of their suitors as are not fortunate
enough to find favor with them.
In Dr. Clark's description of the manners of the Calmuck
Tartars, resident in Asiatic Russia, is an instance in point respecting their conjugal rites.  "! Calmuck women," he says, " ride
better than the men.  A nmale Calmuck on horseback looks as if
he was intoxicated, and likely to fall off every instant, though
he never loses his seat; but the women sit with more ease, and
ride with extraordinary skill.  The ceremony of marriage among
the Calmucks is performed on horseback.  A girl is first mounted, who rides off in full speed.  Her lover pursues; and if he
overtakes her, she becomes his wife, and the marriage is consuimmated on the spot; after which, she returns with him to his tent.
But it sometimes happens that the woman does not wish to marry
the person by whom she is pursued, in which case she will not
suffer himn to overtake her; and we were assured that nzo instance
occu-rs of a. C(almZbck girl being' th'is cacug'ht, unlzess ste had a
partiaclity Jbr the pursuter."
Somewhat similar to this account of the Calmucks, is the
following fabulous story of ancient date: " Atalanta had many
admirers, but the only condition of obtaining her hand, was to
beat her in running a race.  At last Hippomenes ran with her,
and dropping some goldenz apples, which she stopped to pick up,
he won the race and married her."  I-low much or how little this
old fable, so obvious in its meaning, is illustrative of the female




oiN THlE WAYS OF 1MAIN. \.               337
heart in the present age, is a delicate question, that I shall not
take upon ince to decide.
WVestern Europe, from  which we ourselves have borrowed
mIlOSt of our customs, allows women a rank unprecedented and
unknown in the Eastern world.  This is owing greatly to its superior civilization, but primarily and chiefly to the influence of
Christianity, to which indeed, in no inconsiderable degree, its superior civilization is also to be attributed.  But even in Western
Europe, the females of the highest rank are disposable property,
as respects givivg: in marriage.   In a matter so deeply interesting to their comfort and happiness, there is denied them  all
liberty of choice.  A royal maid is disposed of in marriage upon
the principle of state-policy altogether, and she must accept the
husband that is selected for her, or else draw down upon herself
an intolerable weight of scorn and indignation.  Moreover, among
the several ranks of nobility, giving il marriage is conducted on
a principle of calculation, rather than of attachment.  So that,
in this interesting particular, the liberty of European feimales is
in an inverse ratio to the rank of their families. Tlhe deplorable
consequences are the same that might reasonably be expected;such as coldness, alienation, domestic feuds, and conjugal infidelity, so common and notorious among those high-born ladies who
have been given in marriage contrary to their own wishes.
Nor does it by any means follow, on the other hand, that
paternal authority has no concern in this matter.  It has indeed
a deep concern, but it is rather negative than injunctive.  A
father has an undoubted right, —nay, he is in duty bound to refuse consent to an alliance, which he thinks would be deeply
prejudicial to the interests of his child, and to use all proper
15




338                THE BRIEF REBIEMAKEt
Imeans in his power to prevent it.  So far is this from  cruelty,
tihat it is a mark of affection, and an act of kindness.  But if he
ovcrlceaps this boundary; if he assumes the right of selection'
if he attempts to give his dcaughter in marriage against her own
inclination; if he would sacrifice her peace to the iAamimon of,avarice, or to the 3Ioloch of ambition;-it is then that he acts
the part of a tyrant. and is deserving of severity of censure.
Such instances, however, do seldoni happen in common life;
in which there is a much greater number of children who rush
into the state of marriage with a criminal disregard of parental
authority and feeling, than of parents who abuse their authority
in the manner above mentioned.  Nor does this species of undutifulness often fail of resulting in matrimonial infelicity.




ON TIE WAYS OF MAN.                    339
NUMBER LXXIX.
OF USEFUL INDUSTRY, CONSIDERED AS A MORAL DUTY
T-E fourth commandment in the sacred decalogue lays upon
us two distinct obligations; it imposes labor no less expressly
than it enjoins a holy rest.' Six clays shalt thou la6or, cand do
all thy work."
Hence it is a just and fair inference, that a life of voluntary idleness is a life of disobedience to the law and will of heaven.
If of your own choice you spend the six working days idly, you
are as verily a transgressor of the moral law, as you would be
in disregarding the day that is consecrated.  And besides, we
are the better fitted for the duties of the Sabbath, by means of
our industry in " providing things honest" during the rest of the
week; whilst, on the other hand, he that idles away the six days
of labor, is very ill prepared for the  sacred day of rest.  The
idle body, who, nevertheless, appears occasionally devout, separates what God hath joined together; for he that said,': Remeimber
the Sabbath day to keep it holy," hath also said, " Six days shalt
thou labor."




340               THE BRIEF' REMARIKETR
Well-directed industry  is a moral and Christian duty; a
s(criptu;ral duty, which none that are capable of it can dispense
with, and be guiltless.  Neither wealth, nor rank, nor sex, can
excuse a person in good health, and of competent faculties, from
all and every kind of useful labor, either of body or mind, or
of both.  Mere amusement is for little children.  Employment,
useful employment is for men and women.  And, indeed, as little
is there granted us the liberty of doing no good at all with our
faculties, as of employing them in doing evil and mischief.
Labor is either mental, or bodily, or mixed.  There are none
whose labor is a greater " weariness of the flesh," as well as of
the nobler part of humanity, than men of close and unrenlitting
study; and there are none whose industry is more useful to
mankind.  The man of talents, who iIn solitude, and perhaps in
neglected poverty, employs discreetly the faculties of his mind, to
enlighten and instruct his fellow-beings in their immortal, or even
their mortal interests, is a benefactor to the community, rather
than a burden.
Nevertheless, lie, even hie, errs wofully, if he neglects to
exercise his body.  It is lamentable to see how many men of
study, how many promising youths, waste away their strength,
impair their constitutions, and bring upon themselves incurable
diseases and premature death, solely for the want of a proper mixture of bodily exercise with the strenuous labors of their minds.
In the proud and fastidious times in which we live, manual
labor of the useftul kind is accounted a thing too vulgar for those
of the better sort. Many a young gentleman would feel himself
dishonored by doing any thing called work; and many a young
lady would blush to be found employed in an occupation really




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      341
useful; even though both were in circumstances imperatively
demanding their industry.
In this respect the manners of society have suffered a deplorable change.  The time was, when labor was held in honor
among even the rich and noble; when even ladies of the highest
fortune and rank, thought it not beneath them to work occasionally with their hands.  Near the conclusion of the last century
but one, Queen MIary, of England, who was joint sovereign with
hler husband, the heroie William  the Third,' used frequently,"
as history informs us,: to employ sorme part of her time in needlework; appointing one or other of her maids of honor to read
something lively, as well as instructive, to her, and to the rest,
whilst they were busy with their needles."
The age next preceding that of Mary, furnishes at least one
example in high life, that is still more remarkable.  Sir Walter
Raleigh, lodging at the house of a noble Duke, early in the
niorning overheard the Duchess inquiring of her servants if
the pigs had been fed, and, with a significant smile, asked her,
as he was going to the table, if her pigs had had their breakfast.
She archly replied, "  They have all been fed, except the strange
piog that I am now about to feed."
The man, who, of all the American worthies, was' first in
war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen,' was
no less remarkable for industry than for wisdom and integrity.
One of the biographers of Washington remarks of him, " his
industry was unremitted, and his method so exact, that all the
complicated business of his military co-nmand, and civil administration, was managed without confusion, and without hurry.  It
was the assemblage of these traits of character, so early visible in




342'THE BRIEF REMIARKER
Mhin, that recommended him, when scarcely more than a boy, to
an embassy of no ordinary importance, hazard, and difficulty.
Happy were it if the youths of America would, in this respect,
copy the example of one whose memory they so delight to honor.
Few  things are impossible to industry, skilfully directed.
By it, men of but moderate talents rise sometimes to deserved
eminence; by it, the man of "' small things'expands himself by
little and little, till he comes at last to occupy a respectable space
in society; and by it the face of the living world is illumined and
gladdened.
What difficulties have been overcome, what wonders have
been wrought, and what immense benefits have been procured
by the industrious application of the mental and corporeal powers
of man!
On the other hand, no gifts of nature, or of fortune, can supersede the necessity for industry.  Sloth is a rust, that eats up
the finest ingredients of genius, and mars and consumes the greatest of fortunes.  He that is slothful of mind, loseth his mind; instead of enlarging it, it contracts and diminishes as he increases
in years.  He that is slothful in business, will at last have neither
business to do, nor any thing to sustain his declining age.  In
short, a downright slug, whether in high life or low, vegetates
rather than lives.  Habitual indolence is one of the worst symptoms in youth; a fever is less hopeless than a lethargy.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     343
NUMBER LXXX.
OF THER MORT, USE OF THE PILLTOW —WTIH RFLE CTIONS ON SLEEP.
c' CONSULT THY PILLOW."  This short counsel contains" more
than meets the eye."  The pillow  is the close friend of Ineditation, of serious thoughtfulness, and of fieedom of conscience, in
so far as it gives that faithful monitor the best of opportunities
for administering wholesome reproof.' -The dclay is thine; the ni9ght also is thimne: "-and with the
like graciousness are they both given, the one for labor, and the
other for rest-nor yet for rest alone, but also for a sober survey of past life, and more particularly of the day that has fleeted last.  The mantle of darkness, which hides exterior objects,
turns the busy mind upon itself, willingly or unwillingly, according to its moral frame and habits.
Human greatness, that lords it by day, is not at a all exempt
from stern admonishment on the pillow.  Thelre, no longer able
to show off splendor and prowess, its pride is not flattered, nor
are its feelings spared.  Ahasuerus, for example, the richest, the




344                 THE BRIIEF REiMARTKER
most splendid, and the most puissant of all the monarchs of the
E]ast-reigning from India even unto Ethiopia, over a hundred
and seven and twenty provinces;-this Ahasuerus  laid  him
down -upon his bed of gold, in a spacious room  supported by
pillars of rmarble, and adorned with white, green, and blue hangings, fastened with  cords of fine linen and purple to  silver
rings.  Tbhus he laid him down, amid an -unrivalled profusion
of Eastern magnificence-but on that night, could not the king
sleep.  The world else was asleep.  The man-servant and the
maid-servant, the meanest of slaves, the veriest wretches in the
whole realm, were fast asleep.  And could not the lord and
master of them  all, the monarch in the palace of Shushancould not he woo slumber to his eyelids?  Alas, no! It turned,
however, to good.   Of necessity, rather than  of choice, the
luxurious and effeminate despot, to relieve him from sore restlessness, bethought himself of improving the wearisome vigils
of the night in looking into the affairs of his government.  IHe
called for the reading of the book of records of the chronicles;
and finding that an upright and excellent servant, to  whom  he
owed his life. had been utterly neglected, lie ordered  him  a
bounteous reward.-A righteous deed, which never, in any probability, would he have clone, had he not co0nszut-icd his 1pillovw.
It is upon the pillow  that the book of r'ecords of the chAronicles is most frequently set before the eyes of those mortals,
who sadly misspend their time, and abuse the high privileges of
their nature.  Conscience presents thle hcnclritinig', and there is
no such thing as turning their eyes away from it.  In vain they
turn, and toss themselves on this side, and on that, longing for
sleep; the r'ccords qof the chr.onicles are still full in their view



ON THE WAYS OF 3IAN.                    345
and they are fain to make vows and solemn promises, too often
unheeded on the morrow.
Projects of too great hazard-plans of questionable nature
and doubtful issue —resolutions taken up of a sudden, and without being duly weighed: —these, engendered by the fever of the
day, are abandoned, or rectified, upon coolly consulting the
pillow.  So that many a one has risen up in the morning, with
more reasonable sentiments and views respecting his personal
affairs, than those with which he had lain down. And many
a one, also, by consulting the pillow, has cooled hot resentments,
and abandoned purposes of revenge.
In consulting the pillow, one thing especially is to be ever
kept in practical remembrance; and that is, to offer up the silent
adorations of the heart, both at the instant of falling asleep, and
at the molent of waking.     I wzill both lay me downt in peace,
and slee2 p: for thouZ Lord onlzy mzakest fmze to dwell in. safety.I laid  mze cldowon acd slept;; I cuaed;   o e;     the Lor'd szstailtecd'lz.
And what art thou, Sleel?  Of what stuff art thou made?
Whence coinest thou when thou visitest our pillows, and whither
goest thou when, ceasing to press gently our eyelids, thou art
borne away upon the wings of the morning?  Thou incomprehensible S'oetzc-thi'2ng'-thou invisible solace of heavy-laden man
-should one gain the whole world in exchange for thee, how
pre-eminently miserable would be that one!
" The great cordial of nature is sleep.  He that can sleep
soundly, takes the cordial; and it matters not, whether it be on
a soft bed, or on the hard boards.  It is sleep only that is the
thing necessary."  This sovereign cordial, so often denied to
I 5




346               THE BRIEF RE~MARKER
worldly prosperity and grandeur, is, for the most part, bountifully
furnished to those in circumstances most deplorable and forlorn.
Behold the wretchedest of the wretched-a captive and slave
to the wild Arabs. Day after day he suffers with hunger, with
thirst, with fatigue, with terror,-the very utmost that human
nature is capable of enduring:-night after night he reposes in
sound sleep, nor is he ever disturbed with even a sizgle unz]pleasant dream, though stretched upon the bare ground, and in the
bleak and open air, or lodged amidst the noisomeness of dungeon
filth.
Pe'rhazps, of all the immense percipient beings, above as well
as below us, there is only ONE, who neither slumbers nor sleeps
-from that ONE, cometh the inestimable gift of quiet sleep.
Next to the goadings of a guilty conscience, the principal
banishers, or rather zmurderers of sleep, are these:-Luxury, Dissipation, Ambition, Avarice, Envy, Malice, together with whatever
other of the family of the malignant passions.  " 0 miserable of
happy" —more especially upon their pillows —are many, very
mnany, of those whom the world deems the happiest of mien and
womlen!
On the contrary, next to pureness of conscience and soundness of health, the most successful wooers of sweet sleep are Temperance, Useful Labor, Benevolence; Resignation, Gratitude for
the good that Providence bestows.
It is obvious to remark, that Intemperance in sleeping is to
be guarded against, as well as Intenmperance in eating and drinking.  This cor'lial of nature should be used as a cordial.  The
habit of over-sleeping weakens the frame both of body and mind;
and besides this, is a clear loss of precious and invaluable time.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                       347
Only the space of two hours in the twenty-four. if redeemed from
unnecessary sleep, to what vast account might it not be turned
in the course of twenty years.
Once more: Sleep has, in several respects, so near a resenmblance to Death, that the relation, in " Paradise Lost," of the
conceptions of Adam  when falling into his first slumber, has no
less of nature than of beauty.
"On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers,
Pensive I sat me down: there gentle sleep
First found me, and with soft oppression seiz'd
My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought
I then was passing to my former state
Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve."
As a counterpart to which, I will quote another Christian
poet-the admirable Montgomery.'There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
And while the mouldering ashes sleep
Low in the ground;
"The soul, of origin divine,
God's glorious image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine,
A star of day! "




348                THE BRIEF RE3MARKER
NUMBER LXXXI.
OF THE TWO OPPOSITE ER1OtRS —THE EXTREME OF SUSPICION AND TIE
EXTREME OF CONFIDENCE.
]MANKIND are alike betrayed by the excess of suspicion and of
confidence.  The maxim, that in suspicion is safety, is true only
in a qualified sense; for overmuch suspicion errs as often as overmuch confidence.  As to believe nothing would be quite as wrong
as to believe every thing, so to trust nobody is no less an error
than to trust every body.  Indeed it is the worse error of the two,
because there is more evil in causelessly thinking ill, than in
causelessly thinking well of our fellow-beings.
Bad men, who look chiefly into themselves for information
concerning the human kind, are ready to believe the worst of
others.  Conscious of their own insincerity, they can hardly
think that any speak friendly to them or act kindly toward them,
with intentions that are really sincere.  They suspect religion to
be hypocrisy, and that apparent virtue is but a mask to conceal
the naughtiness of the heart,  Piety, self-government, munifi



ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    349
cence, and all the charities of life, they impute to corrupt or interested motives.  HIence thy repose firm  confidence scarcely in
any one.  Now as to persons of this cast, they are not only the
dupes of their own jealousy, but its victims.  A  suspicion of
every body they have to do with, as it keeps them  in perpetual
fear and disquietude, and prevents their enjoying the common
comforts and benefits of society, so it precludes all likelihood, and
almost all possibility of self-amendment. For their minds are too
intent upon the faults of others, to attend to their own; and besides, their mistrusting ill of all about them, furnishes a powerful opiate to their own consciences.
It has been boasted by some men of business that they never,
in all their lifetime, suffered by imposition or imposture; that
they had always accustomed themselves to keep so sharp an eye
upon mankind, that nobody could cheat or deceive them.  This
is not, however, any great matter of boasting; for it is scarcely
possible that they should have been so constantly on their guard
against deception, if they had not had a vigilant monitor and
prompter in their own hearts.  Upon the same ground, it is an ill
mark in any one to decry apparent virtue in others, and to assign
bad motives to their good deeds; since it argues that the only
motives that can fall within the ken of his own mental eye, are
generally faulty, if not totally corrupt. TIn short, it is better now
and then to be deceived, and even duped, than never to confide.
On the contrary, persons of honest, benevolent views, are apt,
from that very circumstance, to run into the opposite extreme.
Conscious of their own uprightness and probity, they are hard to
suspect that any, who wear the semblance of these virtues, should




350                THE BRIEF REMARKIIER
have it in their hearts to beguile them; and, of course, for want
of prudent caution, are peculiarly liable, through an amiable weakness, to be ensnared, and sometimes desperately injured.  It is
especially in youth that we find this error, which is commonly
cured by time and experience. An unsuspecting youth, soured by
bitter experience, may become too suspicious in old age; whilst
a youth of an excessive jealousy of temper, commonly grows
more jealous or suspicious, as he advances in years.
There are two classes of men who are often betrayed by an
excess of confidence: these are creditors and debtors.  As it
respects the former, the remark is too obvious to need proof or
illustration.  The error of giving indiscriminate credit, is too visible in its deplorable consequences to be generally seen.  But the
opposite error-that is, the error of takinzg too large credit, is
not quite so manifest, though equally fatal.
As the creditor trusts the debtor, so, on the other hand, does
the debtor trust the creditor, except in instances in which he is
morally certain of making punctual payment.  If one runs in
debt beyond his ability to pay in good season, he has to trust to
the mercy of his creditor, not merely as to his house and lands,
goods and chattels, but sometimes even for the liberty of going
at large. The creditor has a power over his property, and in
some places over his personal liberty. If he exact the last farthing of the debt the very instant it becomes due, and that notwithstanding the plea of inability to pay, he lay, perhaps, be called
hard and unfeeling, but not unjust.  The promise in the note or
bond entitles him  to be thus rigorous, and the law is on his
side.  Neither is any debtor entitled, ordinarily, to expect any
thing short of this rigor from his creditor, except on principles




ON THE WAYS OF MtIAN.                   351
of compassion: and surely it evinces too much of confidence, as
well as too little of spirit, when one places himself, unnecessarily,
in circumstances to need the colmpzassio~n of a fellow-man as his
only earthly resource.




3;5.'~THE BRIEF REIMARKER
NUMVBER LXXXIL
ON SUNSHINE FRIENDS.
AN ancient naturalist tells us, that the rats will leave a house
which is about to fall.
IBut whether it be so or not, there is in some human animals
a sort of instinct very nearly like it.-they are your sunshine
friends, who stick to you closely in prosperity; but no sooner do
they perceive a bleak storm of adversity hovering over you, than
they estrange themselves and stand aloof.
Nor is this an upstart race of modern origin.  Contrariwise,
we find it distinctly noted and described in writings of early
antiquity; but in none more admirably than in the following passages of the Son of Sirach:-' For," says that skilful remarker
on  ankind,' some man is a friend for his own occasion, and will
not abide in the day of thy trouble.  And there is a friend, who,
being turned to enmity and strife, will discover thy reproach.
Again, some friend is a companion at the table, and will not continue in the day of thy affliction.  But in thy prosperity he will
be as thyself, and will be bold over thy servants.  If thou be




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     353
brouglit low, he will be against thee, and will hide himself from
thy face."  So also, in another part of his admirable book, the
same writer further describes this sort of gentry: —  If thou be
for his profit, he will use thee: b-ut if thou have nothing, he will
forsake thee.  If thou have any thing, he will live with thee: yea,
he will make thee bare, and will not be sorry for it.  If he have
need of thee, he will deceive thee, and smile upon thee, and put
thee in hope; he will speak fair, and say, What wantest thou?
He will shame thee by his meats, until he have drawn thee dry
twice or thrice, and at thle last he will laugh thee to scorn:
afterward when he seeth tlee, he will forsake thee, and shake his
head at thee."
The common saying, P~rosperity mikcdes fr'iezdls, is admllissible
only in a qualified sense.  Mt:ost of the friends of prosperity's
making scarcely deserve the name; for no sooner do they perceive your fortune falling, than they make off with themselves,
like the rats from a falling house.
To exemplify this truth, instances almost without number
might be drawn fiom  history, ancient and modern, sacred and
profane.  But narrowing the subject to a single point, my object
will be the rectification of a very prevalent error; namely, the
idle notion of attracting regard by a style of living too expensive
for our co-ndition.
Nothing more distinctly marks the age and the country we
live in, than this species of folly.  If the former days were not
better than these in other respects, yet in this one respect they
were a great deal better: they were times of sober, prudent
economy.  Poverty was not arrayed in costly attire; mediocrity
did not ape the splendor and expense of wealth; industry was




354                THE BRIEF REMARKER
coupled with frugality; the great bulk of the yeomanry were
plain in their living, and accustomed their children to plainness
of food and raiment; the trader made it a point to win gold ere
he wore it; it was fashionable for families to live within their income; it was creditable to be provident and economical.
Marvellous is the change, which the short term  of a single
age has brought forth.  Now, the general language of practice is,
" Away with the old-fashioned maxims of frugal economy, and
up with the expenses of high life."  The distinctions of wealth
are lost in the general blaze; all being alike fine, all alike accustomed to sumptuous fare.  The two extremes in society, to
wit, Wealth and Pauperism, as it were, meet together; the mliddle class, of such magnitude and might in other times, having
lost its distinctive marks of genealogy.
This ruinous course is entered upon, and obstinately persisted in, not unfrequently in the full view of some of its baleful
consequences.  It needs very little of arithmetic to calculate how
it will end.  The youth must know that if, in his days of health
and vigor, he spends all as he goes, he will, in the seasons of
sickness and decrepit age, be a forlorn dependant upon charity.
All must needs know the inevitable effects produced by the outgoes exceeding the incomes.
But as an offset to the disadvantages of embarrassment, poverty, and debt, a great many, peradventure, are soothed with the
idea that they are obtaining notice and regard, or, in other words,
are making to themselves friends.  In the estimate of their own
imaginations, they do not waste their substance; they only bar'ter it for honorable connections, for distinguished rank in society,
for a close alliance with wealth and fashion, for claims upon the




ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                   355
hearts of a large circle of respectable ladies and gentlemen.
These, they are confident, will never abjure their friendship, nor
forsake them, come what will.
Alas! too late are they undeceived. Too late are they taught
by rueful experience, that the cognranions at the table abide not
iwhen they ar'e br'ozughzt low-that they are sooner forsaken by
none, than by those who had lived tupon thenz, and drawnlz theqn
dry'-that these flesh-pot friends are among the first to lau.~h
themi to scor'n, azid to shakie t/ze heard at th/zez.
Harmanicus-I have known him well-Harmanicus, of proverbial hospitality, had made to himself an endless train of
friends. His house was for all the world like a public inn, except
that the customers had not a farthing to pay;-a precious circumnstance which gave it the decided preference.  Far and near
was Harmanicus known, and for his profuse liberality far and
near was he admired.  Fashion, and Wealth, and Rank, did him
the honor to eat of his " savory meats," and to drink of his
delicious wines.  The itineravnt gentry neglected not to spend
one night at least, both going out and coming in, with the liberalhearted Harmanicus.  Even travellers and sojourners on business,
found time, nevertheless, to breakfast, and dine, and sup, and
lodge, with Harmanicus, who provided withal'" both straw  and
provender."  The worshipful Bencher, for many years his close
table-friend, never failed to live with him in term-time.  They
served themselves of him  to the last.  They eked out their
friendly visits till they lad milked all his resources dry; till
poorly, poor man! was lhe barely able to shift for himself;-an d
then-What then,?- Read the Son of Sirach for an answer.




356                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LXXXIII.
OF THE MIISUSE OF THE FACULTY OF MEMORY.
IN the little citadel of the mind, the 2gfen;zory acts as a sort of
subaltern; and hence it is often blamed, and sometimes wrongfully, by the commander-in-chief.  We seldom find men dissatisfied with their understandings, or their judgments, or with the
character of their hearts.  Very few are disposed to own that
any of these are radically defective, or greatly in fault.  But
nothing is more common than to hear them  berating their memories, as not only weak, but treacherous.  The aged I have often
heard complain of their memories, but seldom of their judgments.
"'Tis with our judgments as our watches-none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own."
I said just now, that the memory sometimes is blamed wrongfully; and truth would bear me out were I to add, that nothing
is more common than to tax the memory with faults of which it
is in no wise guilty.  In very many of the cases, in which forgetfulness is pleaded for excuse or apology, if the memory were al




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      j7
lowed to speak for herself, she would let it be known that the imputations cast upon her are slanderous falsehoods, and that, in
those particular cases, she had performed her part in full measure.
Artificial methods of assisting the memory have been suggested by writers, and at least one invention for that purpose has
been made, and put in practice by those who could not write.
It is worthy of notice as a curiosity, if not for its use.
According to Smith's history of the colony of New York-in
1689, commissioners from  Boston, Plymouth, and Connecticut,
had a conference with the Five Indian nations, at Albany; when
a Mohawk sachem, in a speech of great length, answered the message of the commissioners, and repeated all that had been said
the preceding day.  The art they had for assisting their memories was this. The sachem, who presided, had a bundle of sticks
prepared for the purpose, and at the close of each principal article of the message delivered to them, he gave a stick to another
sachemn charging him with the remembrance of that particular article.  By this means the orator, after a previous conference with
the sachems who severally had the sticks, was prepared to repeat
every part of the message, and to give to it its proper reply.
This custom, as the historian remarks, was invariably pursued in
all their public treaties.
The gift of memory, like the other gifts of nature, is distributed
to some individuals more, and to others less.  Wh le all are blest
with such a measure of memory as might suffice them, if well improved, some few possess it in an extraordinary measure; and,
what is truly wonderful, a very strong memory is sometimes found
yoked with a very feeble intellect.  There are some persons that




358'TH'.E BRIEF' REIARKER.
can repeat, word for word, a long discourse, upon hearing or reading it only once or twice, and yet are possessed of minds too weak
and slender to reason upon matters with any considerable degree
of ability, or to judge of them accurately.  A  man of this sort,
ever makes himself tiresome, if not ridiculous, by dealing out
wares from the vast stores of his memory, without regard to time,
place, or fitness.  But whenever, on the other hand, an excellent
memory is united with a sound and vigorous understanding, nothing but indolence can hinder such a one from becoming greatnothing but the want of good principle at heart, can prevent his
acting, with superior excellence, some part or other upon the
theatre of life.
In general we forget, for want of attention, more than for
want of memory. Persons of very indifferent memories find no
difficulty in remembering certain things that have excited their
attention in a very high degree; while a thousand other things of
far greater moment have been utterly forgotten by them.  Once
on a time, an Indian preacher said to an assembly of white
people,, who were gathered together to hear him —" Though you
will forget what I say, you will remember as long as you live, that
you have heard an Indian preach." It was even so. None of
the assembly did, probably, forget this striking circumstance;
though few retained in memory either sermon or text.
The good we do is registered faithfully in our memories, but
our reprovable deeds we consign to oblivion, by concealing them.
as much as possible from our own sight, as well as from the sight
of others.
" Creditors," generally speaking, " have better memories than
their debtors."  The former are never known to forget the bond;




ON; THE WAYS OF' MAN.                 359
while the latter are very prone to forget it, or at least, to forget
its dalte, or the day of promised payment.
The doer of a favor or benefit, is apt to remember it a great
deal longer than the receiver.
It is one of the worst and most treacherous memories, that forgets friends, and even benefactors, in their adversity, when they
stand in need of aid.  " Yet did not thte chief batler'remenZeber
Josepl/, but forcgat him."
All of us inherit from nature better memories for injuries
than for kindnesses.  This lamentable error of memory, it deeply concerns us to remedy by all the means in our power.
A man of a truly great mind, who had been both obliged and
disobliged by the same persons, magnanimously resolved to forget all that might diminish his gratitude, and to remember only
what might increase it.




3)0               THE BRIEF REMIARIKERI
NIUMBER LXXXIV.
OF ATTAINING A FACILITY OF UTTERIANCE, OR VOCAL EXPRESSION.
A MAN well versed in the knowledge of the world, made this
pithy remalrk: " Wodcls aree thiings.' Not like inarticulate sounds,
devoid of meaning, they are the instruments of an intercommunity of minds, and so are real thinLSs, highly necessary to be well
understood; the knowledge of them being the first step toward
almost all other knowledge.
Language is twofold, uwritten and spoken.  About the former,
the generality of scholars employ much more labor and pains than
about the latter: notwithstanding that this, or colloquial language,
is requisite for use almost every wakeful hour of our lives.
Dr. King, a first.rate scholar of the last age, who had long
been familiar with the most distinguished literary characters in
England, observes, in his Memoirs. that he had been acquainted
with three persons only, who spoke English with that eloquence
and propriety that if all they said had been immediately comlnitted. to writing. any judge of the English language would have
pronounced it an elegant and a very beautiful style:-and one of
these was Dr. Johnson.  Further he states, that, aniong the




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    361
French and Italians, few learned men are met with, who, are not
able to express themselves with ease and eloquence in their own
language.  This defect on the part of the English, he attributes
to the neglect of the study of their mother-tongue; whereas the
nations just named sedulously study theirs.
To which it may, perhaps, be fairly added, that the partakers
of the English blood, are inclined to be constitutionally phlegrmatic and hundrum; and conversing together much less than do
some other portions of mankind, their colloquial faculties are
much less improved by use and exercise.
Be that, however, as it may, it is clear that English scholars
fall far short of perfectness in the language, though ever so learned
and accurate in its theory, unless they are able to speak it, on
every occasion, with promptness, propriety and ease.  To arrive
at this rare attainment, or even to approximate to it, would be
well worth no small degree of labor.
The faculty of communicating thoughts with facility, is one
of the most precious faculties belonging to the human kind — a
faculty, which all who aspire to shine as lights in the world
should strive to acquire. Though a man have all knowledge, if
unable to express what he knows, it can be of little more use than
a lamp that is hid; while, on the other hand, the complete power
of expression gives the utmost advantage to the powers of the intellect.  As a wrestler who can put forth his whole strength in a
moment, and at the nick of time, is able to lay upon his back a slowmoulded man stronger than himself, so a speaker or a talker who
has words at will on all occasions, has it in his power to baffle one
possessing more extent and depth of understanding, but embarrassed and faltering for want of words.  Hence, one human un16




362                THE BRIEF REMIARKER
derstanding is often compelled to yield the palm of victory to another that is inferior to it, even when truth and right are on the
side of the formier.
How shall difficulties be obviated, and the thing in question
be attained?
The aforementioned Doctor King proposes to youth, the method of committing to memory some of the finest passages of the
English classics, for colloquial use. But with great deference to
so high an authority, I must needs think that this method is very
exceptionable.
The practice of echoing in conversation the express sentences
and phrases of celebrated authors, besides being pedantic and fulsome, tends to enfeeble the understanding, how much soever it
may strengthen the memory.  It is like leaning on a staff in
walking; the staff, however substantial and beauteous, either
finds the body inert and clumsy, that leans much upon it, or
a2/z;'es it so.
Speech is the vehicle of thought, and approximates toward
perfection in proportion to the ease and celerity with which it
conveys thought.  This depends very much on judicious practice;
as a theoretical knowledge of the rules of any of the arts is insufficient without practice, so it is with respect to language.  Though
one had a critical knowledge of all the rules of English grammar,
and could give the imeaning of all the words in this language, still
he would be awkward both in speaking and writing the language,
till practice had made him ready and expert.  It is by practice
that one gets the aptitude of conforming to the rules of grammar
without effort, or even so much as thinking of them, and it is by
practice that we learn so to connect and arrange words, that each




ON THE WAYS OF   AN.,                   363
shall be in its proper place, and the fittest for the place which it
is put in.
To combine, and express with readiness the thoughts represented by language, requires not only a sufficient knowledge of
the meaning of words, but also the faculty of having them always at hand; in which case, one can always express distinctly
whatever he conceives distinctly-otherwise, he hesitates, however
clear are his ideas. In this last respect lies the principal difficulty with many: though ideas or thoughts are clear in their
minds, and they have a good knowledge of words, their speech is
rather faltering than fluent, because the proper words do not
spontaneously occur at the moment they are wanted.
There is, perhaps, a method to remove this great difficulty, in
part, if not altogether.  A thoroughly practised artisan. whose
trade requires a variety and frequent change of tools, spends not
a moment in studying which tool he shall take up next; the proper
one presents itself without alny effort at selection.  Now words
are the tools of intellect. If thoughts be only distinct in the mind,
there will be no need to ponder and search for words to express
thei; which, on all occasions, will be on the tongue, ready to be
uttered, if they are enrooted in the memory. A good speller is not
puzzled for letters, nor how to place them: only make the requisite
words as familiar to the mind as the letters of the alphabet, and
they will come to the speaker, whenever they are wanted, as letters to the speller: both occur habitually.
To effectuate this, let one write down, alphabetically, -from a
dictionary, the roots of as many well-selected words, as in fine hand
would cover about three sheets of paper, and with his eye run
over them occasionally, till they become as familiar as the letters




364                THE BRIEF REiMARKER
of the alphabet.  It would take up not much time, and might be
clone in vacant hours; and perhaps the consequences, at length,
would be a copiousness of words, ready for use, and, as it were,
offering themselves whenever wanted.
None that I know of has made this experiment, except one:
and he too far advanced in age to expect to receive benefit from
it himself, other than that of obviating, or partly obviating the
dreaded effects of an inveterate malady of an obliviols character.
This very imperfect experiment, I am well certified, resulted in
his full belief that, had he hit upon it in his juvenile years, and
tried it thoroughly, it might have helped him considerably to the
faculty of ready expression, or fluency, of which he has ever felt
the need.
Some few are gifted with a happy fecundity of words and a
volubility of tongue, while the minds of others, though equally
intelligent, are slow; and it is only these last who need the nost'iun which I have ve..tured to prescribe notwithstanding its
liableness to ridicule.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     365
NUMI3ER LXXXV.
A COMMoIENT UPON THE FABLE OF THE INVISIBLE SPECTACLES.' JOVE, once upon a time " (as an old heathen fable relates) " having ordered that Pleasure and Pain should be mixed, in equal
proportions, in every close of human life; upon a complaint that
some men endeavored to separate what he had joined, and taking
more than their share of the sweet, would leave all the sour for
others; commanded Mercury to put a stop to this evil, by placing upon each delinquent a pair of invisible spectacles, which
should change the appearance of things, making pain look like
pleasure, and pleasure like pain, labor like recreation, and recreation like labor.'
If by the Jzvisible SpecctcZles we are to understand the illusions which mislead the judgment in regard to the true comforts
and interests of life, it is pretty certain that no kind of spectacles
is in so general use.  In the days of youth, almost every thing is
seen through these false glasses, which very many wear all their
lifetime, in spite of age and experience.
One of the most needful of all arts, is the art of comp'z2JutinL-.




366                 THE BRIEF REMAIlKER1
It is deemed indispensably necessary in all kinds of business.
And hence we send our children to school, to learn the use of
figures, and how to cast up accounts, and foot them  to a nicety.
One who has no knowledge at all of the nine figures of arithmetie, who even knows not that two and two imake four, is regarded as fit for no sort of business above that of a -menial servant.
But besides the knowledge of figures, there is another branch of
the art of computing, which is of superior importance: I mean an
accurate knowledge of the value of things, considered in relation
to our own real comfort and happiness.  This is a kind of knowledge not in itself so very difficult to learn, but which, nevertheless, is hidden from  multitudes of men and women of good
natural parts, by reason that their manner is to view things
through the medium, as it were, of magic spectacles, rather than
with the naked and unprejudiced eye of reason.
Apart from  considering the common and  fatal illusions
through which immortal joys are sacrificed to transient pleasure, a
great many, for want of skill in the art of computing, make wrong
judgments about Pleaszure, on the right choice of which their
worldly weal depends in no inconsiderable measure.  Scorning,
or overloaking the simple and innocent pleasures of life, which
are given in common to humlan beings, which no arts of refinement can considerably increase, and which excess never fails to
embitter,-they lose the good they have, by their unfortunate
longings after some unattainable state of earthly felicity.  Pursuing pleasure with eagerness, and as an employment, they purchase pain; and that, at the expense of fortune, health, character, and peace of mind.  At this dear rate they purchase the
most grievous of pain, —to wit, that of satiety, which consists in




ON T'HE WAYS OFvl MAN.                 367
loathing life and its enjoyments.  IHe that is not man enough to
govern his appetites, cannot make himself brute enough to indulge and pamper them without remorse; and, therefore, in the
very circumstance, in which he places his chief good, he is far
less happy than some of the irrational animals around him.
But to return to the fabulous spectacles.  It may be taken
for certain that, though invisible, they are actually worn by all
persons belonging to any of the following classes.
They certainly wear theni, who fondly hope to find happiness
in a life devoted to idleness and an unrestrained indulgence of
passion and appetite.  With respect to their true good, as relates
even to this life alone, they are under a deplorable mistake. For
it is an axiom built upon irrefragable experience, that if mere
corporeal gratification were intended to be the main object of our
pursuits, yet even then, with regard to real enjoyment, industry
would be preferable to sloth, and temperance to excess.
They wear them, who incessantly moil and toil, are hard
dealers. illiberal, uncharitable, incompassionate to the poor;and all for the sake of hoarding up treasure for their children.
Blind infatuation!  Often, very often, it happens that such
hoards are squandered in a much shorter time than it took to
gather them.
T/hey wear them, who, though possessing a competence, fret
their hearts and inmbitter their lives with covetings after riches.
Were they to view things in a true light, they would be thankful,
rather than discontented and  uclerulous;  since their condition
is precisely that which is best calculated to furnish the greatest
amount of genuine earthly comfort.
They wear them, who sacrifice realities to appearances, sub



368                THE BRIEF REMARKER
stantial comforts to airy notions, who would rather feel misery
than not seenz happy, who impoverish and beggar themselves for
the sake of appearing more prosperous and felicitous than those
of the common sort.  The folly of such people's calculations is
seen by everybody but themselves.
They wear them, who lay the scenes of their happiness abroad
rather than at home.  It is a certain trnth, that one who lives
on uneasy terms with himself, can find very little enjoyment in
extrinsic objects.  So that the very first step in the road to
solid happiness, is the acquirement of a contented mind; because
without a disposition to contentment, any change of place, or
of outward condition, is only the exchange of one sort of disquietude for another.  And as the spring of happiness is found
in our own minds, or nowhere; so, "well ordered fIo6ze" is the
true centre of its enjoyment.  Mlothers, whose chief satisfaction
lies in circles of fashion and scenes of amusement, have their
vision wofully distorted by means of the magic spectacles.  Else
they would clearly see that the occupation of nursing, rearing,
and instructing their families, is what furnishes the sweetest of
pleasures, at the same time that it is one of the first of duties.




ON  THE WAYS OF MAN.                      369
NUWiMBER LXXXVI.
OF THE MISUSE, AND THE PR OPER USE, OF READINIG.
"Read not to contradict or confute, nor to believe and take for granted, but to weigh and
consider."
Lor, BAcoN.
THE age we live in, has been remarkably a reading age.  Books
are more numerous and of more easy access, than at any former
period; and the number of readers has increased astonishingly
since the middle of the last century.  In a general view this is
of good omen, for reading is one of the principal keys of knowledge; it unlocks, as it were, a mine of intellectual wealth, and
contributes to its general diffusion.  There is much reason to
think, however, that the progress of real, sound knowledge has
not kept pace with the progress of reading: for the slow pace of
the former in comparison to that of the latter, there being the
several causes which here follow.
By reason of the abundance and superabundance of books,
the best are commonly read superficially, and by many not read at
16,: 




370                THE BRIEF REMARIKIER
all; the attentions of the reading public being distracted with such
a boundless variety. If there were only one book in the world, and
its copies so multiplied that it were in every one's hands, almost
every body would have it by heart.  Or, if there were only a few
books, and they accessible to all, those few would be pondered
and studied till a considerable part of their contents were treaurecd up in the minds and nmelmories of the generality of readers.
But now that books are so numerous. the readers skip from  one
to another, without settling their attention upon any  so that
many who are fairly entitled to the credit of great reading, are
very little improved in. their intellectual faculties. They eagerly
devour books, but properly digest and appropriate scarcely any
thing therein, and their minds are plethoric, but destitute of
vigor.
Besides this, with the bulk of the bookish tribe, reading has
become an idle amusement rather than a serious and laborious
occupation.  They read for pleasure more than for profit.  The
acquirement of a fund of really useful knowledge scarcely comes
within the scope of their object, which is chiefly to beguile the
tedious hours by furnishing food for the imagination.  And hence
it is, that no books are so palatable, or so generally read, and
with so much eagerness, as the lighter compositions which. are
fiaught with amusement, but are barren of sound instruction.  A
novel even of the lowest cast, finds more readers than a serious
work of great merit.
Moreover, the perpetual influx of new books has occasioned a
raging appetite for novelty of some kind or other, no matter what;
so that the attention of most readers is directed rather to what is
new, than to what is valuable and excellent.  This kind of curi




ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                   371
osity is insatiable; for the more it is fed, the Imore it craves.
Old authors are neglected because they are old, and new ones
engross the attention because they are new.  The standard compositions of former ages are cast aside as lumber; while a new
pretender, with less than a fourth part of their abilities, is sure
to find a momentary welcome at least.
From these causes it happens, that a great deal of reading does
by no means imply a great stock of valuable knowledge. On the
contrary, it often leaves the mind empty of almost every thing
but vanity; none being more vain, or more intolerable, than
those who, haviing learned by rote a multitude of maxims and
facts, deal theem out by the gross, on all occasions, and in all companies. The food which they have derived from reading lies in
their nminds undigested. and while it occasions a preternatural
tLumor there, it gives neither growth nor strength.  Their reading has scarcely brought into exercise any one of the intellectual faculties besides the memory, which has been loaded and kept
in perpetual action, whilst their understandings and judgments
remain dormant.  They are proud that they have read so much,
but have reason rather to be ashamed that they know so little.
One who would really profit by reading must take heed what
lie reads, and how.
The use of reading is to render one more wise and virtuous,
rather than more learned; and that point is to be gained, not so
much from the quantity, as the quality of the books which we
peruse. No single individualihas leisure enough, nor is any life
long enough, for a thorough perusal of even the tenth part of the
books now extant in the English language. A selection is, therefore,
necessary, and much depends upon making it judiciously.   An




372                THE IRIEF REMARKEIR
inconsiderable number of well chosen and well studied books, will
enable one to mnake far greater advances in real knowledge, than
lightly skimming over hundreds of volumes taken up indiscriminately.
In reading, attention is to be paid also to the 116tw, as well
as to thle  T//hat.  The proper object of reading is not mnerely to
inform us of what others think, but also to furnish us with materials for thinking ourselves, or for the employment and exercise
of our judgments and understandings, and of all our intellectual
and moral faculties.  It is not enough that it supplies us with a
multitude of facts; for the knowledge of facts is valuable to us
chiefly for the inferences that we ourselves may draw from them,
or because they furnish us with the means of exercising and exerting our own powers in the way of comparing, reasoning, and
judging, and of drawing sound conclusions of the future from the
past.
Knowledge cannot be bequeathed as a patrimony, or purchased with money; there is no other way to obtain it but by
close attention and labor of the mind.  Whoever would get knowledge in any uncommon degree, must seek for it as for silver.
If it be a toil, it is one that is sweetened with pleasures peculiarly its own. Indeed it is questionable whether it would be so
well for us if we could get learning without labor; for one of the
essential benefits of education is, that it inures the mind to apply
itself steadily to any thing that requires its particular attention
in a word, it tends to form the precious habit of calling home oui
wandering thoughts at pleasure, and bringing them to a point.
After all, book learning alone is insufficient for human con
cerns.  To use a quotation from Dr. Johnson: " Books, says Ba.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   373
con, can never teach the utse of books.  The student must learn
by commerce with mankind to reduce his speculations to practice,
and accommodate his knowledge to the purposes of life."
One observation more I will make, and hope it may be carefully heeded. We err no less in not turning to good account
what we know, than in neglecting to increase our stock of knowledge.  What doth it profit though a man have much knowledge,
if he is not better, more wise and virtuous in his conduct, and
more useful to the community? If it makes him but the worse,
he turns the blessing to a curse.




374                TlE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER LXXXVII.
OF EXCESSIVE AND INDISCRIMINATE NOVEL READING.
Tim age we live in, may justly be called the age of Novels and
of Novelists.  This brotherhood and sisterhood of writers are of
modern origin.  If we except the romances of the middle ageswho. by the by, however wild and extravagant they appear, are
thought to exhibit pretty correct delineations of the coarseness,
ferociousness, and brutality of the manners of their times-if we
except those old romances, there were few novelists of any note
prior to about the I-middle of the last century.
It was then that Fielding, and Richardson, and Smollett appeared before the public: an astonishing trio, whose brilliance of
genius, command of language, and distinct insight into the feelings and passions of the human heart, enabled them  to adorn
their pages with fascinating charms.  To the works of these geniuses there succeeded swarms of imitators of each sex, and of every grade, as well in Germany as in Britain: so that the reading
world, for the last thirty years, has been inundated, as it were,
with novels, of which every one finds readers.




ON THE  WAYTS OF 1 AN.                  375
It is an obvious fact, that books of no other kind are read with
so much eagerness by the American youth of both sexes, as novels, or narratives of feigned incidents, characters and scenery;
for though they seldom tempt to a second reading, they as seldom fail of being read once.  In this respect, it makes very little
difference whether a novel be the fruit of genius, or of hairbrained folly; whether it has the stamp of learning, or proceeds
from the pen of conceited ignorance; whether it sketches real
life, or outstrips the extravagance of Bedlam; —if the thing be
but new, it is earnestly inquired for, and eagerly perused.
And where lies the harm?  Not in the nature of this species
of writing, for it is not censurable in itself.  We have the highest
of all authorities for the use of parables: they have been made
the vehicle for conveying moral truth in the most cogent a.nd captivating, and, at the sane time, the most inoffensive manner.
Apologues and fables are worthy of praise rather than blame,
if fraimed with ingenuity, and made of manifest tendency to promote good morals.  And the like may be said of the species of
writing that goes under the denomination of novels: it is not
censurable as a species of composition, but as a species of composition that has been generally and deplorably perverted by
misuse.  It is not to be denied that a novel may be so fashioned by well-directed talent, as to blend amusement with instruction, entertainment with the mloral improvement of the
mind; nor is it to be affirmed that there are no instances of this
happy combination; some there are, though comparatively few.
But the harm of novel reading, carried to the excess of extravagance to which the present age has carried it, lies partly at least




376                 THE BRIEF REMARKER
in the following particulars, which my limits will allow me barely
to mention.
1. Passing over the baser sort of novels, or such as have a,
direct tendency to deprave the mind and the heart, it may be confidently affirmed that the greater part of the rest, though they profess to have a moral purpose, do in no measure inculcate pure
Clhr)istian morals, but those of a spurious kind; the standard of
their morality being very little higher, if any, than that of the
highest order of the pagan school.
2. There is always danger, especially as regards youth, of cultivating the imagination too much, and the more solid faculties of
ourI nature too little; and it is of the nature of most novels to
produce this effect: they expand and bloat the imagination without informing the undcerstanding, or maturing the judgment.
3. The pictures of life given in novels, are not usually those
of conmmon, but of high life; and they can be, therefore, of no
practical use at all to persons who are not destined to move in
the highest circles.  On the other hand, they tend to sophisticate
their manners as well as their morals; the manners of dukes
and duchesses being widely reimote from  what should be the
manners of plain men and women.
4. Novel-readers, unless gifted with a more than ordinary
fund of sound sense, are prone to slide into a romantic habit of
thinking, and to cherish extravagant expectations.  Finding in
the books they are most accustomed to, a series of preternatural
events; astonishing effects produced without even a shadow of
cause; persons suddenly raised, as by imagic, from  humble circumstances to boundless opulence and loftiness of rank;-finding
in the books which they ponder by day and through the vigils of




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     377
the night, a perpetual recurrence of such unearthly scenery described in glowing language; it is no wonder that they cherish preposterous hopes; nor is it a wonder if they become disgusted with
the homely scenes and occupations of ordinary life, and look with
contempt upon every situation, enjoyment, or connection, that is
actually attainable by them.
5. If novels have the good effect of beguiling the young into
a passion for reading, they have, also, not unfrequently, the bad
effect of so enervating their minds that there is left them neither
industry, nor relish for sober history, or for any thing else that
requires the labor of their understandings and judgments.
6. This kind of reading has a tendency to vitiate the taste,
as well in regard to style as to sentiment.  The readers of novels-they who read them indiscriminately or without selectionare accustomed to a style nauseously sweet, or vapidly towering;
consisting of spangled heaps of words and images, which smother
the sense, where sense there is. Thus accustomed, their feelings
are no less repugnant to plain sober language than to plain sober
sense.
It does by no means follow from what has been said, that parents and instructors should lay their children under an absolute
interdiction with respect to the reading of novels.  For, not to
mention that such is the texture of our general nature that prohibition has a stimulating power, so that if a book never so worthless were prohibited by law, almost every body would wish to
read it; —there are, no doubt, some novels, which might be put
into the hands of the young, with safety, and to their real advantage.  The danger lies in reading them indiscriminately or without selection, and in making them a principal part of reading.



378                THE BRIEF REMARKER' Those novels which paint the manners and character of the body
of mankind, and affect the reader with the relation of misfortunes
that may befall himself," may be perused, now and then, not only
as an amusenent, but as a profitable study — yet, after all, it
is'real life, with which we must chiefly have to do.




ON THE WAYS OF BIAN.                   379
NUMBER LXXXVIII.
OF THE IMPASSABLE AND UNALTERABLE LIMITS TO THE PLEASURES OF
SENSE.
THE pleasures of sense, common to all animal natures, can admit
of very little increase by the refinements of art, and, at the same
time, are bounded and limited by impassable barriers.  I say
mplasscaible barriers, for you no sooner have overleaped them than
the pleasure is gone, and satiety, disgust, or some kind or other of
painful dissatisfaction, succeeds to its place.
Sweet as is the light, too much of it would instantly destroy
the organ of vision.  Pleasant as it is to see the sun, yet to look
steadfastly upon him in his meridian glory, would cause pain, and
even blindness.  The light of that luminary, by which alone we
see the innumerable objects that are visible to us, is colored; else
our feeble organ of sight could endure it scarcely for a moment.
For what if the whole sky, the whole earth, and every object
above and around us, shone with the unmingled brightness of tzuncolored light'?  In that case, the light itself would become darkness, since every eye must instantly be blinded by it.
And as with sight, so with hearing.  A  sound that is too




380                THE BR'IEF REMARIsERt
strong and forcible, deafens the ear.  Nay, even the most sweet
and harmonious sounds, when long continued, or very often repeated, become indifferent to the ear, if not tiresome.
In like manner, the smlell is sickened with perpetual fragrance, and the palate surfeited by overmluch sweetness.
Even the joy of mere animal nature, when it exceeds the just
bounds, becomes a disturber.  Overmuch joy of this sort, is inquietude; it banishes quiet sleep as effectually as pungent grief.:Hence it falls out, agreeably to the established constitution of
our nature, that scarcely any persons lead more unpleasant lives
than those who pursue pleasure with the imost eagerness.  And
so it must needs be; because their over eagerness of desire, by
spurring them on to perpetual excess, turns their pleasures to
pains, and their very recreations to scenes of wearisome drudgery.
If Solomon had not told us from his own experience, that such
a course of life is not only vanity, but vexation of spirit; yet the
world abounds with instances to prove and illustrate it. —Of these
I will now cite two eminent ones of the last age.
Richard Nash, Escq.,-commllonly called Beau Nash-who
died, 1781, aged eighty-seven, was Malster of the Ceremlonies, or
King of Bathl for the space of nearly half a century.  His body
was athletic, his constitution strong and healthy, and his ruling
passions were vanity, and keenness of desire for fashionable dissipation.  To his darling wishes the mueans of indulgence exactly
and altogether corresponded.  Presiding over the amnusements of
the courtiers, and nobility, and gentry of England, he gratified
his vanity with the finery and costliness of his apparel, and with
the implicit obedience paid to his orders; and whilst employed in
providing banquets of pleasure for his voluptuous guests, lie sel



ON THE WAYS OF MbAN.                   381
doin neglected his opportunities of carving plenteously for himself. —Beau Nash, enjoyed what is called pleasure, for a greater
length of time, and refined upon it more exquisitely, than perhaps
any other man that is now among the living or the dead.  Yet,
setting aside all the awful considerations of futurity, no one that
reads the story of his life with any degree of sound reflection, will
be led to think that he had more real enjoyment of it, than falls
to the ordinary lot of mankind: or even near so much.  A biographer of Nash, in speaking of the latter stages of his life, observes: "He was now past the period of giving or receiving pleasure, for he was poor. old and peevish; yet still he was incapable
of turning from his former manner of life to pursue happiness.
The old man endeavored to practise the follies of the boy; and
he seemed willing to find lost appetite among the scenes where
he once was young. "
A remarkable counterpart to the life of IMr. Nash, is that of
Mademoiselle de L'Elspinasse; which clearly shows that the most
unhappy of women are those who have no taste for simple domestic comforts.
It is related of this most accomplished French lady, who had
been the unrivalled leader of fashion in France, during a part of
the last century, A" That she not only lived, but almost died. in
public; that while she was tortured with disease, and her heart
so torn with agonizing passions as frequently to turn her thoughts
on suicide, she dined out and made visits every day; and that,
when she was visibly within a few weeks of her end, and was
wasted with coughs and with spasms, she still had her saloon filled
twice a day with company, and dragged herself out to supper with
all the countesses of her acquaintance."




382                THE BRIEF REMARKER
To be tenzperate irn acall /hinz's; is as really a matter of interest
as of duty.  If there were even no unlawfulness in excess, nor any
punishment following it in the coming world, yet it ever brings
with it a punishment here; a punishment that more than countervails the enjoyment. And, on the other hand, if there were neither
virtue nor duty in moderation of enjoying the pleasures of sense,
yet it carries along with it its own reward, as it is the only way
of deriving from those pleasures all the satisfaction which it is of
their nature to give.  So that to enjoy innocently, and in strict
conformity to the rules of reason and of our holy religion, results
ordinarily in a greater amount of real pleasure, than is to be
found by the epicure or the voluptuary.  It is excellently observed by ]Doctor Reid, on the Mind-" If one could by a soft
and luxurious life, acquire a more delicate sensibility to pleasure,
it must be at the expense of a like sensibility to pain, from which
he can never promise himself exemption; and at the expense of
cherishing many diseases which produce pain."
Beware of Pleansure!  The envenomed serpent couches under
the gay and fragrant flower.




ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                   383
NU3MBER LXXXIX.
OF THIE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN IGNORANCE AND A NATURAL WEAKNESS
OF UNDEERSTANDING.
ATLHOUGH ignorance and foolishness are near akin, there is,
nevertheless, a material difference between them; the former consisting in the destitution of what is called learning, and the latter
in narrowness or weakness of the understanding.
Some ignorant men, or, in other words, some men of little or
no learning, manifest strength of memory, clearness of conception, and soundness of judgment; and, within the narrow compass of their own observation, their remarks are just, and sometimes profound.  Though not capable of reasoning exactly according to the rules of logic, yet they do reason conclusively, and
not unfrequently, by a native plainness and directness of understanding, they reach the point by the shortest way.  In defiance
of bad grammar and uncouth phraseology, there is discoverable
in them a nmine of intellectual lore which, had it been properly
worked and refined, might have enriched and adorned society.
On the other hand, some learned men are foolish after all.




384                THE BRIEF REMARKER
When a strong memory is coupled with a weak understanding,
(which is a union neither impossible, nor quite uncommon)-in
such a case, though a great deal of learning is attainable, the
possessor is not much the wiser for it; and as to the unfortunate
wights who are constrained to keep him company, they are rather
plagued than profited by his learning.  He is incessantly throwing it in their faces, and gorging them with it even to surfeiting.
The garner of his memory is ample, and it is full; every thing is
there, but nothing in its right place; and having no faculty of
discrimination, he more often brings out of his treasury, for use
or for show, the wrong thing than the right.  If you want of him
only a string of taple, he measures you off whole yards of br~ocade.
He must needs pour forth a flood of learning upon every thing,
and to every body; and he lectures upon literature and science,
and quotes scrap after scrap from  the ancients, without any regard to time, or place, or company.
In the course of the last age, one of this sort, namely, Dr.
George, of London, a most eminent Greek scholar, who knew
little else but Greek, expressed his wonder at the fame of Frederick of Prussia.' For my part," quotl the Doctor,' I cannot
regard Frederick as a truly great man, for I doubt his being able
so much as to conjugate one of the Greek verbs; —and the
learned Grecian proceeded to name to the company a particular
verb, which he thought would be more than a match for his
Majesty's head.
This species of pedantry, which was more prevalent, by
many degrees, at some former times than at the present, is keenly satirized in the following lines of Winne's translation of Boileau.




ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                    385
"' Brimful of learning see that pedant stride,
Bristling with horrid Greek, and puff'd with pride!
A thousand authors he in vain has read,
And with their maxims stuff'd his empty head;
And thinks that, without Aristotle's rule,
Reason is blind, and common sense a fool."
Learned foolishness, is more egregiously foolish than the folly
of ignorance.  It is wayward, positive, and imperious; too conceited and indocile to be informed, and too obstinate to forsake
error.  Mien, distempered with this kind of foolishness, imagine
themselves wise overmuch, because they have read a great many
books, and can repeat, in more than one language, perhaps, what
others have said and written: whereas, they are like a gourmand,
whose digestive faculties bear no proportion to the largeness of
his swallow.  They task and load the memory, without exercising
the judgment.  They lay up in the memory, facts heaped upon
facts, without order and without distinction; —and these are in
the memory olnly-the noble powers of the understanding being
not at all, or very little, occupied about them.
Learning, in itself, is not wisdom. " We may be learned from
the thoughts of others; —wise we cannot be but from our own."
The foregoing observations are, in no wise, disparaging to the
legitimate honors of learning. For what though in some it produces the pedantry of conceited weakness, and what though as to
others it is perverted to vile purposes? Learning itself is not to
blame; nor is it the less excellent for these disfiguring excrescences, which no more belong to it than doth a wen to the proper
form of the human body.
Literature, conjoined with science, and resulting in a high
17




386                THE BRIEF RETMAIKEIt
degree of civilization, is the procurer of all the embellishments
and delights, and of most of the conveniences and comforts of our
present condition; the civilized world being raised now almost
as much above the condition it stood in, when classical learning
was first rising on Europe, in the fifteenth century, as it then
was above that of the hordes of roaming savages.  Add to this,
that the pleasure of learning, like that of religion, is not confined
to time or place, nor dependent upon the smiles of fortune.  It
may be enjoyed in solitude, in penury, and in old age; which
last does sometimes, if not often, increase rather than diminish
it.
In conclusion; having observed above, that learning furnishes
food or materials for thought, I will venture to recommend to
readers an excellent rule, taken from the practice of a very eminent man of the last age. It is this -IIn reading, observe the
course of your thoughts rather than of your books.  Sometimes
your reading will give occasion to a thought, not connected with
the subject which your book treats of; and in such a case, drop
the course of your reading, and follow the course of the thought
that has been started.




ON THE WAYS OF BIAN,                   37
NUMBER XC.
OF EVIL THIEKIN IGI.
" fIE that would seriously set upon the search of truth," says
the great Locke,': ought in the first place to prepare his mind
with a love of it: for he that loves it not, will not take much
pains to get it, nor be much concerned when he misses it.  There
is nobody in the commonwealth of learning who does not profess
himself a lover of truth: and there is not a rational creature that
would not take it amiss to be thought otherwise of. And yet, for
all this, one may truly say, there are very few lovers of truth for
truth's sake, even amongst those who persuade themselves that
they are so.  How a man imay know whether he be so in earnest,
is worth incquiry, and I think there is one unerring mark of it, viz.
the not entertaining any proposition with greater assurance, than
the proofs it is built upon will warrant."
These weighty sentiments, so worthy to be carried with us
in all our secular, and in all our moral and religious concerns,




THE BRIEF REMIARKER
are particularly applicable to  the  subject of evil-t/hinZkiafg.
Downright, wilful slander is considered on all hands as a detestable vice; and a person, habitually guilty of it in its grossness,
is marked as a foe to society.  A man, a woman, or a family that
is notoriously infected with this foul malady, is watched as carefully as is a pickpocket, or a common cheat.  But it unhappily
falls out that, although gross, wilful slander commonly meets
with the reprobation it merits, yet what is nearly related to it,
passes with very little censure or remorse.-I mean the talcing
yp a reproach against one's neighbor, or believi'ng an ill report
of another upon slight grounds, or without sufficient evidence.
The commonness of this fault seems to evince a strong predisposition to it in our very nature.  It is a remark of the great
British moralist, Dr. Johnson, that': there are two causes of belief; Evidence and Inclination.'  When we are in no manner
inclined to believe a thing, we naturally require full evidence of
it before we yield our credence: and, on the other hand, when
we are powerfully inclined to believe, we can do so, not only
without evidence, but against it.  Hence it would seem, that we
naturally have a strong inclination to believe or think ill of others, since we so often do it on no real proof, or on what is next
to none.
How happens it that, even in well-ordered society, scandal
flies as upon the wings of the wind?  That it so quickly spreads
over a whole neighborhood, parish or town?  That it continues
to widen its circle from day to day, till every body knows it save
one, to wit, the very person scandalized?-Does not this argue a
general love of scandal?-Perhaps you will say No; and will
hold, that two or three tale-bearers or busy-bodies may have done




ON THE WAYS OF EMAN.                   389
the whole mischief.  But how could they have done it, if they
had not found a multitude of ears to listen to their tale, and a
multitude of tongues to aid them  in its circulation?  As there
would be no thieves of one kind, if there were no receivers of
stolen goods, so there would be no tale-bearers, if there were no
eager listeners to their buzz; and as the receiver is as bad as
the thief, so the eager listener to groundless scandal, is well-nigh
as bad as its author, or at least possesses some portion of the same
depravity of feeling and temper.
No one has travelled very far upon the journey of life, and
been an observant traveller, who has not noticed the manner, in
which, for a while, this "pestilence walketh in darkness," and
then bursts forth into open day. The foul report is for some time
communicated in whispers, accompanied with solemn inj unctions of
secrecy.  Every one professes to hope it is not true, and yet every
one whispers it to every one's acquaintance.  At length it becomes a common report; a matter of public notoriety.  It is in
every body's mouth, and every body mluzst believe it; because,
according to one orthodox old saying, "What every body says,
must be true; " and according to another of equally sacred authority, "' Where there is much smoke, there imust be some fire."  It
is a settled point.  In the public opinion, the case is decided,
and the defamed party is cast off. All are of one mind, that
there must be something in it; though, here and there, one
charitable body or another, expresses a faint hope that the affair
may not turn out to be quite so scandalous as it is represented.
Last of all, after the lapse of months, it reaches the astonished
ears of the person nmost immediately concerned.  It is sifted,
a:d turns out a sheer fabrication, invented and first put in circu



390               THE BRIEF REMARKER
lation by lVo6ocdy.  Search is made in vain for the author, who
lies snugly concealed amidst the multitude.
Well, then the matter is cleared up, and all the slur is wiped
away at last from the character of the defamed.  Not exactly so,
nor indeed can it be.  Some are no less loath to disbelieve, than
they were forward to believe.  Some who pretend to be very
glad at the result, secretly wish it had been a little otherwise.
Some have their doubts still; and some, again, have no inclination to examine the disproof of the calumny, though they had
swallowed it with a voracious appetite.




ON THEr  WAYS UP MALi:N:<.               391.
N UMBER XCI.
OF' TREATING CHTILDREN WITIT EXCESSIVEi SEVERITY.
IN the excellent little tract of Dr. Cotton Mather's, entitled,
" Essays to do Good," the venerable author lays down for himself the following rule, in regard to his treatment of children'will never use co)poyeal1punishnzent excep)t it be jbo  art catrociozs crime, or for a smcaller' fCZult obstinately persisted  ivn."  A
maxim  which deserves to be written in golden characters, or
rather, and far better, to be engraven upon the hearts of parents,
and instructors of schools.  Nor is it at all inconsistent with the
maxim in. Holy Writ, "' tHe that sycpareth the roc hateth his son,.";
For, by no fair interpretation, cnll this last be made to mean, that
the discipline of the rod is necessary in any cases other than the
aforementioned.
Obedience is the first lesson to be inculcated upon childhood.
Ere it can discern between good and evil, the child should be
taught to obey.  Then it is that the task is comparatively easy,
and may be effected by a small measure of prudent enforcement.
No restraint, however, should be imposed upon childhood, but




392                THE BRIEF REMARKER
such as is salutary, and of obvious necessity. All and every needless
restraint is tyrannous in its nature, and hurtful in its consequences.
The child should be habituated to?yassive obedience, and, at the
same time, be permitted to enjoy freedom of action in things indifferent;-to speak as a child, to act as a child,-to be lively and
playsome as a child.  One, whose childhood is closely held in
trammels, whose merely childish things incur rebukes and frowns,
is full likely to make a licentious use of freedom when it arrives,
or else to be a mopus all his days.
Children should be carefully guarded against every species of
useless vexation.
" Provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged."  Lay upon them none but necessary and wholesome restrictions.  Never cross them for the mere sake of showing your
authority.  Reclaim with a lenient hand their involuntary errors.  Mark not against them with a severe eye their trivial aberrations.  Be no less ready to commend their well-doing tlan to
blame therm for doing ill.  Otherwise, the obedience paid you
will be uncheerful, constrained, and slavish.  If you are of a faultfinding temper, you will occasion the very faults you seek after.
Your children, out of despair of pleasing you, will become regardless both of your pleasure and displeasure, except in so far
as they are influenced by slavish fear.
As to stubbornness, or obstinate disobedience, "this kind goeth not out" but by severe discipline.  It must be mastered by
blows if nothing else will do, and the earlier the better.  But for
the rest, mild and persuasive methods are far preferable.
Over young minds, the law of love might be made to have a
much more powerful influence than the penal law.  Much more




ON THE WAYS OF MAN_.                   393
easily are they drawn and guided by their affections than driven
by their fears; the tenor of the former being spontaneous, steady,
and uniform;  while the latter operate only by occasional excitemnent.  You have the fastest hold of the child that you hold by
" the cords of love."  By these cords you can draw him with ease.
Delighting to please, and of course dreading to offend you, it is
in your power to imprint in his mind indelible characters; to
weed out his wayward propensities; to awaken his emulation; to
stimulate his industry; and to mould him to sentiments a-d habits.
preparatory to excellence in after life. But fear alone is an unnatural and odious tie, which the child is ever desirous to break loose
from.  It stimulates indeed, but not in the manner to produce
those ingenuous sentiments and feelings, which are the foundation of excellence in character.
Experience abundantly shows, that degrading punishment has
rather a pernicious, than a salutary effect, upon the nminds of fullgrown persons.  Few culprits, if any, were ever made better by
means of the whipping-post and the stocks, or by cropping their
ears, or in fixing a brand of infamy upon the forehead or hanud.
Instead of being led to amendment by these means, they generally
are made the more desperate and abandoned, by reason that they
view their characters as irretrievably lost.  So that, after having
gone through one of these ordeals of shamc, they ever after are
utterly shameless.
Now it should be remembered, that children are as men and
women in miniature; possessed of the like passions, and particularly
of the like feelings of honor and disgrace.  Moreover, in children the most promising, these feelings are the most acute.
They have a keen sensibility to shame, whereof a good use may
17':




394                TIHE BRIEF REMARIKEIR
be made by prudent management;  but if this sensibility be
put to hard proof, and that frequently, it becomes blunted, and
their minds grow callous.  And a child that is lost to shame,
and to all self-respect, is in peculiar danger of being a lost child.
And besides, none are more unpitiful and cruel than those
who have been brought up under the cruellest discipline, which
seldom fails to blunt their feelings, and produce hardness of
heart and ferociousness of temper.  The cruellest of slave-drivers
are those that had been bred slaves, and had daily felt the
smart of the lash.  And by parity of reason, children that are
trained up under parents or governors, who carry punishment
beyond the bounds of kind correction into those of vengeance,
and who delight to inflict such punishment as attaches infamy,
must needs possess more than a common measure of native
amiability, if in the end they turn out sweet-tempered, humane,
and of a nice sense of honor.
I will conclude with the words of the great Locke.-" To
break the spirits of children by too severe usage, is to them  a
greater injury than the, opposite extreme of indulgence, for there
is more hope, that a wild undisciplined spirit will become orderly, than of raising up one made abject and heartless by severity
of discipline."




ON THE WAYS OJ-'F MAN-,.               39.5
NUMBER XCII.
OF DRAWING AND FIXING THE ATTENTION OF CHIILDREN.
TaE great Locke, a man of almost unrivalled depth and acuteness
of understanding, in his excellent treatise on Education, expresses himself as here follows:-" He that has found a way how to
keep up a child's spirit easy, active, and free, and yet, at the
same time, to restrain him from many things he has a mind to,
and to draw him to things that are uneasy to him; he, I say,
that knows how to reconcile these seeming contradictions, has, in
my opinion, got the true secret of education."
This is a sentiment of no ordinary importance.  No less just
than profound, it is entitled to the strict regard of parents, of
preceptors, and of all who have the management of children.
The true power over children, is that of swaying their inclinations; the power of withdrawing their inclinations fromi one
direction, and settling them  down in another.  It is not hard
words, nor hard blows, that can gain this point.  The will is
wrought upon by other methods. Of many examples that might
go to illustrate this matter, I will adduce one, and a notable one.




396               THE BRIEF REM1IARKER
Horatio Nelson, so famous in naval history, had at first an
utter aversion to the sea; of which; in no long time, he came to
be extravagantly fond.  And what miracle, or magic, wrought
this change in him?  It was wrought neither by miracle nor by
magic, but by a very natural process.  The captain, who was his
uncle, caressed the boy, treated him with familiarity and confidence, and not unfrequently consulted him as if he were a nan,
and his equal.  This management enkindled in him the dormant
sparks of genius and emulation, and clhanged, as it were, his inward frame.  He was quite another boy.  From being diffident
and sheepish, he at once became most active and enterprising;
and fiom loathing the service, his whole inclination was bent
upon excelling in it.  Had his boyhood fallen into different
hands, he might probably hnave turned out a very different
character.  Nor would it, perhaps, be too much to assert, that
the victory of the Nile, was an event in connection with the iimpressions made on the tender years of Nelson by Captain Suckling.
In whatever you would teach your children, the main thing is
to bring their minds to it in good earnesti after which, the rest
is easy.  In their play they are all alike active, because they all
love it; and so it would be as to their learning, if they could be
once brought to love Ihtat as well as they love play.  For it is
generally for want of attention, rather than of sufficient faculties,
that children are dull to learn; and in exciting and fixing their
attention, the great art of the teacher lies.
Now the habit of attention. that is, attention of the genuine
sort, is seldom, or never, wrought in them by operating merely
upon their fears.  The dread of pain might indeed force them




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     397
on to the performance of their task, but still they would perform
it cs a task, and with any other feelings than those of delight:
whereas the proper attention springs from a real delight in the
thing they are about.  This is wrought in them  by awakening
the more generous feelings of their nature-the love of esteem,
and the desire of excelling.  It is what requires skill, patient
industry, and able manageement; while, on the other hand. to make
children attentive, after a sort, to their learning, by means of
menaces and stripes, is a short, easy, and lazy method, requiring
as little of trouble, as of talent; but always falling wofully short
of the true narlk.
And as in learning, so in whatever reputable and useful employment else, the young mind, by skilful management, nmight be
mcade to prefer it, and to take more pleasure in it than in doing
nothing.  The busiest age is that of childhood.  It is then
they are most inclined to be ever about something, and
make it their chief delight to keep moving.  This seems to
furnish clear proof that industry is natural to our species; in
which case, education has little else to do than to give it a
proper direction.  Children, who of their own accord play
with nnweariable industry, might always, perhaps, be induced to
apply themselves, at the proper age, with the like spontaneous
industry, to things of importance.  But then, in order to it, their
inclinations must be led, rather than forced.  Play itself would
presently become irksome and disgustful to children, if they
were driven to it, and kept at it, by main force.  And much
less can you expect that they will be diligent and active
in business, unless you so prevail over their inclinations, as that
they choose it of their own free will: a thing of no great difficul



398                THE BRIEF REMARKER
ty, for the most part, if it be set about in season, and conducted
with prudence.
There is a great difference between lumpish laziness, and
frisky idleness.  One who is too lazy to move himself about, is
diseased in the very core, and there is no help for him.  Of such
however the number is small.  Whereas the numerous tribe of
idlers, or of such as spend their time without profit to themselves
or others, are generally, nevertheless, frivolously busy, and
quite active in their own way; and had they been tutored
aright in their early years, their natural activity might have
turned to excellent account.




ON THE WAYS OF' MAN.                   399
NUM/+BE R  XCIII.
OF BALANCING THE PRINCIPLES OF HOPE AND FEAR IN THE GOVERNANCE OF CHILDIREN.
EHOPES and Fears are the great springs of humana actions; and
though seemingly standing in opposition to one another, they
jointly contribute to the accomplishment of the same ends.
Hope that is altogether fearless, atts with rashness, or sinks into
torpitude; but accompanied with fear, it is vigilant as well as
diligent.   On the other hand; fear unaccompanied with hope, is
despair: and despair furnishes no stimulation at all to enterprise.  It is by the due balancing of these two grand principles,
Hope and Fear, that the human species is governed, and stimulated to actions tending to the preservation of the individuals,
and to the general weal.
Our holy Religion, itself, addresses alike our hopes and our
fears.   Every well-principled and well-poised civil government,
is calculated to operate upon each of these masterly principles of
our nature.  And it is with a nice regard to these universal and
powerful principles, that children are to be governed and managed in families and schools.




400                 THE BRIEF IREMARKER
It requires no inconsiderable skill in parents, as well as faithfulness, to qualify them for the all-important task of governing
their children.  Tacitus, the Roman historian, remarked of Agricola, that " lie governed his family; which many find a harder
task than to govern a province."  And why is this task so hard?
Not because it is altogether difficult of itself, but mainly because
parental affection runs into error, one way or the other.  On the
one hand, we are blind to the faults of our children, and spoil
them  by indulgence; or, on the other, from the desire of rearing
our children to an ideal perfection, and of exalting them above
the condition of childhood and of human nature itself, we mark
in them  even the pettiest of trespasses, with a keenness of severity that chills their hopes, and either breaks their spirits, or
renders them restless and refractory.  The Golden MIean between
the extrerme of indulgence and the extreme of rigor, is what few
parents clearly discern and steadfastly pursue.
Preceptors, or instructors of schools, are, for the time being,
the foster parents of the children committed to their tutorage.
And though they lack that yearning of affection that is felt by
the real parent, they aie, for this very reason, the less apt to
swerve friom the goldeni mzeanz I just now mentioned; provided
they possess all the requisite qualifications for their business.
These requisite qualifications are generally thought of easy attainment, and so indeed would they be, if they consisted only in
a competent measure of learning, along with rectitude of moral
character: but all this, though absolutely needful, is quite insufficient of itself.  Superadded  to a competent ability to teach,
there must be considerable skill in governing and managing a




ON THE'  WAYS OF MNAN.                  401
school; otherwise, time and labor will be in a great measure
lost.
An eminent degree of this kind of skill, is no less precious
than rare.  One who, besides possessing in full measure all the
other requisites, is an adept in the science of managing a school;
who knows the avenues to the minds and hearts of his pupils;
who can seize alike upon their hopes, their fears, their emulation,
and combine these jarring affections, and, as by mechanical
force, can make them  all minister together for improvement;
who has the faculty of encouraging the timid, of giving hope to
the despondent, of repressing exuberant vanity, of quickening
the dull, and of teaching " the young idea how to shoot," even in
minds backward to learn:-an instructor thus giftedl and possessed withal of excellence of moral character, together with a
sincere affection for his pupils, and a fondness for his calling, is one
of the most useful, and ought to be regarded as one of the
most estimable of human beings.
Whether in families, or in schools, there must needs be government, else the means of instruction will be employed in vain.
III these little communities, the government should be impartial
and unwavering; firm, but mlildl; energetic, but not tyrannous.
There are some, whose manner towards their children varies
in exact proportion to the variations of their own fickle tempers.
When in a pleasant humor themselves, they indulge them  in
every thing; when moody, and especially when downright angry,
they will punish for almost nothing.  This sort of government,
if government it may be called, is nearly as bad as none: it
tends alike to discourage, and to breed contempt.
Some seem to think that the sure way of gaining and keeping




402                THE BRIEF REMAI-KEER
the affections of their children, is never to thwart their inclinations; but experience sooner or latter discovers to them their
mistake.  Children that have been treated with unlimited indulgence, often, very often, not only despise the counsels of their
parents, but unfeelingly neglect their persons when destitute and
needy; the overweening indulgence given them, having soured
their tempers, and corrupted their hearts.
Others, running into the opposite error, apply their discipline
altogether to the fears of their children, whom they unfortunately
treat with stern and inflexible severity.  They are feared indeed,
but it is with a hopeless, joyless, an unaffectionate fear; and by
thus treating their children as if they were entirely base, they
take the ready way to make them so.




ON T1E  WAYS OF MAN.                  403:NU1MBER XCIV
OF BIREVITY IN lRLATION TO SUNDRY PARTICULARS.
DR. COTTON MATInER, of venerated memory, in order to escape the
calamity of tedious visits, wrote over the door of his study, in
large letters, BE sHOrfT. A pithy sentence, in truth, it is, and well
worthy of remembrance in a great many more cases than I can
now enumerate.
The interchange of friendly visits is one of the most precious
sweets of life.  But then, it must not be overdone; else it becomes irksome and disgusting.  Hence, in the book of the Wise
MIan, we meet with the following wholesome counsel;' Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbor's house, lest he be weary of thee.:"
Now the necessary discipline of the Jbot, which is here inculcated, is, if I may presume to comment, of the following import:Beware of spinning out your friendly visits beyond due length.
Retire, if you perceive any necessary business which your stay
might interrupt; retire, ere the family, after an hour's yawning,
begin to steal off one by one, to bed; retire, ere plain symptoms
of weariness appear in the countenances of the little circle you




404                THE BRIEF REMARKER
are visiting  retire, ere, in some indescribable manner or other,
it be manifested that your room would be more welcome than
your company.  When you have made your friends glad by your
coming, stay not so long as to make them still more glad by your
going away.
In time long past, the lord of a manor upon one of the
banks of the Hudson, is said to have had a way of his own to
clear his house of visitors.  When his tenants, to whom he was
affable and courteous, seemed disposed to prolong the visits which
they now and then made him, he dropped the Dutch tongue, and
began to speak to them  in English: whereupon, the honest
Dutchmen, understanding the signal, hied away.
But the sage counsel, BE sHORT, applies not to visitors alone.
It might be made of like precious use to authors and public
speakers, who too often lack one valuable kind of knowledge,
namely, " that of discerning when to have done."
" Tediousness," as a writer of eminent abilities observes,  is
the fault that most generally displeases: since it is a fault that
is felt by all, and by all equally.  You may offend your reader
or hearer in one respect, and please him in another; but if you
tire him out with your tediousness you give him  unmingled disgust. "
A book can do but little good if it be but little read: a destiny that befalls almost every book that is found to be unnecessarily prolix and bulky.  This was the error of a former age.
The massy folios of the last century but one, folios written by men
of great talents and astonishing learning, have lain as lumber and
been confined to the shelves of the curious, for no other reason than
because every thread has been spun out to the greatest possible




ON THE WAYS OF' MA:N.                    405
lengthl.  Whereas, had the highly respectable authors learned to
be short, or given heed to the art of compressing their thoughts,
they never would have wanted readers.
Writers, sometimes, eke out their subject far beyond what
need requires, from a mistaken ambition of making a great book.
But readers of the present age generally lean to the sentiment in
the old Greek proverb, " i g'reat book; is a g'reat evil."  It
frightens theml: they will scarcely open it, and much less set
themselves to the task of reading it throughout.
Thus, in this respect, it is with books as with money.  As
small change in quick and constant circulation, does more good
than ingots of gold and silver hoarded up, so a smlall book that
has a great many readers, is, if truly a good one, of nmuch more
benefit than a volume of enormous bulk, which for that single
reason is scarcely read at all.  Nay, I will even vcenture to affirm,
that the Bible itself would be much less read, and read with
much less delight, were it one and indivisible.  But the Bible,
though bound together in one volume, is not a single book, but a
collection of sixty-eight different books, all penned with brevity,
as well as with inimitable simplicity; and arresting the attention,
alike by the weight of their matter and their engagingness of
manner.
Speak, youzkg'9zanz, if t1here be nzcede of thee, blut be shor't-is
a monitory saying of the son of Sirach, which, together with the
two following short sayings of that eminent sage —Learn bejfore
thou slpeak- Hze zmay speafk muzich/ aCZd yet come short-comnposes a very good recipe for young men to carry about, and make
use of as occasion may require.
Speeches in the forum, pleas at the bar, and even sermons,




406                THE BRIEF REIMARKER
when they are of immoderate length, seldom fail to be tiresome.
So that public speakers consult their own credit as little as they
do the feelings of their hearers, when they are more solicitous to
say much, than that every thing they do say should be to the
purpose.
Whether in visits; in public speaking, or in common conversation, all can discern and reprobate the fault of tediousness as
respects others; and yet very few are fully aware of it as respects themselves.  Their own company is, forsooth, so delightful, that their visits can never tire; they, themselves, speak so
well, that nobody can wish them  to have done; they talk so
charmingly that their own loquaciousness always gives entertainment rather than disgust.
Thus it is that some men, otherwise of good sense, unconsciously give pain by their prolixity, though, in regard to the
prolixity of any body but themselves, their taste is delicate even
to squeamishness.




ON THIE  WA wYS OF? MAN.               407
NUMBEL XCaV.
OF SOME PARTICULARS CONDUCIVE TO CONJUGAL PEACE AND HAPPINESS.' While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps,
Between us. two let there be peace. —"
THESE are the words which Milton puts into the mouth of Eve,
to pacify and soothe her incensed husband, at the moment he
found himself involved, along with her, in a condition of guilt and
misery occasioned primarily by her fault; nor is there, perhaps,
any thing more exquisitely pathetic in the imllmortal work of that
poet. Indeed, throughout the whole speech of Eve, in the latter
part of the tenth book of the Paradise Lost, the affectionate and
pathetical tone in which she pleads, and her general manner, are
such as must touch with commiseration any heart but one of
stone.
In the lines selected for the present motto, there is a mzoral,
which comes home to the bosom of every intelligent man and woman in the married state.  Next in importance to the serenity of
a good conscience, is the enjoyment of domestic peace.  With it,
adversity is soothed by the repose of home; without it, prosper



408                THE BRIEF REMARKER
ity is but a gilded mlisery.  Connubial harmnony sweetens as well
as enhanrces the common blessings of life, while its opposite imbitters whatever of enjoyment the smiles of fortune can bestow;
so that the " dinner of herbs " is far better in the one case, than
the " stalled ox' in the other.
It is not to my present purpose, however, to describe at large
either the blissful fruits of connubial harmony, or the baneful
consequences of domestic discord, but rather to suggest ways and
means for securing the one and avoiding the other; by which
course, while shunning the beaten track of declamation, I am led
into by-paths, or to observations very little connected.  But if
only one of these unconnected observations shall be found really
useful, it is hoped that the reader will excuse all the rest for the
sake of that one.
Although marriages, to be happy, must be founded in mutual affection, yet even that essentially necessary basis is not
sufficient to build hopes upon, without one's possessing, in addition, a reasonable prospect of competence,-the real amount of
which, as respects the fashionable class, is not definable by any
fixed metes and bounds, being diverse according to the diversity
of tastes and habits.  It is but little that man absolutely needs;
and were his desires in any measure proportionate to his real
needs, a competence would, in most instances, be of very easy
attainment.  But in the highly artificial state of society now
existing, it unfortunately happens, that the despotic court of
Fashion dooms very many to a life of celibacy, not for their
want of ability to support the mere necessary expenses of a married state, but for want of ability to support its expenses in
that sphere of life to which they have been accustomed, and




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      409
from which it is their settled resolution never to descend;
choosing rather to forego the first and sweetest of social comforts, than to sink only a few degrees in Fashion's scale.  Again,
from the same cause, it happens still more unfortunately, that
very many in the married state turn their weal into woe, and sometimes their amity to discord, by beginning with, and persisting
in a style of living, utterly incompatible with their fortunes or
their incomes.  Of all the sources of domestic infelicity, this is
at present one of the most prolific.
But to come more closely to the point in hand; —in choosing
a wife, examine carefully whether her domestic character be estimable.  If her temper, her moral qualities, her deportment
toward her parents, and the general tenor of her conduct in the
domestic circle, speak highly in her favor, good earnest is then
given that she will act her part well in a family of her own.
Expect not too much from Womactn. It is neither an angelical,
nor a paradisiacal being, that you are to enter into connubial
alliance with, but an inheritor of the infirmities of fallen nature,
-one who, at best, has some of the ingredients of folly and
perverseness in her composition.  If then you must needs have
a perfect wife, the better way will be to wait till you become
perfect yourself.
If your heart be infected with the scrofula of contempt for
female nature, marry not at all till cured of that foul disease.
Popiijcay values himself greatly, as it would seem, upon his'Mzanly contempt of womankind, and particularly of his wife.  In
his estimation, almost every thing she says is foolish, and more
than half she does is wrong.  That manner on his part, has
occasioned in her an intellectual and a moral debasement.
18




410                THE BRIEF REEMARKEI R
Treated daily with disrespect and scorn, she has lost by degrees
almost all respect for herself.
There are other pairs who, in this respect, are very equally
matched.  For instance, Perztincx and his conjugal mate, dispute it together all the year round about trifles, because he is
always in the right, and she never in the wrong.  They are as
like as' cherry to cherry," in their general qualities, which are
passably good; and it wants only a little condescension on both
sides, to render their union felicitous rather than otherwise.
Fix it as a maxim in your mind, that it is of more importance, generally speaking, for one to keep well with his wife,
than with any other earthly friend.  Acting on that maxim, and
yet more on the sacred principle of moral and religious duty,
ever treat your wife with heartfelt benevolence.  Cast the
mantle over the common frailties incidental to humanity; esteem
and cherish her better qualities, and habitually maintain a tender and sympathetic consideration for her feelings.
Of the other sex, I crave the indulgence of hazarding the
monition and the advice, which here follow.
Marry not the man who is known to be unkind,- contemptuous and scornful to the mother that bare him:-it will be a
miracle if he treat his wife any better.
MIarry not a blasphemous infidel, however rich, or however
accomplished.  For, besides the weighty consideration of the contaiminating influence of such an alliance, he that contemns the
God that made him, is not one that will give due honor to the
wife that is subject to him.
Marry not a profligate libertine in hopes of reforming him.
T'oo feeble will be your cords to bind down the headlong passions




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     411
of a man, alike regardless of the authority of moral principle,
and of the opinions of all the respectable part of society.
bMarry not a man because you think him one that will tamely
submit to be ruled by you.  It had been the jesting boast of
Azzuba, that she intended to make a fool of her husband.  She
was saved that trouble by chancing to wed a ready-lade one;
but she found his obstinacy and contrariety invincible.  No
effect at all could her reasoning have on a mind incapable of
comprehending  it; nor any effect could her persuasions have
upon a heart ever jealous of a rival power, and the more constantly alive to suspicions for its dwelling inz the dar'k.  It is a
fact often attested by experience, that none are more jealous of
falling under the dominion of their wives, or more unyielding to
their reasonable influence, than men of inferior understandings
and pertinacious tempers.  "Nothing is so  dogmatical and
inconvincible as a very shallow man, who counts himself to be
wise.)"
Sweet is power to the human heart, and as sweet to the heart
of woman as of man.  It is no wonder, therefore, that there are
sometimes rivalries for power in domestic government, as well
as in governments of wider extent.  It is a complaint of long
standing, that very many women would fain read St. Paul thus:
flutsbrnds, be obedient to yourG' tvives.  A flagrant misconstruetion, which, with all the orthodox of the masculine sex, can be
regarded as very little better than downright heresy.  Nevertheless, wives, NIwho deserve the name, are entitled to much influence
with their  husbands.  Nor, with husbands possessing good
understandings and a considerable share of the benevolent
affections, will they often fail to obtain all the influence they




412                THE BRIEF RESIMARKER
can reasonably desire, provided they take, and steadily pursue,
the right way for it.  This nice point I will illustrate by a
living example.
Susanznatcl  is a plain woman, of plain good sense, possessing
neither beauty nor wit: yet her husband, a very sensible and
worthy man, and not at all of a cringing spirit, is dotingly fond
of her, and some even say that she governs him.  And what has
been her artifice   None at all.  Where is her ruling hand seen?
Nowhere.  Susannah had adorned herself with "the ornament
of a meek and quiet spirit;" and, fromn her bridal day, she has
continued to wear it all along.  Now, however marvellous it
may seem to some, that same old-fashioned ornament so charms
the husband, that he scarcely can find it in his heart to deny her,
and much less to chide her.  If he happen to be moody, as now
and then he is, the irresistible influence of the " law of kindness
in her tongue," presently restores hini to good humor.  If I
have a correct notion of the trim of that man's mind and heart,
no termagant of a wife, however beautiful, or artful, or accomplished, could have gained half so much influence over him.




ON'1'E WAYS OF MANI.                  413
NUMBER XCVI.
OF REGARDING ACCOiMPLISHMENTS AS THE PRINCIPAL PART OF FEMIALE
EDUCATION.
AMONG all the wants of humanity, few  are  more  deplorable
than the want of discrimination between things of great and
things of little importance.  The absence either of the existence or of the exercise of the faculty of such discrimination,
occasions a considerable part of the errors of life.  For, not to
speak of the fatal error of preferring the things which are temporal
to the things that are eternal-often, very often, in merely our
worldly concerns, we sacrifice the greater to the less. It would
not be difficult to exemplify this sentiment in a variety of instances; but I will confine myself to one only-Female Ed'cccttion.
We live in an age in which few, if any, whose opinons are
worth notice, will deny the necessity of educating, and of well
educating the female part of our species. Passing over, therefore, this point upon which there is so general an agreement, I
will mention, and but barely mention, the primary qualities of a
good female education.




4-14              THE BRIEF3 REMARiKER
The great benefit of education, and what should ever be its
ultimate design, consists in its tendency to prepare the pupils to
act the parts allotted them with propriety, both as immortal and
as mortal  beings: and, in this view, education has an equal
bearing upon both sexes.
Female education, conducted upon rational principles, regards the parts that females are ordinarily destined to act upon
the theatre of social life.  Female children, in common with
those of the other sex, are moral and accountable beings, destined to an immortal existence, and should, therefore, be assiduously taught "! the moral and religious knowledge of right and
wrong,"-  or their duty to God, to themselves, and to their
fellow-creatures.  As social beings, their understandings must
be cultivated.  As moral beings, their hearts must be cultivated.
They mnay meet with unforeseen temptations and snares; and
should  be taught self-government, modesty, and delicacy of
thought, of speech, and of action.  They zcay meet with hard and
distressing trials; and should be early taught the value of a
meek and humble spirit, which, in some women under adversity,
has shone with a lustre far surpassing that of the diamond.
Moreover, they mzay be destined, however worthy or estimable,
to lead a single and solitary life; and they should be so educated that, having resources in their own minds, they will be
able not only to enzdure, but to enjoy their hours of retirement
and solitude and to make themselves respectable and agreeable,
by the good sense of their conversation and the benevolence of
their dispositions.  Again, they m?7ay be wives; and it is the
part of education to qualify and prepare them to be good wives
-conversable-mild  and  affectionate - discreet — hospitable,




ON THE  WAYS OF' MANS.                  415
and yet frugal-looking well to the ways of their households.
Finally, they may be mothers; and it is the part of education to
qualify them, as mothers, to educate their children.  In this
one particular, women have a most important part to act.
Women, as mothers, do in a great measure form the characters
of future women and of future men; since the formation of
character, for the first seven or eight years of life, depends chiefly on them.  If they are well-informed, discreet, and of good
morals, their children are made, partly by their instruction, and
partly by imitation, to assimilate to these qualities.  But if they
are vain and frivolous, their little ones soon catch the contagion
of their vanity and frivolity.
The foregoing  particulars embrace most of the primary
qualities or indispensable rudiments of a good female education.
And yet quite often is it remarked of females; tlhat they have had
an excellent education,  merely because they have been taught
the female accomplislmnzents.  Very little attention was ever paid
to the culture of their understandings, of their minds, of their
hearts, of their tempers.  But with much pains, and at considerable expense, they have got a smatteir, and a mere smatter, of
what are called the fize arts; such as Embroidery, Drawing,
Music, and so on.  They have learned the discipline of the
Ji/ngers and of the foot; and for this reason alone, their education is held in admiration.  As if mnzere accomplishments, which
usually become obsolete soon after marriage, were sufficient tc
prepare women to be excellent wives, excellent mothers, and
excellent housekeepers; as if a  mterely accomplished woman
were fitted either to act her part respectably in society, or to
take comfort in the solitude of retirement, or under the decays of




416                THE BRIEF REMARRER
age; or as if the modesty, and the refined manners of women
spring from accomplishments, rather than from their being well
taught in moral and religious duty.  So far from all this, a married woman of mere accomplishments, and whose chief ambition is
to make a figure in the eye of the public, seldom fails to render
her husband unhappy, and herself too.
In the school of Fashion, female accomplishments have long
had the ascendant.  Nor is it to my purpose to decry or despise
them.  Let those have them, if they please, whose rank in life
requires it, and whose ampleness of fortune can well afford the
expense. Yet even by thenz be it remembered, that they are but
of trifling account in comparison of the solid and useful parts of
education.  If accomplishments be appended to these, they may
serve to adorn the whole: but hapless will be the husband and
the children of the woman, and quite as hapless the woman herself,
who rests her character and conduct in life upon accomplishments
alone.
As to families of the common sort, possessed neither of high
rank nor of ample fortunes, the plain useful education is the
best for their daughters.  This is all that can ordinarily do them
any good; and more than this enmay do them much harm.  A
very ancient and a very respectable writer-whom  we ought to
read much oftener than we do —hath told us of a knowledge that
pufcet/h up.  And, perhaps, there is no kind of knowledge more
pzuffig, than the one I have now been mentioning.  A female
of scanty information, and weak intellect, so values herself for
the circumstance of her being initiated in the practice of some of
the fine arts, that she loses by it the use of her hands. She will
vouchsafe, indeed,to employ her pretty fingers, now and then, in




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    417
fancy-work, for amusement; but in nothing that is really useful;
in nothing that earns bread; in nothing that can turn to any
valuable account. Perhaps she is in impoverished circumstances;
perhaps her condition is such as imperiously calls for the useful
labor of her hands.  It makes no difference.  She is not of the
laboring class, but far above it.  She do the common work of
womankind, —she, who had gone through all the grades of a
fashionable education! The idea is too monstrous.
Thus, instead of being made, by their education, the more
capable of helping themselves in this world of " thorns and
thistles," of labor, toil, and hardships;-there are some, and
perhaps not a few, whose very education renders them but the
more helpless.
18i




418                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER XCVII.
OF THE COMIMON USE OF FALSE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES IN DIEALING OUT
BOTH PRAISE AND CENSURE.
— " 0, that menss ears should be
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! 
SIAiESPEARE. 
IN  the whole compass of human traffic, there is, perhaps, no
commodity that is dealt out with less regard to weight and measure, than praise  if we except only its opposite, namely, dispraise or reproach.
In the bestowment of praise, we are very apt to be guided
by our feelings, or our interests, rather than outr judgments.
Freely, and in more than full measure, we bestow  upon our
friends what costs us nothing, and what we secretly hope they
will repay us in the same way.  To praise the Athenians is the
zway to be _pratised by the Athenians-was one of the proverbs of
antiquity.  Neither ought it to be regarded as a peculiarity of
the Athenian character, but rather as a common feature in our
general nature.  There is no so ready way to obtain flattery, as to




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    419
bestow it plentifully.   And hence men flatter, with the view of
being flattered in return.   Indeed it is better, of the two, to be
too lavish of praise, than too prodigal of censure.  But even the
former is of evil tendency, because they who find it easy to
obtain a greater quantity of praise than they deserve, will not
only be the less careful to deserve it, but also the less likely to
make a just estimate of their own characters; self-love naturally
inclining us to thiinkz of ourselves quite as well as we find others
speakc of us. }Moreover, extravagant encomium, besides violating
truth, and infusing the poison of flattery, seldom fails to injure
the subject of it, by occasioning a critical investigation of faults
or defects, which else might have been less noticed or sooner
forgotten.   Nor would it be hazarding too much to say, that
undue encormiumn is even more likely to do us an essential injury
than undue censure; for the latter might possibly be the means
of meliorating the qualities of our hearts, whereas the former
directly tends to pervert and deprave them.
Whilst some praise almost nobody, others praise almost
every body.  These last are as nauseously sweet, as the others
are crabbedly sour. Affecting the superlative of candor, they
speak alike well of the generality of their species; and so far
as in them lies, they put upon one and the same level, wisdom
and folly, virtue and vice, and pour the incense of their own
foolishness upon the whole mass.  This indiscriminate praise is
the meanest of all adulation; and it tends to destroy, among
men, all sense of distinction of character. One who is accustomed to speak in nearly the same favorable terms of all, is
either too weak, or too insincere, to be deserving of the esteem
of any.




420               THE BRIEF REMARKER
Next to the mischievous folly of the afore-mentioned species
of indiscriminate praise, is that of bestowing unqualified applause
upon characters or works, which are commendable upon the
whole, but censurable in some of their parts.  Men, and the
works of men, are always imperfect, however excellent in a general view, and it is the part of wisdom to distinguish between
their excellencies and their imperfections; noting the one sort
for imitation, and the other for avoidance.  But it is too much
the custom  to laud whatever appertains to your friend, beccztse
he is yourfiienld.  This is yielding to friendship more than its
due, and more than good conscience can admit of; as it partakes
of the dishonesty of using false weights and measures. Not that
it is not allowable, and even dutiful, in many instances, to conceal the fault we know; for oftentimes circumstances require
that, in speaking of others, we make it a rule, " rather to say
nothing that is false, than all that is true." Nevertheless, to
eulogize the zwhole of characters, which are adorned with manifest excellencies, and at the same time blemished with defects
which are alike manifest, is to blend truth with falsehood, and
to present to the view a fallacious, rather than a real likeness.
As to speak well of every body is false candor, so to commend
alike every thing in, or done by one's friend, is false praise.  Be
mnortuis nil nisi bonumn-say nothing beet good of the decad-is
an old maxim, and, in a qualified sense, a very just one.  But
though humanity demands that we " tread lightly on the ashes
of the dead," and although decency forbids all unnecessary exposure of the failings and blemishes in their lives; yet the sacred
laws of truth peremptorily prohibit exaggerated praise even of
them.   This is an error, to which the ardor (not to say the




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                      421
pride) of friendship, is exceedingly liable.   Funeral panegyrics,
epitaphs, and biographical memoirs, often, very often, portray
the affectionate feelings of surviving friends, rather than the real
picture of character.   Not to mention, that over-praising the
dead is done, sometimes, for the sake of flattering the living.
Eulogy, whether of the living or the dead, which evidently
overleaps the bounds of truth, defeats its own purpose, and has
even the effect of satire.  So that we may do our friends as real
injury by excessive praise, as by defamation.
As we are prone to over-praise those we have a warmn affection for; we are still more prone, on the other hand, to disparage or undervalue. those we dislike; grudging to allow them
such good qualities as they really possess, or to commend them
for such good deeds as they have really done; and displaying all
their failings in the highest colors of aggravation.  This perverse
propensity, wrought into the very web of our fallen nature, is exceedingly difficult to cure.  How  few possess enough of magnanimity, not to say of the genius and spirit of Christianity, to
do full justice to the good deeds of a real or supposed foe; or even
to one belonging to an adverse party in religion, or in politics!
" The true critic " (said Dean Swift, ironically,) " is a discoverer and collector of writers' faults."
But not to run foul of the critics; some men and women,
like flies, feed altogether upon the sore part of the characters of
those about them.  These  scaveng'ers of reputation, are ever
hunting about, with a microscopic eye, for foibles, infirmities, and
blemishes; and are too busy abroad, to regulate things aright at
home.
Plinwy relates of Julius Caesar, that he blamed in so artful a




422               THE RRIEF REMARiKER
manner, that he seemed to praise.  On the contrary, others are
as artful in their praises, as C(sar was in his reproaches; and
that too, with the basest intentions.   " They use envenomed
praise, which, by a side-blow, exposes, in the person they commend, such faults as they dare not any other way lay open."
The tooth of calumny never wounds more deeply, nor ever
infases more poison into the wound, than by this insidious method.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                   423
NUMVIBER  X.CVIII.
OF AN OFFICIOUS MEDDLING WITH, AND A TOTAL DISREGARD OF THE
AFFAIRS OF OTIERS.
SOCIETY has been infested, in all ages of the world, with persons prone to intrude themselves into the concerns of their neighbors; with tattlers, busybodies and intermeddlers, who must
needs have their spoons in every body's porringer.  These unwelcome and troublesome guests were distinctly marked by the
sagacious eye of the king of Israel, who has given them  their full
due.  Indeed, some of this sort are quite ingenious in their way,
and so much the worse; for by how much greater is their ingenuity, by so much the more mischief they do; their minds resembling a fertile soil which, for want of proper culture, bears
nothing but weeds and poisonous plants.
Not but that, now and then, an officious intermeddler, or even
a tale-bearer, may mean no harln; the one being actuated by an
undue opinion of his own importance, and the other by the vanity of appearing to know the characters and the concerns of all
about him.  But intentional sowers of discord, who from envy,




424                 THE BRIEF REMIARKER
malice, or the love of mischief, employ themselves in breeding
dissensions in families and neighborhoods, are well nigh as pestilent as thieves and robbers; and the less they are punishable by
civil law, the more should they be made to feel that species of
punishment which public opinion inflicts.
Parents and preceptors can hardly do a better service for
their children, than by principling their minds, and fixing their
hearts against faults so pernicious to society, and so ruinous to
character: faults which are curable when they first appear in
the young mind, but which grow into inveterate habits by the
indulgence of neglect.  It is hardly  conceivable what a vast
amount of evil might be prevented, if the young were taught as
generally and as carefully in this particular as they are in the first
rudiments of learning.
By those who, from  habit, or from  temper, make it their
business and delight to pry into and publish the failings of others,
be it remembered, "1 that at that cday wvhen the failings of all
shall be mande mzanifest, the attention of ectch, itndividual wvill be
fixed only on his ow0t."
There is a fault, however, directly opposite to that of officiously meddling with the concerns of our neighbors: I mean
the absence of all heartfelt concern for any but ourselves and our
near kin.   This fault, however artfully it may  be covered,
springs, for the most part, from sordid selfishness, or from  antisocial apathy of heart.
Selfishness, which is the love of self and of every thing else
for the sake of self, has the power of keeping some persons at a
vast distance from intermeddling with their neighbors' affairs,
for which they care not a straw any farther than such extraneous,




ON THE WAYS OF MA>N.                   425
affairs have a bearing upon their own personal interests.  So,
also, the cold-hearted, in whose bosoms is the perpetual calm of
apathy, trouble not their neighbors, as busy-bodies in their
matters; because they have not enough energy of soul either to
love or to hate in good earnest.   Now it often falls out, that
some belonging to each of these two classes, value themselves
highly upon their practical abstraction from all concerns but
their own, and boast of it as a shining virtue.  " We are not
zneddle)rs, not vwe.  It is ouz- Cqtaznnzer' to?zinZCd ourZ ozv2  business, and to let zll -other folk alonze."  Nevertheless, if they
would open the folds of their own hearts, and observe fairly what
is going on there, they would find that their not being meddlers
is owing to any thing else, rather than to a pure principle of
virtue.
And here it is not unimportant to remark, that it is no less
the purpose and business of proper education to foster and encourage the social feelings of our nature, than it is to eradicate
dispositions of intrusive meddling: for if one without all warmth
of heart, be seldom tempted to become a busy-body in other
men's matters, he as seldom is much better than a mere blank in
society-doing little mischief, and as little good.
Am I my brother's keeper? —We know who said it.  And
so, in manifold instances, when one is ruining himself and his
family by the mismanagement of his affairs, or when one betrays
the symptoms of an inceptive vice, which, growing into a habit,
will land him in perdition; his neighbors coolly look on, saying
in their hearts, and to one another, " It is his owzn aqair'."  Not
employing a single effort to save him, though often, betwixt
themselves, they shake the headi and remark, that he is on the




426                THE BRIEF REMARKER
road to ruin. Perhaps it is a youth, that is supposed to have
stepped into this fatal road; a young man of goodly promise, or
a young woman of amiable dispositions, but wanting discretion.
Perhaps that youth is an orphan, and errs for lack of the guiding
hand of a parent.  It is all the same.  Every body is sorry,
very sorry indeed, but nobody moves the tongue, or lifts a finger
for the purpose of rescue or prevention.
It is not so that we act in other respects.  We struggle hard
to save a fellow-being that is drowning before our eyes.  Should
we see a man stand upon the brink of a frightful precipice, and
unconscious of his danger, doubtless we should instantly give
him warning.  Hardly should we neglect to snatch either the
elmpoisoned bowl from the lips of one that mistook the poison for
a wholesome beverage, or the knife or razor from the throat of
a man or woman in the act of committing suicide.  Common
humanity impels us to acts of this sort. And yet when we see
in scarcely less jeopardy of another kind, a neighbor, an acquaintance-one whom the offices of discreet and faithful friendship
might perhaps rescue and restore-we are listless-we let him
alone-we'll not meddle-'tis his ownz rffair!
Apathy is the Lin6bo of the mind-an intermediate state,
equi-distant from the two opposites, happiness and misery.  As
they who have no care but for themselves, have, at the same
time, very little comfort but froln themselves, their lot, in a
comparative view, is not to be envied.




ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                   427:NUMBER XCIX.
OF TURNLING GOOD TO ILL BY TAMPERINIG WITH IT.
A GREAT part of the ill that we suffer, might be avoided, if we
would only learn to let wuell alone. But such is the plague of
our hearts, in regard to temporal as well as higher matters, that
we are seldom or never quite contented with our lot, when even
it is no unpleasant one, but mar and spoil what we perversely
endeavor to mend.  For if we dally with any good which Providence gives us, we run the risk of either impairing or losing it.
How often is comeliness of features disfigured by affectation
which would make better, what God hath made well.
How often do we lose our health by tampering with it, in
order to make it better.  When we are well, we cannot be easy,
and let oell alone, but must needs be meddling with our corporeal mechanism  while it is going exactly right.  An Italian
nobleman, whose fatal folly it was not to let zwellalone, ordered,
as a solemn warning to others, the following line to be engraven
on his tomb; " Iwas well —waznted to be better-ancl  here I
am!"   In innumerable instances, the grave has been peopled




428                THE BRIEF REMARIKER
immaturely, by means of nostrums, which the well have used to
preserve and prolong their health.
Mark the children that are fed with dainties, enticed to eat
before they are hungry, and kept from the air, like chickens in
an oven-mark their sallow and sickly faces,-the feebleness of
their whole frames.  They were well bo6, and well they might
have continued, but for the tampering of false tenderness.
Alllost innumerable are the instances of well-conditioned
men and families, who are mourning over the ruin of their
worldly circumstances-not by any direct providential stroke
of adversity, nor by means of conduct of their own that was
morally bad, but solely because they did not let well alone.
One " sells the pasture to buy the horse." IHe barters away
his fast estate for goods.  A  single turn of the wheel of fortune, turns him to a bankrupt.
Another, not content with being a farmer merely, is eager'
for the distinction of a barren office.  Luckily for his feelings.
but unfortunately for his circumstances, he obtains it.  He neglects his farm and his farm neglects him. His expenses increase:
and his income diminishes: it is needless to tell the rest.
A third, possessing a sufficiency, and but a bare sufficiency,
for a plain and frugal living, is fashionable and splendid; for he
must needs let the world know that he is Sonzebocfy.  So he
goeth; and 1" his poverty cometh as an armed man."
A fourth, though snug and comfortable at home, fancies he
can do a great deal better abroad.  He has heard of the goodly
lands which yield astonishing abundance, and almost without
labor.  He sells all he possesses, and on he goes at random.
lHe arrives; when, lo! he finds, even there, a full measure of




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    429
the thorns and thistles of the curse, and, peradventure, finds
himself cheated at last out of his all.
Not uncommon, at the present time, is that fatal defect in
character, which the venerable patriarch imputes to his firstborn: —' Ulstctble acs wazter, thou  shtalt not excel."  Of very
many it may be said, that their greatest error, and the source of
most of their misfortunes, is a fickleness of temper: they are ingenious, active, industrious, and yet poor; because they pursue
no single object long enough to reap benefit from it.  No sooner
do they begin  to do well in any particular business, than they
forsake it for another.
Perhaps there is no one quality that more thoroughly runs
through the warp of our fallen nature, than the disposition to
be restless.  There is a something', nore, or a somzethinhg different, which we are ever prone to covet; and unless our minds
are well disciplined, we shall poison the cup of life by our absurd attempts to sweeten it, or lose the good within our reach,
while grasping at that which is beyond it.
Of all morbid habits, that of being dissatisfied with even
the comfortable conditions of life, in which Providence has
placed us, is one of the most unfortunate.  With persons of this
cast, it makes no difference though their success in life be never
so great; the same sickliness of heart cleaves to them as a
garment, even after their fortunes have never so much exceeded
their own expectations.
The following form of devotion, used by one of the ancients,
is suitable to blind mortals of Adam's race, who know not, nor
can know, precisely, either the quantities or the qualities of
worldly enjoyment most conducive to their own good. —-" Give




430                THE BRIEF REMiARKE
me whatsoever may be good for mne, though I should neglect
to pray for it, and deny me whatsoever would be hurtful,
though I should ignorantly make it the object of may supplications."  The ways of Divine Providence are mysterious but unerring; its kindness is manifested frequently in withholding as
well as in giving; as well in restraints as in indulgencies; as
well in disappointments as in crowning our wishes with success.
How oft, in our journey of life, has Providence thwarted our
inclinations., and by this means prevented our wanderings.
How often have we been walking blindly upon the edge of a
precipice, prepared to take the fatal leap, when an invisible
power diverted our course by disappointing us of our purpose.
How oft have incidents, that seemed evil to us at first, been
productive of good; and how oft might the things which our
hearts desired, and of which Providence disappointed us, have
been hurtful in the enjoyment.  As little children cry for what
would injure them, and struggle with the hand that restrains
themli  from  running into dangers; so we, children of a larger
size, but in many instances not knowing what is good for ourselves, frequently desire, with most eagerness, what would be
most for our hurt, and perversely repine even at those providential restraints and trials which are the effects of a merciful
purpose.
"During the violence of a storm," says a German fable,
" a traveller offered up his supplications, and besought Heaven
to assuage the tempest.  But the storm continued with unabating fury; and while he was drenched with the flood, fatigued
with his  journey, and exposed without shelter, he became
peevish, and even complained aloud of the ways of Providence.




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    431
Approaching at length the borders of a forest, he said to himself, " Here I shall find protection, notwithstanding Heaven has
neglected me, and turned a deaf ear to my prayers."'  But as he
went forward, a robber sprang out suddenly from behind a bush,
and the traveller, aifrighted at the prospect of instant death,
fled out of the forest, exposing himself again to the tempest, of
which he had so grievously complained.  The robber, in the
mean time, fitting an arrow to his bow, took exact aim; but the
bow-string being relaxed by the moisture of the weather, the
arrow fell short of its mark, and the traveller escaped unhurt.
As he continued his journey, a voice proceeded, awful, from the
clouds: " Cease, mortal, to repine at the divine dispensations;
and learn to acknowledge the goodness of God, in refusing as
well as in granting your petitions.  The storm, which you complained of so bitterly, has been the means of your preservation.
Had not the bow-string of your enemy been rendered useless by
rain, you had fallen a victim to his violence."




432                THE BRIEF REMARKER
NUMBER C.
OF A RESTLESS DESI'E TO KNOW WIHAT OTIHERS SAY OF US.' Take no heed to all words that are spoken, lest thou hear thy servant curse thee."
SOIOMON.
PERHAPS no weakness of our fallen, feeble, and erring nature, is
more disquieting to ourselves, or more troublesome to our acquaintances, than an overweening curiosity to know what is said
of us.
A person of this turn is never at his ease.  Jealousy is, in
him, an ever-waking sentinel.  Even his familiars, he fears, will
slander or undervalue him; and if he happens to hear that any one
of them has spoken of him slightingly, he instantly regards that
one as his foe, and thenceforward is the more jealous of all the
rest.
In company, he views every look with a suspicious eye. He
reads a plot against himself, even in a nod, or a whisper. If
what he finds to have been said of him can admit of a double
meaning, he gives it the worse meaning of the two.  If he finds
himself commended as to his general character, but censured in
some particular instance, he is wounded, just as though the
whole of his character had fallen under reprobation.




ON THE WAYS OF  IAN.                    433
This restless curiosity to know what is said of him, keeps his
mind perpetually upon the rack.  Day by day, he is anxiously
inquisitive upon this point.  If he fail of the object of his inquiries, and can hear of little or nothing said about him, either
one way or the other; —then he is stung at the heart with ilmagined neglect.  And, contrariwise, if he chance to find that
which he so anxiously inquires after, he finds it, perhaps, to his
own cost and discomfort.  He will have gained an article of intelligence which he had better have been without.  His experience, peradventure, will have accorded with what we are plainly
advertised of, in the above-cited pithy, admonition of the Wise
Man.
The distemlper of mind here spoken of, may arise foil an ardent desire of esteemn, and the consequent dread of disesteem; and
it may be found in persons possessed of some very estimable
qualities of heart.  But whatever be its origin, or in wholmsoever it be found, it is the cause of a great deal of useless disquietude, and ever exposes one to wanton sport and ridicule.
Now, it being a great pity that persons of the one sex or the
other, who are estimable in some respects, and yet labor under
this infirmity, should not reason themselves out of it; I crave
leave to lay before them the following considerations.
1. Those even, whose characters are good in the main, must
needs be sensible, if they have any competent measure of selfknowledge, that they are not quite perfect.  And why, then,
should they be angry that others too, are sensible of it, and that
their imperfections are sometimecs spoken of? It is by no means
certain that there is in this thing any enmnity or real ill-will.
2. Persons possessed of this morbid or excessive sensibility
19




434                 THE BRIEF RIEM1ARKER
with regard to their own reputations, cannot but remember that
themselves, one time or another, and in free conversation, have
remarked on the foibles and faults of those whoml they highly
esteem upon the whole, and for whom  they have, at the same
time, a sincere friendship.  And assuredly it is unreasonable
for one to be angry for receiving the same measure which one
metes out.  If a person you thought your friend, hath spoken
slightingly of you, in one single respect or other;-what then?
Have you not yourself, sometimes, and in some particulars,
spoken slightingly of those whom  you were inclined to rank in
the inumber of your friends?  If you have done it, you shouldc
not be angry when the same is done to you.
3. In a fit of levity, or of ill-humor, it is not uncommon for
some folks to speak with partial disrespect of the self-same persons wlhom, at other times) they mention with expressions of high
esteem and affectionate regard.  So that a great part of people's
ill sayings of one another, are attributable to peevishness or
thoughtlessness, and not to malignity alone.  Hence the author
of the admirable book of Ecclesiasticus observes,-" T/here is
one that slip2pet/b irt his spcch, bIzt i2otfj0i2n his hear't.:"
4. Even the ill-natured remarks of an enemy might be turned
to a profitable use, by carefully correcting in one's self the fault
or foible that occasioned them. It is told of the Prince of Condeb,
who was the most eminent hero of his day, that, his domestics
observing with what great attention he was reading a certain
pamphlet, one of them said to him: " This must be a very fine
piece, since you take so much pleasure in reading it."  To
which the Prince replied:'' It is very true that I read this with
great pleasure, because it tells me my faults, which no man dares




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                    435
venture to do."-The pamphlet was in the strain of severe invective against the errors, faults, and foibles of the same Prince of
Conde.
5. We seldom  miss it more than in imagining that all
about us take an interest in our ordinary concerns.  If we think
the world spends much attention about us, one way or the other,
we have a mistaken notion of our own consequence.  For, with a
few exceptions, the individuals of the community are very little
the subjects of each other's thoughts and conversation; the generality being too busy in thinking of themselves, to employ
many of their thoughts elsewhere.  HTad one, by the help of
magic, or by whatever means, the power of rendering himself invisible, and should he, in using the privilege of invisibility, go
about fionm house to house, over his whole neighborhood and
town, he would, probably, find himself spoken of by his neighbors
and acquaintances more seldom than he had expected; and, in all
probability too, he would hear the very same persons speak quite
differently of him at different times.
In few words;  universal and unqualified approbation it is
folly to expect.  And although we should, by no means, be regardless of what others think or say of us, yet the best way, or
rather the only good way, is to be more solicitous to deserve
esteem than to win it-more solicitous to do well, than to obtain
the credit of doing well; and thus, to proceed on in the straight
line, without angling for praise, or being too fearful of reproach.
Whoso aeteth in this manner, and upon pure, evangelical principles, enjoys a consciousness of feelings far more delightful, than
any thing that can spring from  the unmerited applause of ten
thousand tongues.




436                 THE BRIEF RE{MARKER
NUMBER CI.
SUM1 AItAY CTIIAlACTERiISTICS.
"Wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite,
Virtne and vice blend their black and their white."
INFEnrIOr animals of the same kind have in general a sameness of
physiognomy, and so trifling are the shades of difference between
them in any respect, that the portraiture of one individual describes the whole species.  But as humnan animals are moral and
accountable; and subject to law, a marvellous provision is made
in the divine economy, for the identification of every individual;
in so far that each is distinguishable fronm  each by the look, by
the voice, by the gait, by the handwriting, and by several other
modes of difference, hardly describable, though plainly perceivable.  5Were it otherwise, the judge imight be nlistaken for the
thief; the innocent and the guilty would be blended together,
without the possibility of making any legal discrimination betwixt
them.
The differences are no fewer, but perhaps more multifarious,




ON THuE WAYS OF MAN-.                    4317
in the features of mind.  So that, if the minds of mankind were
as visible as their bodies, the individuality of each person might,
perhaps, be as clearly deterimined from the former as from  the
latter.
Of the different features of minds, includingL  qualities of
heart as they appear in overt act, the following are sallples; in
sketching which I aml  constrained, for the sake of necessary
brevity, to personify the twenty-six letters of the alphabet.
A- is noble-spirited but not charitable; in a public subscription his name figures well, but a Lazar might starve at his gate.
B.- is quite candid enough in respect to pZractice; but if you
thwart merely his sjpecZmlctive oinzionims, he raves like a bear.
C-  is a woman, peevish and querulous about little things;
fher heavy calaimities she bears with pious resignation, and with
more than masculine fortitude.
D-  enters with spirit into a laudable public undertaking, so
the plan comes froml h/i7sclf, or lhe has the direction of it; else he
will have nothing at all to do with the business, not he.
E- lives in the plractice of vice; but would insult a man
who should say any thingp derogatory of the lpri2nciples of virtue.
F- takes pride in railing against pride; he hates the pride
of fashion, and is proud of being out of the fashion.
G-  and his wife, abroad or in company, are all milk and
honey; their ill-nature they save for domestic use.
H-   is easy of temper, but very far from compassionate; his
easiness of temper is nothing but apathy.
I-  is good or ill-tempered by fits and starts; now, he is so
pleasant, that nothing can anger him; then again, he is so techy,
that nothing can please him.




438                 THE BRIEF REAAlRKER
J- is rough and impetuous, but of a feeling heart; his mind,
as respects anger, is like wood that in a moment catches fire,
which as quickly goes out.
K-  is slow to anger, but much slower to be appeased; once
affront him, and he is coolly your enemy for ever.
L-  is not hard to be reconciled in a matter, in which the
fault lies altogether on the other side; but when he has been in
fault himself, the consciousness of it stirs his pride and stiffens
his temper.
M — feels strongly whatever relates to himself; other people's
misfortunes he bears with singular calhmness and fortitude.
N-, though possessed of no extraordinary share of wisdom, is
affronted if you decline to follow his advice, and is equally affronted if any one presumes to advise him.
O-'s cringing sycophancy to superiors might be thought humility, were he not brutally imperious and overbearing to inferiors and dependants.
P-  loudly complains of the needy friends lie abandons, to
escape the reproach of abandoning them in their need.
Q- fiiequently changes her friends for a slight cause, or for
no cause, and always likes the last best:-with her, friendship is
like a nosegay, which pleases only while it is friesh.
RI-  would appear well enough, but for his affectation of appearing ext'remely well, which niakes himn appear below himself;
the vanity of being thought important rendering him ridiculous.
S- tamely acquiesces in what is generally believed, because it
is generally believed; he wants no other proof of the truth of a
thing, than its having a plurality of numbers on its side.




oSN TaHE'WAYS Ol  MANL.               439
T- runs into extravagant singularities, from the vanity of
appearing possessed of superior understanding.
U-  would not be suspected of dishonesty; but for his frequently boasting that he is honest; nor of want of veracity, but
for his habit of propping his word and promise with asseverations.
V — passes for wise, because he is taciturn,-perhaps not so
much from gravity as stupidity.
W- lmight please every body with tile eloquence and good
sense of his conversation. if he knew only when to have done.
X, a lady of fashion, affects exquisite sensibility, by her
look, her manner, and her tones of voice; such is her tenderness,
that she weeps over high-life scenes of fictitious distress; and
such is her obduracy, that she regards, with unfeeling indifference, those vulgar objects of real distress, that have claims upon
her practical charity.
Y, a philosopher of the school of cosmopolites, possesses a
fund of speculative benevolence, which he often makes use of in
word, but never in deed: like his prototype, the pagan philosopher, Senecca, who wrote an excellent book upon charity, but,
though he was rich, gave nothing away.
Z- endeavors to commute for his neglects and trespasses
in some things, by a grave and punctilious exactness in others.
He will go miles to church on a stormy day; in his worldly
dealings, lie is not altogether a hcAd honest man, but haerdly
honest.




440                THE BRIEF RE MARlER,
NUMBER CII.
OF THE NECESSITY OF SEASONABLE PRZECAUTION.
THAT " an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," is anl
old and true proverb, which is applicable alike to a, multitude
of cases: the ills we suffer in life being, in a large proportion,
either of our own procuring, or such as might have been prevented by timely care and precaution.
It seems to have been a standing custom of the Asiatics, in
their epistolary correspondence, to conclude a letter with this
sage advice, Take care of your heaZlth; a precept which, were it
generally put in practice, would save the lives of multitudes in
every country.  The grave is peopled with myriads, who might
still have enjoyed the light of life, but for the intemperate manner of their living; and with other myriads, whose deaths were
occasioned by unnecessarily exposing their health.
The lovely Belinda falls into a hectic, in the flower of her
age.  The life-spring within her fails; the art of medicine is unavailing;' the worm of death is in her bloom."  Yet what a
pound of cure cannot remove, an ounce of prudence might have
prevented.




ON THE'WAYS OF MAN.                      441
There was a time, and a very long time, when in the Christianized world, it was thought a merit to torment and waste the
corporeal part of our nature; when the body was considered as
at utter enmity with the soul; when it was voluntarily sulbjected
to cold, and nakedness, and to unmerciful scourging, in order to
ourb and break its rebellious propensities.  We live, however, in
a more rational age.
Blessed be the day of liartin Luther's birth, and blessed
the work achieved by him! He gave the death-blow  to this
mummery, ancd brought the body again into favor with its superior in the partnership.  lBut whether it be a relic of the old popish superstition, or to whlatever cause it may be attributable,
there are said to be ladies at this day, even protestaznt ladies. who
mortify, distress, and consume their own precious bodies, by
keeping theim in irons!  But this by the by.
It is no uncomrmon thing to anticipate the stroke of time.
Often, very often, the vigorous and robust squander their health,
and hasten the blow that levels them; while the feeble, by termperance and assiduous care, spin out life to an advanced age.
Mlany of our misfortunes, as we call them, spring from  imprudence or neglect.  Through the neglect of a small leak a ship
is sunk, and its crew, perhaps, lost.  The neglect of a few feet of
fence may destroy a crop, and so may a few days' negligence or
sloth in seed time or harvest.  Angry lawsuits? and heavy pecaniary losses, not unfreqcuently might have been prevented, by a
seasonable attention that would have reiuired very little of time
or labor.  Some plunge themselves into inextricable embarrassmlent, which might have been avoided, had a portion of their
leisure been devoted to the devising of a reasonable plan of liv19:



442                THE BRIEF REMARKER
ing; and others, again, are impoverished by artificial wants, of
which they might easily have prevented the intrusion.  Indeed,
of instances there is no end.
But that which is of the most importance by many degrees,
is yet behind.  There are means preventiona.l of moroycl, as wel
as of natural evil.  Most of the vices that infest society, and
bring utter ruin upon individuals, are more easy of prevention
than of cure: and it is to be hoped that the time is coming when
civil governments, blending Christian morals with state policy,
will employ their power and influence fully as much to prevent
crime as to punish it.  That would be an era more happy than
language can describe.  But passing over what is remote and
contingent, I[ will mention, and 6uat mention, the actual and practicable powers of two kinds of government-Domzestic and PerSO.,atl.
Inconsiderate parents are apt to think that time will cure the
faults of their children.  This is a sad and fatal mistake.  Not
but that time, perchance, nmay cure the minor follies and -errors
of the juvenile mind; such follies and errors as are peculiarly incidental to the inexperience, the imbecile judgment, and the
eager vivacity; of childhood and immature youth; but imntmoral
propensities are strengthened, rather than cured, by time, which
matures them into fixed habits.  The bias to lying, profaneness,
defrauding, or whatever immorality else, is not so very hard to
cure when it first appears in the child; but if it be neglected
then, it grows into an inveterate habit in the man.  It is of ilportance; however, to premise, that the inceptive immorality of
childhood is to be cured chiefly by moral means,-by example;
by exhibiting to the view its odious nature and direful conse



ON THE WAYS OF MIAN.                   443
quences; by cogent and convincing appeals to the understanding, and affectionate appeals to the heart:-and not altogether,
or chiefly, by the infliction of punishments.
One of the most important objects of domestic government, is
so to train up children that they may have a due government of
themselves.  This is a point, on which the worth or worthlessness of character greatly depends; for discreet and well regulated self-government, is the surest prevention of the deplorable
excesses of passion and appetite, since it keeps upon them a,
stronger and a more steady rein than any other human government does, or can keep.  Neither is the science of self-government so hard to learn, nor the practice of it so very difficult,
provided it be commenced as well in good season, as in good
earnest.  But the longer it is neglected, the greater is the difficulty; till, a;t last, it becomes next to impossible for one to rule
his passions, or to restrain his appetites.  Imllmoral habits, which
might have been easily prevented by timely discipline, attain gigantic strength by long indulgence.
It is out of our power to alter the structure of our bodies: we
must take them as they are, for better or for worse.  We cannot change our complexions, or fashion our own features.  We
cannot add to our stature, or make even a single hair of our heads
white or black.  But it is not altogether so with the mind.  We
may, with the divine helps afforded us, improve and meliorate
that. We may keep our passions and our appetites in subordination to our reason.  And in this necessary and noble exercise,
should every one be employed, day by day, who wishes to be
wise, or hopes to be happy.




444               THE BRIEM   REMAIRER
MUMBERT CIII.
OF OUR PRONENESS TO GO FROM ONE EXTREMIE TO ANOTHER.
IT often happens, that when we set ourselves to. straighten a
crook, instead of making it quite straight, we crook it the contrary way, or carry things from one extreme to the other.
A youth of an ingenuous, liberal temper, is apt to be not regardful enough of his own interest.  Hle esteems money as trash,
and scorns to employ his cares about it.  As it comes to him
easily, it goes from him freely.  I-Ie gives, he spends, he squanders, till at length, experiencing embarrassment, he resolves to
become frugal and provident.  But such a youth seldom stops at
the true point, but leaps, at once, far beyond it.  Heartily sick
of extravagance, he makes a covenant with avarice, and becomes
unfeeling, illiberal, and miserly.
The extreme of confidence often runs into the extremle of
jealousy.  Of those who live to a considerable age, very few, perhaps, leave the world, with as good an opinion of mankind as




()-N THE WAYS 011' MIAN.                445
they had when they began it.  To the eye of the ingenuous but
inexperienced youth, the world appears bright and charming.
He looks to meet with justice, candor, and honor, in his intercourse with his fellow-beings.  Fancy gilds the objects of his
hopes, and -whatever is promised hinm by hope, he regards as sure
and certain.  Presently, however, the illusion begins to vanish.
He meets with disappointment; he encounters cold-blooded selfishness, deceit, fraud, and perfidy  his confidence in men turns
to suspicion; the world, he concludes, is a cheat; he hastily says
in his heart, that all men are rogues and liars; and he becomes
sour and misanthropic.  By how much his opinion of mankind
was too favorable in his younger days, by so much is it too uncharitable in his advanced age.
Self-convicted credulity often runs into skepticism: and so,
also, a zeal to free themselves from  all shackles of superstition,
is very apt to drive men upon the fatal rocks of infidelity and irreligion.
Gibbon, the historian, no less celebrated for talents and
learning than notorious for infidelity, was, in his youth, an implicit believer in, and a zealot for, the nonsensical popish doctrine of transubstantiation.  To the argumnents and expostulations
of his father, and other Protestant relatives and friends, he was
utterly deaf.  But happening, of himself, to find out an argument which convinced hini of the monstrous absurdity of that doctrine, he rejected it, and, along with it, rejected the whole system of divine revelation; which he in the manner of Voltaire encountered with the weapons of sneer and contempt. rather than
by fair and manly reasoning.  Nor is it unlikely that the rank
infidelity, so general, a few years ago, among the learned and the




446                THE BRIEF REMARKEII
fashionable in Europe, sprung chiefly from the same root.  Identifying the monstrous doctrines and superstitious rites of the
corrupted church in whose bosom they had been educated, with
the Gospel itself, and discerning clearly the ridiculous absurdities of the former, they hesitated not to explode the latter.
Some men of impetuous tempers, but of feeling hearts, are
possessed by turns, of ferocity, and, on the other hand, of an unclue measure of indulgent feelings.  In their gusts of anger hard
words, and sometimes hard blows, are dealt out for petty
offences, or for none at all.  But no sooner has the tempest subsided than they deeply relent; and, passing into the other extreme, they smother their little ones with caresses, and indulge
them in every thing. A certain nobleman of former times is said
to have been so remarkable in this respect, that his domestics
threw themselves in his way whenever they saw him angry, in order to be beaten by him; well knowing that he would reward
them bountifully with gifts, as soon as his passion was cooled.
Again, some fathers frame in their own minds a system. of
paternal government that is fine-spun in theory, but impracticable.
They will govern by rule and plummet.  They will begin in season, and effectually whip old Adam  out of their children.  So
they do begin, and so they proceed; sternly marking every childish foible; till, finding their efforts baffled, they rather cast away,
than remit the reins of government, and let their children do as
they will.
Beware of extremes.  Several of the minor virtues of our
nature degenerate into folly or vice, when carried beyond the due
measure.  Sensibility is not more lovely in its proper degree,
than contemptible in its extravagance.  A sentimentalist, puling




ON THEr  WAYS OF MAN.                  447
over an uprooted flower, or a maimed butterfly, excites disgust
rather than sympathy.  Good-humor, candor, and generosity may
all be carried to an extreme.  If our good-humnor render our
moral characters flexible, and our hearts too yielding; if our candor
degenerate into a sort of indiscriminate approvance of truth and
error, of right and wrong, of the good and the evil; if our gene.
rosity infringe upon the sacred laws of justice, by a hospitality exceeding our means, or by giving gifts in preference to paying
honest debts; —in these, as in divers other cases, too much of a
good thing turns it to a bad




448                 THE BItIEF RnEMAnlKsER
NUMBER CIV.
OF DESPISING SA1_ALL THINGS.
l Ife that dcspiseth small  things shall fall by little and little."
ECCLESIASTICUS.
Tinrs text, though apocryphal, is consonant to the whole tenor
of human experience.
Tlme, which is of such: invaluable account to every human
being, is made up as of little particles, that ever are flying away
from us, and never to return: no, never.
- " Time that ensueth
Is but the death of time that went before.
Youth is the death of childhood; age of youth."
How inconceivably small are the passing moments! yet they
are not to be contemned.  For of these is the whole duration of
life composed; and it is the assiduous and wise use of moments,
that crowns life with honor.  On the other hand, by undervalu
ing the moments and neglecting to employ them, whole days and
years are lost.




ON THIFI  WAS W OAi' 1 MAN.             449
We often complain of the shortness of the whole, and, at the
saume time, are daily making prodigal waste of the parts.  We
carelessly throw away thousands of the small fi'actions of time;
else, in most cases, we should have time enough.
So it happens that, in the acquisition of knowledge, the race
is not always to the swift.  lany a wolndeeill boy, that confided
altogether in the native force of his genius, has been left far behind his contemporaries of smaller talent, but of unwearied assiduity.  And scarcely does history record the single instance of
a man, truly great in point of knowledge, who did not diligently
improve even the small fractions of his time.  In1 short, with the
exception of a few remarkable eases, much more is effected by the
dint of applieation, than by the dint of genius.   The fabled
mlnouse, with unwearied diligence, ate in twain the cable which a
giant could not have parted with all his strength.  And besides,
if it be of great value to know how to bear tedious moments with
fortitude and patience, it is of still greater value to be able to
prevent their being tedious; which can be accomplished only by
turning them to good account, through assiduous diligence in proper and useful pursuits.
Nor is the apocryphal text that I am commenting upon, of
less pertinent application t tlle interesting subjects of economy
and nmorals.
It is the hand of the diligent that mlaketh rich.  Most estates
have been acquired by little and little  by regular and well-applied industry, and by a prudent care against waste in even the
smallest matters.  By these means, in a long series of years, estates have grown up to such magnitudes as the owners themselves
would be puzzled to account for.  They had met with nothing




450                THE BRIEF REMIARKEIt
that could be called great goocd zck. - The wheel of fortune never
turned them out a prize, nor did they ever gather a single sheaf
from the field of speculation; and they themselves can hardly see
how their estates have so increased.  The truth of it is, that
small annual savings, so judiciously managed as to be made constantly productive, will, in the space of half a century, count up
to the magnitude of considerable wealth.  On the contrary, many
of the estates that are spent, leak out chiefly in small streamlets.
The heirs, or owners, are neither stained with gross vices, nor
chargeable with wanton prodigality.  But small things they have
contemned, or at least neglected.  And what from lack of industry, or the misapplication of it, and what from  incessant little
wastes, their all is gone at length, and they look about them deeply
wondering how the catastrophe has happened.
Turn we now to the consideration of Morals:-and here also
our text holds true.  Seldom does a man commit a crime of the
blackest grain, till he has ripened himself for it by degrees.  It
is by little and little, he plunges into the depths of turpitude.
IHe begins with contemning small things; with disregarding the
minor points in the code of morality; and, step by step, he advances, till at length he becomes capable of crimes, of which the
bare thought would have struck him with horror at first.
iFelre, a youth of estimable qualities, associates with the idle
and dissipated; not because he feels any desire for the intoxicating cup, but because he loves sport and jollity.  Presently,
however, his moral nature is deteriorated.   By imperceptible
degrees, he slides into intemperance, profanity, deep gaming;
and turns out, at last, either a desperate villain, or a lumpish
sot.




ON TlHE WAYS OF BMIAN.                  451
There, a youth of good talents, of considerable learning, and
possessed of pleasing social qualities, is seen, nevertheless, fiom
his very cradle, to trespass often in the small way against truth
and integrity.   I-e begins with petty falsehoods and petty
frauds;  mere childish or juvenile roguery, which the doting
parent interprets as a mark of sprightly genius, rather than as
the inceptive blossom of foul corruption.   Unchecked in childhood, and perhaps flattered for his art and cunning; as he advances in age, his genius takes a wider range.   By little and
little he proceeds on, till at last he adventures upon great things,
and is arraigned before the bar of justice as a perjurer, a swindler, a forger, or a thief.
In short, were all the tenants of our state prisons to publish
a true and full account of themselves, it would be found that
puerile immoralities, tolerated and encouraged, were the seeds
which had ripened into so fearful a crop.




452                 THE BRIEF  BIEMARKEaR
UM3BER CVo.
O1? CUTTINCG THE COAT TO THE CLOTH.
CErVANTES, in his inimitable Don Quixote, finely ridicules the
custom of larding conversation and writings with proverbs or old
sayings, by his dealing them out, by dozens, fi'om the simple lips
of SCa2cho.  So also, the polished Chesterfield is known to have
warned his son against this species of vulgarity, as well as
against all unfcts/hionable vice.  But notwithstanding these high
authorities, there is a great deal of pith in some old sayings; for,
in fewest words, they convey the lessons of sound experience.
Of adages of this sort, few have a more Cxtensive, or a more useful meaning, than the one which here follows:-C" Cut your coat
to youzgt cloth."
The literal sense nobody can mistake, and nobody's general
practice is wide from it.  But its -metaphorical sense is daily
contravened in the practice of no inconsiderable part of the sons
and daughters of the giddy race of Adam, and more especially
in the present age, and in this so highly favored country.  Nor
is any single frailty among US of more mischievous consequence,




ON THE WAYS OF MAN:.                   453
than thle perverse effort to enlarge the coat beyond what the cloth
will allow.  Thousands are the hapless victims of this prevailing
folly.  Thousands, at this very moment, are pining in poverty
and straits, who might have been at their ease, had they always
cut their coat according to the measture of their cloth.  And
though what is past admits of no remedy, yet it may be made to
have a salutary bearing upon things to come; since hardly any
thing has a more direct tendency to make us prudent, than the
imprudences of which we feel the smart.
Be it so! And then, many of those who are now grieving
that their all of earthly substance is lost, will yet, by God's
blessing, restore themselves to a competence, and smile in the
sunshine of contentment.
It has been remarked by a writer of other times, that " he who
is ignorant of the art of arithmetic is but half a man."  Meaning
that one who goes on with his affairs at random, or without calculation: llmust needs conduct them  ill, whatever be his natural
talents or capacity.
We are told of a noble Vezetican, who ordered his steward to
deal out to his extravagant son no more money than he should
count when he received it; and that the prodigal youngster,
having been used to nothing but the pursuit of his pleasures, was
led, by the labor of counting his money, to reflect upon the labor
it cost his father to get it; and thence was induced to retrench
his expenses, and alter his manner of life.
In like manner, only a little attention to arithmetic, as respects the apportioning the size of the coat to the measure of
the cloth, might save from ruin many a goodly young man, aind
many an estimable family, of the present generation.




454                THIE BRIEF REMARKER'' It is seldoim seen," observes the great Locke, " that he
who keeps an account of his income and expenses, and thereby
has constantly under view the course of his domestic affairs, lets
them run to ruin; and it is not to be doubted but many a man
gets behindhand before he is aware, for want of this care, or
the skill to do it."
The arithmetic that is here recommended, is by no means conmplex or puzzling, but is plain, and level to every common understanding.  Therein the only question to be asked and solved is,
can, I agoclrd it?  No matter that the thing is cheap. No matter
that this is comfortable, and that is fashionable; no matter
that such a style of living is most respectable in the eye of the
world.  Before you purchase the one, or go into the other, ask
yourself the simple question, whether you can afford it, and let
the true answer be the regulator of your expenses; else your circumstances will soon be ruined past all hope.
With all those, in short, whose utmost means of living are
small, resolute abstinence from all extraordinary expense, and
rigid frugality, along with well-directed industry, so far from being marks of meanness, are noble virtues.
There are yet some other respects in which the sage advice,
to cut the coat to the cloth, is to be carefully heeded: of these I
will now mention only one, namely, the effort, more especially in
early life, to build up the fabric of reputation too high and magnificent for its basis.
This is an error of no uncommon occurrence.  The youth of
ardent feeling is in haste to acquire fame, and neglects no opportunities of self-display.  His own indiscretion in this respect
is seconded by that of his friends, who by means of extravagant




ON THE WAYS OF MAN.                     455
encomiums on his genius, puff him into notice.  Thus he is made
to enter upon the theatre of life with a reputation impossible for
him to sustain.   He is like a trader, who attracts and disappoints, by exhibiting to view tilhe whole of his goods in the shopwindow.  His stores are all seen at once.  They dazzle at first
view, and expectation stands a tiptoe.  To unfounded expectation, disappointment succeeds of course, and he sinks as far below his true level, perhaps, as these adventitious circumstances
had raised him above it.  Better, far better had it been for him,
if his coat had been cut to his cloth.
One should beware of taking upon credit a greater amount,
not only of money, but of reeputationz, than one will be able to
make good.  In thie last respect, as well as in the other, it is a
dangerous experiment for a young man to pass himself for more
than he is worth.
On the contrary, there is no less truth than beauty in the
following lines of the poet:" I have learn'd to fear
The blossom that is early, and its leaves
Too soon expos6d to the chilling spring.
But much I hope from the more modest bud,
That hides its head and gathers secret strength,
Scarce blown at mid-summer."




456                THE BRIEM' REAARIKEt
NUMBER CVI.
A SOLE-IN MONITION.
"Ill habits gather by unseen degrees;
As brooks run rivers, rivers swell to seas."
DRYDEN.
UPON tihe face of our country, in most other respects so free and
happy, there are two plaZg'ue-sp2ots, of awful magnitude, and of
mortal aspect: the one is the involuntary slavery  of so large a
portion of its population; and the other, the voluntary and
chosen slavery of numberless multitudes, to the all-destroying
power of strong drink.  How wide is this deadly evil spread!
How  immensely numerous,-how dcplorably wretched, are its
victims 
Among this vast group of gmiserables, are to be found many
of opulent parentage; many, who did once inherit wealth themselves; many, who once were respectable and respected; many
who once were distinguished for industry, economy and thrift;
nany, lwho were once bright in intellect, and possessed of amiable




ON THIE WAYS OF BIAN.                  457
qualities of heart; many, who once had a delicate sense of honor
and a nobleness of sentiment; many, who once felt, and deeply
felt the endearing ties of relationship; whose company gave daily
delight to parents, brothers, sisters, wives, and children; many,
who were the hope and pride of their kindred, the ornaments of
society-till the cup of abomination poisoned them, soul and
body.
Now, they are as lazy as poor; now, their once comely visages are ehanged to disgusting and hideous; now, their bodies
are debilitated and corrupted; now, every fine and noble feeling
is utterly extinguished, and all sense of honor and shame is gone
and lost; now, brutal ferociousness succeeds to the former suavity of temper; now, natural affections themselves are extinct;
now, the aged and woe-struck parent is wantonly insulted,
or shamefully negleeted and disregarded; now, the estimable,
the once so dearly loved wife, is assailed with opprobrious language and wounding blows; now, both wife and children are
forsaken —or, even worse-are made to endure, day and night,
the brutality of a drunken husband and father, who, instead of
supporting them, has become their fiend-like tormentor.
This picture, so far fiom being overcharged or aggravated, is
but a faint copy of the ghastliness of the original.
Our country is invaded, and, in a considerable part, already
conquered.  The enemy has entered every town, almost every
village, and is dragging away, year by year, fresh numbers of
our citizens into slavery for life; a slavery worse than Algerine,
worse than is any where endured by the wretched Africans.
This innumerable multitude of doubly, and most deeply-fallen
men-scattered about over the whole face of our country-are not
20




458                 THE, BRIEF REMBARKER
merely a dead loss to, but a dead weight upon, the general society.
And, moreover, they are drawing others into the salme vortex of
perditioll;  each being like a milldewed ear of corn, which blasts
the ears contigutous to it.  Assuredly then, it behooves all who
hlave any reg-1ard *for religion, morals, or country, to employ their
united and assiduous endeavors to stay this plague, ere it infect
and consume the general mass of the population.
Of the habitual and confirmed drunkards, there seenms very little hope of a thorough cure. Somewhere it is related in substance,
that a,2~,monkey, lhaving been accustomed to the taste of strong
drink, beganl to love it' that one day, watching his opportunity,
he helped himself, and drank so freely that he became sick and
dizzy, and fell into the fire and burnt his foot  and that never
after, thougha  repeatedly urged, could he be prevailed with to drink
so much as a single drop.
Would that, in simila:r eases, the like prudence were found in
1zan2!  ]., o n the contrary, the more lie experiences the effects
of the ragig poisoin, is the more bewitched after it.  Though it
imakes him dizzy and sick', loathsome and self-loathed, and occasions him much worse bodily ills than befell the molkey  yet all
this but increases the greediness of his desire, and strengthens
the chains of his bondage.  One, of very many, masters the habit
after it has become inveterate, and thereby entitles himself to no
small degree of honol.  With so!le others there is, all their days,
a struggle between imoral feeling, and appetite.  They sometimes
scotch the snake, but never U/i/ it.  Their condition is like that
of the fabled Sisyphus, condemned to the fruitless toil of rolling
up a steep hill a heavy stone, which ere he gets to the top, ever
comes tumbling back, and compels him to begin his labor anew,




ON  TiHE WAYS OF MAS.                    459
But as to the general imass of drunkards, such a marvellous stupefaction befalls them, that they seem to lose all mloral sense, and all
regard to consequences: —they are of the hospital of incurcables.
In no wise is it to be expected, that very many of those who
have become real drunkards will ever reformi   yet, where the
habit is not fixed and inveterate, to mlaster it is comnparatively
easy.
If you are but just beginning to forml this most pernicious
of habits, pause,-for 1Heaven's sake, pause!
"The hour's now come;
This very minute bids thee ope thine ear,
Obey, and be attentive."
See the pit lying before you.  It is naked; it hath no covering' one step further, and you are ingulfed, and for ever lost.
While it is yet in your power, dash fi'om your lips the cup of intemperance.
"For in the -wreath that decks the flowing browl,
Fell adders hiss, andc poisoned serpents roll."
What! though?/ouic:, do you need stimulants already? I heartily
pity the poverty of your spirits.  Assuredly, the younozg should
have enough of that commodity-enough of genuine, unsophisticated animal  spirits, of their owtZ.  If a young man now needs
stimulants to make him cheerful and lively, what a lifeless lump,
what a mere inanimate clod, must he be, when his youth is departed.  And besidesl he that requires daily doses of strong
drink in the season of youth, is almost sure to be a drunkard at
middle age.  Perhaps you may think you are in very little dan



4{30               THEI BR1iEF' REMARKI{E
ger yet, or in none at all.  And so thought tens andc hundreds of
thousands before you, till they were inextricably involved in the
awful snare.
It is one of long experience, Twho addresseth you.  The hand
now writing is withered with age, and must soon be nlouldering
in the dust.
THE END.