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THE 
 
 STUDENT’S MANUAL. 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. JOHN TODD. O '- 
 
 New Yoke: 
 
 JOHN B. ALDEN PUBLISHER. 
 1887. 
 

PREFA GE. y 
 
 Haedly any class of men are so difficult to be reached as students, 
 and the undertaking is hazardous ; but no class of men are so open to 
 conviction, so alive to manly principle, so susceptible of good impres- 
 sions, when the effort to aid them is judicious and worthy of their 
 attention. Whether the present attempt is a happy one, the author is 
 not presumptuous enough to say. The highest wish of his heart would 
 > be to have its reception and success commensurate with his esteem and 
 1 love for those for whose welfare he feels the strongest interest, and 
 \ for whose benefit he has written. 
 
 ( Scarcely any hour can be more anxious to the parent than that in 
 1 which he takes leave of his child, after having carried him away from 
 
 I home to some public Institution for the purpose of study. He knows 
 
 the temptations which will beset his child, without knowing any way 
 by which to shield him. I have tried to make this book such a friend 
 as he will wish to leave with his son to aid him in forming his char- 
 acter. 
 
 ! The youth who goes from home and takes his place among his fellows, 
 / at a strange place, for the purpose of study, feels that it is all now to 
 
 him : he is inexperienced, and knows not how to form the character 
 which he intends to possess. He has no friend who has been over the 
 ground, and knows it all, to whom he can go for advice, for encour- 
 agement and aid. For such I have endeavored to write this book. 
 
 In the different professions, there are multitudes who feel that they 
 are not students, have not the habits, the character of students ; and 
 yet they know not where the difficulty is, or what to do. If such do 
 not find hints in this volume which will aid and encourage them, I shall 
 have deep regrets, and no small mortification. 
 
 Some may wonder at the taste which has now and then interspersed 
 a quotation in Latin. Those who are familiar with the taste of 
 students, know how much they admire a beautiful thought in beautful 
 language, and how much more highly a nut is rehshed, if they have 
 to crack it. 
 
 Why is not the work more decidedly religious ? Because the design 
 ( r of it is to aid in forming the whole character of the student. The 
 two last chapters, it is hoped, will not be found deficient in this re- 
 
 spect. 
 
 May He, without whose blessing every attempt at being useful is 
 lost, own it, and make it the instrument of much good to those who 
 are the hope of their friends and the hope of their country, 
 
 Northampton, Mass., May 1, 1835. 
 
COJSfTENTB. • 
 
 \A 
 
 HIMi/.llV 
 
 lavmsnvor iin* 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Object of Study. — Iktkoductory. 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Habits. -- M 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 Study. ---53 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Readiitg. 69 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Time. 84 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 'JOYVERSATIOI^. 97 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Politeness and Subordination. 114 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Exercise.— Diet.— -Economy. 131 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Discipline of the Heart. 148 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The Object of* Life. - - r - - - - ^ - 177 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
THE STUDENT’S MANUAL, 
 
 I. 
 
 OBJECT OF STUDY.— INTBODUCTORY. 
 
 The human mind is the brightest display of the power and skill if 
 the Infinite mind, with which we are acquainted. It is created and 
 placed in this world to be educated for a higher state of existence. 
 Here fits faculties begin to unfold, and those mighty energies, which 
 are to bear it forward to unending ages, begin to discover themselves. 
 THa object of training such a mind should be, to enable the soul to ful- 
 r duties well here, and to stand on high vantage-ground, when 
 tves this cradle of her being, for an eternal existence beyond the 
 
 ( There is now and then a youth, who, like Fergusson, can tend sheep 
 in the field, and there accurately mark the position of the stars, with 
 a thread and beads, and with his knife construct a watch from wood ; 
 but such instances are rare. Most need encouragement to sustain, 
 
 I instruction to aid, and directions bo guide them. Few, probably, ever 
 I accomplish anything like as much as they expected or ought ; and I 
 have thought that one reason is, that students waste a vast amount of 
 time in acquiring that experience which they need. As I look backA 
 upon the days when I was a ‘ ‘ student, ’ I can see that here I went ) 
 wrong, and there I mistook ; here I missed a golden opportunity, and/ 
 there I acquired a wrong habit, or received a wrong bias ; and, as I^ 
 sometimes walk past a college, as it is lighted up for evening study, ij 
 pause, and sigh, that I cannot go back and begin life again, carry ingi 
 
 had been such a book as I am now attempting to write for students, 
 put into my hands at an early period, it would have been of incalcu- 
 lable advantage to me. I have strong hopes of saying what will be 
 useful, inasmuch as I shall principally draw from my own experience, 
 and from the remembrance of my own wants. 
 
 The reader will please to bear in mind, that the only object I have 
 
S ' ; MAULT CnAnAcmn indelible. [ch. r. 
 
 in view, is to be useful to him — to throw out such hints and cautions, 
 ^ and to give such specific directions, as will aid him to become all that 
 the fond hopes of his friends anticipate, and all that his own heart 
 ought to desire. 
 
 I would here say to the student, that the character which he now 
 forms and sustains, will cling to him through life. Young men 
 always receive impressions concerning each other which nothing can 
 ever efface. The very nicknames which are given at this period, and 
 which are generally indicative of some peculiar trait of character, will 
 never be forgotten. His moral and intellectual character, while 
 young, is that by which his classmates, especially, will invariably 
 measure him through life. Is he unable now, or indolent now, or 
 vicious now ? Depend upon it, his character is stamped, and no sub- 
 sequent years of good-nature, or of application, or of moral worth, 
 can ever do away the impressions which he is now making. Ask any 
 educated man about the character of his fellow, and you will notice, 
 that he at once goes back to his college-life, and dates and judges from 
 that period. Thus, every anecdote, every ludicrous circumstance, 
 whether it Avas a mistake in reciting or judgment, or in moral conduct, 
 will be repeated over the land, and his frailties will be known as 
 widely as his class is scattered. 
 
 Ho mistake can be more decided than that of supposing that you are 
 now retired from the world, have no character to maintain, and no 
 responsibility resting upon you. It is far otherwise. And it is 
 peculiarly trying, that, during the very period when the character is 
 forming, it is vievved by all around you as if it were already and 
 unalterably formed, and judged of accordingly. He who now sits by 
 your side in the recitation-room, has every trait of your character 
 exposed to his view; and he will remember every trait, and he will 
 mark you tnrough life, at the place where you now stand. Hever, in 
 fact, does so great a responsibility rest upon you as while a student, 
 because you are now forming your character and habits, and setting 
 your standard ; and because, also, your contemporaries will seldom, if 
 ever, alter their judgment concerning you. If you are stupid and 
 inaccurate during this period, though you should hereafter write dic- 
 tionaries, and edit classics, and dream in foreign languages, I very 
 much doubt whether your friend, now at your elbow, would ever give 
 you credit for anything higher than dullness. 
 
 Doubtless, multitudes are now in the process of education, who will 
 never reach any tolerable standard of excellence. Probably some 
 never could, but in most cases they might. The exceptions are few ; 
 and probably most who read these pages, do feel a desire, more or less 
 
CH. t.J 
 
 FOR WHOM WRITING. 
 
 9 
 
 strong, of fitting themselves for respectability and usefulii ess. They 
 are, however, ignorant of the way ; they are surrounded by tempta- 
 tions and dangers; they soon f rget the encouragements, and thss 
 oscillate between hope and fear, resolution and discouragement. It is 
 for such that I write. And sucn I earnestly entreat not to lay aside 
 this little book till they have read it, and weighed it, and, if they 
 please, cafl the v/riter whatever na.rd names occur to them. My pen 
 will probably sometimes seem dull; but if it chould, I hope I may 
 apologize for it as the knight did for his slow-pacing horse : — ‘ ‘ Hee is a 
 rite glide creetur, and travels all the ground over most faithfully.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ When I turned in at night, the sea was smooth and bright as a 
 mirror; the vast firmament seemed to descend below us; the ship 
 appeared to be suspended in the center of an immense sphere, and, if I 
 may say so, one felt, in awe and silence, the majesty of space. The 
 sails hung idly by the mast, and the officers’ tread along the deck was 
 the only sound heard. So I left them. 
 
 ‘ ‘ About midnight I was awakened by a heavy swing of my cot, 
 succeeded by a sudden dash to the other side : the water was pouring 
 into our room, and I could hear its rush across the upper decks, where 
 all was noise and rapid motion. I hurried on my clothes, and ran up: 
 the gun-deck was clear; hammocks had already been lashed up and 
 stowed; it was lighted up, and showed it flooded in its whole extent. 
 I ascended to the next: the rain came down in torrents, but I did not 
 feel it, so deeply absorbing was the scene. I wish I could describe it. 
 The sky was in a constant blaze; the sea was not high, but broken, 
 confused, and foaming, and taking from the lightning an unnatural 
 hue. Above me were the yards covered with human beings, thrown 
 by each flash in strong outline, struggling hard to secure the canvas 
 and to maintain their precarious footing. The ship rolled tremen- 
 dously. And no^v add the wild uproar of the elements, ‘the noise of 
 many waters, ’ the deep and constant roar of the winds, the cries of 
 the men aloft, the heavy and rapid tread of those below, the reiterated 
 commands of officers, and rising above all this, the firm and composed 
 orders of the trumpet, and then add to tliis the heavy-rolling thunder, 
 at times drowning all these sounds. The first lieutenant had the deck ; 
 he had sprung to it at the first alarm, and, seizing the trumpet, he 
 called Black, his favorite helmsman. The ship was soon under snug 
 sail, and now dashed onward at a furious rate, giving to the gale a yet 
 wilder character. 
 
 “ All at once a rocky island seemed to start up from the water ; but 
 the next broad flash showed a good offing, and we were safe ; when 
 suddenly came a loud shout from the forecastle — ‘ A sad close on the 
 
VAL UE OF TIME AND OPPORTUNITY. [cii i 
 
 larboard bow, sir.’ I trembled then — not for ourselves, for we shoulc 
 have gone over them, and have scarcely felt the shock— but for th( 
 poor wretches whom it would have been impossible to save. The heln 
 was put hard down : we shot by, and I again breathed freely, wher 
 some one bade me to look up to our spars. I did so, and found everv 
 upper yard-arm and mast tipped with lightning. Each blaze was 
 twice as large as that of a candle; and thus we flew on, with the ele 
 ments of destruction playing above our heads.” 
 
 Can any one read this beautiful description of one of our own proud 
 sliips in a storm, and fail to reflect, that discipline is the life and sal- 
 vation of such a ship in such a storm? But I have copied it for a 
 different purpose; and that is, to call the attention of the reader a 
 single moment to the “helmsman, Black.” Can there be a doubt but 
 the sailor who could take the helm in these circumstances, and hold 
 the ship firmly on her course amid the storm, shunning rocks, and just 
 shooting by smaller vessels, must have courage, presence of mind, and 
 great promptness of character? Or can there be a doubt, but, if he 
 had been properly educated when young, he might have stood in the 
 lieutenant’s place, and held the trumpet, or even commanded the ship? 
 It is my earnest wish to aid such as have capacity in seizing the present, 
 moment, and while they have the opportunity, in so laying their plans, 
 and in so forming their habits, as to make the most of all their endow- 
 ments. There are, doubtless, some who will read these pages without 
 benefit. May I suggest a possible reason ? “A mole, having consulted 
 many oculists for the benefit of his sight, was at last provided with a 
 good pair of spectacles; but, upon his endeavoring to make use of 
 Biem, his mother told him, that, though they might help the eye of a 
 man^ they could be of no use to a mole.^^ 
 
 You may converse with any man, however distinguished for attain- 
 ments or habits of application, or power of using vdiat he knows, and' 
 he will sigh over the remembrances of the past, and tell you, that, 
 there have been many fragments of time which he has wasted, and ; 
 many opportunities which he has lost forever. If he had only seized 
 upon the fleeting advantages, and gathered up the fragments of time, 
 he might have pushed his researches out into new fields, and, like the 
 mimortal Bacon, have amassed vast stores of knowledge. The mighty 
 minds which have gone before us, have left treasures for our inherit- 
 ance, and the choicest gold is to be had for the digging. How great 
 the dissimilarity between a naked Indian, dancing with joy over a 
 new feather for his head-dress, and such a mind as that of JSTewton or 
 of Boyle ! And what makes the difference ? Therj^ i^ mind enough in 
 the savage ; he can almost outdo the instincts of the prey which he 
 
SAVAGE AND CVLTiVAT^ED MEN GOMPAHED. 
 
 11 
 
 eit. i.j 
 
 hunts; but 'his soul is like the marble pillar. There is a beautiful/ 
 statue in it,'15ut the hand of the sculptor has never laid the chisel upon [ 
 itT] The mkid of the savage has never been disciplined by study ; and 
 ifT^therefore, in the comparison, appears like the rough bison of the 
 forest, distinguished only for strength and ferocity. 
 
 I am not now to discuss the question whether the souls of men are 
 naturally equal. If they are, it is certain that, though the fact were 
 proved, it would be of little practical use, since the organization of 
 bodies is so different that no training can make them alike. But this, 
 
 I think, may safely be affirmed, that every one has naturally the 
 power of excelling in some one thing. You may not excel in mathe- 
 matics, or as a writer, or a speaker ; but I honestly believe that every 
 one of my readers is capable of excelling in some department, and will 
 surely do so, if faithful to himself. 
 
 There was once a boy* put under the care of the Jesuits, who was 
 noted for nothing but his stupidity. These teachers tried him abund- 
 antly, and could make nothing of him. How little did they think that 
 the honor of being his instructors was to raise their order in view of 
 the world! At length, one of the fathers tried him in geometry, 
 which so suited his genius, that he became one of the first mathema- 
 ticians of his age. - Marcus, the son of Cicero, was sent to Athens, and 
 had all the first masters that could be procured ; and he made a per- 
 fect blocldiead. And yet I feel confident, that, had the right place 
 
 been found for him, he would have been more than respectable in it. 
 JNon omnes omnia possumus. 
 
 I once saw a little boy, on a public occasion, while thousands were ^ 
 gazing at him with unaffected astonishment, climb the hghtning-rod ^ 
 on the lofty spire of a meeting-house. The wind blew high, and the 
 rod shook and trembled ; but up he went, till he had reached the vane, 
 
 195 feet high. AU, every moment, expected to see him fall. But 
 what was our amazement to see him mount the vane, and place his 
 little feet upon it, throwing his arms aloft in the air, and turning 
 round, as the wfind turned his shaking foothold ! He stood there tifi 
 weary, and came down at his leisure. Here was a mind capable, I 
 doubt not, of high enterMse. And yet he has never been heard of 
 since. And why not? Either his mind has not been cultivated, or 
 else his genius has been bent out of its proper channel. I will just 
 add, that the poor boy was fined for setting so dangerous an example 
 before the boys who saw him; but I could not help wishing that, while 
 
 * Clavius, who died in 1612, aged 75. His works were in 5 vols. folio, and greatly 
 admired. 
 
12 
 
 fOLLY dY’EXPMGTINO TO BE A OSmtXS. 
 
 [c®. i 
 
 1 
 
 tVSlL “ '■» 
 
 Th.S'” 'i™ "■‘'H- S™-'* 
 
 “i »S;h?'lCES,S.'S rsii 'T ’S*°' « 
 
 » iOTrr«f " S 
 
 stratagem.” Dean Swift, in liis'cLbrated Tmvpk f ^ 
 
 tions of these ffeniuses and tell« na +1+7 1 found whole na- 
 
 customer beforIXm, whose SeLX S “ 
 
 quadrant! Never set un anXw X. I taking with a 
 
 to the character. But fLv sucli are born^imo H .% claim 
 
 few, though envied ffreX Xlf L w > ” = and of those 
 
 indeed, lefve the worfl Sr o "be t^ greatly, but very few, 
 
 of hard study is not to Z w o.n 1 ^ The object 
 
 are formed in a common mokSnd firtiiem fX ‘'"‘r 
 
 usefulness. JN’othino' is so imiph active and decisive 
 
 reputation of being a^ffenius- and mnnS* % yf^'lp “‘"lo as the 
 
 patience for laborSus Sent, on the want of 
 
 P„i„s „ rsEs “S" VS’ SfEiC r '; - “■s;^ “* 
 
 .ton, with great modestv savs thnf hir Isaac JNew- 
 
 ■ between his mind and Xe ininrls pf and only difference 
 
 having more natXnX aX others, consisted solely in his 
 
 iSiF 
 
 Johnson asserts, that, if any one would be master of theEnghsh 
 
 Wirt. 
 
SWDmTS MUST LAUOn. 
 
 6it. I.J 
 
 la 
 
 language, he must give his days and nights to the reading of Addison. 
 It is still more emphatically true, that, if any one would be distin- 
 guished, he must labor for it. There is no real excellence without 
 patient study. Those who have now and then risen up in the world, 
 without education, and without study, have shed but a doubtful light, 
 and that but for a moment. Many a youth has kindled at the story 
 of Tomaso Angelo, who was one day hawking fish through the streets 
 of Ilaples, and the next was master of armies and fleets, and made his 
 will the rule for an empire. The army obeyed him ; the banditti 
 quailed before him ; and never was a man more absolute in his will. 
 But his short reign of nine days was marked with great folly, cruelty, 
 and despotism ; and such examples must ever stand before the world 
 as among the possible things; but also among the improbable, and 
 still more undesirable. 
 
 Set it down as a fact, to which there are no exceptions, that we must 
 labor for all that we have, and that nothing is worth possessing oy , 
 offering to others, which cost us nothing. Gilbert Wakefield tells us, 
 that he wrote his own Memoirs (a large octavo) in six or eight days. 
 It cost him nothing; and, what is very natural, it is worth nothing. 
 You might yawn scores of such books into existence; but who would 
 be the wiser or the better? fWealHike gold, but dread the digging. ^ 
 The cat loves the fish, but wilrnotwade to catch them ; — amat pisces/ 
 sed non vult tingere plantas. 
 
 Those islands which so beautifully adorn the Pacific, and which, but 
 for sin, would seem so many Edens, were reared up from the bed of 
 the ocean by the little coral insect, which deposits one grain of sand 
 at a time, till the whole of those piles are reared up. Just so with 
 human exertions. The greatest results of the mind are produced by 
 small, but continued efforts. I have frequently thought of the motto 
 of one of the most distinguished scholars in this country, as peculiarly 
 appropriate. As near as I remember, it is the picture of a mountain, 
 with man at its base, with his hat and coat lying beside him, and a 
 pickax in his hand; and as he digs, stroke by stroke, his patient look 
 corresponds with his words — ' Eittle by little. ’ ’ 
 
 The first and great object of education is, to discipline the mind. It 
 is naturally, like the colt, wild and ungoverned. Let any man who 
 has not subdued his mind, more or less, by close thought, sit down and 
 take hold of a subject, and try to “think it out.” The result will be, 
 that he cannot hold his own thoughts upon the point. They fly off — 
 they wander away. He brings them back, and determines now to 
 hold his attention there ; when, at once, ere he knows how, he again 
 finds himself away. The process is repeated, till he gives it up in dis- 
 
14 
 
 (JONCmfRATIOJS OF THOUGHT. 
 
 [ctt. t 
 
 eouragement, or else goes to sleep. I once heard a young man com- 
 plaining that he could not keep his mind fixed on a point. ‘ ‘ It I’olled 
 off like a barrel from a piu and he gave some hints that possibly it 
 might be, that his mind was so great! His gravity altogether exceeded 
 that of his associates, to whom he was giving the explanation. How 
 many great minds would there be, if such indications were to be relied 
 on? 
 
 In the period which belongs to you as a student^ then it is not im- 
 portant that you should try to lay up a vast amount of information, 
 tinder the chapter on Heading, I shall hope to throw out such hints as 
 will enable you to save what you do read. The object now is, to lit 
 the mind for future acquisitions, and future usefulness. The magazine 
 ’will be filled soon enough ; and we need not be too anxious to fill it 
 while we are getting it ready for use. I am desirous that you have it 
 strongly impressed on the memory, that the great object now is, to set 
 the mind out on a course which she can successfully pursue herself, and 
 that, too, through life. 
 
 You must calculate to improve through life; and, therefore, now try 
 to form habits of study, and learn how to study to advantage. “Hew- 
 ton was in his eighty -fifth year improving his Chronology; and Waller, 
 at eighty-two, is thought to have lost none of his poetical fire.” 
 
 Make it the first object to be able to fix and hold your attention 
 upon your studies. He who can do this has mastered many and great 
 difficulties ; and he who cannot do it, will in vain look for success in 
 any department of study. “To effect any purpose in study, the mind 
 must be concentrated. If any other object plays on the fancy than 
 that which ought to be exclusively before it, the mind is divided, and 
 both are neutralized, so as to lose their effect — just as when I learned 
 two systems of short-hand: I was familiar with Gurney’s method, and 
 wrote it with ease ; but when I took it into my head to learn Byroms, 
 they destroyed each other, and I could write neither.” What is com- 
 monly called abstraction in study ^ is nothing more than having the 
 attention so completely occupied with the subject in hand, that the 
 mind takes notice of nothing without itself. One of the greatest 
 minds, which this, or any other country, ever produced, has been 
 known to be so engrossed in thinking on a particular subject, that his 
 horse has waded through the corner of a pond, yet though the water 
 covered the saddle, he was wholly insensible to the cause of his being 
 wet. I mention this, not to recommend such an abstraction, but to 
 show, that he who has his attention fixed, and the power of fixing it 
 when he pleases, will be successful in study. Heed I say here, that 
 you can never command the attention, if you are in the habit of 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 CONCENTRATION OF THOUGHT. 
 
 15 
 
 yielding to your appetites and passions? “J^o man,” says one who ; 
 knew, ‘ ‘ whose appetites are his masters, can perform the duties of his 
 nature with strictness and regularity. He that would be superior to 
 external influence, must first become superior to his own passion.” 
 Why does the boy, who has a large sum upon his slate, scowl, and rub 
 out, and begin again, and grow discouraged? Because he has not yet 
 learned to command his attention. He was going on well, when some 
 new thought flashed into his mind, or some new object caught his eye, 
 and he lost the train of calculation. Why has that Latin or Greek 
 word so puzzled you to remember, that you have had to look it out in 
 your dictionary some ten or dozen times ? And why do you now look 
 at it as at a stranger, whose name you ought to know, but which you 
 cannot recall ? Because you have not yet acquired fully the power of 
 axing your attention. That word would have been remembered long 
 since, if it had not passed as a shadow before your mind when you 
 looked at it. A celebrated authoress, who states that she reserves all 
 her i’s to be dotted, and her t’s to be crossed, on some sick day, might 
 have given a more philosophical reason ; and that is, that she could not 
 bear to have her attention interrupted a single moment, when writing 
 with the most success. 
 
 The difficulty of confining the attention is probably the secret of 
 the plan of Demosthenes, who shut himself up in his celebrated dark 
 cave for study ; and this will account for the fact, that a person who is 
 unexpectedly deprived of the use of his eyes, will not unfrequently make 
 advances in thought, and show a strength of mind, unknown before. 
 
 I have frequently seen boys take their books on a summer’s day, and 
 flee from their room to the grove, and from the grove back again, full ,, 
 of uneasiness, and in vain hoping that changing the place would give 
 them some new power over the roving attention, and that indescribable 
 restlessness, so inseparable from the early efforts to subdue the mind. 
 It is all in vain. You cannot fly from yourself; and the best way is, 
 to sit directly down in your room, and there command your attention 
 to fix itself upon the hard, dry lesson, and master it ; and when you 
 have brought this rover to obey you once, he will be more ready to 
 obey the next time. Attention wiU more readily come at your call to- 
 morrow than to-day. 
 
 Patience is a virtue kindred to attention ; and without it, the mind 
 cannot be said to be disciplined. Patient labor and investigation are 
 not only esssential to success in study, but are an unfailing guarantee 
 to success. The young man is in danger of feeling “that he will strilre 
 out something new. His spirits are buoyant and his hopes sanguine. ’ ’ 
 He knows not the mortified feeling of being repeatedly defeated by 
 
u 
 
 PATIENCE NECESSARY. 
 
 [CH. t 
 
 himselZ He will burst upon the world at once, and strike the blows f 
 of a giant, while his arm is that of a child. He is not to toil up the \ 
 nill, and wait for years of self-discipline, close, patient study, and i 
 hard labor— not he; but before you know it, he will be on the heights i 
 of the highest Alps, with a lofty feeling, looking down upon the i 
 creepers below ! Hence, multitudes waste hfe, and absolutely fritter I 
 away their existence, in doing nothing, except waiting for a golden it 
 m^portunity to do something great and magnificent. Did not Patrick 
 Henry burst upon the world at once, and at once exhibit the strength 
 of a giant? If he did, he is no specimen of ordinary minds, and no / 
 man has a right to presume upon anything more than an intellect of/ 
 ordinary dimensions as his own. What multitudes of men lie still, an(f 
 never lift the pen, because the time is not come! W^hen they com<5 
 out, it must be in a ‘great book,” a splendid address, or some great 
 effort. The tree must not be allowed to grow by inches ; no, at once 
 the sapling must be loaded with the fruit of the tree of threescore 
 years. Alas! trees planted and watered by such expectations vill 
 never be more than dwarfs. Franklin rose high, and his name is 
 engraven deep and fair on the roll of immortality; but he began his 
 greatness by making an almanac : he continued to make it for years, 
 and rose, step by step, till he was acknowledged as the head of modern 
 philosophers. Every young man ought to remember, that he who 
 would carry the ox, must every day shoulder the calf. Ferret tauricm 
 qui tulit mtulctm. That great man, who returned to his study, and, 
 finding that his little dog had turned over the table, and burned up 
 the papers on which he had been engaged for years, yet calmly said, 
 “You have done me a great mischief. Diamond,” showed a soul truly 
 great; and its greatness in this instance consisted in his patience. 
 Without a mumur he sat down, and began to do over the same great 
 labor. He lived to complete it ; and it was the admiration of the 
 learned world. Yet how few have the patience thus to sit down and 
 labor day by day for years ! It is neither a small nor an easy part of 
 education to cultivate this trait of character. 
 
 The student should learn to think and act for himself. True orig- 
 inality consists in doing things well, and doing them in your own way. 
 
 A mind half- educated is generally imitating .'hers. “Ho man was 
 jever great by imitation.” One great reason is, that it is so much 
 easier to copy the defects and the objectionable parts of a great man’s 
 character, than to imitate his excellences, that we gain only the 
 former. Alexander the Great had a foolish tutor, who used to call 
 him Achilles. He was taught to admire that character. But when 
 he came to imitate Achilles, what did he do? He imitated one of the 
 
CH. I.J 
 
 INDEPENDENCE OF CHAR ACTED. 
 
 17 
 
 most cruel and detestable actions in that hero’s life. He dragged the 
 
 f overnor of a town through the streets after his chariot. This was 
 ecause the foolish teacher, Lysimachus, taught him to imitate as well 
 as admire. It has been more than strongly conjectured, that France 
 murdered her Idng, the inoffensive and amiable Louis XYI., because 
 England once beheaded a king! Strange that even nations cannot 
 become imitators without copying that which is atrocious! Xot a few 
 waste their lives, and lose all discipline and improvement, by an in- 
 sensible and unconscious habit of imitating others. Of the multitudes 
 who imitated Johnson, was there one who had anything more than his/ 
 
 5 >ous, inflated language? They seemed to feel that they were 
 ing the club of Hercules ; but the club, in every instance, was 
 hollow, and the blow resulted in nothing but sound. Of the many 
 who tried to follow in the wake of Byron, is there one who wdll live in 
 song? Xot one. They could copy nothing but his measure and his 
 wickedness, borrowing his vileness without his genius. The lion him- 
 self is fast turning to corruption, but no honey will be found in the 
 carcass; and as for his followers, the world was relieved from their 
 curse by their decaying before they could taint the moral atmosphere. 
 It is vastly more easy to imitate and borrow, both matter and manner, 
 than to have them of your own. But set it down, that no imitator 
 ever reached anything like eminence. You must have a character of 
 your own, and rules by which that character is regulated. It has been 
 said of Franklin, that he was a philosopher, because, in his childhood, 
 he formed those rules w^hich regulated him even in old age. “My 
 father, ’ ’ says Andrew Fuller, ‘ ‘ was a farmer ; and, in my younger 
 days, it was a great boast among the ploughmen that they could 
 plough a straight line across the furrows or ridges of the field. I 
 thought I could do this as well as any of them. One day, I saw such 
 a line, which had just been drawn, and I thought, ‘Xow I have it.’ 
 Accordingly I laid hold of the plough, and, putting one of the horses 
 into the furrow which had just been made, I resolved to keep him 
 walking in -it, and thus secure a parellel line. By and by, however, I 
 observed that there were what might be termed wriggles in this furrow^ ; 
 and when I came to them, they turned out to be lai^ger in mine than 
 in the original. On perceiving this, I threw the plough aside, and 
 determined nearer to he an imitator. ’ ’ Let it be remembered that we 
 cannot copy greatness or goodness by any effort. We must acquire it 
 by our own patience and clihgence. Nil sine magno vita labor e dedit 
 mortalihus. 
 
 Another object of study is, to form the judgment^ so that the mind 
 cannot only investigate, but weigh and balance opinions and theories. 
 
 % 
 
18 
 
 THE JUDGMENT. 
 
 [CH. 
 
 Without this you will never be able to decide what to read or what t^ 
 
 Somrof^thp’ ""^^1 f'istrust, or what opinions to receive 
 
 Some of the most aborious men and diligent readem pass throus-h lift 
 
 anything- desirable, for the want of what mai 
 be called a well-Ulanced judgment. The last theory which they heai 
 
 thS read^irt'l’ ^ejicient as to proof from facts; the lasfbool 
 
 they read is the most wonderful, though it may be worthless* the Incji 
 
 Ren the most valuable, because least is known about him 
 
 Sriife if"' which have no use in pra™ 
 
 +)’ ^ *iT® aborious trifling — nihil which 
 
 k b^Jin ”'T for anything valuable. It leads to a wide field, which 
 tlio^ r ^ shepherd,” says an Italian au- 
 
 thor, -u ho used to divert himself in his solitudes with tossing up 
 eggs and catching them again without breaking them ; in whicf he 
 f a degree of perfection, that he would keep up 
 TT'"* together, playing in the air, and 
 
 ti hands by turns. I think I never saw greater severity 
 
 s foce; for, by his wonderful perseverance and appl^ 
 cation, he had contracted the seriousness and gravity of a privy-coim- 
 
 Tn raVttntir^ myself, that the same assiduity 
 
 and attention, had they been rightly applied, might have made him a 
 
 greater mathematici, in than Archimedek ” laue nim a 
 
 I have known a boy— and such cases are not rare— spend time 
 enough in learning to read with the book bottom upwards--whioh he 
 (iKl iiith great fluency- to have made him acquainted ivith all the 
 mmuti® of ye Latin grammar. This is not merely time wasted, but 
 
 mpfitf ^ fo*" ®y-ophe-way things and useless acquire- 
 
 ments. It IS no small part of education and of study, to know what 
 you do, and what you do not, wish to know. 
 
 p, by anything I have said, an impression has been made that I do 
 not deem it necessary for a man to be familiar with a wide circle of 
 knowledge, in order to become known, influential, and useful, [ trust 
 wn f T corrected before the reader closes this book. 
 
 What I wish to say here is, that the great object of the student is to 
 prepare his mind to use materials which may hereafter be gathered ; 
 but not now to gather them. One of the most distinguished men of 
 this age and nation, whose voice has been heard in lands distant from 
 ours, IS said to be remarkable for this faculty— that, when he wants 
 information on any subject, he seems to know, intuitively, who and 
 what shall be laid under immediate tribute. He does not ^re over all 
 that this or that man has written, but gets light from aU quarters, and 
 then, hke the burning-glass, condenses and brings to a focus all the ho^ht 
 
l.j the mine IMPIiOVEE BY EXEUGlSE. 10 
 
 and heat which are necessary to consume obstacles and objections. Such 
 a habit is worth all the scraps of learning and information which could 
 be laid up in a mind which knows of no use in knowledge but the 
 pleasure which it affords while in the act of acquiring. 
 
 The great instrument of affecting the world is the mind ; and no 
 instrument is so decidedly and continually improved by exercise and 
 use as the mind. Many seem to feel as if it were not safe to put forth 
 all their powers at one effort. You must reserve your strength for 
 great occasions, just as you would use your horse moderately and 
 carefully on common occasions, but give him the spur on occasions of 
 great emergency. This might be well, were the mind in any respect 
 like the bones and muscles of the horse. Some, when they are con- 
 triving to see how little mental effort will answer, and how far and 
 wide a few feeble thoughts may be spread, seem more like students 
 than at any other time, as if it were dangerous to task the mind too 
 often, lest her stores be exhausted, or her faculties become weakened. 
 The l)ow may be but half bent, lest it be overstrained, and lose its 
 power. But you need have no such fears. You may call upon your 
 mind, to-day, for its highest efforts, and stretch it to the uttermost in 
 your power, and you have done yourself a kindness. The mind will 
 be all the better for it. To-morrow you may do it again ; and each 
 time it will answer more readily to your calls. 
 
 But remember, that real discipline of mind does not so much consist 
 in now and then making a great effort, as in having the mind so 
 trained that it Avill make constant efforts. Gutta cmat lapidem^ 
 non vi, sed smpe cmdendo. If you would liaA^e the discipline anything 
 like perfect, it must be unremitted : the mind must be kept clear and 
 shrewd. It is told of our gifted but infatuated Hamilton, that, during 
 the periods in Avhich the po Avers of his mind Avere put to the highest 
 and severest exercise, he regularly read Euclid through once a month. 
 The Federalist Avill tell the rest. 
 
 The perfection of a disciplined mind is, — not to be able, on some 
 great contingency, to rouse up its faculties and to draAV out a giant 
 strength, — but to have it always ready to produce a given and an 
 equal quantity of results in a given and equal time. This was the 
 glory of the mind of Isaac YeAvton ; and the late venerated Porter, of 
 Andover, could, in any given hour, or day, or Aveek, produce as 
 finished and as ample results, as if he should AA^ait for “some happy 
 hours of thought.” He ‘who trains his mind to go by impulses, and 
 must Avait for them, Avill accomplish but very little during his life. 
 
 Tavo monks live near each other at the same time. They both 
 profess to be students; only one, hoAvever, does anything toward 
 
20 
 
 COmtmEV -EPEoiltS will ACCOUPtm MEOB. ic«. 
 
 Ofe uses language and lamentations as fol 
 
 th.. Ls..s.;."5 w\3r.!;"if i 
 
 .m„ns them^ , J £u.l IZKllfi £ 1™ iSf 
 SfSV. iTiS 5“ ‘'" " *' '““ »' m™ 
 
 m active life will judge ^erj accurately as to the manner in which vou 
 il! to act in such and such circumstances; but though 
 
 n these respects, their conclusions are accurate, yet they see not the 
 motives of action, and look not so deeply into the soul, as^the accurate 
 student. Let a man m active life undertake to probe the consicence of 
 an audience; he may have this and that fact, but can he do it as effect 
 ually as he who hp read human nature, and pondered over it in all its 
 recesses and windings, in his study? Few men ever lived who moved 
 
 Cnaf ‘nature « ^an" Edwards. But did he not understand 
 
 uman nature. Can any one read his writings, and doubt for a 
 
 When'ln accurately what the nature of man is* 
 
 when such a mind pours out its strength upon the world, it does not 
 make mistakes as to the princijiles of action. He might mistake in 
 
 matters but a surgeon never dissected the body with more accuracv 
 
 knlf I* ^ tr^^ition that Sr% 
 knew not his own cows; but m the world of active, driving, bargain- 
 making men, you will never find one who understands humln nftoe ' 
 as well as he did. And not he alone ; but this is characteristic of all 
 who are real students They work upon the deep principles of human 
 nature ; those principles which are altered neither by time, nor fashion 
 
Mli^-IcnowledqR 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 2i 
 
 nor outward circumstances. This is one reason why an educated mind 
 will often send the arrow through the heart, while the uneducated 
 man only twangs nis bow. He makes more noise, but produces no 
 execution. I doubt not that many will smile at the idea, that the 
 hara student understands mankind; but you might as well smile at 
 the philosoptier, who, while he was managing the electricity in the thun- 
 der-cloud, could not tell what outward shapes the cloud might, in the 
 mean time, assume, or whether it moved fast or slow. 
 
 SelJ- -knowledge is another important end of study. There are some 
 men who have raised themselves to high stations, and maintained 
 them, without a long course of mental discipline. Eoger Sherman 
 thus rose from the bench of a shoemaker, tiU the eyes of a nation gazed 
 on him iu admiration. But most are pedants, and self-conceited, un- 
 less they have accurately and repeatedly measured themselves by 
 others. It is of great importance that you know what you cannot do, 
 as well as what you can do. For this reason, with all the temptations 
 and dangers attending a public education, I am satisfied it is much to 
 be preferred to a private one. The wisest period in the whole of man’s 
 existence, is just when he has entered college. Aud why? Simply 
 because the youth has not yet had the opportunity of measuring his 
 attainments and capacity with that of his fello^vs. It is not merely 
 that you sharpen the intellect, and add a keenness to the mind by 
 contact with other minds, but you strengthen it by the contact, and 
 you learn to be modest in regard to your own powers. You will see 
 many with intellects of a high order, and with attainments far beyond 
 anything which you have dared call your own. There must be some | 
 radical defect in that man’s nature, who can be associated in study for) 
 years with those who are severe students, S,nd at the end of thei, 
 period feel that he is a very wise or a very great man. He has then 
 but just stepped upon the threshold of learning, and but just looked 
 out upon the field of knowledge and improvement, which is as bound- 
 less as the creation of God. The mouse, which thought his chest was 
 all the world, was astonished when he stood upon the till and looked 
 out, to see what a great world lay beyond him. But what is the 
 reason why a man must know himself exactly ? What if he does over- 
 estimate himself? I answer, if he presents a draft greater than his 
 deposits, it will certainly be protested. There is so much vanity in the 
 heart of every man, that he will not allow any one to claim more than 
 his merits absolutely compel him to allow ; so that if you place yourself 
 on the list of those who over-estimate their own attainments or worth, 
 you injure your usefulness and destroy your happiness. The modest 
 man may, and wiU, draw vastly harder upon the sympathy and good- 
 
OMECf OF 8TCDY. 
 
 
 [CH. t 
 
 will of mankind than the forward man, with the same attainments, 
 will be allowed to do. Modesty, to rest upon any fixed, stable foun- 
 dation, must rest upon an accurate knowledge of yourself. This will 
 be the result of study. The philosopher whose fame was filling all 
 Europe, was so modest and retiring, that his good landlady one day 
 mourned over him, and lamented that ‘ ‘ the poor soul could never make 
 anything more than philosopher after all!” 
 
 We p.re in too great danger of neglecting the memory. It is too 
 valuable to be neglected, for by it wonders are sometimes accomplished. 
 He who has a memory that can seize with an iron grasp, and retain 
 what he reads (the ideas simply, without the language) and a judgment 
 to compare and balance, will scarcely fail of being distinguished. 
 Many are afraid of strengthening the memory, lest it should destroy 
 their inducement and power to originate ideas — lest the light should 
 be altogether borrowed light. The danger does not seem to me to be 
 very great: especially since I have noticed, that those who are so 
 fearful of employing this faculty are by no means to be envied for 
 their originality. Why has that mass of thought, observation, and 
 experience, embodied in books by the multitudes of minds which have 
 gone before us, been gathered, if not that we may use it, and stand on 
 high ground, and push our way still farther into the boundaries and 
 regions of knowledge? Besides, in a world so dark as ours, it is de- 
 lightful to see a planet rising before us, even though she sheds no hght 
 but borrowed. And after all, the exact amount of original thought 
 which passes through any one mind, is probably much less than is 
 frequently imagined. Who does not know what a delightful freshness 
 there is in the reading of youth! The world is new to him. He 
 treads on ground new and enchanting. I have frequently heard men, 
 in maturer years, wish that they could now sit down and find the same 
 ■ freshness in a book, which they did when young. Why do they not? 
 Because a new book, now, is not new. They have seen the same ideas, 
 lor the shades of them, many times before; and every book takes away 
 from the originality of that which is to follow it. The man who 
 declared that the only two new books in the world were the Bible and 
 Euclid, was not so far out of the way as would at first seem. If, 
 then, there is not so much of originality in men and in books as you at 
 first suppose, it follows, that memory is the grand instrument of con- 
 veying knowledge from one man to another. Its cultivation is of the 
 highest importance. I mention it here, not now to direct how to 
 cmtivate it, but to state its immense value. 
 
 You will see, from what I have said, that the object of study is to 
 di^ovpUne the mmd in all its parts to show it where to find tools, and 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 TEDIOUSNESS OF STUDY. 
 
 23 
 
 how to use them. The exact amount of knowledge which is at any one 
 time in the mind of the student, is not, and need not be, great. Like 
 a good pump, you could soon exhaust it, were it not that it reaches an 
 inexhaustible well beneath, and has all the apparatus for filling itself 
 as fast as emptied. If the knowledge which he now possesses shall 
 evaporate, it will, like the vapors which rise from the ocean, again 
 return to the diligent student, by some other channels. It is thought 
 by some, however, that no item of knowledge, and not a single idea 
 which is once formed in the mind, can ever be lost. It may be for- 
 gotten to-day, but it will come again to the notice of the mind in the 
 course of the unending progress which is yet to be made by the human 
 soul. How important that the knowledge which we acquire, and the 
 thoughts which occupy our minds, be such, that, come when they 
 may, we shall recognize them as pleasant companions and worthy 
 friends ! The immortahty of light wliich awaits the good, is to be one 
 of thought, of review, and of self-communion ; and the night of ages 
 which shall settle down upon the wicked, wih not be other than sleep- 
 less. 
 
 It is not an uncommon thing for the youth to feel, as he is sent 
 away from home, and confined down to books, that it is really a hard 
 way to obtain an education. He thinks of the brooks, the groves, or 
 the hiUs and ponds near his home ; of his skates, his gun, or his fishing 
 tackle, or of the social circle around his father’s fireside, and sighs, 
 that he must be exiled from all these, and shut up in his naked room, 
 among strangers, and there must unceasingly pore over his books. It 
 is not to be wondered at that he feels so; but let him reflect, that 
 this is the time to form habits, and to begin a course of mental disci- 
 pline, which, in a few years, will raise him high in the esteem, the 
 respect and the honors of his fellow-men. Every distinguished man 
 has trodden the same path. There is no other road to knowledge, to 
 improvement, to distinction. If the voice of experience could come to 
 your ear, and if you could see the agony of heart which those feel, 
 who once had your opportunities, but misimproved them, you w’ould 
 be astonished to see the real value of your situation. All who have 
 passed through academic or collegiate life, know how very irksome 
 that life is ; and the reason is, it is so hard for the mind to be broken 
 in, and subdued by the discipline of the situation : it is like taking the 
 half-grown lion, and putting him in the iron cage, and then teaching 
 him how to obey his master, and, of course, how to subdue himself. 
 But this very discipline is the only thing which can bring the mind 
 under proper subjection, and fit it to become obedient to yourself. I 
 hop, in the chapters which are to follow, to mark out the road so 
 
24 
 
 PEMMANENGY OF HABITS. 
 
 [CH. II. 
 
 f ^“ 1 !^ ** ““J"® pleasant to travel, and, at 
 
 “ recollections, and 
 
 II. 
 
 HABITS. 
 
 The whole character may be said to be comprehended in the term 
 
 ot habits. Suppose you were compelled to wear an iron collar about 
 your neck through life, or a chain upon your ankle; would it not be a 
 burden every day and hour of your existence? You rise in the morn- 
 ing a prisoner to your chain; you lie down at night, weary with the 
 
 no ’^iTk’inTl/nff ^ ^bat there is 
 
 no shaking it off. But even this would be no more intolerable to bear 
 
 shake™ofF ” habits of men; nor would it be more dilflcult to be 
 
 Habits are easily formed— especially such as are had; and what to- 
 cay seems to be a small affair, will soon become fixed, and hold you 
 with the strength of a cable. That same cable, you will recollect is 
 formed by spinning and twisting one thread at a time; but, when once 
 completed the proudest ship turns her head toward it, and acknowledo-es 
 ner subjection to its power. ^ 
 
 Habits of some kind will be formed by every student. He will have 
 a particular couree in which his time, his employments, his thoimhts 
 and feeling, will run. Good or bad, these habits soon become a part 
 of himselt, and a kind of second nature. Who does not know, that 
 the old man, who has occupied a particular corner of the old fire-place 
 in the old house for sixty years, may be rendered wretched by a 
 ^ange . Who has not read of the release of the aged prisoner of the 
 Bastile, who entreated that he might again return to his gloomy 
 dungeon, because his habits, there formed, were so strong, that his 
 nature threatened to sink under the attempt to break them up? You 
 will probably find no man of forty, who has not habits which he la- 
 ments, which mar his usefulness, but which are so interwoven with his 
 very being, that he cannot break through them. At least he lias not 
 the courage to try. I am expecting you will form habits. Indeed 1 
 wish you to do so. He must be a poor character, indeed, who lives ’so 
 extempore as not to have habits of his own. But what I wish is tha* 
 
HABITS HASILT HOBMED. 
 
 CEt. ir.] 
 
 se 
 
 you form those habits which are correct^ and such as will every day 
 and hour add to your happiness and usefulness. If a man were to be 
 told that he must use the ax, which he now selects, through life, 
 would he not be careful in selecting one of the right proportions and 
 temper? If told that he must wear the same clothing through life, 
 would he not be anxious as to the quality and kind? But these, in 
 the cases supposed, would be of no more importance than is the selec- 
 tion of habits in which the soul shall act. You might as well place the 
 body in a strait-jacket, and expect it to perform, with ease, and com- 
 fort, and promptness, the various duties of the body, as to throw the 
 soul into the habits of some men, and then expect it will accomplish 
 anything great or good. 
 
 Do not fear to undertake to form any habit which is desirable ; for 
 it can be formed, and that with more ease than you may at first sup- 
 pose. Let the same thing ^ or the same duty^ i^eturn at the same time 
 every day^ and it will soon become pleasant. Xo matter if it be irksome 
 at first; but how irksome soever it may be, only let it return period- 
 ically, every day, and that without any interruption for a time, and it 
 will become a positive pleasure. In this way all our habits are formed. 
 The student who can with ease now sit down, and hold his mind down 
 to his studies nine or ten hours a day, would find the laborer, or the 
 man accustomed to active habits, sinking under it, should he attempt 
 to do the same thing. I have seen a man sit down at the table spread 
 with luxury, and eat his sailor’s biscuit with relish, and without a desire 
 for any other food. His health had compelled him thus to live till it 
 become a pleasant habit of diet. Previous to this, however, he had 
 been rather noted for being an epicure. “I once attended a prisoner,” 
 says an excellent man, “of some distinction, in one of the prisons of 
 the metrophs, ill of a typhus fever, whose apartments were gloomy 
 in the extreme, surrounded with horrors: yet this prisoner assured me 
 afterward, that, upon his release, he quitted them with a degree of 
 reluctance : custom had reconciled him to the twilight admitted through 
 the thick-barred gate, to the filthy spots and patches of his plastered 
 walls, to the hardness of his bed, and even to confinement.” 
 
 I shall specify habits which, in my view, are very desirable to the 
 student, and, at the same time, endeavor to give specific directions 
 how to form them. 
 
 1. Have a plan laid beforehand for every, day. 
 
 These plans ought to be maturely formed the evening previous, and 
 on rising in the morniug, again looked at, and immediately entered 
 upon. It is astonishing how much more we may accomphsh in a single 
 day (and what of else is life made up ?) by having the plan previously 
 
2G 
 
 LAY TOtiB PL ALTS PEFOPPHANP. 
 
 [cs. n. 
 
 o f ^ everytlimg. This morning a man was digging 
 
 l ati thiougli a deep snowbank. It was almost insupportably cold 
 and be seemed to make but little headway, though he worked as if 
 upon a wager. At length, getting out of breath, he Ind 
 
 wkhlf o^P shovel, then marked out the 
 
 width of each shovel full, and consequently the amount of snow at 
 each throw of the shovel. In fifteen minutes he had done more, and 
 with greater ease and neatness, than in the thirty minutes previous, 
 without a plan. It is of little consequence by what we 
 illlustrate, if we make a thing clear, and impress it upon the mind I 
 liave found, in my own experience, as much difference in the labors of 
 two dap when working with or without a plan, as, at least, one half, 
 have^done^^^^^ satisfaction, in the latter case, of knowing what I 
 
 Experienp will tell any man, that he is most successful in his own 
 pursuits, when he is most careful as to his method. A man of mv 
 acquaintance has a small slate, which hangs at his study-table. On 
 that he generally finds, m the morning, his work for the day written 
 down; and in the evening he reviews it, sees if he has omitted anv- 
 thing, and if so, chides himself that all is not done. To make this 
 clear, I copy here what was found on his slate for one day, as I saw it 
 this morning: — 
 
 a. Horse, errands, and dig paths. 
 
 h. Carry my child to school, and pay postage- bill 
 
 c. Write from 9 till dinner [at 1 o’clock]. 
 
 d. 'Write to C., inviting him— also to I. at JST. H. 
 
 e. Examine the use of the word orgizesthe in Ephesians iv. 26. 
 
 /. Yisit Mr. M. sick, also the two families in Maple street 
 
 g. Get some straw for horse wherever it can be purchased. 
 
 A. Prepare and preach this evening. 
 
 wantf sixth vol. of B. [to see if anything is there which I 
 
 L Last, not least, to fix the pump [so that it will not freeze up] 
 
 It, at the close of the day, he finds these items all accomplished, 
 pd thp m such a .way as to satisfy conscience, he feels that the day 
 has not been lost. Sometimes he finds he has misjudged, and has 
 marked out more than he can do; sometimes he is hindered by unex- 
 pected interruptions, and therefore cannot do all, or even half, he 
 calculat^ to do. These must be all weighed every night at the re- 
 view. Be sure and review every night, and when you have balanced 
 the account with conscience, lay out what you will do for the 
 next day. 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 A STUDENTS DAY. 
 
 27 
 
 Such a system will not make a noisy, blustering character. The 
 river that rolls a heavy burden of water to the ocean, is the stream 
 which keeps the channel, and is noiseless in its course. There is a 
 prescribed routine of duties marked out by your teachers. These, of 
 course, will come in your every-day plans ; but, in addition to these, 
 you ought to do something by way of acquiring or retaining informa- 
 tion, or something to add to the happiness of your friends or of jour 
 companions. Let me suppose you mark out your plan for to-morrow, 
 thus : — 
 
 1. Walk to the pond, 1-J mile, immediately after breakfast. 
 
 2. Lesson and recitation. 
 
 3. Write to my mother, acknowledging her letter and bundle. 
 
 4. Eeview, and see if I can read the 6th Eclogue of Yirgil without 
 looking into the Dictionary or Grammar. (Kegular course of review.) 
 
 5. Lesson and recitation. Walk till tea. 
 
 6. See if I can go through the 24th proposition of Euclid, 1st B., at 
 once. (Kegular review.) 
 
 7. Visit Smith’s room, and explain the remark which I made to- 
 day, and at which he seemed hurt. 
 
 8. Lesson for the morning, etc. 
 
 9. Kote the three facts respecting Demosthenes in my common- 
 place book. 
 
 10. Talk over the question for dispute in the Society with my chum. 
 
 11. Read the new magazine which mother has just sent me. 
 
 At first you will feel discouraged in not being able to do as much 
 work as you mark out. But you will do more and more, from day to 
 day, as you proceed ; and you will soon be astonished at seeing how 
 much can be accomplished. If you choose, you can have a book in- 
 stead of a slate, which will be also a kind of journal of your life, full 
 of interesting memoranda. 
 
 2. Acquire the habit of untiring industry. 
 
 Should you be so unfortunate as to suppose you are a genius, and 
 that ‘ ‘ things will come to you, ’ ’ it would be well to undeceive your- 
 self as soon as possible. Make up your mind that industry must be 
 the price of all you obtain, and at once begin to pay down. “Dili-, 
 gence in employments of less consequence is the most successful intro- : 
 duction to greater enterprises.” It is a matter of unaffected amaze- 
 ment to see what industry alone will accomplish. We are astonished 
 at the volumes which the men of former ages used to write. But the 
 term industry is the key to the whole secret. ‘ ‘ He that shall walk 
 with vigor three hours a day, will pass in seven years a space equal to 
 the circumference of the globe.” There is no state so bad for the 
 
28 
 
 UNTIRING INDUSTRY. 
 
 [cn. II. 
 
 student as idleness, and no habit so pernicious. And yet none is so 
 easily acquired, or so difficult to be thrown off. The idle man soon 
 grows torpid, and becomes the Indian in his feelings, insensibly adopt- 
 ing their maxim — “It is better to walk than to run, and better to stand 
 still than to walk, and better to sit than to stand, and better to lie 
 than to sit.” Probably the man who deserves the most of pity, is he 
 who is most idle; for as “there are said to be pleasures in madness 
 known only to madmen, there are certain miseries in idleness which 
 only the idle can conceive.” I am aware that many are exceedingly 
 liisy., who are not industrious. For it very frequently happens, that 
 he who is most hurried and bustling, is very far from being industrious. 
 A shrewd man can easily discover the difference. “He that neglects 
 his known duty, and real employment, naturally endeavors to crowd 
 his mind with something that may bar out the remembrance of his 
 own folly, and does anything but what he ought to do, with eager 
 diligence, that he may keep himself in his own favor. ” 
 
 It is perfectly clear that he who is industrious has really the most of; 
 leisure; for his time is marked out into distinct portions, to each .of. 
 which something is assigned; and when the thing is done, the man is at 
 leisure ; but a dead calm settles over him who lives an idle life. Better 
 that the waters be straitened, and burst over their banks, than that ' 
 they be too sluggish to move at all. Who would not prefer to put 
 to sea, even in a storm, and in a gale hurry over the waters, rather 
 than lie for weeks becalmed? It is said, that when Scanderbeg, prince 
 of Epirus, was dead, the Turks wished to get his bones, that each one : 
 might wear a piece near his heart, and thus obtain some part of that ( 
 courage which he had while living, and which they had too often ex* i 
 perienced in battle. What a blessing, if the idle might obtain some ‘ 
 such charm, that would rouse them up to habits of industry! Seneca ‘ 
 assures his friend, in a letter, that there “was not a day in which he ; 
 did not either Avrite something, or read and epitomize some good au- 
 thor.” So universal has the opinion of men been on the point, that, 
 in order to excel, you must be industrious, that idlers have received 
 the just appellation of “fools at large,” You would be surprised to 
 know how many hours slip away from the man who is not systematic- 
 ally industrious. “Such was his unwearied assiduity and diligence, 
 that he seemed to pray constantly, to preach constantly, to catechise 
 constantly, and to visit the sick, exhorting from house to hpuse, to < 
 teach as much in the schools, and spend as much time with the students , 
 and young men, in fitting them for the ministry, as if he had been " 
 sequestrate from all the world besides, and yet, withal, to write asi 
 much as if he had been constantly shut up in his study. ” • 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 EXAMPLE OF LUTHER. 
 
 29 
 
 It js easy for the student to form good plans -of study and of daily 
 habits, and to draw them out on paper, all perfected. But the ditfi- 
 culty is, they are found nowhere but on paper ; and because you cannot 
 at once reach l^hem, you sit down and give up an untiring industry. 
 It was a matter of astonishment to Europe, that Luther, amid all his 
 travels and active labors, could present a very perfect translation of 
 the whole Bible. But a single word explains it all. He had a rigid 
 system of doing something every day. ''WuUo dies^’’^ says he, in 
 answer to the question how he did it — ''nulla dies sine versuf'^ and this 
 soon orougnt him to the close of the whole Bible. 
 
 I have never known a man whose habits of every-day industry were 
 so good as those of Jeremiah Evarts. During years of close observa- 
 tion in the bosom of his family, I never saw a day pass without his 
 accomphshing more than he expected ; and so regular was he in all his 
 habits, that I knew to a moment when I should find him with his pen, 
 and when with his tooth-brush in his hand ; and so methodical and 
 thorough, that, though his papers filled many shelves, when closely 
 tied up, there was not a paper among all his letters, correspondence, 
 editorial matter, and the like, which was not labeled and in its place, 
 and upon which he could not lay his hand in a moment. I never knew 
 him search for a paper ; it was always in its place. I have never yet 
 met with the man whose industry was so great, or who wduld accom- 
 plish so much in a given time. 
 
 “Pray, of what did your brother die?” said the Marquis Spinola to 
 Sir Horace Vere. “He died, sir,” replied he, “of having nothing to 
 do.” “Alas, sir,” said Spinola, “that is enough to kill any general of 
 us all.” 
 
 Demosthenes, as is well known, copied Thucydides’ History eight 
 times with his own hand, merely to make himself familiar with the 
 style of that great man. 
 
 There are two proverbs, one among the Turks, and the other among 
 the Spaniards, both of which contain much that is true. “A busy 
 man is troubled with but one devil, but the idle man with a thousand. ’ ’ 
 “Men are usually tempted by the devil, but the idle man positively 
 tempts the devil.” How much corrupting company, how many 
 temptations to do wrong, how many seasons of danger to your char- 
 acter, and danger to the peace of your friends, would you escape, by 
 forming the habit of being decidedly industrious every day ! 
 
 3. Cultivate jper sever anee. 
 
 By perseverance, I mean a steadfastness in pursuing the same study, 
 and studying and carrying out the same plans from week to week. 
 Some will read or hear of a plan which somebody has pursued with 
 
30 
 
 EFFECTS OF INDECISION. 
 
 [CH. II, 
 
 great success, and at once conclude that they will do so. The plan 
 will be adopted without consideration, then talked about as a line 
 affair, and in a few days thrown aside for something else. Such a 
 great man did this, or did that, and I will do so, is the feeling ; but as 
 soon as it becomes irksome, as any new habit will in a short time, it is 
 laid aside. I once knew a man, a student, Avho somewhere read of a 
 great man who wrote over his door, '' Duin loquimor tew^us fngit;^^ 
 and immediately he had it in staring capitals over his door. Again, 
 he read that a very learned man used to admire Blackstone ; at once lie 
 drops all, and purchases Blackstone 's Commentaries. These he began 
 to read with great eagerness ; but, happening to hear that Oliver Ells- 
 worth was in the habit of getting most of his information from con- | 
 versation (a fact which I doubt), he was for dropping Blackstone, and 
 going from room to room, to gather information by conversation! It 
 is hardly necessary to say, that a college full of such students, all con- , 
 densed into one, would not make a single real student. ‘ ‘ The man who 
 is perpetually hesitating which of two things he will do first, will do 
 neither. The man who resolves, but suffers his resolution to be 
 changed by the first counter-suggestion of a friend, who fluctuates 
 from opinion to opinion, from plan to plan, and veers like a weather- ( 
 cock to every point of the compass, with every breath of caprice that 
 blows, can never accomplish anything great or useful. Instead of 
 being progressive in anything, he will be at best stationary, and more ' 
 probably retrograde in all. It is only the man who carries into his | 
 pursuits that great quality which Lucan ascribes to Caesar — nescia 
 virtus stare loco — who first consults wisely, then resolves firmly, and 
 then executes his purpose with inflexible peseverance, undismayed 
 by those petty difficulties which daunt a weaker spirit — that can ad- 
 vance to eminence in any line. Let us take, by way of illustration, 
 the case of a student. He commences the study of the dead languages: 
 presently comes a friend, who teUs him he is wasting his time, and = 
 that, instead of obsolete words, he had much better employ himself in ; 
 acquiring new ideas. He changes his plan, and sets to work at the 
 mathematics. Then comes another friend, who asks him, with a , 
 grave and sapient face, whether he intends to become a professor in a 
 college; because, if he does not, he is misemploying his time; and 
 that, for the business of life, common mathematics is quite enough of j 
 the mathematics. He throws up his Euclid, and addresses himself to ^ 
 some other study, which, in its turn, is again relinquished on some 
 equally wise suggestion; and thus life is spent in changing his plans. ; 
 You cannot but perceive the folly of this course; and the worst effect 
 of it is, the fixing on your mind a habit of indecision, sufficient of it ■ 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 EFFECTS OF FERSBVEBANGE. 
 
 31 
 
 self to blast the fairest prospects. ISTo; take your course wisely, but 
 firmly ; and, having taken it, hold upon it with heroic resolution, and 
 the Alps and Pyrenees will sink before you. The whole empire of 
 learning will be at your feet, while those who set out with you, but 
 stopped to change their plans, are yet employed in the very profitable 
 business of changing their plans. Let your motto be, Persemrando 
 vinces. Practice upon it, and you will be convinced of its value by 
 the distinguished eminence to which it will conduct you.”* 
 
 We are in danger of ruining our promising plans, in themselves very 
 
 f ood,- by the habit of putting off till to-morrow what may be done to- 
 ay. That letter may be answered to-morrow; that request of my 
 friend may be attended to to-morrow, and he will be no loser. True ; 
 but you are the loser; for the yielding to one such temptation, is the 
 signal to the yielding up the whole citadel to the enemy. That note 
 and that valuable fact may be recorded in my common-place book to- 
 morrow. True ; but every such indulgence is a heavy loss to you. Every 
 hour should be perseveringly filled up. But this is not all. It is not 
 sufficient to take for your motto, with the immortal Grotius, '' Hora 
 but let it be filled up according to some plan. One day filled 
 up according to a previous plan, is worth more than a week filled up, 
 but without any plan. 
 
 It is astonishing to see with what perseverance and inflexibility of 
 purpose those men have pursued the object, the pursuit and attainment 
 of which constituted their greatness. Charles XII. was frequently on 
 his horse for twenty-four hours at once; and thus he traversed most of 
 his dominions. His officers were all tired out ; consequently, for the 
 most part, he performed these journeys entirely alone. On one of 
 these excursions, his poor horse fell dead under him. Without any 
 uneasiness, the monarch stripped the dead horse, and marched off with 
 the saddle, bridle, and pistols on his back. At the next inn he found 
 a horse in the stable to his mind, and immediately harnessed him, and 
 was just making off when the owner came out, and called him to ac- 
 count for stealing his property. The monarch replied, that he took 
 the horse because he was tired of carrying the saddle himself. This 
 not satisfying the owner, they drew swords, and would have shed 
 blood, royal or plebeian, had not the guard rode up and informed the 
 owner that his sword was raised against his king. This was but a single 
 specimen of the untiring perseverance with which that ambitious man 
 carried out his plans. The same perseverance would place almost any 
 student on a high eminence in a very few years. 
 
 * Wirt. 
 
33 
 
 IMPORTANCE OF PUNGTUALITT. 
 
 [cfl. it ' 
 
 4. Cultivate the habit of N'^nctu^ality. 
 
 There is no man living who might not be a punctual man ; and yet ■’ 
 there are few that are so, to anything like the degree to which they j 
 ought to attain. It is vastly easier to be a httle late in getting into i 
 the recitation- room, and a little late in doing everything. It is not so 
 easy to be a prompt, punctual character; but it is a trait of inestimable 
 value to yourself and to the world. The punctual man can do twice 
 as much, at least, as another man, with twice the ease and satisfaction 
 to himself, and with equal satisfaction to others. The late lord chan- 
 cellor of England, Henry Brougham, while a kingdom seemed to be | 
 resting on his shoulders ; who presided in the house of lords arid the 
 court of chancery; who gave audience daily to the barristers, found 
 time to write reviews, to be at the head of at least ten associations 
 which were publishing works of useful knowledge — was so punctual 
 that, when these associations met, he was uniformly there when the 
 hour of meeting had arrived, and was in his place in the chair. 
 
 We are all so indolent, by nature and by habit, that we feel it a , 
 luxury to find a man of real, undeviating punctuality. We love, to : 
 lean upon such a man, and we are willing to purchase such a staff at 1 
 almost any price. It shows, at least, that he has conquered himself. 
 
 Some seem to be afraid of cherishing this habit, lest it border upon 
 a virtue that is vulgar, and is below the ambition of a great mind, or 
 the attention of one who has greater virtues upon which he may pre- 
 sume. Was the mind of Blackstone of a low order? Did he cultivate 
 punctuality because he had not great traits of character on which to 
 rely? Yet, when he was delivering even his celebrated lectures, he 
 was never known to make his audience wait even a minute ; and he 
 could never be made to think well of any one who was notoriously 
 defective in this virtue. The reader will be pleased with the following- 
 notice of Mr. Brewer, afterward a valuable minister of the gospel. 
 While a student, he was always known to be punctual in attending the 
 lectures at the tutor’s house. The students boarded in neighboring ; 
 families, and at stated hours met for recitation. One morning, the 
 clock struck seven, and all rose up for prayer, according to custom. 
 The tutor, looking round, and observing that Mr. Brewer was absent, 
 paused awhile. Seeing him now enter the room, he thus addressed 
 him : — ‘ ‘ Sir, the clock has struck, and we were ready to begin ; but as 
 you were absent, we supposed it was too fast, and therefore waited.” 
 The clock was actually too fast by some minutes. 
 
 It is no great virtue to be punctual in paying a considerable debt, 
 though, even here, too many fail; but it is in the every day and every- 
 hour occurrences in which we are most apt to fail. ‘ ‘ I am too late now, 
 
PROCUASTINA TION. 
 
 33 
 
 0fl. ir.] 
 
 but it is only once. I have not been prompt in fulfilling my plans to- 
 day ; but it is only ” Such is the language of procrastination. I 
 have myself ridden scores of miles, and been put to inconvenient ex- 
 pense, dnd a hard week’s work in writing, by the want of punctuality 
 in one who failed only five minutes, and that wholly unnecessarily. 
 Be punctual in everything. If you determine to rise at such an hour, 
 be on the floor at the moment. If you determine to do so much before 
 breakfast, be sure to do it; if to meet a society, or a circle of friends, 
 be there at the moment. We are apt to be tardy in attending meet- 
 ings of societies, etc., especially if we have anything to do. “There is. ^ 
 great dignity in being waited for,” said one who was in this habit, and 
 who had not much of which he need be vain, unless it was this want 
 of promptness. A.n assembly will be glad to see you after having 
 waited for you ; but they would have been more glad to see you at 
 your post. When there are two things for you to do, one of which 
 must be done, and the other is what you very much desire to do, be 
 sure and begin the former first. For example, you may very much 
 wish to complete the sheet which you are now writing, and for many 
 reasons you may wish it ; but you must recite this evening. Now, 
 the way for you to do, is now to stop waiting, and prepare for recita- 
 tion, else you Avill write so long, that, not only your preparation in 
 study will be slighted, but you will also be in danger of not being 
 punctual. The want of the observance of this rule very frequently 
 prevents our being punctual in our duties. 
 
 5. Be an early riser. 
 
 Few ever lived to a great age, and fewer still ever became distin- 
 guished, who were not in the habit of early rising. You rise late, and 
 of course get aoout your business at a late hour, and everything goes 
 wrong all day. Franklin says, “that he wdio rises late, may trot all 
 day, and not have overtaken his business at night.” Dean Swift 
 avers, ‘ ‘ that lie never knew any man come to greatness and eminence 
 who lay in bed of a morning.” 
 
 I believe that, with other degeneracies of our day, history will prove 
 that late rising is a prominent one. In the fourteenth century, the 
 shops in Paris were universally open at four in the morning ; noAV, not 
 till long after seven. I’hen, the king of France dined out at eight 
 o’clock in the morning, and retired to his chamber at the same hour in 
 the evening. In the time of Henry YIII., seven in the morning was 
 the fashionable breakfast hour — ten the dinner hour. In the time of 
 Ehzabeth, the nobility, fashionables, and students, dined at eleven 
 o’clock, and supped between five and six in the afternoon. 
 
 Buff on gives us the history of Pis writing in a few words. ‘ ' In my 
 
u 
 
 i^ARLY RlSim. 
 
 [cit. It 
 
 youth, I was very fond of sleep: it robbed me of a great deal of my 
 time; but my poor Joseph (his servant) was of great service in en-i 
 abhng me to overcome it. I promised to give Joseph a crown every ^ 
 time that he would make me get up at six. !Next morning he did not 
 fail to wake me and to torment me ; but he only received abuse. The 
 next day after, he did the same, with no better success; and I was i 
 obliged to confess, at noon, that I had lost my time. I told him that ^ 
 he did not know how to manage his business ; he ought to think of my 
 promise, and not mind my threats. The day following, he employed , 
 force; I begged for indulgence— I bid him begone— f stormed— but 
 Joseph persisted. I was therefore obhged to comply; and he was 
 rewarded every day for the abuse which he suffered at the moment 
 when I awoke, by thanks, accompanied with a crown, which he re- 
 ceived about an hour after. Yes, 2 am indebted to poor Joseph for ten 
 or a dozen of the volumes of my worlcs. ’ ’ 
 
 Frederick II. of Prussia, even after age and infirmities had increased 
 upon him, gave strict orders never to be allowed to sleep later than 
 four in the morning. Peter the Great, whether at work in the docks 
 at London as a ship-carpenter, or at the anvil as a blacksmith, or on 
 the throne of Kussia, always arose before daylight. “I am,” says he, 
 “for making my life as long as I can, and therefore sleep as little as 'i 
 possible.” Doddridge makes the following strildng and sensible re- i 
 marks on this subject: — “I will here record the observation, which I ^ 
 have found of great use to myself, and to which, I may say, that tlie 
 production of this work (Commentary on the l^ew Testament), and i 
 most of my other writings, is owing, viz., that the difference between ; 
 rising at five and at seven o’clock in the morning, for the space of i 
 forty years, supposing a man to go to bed at the same hour at night, 
 is nearly equivalent to the addition of ten years to a man’s life.” ^ 
 
 In order to rise early, I would earnestly recommend an early hour 4 
 for retiring. There are many other reasons for this. E’either your • 
 eyes nor your health are so likely to be destroyed. Nature seems to ; 
 have so fitted things, that we ought to rest in the early part of the | 
 night. Dr. Dwight used to tell his students, “that one hour of sleep j 
 before midnight is worth more than two hours after that time.” Let ' 
 it be a rule with you, and scrupulously adhered to, that your light shall | 
 be extinguished by ten o’clock in the evening. You may then rise at ■ 
 five, and have seven hours to rest, which is about what nature requires. 
 
 But how shall you form the habit of getting up so early ? Suppose 
 vou go to bed, to-night, at ten : you have been accustomed to sit up j 
 later : for an hour you cannot sleep ; and when the clock strikes five, . 
 you will be in a fine sleep. I reply, that if you ever hope to do any- 
 
EABLY BISim. 
 
 35 
 
 |cH. II.] 
 
 thing in this world, the habit must be formed, and the sooner it is done 
 the better. If any money could purchase the habit, no price would be 
 too great. When the writer commenced the practice in earnest, he 
 procured an old clock, at the expense of about two dollars. (This may 
 be placed wherever you please.) He then formed a little machine 
 which went by weight and string, through the axle of which were four 
 arms of wire, at the ends of which were as many brass buttons. As 
 the weight Avent down, these revolving buttons struck against a small 
 house -bell. This set up such a tremendous ringing, that there Avas no 
 more sleep. All this Avas connected with the Avooden clock, in the 
 distant room, by means of wires. He has had the honor to instruct 
 others of his profession into the mystery, and has had the pleasure of 
 hearing the dingling of other bells, which other Avooden clocks set 
 a-ringing. Some use a small alarm-clock to call them up, and to Avhich 
 they soon acquire a strong attachment, Avhich would be stronger still 
 could it be made to strike up a light and bmld a fire. By this, or some 
 such process, you must be regularly Avaked at an early hour. The 
 students in Yale and Amherst Colleges have generally the alarm-clock. 
 After you are once aAvaked, be sure to use the first consciousness in 
 getting upon the floor. If you alloAv yourself to parley a single 
 I moment, sleep, like an armed man, Avill probably seize upon you, and 
 your resolution is gone, your hopes are dashed, and your habits de- 
 stroyed. Heed you be reminded here that the young man aaAio is in 
 the habit of early rising, Avill and must be in the habit of retiring 
 early, and, of course, will put himself out of the Avay of many tempta- 
 tions and dangers which come under the veil of midnight. Hot a feAV 
 feel that the rules of academies, or colleges, Avhich call them up early, 
 are rather a hardship They transgress them Avhen they dare. Find- 
 ing the stolen Avaters sAveet, they do all in their poAver during vaca- 
 tions, and at other times, to prevent themseh^es from forming the habit 
 of early rising. They ought not to feel or do so. The business of 
 college, and the business of life, alike require early rising ; and you are 
 your OAvn enemy if you cherish the feeling that this is a burden. It 
 ought to be a matter of gratitude that such regulations prevail in our 
 seminaries. One of the most celebrated Avriters of England Avas lately 
 asked hoAv it was that he wrote so much, and yet from ten in the fore- 
 noon Avas at leisure through the day. “Because I begin to Avrite 
 at three o’clock in the morning,” Avas the reply. Most confidently 
 do I believe, that he Avho from his youth is in the habit of rising early, 
 Avill be much more likely to be a distinguished and useful man, and 
 more likely to pass a life that is peaceful and pleasant. I dAvell upon 
 
36 
 
 LEABN SOMETHim FROM ALL. 
 
 [CH. II 
 
 this point, because a love for the bed is too frequently a besetting sin 
 of students, and a sin which soon acquires the strength of a cable. 
 
 6. Be in the habit of learning something from every man with whom 
 you meet. 
 
 The observance or neglect of this rule will make a wonderful differ- 
 ence in your character, long before the time that you are forty years 
 old. Ail act upon it, more or less, hut few do it as a matter of habit 
 and calculation. Most act upon it as a matter of interest, or of curi- 
 osity at the moment. The great difficulty is, we begin too late in life 
 to make everything contribute to increase our stock of practical in- 
 formation. Sir Walter Scott gives us to understand, that he never 
 met with any man, let his calling be what it might, even the most 
 stupid fellow that ever rubbed down a horse, from whom he could not, 
 by a few moments’ conversation, learn something which he did not 
 before know, and which was valuable to him. This will account for 
 the fact, that he seemed to have an intuitive knowledge of everything. 
 Who but he would stop in the street and note down a word which 
 dropped among the oaths of two angry men — a word for which he had \ 
 been looking for months ? It is quite as important to go through the 
 world with the ears open as with the eyes open. “When I was 
 young, ’ ’ says Cecil, ‘ ‘ my mother had a servant, whose conduct I thought 
 truly wise. A man was hired to brew, and this servant was to watch 
 his method, in order to learn his art. In the course of the process, 
 something was done which she did not understand. She asked him, 
 and he abused her with the vilest epithets, for her ignorance and 
 stupidity. My mother asked her how she bore such abuse. ‘I would 
 be called, ’ said she, ‘ worse names, a thousand times, for the sake of 
 the information I got out of him. ’ ” It is a false notion, that we . 
 ought to know nothing out of our particular line of study or profession. 
 You will be none the less distinguished in your calling for having ob- 
 tained an item of practical knowledge from every man with whom you 
 meet. And every man, in his pa^rticular calhng, knows things which 
 are decidedly worth knowing. 
 
 Multitudes of gifted and learned men sat under the ministry of the 
 eloquent and youthful Spencer. They were his , -superiors in every- 
 thing excepting his own profession, and perhaps in that, excepting the 
 point on which he had just been studying, and on which he was speak- 
 ing. Yet they all felt that they were deriving information, profit, 
 and pleasure from his ministry. ‘ ‘ Old-fashioned economists will tell 
 you never to pass an old nail, or an old horse-shoe, or buckle, or even 
 a pin, without taking it up; because, although you may not Avant it 
 uow, you will find a use for it some time or other, I say the same 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 THINK AND ACT ON A FIXED PLAN, 
 
 37 
 
 thing to you with regard to knowledge. However useless it may 
 appear to you at the moment, seize upon all that is fairly within your 
 reach. For there is not a fact within the whole circle of human ob- 
 servation, nor even a fugitive anecdote that you read in a newspaper, 
 or hear in conversation, that will not come into play sometime or 
 other ; and occasions will arise when they involuntarily present their 
 dim shadows in the train of your thinking and reasoning, as belonging 
 to that train, and you Avill regret that you cannot recall them more 
 distinctly. ’ ’ 
 
 I do not recommend you to try to learn everything. Far from it. 
 But while you have one great object in view, you can attend to other 
 things which have a bearing on your object. If you were now sent on 
 an express to Mexico, while the great object before you would be to 
 do your errand well and expeditiously, ought you not, as you pass 
 along, to use your eyes, and gaze upon the landscapes, the rivers, the 
 deep glens, the waterfalls, the wild solitudes of nature, Avhich lie in 
 your path ? Ought you not to have your ears open, to pick up what 
 information, story, anecdote, fact, everything of the kind which you 
 can, and thus return wiser? Would all this hinder you in the least? 
 And would you not be fitting yourself, by every such ac(juisition, to 
 be a more agreeable, intelligent, and useful man? sic, se hahere 
 
 rem necesse prorsics 
 
 7. Form fixed principles on which you think and act. 
 
 A good scholar tries so to fix every word in his memory, that, when 
 he meets with it again, he need not turn to his dictionary.' His com- 
 panion may dispute its derivation, or its gender, and he may not be 
 able to tell you just how the word appeared when he looked it out ; 
 but he has m^de up his mind about it, and has a fixed opinion. He 
 may not now be able to tell you by what process he came to that 
 opinion. It should be so with everything. Do not examine a subject 
 in order to get some general notion of it, but, if now in haste, wait 
 till you can do it thoroughly. Ho matter what it be — of great im- 
 portance or small — if it be worth examining at all, do it thoroughly, 
 and do it once for all ; so that, whenever the subject shall again come 
 up, your mind will be settled and at rest. It is the possession of es- 
 tablished and unwavering principles that makes a man a firm charac- 
 ter. These principles relate to right and wrong, and, indeed, to 
 everything about which the judgment has to balance probabilities. 
 Do not be hasty in coming to conclusions. Young men generally err 
 more by being precipitate, than from want of judgment. If they will 
 only give themselves time to weigh the matter, their conclusions will, 
 usually be correct. 
 
38 
 
 TESTING OUR PRINCIPLES. 
 
 [CH. II. 
 
 have long adopted an expedient, which I have found of singular 
 service. I have a shelf in my study for tried authors, and one in my 
 mind for tried principles and characters. 
 
 “When an aidlior has stood a thorough examination, and will bear 
 to be taken as a guide, I put him on the shelf ! 
 
 “When I have more fully made up my mind on 2^ principle, I put h 
 on the shelf. A hundred subtle objections may be brought against 
 this principle; I may meet with some of them, perhaps; but my prin- 
 ci])le is on the shelf. Generally I may be able to recall the reasons 
 which weighed with me to put it there; but if not, I am not to be 
 sent out to sea again. Time was when I saw through and detected all 
 the subtleties that could be brought against it. I have past evidence of 
 having been fully convinced ; and there on the shelf it shall be ! 
 
 “When I have turned a character over and over on all sides, and 
 seen it through and through in all situations, I put it on the shelf. 
 There may be conduct in the person which may stumble others ; there 
 may be great inconsistencies, there may be strange and unaccountable 
 turns; but I have put that character on the shelf; difficulties will all 
 be cleared ; everything will come round again. I should be much 
 chagrined, indeed, to be obliged to take a character down which I had 
 once put up, but that has never been the case with me yet ; and the 
 best guard against it is not to be too hasty in putting them there.” 
 
 Those who understand the above keen remarks by experience, well 
 know what a luxury it is, on particular occasions, when the mind is 
 fatigued, or the memory is weak, and doubts are started concerning 
 some point of great importance, to have this “shelf” of established 
 principles to which you can go. I have never been able to read the 
 history of the martyrdom of the venerable Latimer, without being 
 touched almost to tears, to see him clinging to his long-established 
 principles. They urged him to dispute and prove his religion true, 
 and the popish false. He knew that he was old, and had lost some- 
 what of the strength of his mind. He would not dispute. He left 
 that for young and vigorous minds, while he died simply repeating his 
 belief! He Imew very well that he had once examined the subject 
 with all the vigor of his intellect, and he was not to go and take these 
 principles down from the “shelf,” and again prove them to be correct. 
 Conduct which stands on such a basis, and character which strikes its 
 roots thus deep, will be such as will bear scrutiny, and such as no storm 
 can shake. 
 
 “The man resolved, and steady to his trust, 
 
 Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just, 
 
 May the rude rabble’s insolence despise. 
 
 Their senseless clamor and tumultuous cries; 
 
cfl. n.] 
 
 OBSEUVATIONS ON TOBACCO. 
 
 39 
 
 The tyrant’s fierceness he beguiles, _ 
 
 And the stern brow and the harsh voice defies, 
 And with superior greatness smiles.” 
 
 8 Be simple and neat in your personal habits. 
 
 It is frequently said, that “some pride is necessary among men, else 
 they would not be decent in their appearance.” If the remark means 
 anything, I suppose it means that pride adds much and frequently to 
 our personal appearance. But an angel, or any sinless spirit I doubt 
 not would be a gentleman in appearance and dress, and that not from 
 pride but from a desire to be more useful and more happy. Eothmg 
 will so uniformly and certainly make you unpopular, as to have any 
 
 habits that are slovenly. ji^tt a 
 
 If you have ever learned to chew or smoke that Indian weed called 
 tobacco, I beg that you will at once drop aU, cleanse your mouth, and 
 never ao'ain defile yourself with it. Nicholas Monardus, a German, 
 has written a large folio on the virtues of tobacco ; but it would require 
 many such folios to prove it worthy of a place among cmhzed men. 
 Let a man be thrown from a shipwreck upon a desert island, and in a 
 state of starvation, and he would rather die than eat this weed, though 
 the island might be covered with it; and no youth can use it, either in 
 chewing or smoking, without decided and permanent injury to his 
 appearSice, health, and progress in study. Let a company spend the 
 evening in smoking the cigar, and what is the effect? . W all awd^e, 
 in the morning, restless, feverish, low-spirited, anti dissatisfied. 1 e 
 bell grates upon the nerves worse than ever. The mouth is clammy 
 and bitter; the stomach uneasy, and each one feels like pouring out 
 the vital principle in yawning. The custom certainly seems most at 
 home in a filthy alehouse or bar-room. When the fashion was so 
 strono* in England, that James I. could get no one to preach against 
 it his own royal hand took the pen and wrote a treatise, which he 
 denominates, “ Counterblast to Tobacco.^^ The strength of liis^ 
 princely antidote maybe gathered from the following closing para- ( 
 graph of this royal Counterblast. “It is a custom loathsome to the 
 hateful to the harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, 
 
 and in the black fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible 
 
 Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless. ” , , . „ . , t 
 
 All experienced people will tell you that the habit of using tobacco, 
 in any shape, will soon render you emaciated and consumptive, your 
 nerves shattered, your spirits low and moody, your throat dry, and 
 demanding stimulating drinks, your person filthy, and your habits 
 
 those of a swine. , p i i 
 
 Let your dress be neat and simple. Do not feel that the body, 
 
40 
 
 POLLY OF FASHION. 
 
 [cH. tt 
 
 which is merely a case for the soul, is of too great inportance. At the 
 same time, he who is a “good and true man,” will he hkely to keep 
 the outside of his house in good order. In a certain village there is a 
 house, which seems designed to be foppish. Its front is white, its left 
 green, its back yellow, and its right red. Notliing could be more 
 ridiculous, and yet it is not more ridiculous, in reality, than the dress 
 of many a house that the soul must inhabit. I would recommend that 
 your clothes be of good quality — so good, that you constantly feel that 
 they are worth preserving— and that you feel anxious to show your 
 economy, by the length of time they last. For exercise, you should 
 have a different dress. No one can enjoy himself who undertakes to 
 study and exercise in the same dress. In your study, use an old coat 
 or govm. You will feel more easy and comfortable, and your dress- 
 coat will last all the better for it. Some wear a baize jacket in study; 
 and this is very well. I know of one who always studies, summer and 
 winter, in his sliirt -sleeves; and though I have an opinion of him quite 
 as high as he deserves, yet I cannot recommend the practice. 
 
 Your dress should be warm. If you wear flannels next the sldn, be: 
 sure to take them all off when you sleep. Be sure, also, to keep your] 
 feet dry and warm. In order to do this, you must use them every day in * 
 walking. The question in relation to dress should be, not “How often 
 can I have a new hat or coat?” but “How long can I wear it, and j 
 keep it handsome?” He who undertakes to be very nice and finical in 
 his dress, will make but a poor student. He descends toward the 
 animal world. Dryden, in his fable of the Cock and the Fox, seems 
 kO have a dandy before him — 
 
 “Then, turning, said to Partlet, ‘See, my dear, 
 
 How lavish Nature hath adorn’d the year; 1 
 
 How the pale primrose and the violets spring, * 
 
 And birds assay their throats, disused, to sing: 
 
 All these are ours; and I, with pleasure, see 
 Man strutting on two legs, and aping me!’ ” 
 
 Ko slave is so abject as he who tries to keep near the head in the i 
 race of fashions. Alexander is said to have had a neck that was wry; J 
 and this created a fashion, so that his courtiers all held their heads on | 
 one side. He was most fashionable who lopped his head the most. ’ 
 Was this more ridiculous than what the votaries of fashion must do 
 continually? But cannot a student be particularly nice about his 
 dress without having his heart all in it ? I reply, ‘ ‘ That whenever you | 
 see the tail of a fox out of the hole, you may be pretty sure that the , 
 fox is in the hole.” Keep your clothes neat and clean; your coat, 
 
 
GENERAL COURTESY. 
 
 41 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 your hat, your boots or shoes, and be neat as to your linen; but do 
 not feel that this is by any means the great business of life. 
 
 Pay particular attention to your teeth. By this I mean, simply, 
 cleanse them with a soft brush and with water, in which a little com- 
 mon salt is dissolved, the last thing before you retire at night. This 
 simple direction, faithfully followed, will ordinarily keep the teeth 
 good till old age. I would urge this, because, if neglected, the fol- 
 lowing are the results : — your breath will inevitably become offensive 
 from defective teeth ; your comfort will be destroyed by frequent 
 tooth-ache; your health will suffer for the want of good teeth to 
 masticate the food; and last, though not least, you will early lose your 
 teeth, and thus your public speaking will be irretrievably injured. 
 These may seem small affairs now, but the habit of neglect Avill 
 assuredly bring bitter repentance when it is too late to remedy the 
 neglect. 
 
 Do not affect singularity in any of your habits. We never feel at 
 home with a man of odd habits, and any such will assuredly increase 
 upon him. He makes a heavy draft upon the kindness of mankind, 
 who is every day demanding that they bear with his eccentricities. 
 You may now recollect a most excellent man, who is often seen in 
 company, with his feet poised upon the top of a chair, and nearly as 
 high as his head, and not unfrequently upon a table. The habit was 
 acquired when a student, and though a whole company has often 
 ached over the habit, yet it remains unaltered. You may be boorish 
 in manners, and be like Johnsofi in tlicit respect ; but he had talents and 
 industry, which could make him distinguished in spite of his ill man- 
 ners. 
 
 Be particularly attentive to your behavior at table; for, froni his 
 situation, the student is peculiarly tempted to err there. There is an 
 abruptness and bluntness in the manners of some professional inen— a 
 complete treading under foot of all politeness. It may be attributed 
 to the fact that they probably associated but little with refined society 
 while students, and when they came out into the world, not knowing 
 how to behave, they put on the blunt, hair-cloth mode, as if conscious 
 of abilities which would suffer them to despise form and pohteness. 
 But a man is never more mistaken than when he supposes that any 
 strength of mind or attainments will render his company agreeaable, 
 while his manners are rude. If you are accustomed to society, behave 
 as you know how; if not accustomed to it, behave modestly, and you 
 will behave well; so that, in all your intercourse with your fellow- 
 ■ students, always maintain the appearance and character of a gentle- 
 man, never that of a buffoon or a sloven. And as your character now 
 
42 
 
 DO ALL THLmS WELL. 
 
 [CH. It 
 
 IS, m these respects, so it is to be through life. I have known stu- 
 dents whose wash-stand and establishment showed that they were slov- 
 ens; and they were never known to improve in these respects Keep 
 your room and person, at all times, just as you would have it if you 
 expected your mother or sister to make you a visit. Neatness is the 
 word by which to designate all that is meant in regard to your per- 
 sonal appearance. i 
 
 Cleanliness is the first mark of politeness; it is agreeable to others 
 and IS a very pleasant sensation to ourselves. The humor of Swift was 
 not misapplied when he describes himself as recovering from sickness 
 by changin,g his linen. A clean, neat appearance is always a good 
 letter of introduction. May I request my readers to gather the appli- 
 cation and moral of the following beautiful story A dervise of 
 great sanctity one morning had the misfortune, as he took up a crystal 
 cup, which was consecrated to the prophet, to let it fall upon the 
 ground and d.sjsh it to pieces. His son coming in some time after, he 
 stretched out his hand to bless him, as liis manner was every morning* 
 but the youth, going out, stumbled over the threshold and broke his 
 pm. As the old man wondered at these events, a caravan passed by 
 in its way to Mecca: the dervise approached it to beg a bleessino*; but' 
 as he Stroked one of the holy camels, he received a kick from thet 
 beast, wMoh sorely bruised him. His sorrow and amazement increased^ 
 upon him, untik he recollected that, through hurry and inadveidency, 
 he had that inofning come abroad without washing his ha/nds.^^ 
 
 9. Acqui/re the habit of doing everything well. j 
 
 It is well known that Johnson used to write and send copy to the! 
 press, without even looking it over by way of revising. This was the 
 effect of habit. He began by composing slowly, but with great accu- i 
 racy. We are naturally impatient of restraint, and have so little.* 
 patience at our command, that it is a rare thing to find a young man 
 doing anything as well as he can. He wishes to do it quickly. And : 
 in the con vei sat ion of students, you seldom hear one tell how wed he' 
 did this, or fchat, but how quicTdy. This is a pernicious habit. Any- 
 thing that is worth doing at all, is worth doing well; and a mind well ‘ 
 disciplined m other respects, is defective, if it have not this habit. A 
 young man, who unexpectedly lost the affections of a young lady of 
 whom he was sufficiently fond, informed his friend, with a good de- 
 gree of shrewdness, that he doubted not that he lost the prize from a 
 very small circumstance. She handed him a letter which she had been 
 writing to a friend, and asked him to direct it. He did so, but in a 
 manner so hurried and slovenly (for it was his great ambition to be 
 quick m o tijig anything), that she blushed when she received it. From 
 
£:VENNESS OF TEMPER. 
 
 4 ^ 
 
 Cfl. It.] 
 
 that little circumstance her affections seemed to cool, until they were 
 dead to him. His friend comforted him by saying tnat ‘ ‘ she was more 
 than half right. ’ ’ 
 
 This incident is mentioned, not on account of its dignity, but to 
 illustrate the point in hand. Everything should be done well, and 
 practice will soon enable you to do it quickly. How many are misera- 
 ble readers, and miserable writers, as to manner and matter, because 
 they do not possess this habit ! Euripides used to compose but three 
 lines, while a contemporary poet composed three hundred; but one 
 wrote for immortality, and the other for the day. Your reading had 
 better be but little, your conversations but few, your compositions 
 short, and well done. The man who is in a “ great hurry, ’ ’ is commonly 
 the one who hurries over the small stages of the journejq without 
 making the great business of life to consist in accomphshing as much 
 as possible. The great secret of Bonaparte’s skill, as a warrior, con- 
 sisted in this, that he did his business thoroughly : if he met an army 
 in two or three divisions, he did not divide his army in the same pro- 
 portion. 1^0 : he brought all his strength to bear upon one point, 
 until that was annihilated. So with McDonough, during our last war. 
 He directed all his force, every gun, against the “big ship” of the 
 enemy. Ho matter how pressing or annoying others might be ; every 
 ball was to be sent toward the “big ship,” till her guns were silent. 
 This is a good principle to carry out in regard to everything. 
 
 “How is it that you do so much?” said one, in astonishment at the 
 efforts and success of a great man. ‘ ‘ Why, I do but one. thing at a 
 time, and try to finish it once for all. ’ ’ I would therefore have you 
 keep this in mind : — Do not send a letter home blotted or hurried, and 
 ask them to excuse it, because you are in a hurry. You have no right 
 to be in such a hurry. It is doing injustice to yourself. Do not make 
 a memorandum so carelessly, that in five years you can make nothing 
 of it. Do not hurry anything so that you know not what to do, or 
 do not know certainly about it, and have to trust to vague impressions. 
 What we call a superficial character, is formed in this way; and none 
 who are not careful to form and cherish the habit of doing everything 
 well, may expect to be anything else than superficial. 
 
 10 . Make constant efforts to he master of your temper. 
 
 The often-quoted remark of Solomon, in regard to authorship and 
 study, is true to life ; and that study, which is such a ‘ ‘ weariness to 
 the flesh,” will almost certainly reach the nerves, and render you more 
 or less liable to be irritated. Who would have thought that the elegant 
 Goldsmith would, in his retirement, have been peevish and fretful? 
 So, we are told, was the fact. And perhaps he who could \vrite the 
 
44 
 
 
 [ca. It 
 
 o?Wakefidd^®e^TmC “Deserted Village,” and the “Vicar 
 
 oi waKeneicl, exhausted his nerves m trying to be kind-hearted and 
 pleasant in his writings; so that when he fill back iX real hfe he 
 
 "freguentVX^ oXhe^X^can JpiS kiiTini 
 
 disagreeabk of mfr, ‘T®? agreeable, and at times the most 
 
 hero mdeed. mthmg grows faster by indulgence than the Lbit of 
 
 tLonXMe*^ becomes so fixed that it lasts 
 
 ^ougn me. in order to avoid it, cultivate manliness of character 
 Be frank and open-hearted. Not merely appear so but reXTso 
 There is a,n openness, a nobleness of soul, about some men \i^iich is 
 quickly discovered, and as highly valued We knot thni-’ Jh • 
 
 originallyadifference.in men^ ^ome seein rbe Cn small close' 
 rnisanthropic, and their whole contour is on a coXXl"’ But 
 
 b/cX: XrtnTmtrXr'^X'^^'*^ constitutional tmit, 2 
 
 ehildhood in +!.■ + u* j. may have been neglected in your 
 
 vStvifW’ ''^^y you should neflect 
 
 LJJl* + n ®®® students, whose means are small much 
 
 thiF tW X manliness of character. I mention 
 
 rich or poor •'be circumstance of being 
 
 Tj ’.'^.ch creates this trait in your character. 
 
 Be contented in your situation. Nothing will sooner render anv one 
 
 ^irit. Who can expect to master himself, to master lanOTaires to 
 mfnXrfw“X®’ to, master a thousand difficulties, whL ob- : 
 
 couraffements^^^Xv*^”™^®! ®'f“0‘ttion, without meeting with dis- ' 
 ■moof -ii \ s oever undertook to explore a great region, without 
 
 Of dust: and XZ - 
 
 ot flies ^ Your room is not pleasant. It is to be regretted • but as the 
 traveler said about his straw-bed on the garret-floor, “he could get a 
 great b,” you can study hard and thoroughly 
 
 m It. You will hereafter often be called to task your mind uSder 
 circumstances vastly worse. Your room-mate is not Lod-temperZ or 
 
 'Z^yXif IXaXf’ X betfer by aS^ 
 
 witn you. If you are faithful to yourself. He may have had poor aJ 
 
 vantages; he may naturally possess a dispositiL peculiarly cross- i 
 u? 'u ®’*®°®Ptible of great improvement; and ifZu are i 
 faithful, he will alter more than you can now imagine. How ma^ ' 
 
CM. ir.] 
 
 AVOID OREAl EXPECTATIONS. 
 
 4a 
 
 young men have been saved from ruin by the example and kind warn- 
 ings of their room-mates! Your boarding- place is not to your mind. 
 Very like; but as the great object is the mind, rather than the body, 
 you will soon cease to regard it, if you do not stop to brood over it. 
 You see others with more pocket-money and better dressed than your- 
 self. True; but remember that the recitation-room is the place where 
 scholars are measured, and that neither broadcloth nor pocket-money 
 will avail there. You will not unfrequently notice a great difference 
 in the appearance of the same scholars when on the promenade and in 
 the recitation-room. You will find many who can do much better in 
 demonstrating the fashions of the day than in demonstrating the prob- 
 lems in spherical trigonometry, or in construing Thucydides. "Will you 
 envy such, and repine at your circumstances ? 
 
 j^nother way to avoid discontent and peevishness, is carefully to 
 avoid revery. Castle-building cannot be laughed out of existence, else it 
 had long since been no more. The mischiefs of it are immense. We 
 are not satisfied with what we now are; we have no patience to dig, 
 and wait, and grow to eminence ; and so we go off on the wings of 
 imagination, and range through all desirable conditions, and select 
 one, and at once sit down in empire or greatness. Nature and fortune 
 never combined to create such an Elysium for fallen man as you can at 
 once create for yourself. Fancy soon obtains the victory over the soul ; 
 for it is vastly more easy for us to sit in our chair, and dream ourselves 
 into statesmen and orators, rulers, and movers of the world, than to 
 put forth the exertions required to become tolerable in actual life, in any 
 profession. The sage, in Easselas, who spent his time and thoughts, 
 and wore himself down for ten years, in guiding and regulating the 
 planets and seasons, was wise, in comparison with many who live in 
 revery ; for his feelings became mellowed and kind, whereas, in most 
 cases, the whole influence of these day-dreams is bad. They decidedly 
 sour the feelings. Notice your own feelings. As you descend upon 
 the world after a season of communing with fancy, it seems like a 
 forsaken castle, cold and cheerless. In these reveries you will meet 
 with enemies enough ; but it is only that fancy may lift you above 
 them, and show you how superior you are to everything like difficulties 
 or opposition. I am confident that I do not speak at random when I 
 say I have known young men whose feelings became morose, and their 
 countenances became shuthropoi, like those of the Pharisees, wholly in 
 consequence of frequently encountering legions of enemies and troubles 
 in their reveries. Let the imagination become your master, and hold 
 the reins, and you will soon become a discontented spirit. At this 
 point, I am persuaded, insanity frequently begins. Indeed, he who 
 
46 mUMmsS OF JtiDGMmf. [cH. It 
 
 lives in an imaginary world is, quoad hoc, insane. Who can be pleasant 
 and good-natured, after having sat an hour, persuading himself that 
 he was electrifying the senate, or melting a jury, or overwhelming a 
 city congregation, with a nation gazing at his greatness, and then 
 suddenly awaking, and finding that he dreads to have the hour of 
 reciting arrive? 
 
 11. Cultivate soundness of judgment. 
 
 Some can decide, almost intuitively, upon the character of the last ; 
 person they have met. So of a book. They can turn it over, read I 
 part of a page here, and a sentence or two in another place, and de- 
 cide, unhesitatingly, upon its merits. When a prejudice has once 
 entered your mind against a man or an author, it is hard to eradicate 
 it. It warps the judgment, and makes you partial. If this habit be 
 indulged, the mind soon becomes habituated to act from prejudice, 
 rather than judgment. ‘ ‘ A perfectly just and sound mind is a rare 
 and invaluable gift. But it is still much more unusual to see such a i 
 mind unbiased in all its actions. God has given this soundness of 
 mind but to few ; and a very small number of those few escape the 
 bias of some predilection, perhaps habitually operating ; and none, at 
 all times, are perfectly free. I once saw this subject forcibly illus- 
 trated. A watch-maker told me that a gentleman had put an exquisite 
 watch into his hands, that went irregularly. It was as perfect a piece, 
 of work as was ever made. He took it to pieces, and put it together 
 again, twenty times. Ho manner of defect was to be discovered; and 
 yet the watch went intolerably. At last it struck him, that possibly 
 the balance-wheel might have been near a magnet: on applying a 
 needle to it, he found his suspicions true ; here was all the mischief. 
 The steel works in the other parts of the ^v^atch had a perpetual influ- 
 ence on its motions ; and the watch went as well as possible with a ; 
 new wheel. If the soundest mind be magnetized by any predilection, it 
 must act irregularly. ” 
 
 As to judging of your own character, do not forget, that every 
 man is almost sure to overrate his own importance. Our friends 
 flatter us, and our own hearts still more. Our faults are not seen, 
 or, if seen, passed over, or softened down, by both of these parties. 
 The judgment of our enemies, though more severe upon us, is more 
 likely to be correct. They at least open our eyes to defects, which 
 we were in danger of never seeing. Another thing is to be noticed. 
 The world praises you for this or that thing which you do. If, 
 on examination, you find the motives of that action wrong and sin- 
 ful, are you then judging correctly, if you estimate your character by 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 ILLUSTRATION. 
 
 47 
 
 their judgment ? Many of our virtues are of a doubtful nature, and 
 we are in danger of placing all such on the credit side of the ledger. 
 
 An officer in our army, of high character and promise, told me that 
 he once sat down to weigh the principle of entire abstinence from 
 ardent spirits, and to decide whether it was his duty, in his circum- 
 stances, to adopt it. He took a large sheet of paper, and began by 
 setting down, in regular order, all the reasons why the principle of 
 entire abstinence ought not to prevail. The list was somewhat long 
 and imposing. He felt pretty sure that he might safely take that side 
 of the question. But to make it perfectly sure, he began to set down 
 on another page the arguments on the other side. The}^ soon began 
 to grow and grow, till he was astonished at their number and weight. 
 They quickly out- numbered their opponents; and it did not at first strike 
 his attention, that he had several put down against entire abstinence 
 which belonged to the other side. These were shifted and altered, till 
 at last, with one dash of the pen, he blotted out the few that remained ; 
 and though he has now forgotten the steps of the process, yet, from 
 that hour to this, he has never had a doubt on the question. This is 
 Avhat I mean by cultivating soundness of judgment. The process may 
 be slower than to jump to conclusions, but it is much more satisfactory, 
 and will give you the habit of weighing and judging correctly. 
 
 12. Treatment of parents.) friends, and companions. 
 
 I hope it will appear that I am not out of place in trying to lead you 
 to make the proper treatment of friends a habit. Whether you intend 
 it or not, it will become so. Bemember that, when you are away 
 from home, you are more likely to forget and neglect your parents, 
 than they are to forget you. You are in new scenes, forming new 
 acquaintances. They stay at home ; they see your room, your clothes 
 — walk over the rooms where your voice has been so often and so long 
 heard. They follow you away ; they miss you at the table, and speak 
 of you ; they let no day pass without speaking of you, and at night 
 they send their thoughts away after you, and have a thousand anxieties 
 about you, which nothing but your attentions can remove or alleviate. 
 The poet b^utifully compares this anxiety for absent friends to that 
 of the bird which leaves her young. She constantly fears the serpent 
 will find thqin during her absence, though she knows her presence 
 could do them no good. 
 
 “Comes minore sum futurus in metu, 
 
 Qui major absentes liabet; 
 
 Ut assidens implumibus pullis avis 
 Serpentium allapsus timet 
 Magis relcitis: non ut adsit, auxii 
 Latura plus praesentibus. ” 
 
48 
 
 A STUDENTS LETTER 
 
 [CH. IL 
 
 You cannot act the part of a dutiful child, without daily sending^ 
 your thoughts home. Write to friends often and at stated times. Any , 
 correspondence between friends is, in all respects, more valuable, in- 
 teresting, useful, and pleasant to all parties, for being regular and at 
 stated times. You then know when to write, and when to expect a 
 letter, and there is no wondering why a letter does not come, and no 
 chiding for negligence. Enter into no correspondence, unless it be on 
 occasional business, which will not be so valuable that you wish to 
 continue it ; and then have periodical times of writing. To your 
 parents, it should be at least once every month. In these letters, talk 
 out your feelings in that easy, cheerful manner that you would were 
 you at home, and entertaining the family circle in the vacation. I 
 shall not ask pardon for introducing here a letter from one, whose at- 
 tentions to the person addressed have never been regretted. The 
 letter needs no expositor, and as it seems to me, no apology for being 
 inserted here. 
 
 “ College, Tuesday Evening. 
 
 “My dear Mother, 
 
 Tlioiig'li I am now sitting with my back toward you, yet I love you none 
 the less; and, what is quite as strange, I can see you just as plainly as if I stood peep- 
 ing in upon you. I can see you all, just as you sit round the family table. Tell me, if 
 I do not see you. There is mother on the right of the table, with her knitting, and a 
 book open before her; and anon she glances her eyes from the work on the -paper to 
 that on her needles; now counts the stitches and then puts her eye on the book, and 
 starts otf for another round. There i-^ IMary, looking wise, and sewing with all her 
 might, now and then stopping to give Sarah and Louisa a lift in getting their lessons, 
 and trying to initiate them into the mysteries of geography. She is on tlie left of the table. 
 There, in the back -ground, is silent Joseph, with his slate, now maKing a mark, and 
 then biting his lip, or scratching his head, to see if the algebraic expression may have 
 liidden in either of those places. George is in the kitchen, tinkering his skates, or 
 contriving a trap for that old offender of a rat, whose cunning has so long brought 
 mortification upon all his boastings. I can now hear his hammer, and his whistle — that 
 peculiar, sucking sort of whistle, which always indicates a puzzled state of the brain. 
 Little William and flenry are snug in bed, and if you will just open their bed -room 
 door, you will barely hear them breathe. And now, mother has stopped, and is absent 
 and thoughtful, and my heart tells me that she is thinking of her only absent child. 
 Who can he be? Will you doubt any more that 1 have studied magic, and can see with 
 my back turned to you, and many a hill and valley between us? 
 
 “You have been even kinder than I expected, or you promised. I did not expect to 
 hear from you till to-morrow at the earliest. But as I was walking, to-day, one of my 
 class-mates cries, ‘A bundle for you at the stage-office!’ and away I went as fast as the 
 dignity of a sophomore would allow me. The bundle I seized, and muffled it under 
 my cloak, though it made my arm ache, with as much speed as my ‘conditions’ would 
 permit me, I reached my room. Out came my knife, and forgetting all your good 
 advice about ‘strings and fragments, ’ the said bundle quickly owned me victor, and 
 opened its very heart to me; and it had a warm heart too. for there were the stockings, 
 (they are now on my feet, i.e., one pair,) and there were the flannels, and the bosoms, 
 and the gloves, and the pincushion from Louisa, and the needle-book from Sarah, and 
 the paper from Mary, and the letters and love from all of you. I spread open my 
 
TO ms FRIENDS. 
 
 49 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 treasures, aud both my heart and feet danced for joy while my hands actually rubbed 
 each other out of sympathy. Thanks to you all, for bundle, and letters, and love. 
 One corner of my eye is now moistened, while I say, ‘Tliaiik ye all, gude folks. 1 
 must not forget to mention the apples — ‘the six apples, one from each’ and the beauti- 
 ful little loaf of cake. I should not dare to call it little, if it had not brought the name 
 from you. The apples I have smelled of, and the cake I have just nibbled a little, and 
 pronounce it to be ‘in the finest taste. ’ , „ x , i j > 
 
 “Now a word about your letters. I cannot say much, for I have only read mother s 
 three times and Mary’s twice. Those parts which relate to my own acts and doings. 
 
 pick out glasses that will fit them? I am glad, too, that the new 1 _ 
 
 shall depW on you to read for me, for here I read nothing but my lexicon, and, per- 
 adventure, dip into mathematics. Joseph’s knife shall be forthcoming, and the orders 
 of William aud Henry shall be honored, if the apothecary has the pigments. George 
 is delighted with his new sled’— a cheering item; for my thumb has retired into his cot, 
 and growled and ached ever since, and even now, ever and anon, gives me a twinge by 
 way of recalling the feat of building the sled. And you really think the pigs have 
 profited by my ‘labors, and that, though they have forgotten me, yet they like the sty! 
 If they do well, I shall be paid next fall, whether they are grateful or not. Old Charhiy 
 should be kept warm. He has carried us too many miles to be neglected now. I am 
 sorry I did not have his condition more in mind when at home. Poor fellow! I enjoyed 
 his aid and helped to make him grow old. And old Rover, let him have his new 
 kennel warm; and if he thinks so much of me as to ‘go to my room after me,’ let him 
 have my old wrapper. One member more — tell Sukey that, though I mention her after 
 horses and dogs, it is not out of any want of respect. I will wear the mittens which 
 she knit and sent, and, in return, though I cannot approve, will send as much at least, 
 of ‘real Scotch’ as will fill her box. 
 
 “I suppose the pond is all frozen over, and the skating good. I know it is foolish; 
 yet, if mother and Mary had skated as many ‘moony’ nights as I have, they would sigh, 
 not at the thought, but at iliefact that skating days are over. Never was a face more 
 bright and beautiful than the face of that pond in a clear, cold night, under a full 
 moon. Do the boys go down by my willow still? and do they still have the flag on the 
 little island in the center, where I used to rear the flag-staff once a year? I was going 
 to tell you all about college. But when I think I will begin, pop!— my thoughts are all 
 at home! What a place home is! I would not now exchange ours for wealth enough 
 to make you all kings and queens. , , „ . „ 
 
 “I am warm, well, and comfortable; we all study some; and dull fellow’s like me 
 have to confess that we study hard. We have no genius to help us. My chum is a 
 good fellow;— he now sits in yonder corner— his feet poised upon the stove in such a 
 way that the dullness seems to have all run out of his heels into his head, for he is fast 
 
 asleep. . „ p , . x i i 
 
 “IX have got it framed, and there it hangs— the picture of my father! I never look 
 up without seeing it, I never see it without thinking that my mother is a widow, and 
 that I am her eldest son. What more I think I will' not be fool enough to say: you 
 will imagine it better than I can say it. i j x -i. 
 
 “Your gentle hint, dear mother, about leaving my Bible at home, was kind; but it 
 will relieve you to know th.at I left it designedly, and, in its place, took my dear 
 father’s from the upper shelf in our little library room; and, what is more, I read it 
 
 need* not say Write, write; for I know that some of you will, at the end of three 
 weeks. But love to you all, and much too. I shall tell you of my methods of economy 
 
 in my next, “Your affectionate son, &c.” 
 
50 
 
 A STUDENTS LETTER. 
 
 [CH. II. 
 
 Can any of my readers doubt that a letter like the above would do 
 much to aUeviate the anxiety of the mother, and add greatly to the 
 comfort of the family? Every son can show such attentions, and at 
 the same time keep his own heart warm with the remembrances of 
 home and kindred. It will add to your ease in letter- writing, and it 
 will cultivate some of the noblest and sweetest virtues of which the 
 heart is susceptible. 
 
 I would say a few words on the choice and treatment of friends- 
 and as this subject is treated of by almost every writer I shall be 
 brief. 1 ou must and will have some, with whom you are more inti- 
 m^e than with the rest of your companions. There are two special 
 difficulties attending friendships; first, it is hard to acquire a real 
 friend; and, secondly, it is still harder to keep him. The acquaint- 
 ance, which IS afterward ripened into friendsliip, is, of course, in the 
 first place, casual. And those who are first to extend the hand to 
 embrace you, are seldom those whose friendship continues lone* Be 
 cautious m selecting your friends, and look long and well before you 
 allow any one to say, that he is your bosom- companion, and that you 
 • share each other s thoughts and secrets. In selecting your friends you 
 vuU remember that you will borrow habits, traits of character, modes of 
 thought and expression, from each other; and therefore, be careful to 
 select those who have not excellencies merely, but whose faults are as 
 few as may be. Some rely too much upon friends, and think they 
 will never pass away, and never change. Others who have known by 
 experience, that friends may do both, will tell you that friendship 
 IS “hut a name,” and means nothing. Extremes are never in the 
 right. There is much, both of wisdom and beauty, in the followiim 
 remarks. They are not taken from the writings of Confucius else had 
 they been set in gold long since. 
 
 /‘Sweet language will multiply friends, and a fair-speaking toncrue 
 will multiply kind greetings. Be in peace with many: nevertheless 
 have but one counsellor in a thousand. If thou wouldst get a friend 
 prove him first, and be not hasty to credit him; for some man is a 
 friend for his own occasion, and will not abide in the day of thy trouble 
 Separate thyself from thine enemies, and take heed to thv friends A 
 faithful friend is a strong defence, and he that hath found such a one 
 hath found a treasure. A faithful friend is the medicine of life For- 
 sake not an old friend, for the new is not comparable to him:* a new 
 foend is as new wine: when it is old, thou shalt drink it with pleasure 
 Whoso casteth a stone at the birds frayeth them away, and he that 
 upbraideth his friend breaketh f rend ships ; for upbraiding, or pride or 
 disclosing of secrets, or a treacherous wound, every friend will depart.” 
 
CM. n.] 
 
 SELMGTiNG FHIEND^. 
 
 61 
 
 Verbum duloe multiplicat amioos, et lingua eucharis bom^ 
 
 ine abundat. Multi paciflci sint tibi, et consibarms sit tibi unus de 
 nossides amicurn, in tentatione posside emu, et ne taciie 
 credasei. W enim amicius secundum teinpus 
 
 r-r^H£g|i3£ 
 
 srSiS - ixf 
 
 familiarity is inconsistent with any abiding friendship. 
 
 “The man who hails you Tom, or Jack, 
 
 And proves, by thumping on your back, 
 
 His sense of your great merit, 
 
 Is such a friend that one had need 
 Be very much his friend indeed, 
 
 To pardon or to bear it.” 
 
 You will soon be ashamed to love one for whom ^ 
 
 SeVaS V. oh.r»«r or Say. • 
 
 ‘°lou1v'f“aiwav.ol».™ that those IrLendshii® al.ioh im the p™t 
 
 Xn whV they do not. But it has been «hr7C Uy remarked^^ I 
 not remember that Ychates, who is represented as the hret ^ 
 
 g-atE s'L.llJ'S a* S 
 
 St. ?oS 
 
 * The lover ot classical Latin wiil please to ”};t'-’itlssed“in u' 
 the Latin, than for the beautiful sentiments so elegantly expressed m . 
 
52 
 
 4 
 
 THE ESSENTIALS OE FRIENESBlP. fen jj 
 
 what you wish him to be to you. Wliiie T wonW i ' 
 
 young man to commit to memory the whoiT of V 
 description of “Friendshin ” T woiU/l ' j Cowper s beautifu) 
 the following sentiZnt75peJnr:i’ keej! 
 
 rri places and tlie beauties 
 
 lliat form the character he seeks- 
 or tis a union that bespeaks 
 Reciprocated duties. ’ ’ 
 
 t s’,7S“ 7 * 71“* “* 
 
 iilipisg-igs 
 
 #ifsSgKllffii2| 
 
 Si.S “tm sJ*r!T**’ ""s”' f"' yS 
 
 oT *^*1 F ^ strict and un wavering* regard for tmfh ia 
 
 absolutely essential to having friends? Wp dp ^ * u + i, 
 
 iiSHfejSSilS 
 
 tor mmseH, and m vam ask or seek for a friend F / J 
 
 1 have dwelt somewhat on this point— longer,' nerhans than wn<, tr. 
 be expected, under the title of this chapter. Sut is my wisK t a^l^ 
 my readers may have friends, select, disinterested friends; ^nd I kLw 
 
#0# TO STuDt, 
 
 63 
 
 Cfi. IT.] 
 
 that they cannot, unless they make it a part of their daily habits and 
 business to cultivate their own hearts, and render themselves worthy 
 of being beloved. The tree cannot live and thrive without great care; 
 but if it receive that care, it will bear fruit abundantly for many years, 
 flow often has the heart of my reader thrilled at the warm greetings of 
 one who said, "‘Your father and I were friends!’’ Friendship can 
 lessen no joy by having a sharer. It brightens every one. At the 
 same time, it diminishes sorrow, in every shape, by dividing the burden. 
 
 III. 
 
 STUDY. 
 
 When the company had wearied themselves in trying to make an 
 egg stand on its end, they were amazed at the simplicity of the thing, 
 when once they had seen Columbus do it. 
 
 “Why, anybody can do that!” 
 
 “Why, then, did you not?” was the searching reply. 
 
 It seems to be an easy affair to study. There is the room, and there 
 the books, and there the lesson: what more do you want? You want 
 to know how to go to work — how to study. The interruptions to 
 study, even when the student has nothing else to do — not a care, nor a 
 burden of any kind to trouble him — are numerous and vexatious^^ 
 Deductions must be made for ill-health, and seasons when the spirits'^ 
 droop, and when there is a total disrehsh for stud}^, and a want of cour- 
 age, by which the mind can be brought up to action ; for a total ignorance 
 of the best methods of studying ; for the interruptions of companions 
 who have yawned over their own books, till they could make little or 
 nothing out of them, and then have come to get sympathy and coun- 
 tenance from others ; for the time wasted in reading novels, or other 
 useless books; and, above all, for that natural, iimerent indolence, 
 which recoils from the task of rebuking the wandering of the thoughts, 
 and bringing them back to their prescribed tasks. Escaping from 
 home will not relieve the difficulty; neither will removing from one 
 school to another, or changing one college for another. You must 
 make up your mind that no one can go on in a course of study without 
 interruptions from within and from without. Calculate upon this. And 
 it is well that it is so ; for, in real life, if you can get two full hours in a 
 week without interruption, you may think it extraordinary. The mind 
 must form the habit of being checked and interrupted, and of bringing 
 
S4 
 
 Moms OF DAILY STUDY. 
 
 tcH. It. 
 
 itself back to the point from which it was taken off, and at once nur- 
 sumg the tram of mental operations in which it was enffaffed. Till 
 this power is obtained, you are not prepared for active life; and in 
 proportion as it is acquired, in that proportion will little hindrances 
 appear to you of htt e consequence. I propose to make some sugges- 
 tions in the form ot hints, in relation to study, not so much regarding 
 the order of their introduction, as endeavoring not to omit any that 
 are of real importance. 
 
 1 . The numler of hours of daily study. 
 
 JSTo fixed time can be marked out for all. 
 
 ^ust vary with the constitution of •each individual. A mind 
 that moves slowly requires and will bear more time for studv In 
 (rermany, the students spend many more hours than we can in this 
 country. I have tried to account for the fact, that, with their pre- 
 psterqus habits of eating and indolence, they can study so mLv 
 hours m a day and that to extreme old age. Doubtless national 
 habits do something; individual habits do something; but these will 
 not account for it. Many of them will study sixteen hours a day • 
 tew of them less than thirteen. We should all die under it! The 
 ciitierence may be attributed to two causes, for the correctness of which 
 1 cannot vouch; viz., their mental operations are slower than ours 
 and their climate is less variable and better adapted to a student’s life’ 
 few, in our own country, ever studied half as much as they have if 
 hours are to be the criterion. But another remark may here be made 
 Crermany is distinguished for the study of the classics, for the making 
 ot lexicons and commentaries, and for studies of such a nature as require 
 diligence and accuracy, but make no very great draft upon the soul. 
 15e tms as it may, it is certain that we must do what we do, by way 
 of daily study, in fewer hours; and, in my view, it is vastly better to 
 Cham the attention down closely, and study hard, a few hours, than to 
 try to keep it moderately fixed and engaged for a greater length of 
 time. Our most successful students seldom study over six hours in a 
 day. In this I include nothing of recitations, of desultory half- 
 formed impulses of the mind; but I mean real, hard, devoted study 
 He who would study six hours a day, with all the attention of which 
 the soul IS capable, need not fear but he will yet stand high in his 
 calling. But mark me— must le study as intense as the soul will 
 bear. The attention must all be absorbed; the thoughts must all be 
 brought m, and turned upon the object of study, as you would turn the 
 collected rays of the sun into the focus of the glass, when, you would 
 get fire from those rays. Do not call miscellaneous reading, or any- 
 thing which you do by way of relief or amusement, study; it is not 
 
III.] 
 
 CON VERS A T1 ON D TIRING STUDY. 
 
 55 
 
 study. Be sure to get as much of your study in the morning _ as 
 possible. The mind is then in good order. Aurora musts arnica, 
 
 2 Have regard to the positions of the body while engaged in study. 
 
 Some men, from early life, habituate themselves to study, sitting at 
 a low, flat table. This ought to be avoided; for, as you advance in 
 life, that part of the body which is between the shoulders and hips, 
 becomes more and more feeble, and consequently the stooping habit is 
 acquired. Few literary men walk or sit perfectly erect. Standing is 
 undoubtedly the best method of study, if you will only hegmm this 
 way. In writing, in the study of languages, and most lands of 
 mathematics, you must be confined to one spot. If 3^?^ 
 positions, and stand a part, and sit a part of the time, it wiU be weU 
 but the former should preponderate. As you advanc^ in life, you will 
 naturally sit more and more, till the habit becomes fixed. lew men 
 are seen standing at their books after forty years of age.. The late 
 talented and lamented Grimke informs us that he uniformly stood, 
 and did most of his studying while walking in his room. It you are 
 composing, or reading, or committing to memory, this position is a 
 desirable one. Be sure you have your table high enough, and keep 
 clear of the rocking-chair, with a writing-leaf on the arm ot it. bit- 
 ting in such a chair gives the body a twisting position, \vhich is almost 
 sure to lead to poor health, and not unfrequently to the grave. It 
 possible, place your table, the top of which should so slope a little, 
 that the light may fall upon you from behind. This will be a kindness 
 to the eyes. In the evening, it is well to have the lamp shaded, or to 
 have a shade drawn over the eyes. I would hope, however, that you 
 ]^ 00 p your lessons so much in advance, that the necessity ot putting 
 your eyes to a severe trial will be avoided. If your eyes are weak, be 
 careful that a glare of light does not fall upon them; and be sure to 
 wash them in cold water the last thing at night, and the first in the 
 morning The great desideratum in the choice of positions, is, to 
 keep the body as straight as possible. A bending at the chest is by 
 all means to be avoided. Your dress, even to the slipper, should sit as 
 loosely as possiole; and the house which is now to stand still, and ip. 
 which the mind is to labor, should be as easy as it can be, without 
 assuming a position which, by long habit, will court the embrace ot 
 
 3.' Let there be no conversation in the hours of study. 
 
 This direction goes on the supposition that you have a room-mate, 
 which is usually the case. A lesson is easily spoiled by being inter- 
 rupted, every now and then, with some question, raised on that, or 
 
56 
 
 TEOUO U GHNBSS 0 F STUD T. 
 
 uu I, p 
 
 some other subieot 
 
 tion is albwed^-n the ” conversa 
 
 lesson whose meaning or Those if you a word Tu S' 
 
 the room Teut not a^sk yof TfriendT j TT“® ' 
 
 begina half-houVefrCanTlefveT^^ Tte fhin 
 
 you have definitely settlecf every worf^T ami until 
 
 Some are m the habit of stXiuT;,® 1 e/ery sentence, 
 a very bad practice. The haWt^s**‘^°’^'^ together, or in small clubs- 
 refuses to make any efforts XT tTTi„d’ 
 
 tiave a constant “Eee” fn fnVi if • ’ becomes neep<i!QnT«xr + 
 
 tooubliome’hTiC^'‘'STtgiciT TfchTiT£ 
 
 not be banished from yf^ rooT he T conversation 
 
 and on no other subjeck ' ‘'® to have it on the TsT 
 
 p- if^orough in every study. ' 
 
 querinTa TTtry.®^*^!? yT'^Xw" compared to con 
 
 thereT foT® to vSmTZTif''"’^''^T’''^ 'neet, ' 
 
 oTyT~ 
 
 Socrates ille non homin TT^ i ^ *^®t can be inovvn abo„i it i 
 
 sudand^us pr®m“uSpoZ!T AC7tAZ I 
 
 . ^ who accustoms himsel f f ri -no 
 
en. m.] 
 
 TBOBommEss or sti/et. 
 
 b1 
 
 inaccurate scholar ; will feel but half confident on any subject : and, 
 what is worse, will hav^e acquired a habit which will forever make his 
 knowledge vague and uncertain, both to himself and to others. There 
 is such a constant mortification and loss of self-respect attending the 
 habit of going upon the surface, that, were it only for personal com- 
 fort, you should be thorough. At the first setting out, your progress 
 will be slower — perhaps very slow ; but in the long race before you, 
 you will be the gainer. How often have I seen a man, with a mind 
 originally bright, chagrined and humbled at his want of accuracy! 
 He makes an assertion, and calls it a quotation from some distinguished 
 author. “Does Burke say so, and advocate that sentiment? I never 
 understood him so,” says an accurate listener. He now begins to 
 hesitate — apologizes — says it is a great while since he read Burke, but 
 such is his impression. Has he not fallen in the estimation of every 
 one present, and in his own also? And yet, such is the habit fixed 
 upon him, that he will go and again tread over the same ground with 
 hesitating steps. 
 
 Two farms may lie side by side; the one may be “run ov^er” by the 
 hand of the cultivator. Here is a poor spot of mowing, and there is a 
 miserable-looking corn-field, and yonder a wretched fern pasture. It 
 covers a great extent of territory, but no part of it is subdued or culti- 
 vated. The other farm has its fences in order, its mowing lots all side 
 by side, and its fields, so far as anything is done, perfectly subdued. 
 Every acre that claims to have been subdued, will bear a certain, a 
 definite, and a full crop. Is there any doubt which of the two farms 
 is more profitable, or which method of cultivation is the most wise? 
 
 How much better is knowledge — something that you knoiv — than 
 any amount of conjecture formed somewhere in the region of knowl- 
 edge! Have you never seen the face of an educated man — i.e., of one 
 Avho ought to have been educated — gather a blank upon it, at the 
 sound of a Latin or Greek quotation? Like the hero in one of Moliere’s 
 comedies, he understands it, but wishes it translated. The aptness and 
 humor of the case will justify my quoting it. 
 
 y Le M. de Phil. Ce sentiment est raisonnable ; namsine doctr ind 
 vita est quosi mortis imago. Yous entendez cela, et vous entendez le 
 Latin sans deute? 
 
 “AT. Jour. Oui, mais faites comme si je ne le savais pas: expliquez- 
 moi ce que cela veut dire ! 
 
 ''Le M. de Phil. Cela veut dire, que sans la science, la vie est 
 presque Pimage de la mort. 
 
 " M. Jour. Ce Latin-la a raison.” 
 
 Everything should be understood as far as you go ; and never should 
 
58 
 
 02r tisim TuAnsLAfiom 
 
 tcH. lltj 
 
 I 
 
 you allow yourself to think of going into the recitation-room, anda 
 there trust to “skinning,” as it is called in some colleges, or “phras- 
 ing,” as in others, or “mouthing it,” as in others. No man who re- 
 gards his reputation as a scholar will ever do this. 
 
 One lesson or one book, perfectly and thoroughly understood, would 
 do you more good than ten lessons, or ten books, not half studied. 
 Mr. Evarts, to whom allusion has already been made, read his Greet 
 Testament so thoroughly tvhile fitting for college, that he was in th( 
 habit, through life, of readily repeating any passage to which allusior 
 was made. And several of our best scholars committed and recitec 
 the whole of Yirgil without carrying a book into the recitation-room, 
 One of them, at least, did the same with the whole of Horace. 
 
 ‘ ‘ When you have a mind to improve a single thought, or to be cleai 
 in any particular point, do not leave it till you are master of it. Yiev 
 it in every light. Try how many ways you can express it, and whicl 
 is shortest and best. Would you enlarge upon it, hunt it down fron 
 author to author ; some of which will suggest hints concerning it, which 
 perhaps, never occurred to you before : and give every circumstancf 
 its weight. Thus, by being master of every subject as you proceed 
 though you make but a small progress [in the number of books whicl 
 you study], you will make a speedy one in useful knowledge. T( 
 leave matters undetermined, and the mind unsatisfied in what we study 
 is but to multiply half-notion, introduce confusion, and is the way ti; 
 make a pedant, but not a scholar.” I 
 
 Some plausible and ingenious things have been said in favor of usin^ 
 translations to Latin and Greek authors. My own observation has no 
 been so extended as that of very many ; but so far as it does go, I cai 
 unhesitatingly say, that I never knew any other than miserable scholar 
 made by the use of translations. I have seen scholars use a translatioi 
 of Yirgil, another of Horace, and as many as they could get t< 
 authors selected in Graeca Majora ; and though they recited smoothh 
 at the time, and perhaps even better than those who dug it all out, ye; 
 I am confident that they knew less about Latin and Greek at the enc 
 of every year. I am sorry to disturb the feelings of any reader wh( 
 has a faithful translation carefully put away in his drawer or desk, anc 
 at which he now and then so stealthfully peeps ; but let him continui 
 to use it, and I will warrant him that soon, though the reason may no 
 be assigned, or even known, he will lose all that respect which belong! 
 solely to a thorough student. I have known those who studied Horac< 
 with a translation, and, though they went off '' smartly^'^ at the time 
 not able, at the end of two years, to read an ode. ‘ ‘ Go to the foun 
 tain-head. Head original authors’ rather than collect translated anc 
 
3H. III.] 
 
 HARD STUDY. 
 
 59 
 
 detailed thoughts. It will give you more satisfaction, more certainty, 
 nore judgment, and more confidence, when those authors are the 
 lubjects of conversation, th^ you can have by taking your knowledge 
 )f them at second-hand. It is trusting to translations, quotations, and 
 jpitomes, that makes so many half scholars so impertinently wise.” 
 
 Some friend may offer to aid you by translations, or by books inter- 
 ined with a pen, or by furnishing you with mathematical problems all 
 vrought out. Such kindnesses ought to be shown only to an enemy, 
 vhom he would have pursued by his vengeance through life. They 
 ire the greatest cruelties which an enemy could possibly invent. If you 
 iannot stand on your own feet, do not borrow crutches, which will be 
 aken from you soon, and which will effectually prevent you from ever 
 laving strength to walk alone. 
 
 5. Expect to hecome familiar with hard study. 
 
 Study, which is hard for one man, is easy for another. "Not 
 mly so, but the study which is easy for you to-day, may be 
 ntolerably irksome at another time. This is owing to the difficulty 
 )f confining the attention closely. The health being the same, study 
 N^ould at all times be equally agreeable, had we the same command 
 >ver the attention. But who that has tried it, does not know how 
 nuch easier it is to study on a cold, stormy day in winter, when every- 
 ‘hing without is repulsive, than on the warm, bright day of spring, 
 \rhen all nature seems to invite you out, and when the soul seems to 
 Lisdain and rebel against the restraints of study? You must make 
 ^our calculations to study many hours, and at many seasons when it 
 3 disagreeable — when the mind feels feeble, and the body is languid, or 
 3 even in pain. ‘ ‘ Other things may be seized on by might, or pur- 
 hased with money ; but knowledge is to be gained only by study. ’ ’ 
 
 So great is the advantage of being able to confine the attention,' that 
 nen who have by some unexpected providence lost their sight, have 
 elt willing to exchange all that is beautiful, lovely, and cheering, 
 vhich the eye drinks in, for the increased power over the attention 
 ^hich this loss gave them. The truly great President Dwight used to 
 onsider the loss of his eyes a great blessing to him, inasmuch as it 
 trengthened the power of attention, and compelled him to think, 
 fou may point to men, and say, that “this and that distinguished 
 nan was not celebrated for scholarship, or anything, unless for stupid- 
 ly, in his younger days. He had no appointment in college — no rank 
 s a scholar.” Hot unlikely. But be sure of one thing; and that is, 
 le never became distinguished without, some time or other, passing; 
 hrough a severe course of dryj hard study. Ho might have omitted' 
 
DILIGENT OBSERVATION, 
 
 60 
 
 [CH. III. 
 
 this when young ; but, if so, the task was harder when he did under- 
 take to perform it. But undertake it he must, and he did. 
 
 • 
 
 “Pater ipse colendi 
 
 Haud facilem esse viam voluit, priniusque per artem 
 Movit agros, curis acuens mortalia corda.” 
 
 The remarks of the lamented Wirt should be treasured up by every 
 student. A few of the points upon which he touches are so much to 
 my purpose, that I should do injustice to my reader not to quote them. I 
 Take it for granted that there is no excellence withont great labor. No 
 mere aspirations for eminence, however ardent, will do the business. 
 Wishing, and sighing, and imagining, and dreaming of greatness, will 
 never make you great. If you would get to the mountain’s top, on 
 which the temple of fame stands, it will not do to stand still, looking 
 and admiring, and wishing you were there. You must gird up your , 
 loins, and go to work with all the vidfc^O'^nitable energy of Hannibal j 
 scaling the Alps. Laborious study and diligent observation of the \ 
 world, are both indispensable to the a*i}«imnent of eminence. By the 
 former, you must make yourself master of all that is known of science 
 and letters ; by the latter, you must know man at large, and particu- 
 larly the character and genius of your own countrymen. We cannot 
 all be Franklins, it is true; but, by imitating his mental habits and 
 unwearied industry, we may reach an eminence we should never other- 
 wise attain. Nor would he have been the Franklin he was, if he had 
 permitted himself to be discouraged by the reflection that we cannot 
 all be Newtons. It is our business to make the most of our own talents 
 and opportunities ; and, instead of discouraging ourselves by compari- 
 sons and imposibilities, to believe all things imaginary possible, as, 
 indeed, almost all tilings are, to a spirit bravely and firmly resolved. 
 Franklin was a fine model of a practical man, as contra-distinguished 
 from a visionary theorist, as men of genius are very apt to be. He was 
 great in the greatest of all good qualities — sound, strong, common sense. 
 A mere bookworm is a miserable driveller; and a mere genius, a thing 
 of gossamer, fit only for the winds to sport with. Direct your intel- 
 lectual efforts princpally to the cultivation of the strong, masculine quali- 
 ties of the mind. Learn (I repeat it) to think — think deeply, com^pre- , 
 hensiwely, powerfully; and learn the simple, nervous language which is 
 appropriate to that kind of thinking. Bead the legal and political 
 arguments of Chief Justice Marshall, and those of Alexander Hamil- _ 
 ton. Read them, study thsm; and observe with what an omnipotent . 
 sweep of thought they range over the whole field of every subject they | 
 take in hand — and that with a scythe so ample and so keen, that not a \ 
 
CH. ni.] 
 
 EXAMPLE OF LORD BROUGHAM. 
 
 61 
 
 straw is left standing behind them. Brace yourself up to these great 
 efforts. Strike for this giant character of mind, and leave pettiness and 
 frivolity to trifiers. It is perfectly consistent with these Herculean habits 
 of thinMng, to be a laborious student, and to know all that books can 
 teach. Y ou must never be satisfied with the surface of things ; probe them 
 to the bottom, and let nothing go till you understand it as thoroughly 
 as your powers will enable you. Seize the moment of excited curiosity 
 on any subject, to solve your doubts; for, if you let it pass, the desire 
 may never return, and you may remain in ignorance. The habits 
 t\rhich T have been recommending are not merely for coUege, but for 
 Ife. Franklin’s habits of constant and deep excogitation clung to him 
 :o his latest hour. Form these habits now. Look at Brougham, and 
 jee what a man can do, if well armed and well resolved. With a load 
 Df professional duties that would of themselves have been appalling to 
 Le most of our countrymen, he stood nevertheless, at the head of his 
 Darty in the House of Commons, and, at the same time, set in motion 
 ind ' superintended various primary schools, and various periodical 
 vorks, the most instructive and useful that have ever issued from the 
 British press, for which he furnished, with his own pen, some of the 
 nost masterly contributions, and yet found time not only to keep pace 
 vith the progress of the arts and scieuces, but to keep at the head of 
 hose whose peculiar and exclusive occupations these arts and sciences 
 vere. There is a model of industry and tcsefulness worthy of all your 
 )mulation.” 
 
 Under this head, I would add, that he who expects to disciphne his 
 nind by hard study, and to build up the mind by the habit of severe 
 hinking, will not be the man to quarrel with what he studies. How 
 )ften do we hear students complaining that they are put to studies 
 vhich can be of no possible use to them in after life ! One is to be a 
 nerchant: why should he be drilled in Latin and Greek for years? 
 Another is to study medicine ; and why should he be poring over conic 
 ections for months? Multitudes complain th^t their instructors un- 
 lerstand their business so poorly, that the very things for which they 
 vill never have any use, are forced upon them as studies ! Little do 
 luch complainers understand the object of an education. Keep it in 
 nind, that the great object of study is to fit the mind to be an instru- 
 nent of usefulness in life. You are now upon a dry, hard, uninterest- 
 ng study. It contains not a single thing which you can ever use 
 lereafter. Be it so. But if you can compel your mind to take hold 
 nd master that dry, hard, uninteresting study, you are fitting it to 
 >bey you through life, and at any time to do what you bid it to do. 
 
 ; Suppose your teachers should put you to studying magic — I d-O pot 
 
62 
 
 STUDY ENLARGES THE MIND. 
 
 [CH. IIL 
 
 pretend that it would be the best possible study — but if they should, 
 take hold and study it without quarrelling with it. There may be 
 nothing in magic which can be of any practical use in life; but perhaps 
 it may do you good to know that there is nothing useful in it, and, at 
 any rate, the discipline of mind acquired by wading through an unin- 
 teresting study is of immense value. It will be time enough to study 
 such things as you propose to use, when you have your mind fitted to 
 master them, and when they are needed. The chancellor of the state 
 of l^ew York was noticed, one summer, morning after morning, on a 
 beautiful young horse, accompanying the railroad cars, as far as he 
 could go, before they left him by their superior speed. The horse was 
 afraid and unruly, and somewhat dangerous at first, but grew more and 
 more gentle. Why did he do this? Not for pleasure — not to aid him 
 in the severe duties of his responsible station — not because he delighted 
 to travel on that road, but to discipline his horse, and fit it for jutiirc 
 service. 
 
 You study geometry to-day. Perhaps your life may be so busy, 
 and your time so occupied hereafter, that you may forget every prop- 
 osition, and nothing but the name of the book may remain to you. 
 But Plato, and every other man who has studied geometry, will tell 
 you that it Avill strengthen your mind, and enable it to think Avitb 
 precision. Geography and chronology are not now needed, but will 
 soon be, in order to trace philosophy through all her branches, in order 
 to acquire a distinct and accurate idea of history, and to judge of the 
 propriety of the allusions and comparisons everyAvhere meeting you in 
 the works of genius. Philosophy seems to open the mind, and to give 
 it eyes, like the Avings of the cherubim, in Ezekiel’s vision, within and 
 without it. It subjects all nature to our command, and carries our 
 conceptions up to the Creator. The mind is liberalized b}^ every such , 
 study, and Avithout these, it can never become really great or tasteful. 
 
 While I Avould urge you to hard study and severe application, each 
 being a sine qua non to success, you must, at the same time, feel sure 
 that a steady persevering course of study will certainly place you on 
 an eminence. But press ouAvard in a steady course of daily applica- 
 tion. A beautiful Avriter, with great vivacity and spirit says, “The 
 most usual Avay, among young men Avho have no resolution of their 
 OAvn, is, first to ask one friend’s advice, and to folio av it for some time; 
 then to ask advice of another and turn to that ; so of a third, still un- 
 steady, always changing. HoAvever, be assured that every change of; 
 this nature is for the worse. People may tell you of your being unfit 
 for some peculiar occupations in life ; but heed them not. WhateA^er 
 employment you follow with perseverance and assiduity, AviU be found 
 
m. lit.] WB MUST CEUATE CIRCUMSTANCES. 63 
 
 fit for you ; it v^ill be your support in youth, and comfort in age. In 
 learning the useful part of every profession, very moderate abilities will 
 suffice : even if the mind be a little ballasted with stupidity, it may, in 
 this case, be useful. Great abilities have always been less serviceable 
 to the possessors than moderate ones. Life has been compared to a 
 race ; but the allusion still improves, by observing that the most swift 
 are ever the least manageable.” 
 
 Henderson gives an interesting account of his meeting with an Ice- 
 lander, a poor man, in the common Avalks of life, who, to liis surprise, 
 could read German with great ease. On inquiring how he came to 
 understand the German language, he replied, that he once met with a 
 German book, and so great was his desire to know what it contained, 
 that he could never rest till he had acquired the language so as read it 
 with confidence. 
 
 We are in great danger of being willing to excuse ourselves from 
 severe study, under the idea that our circumstances are not favorable. 
 We are apt to fall in with the common notion that men are made by 
 circumstances — that they are called forth, and their characters are thus 
 formed : and that almost every man would be great, and decided, and 
 effective, were he only sufficiently hedged in and pressed by circum- 
 stances. There can be no doubt but that men are naturally and prac- 
 tically indolent, and that they need powerful stimulants and a heavy 
 pressure, to awaken their powers and call forth exertions. We know 
 that most men accomplish but very little. But would they under any 
 'circumstances? Might not the tables be turned, and might we not 
 with as great propriety say, and perhaps with equal truth, that men 
 make circumstances? Was it the circumstances of the times, or the 
 character of Hannibal, that enabled him, at the age of twenty-four, to 
 i guide the legions of Carthage over the everlasting, untrodden Alps, and 
 1 thunder at the gates of Home? Look at John Milton. What was 
 I there in his circumstances to press him into greatness? Shut out from 
 The light of heaven by blindness, most, in his situation, would have 
 thought that they did well, could they have sung a few tunes, and 
 earned their bread by making baskets. But Milton ! — he has thrown a 
 glory over his age, and nation, and language, which can be impaired 
 ; only by blotting the world out of existence. 
 
 Look at Andrew Fuller, without education, without opportunities, 
 
 ' without circumstances which can, in any way, be denominated favora- 
 j ble, like the birch rising up in the cleft of the rock, he stood far above 
 ; the age and the generation in which he lived. 
 
 But the cry is, “We have no favorable circumstances — no opportun- 
 : ities — no tools ; we can do nothing. ’ ’ Can do nothing ! If we have 
 
SWAnT ON STUDY. 
 
 [ca. in. 
 
 «4 
 
 an3rthing of the deathless Koman fire within — alta petens — aliquid 
 immensum infinihomque — we have ever needed help. Many a beauti^ 
 ful ship has sat like a swan upon the dark-blue waters, which never 
 had a tool upon her sides, save the axe, the auger, and the knife. 
 Hear what a master-spirit says on this point — a man whose example 
 has often reproved me, and thousands like me. 
 
 “ If a man really loves study, has an eager attachment to the ac- 
 quisition of knowledge, nothing but peculiar sickness or misfortunes 
 will prevent his being a student, and his possessing, in some good 
 degree, the means of study. The fact is, that Avhen men complain of 
 want of time for study, and want of means, they only show that, after 
 all, they are either attached to some other object of pursuit, or have 
 no part nor lot in the spirit of a student. They will applaud others, it 
 may be, who do study, and look with a kind of wonder upon their 
 acquisitions ; but, for themselves, they cannot spare the time nor ex- 
 pense necessary to make such acquisitions; or they put it to the ac- 
 count of their humility, and bless themselves that they are not 
 amhitioiis. In most of all these cases, however, either the love of the 
 world or genuine laziness lies at the bottom. Had they more energy 
 and decision of character, and did they redeem the precious moments, 
 which they now lose in laboriously doing nothing, or doing nothing to 
 the purpose of the church, they might open all the treasures of the 
 east and the west, and have them at their disposal. I might safely 
 promise a good knowledge of Hebrew and Greek to most men of this 
 sort, if they Avould dihgently improve the time that they now abso- 
 lutely throw away, in ttie course of three or four years. While one 
 man is deliberating whether he bad better study a language, another 
 man has obtained it. Such is the difference between decisive, ener- 
 getic action, and a timid, hesitating, indolent manner of pursuing liter- 
 ary acquisitions. And, what is worst of all, in this temporizing clas^ 
 of students, is, that if you reason with them, and convince them that 
 they are pursuing a wrong course, that conviction operates no longer 
 than until the next paroxysm of indolence, or of a worldly spirit, 
 comes on. These siren charmers lull every energetic power of the 
 mind to sleep. The mistaken man, who listens to their voice, finds 
 himself, at the age of forty, just where he was at thirty. At fifty, his 
 decline has already begun. At sixty, he is umversally regarded with 
 indifference, which he usually repays with misanthropy. And if he 
 has the misfortune to live until he is seventy, every body is uneasy 
 because he is not transferred to a better world.”* 
 
 * Professor Stuart- 
 
en. in.] 
 
 HABIT OF REVIEWING. 
 
 65 
 
 6. Remember that the great secret of being successful cmd accurate as 
 a student.^ next to perseverance is, the constant habit of reviewing. 
 
 I have already spoken of the memory. I would here say a word as 
 to its use in your definite studies. Have you never tried to banish a 
 thought, or a train of thought, from your memory, and could not? 
 Have you never tried to recall some idea, or some train of thought, 
 and, the more you tried, the more you seemed to forget it ? The rea- 
 son is, that the memory loves freedom, and disdains to be forced. 
 The correct path, then in which to tread, is to cultivate the memory 
 as much as possible, without weakening it by restraint. It loves to 
 try its powers spontaneously. Little children will frequently learn a 
 long list of Latin or Greek words, without designing it, merely by 
 hearing others repeat them. And I have known an ignorant Catholic, 
 who could repeat the most of the Lord’s Prayer, and a good part of 
 the Missal, all in Latin, without knowing what it meant, simply by 
 hearing it frequently repeated. Those who have been most successful 
 in fixing language in the memory, have uniformly done it by repeated 
 readings of the thing to be retained. In committing grammar, for 
 example, to memory, you should not attempt to confine the mind to it 
 too long at a time, but bend the whole attention to it while you do 
 study, and repeat the process often: repeat the lesson aloud, that it 
 may come to the mind through the ear, as well as through the eyes, 
 and then use the pen, and, laying aside the book, write it all out. In 
 [this process, you use the eyes, the ears, and also give the mind an 
 lopportunity to dwell upon every letter, and syllable, and sound. This 
 iwiU be slow, at first, but it will effectually do the thing; it will make 
 'you thorough, and soon give the courage of the war-horse. No new 
 jencounters will, in the least, appal you. The great dilhculty in com- 
 mitting grammar, consists in the similarity of the words and things 
 that are brought together. Similarity confuses the mind. If you 
 were to go into a jeweller’s shop, and see a card containing twenty 
 watches, though each had a different name, yet the next day you could 
 not tell one from another. But suppose you go for five days in suc- 
 cession, and examine four watches each day. The jeweller carefully 
 points out the difference. This is a common watch : he shows you its 
 mechanism, and all its parts. That is a patent lever: he shows you 
 how it differs from the former. The third is a Lepine : its parts are 
 very different still. The next is a chronometer, and differs widely 
 from any you have yet seen. He tells you the properties of each one, 
 and compares them .together. The second day, you review and recall 
 all that he told you, and you fix the name, the character, and the 
 properties of each in the memory. You then proceed to the second 
 
66 
 
 HABIT OF RBVlEWim. 
 
 fcfl. tt) 
 
 four You go through the same process, every day reviewing wha 
 you learned on the preceding day. At the end of five days,, you cai 
 repeat from memory, the name and powers of each watch, thou H 
 before the process, all you could remember was, that their numl)e 
 was twenty, and that they stood in five different rows. J^ow stud’’ 
 the grammar with the same precision, and in the same manner am 
 the memory will not complain that she is confused, and cannot retail 
 what you ask her to keep. 
 
 But what I have said of reviewing, pertains more especially to tlu 
 lessons which you prepare for the recitation-room, and which are U 
 be reviewed and repeated at your room. The indefatigable Wytten 
 bach and few could siDeak more decidedly from experience — says tha 
 this practice will have ‘Vm incredible effect in assisting yonr progress'^ 
 but he adds, ‘it must be a real and thorough review; that is it must b( 
 warn and again repeated. What I choose is this: that every day th 
 *.xac qf the preceding day should he reviewed; at the end of every week 
 the task of the week; at the erid of every months the. studies of th 
 month; %n addition to which this whole course should be gone over aqam 
 and again ^during the vacation^ Again; this great scholar tells hh 
 pupils, “ You will not fail to devote one hour, or part of an hour ai 
 least, every day, to these studies, on the same plan, which yot 
 have followed under me; for there is no business, no vocation whatever, 
 w/nch will not jpermit a man who has an inclination, to give a little 
 time every day to the studies of his youthY I would add, that ont 
 quarter of an hour every day de\roted to reviewing, will not only 
 keep all that a man has ever gone over fresh in mind, but advance him 
 in classical study. And no man may hope to become a thorom>’h 
 scholar who does not first fix this habit upon himself. It will be irk- 
 some at first, but only at first. “In reading and studying this work, 
 [the Memorabilia of Xenophon], I made it a rule never toliegin a sec' 
 tiqn without re-perusing the preceding one, nor a chapter, nor book, 
 without going over the preceding chapter and book a second time; 
 and finally, after having finished the Avork in that manuer, I agaiil 
 read the whole in course. This AA^as a labor of almost three months; 
 but such constant repetition proved most beneficial to me. The effect 
 of repetition seemed to be, that Avhen I proceeded from a section or a 
 chapter Avhich I had read tAvice, to a neAV one, I acquired an impulse 
 Avhich bore me along through all opposing obstacles; like a A^essel— to 
 use Cicero’s comparison in a similar case— Avhich, having once received 
 an impulse from the oar, continues her course even after the marineig 
 have suspended their operations to propel her. ’ ’ 
 
 Hoav A^ery different this from the practice of too many! That paft 
 
BE FAITHFUL TO APPOINTMENTS. 
 
 67 
 
 I cn. III.] 
 
 1 of the path over Avhich they have passed, is covered with a thick fog, 
 j and they can look back and see nothing but the fog. They look hw- 
 ward, and the atmosphere is, if possible, still more dim. Tlie road 
 seems long, and they are constantly in doubt where they are. x\ny 
 one can travel in a fog, but with no comfort or certainty at the time, 
 and with no impression upon the memory to recall at some futiu’e time. 
 
 “It is not for me to say that our colleges and schools should insist 
 on such reviews in the recitation-room. I would probably be impi'ac- 
 tible; but the youth ought to be encouraged and urged to do it at his 
 room, again and again. We are told that there is a fine, and a more 
 than human emotion produced by reading Domosthenes. But ^vho 
 feels it ? Bead over the first and second Olynthiac, and do you feel 
 it? Bo; nor can you, tiil you have reviewed every sentence, and 
 paragraph, and section, again and again, and that, probably to the 
 twelfth time. Then, if you are faithful, you will begin decidedly to 
 feel it. You cannot but feel it. The influence of Plato’s genius is 
 thought to be distinctly xelt through the whole world of letters. Does 
 the student see anything of this by dipping into Plato? Bo! nor can 
 he ever do so, unless he train himself to the constant, invariable habit 
 of reviewing every sentence, and every page, and that, too, many 
 times. Try it for six months, and my poor reputation shall be staked 
 on the result. Get, by any labor, your author’s meaning and spirit. 
 What Quintilian says of eloquence, is doubly applicable to this point : 
 “Priina est eloquentiae virtus, perspicuitas ; et quoquisque ingenio 
 minus valet, hoc se magis attollere et dilatare conaturut: statura breves 
 in digitos eriguntur, et plura infirmi minantur. ’ ’ 
 
 7. Be faithful infulflling your appointed exercises. 
 
 It has been said of the promising and lamented Professor Fisher, 
 |that, during his collegiate course, he never missed a recitation of his 
 class, and was never known to have his name handed in by the moni- 
 Itors. And all those men, who have ever become influential among 
 as, almost without exception, began to be distinguished for a consci- 
 entious discharge of all appointed exercises, while obtaining their edu- 
 eation. You may feel unwell to-day; you have over-eaten, or abused 
 the body in some other way ; and now you have but little courage to 
 master your lesson. You are tempted not to try to learn it. But I 
 [beg of you not to lay it by. You will lose in self-respect ; you will 
 leave yielded to a temptation that will often assail you ; you will have 
 lowered yourself in the estimation of others. Bo call of friends, no 
 preparation for a society, no writing to friends, should ever turn you 
 isiae from getting that lesson which is shortly to be recited. The 
 strong language of the late venerable President Porter ought to be 
 
BEST THE MIND BY VABIETY. 
 
 [CH. IIL 
 
 hung up in the room of every student. It is the testimony of one 
 who was so careful and so judicious an observer of men and things, 
 that he seldom made mistakes. “Regular, prescribed exercises have 
 the first claim on your time, and should never be thrust aside by in- 
 cidental things. It should be a point of conscience with every mem- 
 ber of this seminary, for his own good as well as in conformity with 
 his sacred promise at matriculation, never to neglect these regular ex- 
 ercises, unless disabled by Providence, I was detamed hy company^ is 
 sometimes offered as a reason for such neglect, and it may be a good 
 reason, mry rarely; but in my own case as a student, from twelve 
 years of age, through college, it never once was regarded by me as a rea- 
 son for such neglect ; never once has it heen so^ in the nineteen years of my 
 connection with this seminary. Take the catalogue of our seminary 
 from the beginning, and mark the men, if you can, on that honored 
 list, who, since they have left us, have been most distinguished for 
 usefulness as ministers and missionaries, and also the men, not a few, 
 who have been elected presidents and professors in colleges and theo- 
 logical seminaries, and then remember, that the same men were dis- 
 tinguished for ^ punctuality^ and industry, and conscientious regard to 
 order ^ while they were here. ’ ’ 
 
 These remarks apply with as much force to every other student as to 
 the student in theology. ‘ ‘ Les hommes sont a-peupres tons faits de 
 la meune manicwe; et ainsi ce qui nous a touche, les touchera aussi.” 
 
 8. Learn to rest the mind., hy variety in your studies., rather than hy 
 entire cessation from study. 
 
 Few can confine the mind down to severe thought, or to one study, 
 long at a time, and therefore most, when they relax, throw the 
 thoughts loose, and do not try to save them. You are studying 
 Homer, or algebra, for example. You apply yourself some two or 
 three hours at a time. Your body becomes weary, and the mind is 
 jaded. You stop and throw aside your books, and rest, perhaps, quite 
 as long as you have been studying.. How, all this time is lost, or 
 nearly so. You forget that the mind is as much refreshed by variety 
 as by idleness. When you lay aside your algebra, take up your Livy 
 or Tacitus, and you will be surprised to find that it is a refreshment, 
 as you review your last lesson. Or make those minutes in your com- 
 monplace book of what you last read: or turn your thoughts and 
 ponder over the subject of your next composition. You may save a 
 vast amount of time in this way. 
 
 We wonder how our fathers, and how the students of Germany, at 
 the present time, can study sixteen hours a day. They never could do 
 jt ;5 were it not that they pursue one study till the mind reluctates ; they 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 READING. 
 
 then turn to another by which the mind is relieved, and at once be- 
 comes buoyant. This is the difference between him who loses no time, 
 and him who loses very much. The men who accomphsh so much in 
 life, are those who practice on this plan. This will account for the 
 fact, that the same man will not unfrequently hold several offices which 
 require talents and efforts seemingly incompatible with each other, and 
 yet promptly execute the duties of all. He is thus continually busy 
 and continually resting. 
 
 In this way the justly distinguished Dr. Good, long before he was 
 forty years old, amid the incessant and anxious duties of a laborious 
 profession, had gained prizes by writing essays; had mastered at least 
 eleven different languages; had aided in making a Universal Diction- 
 ary in twelve volumes; had written his celebrated “Study of Medi- 
 cine;” and was constantly writing and translating poetry. His 
 “Book of Nature,” ^vill give the reader an admiring conception of the 
 variety and the accuracy of his attainments. Instead of being thrown 
 into confusion by such a variety and pressure of occupations, he carried 
 them all forward simultaneously, and suffered none to be neglected, or 
 but half executed. His practice was like that of the indefatigable but 
 somewhat eccentric Dr. Clarke, who said, “I have lived to know the 
 great secret of human happiness is this — never suffer your energies to 
 stagnate. The old adage of ‘too many irons in the fire,’ conveys an 
 abominable lie. You cannot have too many; poker, tongs, and all — - 
 keep them all going.” This habit of keeping the mind employed, will 
 soon destroy the common habit of revery. The soul will be too busy 
 for re very; and then, if she gains nothing by change of occupations, 
 by way of acquisition, she gains the satisfaction that she is not wan- 
 dering off on forbidden ground. 
 
 IV. 
 
 BEADING. 
 
 The genius of Shakespeare has shed a glory around the name ot 
 Brutus, which the iron pen of history cannot do away. The historian 
 and the poet are certainly greatly at variance in regard to him : the 
 latter has made him so amiable and exalted a character, that we feel 
 unwilling to know the truth about him. I am not now to act as um- 
 pire between them; but there is one spot where we see him in the same 
 
70 
 
 OBJECTS ATTAINED BT BEADING. 
 
 tCH. IV. 
 
 light, both in history and in poetry. It is this. The night before the 
 celebrated battle of Pharsalia, which was to decide the fate of the 
 known world, Brutus was in his tent reading., and making notes from 
 his author with the pen ! 
 
 The elder Pliny seldom sat down to eat a meal without having some 
 one read to him ; and he never travelled without having one or more 
 books with him, and conveniences for making extracts or memoranda. 
 
 The amiable Petrarch never felt a happy day, if, during it, he did 
 not read or write, or do both. One of his friends, fearing it woidd 
 injure his health, begged him to lend him the key of his library. 
 Petrarch, without knowing the design, granted it. His friend lockkl 
 it up, and forbade him to read anything for ten days. The poet con- 
 sented with great reluctance. The first day seemed longer than a 
 year ; the second produced a hard headache from morning till night ; 
 and on the morning of the third day, he was evidently in a fever. His 
 friend, touched with his situation, restored the key," and with it, his 
 health and spirits. 
 
 All distinguished men have been given to the habit of constant read- 
 ing; and it is utterly impossible to arrive at any tolerable degree of 
 , distinction without this habit, ‘‘ Beading, ” says Bacon, “makes 2, full 
 , man; conversation a ready writing an exact That which ' 
 
 he means hjftdl can never be attained, except by an extensive and 
 thorough acquaintance with books. No genius, no power of inventing . 
 and creating thoughts, can ever supply a deficiency in this respect, 
 he mightiest mind that was ever created, could, perhaps, here and 
 there, strike out a road ; but who would wish to spend one’s self in 
 beating about to discover a path, and even to make it, when the united 
 minds of the generations who have gone before us have done this for 
 him ? In order to have a judgment sound and correct, you must travel 
 through the history of other times, and be able to compare the present i 
 with the past. To have the mind vigorous, you must refresh it, and 
 strengthen it, by a continued contact with the mighty dead who have 
 gone away, but left their imperishable thoughts behind them. We ' 
 want to have the mind continually expanding, and creating new 
 thoughts, or at least feeding itself upon manly thoughts. The food is to 
 the blood, which circulates through your veins, what reading is to the 
 mind: and the mind that does not love to read, may despair of ever 
 doing much in the world of mind which it would affect. You can no 
 more be the “full man” whom Bacon describes, without reading, than 
 you can be vigorous and healthy without any new nourishnment. 
 It would be no more reasonable to suppose it, in the expressive and 
 beautiful language of Porter, ‘ ‘ than to suppose that the Hississippj 
 
ca. iv.j 
 
 WB SHOtfLD MEAD BELlBEMATELt. 
 
 might roll on its flood of waters to the ocean, though all its tributary 
 streams were cut off, and it were replenished only by the occasional 
 drops from the clouds.” Some will read works of the imagination, or 
 what is called the light literature of the day, while that which em- 
 braces solid thought is irksome. The Bishop of Winchester (Hoadley) 
 said that he could never look into Butler’s Analogy without having his 
 head ache — a book which Queen Caroline told Mr. Sale she read every 
 day at breakfast. Young people are apt — and to this students are 
 continually tempted — to read only for amusement. Pope says, that, 
 from fourteen to twenty, he read for amusement alone ; from twenty 
 to twenty-seven, for improvement and instruction; that in the former 
 period, he wanted only to know, and in the second, endeavored to 
 judge. 
 
 The object of reading may be divided into several branches. The 
 student reads for relaxation from more severe studies ; he is thus re- 
 freshed, and his spirits are revived. He reads for facts in the history 
 and experience of his species, as they hved and acted under different 
 circumstances. From these facts he draws conclusions ; his views are 
 enlarged, his judgment corrected, and the experience of former ages, 
 and of all times, becomes his own. He reads, chiefly, probably, for 
 information ; to store up knowledge for future use : and he wishes to 
 classify and arrange it, that it may be ready at his call. He reads 
 for the sake of style — to learn how a strong, nervous, or beautiful 
 writer expresses himself. The spirit of a writer to whom the world 
 has bowed in homage, and the dress in which the spirit stands arrayed, 
 is the object at which he must anxiously look. ' 
 
 It is obvious, then, that, in attaining any of these ends, except, per- 
 haps, that of amusement, reading should he jperformed very slowly and 
 deliberately. You will usually, and, indeed, almost invariably. And 
 that those who read a great multitude of books have but little knowl- 
 edge that is of any value. A large library has justly been denominated 
 a learned luxury — not elegance — much less utility. A celebrated French 
 author was laughed at on account of the poverty of his library. ‘ ‘ Ah, ’ ’ . 
 replied he, “when I want a book, I make it!” Kapid readers gener- 
 ally are very desultory ; and a man may read much, and know but 
 very little. ‘ ‘ The helluo lihrorum and the true scholar are two very 
 different characters. ’ ’ One who has a deep insight into the nature of 
 man, says that he never felt afraid to meet a man who has a large 
 library. It is the man who has but few books, and who thinks much, 
 whose mind is the best furnished for intellectual operations. It will 
 not be pretended, however, that there are not many exceptions to this 
 remark. But, with a student, in the morning of life, there are no ex- 
 
FORMER SCARCITY OF BOOKS. 
 
 [CH. IV. 
 
 ceptions. If he would improve by his reading, it must be very delib- 
 erate. Can a stomach receive any amount or kind of food, hastily 
 thrown into it, and reduce it, and from it extract nourishment for the 
 body? IS'ot for any length of time. N^either can the mind any easier 
 digest that which is rapidly brought before it. Seneca has the same 
 idea in his own simple, beautiful language — ‘ ‘ Distrahit animum librorum 
 multitude: — Fastidientis stomachi multa degustare quae ubi varia sunt 
 et diversa, inquinant, non alunt.” 
 
 It is by no means certain that the ancients had not a great com- 
 pensation for the fewness of their books,, in the thoroughness with 
 which they were compelled to study them. A book must all be copied 
 with the pen to be owned ; and he who transcribed a book for the sake 
 of owning it, would be likely to understand it. Before the art of 
 printing, books were so scarce, that ambassadors were sent from France 
 to Eome, to beg a copy of “Cicero de Oratore,’^ and Quintilian’s “Insti-, 
 tutes,” &c., because a complete copy of these works was not to be 
 found in all France. Albert, abbot of Gemblours, with incredible 
 labor and expense, collected a library of one hundred and fifty vol-. 
 umes including everything: and this was considered a wonder indeed. 
 In 1491, the library of the Bishop of Winchester contained parts of ; 
 seventeen books on various subjects; and, on his borrowing a Bible 
 from the convent of St. S within, he had to giv^e a heavy bond, drawn 
 up with great solemnity, that he Avould return it uninjured. If anyone' 
 gave a book to a convent or. a monastery, it conferred everlasting sal- 
 vation upon him, and he offered it upon the altar of God. The 
 convent of Bochester every year pronounced an irrevocable sentence 
 of damnation on him who should dare steal or conceal a Latin translation 
 of Aristotle, or even obliterate a title. A¥hen a book was purchased, , 
 it was an affair of such consequence, that persons of distinction were 
 called together as witnesses. Previous to the year 1300, the library of- 
 Oxford, England, consisted only of a few tracts, which were carefully 
 locked up in a small chest, or else chained, lest they should escape;: 
 and at the commencement of the 14th century, the royal library of 
 France contained only four classics, with a few devotional works. So 
 great was the privilege of owning a book, that one of their books on 
 natural history contained a picture, representing the Deity as resting 
 on the Sabbath, with a book in his hand, in the act of reading ! It 
 was probably no better in earlier times. Knowledge was scattered 
 to the four winds, and truth Avas hidden in a Avell. Lycurgus and 
 Pythagoras were obliged to traA^el into Eg37'pt, Persia, and India, in' 
 order to understand the doctrine of the metempsychosis. Solon and ; 
 Plato had to go to Egypt for what they kneAv. Herodotus and Strabo’ 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 BAD BOOKS. 
 
 73 
 
 were obliged to travel to collect their history, and to construct their 
 geography as they traveled. Few men pretended to own a library, 
 and he was accounted truly favored who owned half-a-dozen volumes. 
 And yet, with all this scarcity of books, there were in those days 
 scholars who greatly surpassed us. We cannot write poetry like 
 Homer, nor history like Thucydides. We have not the pen which 
 Aristotle and Plato held, nor the eloquence with which Demosthenes 
 thrilled. They surpassed us in painting and in sculpture. Their books 
 were but few. But those were read, as Juvenal says, ten times “decier 
 repetita placebunt.” Their own resources were tasked to the utmost, 
 and he who could not draw from his own fountain, in vain sought for 
 neighbors, from whose wells he could borrow. 
 
 How very different with us! We read without measure, and almost 
 without profit. “Aliud enim est scire, aliud sapere. Sapiens est, qui 
 didicit non omnia, sed ea quae ad veram felicitatem pertinent, et iis 
 quae didicit afficitur ac transfiguratus est. ’ ’ 
 
 If, at the close of any given year, you wiU examine the register of 
 the librarian of any of the literary societies in college, you will find, 
 almost without exception, that those who have taken out most books 
 have accomplished least in preparing the mind for future usefulness. 
 It is a good maxim, in regard to your reading — Non multa sed multum. 
 
 Bewm^e of had hooks. Some men have been permitted to live and 
 employ their powers in writing what will continue to pollute and de- 
 stroy for generations after they are gone. The world is flooded vdth 
 such books. They are permitted to lie in our pathway as a part of 
 our moral discipline. Under the moral government of God, Avhile in 
 this state of probation, we are to be surrounded with temptations of 
 every kind. And never does the spirit of darkness rejoice more, than 
 when a gifted mind can prostitute itself, not merely to revel in sin 
 itself, but to adorn and conceal a path which is full of holes, through 
 I which you may drop into the chambers of death. Books could be ’ 
 I named, were it not that there is a possibility that even the information 
 conveyed in naming them might be perverted and used to obtain them, 
 
 I which seemingly, could not be excelled by all the talents in heU, if the 
 object were to pollute and ruin. These are to be found everywhere. 
 
 I do entreat my young readers never to look at one — never to open one. 
 
 1 They will leave a stain upon the soul which can never be removed. 
 
 ! I have known these books secreted in the rooms of students, and lent 
 1 from one to another. They are to be found too frequently. And if 
 ; you have an enemy, whose soul you would visit with a heavy ven- 
 ; geance, and whose damnation you would seal up for the eternal world, 
 
 ! you have only to place one of these destroyers in his hand. You have 
 
74 
 
 ADVICE ON THE CHOICE OF BOOKS. 
 
 [CH. IV. 
 
 certainly paved the way to the abodes of death; and if he does not 
 travel it mth hasty strides, you have, at least, laid up food for many 
 da^of remorse. ^ xiictiV 
 
 What shall be sa,id of those who print and sell such works to the 
 j’joung?— of those who go out on purpose to peddle them? They are 
 the most awful scourges with which a righteous God ever visited our 
 world. The angel of death can sheath his sword, and stay his hand in 
 the work of death. But these wretches! they dig graves so deen that 
 they reach into heh. They blight the hopes ^f pfrfnts, an^l pouTmore 
 than seven vials of woe upon the family whose affections are bound 
 up in the son who is thus destroyed. 
 
 In connection with these books, allow me to lift up a loud voice 
 imagination, by which the mind is at once 
 enfeebled, and the heart and feelings debased and polluted Tt is 
 almost mseparaWe from the habit of revelry: but, in this life, aheavier 
 lyion a young man than that of possessing a 
 polluted nnagmation. The leprosy fills the whole soul. Time only 
 increases it, and even the power of the gospel can seldom do more 
 ^ without subduing, when the disease is once fixed 
 
 While I thus briefly allude to these wanderings of the imagination, 
 by which the mind is debilitated, the soul polluted by a stain which 
 tears cannot wash out, nor the deepest repentance fflly do away I 
 my conscience without going a step further, and safiko-^ 
 what others have, to my certain knowledge, wished to say, and ought 
 to say, but which no one has had the courage to say, in tones loud 
 and disti^t. May I entreat the young man who reads these pages not 
 to pass the folloiying paragraph without reading and ponderino- it* 
 
 I have chosen to r^k the charge of pedantry rather than not say what 
 J could not say in Enghsh. 
 
 ultimas excepta, ut frequenter et assidue, consuetudinem * * * 
 effundendimanu [Onanis scelus,] revel are possit. Adolescentulos quamplurimos novi 
 m smgulatos dies, m hao re, seipsos turpaiites. et hoc, per annos multos. fnciteamenUim ^ 
 omnibus, permagnum est. Casum multorum quos de rausa 
 execrabile sola, vidi occumbre prematuras morti, gemui— aliqiios in aulisVademicis et 
 nonnullos citissime post digressum e collegio et ex aliquovis gradu exornatos Pluri’mi 
 hanc consuetudinem defendere conati sunt, quasi instinctu quodam et imperio impulsi 
 et SIC voluerunt Deum ipsiim esse hujus stupri auctorem. “Hoc praetexit nomine 
 Turpissima simulatio! Etlmici ipsi, luce naturie ducti, cum veSl Tuhis 
 hanc culpam reprobaverunt. v, c. “Veneri servit— manus! Hoc nihil esse putas? 
 
 i“pns, quantum vix animo concipis ipse tuo; parce solFcitaie 
 manu. Loevibus in pueris plus quam h^c-peccat ” i i i^oiiciiaio 
 
 Deus, quoad hoc crimen, mentem ejus lucidissime indicoavit.* Indignatio et ira Dei 
 
 * Gen. xxxviii. 9, 10; 1 Cor. vi. 9; 2 Cor. xii. 21; Gal. v. 19; Epk v. 3. 5. 
 
Oh. IV. j 
 
 BYnON’8 WRITINGS 
 
 75 
 
 illis adsequentur. “Scimus vero judicium Dei esse secundum veritatem adversus eos 
 qui talia agunt. Putas autem hoc, O qui facis ea fore ut tu effugias judicium Dei?” 
 
 Memento fructus liujus consuetudiiiis esse — 
 
 1. Memoriam esse maxime debilitatum; 
 
 2. Mentemesse valde dejectam atque stulte imbecillem;* 
 
 3. Semina letliiferi morbi, et mortis ij)S8e in corpore sparsa;f 
 
 4. Omnia quae ad animam pertinent mere in pejus; 
 
 5. Tribulationem a Deo, qui te aspicit in occulto, certissime venturam fuisse. Oculus 
 ejus, semper vigilans, te spectat. “Nam omne opus Deus ipse adducet in judicium 
 cum Omni re occulta.” “Nam quae, fiunt ab istis, turpe est vel dicere.” Fuge, fuge, 
 provita, pro amima. “Obsta principiis.” Hoc scelus vincere non poteris, nisi effu- 
 giendo. Quicunque in timore Dei versatur, te docebit, “hie viae ad sepulchrum,” hie 
 viae descendentes ad penetralia mortis. 
 
 What shall be said of such works as those of Byron? May not \ 
 young man read those ? Can he not learn things from him which can- 
 not be learned elsewhere? I reply, Yes, just as you would learn, while 
 treading in burning lava, what could not be learned elsewhere. But 
 would the knowledge thus obtained be worth the agony of the fire, 
 and the scars which would remain through life? It is breathing the 
 air which comes up from a heated furnace ; and though you may see 
 a brightness and a glow in that furnace as you gaze into it, which is 
 nowhere else to be found, yet you will feel the effects of what you 
 breathe a long time. There are many bright spots in such writings ; 
 but while one ray of pure light is thrown upon the soul, it must find 
 its way through volumes of Egyptian darkness. There are beautiful 
 pearls in the slimy bottom of the ocean, but they are found only here 
 and there ; and would you feel it worth your while to dive after them, 
 if there were many probabilities that you would stick and die in the 
 mud in which they are imbedded, or, if not, that you certainly shorten 
 and embitter life, in the process of diving and obtaining them ? 
 
 Would you thank a man for fitting up your study, and adorning it 
 with much that is beautiful, if, at the same time, he filled it with 
 images and ghosts of the most disgusting and awful description, which 
 
 * See a thrilling and harrowing chapter in Kush on Diseases'of the Mind. Physicians 
 testify, that probably this is a greater source of derangement than all other causes. 
 The very intelligent and respectable Superintendents of the Insane Hospitals at Wor- 
 cester and at Hartford will say, not only that this is the cause of bringing many of their 
 patients there, but an almost insuperable obstacle in the way of their recovery. 
 
 f It is awfully certain too, that it is very frequently the cause of sudden death. The 
 apoplexy wait ^ hard by, as God’s executioner, upon this sin. May not the pale-faced 
 youth, in feeble health, frequently imputing his disease to the dyspepsia, or something 
 like it, tremble as he looks off the abyss on which he has placed himself? I do hope 
 what I have said will lead many to fear and to beware. These remarks may be con- 
 demnei by some; but I shall have two sources of consolation — first, that I have dis- 
 charged a sacred duty; and, secondly, that those who are offended are those for whose 
 special benefit these remarks are made. 
 
76 
 
 cautions In SELEOTINO WORKS OF FICTION 
 
 [cil. i? 
 
 u hT“s 
 
 c. tiiuugiii, or a poetic image, but, as you stoop to pick it 
 
 up chains upon you a putrid carcass which you can never thiwv off! 
 
 I beheve a single page may be selected from Byron, which C done 
 more hurt tn tha i-nm/l "-r ’ -iiaa uuiic 
 
 more hurt to the inSd ancf heart of the l^g ‘than all 1'^"" 
 have ever done good. But he will qiiick-ly p£s from not L Indl 
 doomed to be exiled from the libraries of all virtuous men It is a 
 essing to the world that what is putrid must soon pass away The 
 
 meTwillToi'^ ^ time in horfor; bu? 
 
 wWh tLv f p yf,® remove even tne gallows on 
 
 ron ^anH %-nl °TT author ever read By- 
 
 YpJ Moore, Hume and Paine, Scott, Bulwer, and Cooper?’’ 
 Yes, he has read them all, and with too much care. He knows every 
 
 Solemnly declares to you that the 
 only good which he is conscious of ever having received from them is 
 a deep impression that men who possess talents of such compass aS 
 power, and so perverted in their application, must meet the day of 
 judgment under a responsibility which would be cheaply remove'd by^ 
 
 belie^/oTthl r7°'’r ■ undermine or to crush thl ' 
 
 behef of the Christian— those who wrote to show how they could revel 
 
 m passion, and pour out their living scorn upon their species— and those ^ 
 
 S sWt nf men-have come 
 
 far shoit of answering the great end of existence on earth. Talents 
 and influence were given for purpose widely different. But is it not 
 nX*tnY*° read works of this kind, especially those whose design is 
 only to amuse and awaken the interest of the reader? There is no 
 more necessity than there is to be acquainted with all the variety of 
 
 an*d be pleased, and the body stimulated, i 
 
 and the stomach weakened. Were these the only books in the world 
 the case would be different. But who does not know that they who ' 
 
 sol1ffrei!!^l^-n,^^'^'^+"° of fiction, leave a mass of most valuable and 
 
 solid readng untouched and unknown? When you have read and ' 
 igesre all that is really valuable, and which is comprised in what - 
 
 nwf?®th^® f ^ actually been i 
 
 placed, then betake_ yourself to works of imagination. But can you i 
 
 in M have the powers of the imagination enlarged, f 
 
 and the mind taught to soar? Perhaps so. But the lectures of' 
 Chalniere on astronomy vWll do this to a degree far beyond all that the 
 ®“i5®i. Mill they not give you a command of words 
 and of language vyhich shall be full, and chaste, and strong? Perhaps 
 so. But It that is what you wish, read the works of Edmund Burke 
 
ea. nr.] 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT’S WORKS. 
 
 There yoti will find language, gorgeous at times, but, for copiousness 
 and wealth, hardly to be equalled by any uninspired pen. He is a / 
 master on this subject; and I hope no one, who intends to strike for a j/ 
 character for language or thoughts, strength, or beauty, will ever be 
 trying to clothe himself with the puissance of a novel when he can 
 boast the language of Burke as being his mother tongue. 
 
 The question in regard to works of fiction usually has a definite re- 
 lation to the writings of Walter Scott. There is such a magic thrown 
 around him,- that it cannot be but we are safe there. Is it so ? Be- 
 cause the magician can raise mightier spirits than other magicians, 
 and throw more of supernatural light about him than others, is he 
 therefore the less to be feared? Ho; the very strength of the spell 
 should warn you that there is danger in putting yourself in his power. 
 While I have confessed that I have read him — read him entire — in 
 order to show that I speak from experience, I cannot but say, that it 
 would give me the keenest pain to believe that my example would be 
 quoted, small as is its influence, after I am in the grave, without this 
 solemn protest accompanying it. 
 
 How shall you know what to read ? — a very important question ; for 
 some books will positively injure, if they do not destroy you. Others 
 will have no positive good effect; and from all, a tincture, like that 
 left upon the mind by the company you keep, will be left. Do not 
 expect to read all, or even a small part of what comes out, and is 
 recommended, too, in this age of books. You take up a book, and 
 read a chapter. How shall you know whether it is worth your read- 
 ing, without reading it through? In the same way that you would 
 know whether a cask of wine was good. If you draw one glass, or 
 two, and find them stale and unpleasant, do you need to drink off the 
 whole cask, to decide that you do not want it? “I have somewhat 
 else to do, in the short day allotted to me, than to read whatever 
 anyone may think it his duty to write. When I read, I wish to read 
 to good purpose ; and there are some books which contradict, on the 
 very face of them, what appear to me to be first principles. You 
 surely will not say, ‘ I am bound to read such books. ’ If a man tells 
 me he has a very elaborate argument to prove that two and two make 
 five, I have something else to do than to attend to his argument. If 
 I find the first mouthful of meat which I take from a fine-looking 
 joint on my table is tainted, I need not eat through it to be convinced 
 I ought to send it away.’ But there is a shorter route, and one every 
 way still more safe ; and that is to treat books as you do medicines ; 
 have nothing to do with them till others have tried them, and can 
 testify to their worth. There are always what are denominated stand' 
 
‘ 7 ^ 
 
 BOW SHALl WB BBalW TO READ A BOOBf [crt t 
 
 works at hand, and about which there can be neither doubt nc 
 mistake, lou cannot read everything; and if you could you woul 
 
 vah!!d!l^ 1 lui^^ber would bury up and destroy all tli 
 
 ^aluable materials winch you were laying up. J^ever feel anv obli>- 
 
 like gold-leaf o\er a Avide surface, qmte through, in hopes of findin 
 
 You wiirbe disappointed. a‘ 
 hoot thoughts for the close of hi 
 
 t^o! ; 1 * poverty of intellect if he makes you trave 
 
 Zrh hlT ^ are refreshing. Leav 
 
 thno bound to spem 
 
 to f rength on a mere possibility. Will you stand till wearied 
 
 onn^finri ™P®'’t™ent coxcomb talk, when, by turning away, yoi 
 can find instructive company? ° 
 
 ^ n ^ecid a looM Always look into your disl 
 
 title-page, see who wrote the book-where he lives; do you knon 
 anything of the author t where, and by whom published? Do yoi 
 anything of the general character of the books published bt 
 this pu Wisher ? Eecollect what you have heard about this book Ther 
 
 wW 1 tf ®i m kind of a. bow the author makes, anc 
 
 n hat Ad thinks of himself and his work: why he has the boldness tc 
 chWlenge the public to hear him. Then turn to the contents, see what 
 are the Meat divisions of his subject, and thus get a glance of his 
 general plan, then take a single chapter or section, and see how he has 
 divided and filled that up. If now you wish to taste of the dish before 
 further examination of the contents, then turn to the place where some 
 important point is discussed, and where some valuable thought pro- 
 fesses to be expanded or illustrated, and see how it is executed. If' 
 after some few such trials, you should find your author obscure, dull’ 
 pedantic, or shallow, you need not fish longer in these waters. It will 
 be hard to catch fish here, and, when caught, they will be too small 
 foi use. But if you find the author valuable and worth your attention, 
 then go back to the contents. Examine them chaptw by chapter 
 then close the book, and see if you have the plan of the whole work 
 distinctly and fully m your mind. Do not proceed till this is done, 
 tbp this map all distinctly drawn in the mind, then get 
 
 the first chapter vividly before you, so far as the contents will enable 
 you to do It. _ mw proceed to read. At the close of each sentence, 
 
 noWtTTn^’tb®° ^ ydemtand that? Is it true, important, or to the 
 point. ^ Anything valuable there, ivhich I ought to retain? At the 
 close or each paragraph, ask the same questions. Leave no paragraph 
 
 s 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 HOW TO READ A BOOK. 
 
 79 
 
 till you have the substance of it in your mind. Proceed in this manner 
 through the chapter; and, at the close of the chapter, look back, and 
 see what the author tried to accomplish by it, and what he really has 
 I accomplished. As you proceed, if the book be your own, or if the 
 owner will allow you to do it, mark with your pencil, in the margin, 
 what, according to your view, is the character of each paragraph, or of 
 this or that sentence. To illustrate what I mean, I will mention a 
 few marks which I have found very useful to myself ; these, or any- 
 thing similar, will answer the end to be attained. Perhaps the remark 
 had better be made here, that you can never read to advantage unless 
 you feel well, and the mind and spirits are buoyant. Otherwise, any 
 author will be stupid. “J^o one will read with much advantage, who 
 is not able, at pleasure, to evacuate his mind, and who brings not to 
 his author an intellect defecated and pure ; neither turbid with care, 
 nor agitated with pleasure. ’ ’ 
 
 I Signifies, that this paragraph contains the main, or one of the main propositions to be 
 proved or illustrated in this chapter; the staple, or one of the staples on which the 
 I claim hangs, 
 
 I This sentiment is true, and will bear expanding, and will open a field indefinite in 
 I extent. 
 
 This, if carried out, would not stand the test of experience, and is therefore 
 ^ I incorrect. 
 
 ? 1 Doubtful as to sentiment, 
 
 ?! 1 Doubtful in point of fact. 
 
 5 I Good; and facts will only strengthen the position, 
 cc I Bad; facts will not uphold it. 
 
 6 1 Irrelevant to the subject; had better have been omitted. 
 
 * 1 Repetition; the author is moving in a circle. 
 
 f 1 Not inserted in the right place. 
 
 O 1 In good taste, 
 tj 1 In bad taste. 
 
 Such marks may be increased at pleasure. I have found the above 
 sufficient. These need not be adopted, as each one can invent them 
 for himself ; but care should be taken always to make the same mark 
 mean the same thing. But will not this method of reading be slow? 
 Yes: very slow and very valuable. A single book, read in this way, 
 will be worth a score run over. It will compel you to ihinh as well 
 as read, to judge, to discriminate, to sift out the wheat from the chaff. 
 It will make thought your own, and will so fix it in the mind, that it 
 will probably be at your command, at any future time. The first thing 
 to be done, in order to make what you read your own, is to think as 
 
80 
 
 CONVERSATION AFTER READING, 
 
 [CH. rv 
 
 booir^’ closed th. 
 
 It is also very important to talk over the subject upon which you ar< 
 reading, with a friend Be candid enough to teU hhn tSt yoHav; 
 just been reading, so that he may know that you do not claim whal 
 you have, as your own. If the circle embrace several who wish to flj 
 what they read in the mind by conversation, so much the better. 
 
 Thought, too, deliver’d, is the more possess’d, 
 leaching, we learn; and giving, we receive.” 
 
 oonfestim doceas; sic et tua flrmare, et pro- 
 desse ahis potes. Ea docc quai noveris, eaqua diversis horis, aliis atque 
 alas conveniet inculcare. Satis sit, si quispiam te audlat, interea 
 exeicitatione miram reriiin co])iain tilii comjiaraversi ” 
 
 otlio/tr’ the same book, or if one is reading to the 
 
 othei, the advantages of conversation will still be greatly increased. 
 
 Bo small part of the time should lie spent in reviewing what von 
 have read The most eminent scholars think that one-fourth of the 
 non!Tr sho«hl he thus spent. I believe the estimate is. 
 
 none too great. But is it not evident, that, if you read with the 
 marginal niarks made by the pencil in your hand, as described above, 
 you can review the author, and your own judgment too, in a very 
 
 '"hat is ’the charaZ 
 
 ter of each paragraph. You will see just where the fish is, and whai 
 tie is, and at once you can put your liook in and take him out. 
 
 I here is another very important thing to be attended to in readinff 
 1 mean dasstfmiwn. We need a power, which, in the present state 
 ot our existence, we do not possess— a power of keeping all th^t ever 
 passes through our mind which is worth keeping. ErSmus (de Rat. ' 
 Hud.) dwells upon this point with great beauty and force. “Inter 
 legendum auctorem non oscitanter observabis si quod incidat insio-ne 
 verbum. si quod argumentum, aut inventum acute, aut tortum ante 
 SI yia sententia digna quie memoriiB commendetur: isque locus erit 
 apta notuia quapiam msigniendus. Quanto pluris feceris exisruum 
 proventum, tanto ad altiora dootrinse vestigia es evasurus. Qui 
 vihssimos quosque nummos admirantur, intuentur crebro, et servant 
 accurate, ad summas soepenumero divitias perveniunt; pari mode si 
 quis aptavit sudorum metam bene scribere, discat mirari bene scripta, 
 discat gaudere, si vel nomina duo conjunxerit venuste ” 
 
 We cannot write out, or copy, what we read. We can remember 
 but a very small part of it- What shall we do? For one, 1 have been 
 
THE INDEX BERUM. 
 
 81 
 
 CH. lV\] ^ 
 
 in theVabit of making an Index Rerum of my reading. The hook is 
 30 classified, that, in a single moment, I can refer to anything which I 
 have ev^ read and tell where it is found the book and the page. It 
 saves the labor of a common- place book, and yet preserves all that 
 can be preserved. About a year since, I published the plan of my 
 own “Index Eerum.” And as I have not, from the first, had any 
 pecuniary interest in it, I may say that the plan is highly approved. 
 One large edition has been sold, and second widely scattered. 1 
 find, also, since its publication, that the late venerable President Porter 
 made himself such an index, on principles somewhat similar, which he 
 used all his life. This plan, pursued for a very few years, will give you 
 an index of* inestimable value.^ A single year will convince you that you 
 cannot afford to lose its benefits.'^ 
 
 What shall be said of the newspapers and magazines with which we 
 are flooded ? Few things weaken the mind of the student more than 
 light miscellaneous reading. You find it the fashion to have read a 
 world of reviews, magazines, and papers. They are not written with 
 the expectation of being remembered. And after you have spent 
 hours over them, it is very doubtful whetlier you have done anything 
 more than crowd the mind with vague images and impressions, which 
 decidedly weaken the memory. Every time you crowd into the mem- 
 ory what vou do not expect it to retain, you weaken its powers, and 
 you lose your authority to command its services. The fewer of such 
 things the student reads, the better. Perhaps you may, now and then 
 crowd sweetmeats into the stomach, which it neither can nor will 
 digest ; but the fewer the better. 
 
 There is another very important point to be kept in mind; and that 
 is, that, in reading, you should always have your pen by you, not merely 
 to make a minute in your index, but to save the thoughts which are 
 started in your own mind. Did you never notice, that, while reading, 
 your own mind is so put into operation, that it strikes out new and 
 bold trains of thinking— trains that are worth preserving, and such as 
 will be scattered to the winds, if not penned down at the moment of 
 their creation? A wise man will be as careful to save that property 
 which he himself makes, as that which he inherits. The student should 
 be ; for it will be of vastly more value to him. 
 
 I I cannot close this chapter without saying what seem to me to be 
 distinctly the three great objects of reading. 
 
 * I may respectfully refer to my ^ ‘Index Reriim” for tlie plan and explanation of tlie 
 work. While the kindest things have been said in regard to it, nothing to the contrary 
 has ever been said by iliose who have used it. It, or something like it, should be the 
 constant companion of every student. 
 
 6 
 
82 
 
 READING FORMS TOUR STYLE. 
 
 
 rcH. n 
 
 theinflSnSo^hermfnd^wftS^^ any length of time, unde 
 of thinldng influenced bv Siat Vninfr yo"*" language and mode 
 an elevate!, measureV^iSifie rsty'le " 
 
 sf-Kri 
 
 fn thniirri ^ Ji^quently give a tone and a bias to to the mind both^as 
 
 ,i .vc.,.r^st sts 
 
 it gaA^e was to me invaluable.” ^ 
 
 nJt 1 - ’ rhyme, informed me that shp 
 
 first discovered that she possessed any of the rhyming iwers bter 
 having made a business, for some time, of oow?ng“tL poeirf of 
 
 such^vriters a?AddisoVare”*^^^’ and certain imitation,, 
 
 SUCH vriiers as Addison are always recommended to the vonno, f, 
 
 vZ dTar^nd beaSf^l ™ ^ “|e of 
 
 Luld Adtiat^vou as ^reful, then, not to read what 
 
 ouia Mtiate youi style, as you Avould not to keep comnanv Avith ' 
 those who would corrupt your manners. ^ npany Awth 
 
 2. Beading stocks the mind with knowledge. 
 
 ihis IS the grand object of reading. We come into the world iiynor 
 history, the experience of other men^and 
 
 ‘r*™rr. 
 
 o O guide us except that of our own mdividual experience. ^ Hel 
 
(jH. lv.\| Ui^ADlNQ STORIES THE MIND. 83 
 
 who wo^uld bo coiTipolled to go across the Atlantic to obtain a narration 
 of facts -^hich can be read in two hours, would need the years of ante- 
 diluvians, and then die a very ignorant man. ‘ Without books,” says i 
 the quaint but enthusiastic Bartholen, “God is silent, justice dormant, , 
 physic [natural science] at a stand, philosophy lame, letters dumb, and 
 all things involved in Cimerian darkness.” 
 
 You' must not only read and make books the fountain from which 
 you draw your knowledge, but you must expect to draw from this 
 fountain through life. What you read to-day, will soon be gone 
 expended, or forgotten; and the mind must be continually filled up 
 with new streams of knowledge. Even the ocean would be dried up 
 were the streams to be cut off, which are constantly flowing into it. 
 “How few read enough to stock their minds! And the mind is no 
 widow’s cruise, which fills with knowledge as fast as we empty it. It 
 is the ‘hand of diligent which maketh rich.’ ” 
 
 3, Reading stimulates and ])uts your own men tal energies into opera- 
 tion. 
 
 If you were driven into a corner, and compelled to produce some- 
 thing as your own thoughts and opinions on an important point, at 
 once, you would wish to stimulate your mind, and key it up to the 
 hio^hest point. How would you do it? You might reach it through 
 the body, and, by stimulating that with wines or opium, might ex- 
 cite the mind. But, then, the results thus produced would be uncer- 
 tain. They might be correct, and they might be like the ravings of 
 the mind excited by disease. But, at any rate, the body and the mind 
 would both suffer by this unnatural excitement. The reaction is 
 awfully great ; and, therefore, you may not do it. What can you 
 do? i reply, that you can stimulate yoiqmind at any time, when the 
 body is healthful, by reading. Ho one can read the speeches of 
 Buiice, of Chatham and of our own Patrick Henry, without being 
 moved. Ko matter what you are writing upon, or upon what you are 
 to speak, you cannot read a good book without being stimulated. The 
 dream of Clarence, and the speeches of Hamlet, in Shakspeare ; the 
 speeches of men in the senate; the addresses of men from the pulpit ; 
 and above all, the overwhelming torrent of clear thought, in burning 
 language, which the masters of ancient times poured out — will swell 
 tbe'^bosom, rouse the soul, and call all your own powers into action. 
 This effect of books will last through life; and he who knows how to 
 read to advantage will ever have something as applicable to his men- 
 tal powers, as electricty is to move the animal system. The man who 
 has sat over the workings of a powerful mind, as exhibited on the 
 written page, without being excited, moved, and made to feel that he 
 
84 
 
 BCOKOMIZim TIME. 
 
 [CIT. 
 
 can do something, and will do something, has yet to learn one of tl 
 ghest pleapres of the student’s life, and is yet ignorant of whi 
 riTOrs of delight are flowmg around him through all the journey of lif. 
 
 repeating— Do not read too many books: read thorough] 
 T\hat you undertake. Buy but few books; and never buv till you ca 
 py for what you buy lou cannot more than half enjoy any thin 
 for which you owe. Make all that you do read your own; aM yo 
 
 SZs foVTui 
 
 y. 
 
 TIME. 
 
 Them is no point, upon which I wish to touch, so difficult as thL« 
 and yet not one upon which so much good might be done, if the rio-fa 
 tilings could be said, and said in a right way. It is easy enough to lyrit 
 prettily about the shortness and the fleetness of time, but not so eas’ 
 to give specific rules how to improve it as it flies; but it is far easier ti 
 ao this, than to confer the disposition, and create the determinatioi 
 to use it to the best possible advantage. A miser will frequently be 
 come iTCalthy— not because he has a great income, but because he save 
 with the utmost care, and spends with the greatest caution. This is i 
 precept taught us in the very morning of life, but generally not learner 
 till late m the evening. “It is a prodigious thing to consider that 
 although amongst all the talents which are committed to our steward- 
 ship, time, upon several accounts, is the most precious; yet there i; 
 not any one of which the generality of men are more profuse and rei 
 garcuess. Hay, it is obvious to observe, that even those persons whc 
 are frugal and thrifty in everything else, are yet extremely prodigal ol 
 their best revenue, time; of which, as Seneca nobly says, 'it is a virtue 
 to be covetous. ’ It is amazing to think how much time may be gained 
 by proper economy. ” 
 
 This is a hard lesson, but it must be learned. “Ad summa preveniet 
 nemo, nisi tempore, quo nihil esse fugacius constat, prudenter utatur.’’ 
 
 The celebrated Earl of Chatham performed an amount of business, 
 even minute, which filled comrnon improvers of time with utter as- 
 tonishment. ^ He knew, not merely the great outlines' of public busk 
 ness, the policy and intrigues of foreign courts, but his eye was oi 
 
^ vj VALU£! OF TIMF. B5 
 
 vGry psyt of tliG British domiiiioiis j Sjnd. sc^^rcGly ^ ni3;n could movGj 
 dthout his knowlGdgG of tho man, and of his objGct. A friond onG 
 ay callGd on him whon promior of England, and found him down 
 n his hands and knoGS playing marblGS with his littlG boy, and 
 laining bittorly that tho roguG would not play fair, gayly adding “that 
 6 must havG boon corruptod by tliG GxamplG of tho hrcnch. dho 
 [iond wisliGd to montion a suspicious-looking stranger, who, for some 
 :me, had taken up lodgings in London. Was he a spy, or merely a 
 rivate gentleman? Pitt went to his drawer, and took out some 
 3 ores of small portraits, and, holding up one which he had selected, 
 sked, “Is that the man ?” “ Yes, the very person. ” “ O ! I have had 
 
 ly eye on him from the moment he stepped on shore. ’ ’ 
 
 All this was accomplished by a rigid observance of time, never 
 altering a moment to pass without pressing it into service. 
 
 No one Avill try to improve his time, unless he first be impressed with 
 be iTecessity. Kemember that, at the very best calculation, we can 
 ave but short time in which to learn all, and do all, that we accom- 
 tlisli in life. There is something melancholy in the following picture, 
 rawn by the great hand of Johnson: — “When we have deducted all 
 hat is absorbed in sleep; all that is inevitably appropriated to the 
 emands of nature, or irresistibly engrossed by the tyranny of custom ; 
 11 that passes in regulating the superficial decorations of fife, or is 
 pven up in the reciprocations of civility to the disposal of others ; all 
 bat is torn from us by the violence of disease; or stolen imperceptibly 
 way by lassitude and languor— we shall find that part of our duration 
 ery sniall, of which we can truly call ourselves masters, or which we 
 an spend wholly at our own choice.” At the beginning of each day, , 
 jee whaJ, and how much you want to accomplish before you sleep, and^ 
 hen at once begin to execute your plans, suffering no time to run wastej 
 )etween planning and acting, j^.t the close of the day be impartial and v 
 borough in reviewing the day, and noting wherein you have failed. 
 Chere is much to be learned from the somewhat humorous account of 
 he Indian Gymnosophists, in their plans for educating their disciples. 
 Che account' is from Apuleius, a Platonic philosopher of the second 
 ;entury. “When their dinner is ready, before it is served up, the 
 nasters inquire of every particular scholar how he has employed his 
 iine since sun-rising: some of them answer, that, having been chosen 
 as arbiters between two persons, they have composed their differences, 
 md made them friends; some that they have been executing the orders 
 )f their parents; and others, that they have either found out some- 
 hing new, by their own application, or learned, from the instructions 
 )f their fellows. But if there happens to be any one among them 
 
BOLTON'S DBBAM. 
 
 8 ^ BOLTON'S DBEAM. 
 
 who cannot make it appear that he has employed the momin p' ■ 
 ^vantage, he is immediately excluded from the company, and ohlfm 
 to work, wble the rest are at dinner.” I shall be Lc4ed, if I hi 
 introduce the dream of the amiable Bolton. If mr younff reade 
 have met with it before,_they will see that it will bear a leviefy. 
 
 Uippmg into Ap^deitis for my afternoon’s amusement, the fore^* 
 mg passage was the last I read, before I fell into a slumber, whit 
 ^ concourse of the fashionable people at the cour 
 end of the town, under the examination of a Gymnosophist, how the 
 their morning. He began with the men. 
 
 Many of them had only risen to dress — to visit— to amuse then 
 selves at the drawmg-room, or coffee-house. 
 
 or walking, been consulting that health s 
 
 Some, froni the time they had got on their own clothes, had bee 
 engaged in seeing others put on theirs — in attending levees — in ei 
 
 itarKorbySiSto 
 
 Some h^ been early out of their beds, because they could nol 
 from their ill luck the preceding evening, rest in them; and whe 
 risen, as they had no spirits, they could not reconcile themselves t 
 any sort of application. 
 
 “Some had not had it in their power to do what was of much con 
 sequence : m the former part of the morning, they wanted to speal 
 
 thwlfrfendf^^'^^^^^’ not be denied t 
 
 “Othere, truly, had been reading, but reading what could mak 
 them neither iviser nor better— what was not worth their remembering 
 or what they should wish to forget. ^ 
 
 “It grieved me to hear so many of eminent rank, both in the sei 
 giving an account of themselves that leveled then 
 With the meanest under their command. 
 
 expressing the fullest confidence thal 
 what they had to say for themselves would be to the philosopher’! 
 entire satisfaction. They had been employed as virtuosi should be- 
 had been exercising their skill in the liberal arts, and encouramnp* thi 
 artists. Medals, pictures, statues had undergone their examination, 
 and been their purchase. They had been inquiring what the literati d 
 France, Germany and Italy, had, of late, published: and they hai 
 bought what suited their respective tastes. ^ 
 
 When it appeared that the completing a Homan series had been 
 
THE THIEVES OF STUDENTS— SLEEP. 
 
 87 
 
 E. V.] 
 
 beir concern who had never read over, in their own language, a Latin 
 istorian; that they who grudged no expense for originals, knew them 
 nly by hearsay, from their worst copies; that the very persons who 
 ad paid so much for the labor of Kysbrack, [an Italian landscape- 
 ainter], upon Sir Andrew’s judgment, would, if they had followed 
 beir own., have paid the same sum for that of Bird’s; that the book- 
 'uyers had not laid out their money on what they ever proposed to 
 ead but on what they had heard commended, and what they wanted 
 0 fit a shelf, and fill a library that only served them for a breakfast- 
 Dom ;— this class of men the sage pronounced the idlest of all idle 
 eople, and doubly blamable, as wasting alike their time and their 
 
 JltUliC. 
 
 “The folly of one sex had so tired the philosopher, that he would 
 utfer no account to be given of the other. It was easy for him to 
 uess how the females must have been employed, where such were 
 be examples in those they were to honor and obey.'''' 
 
 There are certain thieves that hang round a student, and who daily ■ 
 estroy much which might be of great value to him. I will mention 
 ome of these, that you may know when you even hear their footsteps; 
 or hear them you certainly will, and if you have anything of the 
 esires of a student, will often cry out, ‘ ‘ O fures — latrones — O tyrannos 
 rudelissimos quorum consilio mihi unquam periit Hora!” 
 
 1 . Slee^p. 
 
 Nothing is easier than to cultivate the habit of sleep, so that the 
 7stem demands, and will be deranged if the demand be denied, eight 
 r ten hours out of the twenty-four. Physicians usually say that six 
 ours are sufficient for all the purposes of health ; and, were the eyes 
 0 close the moment you reach the pillow, perhaps six hours would be 
 ufficient for the bed. But suppose you allow seven, and rigidly ad- 
 lere to that number as a rule, would you not have much more time 
 ban you now have? Were you faithfully to apply that time to your 
 tudies, which is now occupied by your bed, over and above the seven 
 lOurs, would you not make great advances in almost any department 
 .f study? But the waste of time is not all. The whole system is 
 ►rostrated by indulging the luxury of sleep ; and you are as certainly 
 bsqualified for severe study, after ten hours of sleep, as if you had over- 
 oaded the stomach with food. The body and mind are both 
 vreakened by it. Take,- then, two hours from the sleep of most who 
 all themselves students, and add to it the value of two hours more, 
 aved by increased vigor of mind, by the diminution of sleep, and you 
 lave a decided gain. What shall be said of the practice of sleeping 
 iter dinner? A few words will suffice. If you wish for a duh^ 
 
88 
 
 1ND0LENCE-8L0TB. 
 
 [CH. 
 
 feverish feeling low spirits, prostration of strength, full aching hpa. 
 and a stomach that refuses to work for such a k ^ 
 
 eat hearty dinners, and sleep iZed!l1ytft“^^ The caU w] 
 
 th^ZSZcontiZd^^^ 
 
 2. Indolence. 
 
 Says beZufv T?; ’T’ 
 
 a nays oe a duty. Dr. Fothergill, an eminent Quaker physician savs 
 I endeavor to follow my business, because it is my dkitl rather tha 
 my interest: the latter is inseparable from a just disth&Sf du t 
 
 ^ 3 Shi last place.” ® ^ 
 
 This has frequently and justly been denominated the rust of the soul 
 The habit IS easily acquired; or mther it is a part of om Sy nCr. 
 to be indolent. It grows fast by indulgence, and soon seizes uoon thi 
 soul with the violence and strength of an armed maT ^ 
 
 same“as1t*our'daf ^''^re thi 
 
 same as at our day. Qumdam tempore eripinntur nobis- ousedan 
 
 MghgZlm'lZZ "“*’ tamenestjactura qZ pe, 
 
 o?nvi'^t^?l^® ¥1 that we cannot 
 
 «x^c ‘‘'Ti i"S; \r .fj: 
 
 rlnAr T^y» o vhtt-v-vT-w-v-m ^4? n t 
 
 day, for a number of days, or weeks, to. examine that subject and t( 
 wiite on that point, I could then do something.” But as it ’is wha 
 can you do with such fragments as you gather, here and the'-e bi 
 sitting up late, or robbing your pillow at the dawn of day* Can ’vot 
 do any hing with them? Jfo; you must wait for leisure, Jnd fOTsom 
 great change m your outward circumstances, before you can Lpe tt 
 
 uftZt whl"a •' Madami LTenrtelh 
 
 tn'hZ’Z r m ®°™P^niqn of the Queen of France, it was her duty 
 
 befSe diZr^^^The^p'^fiTf mistress just fifteen minuti 
 
 before dinner These fifteen minutes were saved at every dinner and 
 a volume or two was the result. No change, great an J marked to 
 Xyour general course, is necessary to make new and rich acquisitions- 
 '.only save every moment of time which you now throw away^ml you 
 
OK visiTim. 
 
 
 5. V.] 
 
 Sd 
 
 dll be able to do anything. If I may speak from my own experience, ) 
 
 can testify that very nearly all that I have ever attained, or done , ) 
 ut of the regular routine of my professional duties, has been by taking , 
 lose odd moments which are so easily thrown away. There are little') 
 acancies, in the most crowded periods of every man’s duties, which 
 re thrown away in resting ‘from the great object of pursuit. But 
 iere is no way of resting the mind more effectual, than to have some- 
 tiing on hand to occupy it. The mind is not like a hand-organ, which 
 rears as fast after you have shifted the key, and taken a new tune, as 
 efore. I have a friend, who is most laborious in his profession, and 
 3 active in his duties, that one would think he could never enter his 
 budy; and yet, should he live and labor for the coming ten years, as 
 e has for the last five, he will die with a celebrity, as an author, that 
 dll not be doubtful. He accomplishes it all by improving the frag- 
 lents of time. The well-known Erasmus spent the greater part of his 
 fe in wandering from country to country, chasing promises of patron- 
 ge, which were held out only to deceive. Yet, by an undeviating 
 nd vigilant improvement of those hours which will always remain 
 mid the greatest activity, this poor scholar, compelled by poverty to 
 olicit from the great, continued to write more valuable books than 
 lost men, in like circumstances, would have felt able to read. J ohn- 
 on declares that he will forever stand in the first rank of literary 
 eroes, having transmitted the moFt complete and perfect delineations 
 f the manners of his age. 
 
 4. Visiting. 
 
 There can be no doubt but some of our time should be given to the 
 lultivation of the social affections. But if the visiting be formal and , 
 eremonious, it cannot well be too seldom, or too short. It is fre-, 
 [uently said that the student should visit, and, in the society of thei^ 
 adies, to relax his mind. I could never feel that this is anything 
 ILifferent from an insult to the sex. If you do visit with them, it should, 
 n part, be to be instructive and useful to them, and not to consider 
 hem in the mere light of “parlor ornaments,” with the admiration of 
 vhich it is very pleasant for you to relax your mind after severe study. 
 
 I And how many dinner or evening parties can the student attend 
 iveekly, and yet be a student? Hot any. He who would obtain 
 knowledge, must have his body in the proper condition, his mind in 
 lis room, his attention all his own. You will find many students who 
 ■dsit much; but they are not what we mean by good scholars. But 
 low shall you ever become acquainted with society, and become famil- 
 ar with good manners? I answer, By your vacations. Hearly a 
 
90 
 
 HlJSrTS ON METIiOBB OF STUDY. 
 
 [cs 
 
 pu5Tesfa?;rsJrthlsEen^ 
 
 5. Reading useless hooks. 
 
 7.315“ “cT77t";„’"r “73 
 
 th. ch.j«i o. the &bEi,.7i,h 7"h 7„75 „5i7 l."7oi3'3 
 
 to be resisted by my feeble remonstrance, that “ninltenths of ^ t 
 students m our colleges spend most of their time in readin™el 
 The assertion is not true; but there is too much truth " Tnob 
 mmd and a manly spirit can soon become so much interested in wh 
 
 Stt^^tTf ficSr a 
 
 6. ImjJroper method of study. 
 
 ^ the chapter on Studx 
 
 \ 11 enable you to understand what is meant by study and also to fon 
 hyits 'vh.oh will soon make it pleasant? M^ny 2dents will bS 
 
 preSbed immediate relation to tlfei 
 
 prescrioea course. They are useless or puerile. You may conoiie 
 
 V A gentleman was riding through we of^ou 
 
 large towns when a dog came out and began to bark at the chaise 
 He began to strike at him with his whip^ This only tecreLed th 
 
 i?nX Wnm some ten or a dozen more to his aW 
 
 H now became a serious business. AO doors were on iar and the ol< 
 wmen and children laughing at the contest. What was to be done 
 Was a gentleman to be put down so? No. He descends ties hi 
 h* Tii”P’ actually whips and drives away’ the yelp 
 rn“, ascended his chaise, his laurels bevM 
 
 to wither, as an old lady cried after him, “Why, after all you havi 
 only chased away a dog!” Are there not many such battlerfoS 
 by students who pursue studies that are out of tL way, and whiob^ ii 
 ^ased, are as honorable as the conquest just mentioMd? These ’re- 
 Mks do not apply to anything in the course prescribed for the class 
 Music, painting, drawing, and the like, arl appropriate and Iwv 
 d^irable, m their places; but how many have wasted their time in 
 their pursuit and thus not merely thrown away their opportunities for 
 making solid attainments, but acquired wrong habits, w^ich clung to 
 
V.] 
 
 evils of pbograstination. 
 
 91 
 
 A lifat Tpavp vour flute ut home, and let it be one of the 
 law thing! to cheer you during vacations, and one of the pleasures 
 hich you Meffo in term-time, to avoid temptations. ^ ^ 
 
 T Welose tins hy purming a study wUn the mind ^s wearied. 
 here is danger in mentioning this, lest you mista,ke that restless- 
 >ss and that uneasiness of mind so uniformly attending 
 fp ’ for real weariness. But the mind, as well as the bod^., may be 
 led and eX a horse, in that condition, ought not to be spurred^ 
 
 % inmta Mimrva. Belief and refreshment will be quickly found by 
 mine to some other study. “Post lectione seu stylo Xf^hSm 
 to repugnante natura; sed exercitii genus aliud quiero, quo taediu , 
 
 T studies press us in c^eque-nee of vou ' 
 
 Tt is impossible to have the mmd free and unembarrassed, it you ; 
 ffer vSudies to be driving you. If you defer your lesson to the 
 TV ih moment in which you can possibly get it, you are not your 
 v^^ XstW A man may do a full day’s worl m the afternoon; but! 
 he puts it off till that time, he will be unhappy all the morning,, 
 rer laK in the afternoon,’ and sick in the evening. He who does 
 lything iniaste, no matter what his powers of mind 
 it well If I have fifty miles to ride to-day, I can do it all after 
 inner- but to undertake it would be unwise, and cruel to myself and 
 IV horse. There should be no loitering in the morning, because you 
 m retrieve the loss in the evening. Punctuality m getting your les- 
 i^fs rthe“ first important “It is like packing things m a 
 ox • a ffood paclrer will get in half as much more as a bad one. Th 
 ilmness of mind which it produces is another advantage of punctu- 
 £ A Sderly manja. always in a, hurry. He has no time to 
 2k going elsewhere; and when be gets there 
 
 I is too late for his business, or he must hurry away f® 
 p can finish it. It was a wise maxim of the Duke ot J- 
 
 rx thing at a time.’ Punctuality gives weight to character. 
 Suohamanfias made an appointment; fben I know he will ke^^^^^ 
 
 \nd this ffenerates punctuality in you; for, like other virtues, n 
 iropagates^itself. Appointments indeed, become debts; I "we you 
 )un!toality, if I have made an appointment w^i you, and have no 
 •io-ht to throw awav vo^i^ time, if I do my own.^ ^ 
 
 ^9. We lose time hy leginning flans emd studies which we never com- 
 
 If'the habit of entering upon what is not carried out and completed 
 'le allowed in early life, the evil increases as long as we hve. f^^fi 
 but into my handf a bundle of papers which belonged to one who was 
 
93 
 
 ALWAYS COMPLETE WEAT WE COMMENCE. 
 
 [CH. 
 
 reputed a genius. ‘ Were they worth publishing?” was the auestir 
 Honesty required the answer to be-‘‘No.” ^There was S«r,l I 
 single thing completed. Here was a poem begun • tCe a sS 
 completed; there a calculation oLn eclipse about two Odr 
 finished, with great accuracy and beauty; there^a conZsition co^ 
 menced, or a letter about half finished-evidence sSent th^? 
 TOssessed mind, and even genius; but had he lived, with those* habit 
 
 whhout earring itXr^^^ 
 
 reason or other, cannot finish has bee 
 
 Si voSmi I* not essential that you devot 
 
 a f your time to the point on which you wish to receive or bestow lio-lu 
 bu do something every day, and in time the thin^wm be 
 however formidable it appeal's at the commencement. ^ 
 
 Anv ‘‘*™*on and improvement of our time 
 
 A y one who has never made the trial, is an utter strano-er to th 
 hm^evtf pleasure with which the soul meets her dafly dutiS 
 owevei varies, or however arduous, if they return periodicallv at th 
 same hour There will be a sufficiency of variety Kord Slef aS 
 
 SieeW^h- ^ ^ oom^lete as poSle " 
 
 wheel that turns constantly may move a vast power, if every cos o 
 
 the wheel be right; but if there be one broken here, and another tto-e 
 ® machinery will suffer, and eventually break to pieces So 
 
 suffpr ■1'®™ arrangements of stuk', you vvill 
 
 suiier whenever it be broken in unon The rp^nlf will hi + 
 
 will abandon it and let the ship go as she pleases, and how she pleased 
 
 keep hertirto WeS^^ ana 
 
 make time valuable, beware of low and trifling pursuits' 
 Do nothing of winch you will ever be i^hamed, either here^ oriiere- 
 that one who has your advantages and your respon 
 the*verH*^°'^f^ descending to tricks, or even to trifles? What i 
 the verdict of a world against Hero, who, when Emperor of Rome 
 
 puT Wnif'lff m'""" challenging the fiddlers to beat him? \ro 
 
 us king of Macedonia, spent his time in making lanterns-a ven 
 useful article, but no business for a king. Hercatius, king of Parthia 
 ernployed his time in catching moles, and was one of thf best moW 
 catchers m the kingdom; but does it tell to his credit? Was Biantes 
 
 filiS‘*needles«®*“Tn“tr’ T .'fcrthy ruler, though he was excellent at 
 filing needles? In the tenth century, there was a patriarch in the 
 
fhivolous pursuits. 
 
 93 
 
 ff. T.] 
 
 hurch by the name of Theophylact, who had his time employed m 
 aarint^ horses. He had in his stable above two thousand hunting 
 orsest fed uiion the richest dates, grapes, and tigs, steeped in wines. 
 
 ’o say nothing about the waste of money, does not the voice ot man- 
 ind execrate such an abuse of time, and talents, and station i 
 ,et what is the difference between such a waste of life, and that which 
 30 many young men make, excepting that, in the former case, the 
 esponsibility may be greater? What “disease of labor,” truly! 
 
 By many, much time is wasted in dressing the person. You will 
 ot unfrequently find those who will spend from one hour to two and 
 half every morning in shaving and dressing. What do they accom- 
 lish in life? They usually have smooth chins, and look neat. As for 
 ccomplishing anything good or great, they will never do either. 
 )ress and neatness are highly commendable; but we cannot have our 
 wagons of mahogany, and highly varnished, if we expect to carry 
 eavy loads over mountains with them. i i 
 
 I shall speak of necessity of exercise in another place; but, instead 
 f that exercise which is to refresh and invigorate, how many spend 
 inch of their time in sports, and call them recreations! We may 
 ave sauces to our dinner; but he who should try to live solely upon 
 hem would find himself shortly becoming lean. Taylor calls such 
 iverkons “garments made all of fringes,” neither comfortable nor 
 .ecoming. You are in danger from any recreation which you love 
 inch; for men always give their time freely to what they love. 
 
 He who can make two spires of grass grow where but one greAV 
 .efore is said to bo a benefactor to his species; and I doubt not that 
 le who would show you a method by which you could double or treble 
 he length of your existence on earth, would be a benefactor also. It 
 eems to me that this may be done. ^ ^ 
 
 Locke observes “that we get the idea of time or duration, by refiect- 
 ng on that train of ideas which succeeds one another in our minds; 
 hat for this reason, when we sleep soundly without dreaming, we 
 lave no perception of time, or the length of it, while we sleep ; and 
 hat the moment wherein we leave off to think, till the moment we 
 )egin to think again, seems to have no distance. And so, no doubt, 
 t would to a waking man, if it were possible for him to keep only one 
 fiea in his mind without variation, and the succession of others; and 
 ve see, that one w-ho fixes his thoughts very intptly on one thing, so 
 as to take but little notice of the succession of ideas that pass in his 
 nind, while he has taken up with the earnest contemplation, lets slip 
 3ut of his account a good part of that duration, and thinks the time 
 j^horter ihm it is,” Hence, on this principle, you will notice that life 
 
94 
 
 OUR LIVES 3IEA8UBBD BY OUR THOUGHTS. 
 
 [CH. 
 
 s»;Ve 
 
 being improbable. The tliought is beautiful as „. • 
 
 « possible that some creatures may think half-an-hoimarw' ns J 
 do a thousand years, or look upon that space of duration which^^e cn 
 a minute, as an hour, a week, a month, or a whole im-e ” Tf t 2 i ’ 
 theory be correct, it follows that time will seem lon^or short 
 proportion as our thoughts are quick or slow. HenSe he who d^es , 
 the very morning of life, not unfrequently lives Ion ®er than a noth 1 
 
 nf Koran, it is said that the angel Gabriel took Mahomet oir 
 
 ot his bed one morning, to give him a sKrht nf q 11 fin* 
 
 heavens, in paradise, and in^helh whfch fSe toiS Zk^^® 
 
 view of, and, after having held ninety thousand cWferenc^ with God 
 
 was brought back again to his bed. All this savs thp 
 
 transacted in so small a space of time, 
 
 found his bed still warm, and took up an earthen nitVhpr 
 
 altogether impossible and absurd; but, conversing one dkv^vith f 
 doctor m the law, who had the gift of woS^WnS /h / f 
 told him he would quickly convince him of thefruth of th" ^ 
 the history of Mahlme Jif he woulHolnt to dolvha CToul 
 desire of him Upon this, the sultan was directed to pkcrhiLelf t 
 huge tub of water, which he did accordingly; and as he stood bv fh 
 yb amidst a circle of his great men, the holv man V ' 
 
 head into the water and^draw it up aSn The kinr/ T 
 thrust his head into the water, and at^ the^same time fould hiSelS 
 the foot of a mountain on the sea-shore. The king immediately begur 
 
Ca. V.] TUmisn TALE. 95 
 
 itorage against his doctor for this piece of treachery and witchcraft ; 
 but, at length, knowing it was in vain to be angry, he set himself to 
 think on proper methods for getting a livelihood in this strange coun- 
 try. Accordingly, he applied himself to some people whom he saw at 
 work in a neighboring wood. Those people conducted him to a town 
 that stood at a little distance from the wood, where, after some ad- 
 ventures, he married a woman of great beauty and fortune. He lived 
 with this woman so long, that he had by her seven sons and seven 
 daughters. He was afterward reduced to great want, and forced to 
 think of plying in the streets as a porter, for his livelihood. One day, 
 as he was walking along by the sea-side, being seized with many re- 
 flections upon his former and present state of life, which had raised a 
 fit of devotion in him, he threw off his clotlies, with a design to wash 
 himself, according to the custom of the Mahometans, before he said 
 his pravers. 
 
 “After his first plunge into the sea, he no sooner raised his head 
 above the water, but he found himself standing by the side of the tub, 
 with the great men of his court about him, and the holy man at his 
 side. He immediately upbraided his teacher for having sent him on 
 such a course of adventures, and betrayed him into so long a state of 
 misery and servitude, but was wonderfully surprised when he heard 
 that the state he talked of Avas only a dream and a delusion ; that he 
 had not stirred from the place where he then stood ; that he had only 
 dipped his head into the Avater, and immediately taken it out again. 
 
 “The Mahometan doctor took this occasion of instructing the sultan, 
 that nothing was impossible Avith God; that he, Avith Avhom a thousand 
 years are but as one day, can, if he pleases, make a single day, nay, 
 a single moment, appear to any of his creatures as a thousand years.” 
 
 If life may thus be prolonged, Avhy Avill it not hang henYj upon us, 
 as it does with many now? The reason is this, that he who has a 
 constant stream of useful and valuable thoughts passing through his 
 mind, will enjoy each one of them, Avhile he Avho has feAV thoughts 
 Avill have more passio is in exercise; and the soul soon palls upon being 
 forced to attend only to the passions. ‘ ‘ The latter is like the oAvner 
 of a barren country, that fills his eye with the prospect of naked hills 
 and plains, Avhich produce nothing, either profitable or ornamental; 
 the other beholds a beautiful and spacious landscape, divided into de- 
 lightful gardens, green meadoAvs, fruitful fields, and can scarce cast 
 his eye on a single spot in his possessions, that is not covered Avith 
 some beautiful plant or floAver. ’ ’ 
 
 Some men, while young, rush into open, high-handed sin, and plunge 
 headlong into guilt, Avhich quickly leads them to the slaughter-house. 
 
WASTE OF TIME. 
 
 tcH. 
 
 i^ut the sin. vvhmh. of nil / h , 
 
 except the drudgery spent oLV^o-il lnrl TrL^!!^. f . t 
 
 moments and hom-s sufficient to have made you T h^me^d 
 
 SfS|i«sssps 
 
 satisfy conscience that you have'not time o’fuS theS a^r'tut th 
 oLenSV mn; and I S uThLCSyif iure y™ "S"'!!;™?* “ 
 
 one and no ten things that will so mucYaid you to hnprte vow tim 
 
 ±tl£jS— 
 
 tear aSVli 
 
 lours, and see wherein you have come short of duty and what vou 
 
 oy prayer tens you should have been done. Alas' how manv have 
 squandered this precious gift, and then, when they came to lie on the 
 ^ death, have reproached themselves with a keenness of rebuke 
 which language was too poor to convey! The lofty QueL ElSbeth 
 on her dying bed, cried out, “Millions ohnoney tovLeinX of time'’’ 
 How many such inches had she thrown away! ^The piercing cry came 
 
THE EVENING PARTY. 
 
 CH. VI.] 
 
 too late. “O,” said one, as he lay dying, “call back time again: if, 
 you can caU back time again, then there may be hope for me; but time, 
 is gone!” 
 
 “Where is that thrift, that avarice of time. 
 
 (Blest avarice), which the thought of death inspires? 
 
 O time! than gold more sacred; more a load 
 Than lead to fools; and fools reputed wise. 
 
 What moment granted man without account? 
 
 What vears are squander’d, wisdom’s debt unpaid! 
 
 Haste,‘'haste! he lies in wait, he’s at the door. 
 
 Insidious Death! should his strong hand arrest, 
 
 JSTo composition sets the prisoner free. 
 
 Eternity’s inexorable chain 
 
 Fast binds, and vengeance claims the full arrear. 
 
 On all-important time, through every age, 
 
 Though much and warm the wise have urged, the man | 
 
 Is yet unborn, who duly weighs an hour. 
 
 Who murders time, he crushes in the birth 
 A power ethereal, only not adored. 
 
 VI. 
 
 CONYEESATIOK 
 
 “What a delightful evening we have spent!” said a student to his 
 companion, as thev were returning home from a visit during vacation. 
 
 “Yes, I do not know as 1 ever spent one more agreeably; and yet I 
 cannot tell exactly what it was that rendered it so agreeable. The 
 circle all seemed to be happy, and parted so ; but for myself, I was so 
 taken up with the conversation of that stranger, that I took little no> 
 
 1 tice of what the rest were doing.” 
 
 I • “That was precisely my own case. Without seeming to know it, ha 
 I possesses uncommon powers of conversation.” 
 
 i And this was the whole secret of the pleasures of the evening that 
 I there was one in the circle, who, by nature and education, was fitted 
 to instruct and please by his conversation. 
 
 There are few things more neglected than the cultivation of what we 
 denominate conversational powers ; and yet few which be more sub' 
 servient to bestowing pleasure and advantage. The man who knows 
 precisely how to converse, has an instrument in his possession with 
 which he can do great good, and which will make him welcome in all 
 circles 
 
 Take notice as you are introduced to a stranger. In a short time, 
 
 7 
 
USE IN OBTAINING INFORMATION. 
 
 [ca. 
 
 you find he IS interesting. You are in the stage; you hear him an 
 forget the time, and are surprised at the rapidity with which’ yo 
 appioach the place at which you must part. "V^hat makes hiin 
 powers of conversation. 
 
 The advantage of this mode of commuicating ideas need not b 
 dwelt upon here. It is the method devised by the infinite Creator fo 
 the happiness of man, m all circumstances. It is the most perfec 
 way of giving and receiving instruction. It is simple as are all hi 
 works. We may produce strong, dazzling lights, by chemical combina 
 tions , but the pure light of heaven is the most perfect. We may tickl 
 by artificial drinks, but the pure wLr which God has pro 
 vided for man, in all circumstances, is the most perfect drink Speech 
 between man and man, is the universal medium of transnfitS 
 thought, and it is, by far, the best that can be devised. We now wis 
 to know how we may best cultivate and use this faculty. Every on, 
 feels the importance of this knowledge. If you have a friend Xn 
 you wish to warn, or upon whose mind 3-011 wish to make a deep im 
 pression you know the most perfect way of doing it is witli the tono-ue 
 lou first think over his situation, his prospects and dangers; you tliinl 
 w’p apologies can reasonably be offered ami 
 
 what he wil probably offer for himself; you then tliink of the mot 
 with which to impress him. You then go to him; you try, hTtone 
 and voice, to convince him that you are his friend; wu tell him . ou 
 fears in language chosen and tender, and then yon pour out iou 
 heart upon him just as you had planned beforehand. ^You are per 
 fectly aware that you have used the best and most appropriate nmLm 
 in your power, when you have exhausted your powers of persSn 
 
 “^“e^iairof'dr^^^^ - this 
 
 JpwSl'ii r„.- 
 
 perfectly understands it, why do you go to that friend and hear him 
 comerse, rather than to the book? Because you know that the latter’ 
 method IS not the most interesting and easy way of obtaining informa- 
 t’^p- .You can ask light on particular points; you can state your 
 objections; you can compare with what you already know you^can 
 soon know aU that your informer knows. Varillas has said t/at “Of 
 which he knew he had learned nine from conversation ’’ * 
 
 Make It a matter of study, then, to understand this subject and no^' 
 merely try to free yourself from faults, but to make it an accomplish 
 ment a part of your education. There is scarcely any way by whicl 
 you can gam a stronger hold upon the circles in which you may move 
 
CH. VI.] STUDENT SHOULD CULTIVATE HIS powers: ‘ ‘ 99 
 
 OT in which you may do more good. In conversation all are freeboot- 
 3 rs, and may carry away and appropriate to themselves as much as 
 they can; and there is a vast quantity of thought and informatio]i 
 afloat upon the great mass of intelligent mind, which never has been, 
 and never will be, committed to paper. He who is permitted to draw 
 from this great fountain, can hardly fail of having thought poured upon 
 him sufficient to render him intelligent, even though he should never 
 apen a book. You will see this every day in our cities. There tlie 
 niass of men are too busy and hurried to read. They do not read ; and 
 vet, when you meet a man from the city, you expect to find him an 
 interesting and an intelligent man. If he has long resided there, you 
 will hardl}^ be disappointed. The reason is obvious: he is thrown 
 where all this thought is floating from mind to mind ; where mind is 
 3onstantly coming into contact with mind; and he feels the influence. 
 k light that is hardly seen when standing alone, will, when placed 
 unong others, not only give but receive light. 
 
 This constant, direct contact of mind with mind invariably tends to 
 5often and refine the feelings ; so that, when you hear it said of a man, 
 chat he keeps the best of company, you have no doubt but he is a man 
 3f refinement and politeness. The language which he has been accus- 
 tomed to use has, at least, the appearance of conveying refined thought 
 md feeling, and we insensibly conform our feelings to the dress in 
 which we clothe them. An actor who personifies a king or a hero, 
 md uses his language, frequently feels that he is what he represents ; 
 md, were he never to put off the habits and language, which he rep- 
 resents for a few hours, he would soon use the language of kings as his 
 3wn, and have his feelings correspond. There are two dangers to 
 which people in cities, and to which those who are similarly situated, 
 may be exposed : the one is, that of using the language of kindness and 
 refinement till it becomes a habit, when they do not feel it, and thus 
 make dupes of others, and soon make dupes of themselves. Any hy- 
 pocrisy may be practiced till it no longer seems a borrowed character. 
 A.t any rate, there is danger that, when the forms are greatly studied, 
 the heart, under those forms, is seldom exercised; The other danger 
 is, that the information gathered from conversation alone may be in- 
 sorrect, and yet be esteemed of good authority. 'No information thus 
 acquired can be relied upon. Books are the only correct reporters of 
 facts ; and even they will sometimes invent facts, and imagine history. 
 A man who relies solely upon conversation and society for stocking his 
 mind, will be a very ready man, a very inaccurate man, and conse- 
 quently, incapable of being an accurate judge. He can amuse yon-— 
 
100 
 
 talking upon T1UFLE8. 
 
 [CH. v; 
 
 of things; bntyo, 
 
 commuST f »"\rc.S’Zte over all other classes of th. 
 
 wiiw, i;„ (i,i 
 
 Y™ «,t an ungenerous ^n, if thin 
 
 £PiSiMrre:;tv-“ 
 
 (riL:"" “* “Z"*’ » «&•«» .5~ 
 
SEVERE SPEAKING. 
 
 101 
 
 CH. VI.] 
 
 quently of no other use, in company, than to give countenance to 
 trifling, when they might and ought to be used to give a right direction 
 to the conversation, and rightly influence the excited, interested minds 
 present. There should be a bearing toward usefulness which is sys- 
 tematic. The want of this is a great deficiency. Even Kobert Hall 
 failed here. “Often, indeed, has Mr. Hall lamented this defect: often, 
 as we have been returning from a party, which he kept alive by the 
 brilliancy and variety of his observations, has he said, ‘ Ah, sir, I have 
 again contributed to the loss of an evening, as to everything truly 
 valuable : go home with me, that we may spend, at least, one hour in. 
 a manner which becomes us. ’ ” 
 
 A man given to severe study and thought is in peculiar danger here; 
 for, when he goes into society he drops all study, forgets the train of 
 thought in which he had been engaged, and at once has his spirits, not 
 elastic, merely, but even, at times, highly excited. Then the tempta- 
 tion is to forget that he ought to use his knowledge and talents to 
 instruct and enlighten that circle of friends ; and that if he does not 
 improve the opportunity, he throws all the weight of his character 
 iuto the vote to drive all valuable thoughts and conversation from the 
 room. I do not mean that you are to strive to monopolize the con- 
 versation, to shine and show yourself, and your attainments. Far 
 otherwise. But I mean that you should not waste your time, and the 
 time of those who are kind enough to hear what you have to say, in 
 saying things which might be said and repeated to the end of time, 
 and no human being would be either the wiser or the better. Do 
 nothing Avhich has the appearance of superiority; but he Avho relies 
 upon his “small talk” to render him long useful or agreeable in society, 
 has much mistaken human nature. It may be pleasant and pretty ; 
 but who would thank you to iiiAute him to dine frequently upon cus- 
 tards and ice-creams? If you leaA^e a company without being able to 
 reflect that you are wiser, or have made somebody else wiser, than 
 when you entered it, there is soinething wrong in the case. 
 
 2. Beioare of severe speaking in company. 
 
 Ho matter Avhether the company be large or small, you may be sure 
 that all you say against an absent person will reach him. You have 
 done wrong, and an a^mnger Avill be found. I admire the Avarning 
 which St. Austin is said to have inscribed in the center of his table at 
 Avhich he entertained his friends — 
 
 “Quisquis amat dictis absentem rodere amicum, 
 
 Hanc mensam indignam noverit esse sibi.” 
 
 There is an almost universal propensity in manlcind to slander each 
 
103 
 
 CONSEQ UENGE8 OF DETRACTION. 
 
 [CH. VI. 
 
 other, or, at least, to throw out hints which detract from the good 
 opinion which they suppose may be entertained of their fellows. The 
 detractor cheats himself most egregiously, but never others. He tacitly 
 believes that he is pushing this one, and thrusting that one, ^vith the 
 charitable purpose of keeping the unworthy out of the seat of those 
 who merit the esteem of all. remember to have read in Diodorus 
 Siculus an account of a very active little animal, which, I think, he 
 calls the ichneumon, that makes it the whole business of his life to 
 break the eggs of the .crocodile, which he is always in search after. 
 This instinct is the more remarkable, because the ichneumon never feeds 
 upon the eggs he has broken, nor in any other way finds his account 
 in them. Were it not for the incessant labors of this industrious ani- 
 mal, Egypt, says the historian, would be overrun with crocodiles : for 
 the Egyptians are so far from destroying these pernicious creatures, 
 that they worship them as gods.” 
 
 Do not those who may be denominated detractors of mankind, con- 
 gratulate themselves that they are disinterested, like this little animal, 
 and are really acting the part of benefactors of mankind? They prob- 
 ably deceive themselves so frequently 5 but the deception is only upon 
 themselves. But how do others view them ? The rest of the world • 
 know that if you detract, it is for the same reason that the Tartars are ' 
 eager to kill every man of extraordinary endowments and accomplish- 
 ments, firmly believing that his talents, how great or high soever, and ' 
 what station soever they qualified him to occupy, will, upon his death, 
 become, as a matter of course, the property of the destroyer. Were 
 this theory correct, it would be an apology for those who indulge in 
 severe remarks upon the absent; for in most cases, it would be their 
 only hope of possessing great excellences of character. What you say ‘ 
 in detraction will not merely reach the ear of the individual against ' ' 
 whom it is said, but it will prejudice the circle against him. We love , 
 to be prejudiced against people; and while you may say ten clever 
 things of him, which are forgotten, the two or three which you say . 
 against him will be remernbered. Hor is this all. Such remarks leave ; 
 a sting in your own conscience. You cannot thus speak disparagingly ^ 
 of the absent, without giving conscience the right to call you to an 
 account, and tell you, in language which cannot be misconstrued, you ^ 
 have done wrong, and not as you would be done by. 
 
 Aristophanes was the enemy of Socrates: he slandered him and f 
 abused him, and even wrote a comedy to ridicule him, and especially -3 
 his notions of the doctrine of the immortality of the soul. As Socrates 
 wp present to see the comedy acted upon the stage, and was not at J 
 ^11 moved, it was thought that he did not feel this dastardly tre^i-tment, 3 
 
PHtLOSOPRY OF FLATTmt. 
 
 loa 
 
 Tl.] 
 
 ;But it has been remarked, by an acute observer, that he did feel it 
 I most deeply, though too wise to show it ; for, as he was taking the 
 bowl of poison, and about to drink it oif, as he was entertaining his 
 friends and strengthening his own mind by a conversation on the im- 
 mortality of the soul, he remarked, that he did not believe the most 
 comic genius could blame him for talking on such a subject at such an 
 hour. He probably had his detractor, Aristophanes, in his mind, in 
 making this remark. 
 
 “He that indulges himself in ridiculing the little imperfections and 
 weaknesses of his friend, will, in time, hnd mankind united against 
 him. The man who sees another ridiculed before him, though he may, 
 for the present, concur in the general laugh, yet, in a cool hour, will 
 consider the same trick might be played against himself; but, when 
 there is no sense of this danger, the natural pride of human nature 
 rises against him, who, by general censure, lays claim to general 
 superiority.” Unless you have had your attention particularly called 
 to this subject, you are probably not aware how many of these light 
 arrows are shot at those who are absent. 
 
 An honest fellow was introduced into the most fashionable circle of 
 a country village, and though he was neither learned nor brilliant, yet 
 he passed off very well. But he had one incorrigible fault : he always 
 stayed so as to be the last person who left the room. At length, he 
 was asked, categorically, why he always stayed so long. He replied 
 with great good -nature and simplicity, that “as soon as a man was 
 gone, they all began to talk against him; and, consequently, he thought 
 it always judicious to stay till none were left to slander him.” 
 
 The habit of flattering your friends and acquaintances is pernicious 
 to your own character. It will injure yourself more than others. It 
 is well understood among men, that he who is in the habit of flatter- 
 ! ing, expects to be repaid in the same coin, and that too with compound 
 interest. This is a very different thing from bestowing that encour- 
 agement upon your friend in private which he needs for the purpose of 
 calling forth praiseworthy efforts. Flattery is usually bestowed in 
 public — probably for the purpose of having witnesses, before whom 
 your friend now stands committed, to return what you are now ad- 
 vancing to him. But judicious encouragement AviU always be given in 
 private. If you flatter others, they will feel bound to do so to you; 
 and they certainly will do it. They well know that there is no other 
 way in which they can cancel the obligations which you have imposed 
 upon them; because no compensation but this will be satisfactory. 
 Thus vou hire others to aid you to become your own dupe, and over- 
 estimate your excellences, whatever they may be. For a very obvious 
 
104 
 
 LEVITT. 
 
 [CH. Vd 
 
 re^on, then you will deny yourself the luxury of being flattered 
 And especially do not fish for such pearls. You cannot do it, in i 
 single instance, without having the motive seen thrpugli. You mai 
 wfi'Lt astonished at seeing young men greedily swallow praise, 
 when they could not but know that he who was daubing was insincere 
 It used to be a matter of surprise to me, how it is that we love praise 
 even when we know that we do not deserve it. Johnson, at a sino-le 
 plunge, has found the philosophy of the fact. ‘ ‘ To be flattered, ’ ’ says 
 he, IS grateful, even when we know that our praises are not believed 
 by those who pronounce them; for they prove at least our power, and 
 
 purcliased by the meanness of 
 falsehood The desire of the approbation of others, for their good 
 opinion alone, is said to be the mark of a generous mind. I have no 
 doubt it IS so. Against this desire I am breathing no reproach It is 
 the character ascribed to Garrick by Goldsmith, against which I am 
 warning you. ° 
 
 Of piaise a mere glutton, he swallow’d what cam© 
 And the puff of a dunce, he mistook it for fame; 
 Till, his relish grown callous, almost to disease, ’ 
 Who pepper’d the highest was surest to please. 
 
 But let us be candid, and speak out our mind: 
 
 If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.” 
 
 3. wer indulge in levity upon what is sacred. 
 
 It is nearly impossible to treat any sacred subject with levity, in a 
 mixed company, without greatly wounding the sensibilities of some one 
 It IS no mark of strength of intellect, or of freedom from prejudice or 
 quality, to do it. It shows nothing but a heart tliat sins 
 ^nthout excitement and without temptation. He who can speak 
 ightly of God, his Maker, and his best Friend, or of anythin that 
 pertains to him, Avill always be known to carry a heart that wilf easily 
 yield to a temptation to treat an earthly friend in the same way. You 
 may set it down as a rule to Avhich there are no exceptions, that he 
 who treats religion, or any of the ordinances of his God, with light- 
 ness and irreverence, carries a selfish heart, and is not fit to be your 
 bosom friend. Levity of manner, or matter, in regard to sacred tinners, 
 AVill rum your character, or that of any other man. Hear the testi- 
 mony of one who Avas “unquestionably one of the first preachers— per- 
 haps the very first preacher of his time.” “I set out Avith levity in 
 the pipit. It was above tAvo years before I could get the victory over 
 It, though I strove under sharp piercings of conscience. My plan Avas 
 wrong. I had bad counselors. I thought preaching Avas only enter- 
 ing the pulpit, and letting off a sermon. I talked AAfith a wise and 
 
PROFANE LANG UA GE. 
 
 105 
 
 m. VI. J 
 
 Lious man on the subject. ‘There is nothing,’ said he, ‘like appealing 
 ;0 facts. ’ We sat down and named names. We found men in my 
 iiabit disreputable. This first set my mind right. I saw such a man 
 night sometimes succeed ; but I saw, at the same time, that whoever 
 vould succeed in his general interpretations of Scripture, and would 
 lave his ministry that ‘of a workman that needeth not to be ashamed,’ 
 aust be a laborious man. What can be produced by men who refuse 
 his labor? — a few raw notions, harmless^ perhaps, in themselves, but 
 alse as stated by them.” 
 
 I need hardly allude to the practice of profane language; for 1 have 
 lo expectation that any one who has so far forgotten what self-respect 
 emands — to say nothing about higher claims — as to use such language, 
 rill read a book like this. Such are seldom seen in company as repu- 
 able as a book designed to do them good. But still, some may be 
 xposed to the temptation, who never yet yielded to it. Lord Chester- 
 ield, who is universally quoted as a master in the school of politeness, 
 .eclares that such language is never that of a gentleman. When you 
 .ear any one use profane language, you will not wrong him if you 
 onclude, that this is only one of a nest of vipers which he carries in ( 
 is heart; and although this is the only one which now hisses, yet each, 
 
 1 his turn, is master of the poor wretch who is giving his life-blood to 
 3ed them. 
 
 In France, men frequently hold both civil and ecclesiastical offices, 
 ^n elector, who was also an archbishop, was one day very profane 
 efore a peasant. Seeing the man stare, he asked him at what he was 
 0 much amazed. 
 
 “To hear an archbishop swear,” was the reply. 
 
 ‘ ‘ I swear, ’ ’ said the elector, ‘ ‘ not as an archbishop, but as a prince. ’ ’ 
 
 “But, my lord,” said the peasant, “when the devil gets the prince^ 
 7hat will become of the archbishop?” 
 
 '‘A Persian, humble servant of the sun, 
 
 AVho, though devout, yet bigotry had none, 
 
 Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address, 
 
 "With adjurations every word impress. 
 
 Supposed the man a bishop, or at least — 
 
 God’s name so much upon his lips — a priest. 
 
 Bow’d, at the close, with all his graceful airs. 
 
 And begg’d an interest in his frequent prayers.” 
 
 Every approach to anything like profaneness ought, at once and for- 
 ver, to be banished. If you wish to fit yourself for the dark world, it 
 vill be time enough to learn its language after you have prepared for 
 t by more decent sins, I am happy to say, that an oath is now seldom 
 
106 
 
 TOPICS OF CONVERSATION. 
 
 [CH. VI. 
 
 heard among people who lay any claim to respectability, and that I 
 have not heard one for years, except where I had evidence that it was 
 stimulated, and was borne on breath tainted and poisoned by ardent 
 spirit. Politeness needs not embellishments which belong to spirits 
 accursed ; and truth and sincerity always despise and disdain such 
 auxiliaries. 
 
 4. Be careful in introducing topics of conversation. 
 
 There are some people who move in a sphere so contracted, and the 
 range of their thoughts is in so narrow a circle, that you can anticipate 
 what are to be the topics of conversation, what stories you must hear 
 repeated, and where the circle will return into itself. If you allow 
 yourself to have favorite topics, you will insensibly and surely run into 
 this habit. Nothing can be more tiresome and unwelcome than such a 
 talker. The same round is to be passed over, the same compliments 
 repeated, the same jests broached. To avoid the possibility of this, 
 some writers will advise you to make use of your last reading in con- 
 versation ; and thus you will have topics and a store of information to 
 communicate. The objections to making this a rule, in my mind, are 
 great. It does not seem to me to be honest. Your hearer is led to sup- 
 pose that you are now using information which you have some time or 
 other acquired — that it is a part of your capital, and not that which ' 
 you have just borrowed. Is it fair for a scholar who has just laid down 
 the writings of Aristophanes, to come into company, and talk about ^ 
 “the Crown;” how keen it was; how Socrates winced under it; and 
 how much ground there was for the satire ? Perhaps I have never 
 heard of ‘ ‘ the Crovm’ ’ before, nor have any of the company. Perhaps 
 he had not, two days since. He may inform us of his discovery, and 
 amuse and instruct us with the information ; but if he talks about it as 
 if it were one among the thousand things which he knows, and thus 
 palms it off upon us as if it were a part of his capital, he deceives us, 
 and it is dishonorable to do so. 
 
 Some will go out of their way to harp upon topics which they suppose ' 
 particularly agreeable to you, and thus flatter you by talking upon ' 
 what they suppose you are particularly pleased with ; just as if they 
 were to invite you to dine, and then load your plate with some odd 
 food, of which they supposed you were particularly fond, though they 
 and the company loathed it. It is worse than insulting you, because you 
 have all the mortification of the insult, without the poAver of resenting it. 
 If, for example, a man knows me to be a Calvinist in my religious opin- 
 ion, and spends his breath, every time he meets me, in lauding John 
 Calvin — in praising the Puritans — Avhen I know that, in his heart, he 
 despises both — I do not thank him for taking all this pains to ticlile 
 
CM. VI.] 
 
 TOPICS OF CONVERSATION. 
 
 me. If he sincerely desires information on these, or any other sub- 
 jects with which he supposes me to be acquainted, he does me a kind- 
 ness by giving me the opportunity to communicate what I know; but 
 if the subject be dragged in, and that frequently, few things can be 
 more nauseous. The reproof which was given to one who indulged in 
 this practice was severe, but just. A man supposed his acquaintance 
 particularly fond of conversing about the characters drawn in Scripture, 
 and took every opportunity to bring these upon the tapis. “I affirm,” 
 said he, on one of these occasions, “that this Samson was the strongest 
 man that ever lived, or ever will live.” 
 
 “It is not so,” said he for whose special gratification the subject was 
 introduced — ‘ ‘ it is not so : you yourself are a stronger man than Sam- 
 son. ’ ’ 
 
 “How can that be?” 
 
 “Why you have just lugged him in, by head and shoulders!” 
 
 Conversation is an intellectual feast ; and it cannot be enjoyed if each 
 one m ust have a particular dish by himself ; and to suppose that you 
 cannot eat the same dish that the rest do, is treating you unhand- 
 somely. You do not wish to have a little table spread in the corner for 
 yourself alone^ but to enjoy the feast in common. Remember, then, 
 that the treatment which would be disagreeable to you, will be equally 
 unpleasant to others ; and be careful to avoid a practice very common, 
 but which always gives pain. 
 
 As a topic of conversation, you cannot do better than to introduce 
 yourself as little as possible. We are all in danger of this ; but, probably 
 the danger decreases from youth to old age. “It is a hard and nice 
 subject for a man to speak of himself,” says Cowley; “it grates upon 
 his own heart to say anything of disparagement, and the reader’s ears, 
 to hear anything of praise from him.” It is especially dangerous to 
 speak of yourself, if your circumstances are such that you are, in any 
 way, tempted to ask for aid. A beggar will be relieved, if his wants 
 are real, and known. But if he takes pains to expose his sores, those 
 who would otherwise befriend him, turn away in disgust. Say as little 
 about yourself, your friends, your deeds, as possible ; for if you say any 
 thing, it is supposed to be done for the purpose of challenging admira- 
 tion or pity. A good writer recommends his readers not to talk about 
 themselves, unless they are of some consideration in the world. But 
 this rule is unsafe. For who is there that is not, in his own opinion, 
 of consequence enough to be the subject of conversation? 
 
 If not exceedingly careful, you will be in danger of repeating old 
 jests, as if new, and, perhaps, of appropriating to yourself, as your 
 own, what was said generations before you were born. You have 
 
ios * 
 
 UmiOB ABB wi^. 
 
 [cH. Vi. 
 
 heard, or have read, the hon onot: the circumstance of reading or hear- 
 ing it has escaped your mind, while the jest remains. You repeat it, 
 and will be mortified at some future time, to find in print what, for 
 years, you had supposed your own property, honestly acquired. It is 
 better to pass for a man of plain, common sense, in ordinary conversa- 
 tion, than to attempt to be brilliant or facetious at an expense which 
 you cannot well bear for any length of time. Few can deal in this 
 commodity, without feeling their need of borrowing; and he who is in 
 the habit of borrowing, will soon cease to remember that what he 
 freely uses is not his own. 
 
 ^ While upon this subject, I may say that, if you are tempted to 
 indulge in humor and wit, you are beset in a Aveak and dangerous spot. 
 Wit, and the faculty of producing smart sayings may be cultivated. 
 They are so; and I have known a company thrown into shouts of 
 laughter by sallies and strokes Avhich were taken to be impromptu, but 
 which would have been welcomed Avith coolness, had it been knoAAui 
 that they AA^ere studied and arranged in private. This must always, 
 more or less, be the case Avith smart sayings; and the great talent 
 displayed, is in passing them off as if they Avere the creations of the 
 mornent. There m^e tvA^o special dangers in the indulgence of Avit: the 
 one is, that it is impossible to fiourish a tool so sharp, Avithout Avound- 
 ing others. Strive against it as much as you please, your best jokes 
 and keenest arrews AAfill be spent upon men, and upon living charac- 
 ters. This Avill cause enmities and heart-burnings. Enemies, and 
 bitter enemies, he must have, who tries to be a Avit. And when you 
 hear of a man who “had rather lose a friend than a joke,” you may 
 be sure that he Avill soon cease to be troubled by the otficiousness of 
 friendship. Every man knows that he has peculiarities and Aveaknesses 
 of his own ; but they are a part of his nature : and he cannot, and Avill 
 not, loA^e a man AAdio wounds him through these. These weaknesses are 
 ours ; and though Ave may feel ashamed of them, as Ave are of our 
 “poor relations,” yet Ave do not like to have them ridiculed. We repel 
 the man Avho feels so conscious of superiority, that he may sport Avith 
 the characters of others. He may excite the laugh, and he may be 
 flattered for a Avhile, but it must be among those whom he has tacitly 
 proniised to spare. The second danger of trying to be a Avit, is, that 
 you injure your oAvn mind. Ho one can be a wit Avithout assiduously 
 cultivating peculiar and odd associations of ideas. The thoughts must 
 run in channels unknoAvn to common minds. A strange light must 
 invest everything at Avhich you look ; and the mind soon becomes hab- 
 ituated to eccentric associations. The result Avill be, that the mind 
 ceases to be a Avell balanced instrument of acquiring or communicating 
 
Cfl. VI.] QWTim LATIN AND GREEK. l09 
 
 information. And the man who sets out to be a wit, will probably 
 succeed so far as to be second-rate, and useless for every thing besides. 
 The character of a witling, as drawn by the pen of Gil Bias, is true to 
 the life. “He is, moreover, the most self-conceited man in Spain; 
 though he spent the first sixty years of life in the grossest ignorance, 
 but, in order to become learned, he employed a preceptor, who has 
 taught him to spell in Latin and Greek. Besides, he has got an infin- 
 ite number of good stories by heart, which he has repeated and vouched 
 so often, that, at length, he actually believes them to be true. These 
 he brings into conversation ; and one may say, that his wit shines at 
 the expense of his memory . It is important, also, to remember, that 
 he who says a great many brilliant things, says a vast many that are 
 weak and foolish ; for pearl-divers always find that the waters which 
 yield the most sparkling pearls, yield also the most shells. The best 
 that can be hoped for is, that the few witty things that are said may 
 be retained and repeated, while the Avorthless may be forgotten. 
 
 ‘ ‘ Silva, ’ ’ said one of the archest among them, ‘ ‘ we shall make some- 
 thing of thee, my friend. I perceive thou hast a fund of genius, but 
 dost not know how to use it to advantage. Tiie fear of speaking non- 
 sense hinders thee from talking at a venture; and yet, by this alone, a 
 thousand people now-a-days acquire the reputation of wits. If thou 
 hast a mind to shine, give rein to thy vivacity, and indifferently risk 
 everything that comes uppermost : thy blunders will pass for a noble 
 boldness; and if, after having uttered a thousand impertinences, one 
 witticism escapes thee, the silly things will be forgot, the lucky thought 
 will be remembered, and the .world will conceive a high opinion of thy 
 merit. This is what every man must do who aspires to the reputation 
 of a distinguished wit. ’ ’ 
 
 You will be careful, also, in conversation, not to make any display of 
 knowledge or superior learning. Ho company like to confess that they 
 are ignorant; and Vvdien one makes a parade of his knowledge, it is a 
 silent invitation for them to acknowledge his superiority, and to confess 
 that all the rest are ignorant. Ho invitation could scarcely be more 
 unpleasant. I once knew a student do his utmost to be popular in the 
 social circle, but without success. It was difficult to discover the rea- 
 son ; but a single evening explained the whole. He quoted Latin and 
 talked in Greek, and took great delight in tracing things up to their 
 sources: thus, for example, he took great pains to show the company 
 that the term comedy had somewhat lost its original meaning, for it 
 Avas composed of homo., street, and odo, song, meaning a street- song, 
 which they used to act in a cart, in the streets of the city. This Avas 
 aU true, but the pedantry Avas insufferable. It is no evidence of learn- 
 
lid 
 
 now TO tJ8E ANECDOfES. - 
 
 [Cfl. Vt 
 
 ing, since a single hour spent over Webster’s large dictionary would 
 produce learning enough to torment a circle the whole evening. He 
 who is really a scholar, will make but little noise about it. The half- 
 educated physician, who is constantly afraid that you will suspect him 
 of Ignorance, is the man who uses the hard teclinicalities of the profes- 
 sion, and turns even the precise terms of the pharmacopoeia into bom- 
 bast. It is probably for this reason, also, that pedantry is so odious. 
 If you meet a man who spouts Latin, and bores you with Greek, you 
 may generally pppose that his learning is about as deep as is the 
 courage of the impudent house-dog, who barks loudly whenever you 
 pass his master’s house. If you are among students alone, the case is 
 altered ; but, in mixed companies, the cases are rare in which even a 
 pun or jest is welcomed, if it must come in an unknown tongue. 
 
 In all your conversation, be careful to maintain purity of thought. 
 All approaches toward what is indelicate, will be at once discounte- 
 nanced by all good society. Indeed, you can find none who are pleased 
 ^yith it. The vilest person is displeased with double entendres^ and the 
 like, in company. The reason is obvious. Hone love to have so much 
 disrespect shown them as must be, when you take it for granted that 
 they will be pleased with such conversation. It is a downright in- 1 
 suit to a man of pure mind and pure morals. And never have I known 
 anything but disapprobation expressed and felt, on occasions when 
 things thus improper have been introduced, even by those whose hearts' 
 \yere known to be impure. Hever allow anything to drop from your 
 lips, which you would not be willing to have your sister or your mother 
 hear you say. Your recital of facts, anecdotes, and all that you say 
 for the purpose of enlightening or amusing others, should be pure in 
 language and pure in thought. 
 
 How are anecdotes and stories to be used? They are of great impor- i 
 tance and value, when properly used, and worse than useless when- 
 employed improperly. You have known men, of all professions, who 
 are forever relating anecdotes and telling stories. Their fund seems ; 
 inexhaustible when you first become acquainted with them ; but, on 
 further acquaintance, you will find the stock really limited, and that 
 the- same things are repeated and laughed at many times every year. 
 One is noted as “an old story- teller;” another is remarkable for keep- 
 ing the company in good humor, or in shouts of laughter, by the hour 
 together. And yet these individuals are not, and cannot be, as a gen- 
 eral thing, very highly respected. Ho one would esteem it an enviable 
 point to gain, if he might gain the same distinction. And yet every 
 one is in danger of becoming one of these “hoary buffoons,” if he in- 
 dulges in stories and anecdotes. At the same time, stories and anec- 
 
 
cn. VI.] 
 
 TWO CAUTIONS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 dotes are facts which illustrate important principles, and cannot be 
 well dispensed with. Eow shall you avoid Scylla, and not fall upon 
 Charybdis? I answer, you may and ought to use stories and anecdotes. 
 They are very important ; and you cannot interest, and instruct, and 
 impress without them. You may make abundant use of them; I had 
 almost said you cannot make too much. But there are two important 
 cautions to be given here. 
 
 1. That you use the fact just as it occurred. Do not add, nor take 
 from it in the least, for the sake of embellishing and making it more 
 striking and to the point. You belie history, if you add or diminish 
 aught. Some men cannot repeat a fact in the shape of anecdote, with- 
 out having it so distorted and discolored, that you would hardly know 
 it to be the same thing. The habit is bad ; for you will soon be unable, 
 if it be allowed, to state an interesting fact as it was. 
 
 2. The second caution is, do not tell stories, or repeat anecdotes, for 
 their sake and to amuse by them. Their use is, to illustrate what you 
 are talking or writing about. When they are used otherwise than to 
 illustrate, they are out of their place. 
 
 JN^ever commence a conversation, or pen a paragraph, for the sake 
 of the anecdote which will be brought out by way of illustration. A 
 guide-board is a very convenient thing as you travel a tedious and 
 difficult road; but, though every road ought to have them at its 
 branches and corners, yet what would you say of the man who should 
 lay out and build a road for the sake of its guide-boards? He who is 
 in the habit of investigating subjects by analogy, will be very likely to 
 illustrate them in the way in which they are presented to his own mind. 
 Let your comparisons, figures, and illustrations, all be natural. Were 
 I to see a man building a house, and all at once, as he wanted a stick 
 of timber, easily and naturally take his axe and go out into the woods 
 and cut it and bring it, and put it in its place, my opinion of the man 
 would be raised ; but if he evidently built the house for the purpose of 
 showing that he could do such things, he would fall, and that greatly, 
 in the estimation of all. 
 
 In these remarks I hope I shall not be understood to advise that you 
 be in the habit of tedious minuteness in all your relations of facts and 
 anecdotes. This is intolerable. It is like trying to eat some of our 
 small fish — slow in process; and when you have done, you remember 
 the hones while you forget the meat. A man in haste would not thus 
 dine, if he could well avoid it. 
 
 Keep yom^ conversation clear of envy ; and to do it, the heart must 
 be kept clear. I shall not stoop to write a tirade against this crying 
 sin. But I wiU point to you a noble example. Yirgil and Horace 
 
112 
 
 ENVY TO BE A VOIDED. 
 
 [CH. VI. 
 
 were contemporaries — both poets — both panting after distinction— both 
 patronized by the same hand — both caressed by the same nation — and 
 both living and laboring for an immortality on earth ; and yet they ate 
 at the same table, and, in all their race, were friends. Envy and 
 jealousy never soured their dispositions, never marred their peace. 
 Envy is one of the besetting sins of the student. lie is sensitive, 
 nervous, and longs for the approbation of men. He sees others, by 
 some apparently fortuitous circumstances, prospered, caressed and hon- 
 ored, while he is forgotten, and passed by. What is more natural 
 than that he should feel envy, and should show it in words, in severe, 
 perhaps unjust remarks ? Guard against this temptation. Envy is a 
 demon which invariably dances attendance on men of small minds; 
 and, so far as it is shown, all understand it to be so. 
 
 Be cheerful in all your conversation. It can be made a habit, and 
 will always render you agreeable. We have so many Aveaknesses, so 
 many crosses, and so much that is down-hill in life, that we love to 
 meet a friend that is cheerful. The veriest cripple, and the sourest of 
 men, love to pause and forget themselves, Avhile they listen to the 
 prattle and the cheerful shouts of the group of children. The cultiva- 
 tion of cheerful tones, and a cheerful manner of conversation, Avill add 
 to your own comfort, and also to that of all with whom you associate. 
 The hares of the sensitive CoAvper Avere his evening companions; and 
 he informs us that their cheerfulness and frolicsomeness beguiled his 
 hours of sadness. 
 
 The folloAving are the rules, much abridged, Avhich the judicious 
 Mason gives to the student, m regard to conversation. . 
 
 1. Choose your company for profit, just as you do your books. 
 The best company and the best iDOoks are those Avhich are the most 
 improving and entertaining. If you can neither receive nor bestoAV 
 benefit, leaA^e that company at once. 
 
 2. Study the character of your company. If they are your superiors, 
 ask them questions, and be an attentive hearer ; if your inferiors, do 
 them good. 
 
 3. When the conversation droops, revive it by introducing some 
 topic so general that all can say something upon it. Perhaps it AAfill 
 not be amiss to stock your mind, beforehand, Avith suitable topics. 
 
 4. When anything is said new, valuable, or instructiA^e, enter it in 
 your memorandum -book. Keep all that you can lay your hand on 
 that is Avorth keeping; but reject all trash. 
 
 5. Kever be a cipher in company. Try to please, and you will find 
 something to say that will be acceptable. It is ill manners to be silent. 
 What is trite, if said in an obliging manner, will be better received 
 
a. VI.] 
 
 MASON'S ELEVEN RULES. 
 
 113 
 
 tian entire silence; and a common remark may often lead to some- 
 ibing valuable. Break a dead silence, at any rate, and all will feel 
 
 iSuSy anrclamor. If a point is handled briskly, wait 
 dll you have seen its different sides, and have become master of it. 
 :^hen you may speak to advantage. Never repeat a good thing in the 
 
 '™^Kememher that others see their foibles and mistakes in a light 
 ilferent from what you do: therefore be careful not to oppose or 
 
 nimadvert too freely upon them in company. 
 
 , 8. If the company slander, or are profane, reprove it m words, ir 
 'hat will do; if not, by silence; and if that fails, withdraw. 
 
 ' 9 Do not affect to shine in conversation, as if that were your 
 peculiar excellency, and you were conscious of superior ability. 
 
 10. Bear with much that seems impertinent. It may not appear, so 
 o all, and you may learn something from it. 
 
 11. Be free and easy, and try to make all the rest feel so. In this 
 vay much valuable thought may be drawn out. 
 
 to these I would add, never get out of temper in company. 11 you 
 ire at all ill treated, or affronted, that is not the place to notice it It 
 rou are so unfortunate as to get into dispute with a loud, heated an- 
 tagonist, keep cool— perfectly so. “It is cold steel that cuts, and 
 70U will soon have the best end of the argument. 1 he sympathy and 
 ^espect of the circle will always move toward him who is cool under 
 aro vocation. “If a man has a quarrelsome temper, let him alone 
 the world will soon find him employment. He will soon meet with 
 5 ome one stronger than himself, who would repay him better than you 
 3 an. A man may fight duels all his life, if he is disposed to quarrel. 
 What is usually understood by dispute, 6., something m which the 
 feelings are strongly enlisted, and in which there is strife for victory , 
 ouo-ht never to be admitted into company. The game is too rough 
 Ami discussion, when it approaches that point, should be dropped at 
 
 ^^Fcannot close this chapter without reminding my reader, that the 
 power of communicating our thoughts and feelings by conversation, is 
 one of the greatest blessings bestowed on man. It is a perpetol 
 source of comfort, and may be an instrument of great usefulness. I he 
 tongue is an instrument, also, of vast mischief. It is our chie 
 engme for doing good or mischief. The gift brings a vast responsi- 
 bilitv upon us. The emotions of the soul, when expressed m language, 
 will” always affect others, more or less. If they are rightly affected, 
 good is done; if improperly, evil is the result. You will never pass a 
 
114 
 
 TUB STUDENT'S SUPPER. 
 
 [CH. V] 
 
 rf thrift * ^ heavy responsibility rest upon you for the us 
 
 ot thi. gift. Every word is heard by him who p anted the earn a ^ 
 for every wor^ you are bound over to give an answer at the ^^t ck 
 of ^oount. The student, with a cultivated mind with a tod c 
 ready knowledge, with manners and habits that inakThim welcom 
 wlierever he goes with an influence which cultivation aCys ±“2 
 the student can do much for the good of man, the honor of hi God 
 and for his own future iieace, by the manner in which he uses hi 
 powers of conversation. Ilis words, his tones, will pom deli<^hrint, 
 the soul of friendship; they will form the character ofVe little“nrattle 
 too listens to him ; they will pave his way to high and gloriourscene 
 of usefulness ;-^r they will fall heavy on the ear of affection and wil 
 roll a deep night of sorrow back upon his own soul. Eemember tha 
 every word you utter wings its way to the throne of God and is tc 
 
 be rtcalled^^ind ' tlV- forey-er. Once uttered, it can nevei 
 
 VII. 
 
 POLITENESS AND SDBOEDINATION. 
 
 mo^?at'tef institution were assembled in com- 
 
 mons at tea, at the commencement of a new academical year A new 
 class were thus, for the first time, brought to eat toSr Theh 
 advancement m life and m education was such, that eacE one ouo-ht to 
 As they sat down, one says to his friend at 
 his right. We shall soon see who is who. ” Presently a large brawny 
 hand came reaching along up the table, pushing pait two® or threT 
 and, seizing the brown loaf, m a moment had peeled it of all its crust’ 
 and had again retired with its booty to the owner. “Hold there” 
 
 TeLr- “oT Pf *‘f<^««’„^"here is the justice of such 
 
 a seizure .- O ! I love the crust the best. ” “ Very like • and nerfi/jm 
 
 StThaT/nSunX® the cLver^aSS^d 
 
NATIONAL CliARAOlBRISTlOS. 
 
 115 
 
 m. vn.J 
 
 'that we almost instinctively and almost invariably judge of men by 
 itto appearance-thefr address.. They will notice, too y they 
 
 enter a stage for a journey, the inquiring glance goes eagerly round 
 the circle, and at once, unhesitatingly, and almost mtmtwely; e^h 
 one has made up his mind who are and who are not polite men m the 
 company. In any company, a polite man will be selected as the o e 
 3m all feel tU they Lyet kind of friend and Pfector-one who 
 will neither disregard their rights nor suffer others to do so. When 
 among strangers, at the public table, the politest man is selected to 
 carve, and distribute to the company, because all have confidence m 
 the uprightness and goodness of Ins heart. And such a man ah ays 
 carries, in his very manners, Avhat is better than a letter of commen - 
 tiAn! The letter may deceive, or it may be seen but by few, while 
 his manners will be seen by all. As politeness will not only add to 
 your personal comfort, and the comfort of among whom you move 
 tat will also greatly add to your useMness, I feel that no apolo y is 
 necessary for introducing the subject here. Indeed, I should feel 
 the book was very deficient without it. 
 
 E'ations and communities differ as widely m respect to pohteness, 
 as, perhaps, any one thing. The French are polite to a proverb : but 
 we, as a peUe, seem to be characterized as being a very impohte na- 
 tion I need not stop to vindicate our national character, even if it 
 can be vindicated. But this is certain, that we can lay no claim to be 
 considered in danger of being too polite. I have seen a gentleman in 
 a large circle, in attempting to sit down, supposing a chair stood be- 
 hind him, fall flat on his back. The company all laughed or tittered 
 at his awkward situation, excepting a French gentlemp present, who 
 ran to him, helped him up, hoped it had not hurt him, gave up his 
 own chair, and at once entered into a lively conversation, to make him 
 foro-et the accident. The company all felt rebuked by the pohteness of 
 the°Frenohman: but I doubt whether, had the same accident recurred 
 the next evening, they would not have repeated tne same conduct. 
 Politeness was a habit with him, but with the rest of us it was not a 
 habit. In the same walk in a city, I have inquired at an American store 
 for a place wliioh I wished to find, and received an answer that was 
 hardly civil, and no direction that was of any use. On inquiring at a 
 Frenta store, a few rods distant, the polite owner came out, showed 
 me the street, and even went with me till the house was m sig^- 
 Which of these was the polite man? and at which shop would i be 
 likely to stop and make purchases in future ? Yet it was not this motive 
 that induced the man to be polite. It was his habit. 
 
 Perhaps no class of men are in greater danger of neglecting to culti- 
 
116 
 
 DANGER TO RELIGIOUS STUDENTS. 
 
 [cil. VI 
 
 SH:|=iSE:ssS3M 
 
 a-reitlv to a student, his manners are even tolerable, he is 
 
 family government oldiashionLrwIy mafkeV 
 
 ■^ere originally from humble 
 
 .n^tj£rbuf.r£pa.%^^^^ 
 
 r.s h'e ssi!hr,""‘ ■'■"'■ “£■ 
 
 en in the notion, that no one can cultivate politeness unleq <5 Tip 
 clonms fohtfe!“^''*^ till they are 
 
 Religious young men are even still more exposed to danger Thev 
 
 are looked upon as the promise and the hope^ of the chuX and are 
 
 them 'Tbpv ava ' F a partiality of parents towards 
 
 vpori ' + t/hey are m great danger, consequently, of beino- much more 
 attentions than to bestow theVto ^^“eive or Ten 
 
 acter should Tt^’ou'*^^ *1 upon those whose years and char- 
 
 cter should at once make them forget themselves. There is an im- 
 
nSITim LADIES. 
 
 m. vn.j 
 
 hi 
 
 Pertinence, and sort of smirking manner, about some young men, 
 jvhich is endured only because the kind hope is indulged, that expern 
 mce will correct the evil, and some other hand will deal the rough 
 )lows necessary to bring them to their proper places; just as the tender 
 nother spares her child, in hopes that he will do better as he grows 
 )lder; by which she means, that she hopes others will bestow those 
 corrections which he so richly deserves, but which she cannot inflict. 
 
 [ most sincerely wish that young men of this class, who are thus ex- 
 icting the attentions which old soldiers only deserve, could hear even 
 3ut a part of the severe remarks which are made upon them the 
 noment they have left the company. The evil of which I am speak- 
 ng, and speaking too with the kindest of feelings, would be quickly 
 
 remedied. . ^ -n t.i 
 
 It is frequently supposed, that the vacations of students will enable 
 them to throw off the stiffness of their habits, and to become polite. 
 This ought to be their effect. But if you wnll watch the progress of a 
 student’s life, you will find that there is danger of having a contrary 
 habit formed by vacations. We will suppose you have studied closely 
 and faithfully through the term, have passed the customary examina- 
 tion at its close, and are now prepared to go home. You are weary, 
 worn down, and almost sick. You reach home with a countenance 
 pale, and eyes sunken. Your parents find that, for the last week or 
 two, you have been drooping. Your brothers and sisters dance around 
 you in pure joy. You are now to be a visitor for a short time, are to 
 be nursed and revived, and sent back in good health, and in fine spirits. 
 Every one in the family is to do all for you in his power, to make your 
 visit pleasant and cheering. The walks, the rides, the visits, every- 
 thing, even to the diet, is regulated with a regard to your happiness. 
 What is the result? You are happy, you are gratified; and vacation is 
 delightfal; but I ask you, are you not in danger, by these delightful 
 attentions, of receiving all this as your due, and of expecting it all, 
 without feeling a corresponding obligation to return kindness, and to 
 make others as happy? Are you not in danger of feeling that these kind 
 attentions are something which are the right of the student, and, con- 
 sequently, of expecting them from all men, and of feeling disappointed 
 if you do not receive them? Beware of cherishing the feeling, that 
 i you are not bound to bestow attentions and kindnesses, as well as to 
 i receive them. 
 
 , Some depend on becoming polite men, and gentlemen, from the 
 i fact, that during vacations they visit much, and especially, that they 
 i then associate much with the ladies. With all due respect to their 
 j influence, I must be allowed to say, that every association of the 
 
1 
 
 118 
 
 AMERICAN POLlTENESB. 
 
 [oh. « 
 
 IT-f to do much towar 
 
 forming habits of politeness. It is thought that anything whic 
 intoxicates for a season is pernicious to regular habits of life If th 
 remark is ever true, it probably is in this case. 
 
 The radical notions of the present day, so prevalent in regard t 
 almost every subject and department of life, with how much ^oo 
 soever they may be associated, have certainly a dead influence upo 
 habits ot politeness. He who believes mind and matter to be of equa 
 worth, and that the great tiling necessary to recover a planet whic] 
 has wandered from its orbit, is to put it in a whirl, is not very likeb 
 to be the man who will acknowledge real worth, and pay defereno 
 to genuine merit— much less to be an angel in kindness toward equal 
 and mferiom. But few men are radical in theory; but lest they slmuk 
 be thought too far removed from it, too many sacrifice their politenes, 
 as a peace-otfermg to this divinity. ^ 
 
 Perhaps students in Hew England are in special need of caution ii 
 regard to their manners. The very air we breathe is republican; am 
 nothing IS current among us but pure republicanism. l am proud t( 
 have It so; and may there never be a breeze, which shall pass over the 
 blue hills and the sweet valleys of New England, which shall not giv( 
 breath to men of these principles! But at the same time, while® w« 
 cultivate iron smews, high enterprise, and freedom of thought and 
 teehng, there is no need of downright roughness of manners, or savagf 
 tones of speech. We justly admire the easy, graceful politeness o< 
 our southern brethren. They are always welcomed among us, and 
 make all happy among whom they move. We mav and ought to have 
 more ot their pleasing manners, without sacrificing anything of the 
 New England character, which is truly valuable. From their infanev 
 they exceed us, altogether, m reverence for their parents, deference tc 
 superiors, and urbanity toward their associates. 
 
 _ Professional men are too frequently destitute of real politeness, and 
 m very many cases wofully so. I shall try to account for this shortly. 
 But lest the position should be doubted, look at a few facts. The go^ 
 people ot New York city are in the habit of opening their houses eWy 
 spring, to receive clergymen who may wish to attend the anniversarii^ 
 of the religious societies. A few years since, long and imposing cau- 
 tiqns were published m their papers, guarding the clergymen who 
 might attend against spitting on carpets, and other acts of impoliteness 
 ot a similar nature. Without asking whether such a public reproof 
 was altogether delicate or not, it shows the light in which the pro- 
 tessiqn is viewed by a city population. The offices of lawyers and of 
 physicians can seldom boast of anything that looks toward refinement 
 
!ch. VII.] PLEASURES DERIVED FROM REFINEMENT. 119 
 
 i' 
 
 i unless it be the occupant. And even at the capital at Washington, it 
 jis said that, when Congress adjourns, they leave the halls in a situation 
 (which indicates that almost anything has been there, rather than the 
 I most refined gentlemen of whom our land can boast. The manners of 
 ! professional men, too, are fre(]uently blunt, slovenly, and bocwish. 
 
 ^ The remark is not to be con;6^ned to any one profession. And v\ hy is 
 lit so? Why are not professional men among the most refined and 
 I polite in their manners? I will tell you. Their profession is their 
 character. Upon this they re)^y, and upon this wholly. It is not that 
 they despise dress and politeness, but because they do not give them 
 their real value. An advocate can manage a cause, and make a plea, so 
 that the whole court will bow to his learning and powers. He relies 
 upon this character, and neglects manners, which, it may be, are all 
 that another man has for his support. That physician, whom you see 
 walkino* the streets, would not be tolerated in refined society, with ins 
 present manners, were it not that he stands so high in his profession. 
 And that clergyman, so eccentric, and so uncouth, even at table, Avould 
 be intolerable, were it not that in the pulpit, he can show a powerful, 
 cultivated intellect, and a warm heart. Is not this just as well as if 
 professional men were more particular, and as if every one was a model 
 of politeness? I reply, no. Took a moment at the philosophy of the 
 thing. Every one loves to gaze upon a beautiful picture or a beautiful 
 statue You can gaze for the hundredth time, and at each look receive 
 an emotion of pleasure. This is true of every man, whoever he may 
 be. We aU love to look at what is refined and beautiful; and when 
 the thoughts recur to it, we dwell longer and more intently upon what 
 is graceful and beautiful. The consequence is, that a man, with the 
 same talents and attainments, who is a refined and a polite man, is 
 looked at and remembered with vastly niore pleasure than his equal, 
 who is awkward, uncouth, and impolite in his manners. The French 
 lady who declared that she could not read her ])rayers with any 
 comfort, except from a beautifully printed and elegantly-bound prayer- 
 book, based her remark not upon fancy, but upon true philosophy. If, 
 then, the physician would be remembered with interest, and have his 
 imao’e recalled with pleasure by his feverish, suffering patient, let him 
 be a polite, finished gentleman in all his appearance and demeanor. 
 If the lawyer would have his skiU and his eloquence remembered, let 
 them be associated with manners refined and inviting, and they will be 
 the more often recalled, as they will be associated so intimately with 
 his person If the clergyman would have his instructions take deep 
 hold on the affections of his people, and his visits at their houses hailed 
 
130 
 
 WANT OF POLITENESS NO MARK OF GENIUS. 
 
 I 
 
 [CH. VIL 
 
 with warm greetings, let him cultivate manners that bring no associa- 
 tions connected with his person which are not decidedly pfeasurable. 
 
 Some trample on all the forms of politeness for the purpose of chal- 
 engmg and receiving attentions, especially in public places. But thev 
 greatly mistake human nature. Who does not know that he received 
 and welcomes, and waits upon a polite man, at his own house with 
 much more cheerfulness and alacrity than he does one who has an 
 
 attentions of others, by all means be a man of politeness yourself. 
 
 Some feel that politeness is inconsistent with independent feelino- 
 who cannot but half respect liinself, and cm 
 place but half a confidence in himself, is the man to be* iealous of 
 others, and to demand of them by impudence what he fears they will 
 not yield him without. ‘‘An envious and unsocial mind, too proud to; 
 give pleasure, and too sullen to receive it, always endeavors to hide its 
 malignity from the world and from itself under the plainnesss of simiile 
 honesty, or the dignity of haughty independence. ” You may regard 
 the conTOnience of others, and do all that politeness requires, and wur 
 own independence will be actually strengthened by it. 
 
 Others feel that it is the mark of genius, or of a great mind, to be 
 slovenly in appearance and uncouth in manners. If this be a sure 
 index, the world is certainly in no danger of suffering for the want of' 
 genius and talents. A man may be great and influential in spite of 
 ills manners ; and so can the elephant do wonders with his trunk. The 
 most I’efined lady cannot thread her needle quicker than he can ; but 
 would she be improved by exchanging her hands for his trunk* If 
 genius requires such manners, the Graces should have been hawkers of 
 nsh in the streets, and Genius himself a canal-digger. 
 
 , 1 or talents, can ever excuse a man for neglectino* 
 
 the civilities due from man to man. When Clement XIY. ascended 
 le papal chair, the ambassadors of the several states represented at 
 ins court, waited on his holiness with their congratulations. As they 
 were introduced, and severally bowed, he also bowed, to return the ^ 
 complmient. On this the master of ceremonies told his holiness that 
 he should not have returned their salute. “O, I beg your pardon,” 
 
 11 • ® enough to forget good manners.” " 
 
 Ihe following hints are suggested as worthy of your considera- ' 
 
 1 . T/iat good-humor is essential to politeness. 
 
 Perhaps you think I should have used the term good-nature. But I 
 that seems to be usually confined to a negative character. By o-ood- « 
 humor I mean “the habit of being easily pleased.” The poet hasp 
 
CH. Vii.l good IinMOR NEGE88ARf. I2l 
 
 ibeautifully said, that the art of love ought, on Saturday, to sup at the 
 house of the art of pleasing! that is, if I rightly understand him, the 
 art of pleasing comes next to that of loving. 
 
 “Au nom du Pinde et de Cy there 
 Gentil Bernard est averti 
 Que I’art d’ aimer doit samedi ^ 
 
 Venir souper chez Tart de plaire.’* 
 
 Addison has beautifully illustrated this trait of character in his some- 
 what whimsical description of his walk with his friend Will Honey- 
 comb. It seems that Will had picked up a pebble, which, on account 
 of its shape, he determined to present a friend of his who was gather- 
 ino- such valuable articles. In the mean time he discovered, by the 
 looks of his friend, that he wished to know the time of day. Pulling 
 out his watch, he “told me we had seven minutes, good. We took a 
 turn or two more. When, to my great surprise, I saw him squir 
 away his watch a considerable distance into the Thames, and, with 
 great sedateness in his looks, put up the pebble he had before found, 
 in his fob. As I have naturally an aversion to much speaking, and do 
 not love to be the messenger of ill news, especially when it comes too 
 late to be useful, I left him to be convinced of his mistake in due time, 
 and continued my walk.” 
 
 I trust I have said sufficient, under the head of conversation, to pre- 
 vent my being misunderstood, and to prevent your mistaking good- 
 humor for anything like buffoonery. It must arise from kind feelings 
 within; and a smile must be ready to aid those feelings in expressing 
 I themselves. It may be an encouragement to know that every exercise 
 of these kind feelings will surely increase them; so that what is begun 
 'as a duty, will soon become a pleasure. We all know that outward 
 I expressions of kindness have no value any farther than as they are an 
 I index of the feelings within ; but it is a kind provision of Providence 
 I that even the outward expression of kindness has a tendency to culti- 
 i vate the feelings of good-will. ... • . 
 
 2. That the cultwation of the conscience will increase your poUteness. 
 
 The very spirit of the gospel is, that you love your neighbor as your- 
 self ; and all know that this is true politeness; so that, when you see 
 an impolite man make great pretensions to religion, you give him 
 credit for having probably deceived himself. You may now be able to 
 think of a man who is notorious for being wicked. Look at him, and 
 see if he be not far from being a man of politeness. Look again, and 
 see if his wickedness did not first commence at the point of being 
 impolite toward men; for impudence toward men will almost invaria- 
 
122 
 
 CIHEERFULNE8S ESSENTIAL 
 
 [cfi. vfi 
 
 bly lead to disrespect of God; so that he who begins by throwing asid. 
 kind and proper feelings toward his fellows, will most assuredly eni 
 in despising the commands of his Maker. The best way then ti 
 become a man of politeness, is to begin with the heart, to act on’ thi 
 principle of making every one as happy as in your power, becaus. 
 you would have all others do so to you. No one can act on this prin 
 cipie for any length of time without possessing all the essentials o 
 politeness. You should, therefore, never try to see how much of kind 
 ness you can express, but how much you can feel. Every feeling o: 
 deference toward your Maker; every feeling of contrition before him 
 every season of self-abMement for your sins, will bring you nearer anc 
 nearer that state in which you will hardly fail of being a man of polite 
 ness. If we were made for ourselves alone, and had no other aim but 
 to demand new indulgences from others, we might say nothing aboui 
 the heart. But if you are to love your neighbor as yourself, and i1 
 there be a score, a hundred, or a thousand, who are so situated tha1 
 they are your neighbors, then, as you divide off the happiness whicl 
 you distribute, you will seek but your share; of course, your great 
 object will be to distribute to others. ^ 
 
 3. T/ia^ cheerfulness is essential to a polite man. 
 
 A gloomy melancholy man can never think of much except himself 
 
 He cannot forget so important a personage to attend to you. He 
 may have cause for all his bad feelings, sufficient to excuse him- but 
 you cannot count any of them as being very kindly toward others’ A 
 sick man, as he lies on his bed, will hear the voice of one man as he 
 enters the house, and dread to see him. Why ? Because he knows that 
 he has so long brooded over himself, that he has not a single kind 
 cheerful expression for any one else. Another man enters, and the 
 very sound of his voice cheers him, and the smile and the visit are a 
 reviving cordial. He is a man of cheerful feelings and habits; and 
 having these, he tries to communicate them to others When yon 
 cultivate cheerfulness, then you cultivate, at the same time, the habit 
 ot politeness. There is a keenness, a razor-like irony, about some men, 
 which assumes the air of cheerfulness, but which, in reality is only a 
 genteel way of snarling. Much that is impolite, and really bitter, 
 escapes m this way. 
 
 For the purpose of appearing cheerful, you must really feel so; and 
 to feel cheerful, you must be in good health, m one can feel cheer- 
 tul with a severe tooth-ache upon him, or when turning and tossing 
 under a burning fever. Your health must be good, and kept good by 
 a frugal diet, and a regular course of bodily exercise. It is impossible 
 for the mind to be cheerful and the spirits buoyant without this. Ho 
 
SUBOBDINA TION. 
 
 123 
 
 t. VII.] 
 
 lan ought to undertake to pass himself off in company, or expect to 
 snder limself even tolerably agreeable, for a single 
 las prepared himself by some suitable exercise. The f 
 laoyancy of a hunting party is proverbial: it is owm^ to the fact that 
 iiey &rl all taking an agreeable exercise, without having an object 
 efore them of importance enough to do anything more than baiely 
 Lite them. “There is no real life but cheerful life; therefore vale- 
 idiuarians should be sworn, before they enter into company, not to 
 ly a word of themselves until the meeting breaks up ® 
 
 our body to droop for the want of exercise, so as to sink below the 
 ower of wishing to please and to be pleased. 
 
 The cultivation of friendship will add to your politeness; for so fa 
 •om rendering the heart selfish by giving warm affections to a tew 
 boice friends, it will become more generous toward others He that 
 as no one to love, or to confide m, has little to hope. He wants the 
 idical principle of happiness;” and he who wants this will m vain 
 trive to be a happy man, or to confer happiness upon others 
 
 I shall do geat injustic to my readers, unless I speak on the subject 
 f surEDixAnoN with great plainness. What need be said will not 
 ccupy a long space, especially as I shall pretend to offer no new theory 
 
 "^The mind loves to be free; and so strongly does it disdain confiM- 
 aent, and a relinquishment of its own wishes, that it is not unire- 
 luentlv unwilling to see the necessity for its doing so. 
 
 ‘ ‘ Order is Heaven’s first law. ’ ’ From the earliest dawn of reason to 
 he hour of death, when we reluctantly take the last ^jHer mediciM, 
 ve have to submit our wills, more or less, to the will of others. We 
 annot in childhood see that the motive which induces our parents to 
 av us under restraints, is a regard to our future happiness. H seems 
 o us to be caprice, or, at least, arbitrary dictation. But we learn to 
 aibmit our wills to theirs; and here is the tounc ationof gOTernment 
 ind here coinmences a system of bonds and obligations which a nde 
 m us through life. As we advance in life, we see that the reason of 
 amily-government is not a love of authority, or of an infliction ot 
 lunishment; but it arises from compassion to our ignorance, and a 
 lesire to form our characters for the world in which we are to live and 
 
 As we leave the paternal roof, the laws of the state reach us, and 
 hrow their obligations around us. If we violate them, the laws, to 
 ■vhich all have agreed to abide, take hold of us. The judge is only 
 he mouth of the law, and the magistrate who punishes is only the 
 rand. But it is the law, the naked law, which no one or two can 
 
124 
 
 SUBORDINATION TO PUBLIC LAWS. 
 
 [CH. vr 
 
 alter, which reaches the highest and the lowest of the community wit] 
 entire impartiality, that compels us to bow our wills to its mandates 
 Without this, no community could be safe or prosperous. Life, char 
 acter, and property, would alike be a prey to the wicked, without tin 
 power and majesty of law. 
 
 If you step aside from the laws of the land, and seek for a circle o 
 most yalued friends, where tlie heart may reyel in its freedom, yoi 
 AYill hnd that eyen here there are the nicest of laws, which you mus' 
 obey, (w you are expelled from that circle, and your friends renoun c< 
 }mu. lese l^ws are not the enactments of legislatures or senates, hui 
 they are as well defined and settled as if they were, and their infractior 
 will as surely and as speedily be yisited with punishment as if the 
 magistrate stood with his sword to reyenge their yiolation. The most 
 dehcate and nice laws must be obeyed, if you would haye friends 
 Ihe cords are silk, and the first thread that is broken will brino- retri 
 bution upon you. ^ 
 
 Eyen the loose acquaintance of the street in which you daily walk 
 throws Its laws oyer you, and you must obey them; be civil in yom 
 appearance and manners; return kind salutations and kind looks- oi 
 you lose character and friends also. It would be easy for you to ruin 
 your influence, and almost your character, by a yiolation of these un- 
 written rules. I once saw a student standing under a tree at the 
 corner of the street, sketching a building with his pencil. Another 
 student came sauntering along with his companion, arm in arm As 
 they passed the corner, one says to the other, “Well, well, somethincr 
 IS now to be done!” in a tone which can be conceded, but not ex"^ 
 pressed on paper. The poor limner blushed, crammed his paper into 
 his pocket, and walked away; but the sting of that rudeness will neyer 
 entirely leaye his heart. The form, the gait, the tones of that rude 
 young man, will eyer remain yiyidly before him. W^as there any need' 
 of such rudeness? Were not the laws of good breeding yiolated? 
 
 You cannot expect, then, to go to an acadeniT, a college, or to any; 
 other institution, at which scores and hundreds of vouth are educated 
 without finding laws— laws that are definite, tangible, and which are 
 made to be obeyed, and which must be obeyed, or the character of the 
 institution is gone. 
 
 One of the most useful books that could be written, would be a iiar- 
 ticular and accurate History of College Rebellions and I cannot but 
 hope that some one— and the individual could easily be selected— who 
 IS well qualified, will undertake it. The only danger would be, that 
 the work would be too voluminous. As you open the work, the chap- 
 ters would read soinething like the following;— A brief History of the 
 
;ii. VII.] 
 
 BOOKS ON SUBORDINATION. 
 
 125 
 
 Great Stomach Rehellion; wherein is set forth how a whole class re- 
 used to eat — how they assembled and defied the faculty — their elo- 
 quent speeches reported — how .half the class, including every rebel, 
 vere expelled from college, and went home in disgrace — how many of 
 hem became dissipated, and all of them disappointed the hopes of their 
 parents and their own, and never accomplished anything which endears 
 heir memory to their survivors,” <fec. “A concise History of the 
 Green-pea Rebellion^ which arose because that Avhen the steward ob- 
 tained all the peas which he could, he did not obtain more; and which 
 'esulted in the final expulsion of only sixteen from the college.” “An 
 luthentic History of the Window -hr caking Rehellion; wherein is set 
 iorth the severity of the faculty, inasmuch as they would not commute 
 he punishment of one who broke seven windows in one night, though 
 he class petitioned it ; but, on the contrary, on receiving the vote of 
 me-third of the class, that they would not recite till the said class- 
 nate was restored, proceeded to discipline the third.” “The melan- 
 holy History of the Gunpowder Rehellion; showing the arbitrary 
 proceedings of the faculty in punishing ten of the most promising 
 y^oung men that ever lived, for the trifling, inconsiderate amusement of 
 blowing up five of the out-buildings with ten pounds of powder; with 
 in appendix, containing the votes and speeches of the students, to- 
 gether with their thrilling and soul-harrowing appeal to the public.” 
 
 These are but the mere specimens of the titles of the chapters. The 
 book should be faithfully written ; and if it could be embelished with 
 i portrait or two of the greatest sufferers, in each chapter, it would be 
 i most valuable vade mecum for the student. 
 
 Now, before you ever engage in a rebellion, there are four points of 
 consideration at which I beg you carefully to look : — 
 
 1. That, at such times, the faculty are always acting on right prin- 
 ciples, and the students always on wrong. 
 
 In every contest of the kind, you will remember that you are to act 
 iagainst, and measure strength with men, who have the coolness of age 
 and the wisdom of experience. In your vacations, or at any other 
 time, you would be highly offended at the suggestion that your in- 
 structors are not men of candor, of judgment, and of kind feelings. 
 But you come back, and, at some unexpected turn of affairs, all on a 
 sudden, these men are so changed, that they are neither wise nor 
 prudent, neither just nor humane. How came they to be altered so 
 greatly, and so suddenly? Is it so that i\\ej ham altered? or do you 
 now look at them through the medium of excited passion? You Avill 
 remember that their age will not be likely to permit your teachers to 
 \)e thrown into acts of indiscretion by passion : their character, their 
 
126 
 
 STUDENTS’ CONTESTS. 
 
 [CH. vn 
 
 reputation, their interests, their standing before the commanitv al 
 
 vtn i fairly,^and honorary, and Sdly 
 
 Even it tliey neie all bad men, and had scarcely a particle of mora 
 eehng m exercise, every selfish motive of the human heart forbid' 
 their abusing any power which they may have over you. In a countri 
 like ours, where the very breath of our nostrils is the good oiiinion o 
 the public, and where schools and colleges are so numerous, that eaci 
 has to be very circumspect m order to get its share of students tlu 
 danger is very small indeed, that the hand of oppression will be hkv 
 upon the students. I am not anxious to press this view of the subiect 
 because It is unnecessary. Men cannot be found, intrusted withom 
 high literary institutions, who are capable of being on the wrong sid, 
 ® contest arises between them and the students 
 
 2. The second suggestion is, that, in every rebellion, public senti^ 
 ment will always set against the students. > F c semi 
 
 Multitudes have been disappointed in this respect, and that too 
 most grievously. A great number get excited on some subiect— t 
 subiect about whiclp individually, they would be ashamed to murmur, 
 if they had to do it alone: they have meetings, they talk, they make 
 most thrilling speeches, and work the thing up, till, in the medium 
 through which they are looking, their sufferings are intolerable, and 
 the conduct of the faculty is atrocious. Mever were young men oi 
 such ohpacter and promise p treated before. They pass risolutions 
 heated ni the furnace of passion; they transmit these to their instruct- 
 or^ and then breast themselves in their positions, and, in tones of 
 defiance, ask, in all the spirit of a command, that the faculty meet their 
 wushes The faculty have seen such storms before: secure in their onm 
 upright designs-secure m the confidence of the whole community- 
 they coolly tell their threatening pupils, that they are the party to 
 yield, to submit to law, to acknowledge wrong, and promise to do 
 better. But they will not yield-not tfey. TfeywillSra bi 
 which will shake tne institution to its very foundations. Thev will 
 leave, and ajnieal to the j^bhc. To the public they appeal, in tones 
 loud and high- wrought. The good public hears them; Ld, here and 
 there a very radical newspaper utters a faint echo of sympathy but 
 for the most part, at least in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the 
 good public laughs at the appeal, despises the threatenings, mocks at 
 the idea that these niisguided youths are not lost to any useful nurnose 
 turns and applauds the firmness of the institution, and gathers round 
 It with new confidence. Others now rush to fill their places, reioicing 
 to put themselves under men who have laws and regulations and who 
 will, at any rate, see that these laws are respected and obeyed. 
 
a, vii.] FOLLt OF STUDFNTS^ GONTFSTS. ' 127 
 
 3. The third suggestion is, that, in these cases, the students always 
 
 aiss their aim. , . p .. 
 
 The aim of every rebellion is, to free the students from the exercise 
 •f severe, arbitrary power. But, so far from doing this, the very first 
 aoment you rebel, you place yourself entirely within the grasp of that 
 >ower. While you obey the laws, they are your protection, and no 
 a justice can be done to you; but the very moment that you vidate 
 hem you lie at the mercy of those who execute those laws. You 
 lold your place in your class, and in the institution, entirely by court- 
 isy; and, of all the situations for a noble mind to be placed in, this is 
 he most humiliating. “A great mind disdains to hold anything by 
 ;ourtesy, and therefore never usurps what a lawful claimant may take 
 iway.” Such is the testimony of one whom every student in the 
 vorld reverences. * Do the young men think of this, when they rush 
 nto a rebellion? Like the poor fly attempting to free himself from 
 t web into which he voluntarily thrusts himself, every plunge, and 
 jvery agony of passion, only takes from his strength, and places him 
 nore and more at the mercy of his destroyer. Was a class, or any 
 )art of a class, ever known to better themselves, in any respect, by a 
 ’ebellion? It is a very expensive way of gaining redress; and, what is 
 ivorse, the redress is never gained. A man who has been considered 
 ilmost an oracle to the nation, once contrived a new kind of saw-mill, 
 [t was to go by wind. But for the purpose of having the wind, he 
 Duilt it on the highest hill in the region. There the wind w;as strong 
 ind unfailing. The mill was built, and worked to admiration. But 
 Iiere was one capital defect, after all. The hill teas so high^ and so 
 ^teep, that he coidd never get a log to his mill. It would repay for the 
 ^reat efforts necessary to get up a rebellion in coUege, were there any 
 possible way of making it of any use, when once excited. But this 
 will always be an unanswerable objection to the whole system. 
 
 4. The fourth suggestion is, that a rebellion generally results in the 
 ruin of several members of the institution. 
 
 When an excitement first begins, it is usually among some two or 
 three, who feel that they possess popularity among their fellows, and 
 kvho are conscious that they are none too popular with their instructors. 
 They raise the cry of oppression, and, in order to lead others forward, 
 !at once make two or three plunges, which, they are aware, put their 
 own characters beyond recovery. Their all is now staked, and the 
 more they can draw away with them, the better they will feel; just as 
 ihighwaymen are said to feel that their vocation is honorable in pro- 
 portion to the number of outlaws they can muster. Having once com- 
 mitted themselves, their song is. 
 
i28 ■ RESULTS OF COFfESTS. [cH. vij 
 
 “Rebellion is my theme all day; 
 
 I only wish ’twoiild come 
 
 (As who knows but perhaps it may?) * 
 
 A little nearer home. ’ ’ 
 
 The excitement becoming more general, the great body who fall ii 
 and plunge with the rest, do not stop to ask whether they have a causi 
 that will justify them in so doing; nor do they ask who are the leader 
 in it, nor what will be the results; but they are afraid of losing popu 
 larity by any appearance of reluctance. They cannot stand befon 
 the finger of contempt, which at once points at them, nor endim 
 those names and keen reproaches which are so intolerable to a man o 
 generous spirit, if in any measure deserved. Four-fifths, at least, wh( 
 are drawn into a rebellion, do it from fear of losing their popularity 
 among their fellows. I have known those who could bluster at j 
 public meeting, and talk of trampling the “sheep-skin,” or diploma 
 under foot with contempt, go away to their rooms and weep at th( 
 thought that they were preparing a cup of sorrow for a father, whos< 
 heart was bound up in his son, or were about to dash the hopes of th( 
 fond, widowed mother, who had denied herself all the luxuries, ano 
 many of the comforts of life, for years, that she might educate he:' 
 son. And then, there is an affectation of manly feeling, the show of t 
 spirit that can rise above the loss of hopes and prospects, and dare tc 
 make its own destiny. Few things are more insupportable to th( 
 young man than to have his courage challenged. He will throw him 
 self headlong into a rebellion to show that he is a lad of spirit ant 
 courage. Brave ^youth! he need not pay such a price for what u 
 already acknowledged to be his. Hobody will or does doubt the 
 courage of our young men at our seminaries. Educated as they are. 
 they have a courage wdiich death could not destroy. Why shoulc 
 they commit suicide to prove what needs no proof? 
 
 I beseech my young friends to consider the results of a rebellion! 
 It may not injure him who is now reading these lines. But a rebel 
 lion must and will result in prodigious evils. Seldom does an institu, 
 tion pass through such a scene without having a third, a half, and not 
 unfrequently the whole, of a class expelled, or sent away with such 
 marks of disgrace and disapprobation, that no respectable college will 
 hereafter receive them. The result will be, that the rebellion is pur- 
 chased by the ruin of nearly all those who are sacrificed in the contest. 
 1l ou may take the names of all who have thus violently broke away 
 from college, and you will be surprised to see how few of them ev^ 
 reach eminence, or even respectability, in any profession. It has 
 always been so, and must continue to be so. There are two reasons 
 
3H. VII. 
 
 RESULTS OF CONTESTS. 
 
 m 
 
 svhy it must be so. First, a young man cannot go through a rebelhon, 
 ind he sent from college, without receiving such a shock m the process, 
 iihat it will be next to impossible to recover from it. ]^o sudden 
 3hanges can be otherwise than injurious to the mind. Scarcely any 
 3han«e can be greater than takes place when a student is, in a 
 moment, thrust from the bosom of his college into the world, with a 
 character unformed, and without the power of retrieving his loss. He 
 may laugh at his prospects, talk with contempt about being ‘ ‘ incapaci- 
 tated from admission into every institution of our country,” and writh- 
 ing beneath the indignation of a father, and the weeping reproaches of 
 1 mother ; but when the die is once cast, and he is once thrown out 
 upon the world, and separated from the cheering voices of those who 
 ire in like condemnation with himself, he will find his heart is desolate 
 indeed. Home, the most delightful spot upon earth, can bring no joy 
 bo him. He goes there, and meets the face of the father whose good- 
 ness he has abused, and whose hopes he has blasted , of the mother 
 whose sorrows and anxieties he has repaid by dashing the fond pride 
 of one whose heart’s blood would freely flow for him; of the sisters 
 who used to come around him as their guide, and cheer him on by 
 every means in their power. All is disappointment at home. Does 
 he leave home and turn to his acquaintances? They despise one who 
 would thus throw away the highest advantages, and prefer his will, at 
 the expense of the happiness of his family, and of his own prospects. 
 His soul has been frenzied almost to madness, and the passions have 
 been called up till the reason sunk under them; and now, when the 
 boiling waters subside, and Reason once more looks abroad, she sees 
 what was before a rich and beautiful vale, now desolated and seared 
 by fire. Of all who know him, he can receive sympathy from none, 
 whose sympathy is not a disgrace. He is now in great danger of fly- 
 ino- to stimulants to relieve and drown his troubles, or of sinking down 
 ; in misanthrophy and inactivity. The shock which his whole chaiacter 
 liand plans have received is inconceivably great. The bankruptcy of 
 1 the merchant who falls from profuse wealth even to eating the bread 
 of charity, will not, in any measure, compare with it. Few can ever 
 hope to recover from such a fall. 
 
 The second reason why such young men as are thus sent from col- 
 lege can hardly ever reach respectability, is, that they forever deprive 
 themselves of the very discipline of mind which is absolutely essential 
 to form a distinguished character. I am not wishing to pass a univer- 
 sal censure, nor to say that there may not be, here and there, a rare 
 instance in which the loss has been made up, and the young man has 
 . been saved. These, if the cases do ever occur, are exceptions. But 
 9 
 
130 
 
 MESULfS OF CONTESTS. [cH. Vii 
 
 break off a young man from his studies when he has but just com- 
 menced the discipline of his mind, shut him out from every institution 
 in the land, and let him feel that he has committed an error which can 
 never be retrieved, and where is he to obtain that mental discipline, 
 ^d that thorough education, which are essential to his future success 
 His plans are all broken up; his associates in study are all dissevered 
 from him; his instructors are all taken from him; and his prospect of 
 ever becoming what he once justly hoped, is small indeed. You will 
 never find a man over the age of forty, who was ever engaged in a 
 college rebellion, or who ever saw one, who will not speak of it in 
 terms of the most decided disapprobation. 
 
 Besides, are you acting a generous, manly part? You have volun- 
 tarily placed yourself under the laws of your college, and under the 
 men who administer those laws ; you have promised solemnly to obey 
 them. And now, w"hat shall be said about the honor of a young man 
 who engages in a rebellion, and talks about his “honor, ’’while he is 
 violating that honor which he pledged when he became a member of 
 that institution ? If you feel that you are not dealt with justly and 
 fairly that you are degraded and abused — ask and receive an honora- 
 ble dismission, and go to some other college, where you will be prop- 
 erly treated. But do not plunge yourself, your class-mates, your 
 parents, and the whole circle of friends, into deep trouble and lasting 
 sorrow, with the vain hope of making it clear that you are a young 
 man of honor, nice feelings, or of true courage. Ho one doubts that 
 you possess all these. But vou run too great a hazard when you stake 
 your character, and that of others younger than yourself, wdio will 
 follow you, upon the desperate attempt of dictating conditions to a 
 literary institution. It is thoughtlessness of the consequences, rather 
 than deep depravity, which draws so many into these troubles. If you 
 are such a genius that it must work out of your fingers ends, and your 
 hands cannot keep out of mischief, go home, and employ those hands, 
 in some mechanical business. But do not stay where you are acting a 
 part dishonorable to your own feelings, w^hich will, sooner or later, ^ 
 end in lasting disgrace. Have the hardihood, if it be required, to over- 
 look petty inconveniences and vexations in your present situation, and, 
 while you are a student, stand up in all the strength of an honorable, 
 high-minded man. 
 
 “Os liomini sublime dedit 
 — Coelumque tueri. ” 
 
 That you will meet with many things, in themselves disagreeable, 
 and trying to your habits and your patience, you must expect. The 
 
WHY HXERCLSE IS NEEDED. 
 
 131 
 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 whole season of study is one of unpleasant restraint and of severe dis- 
 cipline. It will cost many sacrifices of feeling to obtain a good educa- 
 tion; but, w^hen once obtained, you will be your own master, will be 
 fit to govern yourself, and will feel amply repaid for all that you en- 
 dure. But if you would respect yourself through life, be free from 
 perpetual mortification, never engage in a college rebellion. 
 
 viir. 
 
 EXEECISE— DIET— ECOl^OMY. 
 
 So much has of late been written on the subject of exercise, that it 
 is in danger of becoming a stale subject, even before it is understood, 
 and long before it is reduced to systematic practice. It must be plain to 
 iny reader, in the very outset, that the whole hopes, prospects, every- 
 thing dear to the student, must depend upon his health. If the powers 
 of the body be palsied or prostrated, or in any way abused, his mind 
 must so far sympathize as to be unfitted for making progress in study. 
 You may let the system run down and lose its tone by neglect, and, 
 for a time, the mind retains its activity, as the fires created by some 
 kinds of fuel, burn brighter and brigher, till they sink away at once. 
 Sometimes, Avhile the poorhouse in which the soul resides is rapidly 
 preparing to fall, the mind is even more active as decay apj)roacKes, 
 and the fires of the soul burn with a more beautiful and intense glow. 
 So it is said, that the ear will frequently become so exquisite, just be- 
 fore dissolution, that it can gather music from the room of death ; the 
 harp is about to be crushed in pieces, but, ere it breaks, it sends forth 
 notes that are sweet beyond expression, till it breathes itself away into 
 ruins. 
 
 In other employments, if health fails, it may be recovered, in many 
 cases, by care and exercise. The business goes on, and the loss of time 
 and property usually do not suffer at once. Xot so with him wdiose all 
 depends upon the constant employment of the mind. Three months’ 
 loss of time, while in college, will blast many fair hopes and bright 
 prospects: it will depress you and perplex you as a scholar, and, prob- 
 ably, have a material influence upon you through the whole of life. 
 You may be poor — you may have had but small advantages heretofore; 
 but above these, by industry and application, you may rise. But, if 
 [your health be gone, you are at once cut off from doing anything by 
 iway of study. The mind cannot and will not accomplish anything, 
 
1 
 
 133 CA UTIO USNES8 NEGESSAB T. [ch. vin. 
 
 unless you have good health. Eesolve, then, at any rate, so far as it 
 depends upon yourself, you will have the mens sana in sano corpore. 
 
 It is frequently the case that the student, as the fields of knowledge 
 open before him in all their boundless extent, feeling strong in the 
 buoyancy and elasticity of youth, and knowing that his character must 
 all depend upon himself, sits down closely to his books, resolved to 
 sto}) for nothing, till his scholarship is fair and high. The first, the 
 second, and the third admonitions, in regard to his health, are un- 
 heeded, till, at last, he can study no longer, and then, too late, he dis- 
 covers that the seeds of death are planted in him. The more prom- 
 ising the student, the higher are his aims, and the stronger are the 
 aspirations of his genius, the greater is the danger. Multitudes of the 
 most promising young men have, within the last few years, found an 
 early grave; — not because they studied too intensely, but because they 
 paid no attention to the body. The beautiful lament which was sung 
 over the gifted White might be repeated every year, and be equally 
 applicable to many who were of equal promise, though their names are 
 ‘ ‘ unknown to song. ’ ' 
 
 “Oh! what a noble heart was here undone, 
 
 When Science self destroy’d her favorite son! 
 
 Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit; 
 
 She sow’d the seeds, but Death has reap’d the fruit. 
 
 ’Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, 
 
 And help’d to plant the wound that laid thee low: 
 
 So the struck eagle, stretch’d upon the plain, 
 
 No more througli rolling clouds to soar again. 
 
 View’d his own feather on the fatal dart, 
 
 And wing’d the shaft that quivered in his heart. 
 
 Keen were his pangs; but keener fnr to feel. 
 
 He nursed the pinion which impell’d the steel ; 
 
 While the same plumage that had warm’d his nest. 
 
 Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.” 
 
 It may no doubt be true, that the man who sits down to study, and 
 gives his whole soul to it, without much, if any, regard to health, may, 
 for a time, improve fast, and mature with great rapidity. He may 
 pass over the ground fast, and appear a prodigy of genius. But it is 
 almost certain that such a one is soon to reach the limits of his attain- 
 ments, and, if he does not speedily find his grave, will soon be too 
 feeble to do anything but drag out a discouraging existence. For one, 
 I do not feel that it is so very desirable to mature the mind as early as 
 some strive to do ; and, perhaps we labor under a great mistake, on 
 this point, in this country. Our country is a youth, and nothing but 
 what is elastic and youthful is in fashion. Our legislators, our pro- 
 fessional men, must all be young to be popular. The stars are to be 
 
m.Yiu.] STUDY MV 8T ENDANGER HEALTH. 133 
 
 ooked at only while they are rising. A man of fifty is considered ak 
 nost superannuated, with us. Such is the fashion. It is not so in 
 other countries. Even La Fayette would not have been considered fit 
 ]0 stand at the head of a great national army, in times of revolution 
 n this country, after he was eighty. In England, the throne is usually 
 }urrounded by a galaxy of talent which is the admiration of the world. 
 A"e they men who matured in boyhood, and whose education w^as 
 jompleted at twenty-five? Ear from it. They are usually old men, 
 jv'hose minds have been slow in becoming mature, whose judgment has 
 3 een made sound by reading, by thought, by observation, and by 
 ,rears. I make these remarks, because I would have our young men 
 reel that the business of study is for life ; and that, instead of trying 
 h do all that can be done in a very short time, they should lay their 
 ilans, and make their calculations to live long, and for many years be 
 mproving and ripening for usefulness. 
 
 It is impossible for any man to be a student without endangering his 
 lealth. Man was made to be active. The hunter, who roams through 
 ihe forest, or climbs the rocks of the Alps, is the man Avho is hardy, 
 |nd in the most perfect health. The sailor who has been rocked by a 
 thousand storms, and who labors day and night, is a hardy man, un- 
 iiess dissipation has broken his constitution. Any man of active habits 
 s likely to enjoy good health, if he does not too frequently over exert 
 l^mself. But the student’s habits are all unnatural; and by them na- 
 ture is continually cramped and restrained. “Men err in nothing more 
 :han in the estimate which they make of human labor. The hero of 
 iihe world is the man that makes a bustle — the man that makes the 
 road smoke under his chaise- and four — the man that raises a dust about 
 5im — the man that ravages or devastates empires! — But what is the 
 real labor of this man, compared with that of a silent sufferer 1 He 
 lives on his projects ; he encounters, perhaps, rough roads, incom- 
 modious inns, bad food, storms and perils, weary daj^s and sleepless 
 nights; — but what are these? His project, his point, the thing that 
 Ihas laid hold on his heart, glory, a name, consequence, pleasure, wealth 
 I —these render the man callous to the pains and efforts of the body. I 
 have been in both states, and therefore understand them : and I know 
 that men form this false estimate. Besides, there is sometliing in 
 bustle, and stir, and activity, that supports itself. At one period, I 
 preached and read five times on a Sunday, and rode sixteen miles. 
 But what did it cost me? Hothing! Yet most men would have looked 
 on, while I was rattling from village to village, with all the dogs bark- 
 ing at my heels, and would have called me a hero ; whereas, if they 
 ^vere to look at me now, they would caU me an idle, lounging feUow,” 
 
134 
 
 EXERCISE. 
 
 
 y 
 
 [CH. VIII. 
 
 ‘ ‘ He gets into his study — he walks from end to end — he scribbles on a 
 scrap of paper — he throws it away, and scribbles on another — he sits 
 down — scribbles again — walks about!” The man cannot see that here 
 is an exhaustion of the spirit which, at night, will leave me worn tc 
 the extremity of endurance. He cannot see the numberless efforts o1 
 mind, which are crossed and stifled, and recoil on the spirits like the 
 fruitless efforts of a traveler to get firm footing among the ashes or 
 the steep sides of Mount Etna. 
 
 There can be no room for doubt, in the mind of an attentive 
 observer, that one cause why so many of our promising young mer 
 sink into a premature grave, is, that they try to do so much in so shorl 
 a time. By this I mean, that they feel that the great work of discip 
 lining and stocking the mind must be done before the age of twenty 
 five. Whoever embraces this notion, must, at once, abandon the idej 
 of ever excelling, or else he must sit down to his books with an inten 
 sity of apphcation that cannot but endanger life. 
 
 There are several difficulties in the way of your taking regular, vig 
 orous exercise. 
 
 1. You do not now feel the necessity of it. 
 
 We take no medicine till necessity compels us; and exercise to tin 
 student is a constant medicine. You are now young; you feel bouy 
 ant, have a good appetite, have strength, fine health, and fine spirits 
 Time flies on downy wings. Why should you teach yourself to be ; 
 slave to exercise, and bring yourself into habits which would compe 
 you, every day, to take exercise? It seems like fittiug yourself with i 
 pair of heavy crutches, when you have as good legs to walk with a: 
 ever carried an emperor. Let those who are in danger of the gout, o; 
 of falling victims to disordered stomachs, begin the regimen ; but fo: 
 yourself you do not feel your need. Ho, nor will you feel it, till yo- 
 are probably so far gone, that exercise cannot recover you. On thi' 
 point, you must take the testimony of the multitudes who have goir 
 over the ground on which you now stand, and who understand it all 
 They will tell you, that it is not at your option whether you will tak' 
 exercise or not ; you must take exercise, or you are lost to all you] 
 hopes and all your prospects. 
 
 k You feel pressed for time^ and therefore ca/unot take exercise. 
 
 Your hours of reciting are all marked out. The bell Avill ring at th( 
 moment, and, prepared or not, you must be at recitation. You hav( 
 such a pressure of studies — perhaps labor under some peculiar disad 
 vantages — and so many extra efforts to make out of the regular stud] 
 hours, that you really cannot find time to exercise. Let me tell yoi 
 that you miscalculate on one important point. If you will try the plai 
 
EXEMCISE. 
 
 105 
 
 ;s. vin.] 
 
 )t’ taking regular, vigorous exercise every day for a single term, you 
 p^ill find that you can perform the same duties, and the same amount 
 l)f study much easier than without the exercise. The difference will 
 oe astonishing to yourself. The time spent in thus invigorating the 
 jystem will be made up, many times over, in the ease and comfort with 
 vhich your mind takes hold of study. 
 
 3. You do not feel interested in your exercise^ and therefore do not 
 
 *dke it. ^ 1 -n 1 
 
 Many schemes have been devised, by which the student will take 
 regular exercise, and, at the same time, be interested in it. The man- 
 ia! labor system has been greatly extolled. The gymnastic system was 
 ao less so. In the latter, 1 have never had any confidence; aud though 
 [would not speak decidedly against tht; former, inasmuch as it niay, in 
 3 ertain cases, do good, yet I must say that I do not believe it will pre- 
 vail, in our systems of education, to any great extent. The system 
 must stand, if at all, by appealing to the selfishness or wants of the 
 student, and telling him that in this way he can earn money. But this 
 will not be true in all cases, and probably not in a majority of in- 
 stances. But there seems to me one great objection to it ; and that is, 
 it is too monotonous. When you lay aside your books, you want 
 something to do which will not merely relax the mind from the fatigue 
 of study, but which will also tend to enliven it, and render it cheerful. 
 The monotony of the work-shop will hardly do this. Judging from 
 experience, I decidedly prefer walking to all other exercise for the 
 student. Buchan urges it as the best possible exercise, as it calls more 
 muscles into motion than any other which is not positively painful. 
 The advantages of this mode of exercise are, that it is simple. The 
 apparatus is all at hand complete. You need not wait for any impor- 
 tation of machinery. It is in the open air, sO'- that the lungs can, at 
 once, receive the pure air of heaven, and the eye gaze upon hill and 
 dale, upon trees and flowers, upon objects animate and inanimate. The 
 very objects of sight and sound cheer and enliven the mind, and raise 
 the spirits. The noise of the hammer or saw, the waUs of the shop, 
 and the whole interior of the workshop, have a very different effect 
 upon the feelings and spirits. If any one is sceptical on this point, a 
 few months’ trial in the two places will remove all doubt. Another 
 advantage of walking is, that you can have a friend to walk with, and 
 unbend the mind, and cheer the spirits, by pleasant conversation. 
 This is a point of great consequence ; and it can be attained only in 
 walking. You hear the same sounds, you see the same objects, you 
 relieve the way and the fatigues of exercise, by conversation. For 
 this reason, you should calculate, in most cases, to have company in 
 
136 
 
 EKEnClSE. 
 
 [cfl. vul 
 
 your walks. Once try tlie method of walking with a friend regular^j 
 for a few weeks, and you will be surprised at the results. On thos 
 afternoons in which study is not required, be sure and take long walks 
 and lay up health for days to coine._ I once knew two studeats wb 
 invigorated their constitutions astonishingly by this simple process 
 During one summer, they walked over two hundred miles in company 
 counting no walk which was under five miles. In a short time, yoi 
 will feel so much at home in the exercise, that you will not inquir 
 what weather it is, but, Has the hour for walking arrived? 
 
 4. The habits of the student make any bodily exertions fatigumg 
 and therefore you neglect exercise. ' 
 
 There is no need of going into the physician’s department, ami 
 assigning the reasons, why, by disuse, the body soon comes to a statj 
 in which we feel it a burden to make exertions. The fact is unquel 
 tionable. You may go to your books, and shut yourself up in you 
 room for weeks almost constantly, and the idea of walking two o 
 three miles will almost fatigue you of itself. The muscles, the joints 
 the Vhole house reluctates at the thought of moving. The limbs wil 
 ache in a few moments, and the will has not the power to enforci 
 obedience. Every day you put off the habit of exercise, the difficulty 
 becomes greater; so that he who has not regular times for taking exei* 
 cise, will soon cease to take any. Nothing can make it pleasant, oi 
 even tolerable, but the constant practice of it. You cannot snatdi 
 it here and there and find it an amusement, as you can take up a news, 
 paper; for it will be a burden. Many have, now and then, taken wha; 
 they call “a dish of exercise;” and when over, they felt worse thai 
 when they took none; indeed, it came near making them sick; and ^ 
 they sagely conclude that exercise does not agree with them. Lik( 
 the Indian, with a single feather under his head on the rock, am 
 which made him wonder how any one could sleep on a whole bed q: 
 feathers, they wonder what they do who exercise daily. Exercise i 
 pleasant or otherwise, not in proportion to its being light or heavy, bn 
 to its regularity. The habits of the mind, and more especially those oi 
 the body, will forever forbid your enjoying the luxuries and'the bene 
 fits of it, unless it be regular. Keep this in mind, and it will probably 
 account for much of the unwillingness which you may now feel 
 taking exercise. 
 
 Exercise, then, to be a blessing to you, must be qualified by the fol 
 lowing rules : — 
 
 (a). It must be regular and daily. 
 
 Nature has planted hunger within us, so that we shall daily briu| 
 supplies, jo meet the wastes of the body. But, without exercise, tin 
 
EXERCISE. 
 
 137 
 
 r 
 
 a, viii.j 
 
 ^tem has not the power to appropriate these supphes, reduce 
 lem so that they become nutriment. Be as regular in tahing ex- 
 S as yoa are in taking your food. There can be no good excuse, 
 
 } lon^ afyou have feet, which, in a few moments, will give you the 
 est of exercise. 
 
 (M. It should be pleasant and agreeable. m,! it 
 
 The tread-mill would afford regular and powerful eprcise, but it 
 rould be intolerably irksome. It might give yon iron sinews, but the 
 3ul would be gloomy and cheerless. It is of the first importance, 
 kat you take pleasure in the exercise. Walking is good, but »ot ff 
 ou must walk in a bark-mill. Biding is good, but not— if jou bad 
 0 ride a wooden horse, or a trip-hammer. Be sure and cultivate 
 heerfulness during your hour of exercise. “Writers of every age have 
 ndeavored to show that pleasure is in us, and not in the objects 
 flered for our amusement. If the soul be happily disposed, everything 
 ©comes a subject of entertainment, and distress will almost want a 
 lame Every occurrence passes in review like the figures of a proces- 
 ion: some may be awkward, others ill-dressed; but^ none but a fool is 
 or this enraged with the master of the ceremonies. 
 
 (c ^ It should relax the mind. 
 
 Wilosophy can teach us to be stubborn or sullen when misfortunes 
 ome- anLeligion can enable us to bear them with resignation; but 
 o a man whose health and spirits are good, thejr never come with their 
 ull power. We should aim to keep both the mind and body in sucl a 
 'ondition, that our present circumstances are plea,sant, and the future 
 ire undreaded. But this cannot be done if the mind be always keyed 
 in like the strings of the musical instrument. The mind that attains 
 ,he habit of throwing off study and anxieW, and relaxing itself at 
 ince, has obtained a treasure. It was this that gave the famous Ca,i- 
 linal De Betz his power over his circumstances, and which could enable 
 lim to smile at his destiny. When fallen into the hands of bis dead- 
 iest enemy, and confined a close prisoner, he laughed at himself and 
 it his nerskutor. ‘ ‘ In this mansion of distress, though secluded from 
 lis friends, though denied aU amusements, and even the conveniences 
 ff hfe teased eWy hour by the impertinences of the wretches who 
 were employed to guard him, he stiU retained his good-humor, laughed 
 It irtheir Lie sp!te, and carried the jest so far as to be revenged by 
 writing the life of his jailer. ” ^ 
 
 (d 1 It should be increased at convenient seasons. 
 
 reaLr wiU understand by this, that I mean, he should improve 
 bis Lations to recover from the fatigue of the past, and gather 
 length and health for the future. At a very trifimg expense, two 
 
188 
 
 EXERCISE. 
 
 [CH. Yii 
 
 young men can set off on foot, and, while they are at entire leisure 
 can perform a long journey, see a great variety of new objects an( 
 curiosities, become acquainted with a variety of character, have thei 
 spirits raised, the tone of the whole system regulated, and all this during 
 each vacation. I would urge this, because it is naturally impossible fo 
 a student to live long, without some such course. All professional mei 
 Tmust have the relaxation of traveling. Lawyers have more or less o 
 ^it, in attending courts. Physicians are constantly moving ; and clergy 
 |men .must take a journey almost every season, or they sink into th< 
 grave. I have heard, now and then, a severe and captious remark oi 
 'this point. Must professional men, and especially clergymen, ever^ 
 /year or two, take this expensive journey? Farmers and mechanics d< 
 not. True; but they would be compelled to do it, if they used theii 
 minds, and that to the necessary neglect of the body. But did noi 
 Paul preach continually, labor vastly more than we do, and yet Ym 
 to old age, without relaxation? I answer, no. Far from it. In th( 
 first place, he traveled almost the whole of the time while preachino* 
 sometimes by land, and then again, a passenger on the water; but 
 most of the time on some journey. His circuit lay round Jerusalem, 
 the diameter being about a thousand miles. In the second place- 
 Providence so ordered it, that he was, every now and then, taken ofi 
 from his labors, and shut up in prisons. Here he had no despondine 
 feelings, for his rehgion supported him ; here his friends visited him ! 
 and here, necessarily, he relaxed and rested, long enough to recoveii 
 from the wearing of preaching, and yet not long enough to sicken fol 
 the want of exercise. 
 
 I should be sorry to have my remarks construed as tending to dis- 
 countenance any manual labor by which the student or the professiofla] 
 man may benefit himself. Many illustrious men have alternately fol 
 lowed the plough, harangued in the forum, commanded armies, and 
 bent over their books. The patriarchs and the distinguished son oi 
 Jesse were shepherds, as were Moses and some of the prophets. Paul, 
 though no mean scholar, was a tent-maker. Cleanthes was a garden! 
 er’s laborer, and used to draw water and spread it on his garden in 
 the night, that he might have time to study during the day. He was 
 the successor of Zeno, ^sop and Terence, whose names will live 
 while language lives, were slaves. Caesar, as every student knows, 
 studied in the carnp, swam rivers holding his writings out of the water 
 in one hand ; while his clothing was spun and woven by his sisters. 
 Mahomet “made his own fires, swept his own house, milked his ewes, 
 and mended his shoes and pantaloons, with his own sacred hand.” 
 Charlemagne, great in war, and greater in peace, filled his palace with 
 
EXERGISl^. 
 
 13d 
 
 CH. VlIl. J 
 
 'learned men, founded schools and academies through his dominions, 
 and yet was so industrious that he could frame laws even to the sell- 
 in o- of eggs. Of Gustavus Yasa it is said, “a better laborer never 
 struck steel.” It is by no means certain that these men would ever 
 have been as distinguished for mental excellence, had they not en- 
 dured all these fatigues of the body. If you can feel as cheerful and 
 happy in the garden, the field, or the workshop, as you can while 
 walking with a companion, it is altogether to be preferred to walking. 
 But that regular daily exercise which is most pleasant to you is that 
 which, of all others, will be the most beneficial. 
 
 Permit me to say, in a word, that no student is doing justice to him- 
 self, to his friends, or to the world, without being in the habit of a 
 uniform system of exercise ; and that for the following reasons : — 
 
 1. Your life will probably be prolonged by it. 
 
 It is little less than suicide to neglect to do that, without the doing 
 of which you are almost sure to shorten your days. The Creator has 
 not so formed the body, that it can endure to be confined, without 
 exercise, while the mind burns and wears upon its energies and powers 
 every moment. 
 
 2. You will enjoy more with than without exercise. This remark is 
 to be applied only to those who exercise daily ; and to such it does 
 apply with great force. Every one who is in this habit will bear ample 
 and most decided testimony to this point. 
 
 3. You add to the enjoyment of others. 
 
 A cheerful companion 'is a treasure ; and all will gather around you 
 as such, if you are faithful to yourself; for exercise will make you 
 cheerful, and cheerfulness will make friends. 
 
 4. Your mind will be strengthened by exercise. 
 
 Were you wishing to cultivate a morbid, sickly taste, which will, 
 now and then, breathe out some beautiful poetical image, or thought, 
 like the spirit of some most refined essence, too delicate to be handled 
 or used in this matter-of fact world, and too ethereal to be enjoyed, 
 except by those of like palate, you should shut yourself up in your 
 room for a few years, till your nerves only continue to act, and., the 
 world floats before you as a dream. But if you wish for a mind that 
 can fearlessly dive into what is deep, soar to what is high, grasp and 
 hold what is strong, and move and act among minds conscious of its 
 strength, firm, resolved, manly in its aims and purposes, be sure to be 
 regular in taking daily exercise. • 
 
 “ We consist of two parts, of two very different parts : the one inert, 
 passive, utterly incapable of directing itself, barely ministerial to the 
 other, moved, animated by it. When our body has its full health and 
 
140 
 
 bisf. 
 
 tcfl. Tifl 
 
 strength, the mind is So far assisted thereby, that it can bear a close 
 pd longer application; our apprehension is readier; our imaginatioi 
 isipeher; we can better enlarge our compass of thought; we can ex 
 amine our perceptions more strictly, and compare them more exactly 
 by which means we are enabled to form a truer judgment of thino« 
 to remove more effectually the mistakes into which we have been lee 
 by a wrong education, by passion, inattention, custom, example • te 
 have a clearer view of what is best for us, of what is most for our in 
 terest, and thence determine ourselves more readily to its pursuit and 
 persist therein with greater resolution and steadiness.” 
 
 In regard to Diet, no class of men are more apt to go from one ex- 
 treme to another than students. You will see one, to5ay, swallowino 
 hot bread and cold, meats and vegetables, and what ever else may 
 tairly come m his way. He takes more food into the stomach than it 
 can manage, feels sick, and takes to a rigid system of dieting, which 
 lasts till he gets well. He hears of such a distinguished man who 
 uses no meat, and he inust, from his success in study, be considered 
 right. Another uses milk only, and has become a great man; and 
 therefore the milk diet must be the best. He dies from one thino- to 
 another, is capricious and variable, usually for two good reasons— first 
 he exercises so little, or so irregularly, that no kind of food can sit 
 kindly upon his stomach; and, secondly, his appetite demands more iii 
 quantity than a sedentary man should eat. Hence the student has no 
 confidence in his own judgment or experience, and thus frequently 
 presents a ludicrous picture of inconstancy. He is really a dyspeptic 
 and has a weight upon him, which, with his habits, must be Heavier 
 and heavier, till he cannot support it. “Propter stomachuin, homo est 
 quod est, is a maxim which carries too much of truth in its very face 
 at this day. The calls of appetite are listened to till the appetite be- 
 comes morbid, the stomach oppressed for weeks ; and then the sihrits 
 sink, resolution droops, and nothing can now give a start to the clogo*ed' 
 machinery but the prescriptions of the physician. When vou Sve 
 conie regularly under the influence of medicine, and must rely upor 
 that to do for you what diet and exercise should have done loiiff ao’o, 
 you are far down the hill. ^ ” 
 
 ‘The first physicians by debauch were made; 
 Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade. 
 
 By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food.- 
 Toil strung the nerves and purified the blood. 
 
 But we,^ their sons, a pamper’d race of men. 
 
 Are dwindled down to threescore years and' ten: 
 Better to hunt in fields for health unbought. 
 
 Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught; 
 
CM. vnt] 
 
 muf. 
 
 141 
 
 The wise, for cure, on exercise depend: 
 
 God never made his work for man to mend.” 
 
 In this case, as in most others, the cure of tne student must consist 
 in prevention. He can, by care and prudence, in most cases, live 
 long, enjoy good health, be a severe student, and do a great amount of 
 good ; he may also, by carelessness, in a short time seal his own fate, 
 and ruin himself. There are a few hints which I am wishing to sug- 
 gest on the subject of diet, which may be expressed briefly. 
 
 1. Your diet must corres^pond with your exercise in the open air. 
 
 Many shut themselves up entirely, in unpleasant Aveather, during the 
 long winter, or whenever they find a pressure of business Avithin, or 
 unpleasant Aveather Avithout^ and yet they eat just as voraciously as if 
 they took exercise every day. To say that no attention is to be paid 
 to diet is madness. You must pay attention to it sooner or later. If 
 you are faithful to take regular, vigorous exercise every day in the 
 open air, then you may eat, and pay less attention to quantity and 
 quality. But if you take but little exercise, you may be sure that you 
 are to be a severe sufferer if you do not take food in the same propor- 
 tion. I do not ask you to diet., i. e . , to be as difficult, and as changea- 
 ble, and as Avhimsical as possible, as if the great point Avere to see how 
 much you can torment yourself and others; but I do ask you to be- 
 ware as to the quantity of food Avhich you hurry into the stomach three 
 times each day, Avithout giving it any rest. It is the quantity, rather 
 than the kinds of food, AA^hich destroys students: it is certainly true, 
 that the more simple the food, the better. If you are unusually hurried 
 this Aveek; if it storms to-day, so that, in these periods, you cannot go 
 out, and take exercise— let your diet be very sparing, though the 
 temptation to do otherwise aauII be very strong. When, by any means, 
 you have been injured by your food have overstepped the proper 
 limits as to eating, I have found, in such cases, that the most perfect 
 Avay to recoA^er is to abstain entirely from food for three or six meals. 
 By this time, the stomach will be free, and the system restored. I 
 took the hint from seeing an idiot who sometimes had turns of being 
 unAvell: at such times, he abstained entirely from food for about three 
 days, in Avhich time nature recovered herself, and he Avas Avell. This 
 will frequently, and perhaps generally, ansAver instead of medicine, 
 and is every Avay more pleasant. The most distinguished physicians 
 have eA^er recommended this course. It is a part of the Mahometan 
 and pagan systems of religion, that the body should be recruited by 
 frequent fastings. “Beta bull-dog be fed in his infancy upon pap, 
 ISTaples’ biscuit, and boiled chicken; let him be Avrapped in flannel at 
 night, sleep on a good feather-bed, and ride out in a coach for an air^ 
 
142 
 
 bmT. 
 
 [CH. Vltf. 
 
 ing, and if his posterity do not become short-limbed, puny, and vale- 
 tudinarian, it will be a wonder. If there is any one thing in the his- 
 tory of the celebrated Mathers which tends to account for their lono- 
 lives, notwithstanding their astonishing labors as students, it is their 
 frequent and stated days of fasting. A man of property, who had for 
 years been abusing his stomach, at last found his health on a rapid de- 
 cline. A'ature could endure it no longer. He went to consult the 
 celebrated Dr. Spring, of Watertown, Massachusetts. He stated the 
 symptoms of his case so clearly, that the learned physician could not 
 mistake the nature of- the disease. “I can cure you, sir,” said he, “if 
 you will follow my advice.” The patient promised most implicitly to 
 do so. “Is^ow,” says the doctor, “3^011 must steal a horse.” “What! 
 steal a horse?” “Yes— you must steal a horse. You will then be 
 arrested, convicted, and placed in a situation where your diet and 
 regimen will be such, that in a short time your health will be perfectly 
 restored.” 
 
 2. Be regular in your diet. 
 
 Nature loves regularity. She will permit you to dine at any hour 
 you please, and will conform to your wishes in almost everything, if 
 you will only allow her to depend upon regularity. Some will tamper 
 with themselves, and cultivate a mprbid appetite, by eating somethino-^ 
 if it be nothing of more worth than a handful of hot peppermints, be- 
 tween almost every meal. And then, at night, among the last things 
 they do, they eat something before retiring to rest. That weariness and 
 faintness which are the calls of nature for rest and sleep, are met by a 
 new supply of food. One of the best remarks that Jefferson ever made, 
 was, “that nobody ever repented having eaten too little.” This is 
 true to the letter, in regard to eating between meals. I do not wish 
 to go into particulars ; but the habit of closing the day or evening by 
 loading the stomach with fruit or food, will, sooner or later, visit you 
 with fearful retribution. 
 
 3 . Be simple in your diet. 
 
 In no profession of life are men likely to accomplish any great and 
 good enterprise who are in any measure slaves to their palates. Bona- 
 parte was temperate and simple to notoriety during his wonderful 
 career as a general; and Washington, during all his campaigns, was 
 remarkable for the simplicity of his diet. Manv times he was known 
 to sit on his horse all day, making his dinner of bread and a slice of 
 pork. The habits of the epicure are the last which the student should 
 cherish. No one thing should be considered as essential to your com- 
 fort. A distinguished lawyer used to congratulate himself that the 
 only luxury in which he indulged was good coffee in the morning: to 
 
^CH. VIII.] 
 
 DIET. 
 
 143 
 
 make it to his taste, it amounted to just half as much ground coffee as 
 he drank liquid. He shone brightly while he lived, but, without any 
 disease or sickness upon him, he sunk into the grave before the age of 
 forty. He died worn out, and seemed an old man. Without wiiming 
 to descend to particular articles of food, it should be a general rule to 
 be as simple as possible at the table. 
 
 I cannot persuade myself that I need say a word on the subject of 
 stimulating drinks; for I cannot beheve that any one, who has self- 
 respect enough to read a book designed for his improvement, will need 
 a single caution on this point. Many classes of men are more fre- 
 quently in the way of temptation from this quarter, than the student ; 
 but no class has half the temptation from within. There is a depres- 
 sion, and a sinking of the animal spirits, at times, which makes the 
 desire for artificial stimulants almost irrepressible. And when the ex- 
 periment has been once made, and the appetite once indulged, you are, 
 probably, too completely in the hands of your enemy to be saved. Let 
 it alone : never suffer a bottle, a decanter, a wine-glass, to come into 
 your room, or to touch your lips. You could be pointed to men who, 
 in their several professions were brilliant while they hved, and whose 
 tongues and pens Avere made eloquent by artificial sthnulants. Their 
 suns, almost Avithout exception, set in clouds, and Avhat they Avrote 
 Avill lie unread, at least, till the memory of the authors have passed 
 away. But if you could take the catalogue of our colleges, and hear 
 the history of those Avho, by the star, are marked as having gone to 
 the grave, you Avould be astonished at the number Avho Avere destroyed 
 by this fatal indulgence. The student Avho, even occasionally uses 
 strong drinks, may be marked as one who aaMI soon cease to be in your 
 Avay as a rival, and whose career Avill probably be marked hereafter 
 only Avith shame and degradation. While I feel that I almost insult 
 my reader by cautioning him on this subject, I must be permitted to 
 say that the danger, to the student, is very great, and that, OAving to 
 the peculiar excitability of his nevres, and the relaxed state of his 
 system, he probably receives treble the injury by stimulants, that any 
 other man does. 
 
 I shall close this chapter Avith some remarks upon Economy. 
 
 The great mass of our students are anydbing but Avealthy. There 
 are many Avho, to render their standing in life respectable, go tlirough 
 college, Avhen they have no expectation of relying upon themselves for 
 support. FeAV of these lay any claim to the character of students. 
 Tliey rely upon their Avealth for character and influence in life. Among 
 these there are some avIio make fine scholars ; but, though their number 
 is greater than we should expect, it is small. Those who are to in- 
 
144 
 
 ECONOMY. 
 
 [CH. 
 
 herit wealth, as a class, will never feel a pressure sufficient to make 
 them severe students. And those who ai’e seeking wealth, will never 
 seek it in the way of study. If it be your object to become rich, you ' 
 can find a thousand paths which will lead you to wealth, before that 
 of study. hTo class of men in the world, considering the amount of ■ 
 capital expended in obtaining an education, and the amount of labor ’ 
 in their professions, are so poorly paid as professional men. It has ^ 
 been said, with emphasis and truth, “that merely to obtain wealth, a 
 man would be more likely to succeed, to begin Avith a wood-saw and ; 
 axe, than with an education which cost him ten years of hard study, - 
 and all the money he could borrow.” A professional man in this V 
 country, by untiring industry and economy, may have a competency, ^ 
 in most cases; but it Avill require the union of those two qualities to ’ 
 give it. You Avill see the necessity, then, of looking at the subject > 
 now, and of beginning life with those habits and views which Avill be i 
 safe. It is cerbiinly true, that without economy no student will ever • 
 be rich; and, perhaps, it is equally true, that with it very feAV will ever I 
 be poor through life. ^ 
 
 Set it doAvn as an axiom, that poverty will do you no injury as a ; 
 student. While multitudes have been ruined by wealth, few have ever 
 been, by being poor; for there is no pressure so direct, so constant, _ 
 and so powerful, as that of poverty. Pythagoras long ago remarked, 
 “that ability and necessity dwell near each other:” they usually in- 
 habit the same building. The strong, gigantic character of Johnson 
 Avas probably owing, in a very great meagre, to his poverty. He used 
 to say, that Kichard SaA-age and himself often Avalked till four in the 
 morning — in the course of their conA^rsation, reforming the Avorld, de- 
 throning princes, giving laws, etc., — till, fatigued Avith their legislative 
 office, they began to Avant refreshment, but could not muster more 
 than fourpence-halfpenny betAveen them. If, in a country where so 
 much is thought to depend on hereditary rank and affluence, poverty 
 only presses a man into greatness, it is no less true, certainly, that in 
 this country it cannot injure you. Savage composed his most admired 
 productions Avhile Avalking over the cornfields ; and then, stepping into 
 the shops and begging a pen, he wrote on scraps of paper picked up in 
 the street Avhat he had composed during his rambles. And that burn- 
 ing, indescribable passion for knoAvledge and high attainments Avhich 
 the student ought to have, can no more be quenched by his poverty, 
 than the deep riA^er Avill cease to roll on Avith its burden of Avaters, be^ 
 cause you cut off a mountain rill. Indeed, the circumstance of his 
 being poor, is decidedly faAwable to the hope that he Avill stand high 
 as a student ; for who does not love to rise above obstacles Avhich, being 
 
ECONOMY. 
 
 145 
 
 
 VIII.] 
 
 nc reproach to us by lying in our path, and which, being seen by all, 
 only show the strength of character and of purpose which can carry 
 us over them? The discipline which poverty adds to the character is 
 often more severe than language can describe ; but the spirit that can 
 bow to its yoke, and, under it, carry forward all the burdens connected 
 with study, is the spirit to be hereafter felt and revered by others. 
 The temptations to dissipation, to dress, and extravagance, to take 
 the mind away from his books, are greatly lessened by his being poor. 
 Look at the man on the stage of life, whose voice, whose pen, whose 
 influence are felt the widest, and who are the ornaments of our country. 
 Were many of them cradled in affluence? Did they acquire their 
 strength on beds of roses? Or are they those who have made them- 
 selves by their own efforts, little aided by circumstances that may be 
 denominated fortuitous? The most indigent student in the land need 
 not fear the results of such an investigation. • i i i 
 
 Never be ashamed to have it known that you are poor, provided that 
 your poverty is owing to no mismanagement of yours. The remark, 
 that “it is the eyes of other people which cost us so much,” is so true 
 that, to attract those eyes, some will be extravagant, and others will 
 be odd, in their appearance. ‘ ‘ A celebrated old general used to dress 
 in a fantastic manner, by w^ay of making himself better known. It is 
 true people would say, ‘Who is that old fool?’ but it is also true, that 
 
 the answer was, ‘That is the famous General , who took such a 
 
 place.’” No one ever stands high in the estimation of others, who 
 goes beyond his means to adorn his person ; and while the student 
 should, in all respects, study to be a gentleman in his deportment, it 
 is no more desirable for him to rely upon dress for character, than it 
 is for a lady to adorn her face with chalk, which the rain wnll wash 
 off, or with paints, which the sun will melt away. 
 
 As far as possible, Iteejp out of^ debt. Nothing, short of loss of char- 
 acter, ever w’^eighs doAvn the spirits of a student, like a load of accumu- 
 lating debts. To say nothing about independent feeling, which he can 
 no more enjoy, than an “empty bag can stand upright,” there is an 
 ao’ony about it of which the stirring, active, bargain-making man can- 
 not conceive. It haunts the soul day and night ; and the man who can 
 prosper in his studies, while sinking in debt, must have feelings peculiar 
 to himself, and be made of “sterner stuff” than most men. All the 
 ■ efforts of denying yourself the luxuries, and even the comforts of hfe, 
 are light, in comparison with the burden of owdng. 
 
 But perhaps you will say, that your circumstances are such, that you 
 must rehnquish your studies, at once and forever, or be in debt. What 
 shall you do in such a case? I reply that, if you must meet an evil, 
 10 
 
146 
 
 ECONOMY, 
 
 [CH. VIJL 
 
 and cany a burden on your back for years, make every effort to have 
 it as bght as possible lou must be in debt, we will suppose. Try, 
 then and see how little you can be in debt, and possibly get along! 
 In this case, in order to have the mind as free as you can, borrow your 
 
 frebt«Tioon°"V’^r®’ no small 
 
 ebts upon \\ Inch you think, and over which you ache, every time you 
 
 'w alk out. Keep a small book, in which you register all the items of 
 your expense, and frequently look it over,^uid sfe if there be “em 
 registered which you might have saved, by the most rigid economy. 
 
 It the taste of a young man improves as it should during the progress 
 of study , he will be in danger, when he makes purchases, of consulting 
 his taste and fancy, rather than his judgment or his means. It is 
 natural, if the taste be cultivated, to be unsatisfied ^vith purchases 
 wbicb do not bear marks of having been jwepared for a refined taste, 
 and such preparations are always to be paid for dearly. You must resist 
 this appetite, and consult your judgment, rather than your taste, or be 
 very sparing m your purchases. I have known a poor student pay thirty 
 or thirty-five dollars for a flute, when one seventh of the suin would 
 have procured one of a tone every way as good ; and the instrument, 
 inasmuch as he never made anything more than an ordinary proficient 
 upon it, every way as valuable to him. Pay as little to gratify your 
 ta^e as you please, at present. You can at any future time do that 
 I3uv nothing because it is offered cheap. The question should be’ 
 not, Js this article worth, and more than worth its price? but Can I 
 not possibly get along without it? For this purpose, keep away from 
 p aces where cheap tilings are to be sold, such as auction-rooms, and 
 the like. He who buys what he does, not need, will often need what 
 ^ cannot buy. JNor can you expect to purchase anything like all 
 that you want— all that would add to your comfort. We must not 
 only deny ourselves many things which would be pleasant, but also 
 many which, at first view, seem essential. Beware of buying books. 
 
 I he temptation is great here. But there are obvious reasons why vou 
 should resist it. One is, that few books will be sufficiently valuable to 
 you to be worth the interest of your money. Another is, that every 
 year brings books more and more within your reach, as every edition 
 of a valuable work is likely to be cheaper than the preceding. You 
 may think you get this and that volume cheap: but, ten years hence, 
 you will not think so. I could mention a gentleman who entered his 
 profusion under an embarrassment of four hundred dollars, for books 
 Put before iie could possibly pay the debt, the interest which he paid 
 on the money would have purchased what would have been more valu- 
 able to him. Excepting your text-books, purchase but few books— 
 
cit. vm.] 
 
 ECONOMY. 
 
 iNt 
 
 perhaps some three or four volumes a year ; the Institution at which 
 you study will furnish you with books during term-time, and your own 
 purchases will fill up the vacations. It is amusing, in reading the cor- 
 respondence of the amiable Cowper, to see him borrowing most of the 
 books which he read, because his finances would not allow him to pur- 
 chase, and debts he could not endure. 
 
 The habits of economy which you now form are for life ; and upon 
 these habits are to depend the questions, whether your journey through 
 life be one of independence and comfort, or of mortification and in- 
 quietude. If jmu will read over the curious document embracing the 
 minute expenses of Washington, during the whole of the revolutionary 
 war, and which he kept with his own hand, you will be struck with 
 his economical habits, and feel that such traits properly go into a great 
 character. That is a mistaken notion which supposes that a want of 
 economy is a mark of genius, and that profusion, extravagance, and 
 debts, are inseparable from a man who is to be distinguished for mental 
 attainments, frothing is beneath you, which will keep you from 
 anxiety, and permit the mind to pursue the paths of knowledge unclog- 
 ged and unfettered. While it should be impressed on the student, 
 that ‘ ‘ wealth cannot confer greatness, because nothing can make that 
 great which the decrees of nature have ordained to be little ; that the 
 bramble may be placed in a hot- bed, but can never become an oak;” 
 it should, at the same time, be equally im])ressed upon him, that he 
 must feel prodigal of his mental powers Avho can strike for a high 
 character, knoAving that much of the strength of these poAvers is to be 
 expended in the embarrassments of debts. 
 
 As to being useful, there ever has been, and ever Avill be, so much 
 of disgrace connected with being in debt, that you cannot be as useful 
 Avhile you owe. If you must be in debt, strive to make the bondage 
 as light as possible, and seek for freedom the first hour tliat you can. 
 
 Finally, one of the very best safeguards against the least waste of 
 property is to consider yourself accountable to God for all that you 
 ha^fe, that you must ansAver to him for its use or abuse ; and especially 
 if you haA^e not of your oAvn, but live by borroAving of others, Avill he 
 hold you most strictly accountable for all that you expend. While 
 you have no items on your book at Avhich j^ou cannot look Avith pleas- 
 ure, be careful, also, to have your conscience, on this subject, enlight- 
 ened by a regard to the eye of your God. 
 
148 
 
 FIXED PBIXCIPLES. 
 
 [CH. li 
 
 IX. 
 
 DISCIPLmE OF THE HEAKT. 
 
 My reader will have noticed, that I have said little or nothing thus 
 far on the high subject of the moral feelings. The omission was de-: 
 signed: not that I deem this subject of small importance to the student, : 
 but because I wished to present each topic by itself, hoping thereby 
 that the light which fell upon each would be stronger, and that thus 
 each would make a deep and a distinct impression. The two chapters, 
 which now remain of this little book are, in my view, by far the most 
 important of any; and I cannot but hope that they will receive the 
 attention of the reader in proportion as they are important. 
 
 One of the first steps to be taken, if you would have a character that 
 will stand by you in prosperity and adversity, in life and in death, is to 
 fortify your mind with fixed principles. 
 
 There is no period in life in which the heart is so much inclined to 
 skepticism and infidelity as in youth. Hot that young men are infidels, 
 but the mind is tossed from doubt to doubt like a light boat leaping 
 from wave to wave. There is no positive settling down into deism or 
 infidelity; but the heart is so full of doubting, that the mind has uo 
 position, in morals or religion, fortified. If the restraints of education 
 are so far thrown off as to allow you to indulge in sin which is in any 
 way disgraceful if Imown, you will then easily become an infidel. 
 “The nurse of infidelity is sensuality. Youth are sensual. The Bible 
 stands in their way. It prohibits the indulgence of ‘the lust of the 
 fiesh, the lust of the eye, and the jiride of life. ’ But the young mind 
 loves these things, and therefore it hates the Bible, which prohibits 
 them. It is prepared to say, ‘If any man will bring me arguments 
 against the Bible, I Avill thank him; if not, I will invent them?’ I 
 never gathered from infidel writers, when an avowed infidel myself, 
 any solid difficulties, which were not brought to my mind by a very 
 young child of my own. ‘Why was sin permitted?— What an insig- 
 nificant world is this to be redeemed by the incarnation and death of 
 the Son of God! — Who can believe that so few will be saved?’ Ob- 
 jections of this kind, in the mind of reasoning young persons, prove to 
 me that they are the growth of fallen nature. As to infidel arguments, 
 there is.no weight in them. They are jejune and refuted. Infidels are 
 not themselves convinced by them. What sort of men are infidels? 
 
ME CATT8ES OF INFIDELlTf. 
 
 149 
 
 \ 
 
 eii. ix.] 
 
 They are loose, fierce, overbearing men. There is nothing in them hke 
 sober and serious inquiry. They are the wildest fanatics on earth. 
 JSTor have they agreed among themselves on any scheme of truth and 
 felicity. Look at the need and necessities of man. ‘ Every pang of 
 grief tells a man that he needs a helper ; but infidelity provides none. 
 And what can its schemes do for you in death?’ Examine your con- 
 science. Why is it that you listen to infidelity ? Is not infidelity a 
 low, carnal, wicked game ? Is it not the very picture of the prodigal — 
 ‘Father, give me the portion of goods which faUeth to me?’ IFAy, 
 WHY will a man be an infidel? Draw out the map of the road of in- 
 fidelity. It wiU lead you to such stages, at length, as you could never 
 suspect. ’ ’ 
 
 This is the testimony of one who had faithfully traveled the road of 
 infidelity; a man whose testimony would have run through the world, 
 had he continued a low, groveling, sensual infidel; but whose testi- 
 mony has never been noticed by infidels, since he became a better man, 
 and an eminent Christian. I will here put it to my reader to say, 
 whether he can recollect, in all he has known of men, from history or 
 observation, a great, discriminating and efficient mind — a mind that 
 has blessed the world in any degree — which was thoroughly imbued 
 with infidel principles? Take the writings of such a mind, and you 
 will be astonished at the vulgarity, sophistry, puerility, and weakness, 
 wliich are continually marking its progress. Suppose him a pohtician. 
 In the unpublished language of a young friend of mine, “it may be said 
 that his religion has nothing to do with his political opinions. But this 
 is not clear : it is justly remarked by some writer, I know not whom, 
 
 ‘ that the mind which has been warped and biased upon one great sub- 
 ject, is not safely trusted upon another.’ And can we say of a man, 
 ‘It is true that the evidences of the Christian rehgion, which carry 
 along wdth them the soundest judgments, and the most profound minds, 
 did not meet a reception in his? It is true that his intellect did not 
 lead him to such conclusions on this subject as we consider to be the 
 necessary conclusions of a balanced mind, but yet, in politics, he was 
 great, deep, searching, divine!’ ” Learning, poetry, and literature, 
 walk hand in hand under the light of the Gospel. They are destined 
 to do so ; and no where else on earth can they now be found. It is 
 absolutely impossible for any mind, amid all this light, to veil itself in 
 infidelity, and expect to be known, revered, or influential among men. 
 Were there no warpings of the mind, and no outrages committed upon 
 it, when it was led to embrace infidelity, still it asks too much of its 
 fellows, when it demands admittance to their communion, and asks 
 permission to reach other minds, when it pretends to pour nothing but 
 
150 
 
 DECISION tlMGED. 
 
 [ca. It. 
 
 the cold light of a December evening upon them. There is so little of 
 sympathy between the mind of an infidel and the enlightened Christian 
 part of "the community, that, if he hopes to have any influence upon -1 
 men, it must be upon those who have already made shipwreck of char- | 
 acter and hopes, and who will hear him speak or write, because he | 
 holds out the last, faint glimmering of hope to them, ere they are 'f* 
 thrust off upon the dark waters, upon which nothing else sheds a ray 
 of light. J 
 
 Should you be among those who have no fixed principles in morals ” 
 and religion, for your own peace and usefulness, I beg you to settle I 
 this subject at once and forever. Has God ever spoken to man? If 5 
 so, when and how? These are the most important questions ever | 
 asked, ^.nd they should be answered and settled, so that the mind ^ 
 may have something to rest upon so firm that nothing shall move it. 
 “We are mere mites creeping on the earth, and oftentimes conceited j 
 mites too.” We can easily unsettle things, but can erect nothing. 5 
 We can pull down a church, but without aid, cannot erect a hovel, j 
 The earlier in life you settle your principles, the firmer, more mature, 1 
 more influential, will your character be. Search the Bible, and try it :« 
 as you would gold in the furnace. If you doubt its inspiration, sit 
 down to its examination with candor, and with an honest desire to 
 know what is truth : let the examination be as thorough as you please, 
 but, when once made, let it be settled forever. You will then have 
 something to stand upon. You will have an unerring standard by 
 which to regulate your conduct, your conscience, and your heart. The 
 ship that outrides the storm with the greatest ease, is the one which i 
 has her anchors out, her cables stretched, and her sails furled, before ; 
 the strength of the storm has reached her; and the navigator, who ; 
 must stand at the helm through the long dark night, does not wait till 
 that night comes, ere he sees that his compass is boxed and properly 
 hung. He who has his religious principles early fixed, has nothing to , 
 do but at once, and continually, to act upon them — to carry them out 
 in practice. He has not the delays and the vexations of distrust and • 
 doubt every little while, when he ' stops to examine and settle a prin- 
 ciple. Every reader will be convinced of this, who will read over the 
 seventy resolutions of President Edwards, all of which were formed 
 before he was twenty years old, and the most important of them before 
 he was nineteen. No mind could form, and act upon, such principles 
 from early life, without becoming great and efficient. I cannot refrain 
 from selecting a few of these as a specimen. 
 
 “1. Resolved, that I will do whatsoever I think to be most to the 
 glory of God, and my own good, profit, and pleasure, in the whole of 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 PRESIDENT ED WARDS' 8 EESOL UTI0N8. 
 
 151 
 
 my duration, without any consideration of the time, whether now, or 
 never so many myriads of ages hence. Kesolved, to do whatever I think 
 to be my duty^ and most for the good and advantage of mankind in 
 general. Kesolved, so to do, whatever difficulties I meet with, how 
 many soever, and how great soever.” 
 
 “4. Resolved, never to do any manner of thing, whether in soul or 
 body, less or more, but what tends to the glory of God, nor nor 
 suffer it, if I can possibly avoid it. 
 
 ‘'5. Kesolved, never to lose one moment of time, but to improve it 
 in the most profitable “way I possibly can. 
 
 ‘ ‘ 6. Resolved, to live with all my might while I do live. 
 
 ‘ ‘ 7. Kesolved, never to do anything, which I should be afraid to do, 
 if it were the last hour of my life.” 
 
 “20. Resolved, to maintain the strictest temperance in eating and 
 drinking. 
 
 “21. Kesolved, never to do anything which, if I should see in an- 
 other, I should count a just occasion to despise him for, or to think 
 any way the more meanly of him. ’ ’ 
 
 ‘ ‘ 34. Resolved, in narrations never to speak an 3 dhing but the pure f 
 and simple verity. ” 
 
 “46. Kesolved, never to allow the least measure of any fretting or 
 uneasiness at my father or mother. Kesolved, to suffer no effects of 
 it, so much as in the least alteration of speech, or emotion of my eye, 
 and to be especially careful of it with respect to any of our family. ’ ’ 
 
 The whole of these seventy resolutions are every way worthy the 
 attention and the imitation of every young man. And while this ex- 
 ample is before you, allow me to present a few brief resolutions which 
 were formed by a young man before he entered college, and which 
 formed a character known and revered widely, and whose death was 
 sincerely lamented. 
 
 “For the future direction of my life I resolve, 
 
 “1. That I will make religion my chief concernment. 
 
 ‘ ‘ 2. That I will never be afraid or ashamed to speak in defence of 
 rehgion. 
 
 ‘ ‘ 3. That I will make it my daily practice to read some part of the 
 Holy Scriptures, that I may become acquainted with the will of God, 
 and be quickened and comforted, and qualified to serve Christ and pro- 
 mote the interests of his kingdom in the world. 
 
 “4. That I will every day reflect upon death and eternity. 
 
 “5. That I will daily pray to God in secret. 
 
 “6. That, upon all proper occasions, I will reprove vice, and dis- 
 countenance it, and, to my utmost, encourage virtue and religion. 
 
15S 
 
 A COMMON PBEJUDICE, 
 
 [CH. IX. 
 
 '‘7. That I will dispute only for light, or to communicate it. 
 
 ‘ ‘ 8. That T will receive light wherever and however offered. | 
 
 “9. That I will give up no principle before I am convinced of its 5 
 absurdity or bad consequences. J 
 
 “10. That I will never be ashamed to confess a fault to an equal or 1 
 to an inferior. : 
 
 “11. That I will make it a rule to do no action, at any time or place, j. 
 of which action I should not be willing to be a witness against myself ^ 
 hereafter. ’ ’ j 
 
 It is frequently the case that young men have an idea that there is i 
 something in the cultivation of the heart, and in the restraints of re- i 
 ligion, which degrades or cramps the soul ; that a mind which is nat- \ 
 urally noble and lofty, will become groveling and contracted by sub- 
 mitting to moral restraints. This is a mere prejudice; and it does little | 
 good to deny a prejudice. But go into that library, and examine the ' 
 shelves, and see who are those who have penned what will be immortal, ' 
 and influence other minds as long as earth shall endure. In almost 1 
 every instance, the work which will hold its place the longest, was ' 
 dictated by a Christian heart. The loftiest minds, the most cultivated 
 intellects, and the most solid judgments, have bowed at the altar of 
 God, and have been quickened and ennobled by the waters which flow 
 from his mount; and if we go up from man to those higher orders of 
 beings who compose “the presence” of the Eternal, we shall find them, 
 after having shouted for joy over the creation of this world, when the 
 morning stars sang together; after having watched the providences of 
 God, and seen empires rise and fall; after having hung around the 
 good in all their wanderings on earth, still studying the Gospel, to 
 have their views enlarged, their conceptions of the Infinite Wisdom 
 expanded, and still desiring to look into these things. May not the 
 sublime idea of the modesty of these “angelic students” rebuke the 
 ignorance, the darkness, and consummate pride, of those who feel that 
 their greatness would be diminished by bowing to the Gospel of God ? 
 The angels diligently look into the mystery of the Gospel; and they 
 are the companions and fellow-students of all who thus study it. 
 
 By disciplining the heart, I mean, bringing it into subjection to the 
 'will of God, so that you can best honor him, and do most for the' \TeU-'^ 
 
 ■ being of men. I shall suggest some means by which the lieart may be 
 disciplined and the feelings cultivated. 
 
 1. Let it he your immediate and constant aim to malte every event 
 subservient to cultivating the lieart. 
 
 We are in danger of acknowledging the importance of this subject, 
 but at the same time of putting it off to a convenient season. You 
 
OH. IX.] 
 
 FIRST smoFSTIOF. 
 
 153 
 
 suppose your present circumstances are not favorable. There are diffi- 
 culties now, but you are looking forward to the time when things will 
 be dilferent- Your studies will not hurry you so much: they will be- 
 come much easier; and you will have conveniences which you have not 
 at the present time. But when you shall go to another place, or com- 
 mence a new study, or enter upon a more pleasant season of the year, 
 or have a new companion in your room, then you can begin to take 
 care of your heart, and have intercourse with God. But you greatly 
 misjudge. Everything, every circumstance in our condition, is de- 
 signed by Infinite Wisdom as a part of our moral discipline; and He 
 who watches ‘the sparrow when she alights, and directs her how and 
 where to find the grain of food. He directs all things relating to your 
 situation; and He designs to have everything contribute to your moral 
 improvement. There is not a temptation which meets you, nor a, 
 vexation which harasses you, nor a trouble which depresses you, but it 
 was all designed for your good. Do not put off, and plead that the 
 path in which your Heavenly Father is leading you is different from what 
 you would have chosen, and therefore you are excusable for not doing 
 ills will. Ho principle of action is of any worth, unless it leads you 
 continually to take care of the heart. I have spoken already of the 
 difficulty in subduing the mind, so as to make study easy. You will 
 find the heart no more readily subdued. Every indulgence of vice, 
 every neglect of duty, strengthens the habits and propensities to do 
 wrong, and to go astray. 
 
 Should the hand of Providence strike down your best earthly friend, 
 you would feel that you were called upon to make the event contribute 
 to moral culture. But do you feel that it is best to wait for such provi- 
 dences? to tempt God thus to visit you with affiictions? Every event 
 under liis government is designed to do you good ; and he who does 
 not make it his daily business to cultivate his heart, will be in great 
 danger of never doing it. You cannot do it at any time, and in a 
 short period. A virtuous and holy character is not built up in a day^ 
 it is the work of a long life. Begin the work at once, and make it 
 as really a part of your duties daily to cultivate the heart, as it is to 
 take care of the body, or to cultivate the intellect. 
 
 2. Make it apart of your daily habits to cultivate your conscience. 
 
 A man never came intemperate or profane at once. He never be- 
 came a promcient in any sin by a single leap. The youth first hears 
 the oath, blushes as he falters out his first profane expression, and goes 
 on, step by step, till he rolls “sin as a sweet morsel under his tongue.” 
 It is so with any sin. In this way, the conscience is blunted and the 
 heart hardened. In this way, too, the conscience is recovered, and 
 
154 
 
 CXILIIVATE CONSCIENCE. 
 
 [CH. IX. 
 
 made susceptible to divine impressions. Were you seeking only for a j 
 powerful motive to impel you onward in your studies, and were you -1 
 regardless of your moral culture, still I would urge you, on this ground 1 
 alone, to cultivate conscience most assiduously. I will tell you why. .j 
 
 There are but few men who can be brought to task their powers so ' 
 as to achieve much by motives drawn from tliis world only. With the - 
 mass of educated men this is true. Wealth cannot bribe to steady, un- 
 wearied efforts; ambition may lay an iron hand on the soul, but it ; 
 cannot, excepting here and there, do it with a grasp sufficient to keep ■ 
 it in action : the soft Avhispers of pleasure can do nothing toward shak- ^ 
 ing off the indolence and sluggishness of man; and fame, with a silver \ 
 trumpet, calls in vain. These motives can reach only a few. But ’ 
 conscience is a motive which can be brought to bear upon all, and can ^ 
 be cultivated till she calls every energy, every susceptibility, every ; 
 faculty of the soul into constant, vigorous, powerful action. Every 
 other motive, when analyzed, is small, mean, contemptible, and such ‘ 
 as you despise when you see it operating upon others. The soul of 
 man is ashamed to confess itself a slave to any other power. But this 
 is not all: any other motive soon loses its power. Trials, and misfor- 
 tunes, and disappointments, damp, kill any other governing motive. 
 But this is not so of the man who acts from conscience. You can 
 crush him only by destroying his life. Shut him up in the prison, and 
 he writes the Epistle to the Hebrews — a work which is yet to do won- 
 ders, I doubt not, Avhen the “scattered, peeled” sons of Israel are 
 called in. Shut him up in prison, and his conscience arouses him, and 
 carries him onward to exertions unthought of before. The cold walls 
 of his dungeon grow warm while he describes the Pilgrim’s Progress up 
 to eternal day, and scatters the food of angels over the earth ; while 
 he describes the Saint’s Everlasting Best, and actually does more for 
 the good of man, under the pressure of conscience, in adversity, than 
 during all the days of his prosperity. 
 
 Only fix the impression on the mind so that it will be abiding, that 
 we are accountable to God for all that we accomplish, and the amount 
 of effort and success will be almost unmeasured. Connect the im- 
 measurable demands of eternity with every effort to conquer sin, to 
 subdue your appetites and passions, and thus make the soul and body 
 more disciplined instruments of doing good, together with every noble 
 resolution, and every exertion, whether it be for life or for a moment — 
 and you will not do small things; you will not walk through life unfelt, 
 unknown, and you will not go down to the grave unwept. Every 
 unholy desire that you conquer; every thought that you treasure up 
 for future use; every moment that you seize as it ffies and stamp with 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 CULTIVATE CONSCIENCE. 
 
 155 
 
 something good, which it may carry to the judgment seat ; every in- 
 fluence which you exert upon the world for the honor of God or the 
 good of man — all, all is not only connected with the approbation of 
 God and the rewards of eternal ages, but all aids you to strike for 
 higher and nobler efforts still, till you are enabled to achieve what will 
 astonish even yourself. Think over the long list of those men who 
 have lived and acted under the direct and continued influence of a 
 conscience which chained every exertion and every thought directly to 
 the throne of God. Go, stand at the grave of one of these men and 
 you will go away musing and heart-smitten, to think that he finished 
 his work, and did it so soon, and went home to his rest in the morning 
 of life, while you have never even contemplated doing but little good. 
 The stone over the dust of such a one will soon crumble away; but the 
 light which surrounds that grave will grow brighter and brighter, till 
 seen the earth over, because his faculties were under the continued 
 direction and control of conscience. 
 
 Had I no other aim, then, than merely to excite you to high and 
 noble enterprise, to make great efforts while you live, that motive 
 which I would select as incomparably superior to all others, to lead 
 you to effort, is a cultivated, sanctified conscience. But I have an aim 
 higher than even this, in urging you to cultivate your conscience. 
 
 The path of life is beset with temptations. This is a part of our 
 moral discipline. We must meet them every day: we cannot go round 
 them nor go past them, without being solicited by them ; and nothing 
 but a conscience increasingly tender will enable us to meet and over- 
 come them. For example, you will, every week, if not every day, 
 find seasons when you are tempted to be idle, to waste your time. 
 There is no motive at hand which will arouse you. These fragments of 
 time are scattered all along your path, l^othing but a cultivated con- 
 science will enable you to save them. But this will. It cannot be 
 created and brought to bear upon you when indolence has seized you. 
 Ho, it must be done before. 
 
 You will often be tempted to smite with the tongue. The company 
 indulge freely in their remarks upon absent characters. Opportunities 
 occur in which you can throw in a word or two handsomely, and 
 therefore keenly. You can gain credit by the shrewdness with which 
 you judge of character, and for your insight into human nature. Ho 
 motive of kindness, of politeness, no sense of justice, will now avail to 
 meet this temptation : nothing but a tender conscience will do it. 
 
 You are a student. Your health may not be good — your nerves are 
 easily excited — you are easily thrown "off your guard, speak quickly, 
 and evidently with a great loss of self-respect, which aids in increasing 
 
156 
 
 CULTIVATE CONSCIENCE. 
 
 [CH. IX. 
 
 your iU -humor and your tartness. You cannot reason yourself or 
 shame yourself into a good temper: a cultivated conscience is the only 
 thing which will sweeten the temper. 
 
 In the course of your life, you will be making bargains, and be more 
 or less in habits of dealing with men. You may intend to be an hon- 
 orable and an honest man ; but you will be strongly tempted, at times, 
 to cheapen what you buy, and overpraise what you sell, or to do as you 
 would not that others should do unto you, unless you are under the 
 direction of a clear, discriminating conscience. 
 
 You know how much we esteem our character in the sight of men. 
 Many will fight for it, and quarrel for it, and prefer death a thousand 
 times to the loss of character, in the eyes of their fellow -men. This 
 love of character is as it should be. But what is it to be judged of 
 men, in comparison to being judged of God? Of what consequence is 
 it what men say of us, or think of us, in comparison to what God thinks 
 of us ? Who, that believes in the justice of God, and in the immortality 
 of the soul, would not prefer to have his approbation to that of the 
 universe besides? But you can never gain his approbation; you can 
 never stand fair in his sight ; you can never have him your friend, un- 
 less you have a heart that is continually under the discipline of a well- 
 regulated conscience. 
 
 3. Avoid temjytation. 
 
 It is wisdom m beings as frail as we are, not only to use every possi- 
 ble means to overcome sins which beset us, but, as far as possible, to 
 avoid meeting them. If you are on a journey, with a high object in 
 view to be attained, and you may be beset with enemies, you will feel 
 anxious, not merely to be so well guarded that they cannot overcome 
 you, but, as far as possible, to avoid meeting them. There is some- 
 thing in the simple piety of Baxter which pleases us, when he gravely 
 tells us what a blessing he received in narrowly escaping getting a place 
 at court in the early part of his life. We all believe in a superin- 
 tending Providence; and we know that many of the best men who 
 have ever lived, have been not merely shut out from wealth, and sta- 
 tion, and honors, but made objects of suffering, and even of derision, 
 t<5 the rest of mankind. The hand that covers them seems rough, and 
 frequently oppressive. But multitudes, who have been ornaments to 
 society, and blessings to their species, and who, after having done their 
 work here, have gone to the rewards of the perfect, have owed their 
 character chiefly to the fact, that their circumstances shielded them 
 from temptations. Were you to mark any number of young men in 
 the same glass, who you would fear will accomplish little or nothing 
 
CII. IX.] 
 
 AVOW TEMPTATION. 
 
 157 
 
 for the good of man, you would be likely to select those who, by their 
 situations, are peculiarly exposed to temptations. 
 
 There are said to be peculiar sins which easily beset every man; and 
 there are certainly temptations which are peculiar to every one. Into 
 some you fall oftener and more easily than into others. Some will 
 meet you in one place, and some in another; some in one shape, and 
 some in another. It is important, for any improvement in moral char- > 
 acter, to know where you are peculiarly exposed; and at those points - 
 set a strong and wakeful guard. 
 
 There are certain individuals with whom you cannot associate, with 
 whom you cannot spend an hour, without hearing things said, and 
 receiving impressions which tend to lower your standard of honorable 
 feeling, and of purity of heart. Their society may, in many respects, 
 be enchanting, their conversation bewitching, while, at the same time, 
 there may be a subtle poison which will gradually destroy your moral 
 sense. You love to walk with some of these; you love to visit them in 
 their rooms; and you hope you may have some good influence upon 
 them. Perhaps you will have; but the danger is all on your side. 
 The impressions which the soul receives, and the modes of feeling into 
 which the heart is gradually led, will not be likely to startle you at 
 first, even though their end is moral death. How can you hope to . 
 strengthen your moral habits, and grow in character, if you frequently 
 yield to the temptation of conversation which deadens the moral sensi- 
 bilities? Here is one plain temptation; and the way to grow in 
 purity of heart is, not to frequent such company, and there, try to 
 throw some feeble influence in favor of virtue, and then go away, and 
 lament and pray over the instances in which you yielded to temptation; 
 but keep clear of the danger; break off from ail associates whose in- 
 fluence is against the great object of disciplining the heart. 
 
 Some sins meet you at particular seasons. For example, you notice 
 that, after study, or after tea, or at some particular hour of the day, 
 you have less patience than usual. You are inclined to be irritable, or 
 you are low in spirits. You are in danger of cultivating a bad habit of 
 feeling and speaking, and of trying the temper of others. Here you 
 are beset at a particular time of the day ; set a watch over yourself 
 and avoid the danger. You can easily see the rock, for it is above the 
 waves. 
 
 At some particular time of the day, or in some particular situations, 
 you find yourself exposed to debasing and corrupting thoughts. They 
 fill the mind, and crowd out everything that is good. These associa- 
 tions arise only when you are alone, or when you are conversing on 
 some particular topics, or when something is recalled by the memory. 
 
158 
 
 AVOII) TEMPTATION. 
 
 [CH. IX, 
 
 Can you hope to conquer these legions, and drive away all these un 
 clean birds, by any other means than by fleeing from them? As there 
 
 Ld 'be cast out except by prayer 
 
 and fast mg, so these can be overcome only by avoiding and SLiJ 
 
 them, when they approach the heart, and by the most Sincere prayer 
 when they have once entered it. sincere prayer 
 
 an?wt°sho^dd character and worth. 
 
 The "booh seim« I ^ fn’ a bad book! 
 
 not oK'rend h tJ ^ accident. You do 
 
 not olten leacl it, but sometimes look into it: or if you do not own it 
 
 throwrbXrTvmn temptation 
 you do imt nmi Ip'a “‘Y “''ef ’"'bat that book contains, if 
 SJi^tmn m orde/?rf ’ ®bouldyou not know what such books 
 contain, m order to warn others against their influence? I renlv Be- 
 ware; and yield not to this temptation. Once yielding wheif’thus 
 tempted, may be your ruin; or, if it be not, it will takf y“ W 
 T the mischiefs which you are bringing^, pon yom? 
 
 self. Temptations should be met at a distance; if you see the"^ bird 
 evervYeY Serpent, she begins to fly round and round, and at 
 
 th^eSuir 
 
 You have u^at are usually called “failings,” or “little failine-s ” 
 
 Si^'ljuUf voSr "1? yo" can know what these 
 
 are, but it you find any difliculty m discovering, you have only to ask 
 
 your near neighbor, and he will name man}^ which you never had 
 claimed as yours. Now, what are these foihngs, except Xces at 
 which you are constantly yielding to temiitations? And how can you 
 hope to cure yourself of them, except by avoiding them? Suiipose you 
 
 lUe^s^von'^to^m V™ mind which is bold, impetuous, and Forward, 
 iii, ^ t Yr® remarks that are rash, and to do things which 
 
 ycu not avoid every temptation to it? If 
 ter be naturally impetuous, and in danger of striking at the first 
 You ma^v°b ^i^bt he not to leave his sword behind him? 
 
 ardm YY- u temperament, that all company excites your 
 
 rr t ^e you losi your balance 
 
 tbi« ^ Y degree of depression following it. In 
 
 pospT yourself to run into temptation? Sup- 
 
 Cdlv Wh fY “ propensity to be dishonest, so that he ck 
 
 of it to 1 • ’Y® property of others without appropriating something 
 
 as bo bandsYndhis heart so lon| 
 
 when P® place of temptation? Should Judas carry thf 
 
 ba^, when he has fullj proved to himself that he cannot do it without 
 
Avoid temptation. 
 
 16Q 
 
 
 Cfl. ft. 
 
 I stealing from it? Should a passionate man, whose temper is easily 
 ^ excited, throw himself in situations in which he will certainly be 
 tempted to anger? Whatever be your weakness, or the spot at which 
 you fall, beware of it, and shun it. I once knew a gifted young man, 
 who, in very early life, had indulged a love for ardent spirit, which 
 was almost fatal. Under the influence of conscience and religion, he 
 finally conquered himself, and for years did not taste a drop. In a 
 . conversation with him on the subject, he told me that so strong was 
 his appetite, that, even then, the sight of a decanter was painful ; and 
 that whenever he heard liquor running from a cask in a store, he im- 
 mediately ran out, as fast as possible, whether his errand was or was 
 not done. His safety was only in flying. So it is in regard to any 
 temptation. The best way to overcome sin, is too flee from its ap- 
 proach. He who tampers with a temptation is already under its power. 
 The lion will frequently let his victim move, and will play with it be- 
 fore he crushes it. 
 
 4. Watch over your temjyer. 
 
 There is much said about the natural disposition and temper of men ; 
 and the fact, that any one has a temper which is unhap]iy and un- 
 pleasant, is both accounted and apologized for, by saying that his tem- 
 per is “naturally” unpleasant. It is a comfortable feeling to lay as 
 much blame upon nature as we can; but the difficulty is, that the 
 action, to use a law term, will not lie. Ho one has a temper naturally 
 so good that it does not need attention and cultivation ; and no one has 
 a temper so bad, but that, by proper culture, it may become pleasant. 
 One of the best -disciplined tempers ever seen was that of a gentleman 
 who was naturally quick, irritable, rash, and violent; but, by having 
 the care of the sick, and especially of deranged people, he so completely 
 mastered himself, that he was never known to be thrown off his guard. 
 The difference in the happiness which is received or bestowed by the 
 man who guards his temper, and that by the man man who does not, 
 is immense. There is no misery so constant, so distressing, and so 
 intolerable to others, as that of having a disposition which is your 
 master, and which is continually fretting itself. There are corners 
 enough, at every turn in life, against which we may run, and at which 
 we may break out in impatience, if we chose. 
 
 Ho one can have an idea of the benefits to be derived from a con- 
 stant supervision and cultivation of the temper, till he try them ; not 
 that you will certainly cultivate the moral feelings, if the temper be 
 subdued ; but you certainly Will not, if it be not subdued. Few men 
 ever had, naturally, by a more unmanageable disposition then he who, 
 at forty frequently appears among the most amiable of men. Look at 
 
watch your TEIMPER 
 
 leo 
 
 [cH. n.: 
 
 Eoger Sherman. He made himself master of his temper, and culti- 
 vated it as a great business in life. There are one or two instances . 
 which show this part of his character in a light that is beautiful. He 
 was, one day, after having received his highest honors, sitting and 
 reading in his parlor. A roguish student, in a room close by, held a 
 looking-glass in such a position as to pour the reflected rays of the 
 sun directly in Mr. Sherman’s face. He moved his chair, and the 
 thing was repeated. A third time the chair w^as moved, but the look- 
 ing-glass still poured the sun in his eyes. He laid aside his book, went 
 to the window, and many witnesses of the impudence expected to hear 
 the ungentlemanly student severely reprimanded. He raised the win- 
 dow gently, and then shut the window blind! I cannot forbear ad- 
 ducing another instance of the power which he had acquired over 
 himself. 
 
 He Avas naturally possessed of strong passions : but over these he 
 at length obtained an extraordinary control. He became habitually 
 calm, sedate, and self-possessed. Mr. Sherman Avas one of those men' 
 Avho are not ashamed to maintain the forms of religion in his family. 
 One morning, he called them together, as usual, to lead them in prayer 
 to God ; the ‘ old family Bible’ Avas brought out and laid on the table. 
 Mr. Sherman took his seat, and beside him placed one of his children, 
 a small child — a child of his old age ; the rest of the family Avere seated 
 round the room ; seA^eral of these Avere noAV groAvn up. Besides these, 
 some of the tutors of the college Avere boarders in the family, and were 
 present at the time alluded to. His aged and now superannuated 
 mother occupied a corner of the room, opposite the place Avhere the 
 distinguished judge of Connecticut sat. At length, he opened the 
 Bible and began to read. The child, Avhich Avas seated beside him, 
 made some little disturbance, upon Avhich Mr. Sherman paused, and 
 told it to be still. Again he proceeded ; but again he paused, to ^ 
 reprimand the little offender, Avhose playful disposition Avould scarcely 
 permit it to be still. At this time, he gently tapped its ear. The - 
 blow, if it might be called a blow, caught the attention of his aged 
 mother, Avho noAV, Avith some effort, rose from her seat, and tottered 
 across the room. At length, she reached the chair of Mr. Sherman, 
 and in a moment, most unexpected to him, she gave him a blow on 
 the ear, with all the power she could summon. * There said she, 'you 
 strihe your child ^ and I will strike mined 
 
 “For a moment the blood Avas seen rushing to the face of Mr. Sher- 
 man ; but it Avas ord/y for a moment, Avhen all Avas calm and mild as 
 usual. He paused — he raised his spectacles — he cast his eye upon his ' 
 mother — again it fell upon the book, from AA^hich he had been reading. . 
 
Cfl. IX.] 
 
 ANECDOTE. 
 
 161 
 
 Not a word escaped lym; but again he calmly pursued the service, and 
 I soon after sought, in prayer, an ability to set an example before his 
 household, which should be worthy of their imitation. Such a victory 
 was worth more than the proudest victory ever achieved in the field of 
 battle.” 
 
 Suppose, at the close of the day, as you look back upon what you 
 have done and said, you see that, in one instance, you answered a com- 
 Ipanion short and tartly ; in another, you broke out in severe invective 
 |upon one who was absent; in another, you were irritated and vexed at 
 some trifle, though you kept it to yourself, and felt the corrosions of an 
 ill temper without betraying your feelings, otherwise than by your 
 countenance. Can you now look back upon the day with any degree 
 of comfort? Can you feel that 3^ou have made any advancement in 
 subduing yourself, so that you can look at yourself with cheerfulness 
 and respect during this day ? And if this be so, from day to day, and 
 from week to week, can you expect that your heart will be more and 
 more subdued? You may be sure, that no one, who gives way to his 
 temper, during every day, that at night he has to reproach himself for 
 it, can be growing in moral excellence. 
 
 You need not be discouraged in your attempts to correct a quick, an 
 irritable, and a bad temper, even though, at first, unsuccessful. Suc- 
 cess, on this point, will certainly follow exertion. It is one mark of a 
 great, as well as a good man, to have a command over the temper. Sir 
 Walter Raleigh was challenged by a hot-headed young man; and, 
 because he coolly refused to fight, the young man proceeded to spit in 
 his face, in public. Sir Walter took his handkerchief, and, calmly 
 wiping his face, merely made this reply: — “Young man, if I could as: 
 easily wipe your blood from my conscience as I can this injury from 
 my face, I would this moment take away your life.” The great Dr. 
 Boerhaave was always unmoved by any provocation, though the prac- 
 tice of medicine is by no means well calculated to soothe the nerves. 
 Upon being asked how he obtained such a mastery over himself, he 
 stated, that “he was naturally quick of resentment, but that he had, 
 by daily prayer and meditation, at length attained to this mastery over 
 himself. ’ ’ 
 
 You will have strong temptations to irritability of temper; for it is 
 impossible to be a student, and not have the system in such a state 
 that little vexations will jar upon your nerves. But the indulgence of 
 such a temper will not merely mar your present peace, injure you in 
 the eyes of all who know you, hurt your usefulness, hasten on a pre- 
 mature old age, but it is fatal to that peace of mind which consists "n 
 “a pure conscience.” 
 
 11 
 
WATCH TOUR TEMPER 
 
 [cit. tx! 
 
 The heart sickens in despondency, when, at the close of the day, 
 you go to the closet and have to reflect, that your temper is still un- 
 subdued ; and that, while you ought to be above being moved by the 
 little troubles which meet you, they constantly oppress you. If you 
 now have no more of character than to give way to your disposition, 
 while in the retirement of the study, what will you do when the multi- 
 plied vexations of active life come upon you ? 
 
 5. Be careful to improve your thoughts when alcne. 
 
 There will be seasons, recurring frequently, when you must be alone. 
 You will walk alone, or you will sit in the evening shade alone, or you 
 will lie on a sleepless pillow alone. Every student ought not only to ex- 
 pect this, but to desire it ; and never, if faithful to himself, need he be 
 less alone than hen alone. The appetites and passions are so apt to 
 ramble, that we esteem him to be good at self-government who subdues 
 them; but the thoughts are but little behind in giving the conscientious 
 man trouble. The two difficulties which will meet you most constantly, 
 are, to keep the thoughts from wandering, and from wandering in for- 
 bidden paths. What is vain and visionary will easily steal in upon you 
 when alone, and you will soon become a most wretched companion to 
 yourself, and your own temper. You can easily get into the habit of 
 looking back, and recalling what you have read or studied, and exami- 
 ning what way-marks you have put up, or of reviving the memory of in- 
 formation and knowledge which you have received by conversation ; but 
 if you do not cultivate this habit, there will be one at your elbow ever 
 ready to enter the heart and become the strong man of the house. The 
 memory and the judgment may both be cultivated by employing your 
 thoughts upon whatever you have been studying or reading for the last 
 twenty-four hours. Your process will be, first, to recall anything valu- 
 able which you have met with, and then classify it, and weigh it, and 
 judge as to the occasions in which you may wish to use it. 
 
 I have spoken of the practice of building castles in the air — a prac-' 
 tice which will be very apt to steal in upon you till it becomes a regular 
 habit, unless you are very careful. You can hardly be too solicitous 
 to keep clear of this habit. I have also spoken of worse results of 
 permitting the thoughts to wander when alone — evils which want a 
 name, to convey any conception of their enormity. 
 
 There are many great advantages in taking frequent opportunities of 
 employing your thoughts alone. 
 
 The mind and feelings are soothed by the process ; and this is an 
 object every way desirable. Who can rush into the responsibilities, 
 the anxieties, and the labors of the student without strong excitement? 
 Who can see the field of knowledge continually and boundlessly open- 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF BEING ALONE. 
 
 163 
 
 ing before him, with multitudes who, like himself, have staked their 
 character, hopes and happiness upon success, ready to compete with 
 him, without having the excitement continually increasing and growing 
 upon him? There will be little disappointments frequently, little trials, 
 mistakes, which harass and vex you beyond measure. You need 
 .seasons of meditation, by which the feelings become soothed and soft- 
 ened, and the judgment rendered clear and decided. 
 
 The future lies before you. It will come^it will bring changes to 
 you; some of them will be severe and heavy to bear. There will be 
 sorrows and disappointments in your progress. You need to anticipate 
 the future, so far as you can do it, by sitting down and looking calmly 
 at the possible events which may be before you. He who never looks 
 out and anticpates a storm, will be but poorly prepared to meet it 
 when it comes. I do not mean that you should go into the future, and 
 there take a possible calamity, and then grapple with it as with your 
 destiny, and thus mentally endure evils which probably will never 
 come ; for no one is likely to hit upon the real evils which will overtake 
 him; but I mean that the thoughtless man, who never communes with 
 himself, is the man who meets troubles with the least resignation. 
 
 You have plans, too, for the future, which need to be laid in your 
 own bosom first — matured there — reviewed there till they are per- 
 fected, under all the light which frequent contemplations can throw 
 upon them. Your thoughts, while alone, are the best instruments with 
 i which to ripen the fruit of future exertions. 
 
 Some are afraid of themselves, and dread few things more than to 
 find themselves alone. Every thought of the past or oi the future only 
 ! discourages them ; and they can be comfortable only by forgetting 
 i themselves. But this is not wise. Were it possible for a friend to 
 i whisper all your failings, deficiencies, and faults into your ear, without 
 I wounding your feelings, and causing you to revolt under the discipline, 
 
 ' it would be an invaluable blessing to you. What such a friend might 
 I do, you can do for yourself, by your thoughts, when alone, and that 
 . without any mortification. A man can thus be his own teacher, and, 
 after repeated trials, can weigh his actions, conduct, and character very 
 accurately. 
 
 He who does not know himself, wiU never be ready so to make 
 allowances for others, as to be greatly beloved. He will be in danger 
 of being harsh and censorious; while he who is in the habit of measur- 
 ing himself, in the cool moments of retirement, ivill seldom fail of 
 knowing so much of himself, that he will regard with tenderness the 
 failings of others. In studying your own character, you have a wide 
 field opening before you. You will fail of doing yourself any good, 
 
164 
 
 STUDY THE FUTURE. 
 
 1 
 
 [CH. IX. 
 
 if, in looking at yourself, you do not make it your determination faith- 
 fully to reprove yourself for your failings and faults. Mark the places 
 where you trip, and be sure to shun them the next time, hlote every 
 instance in which you trespassed upon the kindness, the feelings, or the 
 light of others; and in all cases in which you have failed to observe 
 the golden rule, reprove yourself with due severity, and see that you 
 amend. You will find that, at some particular places, you have shown 
 a heart that was selfish or wanton- — a temper that was revengeful and 
 unkind a spirit that was jealous, or envious, or malicious — a self- 
 conceit that was unpleasant — or a positiveness that required others to 
 acknowledge your infallibility. No one can be alone, and look over 
 his character, and the manifestations of that character, long, without 
 seeing numerous deficiencies, and marking many places at which he 
 will set a guard in future. 
 
 One of the best criterions by which to judge of your character, is, to 
 examine the characters of those of whose society you are especially 
 fond. You will be more intimate with some than with others. They 
 will be more likely to flatter you ; and no better index can ever be 
 found to a man’s real character, than those who are his flatterers. If 
 you can discover — and who cannot, if he tries? — who are most fre- 
 quently flattering you, it will be easy for you to see where you stand. 
 In no moral excellence will you be likely to be above those who pay 
 for your company by their flatteries. You can, in this way, most 
 accurately know the state of your heart ; and in your hours of medita- 
 tion you will be unwise to neglect to submit your life to this ordeal. 
 
 By attention to your thoughts when alone, you can obtain what can . 
 in no other situation be obtained — definite and correct views of the ; 
 character of God. No reading, or preaching, or conversation, can ever? 
 give you clear conceptions on this great subject, without meditation. S; 
 Frorn our infancy we hear the character of God described; we read the'^ 
 descriptions of his character in his word; but, after all, we are not^ 
 likely to attach correct and precise ideas to this language, unless we ' 
 reflect much alone. On other subjects it is not so. If, from your 
 infancy, you should hear the characteristics of a steam-engine described, f 
 as you grew up, your ideas would become definite and settled by ex-- 
 perience. You would see the engine frequently, or converse with 
 those who had seen it. But our conceptions of the character of our 
 Maker do not become definite by experience. The same terms may. 
 convey wrong impressions, all the way through life, if we never make 
 this the subject of meditation. Let my young reader try it, and he > 
 ^ill find that u single hour of close thought alone will give him view^ 
 
CH. IX.] DAILY BEADING THE BIBLE. 165 
 
 of the charater of God, which are more defiaite, clear, and satisfactor;^ , 
 than anything of which he has ever made trial. 
 
 6. Be in the daily practice of reading the word of God. 
 
 The whole journey of life is a continued series of checks, disappoint- 
 ments, and sorrows.^ In other words, all the dealings of Providence 
 toward us are designed for the purposes of moral discipline. On no 
 other supposition can we reconcile his dealings, with his infinite benevo 
 fence, or feel resigned in the circumstances in which we are frequently 
 placed. But those views of God, and of ourselves, which are essential 
 to our peace and discipline of heart, are to be found only in the word 
 of God. I have often been struck with a passage in the Travels of the 
 celebrated Mungo Park, describing his situation and feelings when 
 alone in the very heart of Africa. “Whichever way I turned, nothing 
 appeared but danger and difficulty. 1 saw^ myself in the midst of a 
 vast wilderness, in the depth of the rainy season, naked and alone, 
 surrounded by savage animals, and men still more savage. I was five 
 hundred miles from the nearest European settlement. All these cir- 
 cumstances crowded at once on my recollection, and I confess that my 
 spirits began to fail me. I considered my fate as certain, and that I 
 had no alternative but to lie down and perish. The influence of relig- 
 ion, however, aided and su]iported me. I recollected that no human 
 prudence or foresight could have arrested my present sufferings. I 
 indeed was a stranger in a strange land; yet I was still under the pro- 
 tecting eye of that Providence Avho has condescended to call himself the 
 strangers’ friend. At this moment, painful as my reflections Avere, the 
 extraordinary beauty of a small moss in fructification irresistibly caught 
 my eye. I mention this to show from what trifling circumstances the 
 mind Avill sometimes derAe consolation; for, though the AAffiole plant 
 was not larger than the top of one of my Angers, I could not contem- 
 plate tlie delicate conformation of its roots, leaA^es, and capsula, Avithout 
 admiration. Can that Being, thought I, Avho planted, watered, and 
 brought to perfection, in this obscure part of th© world, a thing Avhich 
 appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon the situation 
 and sufferings^ of creatures formed after his own image? Surely not. 
 jPeflections like these would not allow me to despair. I started up, 
 and, disregarding both hunger and fatigue, traveled forAvard, assured 
 that relief AA"as at hand ; and I Avas not disappointed. ” 
 
 ■ This is a touching incident in the life of a braA^e man, and is beauti- 
 fully expressed. But let us notice the fact that God has made two dis- 
 tinct revelations of himself to this world, each of Avhich is perfect in its 
 kind. The one is by his Avorks — so clearly revealing his eternal poAver 
 1 and Godhead in these, that the very heathen are inexcusable for not 
 
166 
 
 DAILY READING THE BIBLE. 
 
 [CH. IX. 
 
 worshiping him. The heavens, the earth, all his works, even to the little 
 “moss” which lifts its humble head in the sands of the desert, unite in 
 teaching his wisdom, his power, and his goodness. And it was very 
 natural for Park thus to gain confidence and instruction from this 
 microscopic forest, planted and watered by an unseen hand ; but I am 
 confident that, had he, at the same time, looked at the other revelation 
 which God has made, and drawn from the Bible, he would have had a 
 confidence still stronger, and even joy in again committing himself 
 to one who suffers not the sparrow to fall without his special direction. 
 In the ninteeenth Psalm is a beautiful parallel drawn between these 
 two revelations of heaven; and the superiority of the written most 
 decidedly extolled. The monarch of Israel seems to have been walking 
 on the top of his palace on one of those clear, delightful evenings 
 which hang over Palestine, and contemplating the works of his Maker. 
 He breaks out in praise, declaring that the heavens and the starry 
 firmament beam out the glory of God; and, looking down upon the 
 earth, he says that every day speaks to the one that is to follow it, and 
 every night to its successor — declaring the character of God; and 
 though no speech is heard, and no language is uttered by the works of 
 God, yet they reveal him through all the earth, wherever the sun shines. 
 He then seems to forget all the brightness of the heavens and the, 
 glories of earth, as he turns away to the word of God — that better 
 revelation of himself. His harp rises in its strains as he celebrates, 
 that ; for here is a revelation which is perfect, complete, reaching the 
 soul, commending itself to the conscience, gladdening the heart, en- 
 lightening the understanding, enduring in its effects upon the soul, 
 gratifying the taste, and, beyond all, restraining from sin and purify-, 
 ing the heart. This spontaneous burst of the sweet singer of Israel is 
 probably the most perfect eulogy upon the word of God Avhich the 
 world has ever seen. 
 
 Perhaps the best uninspired eulogy upon the Bible is from the pen of ‘ 
 that masterly scholar, Sir William Jones. It was written on a blank; 
 page in his Bible, and also inserted in his eighth Discourse before the ; 
 Soicety for Asiatic Eesearches. “The Scriptures contain, independ- 
 ently of a divine origin, more true sublimity, more exquisite beauty, 
 purer morality, more important history, and finer strains both of poetry 
 and eloquence, than could be collected, within the same compass, from 
 all other books that were ever composed in any age, or in any idiom. 
 The two parts of which the Scriptures consist, are connected by a chain 
 of compositions, which bears no resemblance, in form or style, to any 
 that can be produced from the stores of Grecian, Indian, Persian, or 
 even Arabian learning. The antiquity of those compositions no piail / 
 
Icn. IX.] VABIETT IN THE SCRIPTURES. 
 
 doubts ; and the unstrained application of them to events long subsequent 
 to their publication is a solid ground of belief that they were genuine 
 
 predictions, and consequently inspired. ” , . ^ . 
 
 Deists and sceptics, in swarms, have studied the revelation ot nature, . 
 and professed to see and know God ; but from this, source they draw 
 no truths in which they can agree, no precepts whph in any measure 
 break the power of sin within the heart, no consolations which bow 
 the will to that of God in the hour of suffering and trial, and no hope 
 that can sustain and cheer the soul when she is called to feel her house 
 
 shake and fall in pieces. t j ^ 
 
 “The Bible resembles an extensive and highly-cultivated garden, 
 where there is a vast variety and profusion of fruits and flowers; some 
 of which are more essential or more splendid than others ; but there is 
 not a blade suffered to grow in it, which has not its use and beauty in 
 the system. Salvation for sinners is the grand truth presented every- 
 1 where, and in all points of light; but the pure in heart sees a thousand 
 traits of the divine character, of himself, and of the world, some strik- 
 ing and bold, others cast, as it were, into the shade, and designed to 
 be searched for and examined, some direct, others by way of intima- 
 tion or inference. ” X i. -C 4.1. 
 
 You cannot enjoy the Scriptures unless you have a taste tor them; 
 and to this end, it is absoluteiv essential that you read them daily. 
 Many have tried to read the Bible, and were entirely unsuccessful. 
 They have obtained new editions, in different forms, and yet there was 
 no enioyment in reading. One reason was, that they never were in 
 the habit of reading the Bible every day; and unless you have this 
 habit, it is in vain ever to hope to see or feel any of those excellences 
 which others praise. You could enjoy no study, if taken up only now 
 and then. Ever}^' student knows that he feels interest in any study in 
 proportion as he continues to attend to it day after day for some time. 
 This is true of the mathematics, where the taste has but little to do. 
 Take up Euclid once in a year, and look over a few propositions, and 
 you feel but little interest in it. Open Shakespeare once in many 
 months, and you read with no interest ; and the longer the intervals are 
 between reading him, the less is the disposition to recur to him. So of 
 any other book. ^ 
 
 Perhaps few characters have ever had their time more fully en- 
 grossed with business than Queen Eliazbeth ; yet she is said to have 
 fouud time to read the Scriptures daily, and to have acquired a de- 
 cided taste for them. “I walk,” says she, “many times in the pleas- 
 ant fields of the Holy Scriptures, where I pluck up the goodlisome 
 herbs of sentences by pruning, eat them by reading, digest them by 
 
168 
 
 EXAMPLE OF QUEEN ELIZABETM. 
 
 [CH. tx 
 
 musing, and lay them up at length in the high seat of memory b}; 
 gathering them together ; so that, having tasted their sweetness, 1 may 
 perceive the bitterness of life. ’ ’ 
 
 A little before his death, the great Locke, being asked how a young 
 man could, “in the shortest and surest way, attain a knowledge of the 
 Christian religion, in the full and just extent of it,” made this mein- 
 .orable reply: “Let him study the Holy Scriptures, especially the Hew 
 Testament. Therein are contained the words of eternal life. It has 
 God for its author, salvation for its end, and truth, without any mix- 
 ture of error, for its matter. ’ ’ 
 
 I would not only most earnestly recommend you to read the Scrip- 
 tures daily, but would add a few hints as to the best method of doing 
 it. 
 
 1. Read the Bible alone in your retirement. 
 
 The reason of this is obvious. Your mind will be less distracted, the 
 
 attention less likely to be called off, your thoughts less likely to wander. 
 You can read deliberately, slowly, understandingly, and with personal 
 application. It will soon become a delightful habit; and you will 
 shortly greet tlie time when you are to be alone with your Bible, with 
 as much interest as if you were to be with your dearest earthly friej id. 
 Ho taste is so much improved by habit and cultivation as the taste for 
 the word of God. There is a condensation in language, a power in the 
 poetry and eloquence of the Bible, aside from its moral influence, which 
 brings the taste of the reader to its own standard, wdth astonishing 
 rapidity. 
 
 2. JFor all praGtieal purposes in your daily reading icse the commoft 
 translation of the Bible. 
 
 For accurate and critical stud}^, the student will of course go to the 
 original, and to commentators. But to obtain a general knowledge of 
 the revelation- in our hands, and to cultivate the moral feelings of the 
 heart, the common translation is incomparably superior to anything 
 else. It is of great importance to obtain such a knowledge of the Bible 
 as you will obtain by reading it in order. I suppose the word of God 
 was given in parcels, from time to time, as was best adapted to the 
 state of the world, and best adapted to give us correct conceptions of 
 the character and government of God. 1 would have one part of your 
 time employed in reading the books in order, going regularly through 
 the Bible in this way as fast as your circumstances will admit. At 
 another sitting, and in another part of the day, I would read some 
 part that is strictly devotional, such as the Psalms, the Gospels, or the 
 Prophets. Ho young man can be too familiar with the book of Prov- 
 erbs. There is an amazing amount of practical wisdom treasured up 
 
m. IX.] 
 
 USE TEE COMMON TRANSLATION. 
 
 169 
 
 there ; and the young man who should have that at his command, will 
 be likely to do wisely. All the proverbs and wise sayings of the earth 
 3 an bear no comparison to those of Solomon for value ; and there is 
 scarcely one of any value, the essence of which is not already in his. I 
 t\^ould not recommend commentaries of any kind for your daily reading. 
 They are like putting crutches under the arms of a man nearly well. 
 They will aid him now for a short time, but will eventually do injury. 
 Fie who uses a commentator constantly will soon feel that it is essen- 
 :ial; that the Scriptures contain but little, while the commentary is 
 dch ; and that he must rely upon it for all his opinions. What opin- 
 ons you have, will also leave you at once ; for what comes easily, will 
 oe sure to go as easily. 
 
 3. Read the Scriptures with an humble^ teachable disposition. 
 
 The strongest of all evidence in favor of the inspiration of the Bible 
 s the internal — that which the good man feels. This, indeed, is such 
 IS no arguments of the infidel can shake. On other evidence you can 
 :hrow doubts for a moment, bring objections which cannot at once be 
 inswered, suggest difficulties which perplex; — but you may heap diffi- 
 culties up like mountain piled upon mountain, and the good mdji feels 
 :hat his Bible is from God. This is just as you w^ould suppose it w^ould 
 t)e with a book from heaven. But, aside from this, there is evidence 
 enough to crush every doubt forever. It is well to measure the base 
 ind examine the foundations of the building, if your circumstances will 
 dlow of it ; but if you cannot do it just now, reserve it for some future 
 :ime. But you cannot derive good from the Bible, unless you have an 
 bumble mind. A child might say that the sun and stars aU moved 
 ;pound the earth; that his reason taught him so; and that it was be- 
 fitting that God should thus form the universe. But the reason of the 
 child cannot decide such points. You must not say that you can 
 lecide what and how much God ought to reveal. We cannot explain 
 or understand the mysteries which hang around every grain of sand 
 and every drop of w^ater; much less can Ave expect at once to have a 
 revelation about a Being AAdiom no eye ever saAv, and a country from 
 “whose bourne no traA^eler” eA^er returns, AAuthbut meeting Avith diffi- 
 culties and mysteries. 
 
 Humility Avill teach us to sit at the feet of Bevelation, and receiA^e 
 her instructions Avithout caAuling. Beverence toAvard the author, the 
 contents of the Scriptures, and our own everlasting Avelfare, demand 
 that AA^e read Avith humility. We must be docile. We are ignorant 
 and need instruction; Ave are dark, and need illumination; Ave are 
 debased by our passions and sins, and need elevating. The torch of 
 reason cannot enlighten AAffiat hangs beyond the grave ; the conjecture^ 
 
170 
 
 EUMILITT DESIRABLE. 
 
 [CH. rx 
 
 of the imagination only bewilder; and without receiving the Bibh 
 with the spirit of a child, you will conjecture, and theorize, and wilder, 
 till you find yourself on an ocean of uncertainty, without a chart tc 
 guide you, a compass by which to steer, or a haven which you can hope 
 to make. ^ 
 
 4. Bead the Scriptures under a constant sense of high responsihility . 
 
 If the book in your hand be the only revelation which has been made 
 to man, and if God has spoken his inind and will in that, then you 
 have a standard to which you can at all times bring your conscience, 
 by which you can cultivate your heart and grow in purity. You have 
 a book which is able to fit you for the highest usefulness, to point out 
 the noblest ends of your existence, the best method of attaining those 
 ends; which can soothe you when the heart is corroding by vexatious 
 cares, \yhich can humble you when in danger of being lifted up by 
 prosperity ; which can sustain you when your own strength is gone, 
 and which, after having led you as the star led the wise men of the 
 East, through life, will at last lead you to a world where the soul shall 
 live and act in her strength, the mind be enlarged to the utmost of its 
 capacity, and where your wishes will only be commensurate with your 
 Can you neglect this book without doing yourself injus- 
 tice? You are but of yesterday, and have had time to learn but little 
 of Avhat is around you ; and without divine aid, you never would learn 
 what is the destiny of your nature, nor the path which lies before the 
 soul in the eternal world ; but God has given you his own word to 
 teach, to direct, and to sanctify you. If you have anything of wisdom,, 
 you will read the Scriptures daily: if you do not do it, you may be 
 sure the reason is, that you are so in love with sin, that you are un- 
 willing to have a light poured upon you which would rebuke you. 
 
 7. Be in the habit of faithfully reviewing your conduct at stated 
 seasons. 
 
 When these stated seasons shall be, and how often they shall recur, 
 is not for me to say. But they shall recur often, and periodically. A 
 heathen philosopher strongly urged his pupils to examine, every night 
 before they slept, what they had been doing that day, and so discover 
 vdiat actions are worthy of pursuit to-morrow, and what vices are to 
 be prevented from slipping into habits. There are particular times 
 when, by the providences of God, we are especially called to examine 
 our conduct, which are not periodical. For example, if the hand of 
 sickness has been laid upon you, and you have been made to feel your 
 weakness and helplessness, the time of your sickness and of your re- 
 covery should both be seasons in which to pause and hold close counsel 
 with your heart. If you change places, go from home, or go to a new 
 
e,i. ,x.] MBVjmv torn coNDVCt. 
 
 institution fof study, such a change affords you the best possible op- 
 portunity to examine and' see what habits, what moral delinquencies 
 you ought to change for the better, what have been the rocks ot 
 temptation on which you have split, what the companions who have 
 led you astray, what the sins you have fallen into which would grieve 
 your parents, which have pierced your own soul with sorrow, and 
 'which, if persisted in, will eventually destroy you for any service m 
 the holy kingdom of God. These changes in your circumstances ought 
 'always to be made pausing places, at Avhich you faithfully review all 
 your life, and, with penitence for the past, and new resolutions, set out 
 for a better life in future. 
 
 But these are not the periodical times which I am especially urging. 
 At the close of every Sabbath, you should make a conscience of per- 
 forming the duty, and retire and review the week which is now past. 
 It is a good time. You have had the soothing rest of the Sabbath, 
 and you are now one week nearer the hour of dying, and the hour of 
 being iudged. You have had the advantages of another week; now 
 is the time to see how you have improved them : you have had another 
 week in which to influence others; now is the time to see what that 
 influence has been: you have had the responsibilities of forining a 
 acter, under the highest possible advantages, for the service of Grod, 
 during the past we^; now is the time to inquire how you have acted 
 under such responsibilities. Make this review thorough, and be sure 
 not to omit it once. If you allow the season to pass you without this 
 close self-examination you will be likely to do it again and a^ain; for 
 there is no duty in all that pertains to the discipline of the heart so 
 irksome as that of self-examination. Some will say that they had 
 rather their friends would point out their defects. But why should 
 you be hke the child who asks for a looking-glass in which to examine 
 liis hands, to see if they need washing? No doubt it is more agreeable 
 to have a friend to do this, than to do it yourself; and for the obvious 
 reason that you will see a thousand sins, and a thousand vrong mo- 
 tives, which his eye cannot reach. If I may be allowed to suggest, I 
 know of no one thing, aside from the Bible, so useful to aid in examm- 
 ino* the heart, on these occasions, as Buck’s Closet Companion. It is 
 clear, brief, and to the point. Every question is searching; and he 
 who will use that little treatise in his attempts at examining his heart 
 on the evening of the Sabbath, will not long fail of having definite 
 views of himself, and very moderate views of his excellences. Such a 
 season, too, is exceedingly well fitted to close the Sabbath, and to 
 fasten upon the soul those sacred impressions for which that day is 
 especially designed. 
 
172 
 
 REVIEW YOUR CONDUCT. 
 
 [CH. 12^. 
 
 It has been said by some, that we can judge of the bent of our char- 
 acters by examining every morning to see about what our thoughts 
 have been employed during the night, as it is supposed we shall, of 
 course, when off our guard during sleep, go about the business ’which 
 we should like best, if our inclinations might be followed. There may 
 be some truth in this, but not enough, probably, to enable you to 
 make it any criterion by which to judge of your character ; for every 
 student knows that a noise like the falling of a pair of tongs, may hurry 
 him away to the field of battle; a single coverlet too much, may cause: 
 him to groan with a mountain upon him; and a single movement of 
 his bed -fellow, may cause him to commit murder— in his sleep. This 
 much is generally true ; that if you have a troubled night, you have 
 either abused the body by eating or drinking too much, or tasked the 
 brain by too great a draught upon its functions at a late hour at night. 
 Dreams will at least indicate how much you are abusing your corporeal ^ 
 and mental powers. 
 
 But at night — at the close of the day, when you have passed through 
 the day; have added it to the days of your existence on earth; when' 
 its hours have fled to the judgment-seat and reported all your doings, 
 all your words and thoughts — the day which must inevitably have 
 more or less effect in shaping your destiny forever; this is the season ; 
 when you ought to review, most faithfully and most strictly, all your con- 
 duct. You may not at once see the advantages of doing so; but they 
 are really greater than language can describe. You will find duties ; 
 omitted during the day ; will not the examination lead you to repent 
 of what was wrong, and to avoid it to-morrow? You will find time 
 wasted, an hour here, and half an hour there; will not the examina- 
 tion do you good? You will find that you have spoken unadvisedly 
 with your li]is — that you have said what will wound the sensibilities, 
 either natural or moral; and ought you not to know of these instances? 
 You will find that you have sinned with the thoughts, and that you 
 have spread out feelings which the Divine mind, of course, must retain 
 forever, and which were vile ; will it not do you good to recall tliese^ 
 instances? Perhaps you have made one effort to resist temptation, and 
 to do your duty; and it will cheer you to recall it. To-morrow you 
 will be still more likely to be successful. Every man, at night, can tell 
 whether he has made, or squandered, or lost, property, during the day ; 
 and so every one, by proper care, can tell whether he has gone back- 
 ward or forward in disciplining his heart, at the close of every day. 
 He who passes on for weeks and months without this frequent faithful 
 review, will wonder, at the end of these long periods, why he has not 
 grown in moral character, and why he has no more confidence in his 
 
C'll. lx.] 
 
 BABIT OF BAIL T PBA TFB. 
 
 hopes for the future. The fact is, we may live, and be heathen, under 
 the full light of the Gospel, and perhaps, too, while we are cherishing 
 some of its forms. But life will pass from you while you are making- 
 good resolutions, and hoping to do better, unless you bring yourself to 
 account daily ; and when death shall come to call you away, you will 
 find the touching and affecting language of the dying heathen philoso- 
 pher most suitable to your case : — J^cede hunc mundum intrcmi, anxius 
 vivi^ perturbatus egredior — Causa causarum miserere mei^ “I was born 
 polluted, I have spent my life anxiously, I die with trembling solicitude 
 — O thou Cause of causes, have pity on me.” The pain which our 
 deficiencies and sins give us on the review will be salutary, desirable, 
 and necessary : and it is at a fearful hazard that any one under as great 
 responsibilities as those under which we are placed, ever retires to rest 
 without such a review of the day as I am recommending. 
 
 8. Be in the habit of daily prayer. 
 
 Though much of the novelty of the style and manner of Johnson has 
 passed away, yet his works will ever bear the impress of a great mind ; 
 and as long as the English language exists, he will stand high in the 
 estimation of the student. Yet Johnson, as far as he was from en- 
 thusiasm, is found making use of an humble and beautiful form of 
 prayer when taking his pen to Avrite a Avork, Avhich will be immortal. 
 The most distinguished authors — such, I mean, as have been the most 
 Avidely useful — have ahvays sought the blessing of God upon their 
 studies. Doddridge used to obserA^e frequently, “that he neAW ad- 
 vanced well in human learning Avithout prayer, and that he ahvays 
 made the most proficiency in his studies Avhen he prayed Avith the 
 greatest fervency.” When exposed to dangers which threaten the 
 body, such as the perils of a journey, the malignant plague, the storm 
 at sea, or the rockings of the earthquake, no one esteems it enthusiasm 
 or Aveakness to ask aid and protection from God. But hoAV many feel, 
 that, Avhen they sit down to study, Avhen they are tempted to go astray 
 in a thousand paths of error, Avhen liable to have their opinions, vieAVS, 
 plans, habits, all the traits of their character, Avrong, they liaA^e no need 
 of prayer ! The very heathen felt so much need of aid in their mental 
 researches, that they seldom, if ever, began a study or a book, Avithout 
 invoking the aid of the gods. Surely the student who knoAvs his de- 
 pendence upon the true God, and who knoAvs hoAv easily the mind of 
 man is throAvn off from its balance — how important it is that the mind 
 be clear, and all its po Avers in full vigor — will not feel that, as a student^ 
 to say nothing about a higher character or destiny, he can do his duty 
 to himself without forming and cultivating the habit of daily prayer. 
 
 I knoAv that thousands, when pressed on this point, will say that 
 
in MOBmWG JSVmiJSTG PBAYER [ca. 
 
 they have no time — their studies are so pressing, so urgent, that they^ 
 have neither the time nor the spirit necessary for prayer. I reply, ^ 
 that it will not hinder your studies. On the contrary, the mind will' 
 be calmed, rested, and refreshed, by being daily turned off from your 
 studies for prayer. Ask any distinguished man, who has ever tried j 
 both methods of study, and he will tell you that he has been prospered^ 
 in his studies in proportion to his faithfulness in performing this duty. 
 What shall be said of such a man as Andrews, who was such a pro- ^ 
 ficient in study, that he could read fifteen different languages, and yet j 
 never spent less than five hours daily in private devotion ? J 
 
 You will find, as I trust, the following hints of advantage to you in 
 the performance of this duty. 
 
 1. Ham regular hours of jjr ay er. \ 
 
 Habit, in regard to every duty, is of the first importance; but for : 
 
 none is it more important than in regard to prayer. You cannot walk ^ 
 and lift your heart to God, or sit in your room and do it, as well as to 
 be retired. The direction of Christ, to enter the closet, was founded ' 
 on the philosophy of human nature. Have particular seasons, and 
 when the hour arrives, you will hail it as that which is the most pleas- 
 ant in the whole day. The return of the hour brings to mind the duty, 
 which might otherwise be crowded out of mind. System should be 
 rigidly adhered to, in this duty, for the sake of insuring its prompt : 
 performance, and especially for the sake of enjoyment. Ho man ever ' 
 enjoyed his religion who had not regular seasons devoted to prayer. 
 
 2. These hours should he in the morning and in the evening. 
 
 In the morning the mind is calmed ; the temptations of the dav have 
 not beset you ; the duties of the day have not filled the mind and begun , 
 to vex you. Before you go to the duties of the day, to its cares, and ■ 
 anxieties, and temptations, begin the day with prayer. Temptations ' 
 you certainly will meet; trials of virtue and patience will overtake ^ 
 you; and many times before night, you Avill need the aid of your : 
 Father to shield you. Go to him, and ask his counsel to guide you, 
 his poAAW to uphold you, his presence to cheer you, his Spirit to 
 sanctify you. Then Avill you have done what is equivalent to half the 
 duties of the day, Avhen you have thus engaged his care and assistance. 
 And Avhen the evening comes, Avhen you have done Avith the duties of 
 the day, the body is Avearied, and the mind is jaded, Avhen the Avorld is 
 shut out by the shades of night, AA^hen you come to look back and revieAV 
 the day, Avhen you see hoAV many deficiencies haA^e marked the day, | 
 hoAV niany imperfections still cluster around you, how many sins stare : 
 you in the face, how little you have done for yourself or for others, or ^ 
 for God, the day past, then — is the hour of prayer. It Avill be sweet to ■ 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 KEEP A CLEAR CONSCIENCE. 
 
 175 
 
 feel that you have one to whom you can go, and who will hear you; 
 one who will forgive you, if you are penitent, and ask in the name of 
 Jesus Christ; one who will accept your evening sacrifice, and give you 
 strength for the morrow, and gird you with his own righteousness. 
 This hour, if rightly improved, will be like the cheering countenance 
 of a most beloved friend. Take care that nothing comes between you 
 and these hours devoted to God. ‘ ‘ Think of Daniel, prime minister 
 of Persia, with the affairs of one hundred and twenty proGnces resting 
 on his mind, yet finding time to go ‘ into his chamber, three times a 
 day, that he might pray and give thanks to God. ’ Think of Alfred, 
 with the cares of monarchy ; of Luther, buffeted by the storms of 
 Papal wrath; of Thornton, encompassed with a thousand mercantile 
 engagements, yet never allowing the hurry of business to intrude on 
 their regular hours of devotion.” 
 
 3. Keejj) your conscience mid of offence in oilier respects., if you tcould 
 enjoy prayer. 
 
 It you are aware of any sin, be it what it may, in which you allov*^ 
 yourself, you may be sure that will ruin your devotional hours. Either 
 that, or communion with God, must be relinquished, and certainly will 
 be. If you do not keep the Sabbath; if you are light and foolish in 
 conversation, jealous and censorious upon others, or given to the indul- 
 gence of vile thoughts and practices in secret, you cannot welcome the 
 hour of prayer. 
 
 It may seem strange to some of my readers, that I urge this duty 
 upon them, when they do not profess to be Christians, or religious 
 people. But am I to blame, if they do not even profess to wish to 
 obey and honor their God? Are they in any way above the reach of 
 want, so that they need not prayer? What if you have no relish for 
 prayer ; will neglecting the duty cultivate, or even create such a relish ? 
 If you have lived so long under the government of God, under all the 
 advantages Avhich you have enjoyed, under all the responsibilities 
 which have been resting upon you, and still are living without prayer, 
 are you in the path of duty to plead this neglect of prayer, as a reason 
 why it should not be urged upon you? Shall I be a faithful friend to 
 admit this excuse, and to allow that, because you have so long tried 
 to escape the ej^e of God, and have neither thanked him for his mercies 
 nor asked him for his goodness, neither sought his friendship nor de- 
 precated his displeasure, you ought still to be left, and no warning 
 voice reach you? ISTo. And if you urge that you have not been in the 
 habit of prayer, I assure you that you are inexcusable ; that you are 
 losing great peace of mind, and daily satisfaction in laying all your 
 wants and trials before Him who can relieve them: you are losing those 
 
176 
 
 ASSISTAJSrCE OF HOLT SPIRIT. 
 
 [CH, IX 
 
 great principles which make character good, great, and stable, and you 
 are losing opportunities which are passing away rapidly, and whose 
 misimproveinent will hereafter bring down great anguish upon you. 
 
 4. Offer your prayers in the name of Jesus Christ. 
 
 He is the only Mediator between God and man. He it is who sits 
 with the golden censer in his right hand, and who ever lives to inter- 
 cede for us. He is a great and a merciful High Priest, who can be 
 touched with a feeling of our infirmities. We have no righteousness 
 of our own ; we can have no confidence in offering prayer in our own 
 names. But he who has most of the spirit of Christ ; who comes near 
 to him in his contemplations and devotions; who has the most exalted 
 views of the Kedeemer, and the most abased views of himself, will 
 enjoy most at the throne of grace. Your ])rayers will be cold unless 
 they go from a lieart warmed by his love. Your petitions will not 
 be fervent unless you feel your need of an Almighty Saviour. The 
 songs wliich are the loudest and sweetest in heaven, we are told, are 
 kindled by the exhibitions which he has made of what he has done for 
 
 5. A sic the assistance of the Holy Spirit. 
 
 AYhen God directs us to pray, it is not that he may sit at a distance, 
 and in the coldness of a sovereign monarch, hear our prayers, and re- 
 ceive our homage; but it is that we may draw ourselves near to him, 
 as one in a boat, with a boat-hook, would not draw the shore to the 
 boat, but the boat to the shore. His promise of the Holy Spirit to 
 those who ask him, was sincere; and no gift can be compared to this. 
 All that is done for man in the way of calling his attention to eternal 
 things, sanctifying the heart, and preparing the soul for the service of 
 God here and hereafter, is done by the Holy Spirit as the agent. 
 Solemn warnings are given in the Bible, lest we should abuse this last, 
 best gift of heaven. He is the Sanctifier to ])urify your heart, the 
 Comforter to sustain and cheer in life and in death. Ask his assistance 
 and you \^ill be shielded from temptation, trained for usefulness here, 
 enlightened in your views, expansive in your feelings, pure in your 
 aims, contented in your circumstances, peaceful in your death, and 
 glorious in immortality beyond the grave. 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 OBJECT OF LIFE. 
 
 177 
 
 X. 
 
 THE OBJECT OF LIFE. 
 
 How many beautiful visions pass before the mind in a single day, 
 when the reins are thrown loose, and fancy feels no restraints ! How 
 curious, interesting, and instructive Avould be the history of the ^vork- 
 ings of a single mind for a day! How many imaginary joys, how 
 many airy castles, pass before it, which a single jostle of this rough 
 world at once destroys! who is there of my readers who has not im- 
 agined a summer fairer than ever bloomed, scenery in nature more 
 perfect than was ever combined by the pencil, abodes more beautiful 
 than were ever reared, honors more distinguished than were ever be- 
 stowed, homes more peaceful than were ever enjoyed, companions more 
 angelic than ever walked this earth, and bliss more complete, and joys 
 more thrilling, than were ever allotted to man? You may call these 
 the dreams of the imagination, but they are common to the student. 
 To the man who lives for this world alone, these visions of bliss, poor 
 as they are, are all that ever come. But good men have their antici- 
 pations — not the paintings of fancy but the realities which faith dis- 
 covers. Good men have the most vivid conceptions. Witness those 
 of old. As they look down the vale of time they see a star arise — the 
 everlasting hills do bow, the valleys are raised, and the moon puts on 
 the brightness of the sun. The deserts and the dry places gush with 
 waters. IS’ature pauses. The serpent forgets his fangs; the lion and 
 the lamb sleep side by side, and the hand of the child is on the mane of 
 the tiger. I^ations gaze till they forget the murderous work of war, 
 and the garments rolled in blood. The whole earth is enlightened, 
 and the star shines on it till it brings in everlasting day. Here are 
 glowing conceptions, but they are not the work of a depraved imagina- 
 tion. They will all be realized. Sin and death will long walk hand 
 in hand on this earth, and their footsteps will not be entirely blotted 
 out .till the fires of the last day have melted the globe. But the head 
 of the one is already bruised, and the sting is already taken from the 
 other. They may long roar, but they walk in chains, and the eye of 
 faith sees the hand that holds the chains. 
 
 But we have visions still brighter. AYe look for new heavens and 
 a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness. 'No sin will be there to 
 mar the beauty, no sorrow to diminish the joy, no anxiety to corrode 
 
178 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 [CH. X.^ 
 
 the heart or cloud the brow. Our characters may be tested, in part, ' 
 by our anticipations. If our thoughts and feelings are running in the 
 channel of time, and dancing from one earthly bubble to another, 
 though our hopes may come in angel-robes, it is a sad proof that our 
 hearts are here also. 
 
 Is there anything of weakness in these hopes of good men? Are 
 we not continually seeking rest for the soul? A few years ago, a youth 
 went up to the mast-head of a large whale ship, and there sat down- to 
 think. He was the only child of his mother, and she a widow. He 
 had left her against her wishes and remonstrances, her prayers and 
 tears. He had for many years been roaming over the seas, and was now 3 
 returning home. He was thinking of the scenes of his childhood — all | 
 the anxious hours which he had cost that mother — all the disobedience 
 on his part, and that love on hers which no waters could quench. | 
 Would she be sleeping in the grave when he once ^ more came to her | 
 door? Does his home still look as it used to? — the tree, the brook, the 1 
 pond, the fields, the grove, — are they all as he left them? And his | 
 mother — would she receive him to her heart, or would she be sleeping | 
 in death? Would she recognize her long-absent boy, and forgive all | 
 his past ingratitude, and still love him with the unquenchable love of j 
 a mother? And may he again liave a home, and no more wander j 
 among strangers? The ])ressure of these thoughts was too much. He | 
 wept at the remembrance of his undutifulness. Troubles and hard- \ 
 ships did not break his spirit, did not subdue his proud heart; but the | 
 thoughts of home, of rest, of going out no more, suffering no more, 1 
 engrossing the love of a kind parent, melted him. Is not this human 
 nature? And is it weakness in a good man to rejoice at the thought of 1 
 that day, when death shall be swallowed up in victory? when the Lord 
 God shall wipe away all tears, and take away the rebuke of his people, ■ 
 that they may be glad and rejoice in his salvation? “I am going,” ^ 
 said the great Hooker, “to leave a world disordered, and a church : 
 disorganized, for a world and a church where every angel, and every : 
 rank of angels, stand before the throne in the very post God has as- ^ 
 signed them. ’ ’ : 
 
 The world, the great mass of mankind, have utterly misunderstood ■ 
 the real object of life on earth, or else he misunderstands it who. fol- 
 lows the light of the Bible. You look at men as individuals, and their 
 object seems to be to gratify a contemptible vanity, to pervert and 
 follow their low appetites and passions, and the dictates of selfishness 
 wherever they may lead. You look at men in the aggregate, and this 
 pride and these passions terminate in wide plans of ambition, in war 
 and bloodshed, in strifes and the destruction of all that is virtuous or 
 
 
JSXAMPLES. 
 
 179 
 
 I Ofl. X.] 
 
 lovely. The history of mankind has its pages all stained with blood ; 
 and it is the history of a race whose object seemed to be, to debase 
 their powers, and sink what was intended for immortal glory, to the 
 deepest degradation which sin can cause. At one time, you will see 
 an army of five millions of men following a leader, who, to add to his 
 poor renown, is now to jeopardize all these lives, and the peace of his 
 whole kingdom. This multitude of minds fall in, and they live, and 
 march, and fight, and perish, to aid in exalting a poor worm of the 
 dust. What capacities were here assembled! What minds were here 
 put in motion 1 What a scene of struggles was here ! and who, of all 
 this multitude, were pursuing the real object of life. From Xerxes, at 
 their head, to the lowest and most debased in the rear of the army, 
 was there one, who, when weighed in the balances of eternal truth, 
 was fulfilling the object for which he was created, and for which life is 
 continued? Look again. All Europe rises up in a frenzy, and pours 
 forth a living tide toward the Holy Land. They muster in the name 
 of the Lord of Hosts. The cross waves on their banners, and the holy 
 sepulcher is the watchword by day and night. They move eastward, 
 and whiten the burning sands of the deserts with their bleaching 
 bones. But of all these, from the fanatic whose voice awoke Europe 
 to arms, down to the lowest horse-boy, how few were actuated by 
 any spirit which Heaven, or justice, to say nothing about love, could 
 sanction ! Suppose the same number of men, the millions which com- 
 posed the continent which arose up to exterminate another, and who 
 followed the man who was first a soldier, and then a priest and hermit, 
 and who has left the world in doubt whether lie was a prophet, a mad- 
 man, a fool, or a demagogue, had spent the same treasures of life, and 
 of money, in trying to spread the spirit of that Saviour for whose tomb 
 they could waste so much ; and suppose this army had been enlightened 
 and sanctified men, and had devoted their powers to do good to man- 
 kind, and to honor their God, how different would the world have been 
 found to-day! LIow many, think you, of all the then Christian world, 
 acted under a spirit, and with an object before them such as the world 
 will approve, and especially such as the pure beings above us will ap- 
 prove ? 
 
 Look a moment at a few of the efforts which avarice has made. For 
 about four centuries, the avarice of man, and of Christian men too, 
 has been preying upon the vitals of Africa. It has taken the sons and 
 daughters of Ham, and doomed soul and body to debasement, to igno- 
 rance, to slavery. And what are the results? Twenty-eight millions 
 — about one third of the population of this country — have been kidnap- 
 ped and carried away from the land of their birth. The estimate is, 
 
180 UNIVERSAL ABUSE OF MINE. [CH. t.. | 
 
 that the increase in the house of bondage since those times is five-fold, | 
 or nearly one hundred and seventy millions of human, immortal beings, i 
 cut off from the rights of man, and, by legislation and planning, re^ 1 
 duced far toward the scale of the brutes. This is only a single form in ^ 
 which avarice has been exerting its power. Suppose the same time | 
 and money, the same effort, had been spent in spreading the arts of | 
 civilization, learning, and religion, over the continent of Africa, what | 
 a vast amount of good would have been accomplished ! And at the ^ 
 day when the recording angel reads the history of the earth, how very 'i 
 diferent would be the picture, and the eternal condition of untold | 
 numbers ! If the marks of humanity are not all blotted out from that 
 race of miserable men, it is not because oppression has not been suffi- , 
 ciently legalized, and avarice been allowed to pursue its victims, till, v 
 the grave became a sweet asylum. 's 
 
 I am trying to lead you to look at the great amount of abuse, and of 
 perversion of mind, of which mankind are constantly guilty. When ■ 
 Christianity began her glorious career, the world had exhausted its * 
 strength in trying to debase itself, and to sink low enough to embrace :i 
 paganism ; and yet not so low, as not to try to exist in the shape of i 
 nations. The experiment had been repeated, times we know not how I 
 many. Egypt, Babylonia, Persia, polished Greece, iron-footed Rome, < 
 mystical Hindooism, had all tried it. They spent, each, mind enough ^ 
 to regenerate a nation, in trying to build up a system of corrupt pa- j 
 ganism ; and when that system was built up — let the shape and form 3 
 be what it might — the nation had exhausted its energies, and it sunk J 
 and fell under the effects of misapplied and perverted mind. hTo nation 
 existed on the face of the earth, which was not crumbling under the use ^ 
 of its perverted energies, when the Gospel reached it. Our ancestors ; 
 were crushed under the weight of a Druidical priesthood, and the rites - 
 of that bloody system of religion. 
 
 Another striking instance of the perversion of mind, and the abuse 
 of the human intellect and heart, is the system of the Romish Church. 
 IsTo one created mind, apparently, could ever have invented a scheme 
 of delusion, of degradation of the soul, the intellect, the whole man, so \ 
 perfect and complete as is this. What minds must have been employed 
 in shutting out the light of heaven, and in burying the manna, which 
 fell in showers so extended ! What a system ! To gather all the books . 
 in the world, and put them all within the stone walls of the monastery 
 and the cloister, to crush schools, except in these same monasteries, in 
 which they trained up men to become more and more skillful in doing 
 the work of ruin, to delude the world with ceremonies and fooleries, 
 while the Bible was taken away ; and Religion muttered her rites in an 
 
Ch. 5c.] 
 
 UNIVERSAL ABUSE OF MINE. 
 
 181 
 
 unknown tongue, and all this the result of a settled plan to debase the 
 intellect and mock poor human nature! And, when the Eeformation 
 held up all these abominations to light, what a masterpiece was the 
 last plan laid to stifle the reason forever!— the Incpisition. It was 
 reared through the Christian world : the decree, by a single blow, pro- 
 scribed between sixty and seventy printing-presses, and excommunicated 
 all who should ever read anything which they might produce. A phil- 
 osopher who, like Galileo, could pour light upon science, and astonish 
 the world by his discoveries, must repeatedly fall into the cruel mercies 
 of the Inquisition. The ingenuity of hell seemed tasked to invent 
 methods by which the human mind might be shut up in Egyptian 
 darkness ; and never has a Catholic community been known to be other 
 than degraded, ignorant, superstitious, and sunken. Let light in, and 
 all who receive it rush to infidelity. But Avhat a mass of mind has 
 been, and still is, employed in upholding this system! and what a loss 
 to the world has it produced, in quenching, in everlasting darkness, 
 the uncounted millions of glorious minds which have been destroyed 
 by it ! If I could find it in my heart to anathematize any order of 
 men — and I hope I cannot — it would be those who are thus taking 
 away the key of knowledge, and preventing all within the compass of 
 their influence from fulfilling the great object for which they were 
 created. 
 
 Was man created for war? Did his Maker create the eye, that he 
 might take better aim on the field of battle? give him skill, that he 
 might invent methods of slaying by thousands ? and plant a thirst in 
 the soul, that it might be quenched by the blood of man? What sci- 
 ence or art can boast of more precision, of more to teach it, to hail it 
 with enthusiasm, and to celebrate it in song? Genius has ever sat at 
 the feet of Mars, and exhausted his efforts in preparing exquisite offer- 
 ings. Human thought has never made such gigantic efforts as when 
 employed in scenes of butchery. Has Skill ever been more active and 
 successful — has Poetry ever so kindled, as when the flames of Troy 
 lighted her page? What school- boy is ignorant of the battle ground, 
 and the field of blood, where ancient and modern armies met and tried 
 to crush each other? Has Music ever thrilled like that which led men 
 to battle, and the plume of the desert bird ever danced so gracefully as 
 when on the head of the warrior? Are any honors so freely bestowed, 
 or cheaply purchased, as those which are gained by a few hours of 
 fighting. See that man, who, so late, was the wonder of the w^orld, 
 calling out, marshaling, employing and wasting almost all the treas- 
 ures of Europe, for twelve or fifteen years. What multitudes of minds 
 did he caU to the murderous work of war! — minds that might have 
 
182 
 
 trisirERSAL' ABUSE or mine. 
 
 tctt.X. 1 
 
 blessed the world with literature, with science, with schools, and with j 
 the gospel of peace, had they not been perverted from the great and 
 best object of living! Says a philosophical writer, speaking on this i 
 subject, “I might suppose, for the sake of illustration, that all the J 
 schemes of ambition, and ciaielty, and intrigue, were blotted from the - 
 page of history ; that, against the names of the splendid and guilty ■ 
 actors, whom the world for ages has wondered at, there were Avritten 
 achievements of Christian benevolence, equally grand and character- ^ 
 istic ; and then ask Avhat a change would there be in the scenes which | 
 the world has beheld transacted, and what a difference in the results ! j 
 Alexander should have won victories in Persia more splendid than 1 
 those of Granicus and Arbela; he should have wandered over India, rl 
 like Buchanan, and wept for another world to bring under the do- ' 
 minion of the Saviour ; and, returning to Babjdon, should have died, like ; 
 Martyn, the victim of Christian zeal. Caesar should have made Gaul ^ 
 and Britain obedient to the faith, and, crossing the Rubicon Avith his ’ 
 apostolic legions, and maldng the Romans freemen of the Lord, should I 
 have been the forerunner of Paul, and done half his Avork. Charle- ' 
 magne should have been a Luther. Charles of Sweden should haA^e ^ 
 been a HoAvard; and, flying from the Baltic to the Euxine, like an ^ 
 angel of mercy, should have fallen, Avhen on some errand of love, and i 
 numbering his days by the good deeds he had done, should have died | 
 like Mills in an old age of charity. Voltaire, should have Avritten 3 
 Christian tracts. Rousseau should have been a Fenelon. Hume | 
 should have unraveled the intricacies of theology, and defended, like ^ 
 Edwards, the faith once delivered to the saints.” : 
 
 We call ours the most enlightened nation on earth, inferior to none ■ 
 in oAvning the spirit of Christianity ; and Ave claim this as an age be- ‘ 
 hind none eA^er enjoyed, for high moral principle, and beneA’'olent dis- ' 
 interested action. But what is this principle in the great mass of : 
 mankind ! When clouds gather in the political horizon, and Avar ] 
 threatens a nation, hoAV are the omens received? How many are there j 
 Avho turn aside and Aveep, and deprecate the guilt, the woe, and the . 
 indescribable evils and miseries of war? The great majority of the ; 
 nation feel that the path of glory is noAV opening before them, and that ■ 
 the honor Avhich may possibly be attained by a feAV bloody battles, is ; 
 ample compensation for the expense, the morals, the lives, and the ‘ 
 happiness, Avhich mvst be sacrificed for the possibility. Let that nation 
 rush to war for some supposed point of honor. Watch the population 
 as they collect, group after group, under the burning suu, all anxious, ^ 
 all eager, and all standing as if in deep expectation for the signal which 
 was to call them to judgment. They are Avaiting for the first tidings ; 
 
cir. X.] 
 
 UNIVERSAL ABUSE OF MIND. 
 
 183 
 
 of the battle, where the honor of the nation is staked. ITo tidings 
 that ever came from Heaven can send a thrill of joy so deep as the 
 tidings that one ship has conquered or sunk another. 
 
 Was it anything remarkable, that, in the very heart of a Christian 
 nation, a single horse-race brought over fifty-thousand people together? 
 Were they acting so much out of the character of the mass of mankind 
 as to cause it to make any deep impression upon the moral sensibilities 
 of the nation ? 
 
 Suppose it were known that a mind was now in process of training, 
 which might, if its powers were properly directed, be equal to Milton 
 or Locke; but that, instead of this, it will waste its powers in creating 
 such song as Byron wrote, or in weaving such webs as the schoolmen 
 wove. Would the knowledge of such a waste of mind, such perver- 
 sion of powers, cause a deep sensation of regret among men ? or have 
 such perversions been so common in the world that one such magnifi- 
 cent mind might be lost to mankind, and no one would mourn? The 
 answer is plain. The world has become so accustomed to seeing mind 
 prostituted to ignoble purposes, and influence which might reach round 
 the globe like a zone of mercy thrown away forever, that we hardly 
 think of it as greatly out of the way. 
 
 A generation of men come on the stage of action ; they find the world 
 in darkness, in ignorance, and in sin. They live, gain the few honors 
 which are easily plucked, gather the little wealth which toil and anxiety 
 will bestow, and then pass away. As a whole, the generation do not 
 expect or try to throw an influence upon the world Avhich shall be 
 redeeming. They do not expect to leave the world materially better 
 than they found it. Why do we not mourn that such myriads of im- 
 mortal minds are destined to pass away, and never to break out in acts 
 of mercy and kindness to the world ? Because we have so long been so 
 prodigal of mind, that we hardly notice its loss. 
 
 For thousands of years the world has slept in ignorance, or groped^ 
 in utter darkness. Hations have come up, and bowed and worshiped 
 the sun, or wood, or brass, stone, or reptile, and then have passed 
 away. The heart of man has been broken by vain superstitions, by 
 cruelties, vileness, under the name of religion, and, aside from the 
 Bible, we see no hope that it will be otherwise, for as long a period to 
 come. But does this immense waste, this immeasurable loss, for time 
 and eternity, trouble mankind? Is the world at work for its redemp- 
 tion and disenthraUment ? By no means! A small portion of the 
 Christian world alone have even looked at it with any interest. This 
 small part are making some efforts. They are taking the Gospel of 
 God, and with it carrying the arts of civilization, the fight of schools, 
 
184 
 
 EFFECTS OF THE GOSPEL, 
 
 [CH. X. 
 
 I the sacredness of the Sabbath, and the influences and hopes of immor- 
 ; tality, to the ends of the earth. But how are these labors esteemed 
 by the mass of society ? Where is the sympathy for the solitary mis- 
 sionary of the cross, as he takes his life in his hand, and goes to the 
 dark places of the earth, full of the habitations of cruelty? The world 
 laughs at the idea that the world can be recovered ; and, though lions 
 and tigers are constantly tamed, and the deadly serpent is charmed, 
 yet there is no faith that the moral character of man is ever to be any 
 better. The schemes of the missionary are fanatical, the Bible is 
 powerless as the cold philosophy of the world, and preaching has no 
 power but that which depends upon the eloquence of the tongue which 
 utters it. But the question is, — How do you account for it, that the 
 community at large so coolly make up their minds, that the world can 
 never be any better, and each one goes about his business, as if it were 
 all of no sort of consequence? I account for it, by saying that man- 
 kind are supremely selfish ; so much so, that the situation of a Avorld 
 \ lying in wickedness, does not move them — that the great majority of 
 men always have, and do still, mistake the true object of life. 
 
 “Nothing in man is great, but so far as it is connected with God. 
 The only wise thing recorded of Xerxes is his reflection on the sight of 
 his army, that not one of that immense multitude would survive a 
 hundred years. It seems to have been a momentary gleam of true 
 light and feeling. The history of all the great characters of the Bible 
 is summed up in this one sentence — they acquainted themselves with 
 God, and acquiesced in his will in all things;” and no other characters 
 can be called great, with any propriety. 
 
 Look at individuals. You Avalk down on the Avharf of one of our 
 large cities. You notice a man by himself ,>^!lone/ He Avalks Avith a 
 quick, feverish step, backAvard and forAvard, and, every feAv moments, 
 looks aAA^ay at that dark speck, far off on the “dark blue sea.” He is 
 Availing for that ship to loom up, that he may see his own flag at mast- 
 head. For nearly three years she has been gone, and comes home noAv, 
 probably, richly freighted. During all this time, he has followed her 
 in his thoughts, day and night : Avhen it Avas dark — when the storm 
 rushed — Avhen the Avinds moaned — he thought of his ship; and not for 
 a single waking hour at a time has that ship’s image been out of his 
 mind. His whole soul Avent with her; and yet, all this time, he neA^er 
 lifted a prayer to Him Avho holds the winds and the AA-aves in his hands; 
 and even now, when his heart is swelling Avith hopes that are realized, 
 still he thinks not of raising a breath in thanksgiving to his God ; thinks 
 of no acts of mercy Avhich he will perform ; feels no accountability for 
 
an. X.] SELFlsm^S^. 185 
 
 his property. Is such a man, living for property alone, pursuing the 
 real object of life? 
 
 Look at another man. He is walking his closet : his brow is con- 
 tracted; his countenance faded ; his eye sunken, and he is full of 
 troubled anxiety. He looks out of his window for his messenger, and 
 then sinks down in deep thought. It would seem as if nothing less 
 than the salvation of his soul could cause such an anxiety. He is a 
 cunning statesman, a crafty politic#an, and is now waiting to learn the 
 result of a new scheme, which he is now executing, with the hope that 
 it may aid him in climbing the ladder of ambition. He eyes every 
 movement in the community, watches every change, and carries a solic- 
 itude which, at times, must be agonizing. There are thousands of 
 such minds, trying to make men their tools, regardless of means or 
 measures, provided they can fulfill their great desire — exalt themselves. 
 Are such men pursuing the real object of life? 
 
 Look again. — There is a man of cultivated taste and refined feeling. 
 His soul is full of poetry, and his feelings alive to every charm that 
 is earthly. He can look out on the face of the evening sky, or watch 
 the tints of dawn, and admire such beauties ; but his soul never looks 
 up, “through nature’s works to nature’s God.” He can enter into 
 deep communion wdth what is perfect in the natural world, but he 
 holds none with the Father of his spirit. Music, too, is his delight. 
 He can eagerly give himself away to the melody of sweet sounds ; but 
 with all this he stands without the threshold of the moral temple of God, 
 and has no wish to enter in and eat the food of angels. The thorns 
 which grow on Sinai are unpleasant to his soul; but not more so than 
 are the roses which bloom on Calvary. The blending tints of the 
 summer -bow awaken a thrill of pleasure; but the bow of mercy, which 
 hangs over the cross of Jesus, has in it nothing that can charm. He 
 lives, plans, and acts just as he would were there no God above him, 
 before whom every thought lies naked. Is this man — this refined, 
 cultivated scholar — pursuing the object for which he was created? 
 And if every cultivated man on earth should do precisely as he does, 
 w^ould the w^orld advance in knowledge, virtue, or religion? Man was 
 created for purposes high and noble — such as angels engage in, and in 
 comparison with which all other objects sink into insignificance, and 
 all other enjoyments are contemptible as ashes. 
 
 ^ The distinguished Pascal has a thought which is well worth examina^ 
 tion, especially by all those who .are conscious of living for other aims 
 than those which ought to be the real end of life. “All our endeavors 
 after greatness proceed from nothing but a desire of being surrounded 
 by a multitude of persons and affairs that may hinder us from looking 
 
186 
 
 PtrnsrriT of wfalth. [ cs . x . 
 
 into ourselves; which is a view we cannot bear.” Probably few are 
 conscious that this is the reason why they so busily waste their lives in 
 unworthy pursuits, though none can be insensible of having the effect 
 produced. ° 
 
 Every youth who reads these pages expects to be active, to be in- 
 fluential, and to have some object of pursuit every way worthy of his 
 aims. That object will be one of the four following— pleasure, wealth 
 r human applause, or genuine benevolence. ’ 
 
 I shall not stop to dwell upon these. No argument need be ur^ed 
 to show how utterly unworthy of his education, of his friends, and of 
 himself, he acts, who so degrades himself as to make the appetites and 
 passions of his animal nature the object of life, and who looks to them 
 tor happiness. Let him know that there is not an appetite to be grati- 
 fied, which does not pall and turn to be an enemy, the moment it has 
 become his master. It makes him a slave with ail his degradation and 
 sorrows, without any of the slave’s freedom from thought and anticipa- 
 tion. You cannot give way to any appetite, without feeling instant 
 and constant degradation ; and he who sinks in such a way that he 
 despises himself aviU soon be a ivretch indeed. Consicence can be 
 deadened and murdered in no ivay so readily as by such indulgence: 
 the mind can be iveakened, and every intellectual effort forever killed* 
 m no way so readily as in this. If you ivould at ouce seal your 
 degradation, for time and eternity, and forever blast every hope of 
 peace, greatness, or usefulness, I can tell you how to do it all. You 
 have only to cultivate your appetites, and'^give Avay to the demands of 
 your passions, and drink of these stolen wmters AA^hich are SAveet and 
 eat of that biead, in secret, Avhich is forbidden, and you may rest 
 assured that you have chosen a path AA^hich is straight— but it is straight 
 to rum. ° 
 
 The pursuits of wealth are less debusing, more refined, and every 
 AA^ay more honorable. But they are not AAmrthy of you. You can 
 pursue wealth and cultivate selfishness at eA^ery step: you may do it 
 with a heart that idolizes wdiat it gains, and, could it knoAv that Avhat 
 it gathers to-day would continue in the family for centuries, and be 
 constantly increasing, Avould idolize it still more. But here let me 
 say, that if Avealth be your object, you have mistaken your path. A 
 student seeking Avealth ! There is no situation in the land in AA^hicli you 
 could not obtain it easier and faster than by study. No class of men 
 are in so poor a situation to become Avealthv as students; and no class 
 of men in proportion to their time, their labor, and their efforts, are 
 so poorly paid as professional men; and if Avealth Avere my object, I 
 hardly know of any business Avhich I Avould not rather undertake as a 
 
CII. X.] 
 
 DESIRE OF FAME. 
 
 187 
 
 means by which to obtain it, than either of the professions in this 
 country. A student cannot become wealthy, in ordinary circumstances, 
 without contracting his soul to a degree which destroys all his claims 
 to be a student. 
 
 But the strongest temptation which will beset you, is to live and act 
 under the influence of ambition, and to sell your time, and efforts, and 
 yourself, indeed, for human applause. There is no stream so sweet as 
 that which flows from this fountain. But you httle know the dangers 
 which wait around the man who would drink here — the archers which 
 lie in ambush. There are so many things to diminish the gratifications 
 which ambition bestows, that, were there no higher, no nobler end ot 
 existence, it would seem dangerous to pursue this. How many begin 
 life with high hopes, with expectations almost unbounded, who, in a 
 little time, sink down into discouragement and listlessness, because they 
 find the tree higher up the mountain than they expected, and its fruit 
 more difficult to be obtained ! But suppose a man be successful, and 
 the measure of his desires begins to be filled. As you come close to 
 him, you discover spots which were not seen at a distance, and blem- 
 ishes which the first glare of brightness concealed. These weaknesses 
 are noted, trumpeted, magnified; and multiplied, till it seems astonish-, 
 ing how a character can be great under such a load of infirmities. 
 These are vexations ; they are like little dogs which hang upon your 
 Jieels all the day, and which give you no peace at night. But these 
 you can endure. You may live in spite of having every blemish, which 
 your public character exposes, published abroad. But suppose you 
 make a single false step, as you mount the hill — where, then, are you? 
 
 How many, who have made the applause of men the breath of their 
 nostrils, have seen all tbeir hopes dashed in the very morning of their 
 lives, by some step which they took in furtherance of their object, but 
 which, in fact, was a mistaken step ! The wheel was broken at once, 
 and with it their schemes, and perhaps their hearts. But this is not 
 the worst of what is before you, if you live for applause. Admiration 
 for anything on earth cannot endure long. It will always be short- 
 lived ; and there is quite as much difficulty in keeping up a reputation, 
 as in gaining it at the first. It takes us but a short time to say all ouu 
 pretty sayings, and ail our smart things. A reputation which has cost : 
 you years of toil to obtain, is no less difficult to keep than to acquire. 
 If that reputation be not still rising and increasing in splendor, it will 
 soon begin to droop and decay. Your best actions must become 
 better still — your highest efforts must become higher still — or you 
 sink ; and after all, do what you will, and as well as you will, still you 
 do not more than barely meet expectation. You exert yourself, and 
 
188 
 
 DESIRE OF FAME. 
 
 [CH. X. 
 
 you make a fine speech; or you produce a masterly dissertation; or 
 you write an interesting and a valuable book ; and the question is, not 
 whether you have fallen below the subject, or below yourself, but have 
 you not fallen below the standard which others have capriciously set for 
 you? If you have, you are going down the hill, in fame. A man 
 writes a book — it is his first effort. It is received w-ell, even with a])- 
 plause. He writes another ; and now he is not to be measured by what 
 he did before. He must be measured by the standard of public opin- 
 ion; and a reception which would raise a new author, is ruin to him. 
 
 All this price you must certainly pay, if you live for the applause of 
 your fellow-men. They will bestow no more of it than they can avoid ; 
 they will recall it as soon as an opportunity allows ; and they will feel : 
 that neglect is your due, in future, as a counterweight to what has been 
 so liberally thrown into the other scale. The pursuits of ambition are i 
 successions of jealous disquietudes, of corroding fears, of high hopes, ; 
 of restless desires, and of bitter disappointment. There is e\’er a void 
 in the soul— a reaching forth toward the empty air, and a lighting up | 
 of new desires in the heart. It seems to me to have been mere affec- j 
 tation in Caesar, who said — and his repeating it so often strengthens the i 
 supposition of affectation — that he “had enough of fame ” — se satis \ 
 ml ad naturam., ml ad gloriam vixisse. Few can believe that the em- i 
 yperor could have been sincere in this declaration. ; 
 
 ^ There are other vexations, and certain disappointments, attending ’ 
 him who lives for the good opinion of men, which are unknown till ^ 
 they come upon you, but which are distressing in the extreme, when 
 they do come. That desire after fame which moves you, soon becomes 
 feverish, and is constantly growing stronger and stronger. And in 
 proportion to your desire for applause, and the good opinion of men, is 
 your mortification deep and distressing, when applause is withheld. 
 
 If praise elates and excites you, the withholding that praise will pro- 
 portionably sink your spirits and destroy your comfort. You are thus 
 a mere foot-ball among men, thrown wherever they please, and in the 
 power of every man ; for every man can take away your peace, if he 
 pleases, and every man is more tempted to bestow censures than ap- 
 plause. One thing more — If you set your heart on the applauses of 
 men, you will find that, if you receive them, the gift will not, and 
 cannot, bestow positive happiness upon you, while the withholding of 
 them will clothe you with certain and positive misery. A disappointed 
 man of ambition is miserable, not because his loss is really so great, 
 
 ’ but because his imagination has, for years, been making it appear great 
 . to him. I could point you to the grave of a most promising man, who 
 lived for honors solely. The first distinct object on which he fijced his 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 DESIBE OF FAME 
 
 189 
 
 eye, was to be a representative in congress. For this he toiled day 
 and night. He was every way worthy; but just as he was on the 
 point oi succeeding, when the convention had met to nominate him, 
 one of his best friends felt that such an appointment would interfere 
 with his own schemes of petty ambition, and, therefore, he stepped in 
 and prevented the nomination. The poor man returned home sick, 
 cast down, and broken-hearted. The loss of that election certainly 
 was not of any great consequence, but he had brooded over it till it was 
 of immense consequence in, his view. The blow withered him, and in a 
 few months he went down to his grave the prey of disappointment. 
 Is such a pursuit worthy of man ? Is this the high end of life on earth ? 
 A distinguished writer, who thus lived for fame, not only outlived his 
 fame, but the powers of his own mind; and many were the hours, in 
 broken old age, which he spent in weeping, because he could not un- 
 derstand the books which he wrote when young. What a picture could 
 the painter produce, with such a subject before him ! 
 
 “We blusli, detected in designs on praise, 
 
 Though for best deeds, and from the best of men; 
 
 And why? — because immortal. Art divine 
 Has made the body tutor to the soul: 
 
 Heaven kindly gives our blood a moral flow; 
 
 Bids it ascend the glowing cheek, and there 
 Upbraid that little heart’s inglorious aim, 
 
 Which stoops to court a character from man: 
 
 Ambition’s boundless appetite outspeaks 
 The verdict of its shame. When souls take fire 
 At high presumptions of their own desert, 
 
 One age is poor applause: the mighty shout, 
 
 The thunder by the living few begun, 
 
 Late time must echo, worlds unborn resound. 
 
 We wish our names eternally to live. 
 
 Wild dream! which ne’er had haunted human thought. 
 
 Had not our natures been eternal too. 
 
 Fame is the shade of immortality. 
 
 And in itself a shadow ; — soon as caught. 
 
 Contemned, it shrinks to nothing in the grasp. 
 
 Man must soar. 
 
 An obstinate activity within. 
 
 An insuppressive spring, will toss him up 
 In spite of fortune’s loads. 
 
 And why? — because immortal as his Lord. 
 
 And souls immortal must forever heave 
 At something great — the glitter or the gold — 
 
 The praise of mortals, or the praise of heaven.” 
 
 This brings me to the point at which I am wishing to come. This 1 
 something great, ’ ’ at which we ‘ ‘ heave, ’ ’ may be great in reahty , or i 
 only ^eat because we make it so. But while I have thus briefly tried 
 
190 
 
 TEE HIGH END OF LIFE. 
 
 [CH. X. ^ 
 
 to show you that in neither of the ways described will you find what i 
 ought to be the object of living, you" will understand that there is I 
 .nothing in the spirit or philosophy of the gospel, which throws the soul S 
 back upon herself without giving her any object upon which her pow- | 
 I ers may be exerted. If we would drive the love of pleasure, the love | 
 of wealth, and the love of human applause from the heart, we do not \ 
 propose to leave that heart cold and desolate, with nothing to clieer - 
 iand warm it, or to call forth its warmest, holiest, noblest sympathies. ‘ 
 Far from it. But what I wish is, that you may so lay your plans, and ■ 
 I so pursue the object which you place before the mind, that you may " 
 have continued contentment and peace while pursuing it, tli^ conscious- ^ 
 ness of not living m vain, while your soul is expanding in all noble, ; 
 heavenly qualities, and preparing for a destiny which is blessed with ^ 
 the pure fight of immortality. ! 
 
 “At tibi juveiitiis, at tibi immortalitas: 
 
 Tibi parta divium est vita. Periment mutuis 
 
 Elementa sese et interibunt ictibus. ; 
 
 Tu permanebis sola semper Integra, 
 
 Tn cuncta reruin quassa, cuncta naufraga, 
 
 Jam portu in ipso tuta, contemplabere. ” 
 
 He who has the advantages and the responsibilities of the student, 
 needs to act under a motive which is all- pervading, which guides at 
 all times, in all circumstances, and which absorbs the whole soul. It 
 should be such as will lead to a high, noble standard of action and 
 feelings, and as will call forth the highest efforts of the whole man, 
 body and soul, in enterprise, which will do good to men. There is but 
 one motive which has these qualities ; and that is, to secure the appro- 
 bation of God, and act on a scale which measures eternity, as well as 
 time. Under the light of the Bible, with the wish to do what God 
 would have you do, you vrill not fail of meeting and fulfilling the great 
 object of life. 
 
 You will naturally ask here, is \i practicdble to have the high standard 
 of acting for the glory of God constantly before you ; I reply, unques- 
 tionably, Yes. 
 
 You know that we have the power of choosing any object on which 
 to fix the heart, to look at the motives which should gather the affec- 
 tions around that object, and then we have the power of bending the 
 whole energy of the soul to the attainment of that object. Pm nos- 
 thenes was an ambitious young man. He is thought to have had very 
 little principle; but he fixed his eyes on fame — on that species of popu- 
 lar applause which eloquence alone can command. The mark at which 
 be gazed was high. From it he never turned his eye a single moment, 
 
an. X.] mAMPLES OF THE FORCE OF WILL. 191 
 
 Difficulties, which nature threw in his way, were overcome. He gave 
 his heart, his soul, to seeking renown: he climbed up a hill, where 
 most would have slid down, and, with his own hand, he wrote in the 
 book of immortality, at the top of the hill, his own deathless fame. 
 His admirer,^ Cicero, tells us, that he always had a standard of great- 
 ness before him, \^ich was unmeasured — infinite. He determined to 
 stand by the side of Demosthenes. He labored ; he toiled ; he achieved 
 the victory, and stands, perhaps, as high up the hill of fame as his 
 master. He made himself. We often speak of self-made men, of high 
 renown and wonderful deeds. What made them great ? What made 
 Bona parte the terror of the earth? He fixed his eye on the dominion 
 of Europe at least, and toward that goal he ran like a strong man ; and 
 to it he would have attained, had there not been an Omnipotence in 
 heaven which can make the strong man as tow. He made himself his 
 own idol, and determined that the whole world should bow to it. 
 
 What made Paul t he man that he was? It was his fixing his eye , 
 on one vast object, and never looking away. That object was, to 
 bring the whole world to a knowledge of the Gospel, to the obedience 
 of the faith, and to lead them up the paths of life. Ho smaller^ 
 object filled his vision; and with such a pur})ose filling his soul, he? 
 could trample on the earth, and walk upon the thorns which persecu-C 
 tion threw in his path, as if they were roses. What made David 
 l^rainerd? He forgot himself; he threw himself away; he fixed his 
 heart on bringing the w^anderers of the desert to sing of redeeming 
 mercy. For this he lived, toiled, wmre out, and came to his rest in 
 the grave, till the morning of the resurrection. 
 
 You know that this jman has the power of. fixing his heart on ambi-*^/ 
 tion,_an d dreaming over Its "schemes, till they^w^allow up everything^ 
 else :^^hat another can fix his heart, on w^ealth; another on thev. 
 ^asures of^sensual indulgences; and every man on the object which 
 IS mdsF Congenial to himself. Can you doubt that you have the power', 
 oTmakihg the polar star of life? — of living for it and to it? — of rising! 
 high and strong in action? — high and bright in personal holiness, and; 
 having the image and superscription of God engraven on your heart ? 
 
 Is it your duty to make the will of God your only standard of life? 
 
 Ask your reason. What says she? “Shall I give my heart to seek- 
 ing wealth, and the treasures of earth?” Ho: it will take to itself 
 wings and fly away. Death will shortly, be here, and seize you with a 
 
 f rasp so firm, that you must let go of wealth. You sigh after gold 
 eeply: you must shut your eyes, shortly, upon all that is called 
 wealth. Kemember that he who “maketh haste to be rich shall not 
 be innocent.” But your soul spreads in her desires; she thirsts; she 
 
193 
 
 [CONSULT REASON AND CONSOIENCR 
 
 [cit. t. 
 
 rises : and do you suppose that any amount of wealth which you can \ 
 obtain will satisfy her ? Will the little time which is yours, cheer the 
 soul in her everlasting progress? No: the bag in which you drop your \ 
 gain will have holes in it. Every river which flows over golden sands, 
 like the river of Eygpt, will turn to blood. ■ 
 
 Ask reason, ‘ ‘ Shall I give my heart to honors ? to seeking the notice i 
 of men? to draw their attention by this or that effort?” Plow poor 
 Avfll be your reward for your pains ! If you draw the eyes of man I 
 toward you, he will envy you. If you do not, you will be bitterly dis , 
 appointed. There is no house on the shores of time, which the waves i 
 will not wash away ; there is no path here which the foot of disappoint- 
 ment will not tread ; there is no sanctuary here which sorro\vs will not ^ 
 invade. Thei’e is a home provided for the soul, but you can reach it ' 
 only by living for God ; to none others than those who thus live will ' 
 its doors be opened. 
 
 Consult your conscience also. What does she say is the great end 
 of life? Listen to her voice in the chambers of your own heart. She 
 tells you that there is only one stream that is pure, and that stream 
 flows from the throne of God; but one aim is noble and worthy of an 
 immortal spirit, and that is to become the friend of God, so that the 
 soul may Aving her Avay over the grave without fear, Avithout dismay, 
 Avithout condemnation. There is only one path passing over the earth 
 Avhich is safe, Avhich is light, Avhich is honorable. It is that which 
 Jesus Christ has marked out in his Avord, and AAdiich leads to glory. 
 Let conscience speak, Avhen you are tempted to Avaste a day, or an 
 hour, or to commit any knoAAm sin, to neglect any knoAvn duty, and 
 she Avifl urge you, by all the high and holy motives of eternity, to live 
 for God, to give your powers to him, to seek his honor in all that you 
 do. 
 
 My young reader will now permit me to present Avhat appear to me 
 the motiv^es Avhich ought to bear upon the mind, to lead it thus to 
 act — making the honor of God the great end of life. 
 
 We naturally love to have the soul filled. We gaze upon the ever- 
 lasting brow of the mountain Avhich rises beetling and threatening over 
 our heads, and the feeling of admiration which fills the soul is delight- 
 ful. We gaze upon the ocean rolling in its mighty Avaves, and listen 
 to its hoarse voice responding to the spirit of the storm Avhich hangs 
 over it, and Ave feel an aAve, and the emotion of sublimity rises in the 
 soul. So it is Avith the desires. There is something inexpressibly de- 
 lightful in having the mind filled with a great and a noble purpose — 
 such a purpose as may laAvfully absorb all the feelings of the heart, 
 and kindle every desire of the soul. Who ever reared a dwelling per 
 
THE SOUL MUST BE FILLED. 
 
 193 
 
 CH. X.] 
 
 feet enough to meet the desires of the soul? Who ever had. a suffi- 
 ciency of wealth, or of honors, ^vhen these were the grand objects of 
 pursuit ? Who ever had the thirst quenched by drinking here? And 
 who ever had an earthly object engrossing the heart, which did not 
 leave room for restlessness, a desire of change, and a fretting and 
 chafing in its pursuit ? Not so when the glory of God fills the soul, 
 and the eye is fixed on that as the great end of life. You may live 
 near him, and draw continually nearer; and the soul does not feel the 
 passion of envy, or jealousy, or disappointment, as she comes near the 
 object of her desires. Having, increases the desire for more, and more 
 is added ; for sin has no connection with the gift. They who are near 
 the throne are full of this one thought — how can we do most to pro- 
 mote the glory of Him who is over all, God blessed forever? No con- 
 tracted plans, no trifling thoughts, no low cares, enter their bosoms; 
 for they are already filled. 
 
 Who does not, more or less, feel the burden of sm? Make God the 
 object of life, and you Avill not sin as you now do. The Avord of life is 
 choked by cares; it is shut out by ambition; it is treated AAuth scorn, 
 Avhen the soul presses on for present gratifications. The tempter neAW 
 has so complete mastery over yon, as AAffien you fill the heart Avith this 
 world, and live for its reAvards. Not so when you live for your Maker. 
 In vain he Avalked around the Redeemer, and heaped up his tempta- 
 tions ; he found no place in him — not a spot Avhere he could lodge a 
 temptation. Do you never lament, at the close of the day, that you 
 have fallen, here and there, during the day ? — that your heart is frozen 
 and fearful, Avhen you attempt to pray? — that a dark cloud rolls in 
 betAA^een you and the Sun of life? Fill the heart with good, and evil is 
 shut out. 
 
 You need a principle which Avill lead you to be active for the Avelfare 
 of men. Your reason and conscience may decide, that you ought to 
 liA^e for the good of your species ; and, at times, yon may rouse up ; but 
 the moving power is not uniform and steady. Yon need a principle 
 which Avill ever keep you aliA^e to duty. You can act but a few days 
 on earth. BetAveen every rising and setting sun, multitudes drop into 
 eternity. Your turn Avill come shortly. You will soon know Avhether 
 you are foreA^er to Avear a croAvn, or be clothed Avith shame and 
 everlasting contempt — soon knoAv how bright that croAvn is, or 
 hoAv deep that despair is. All the retributions of the eternal Avorld Avill 
 soon be rolled upon you, and you Avant a principle abiding Avithin you, 
 which will bear you on in duty, active, laborious, self-denying, A\dden- 
 ing your influence, and adding strength to your character and hopes 
 through life ; but thi§ principle is to be obtained only by seeking His 
 
i94: GREAT MOTIVES, [ ch . x . 
 
 approbation Worn whom you receive every mercy that has ever visited 
 your heart, every joy that has cheered you, and every hope for which ^ 
 the heart longs. : 
 
 You love to see the results of yom^ exertions in any cause; but you i 
 cannot, in all cases in which you plan, and fill up your plans. You 
 may determine to be rich, and yet die a poor man. Y ou may long for 
 distinction, and yet never have it. You may sigh for pleasure, and 
 yet every cup may be dashed, and every hope flee from you. All 
 things around you may forsake you and elude your grasp. Not so if I 
 you live for God. Lay up wealth in heaven — and you may increase it I 
 daily — and it cannot fail you. Try to subdue that temper, so irritable, | 
 so unholy, and you will find that if you you do it for the purpose of 1 
 honoring God, he will give you strength. Try to conquer that covet- J 
 ousness which is idolatry, and you can do it effectually and thoroughly ^ 
 by subduing the heart for the sake of hving entirely to God. You offer ? 
 a: prayer for men, — it shall not be lost upon the wind. You send a ^ 
 copy of the Scriptures to the destitute, — it shall not be lost by the way- I 
 side. The messenger of mercy whom you aid in sending abroad, will | 
 find the hungry, who will receive the bread of life. And when, at last, -j 
 you come to be gathered to the home of prophets and apostles, and the i 
 spirits of just men made perfect, then will you still more clearly see | 
 the results of a life whose aim was to honor God. Then will the poor .1 
 whom you fed, the sick whom you visited, the stranger whom you j 
 sheltered, the distressed whom you relieved, gather around you, and I 
 hail you a benefactor. i 
 
 You ought to act upon principles which conscience will, in all times 
 and in all cases, approve. " Do you know what it is to sit down to 
 meditate, at the close of the day, and have something hang upon the 
 soul hke lead — to have a cloud between you and the throne of prayer? 
 Do you know what it is to lie down at night, and look back upon the 
 day, and the days that are passing, and find no bright spot upon which 
 the memory lingers with pleasure? Do you know what it is to lie on 
 your pillow and feel the smitings of conscience, and have the heart- 
 ache, while the clock slowly measures off the hours of night ? This is 
 because conscience is at her post, calling the soul to account. She 
 lashes, she heaves up the waves of guilt, till the soul feels like being 
 buried under them. Do you not thus commune with your heart at 
 times ? But if you will live for God — wholly for God — conscience will 
 soothe you, comfort you, and bring hope to your soul, even in your 
 darkest hour. No friend can be found to supply the place of a peace- 
 ful conscience. Men will give their property, their time, do penance, 
 give their lives — anything to appease conscience. Let them five for 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 THE APPROVAL OF MOT) UNFAILINO. 
 
 195 
 
 God and his service, and she will not chide; she will guide to the paths 
 of peace and blessedness. The world will honor the man who lives for 
 God. At times, men will shun the face of the pious, and profess to be 
 disgusted with piety ; but they will garnish the sepulchers of prophets, 
 while the bones of the wicked lie forgotten. The name of Howard will 
 never perish; nor will the name of Martyn, or Mills, Brainerd, or 
 Hannah More; while thousands of wicked men, with equal or more 
 influence, while living, die, and are forever gone from remembrance. 
 But the approbation of men is of no consequence. You wish the appro- 
 bation of Heaven. Though the}^ are ten thousand times ten thousand, 
 and their voices are without number, and though they enjoy the per- 
 fection of knowledge, the perfection of holiness, and the perfection of 
 bliss, yet they are all witnesses — a great cloud — of your race. They 
 bend over your pathv\ray, as you run toward the Hew Jerusalem. 
 Who would not be cheered, could he have the entire approbation of all 
 his friends and acquaintances? But though you cannot expect this, 
 you can have what is far better. You can have the approbation' of all 
 the reedemed, of all the angels in heaven, and of the eternal God him- 
 self ; and this, not for an hour, a day, or a week, for a fleeting year, 
 but forever! The heavens shall depart as a scroll, and all things shall 
 pass away, except the approbation of God. That shall never pass 
 away. It would be worth your life to have his approbation a single 
 hour when you come to die ; but you will have him your Father, 
 Friend, and Glory, forever. Have you any doubt in yoiir mind where 
 wisdom would now lead you? “My first convictions on the subject 
 of religion were confirmed from observing that really religious persons 
 had some solid happiness among them, which I had felt that the vani- 
 ties of the world could not give. I shall never forget standing by the 
 bed of my sick mother. 
 
 “ ‘Are you not afraid to die?’ 
 
 “ ‘Ho.’ 
 
 “ ‘Ho! Why does the uncertainty of another state give you no con- 
 cern?’ 
 
 Because God has said to me. Fear not; when thou passest through 
 the waters^ I will lye with thee; and through the rivers^ they shall not 
 overflow theeV 
 
 “ The remembrance of this scene has oftentimes since drawn an ar- 
 dent prayer from me, that I might die the death of the righteous. ’ ’ 
 
 It is a solemn season with a man who acts from conscience, when he 
 comes to close his book, and bid his reader adieu. His motives may 
 be good, yet it is human to err. He knows that he may have made 
 impressions which may give a wrong bias to some, from which they 
 
196 THE WRITEH8 RESPONSIBILITY. [ch. x 
 
 ^vill never recover. He may have wasted liis strength, and his reader’s 
 time, npon some point of comparatively no importance, while that 
 whicli was really of great importance may have been omitted. He 
 may have disgusted where he hoped to instruct ; he may have offended 
 where he intended to impress. At any rate, he is about to send a 
 book out into the world, which, whatever may be its fate, has given, 
 him the o])portunity of doing good ; and under that responsibility 
 the writer must continue. If I mistake not, a sense of this responsi- 
 bility is now felt by the author of these pages. I have addressed 
 a class of my fellow-men, who will yield to none in point of respecta- 
 bility, prospective influence, and importance. I have tried to throw 
 before them such hints as my own wants and limited experience have 
 suggested; and T am now about to take my leave of them till I meet 
 them, face to face, at the last great day of assembling, where we 
 shall all meet. I am speaking to you, reader, in your own behalf, and 
 in behalf of a world which needs your influence, and your highest, 
 holiest efforts. Others may talk of philanthropy and benevolence ; but 
 who give their hearts and their energies for the salvation of the world, 
 except those whose minds have been enlightened, and whose hearts 
 have been impressed by the truths of Christianity? Who built the first 
 hospital known on earth? A Christian. Who conceived the idea of 
 free schools for the whole community? A Christian. Who are the men 
 who have pushed civilization among the barbarous, who have broken 
 the fetters both from body and mind, and created civil liberty for man? 
 Who ever made efforts, vigorous, systematic, untiring, to spread free 
 inquiry, to instruct the ignorant, to invigorate the mind, and raise the 
 intellectual and moral character of mankind? They are the enlight- 
 ened men who act under the influence of the Bible. The only effort 
 which is now making, on the face of the whole earth, for the good of 
 mankind, is making by the Church of the living God. Upon this, and 
 upon this alone, all our hopes for the salvation of the world from dark- 
 ' ness, ignorance, and sin, rest. To the youth of our nation — to those 
 whose minds are now in a process of cultivation and discipline, we now 
 look for the spirits who are soon to go abroad over the face of the 
 earth, scattered, like the Levites, among all the tribes, for the good 
 of all. Upon these young soldiers of the cross do we look, as God’s 
 appointed instruments, for doing a great and glorious work. If the 
 mind of man shall ever be raised from its brutishness and debasement — 
 if knowledge, human and divine, are to go abroad — if liberty is to 
 ' wave her banner where tyranny now sits — if the female is ever to 
 . occupy the station for which she was created — if domestic happiness is 
 to be known and enjoyed through the world, the youth in our schools. 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 THE PRESENT AGE. 
 
 m 
 
 who have been baptized by the Holy Ghost, have a great work to do.^ 
 Never did young men approach the stage of action under circum- 
 stances more intensely interesting — circumstances which demand a re- 
 generated, purified heart, a balanced, disciplined mind, a burning zeal 
 and eloquence, and a love for doing good which many waters cannot 
 quench, nor floods drown. You tread upon ground bought with hard- 
 ships, tears, and prayers; enfranchised by toil and blood; and institu- 
 tions founded by the most devoted piety and anxious solicitude of our 
 fathers. It is the land of the Pilgrims — where the bones of more 
 worthies sleep than were ever before buried in the same length of time. 
 You enter among men in a country in its infancy. The nation is 
 young — lias all the joyous elasticity of the young giant — full of enter- 
 prise, growing in wealth, in population — increasing in daring experi- 
 ments and hazardous enterprise. An experiment in regard to civil 
 freedom, and the destiny of a nation let loose, with nothing to check 
 or hold it but the intelligence and the religion which are diffused — a na- 
 tion let loose, and many centuries in advance of all other nations in the 
 science of government, at least, and yet having the offals of all other 
 Christian nations constantly floating to it — is now making. You are 
 .to live and act among those who will give permanency to our institu- 
 tions, or you will begin the work of undermining. You are coming 
 forward at a time when mind seems to be exhausting itself, and Genius 
 to be leaving poetry, that he may aid in subduing matter, so that a 
 score of miles may be reduced to nothing, and time and space so an- 
 nihilated that a journey through the length and breadth of a continent 
 is only a delightful excursion. Nature seems to bend to the torturing: 
 and winds and tides, mountains and valleys, make no pretensions to 
 being considered obstacles in the way of men. You are to act in a 
 day when public opinion is omnipotent. A standing army retires be- 
 fore it, and marshals only in the shade of the thrones of tyrants. Every 
 thing is controlled by it ; and yet every one may do his part to mould 
 tliat public opinion according to his pleasure. Every man has the best 
 possible opportunity to do good or hurt. You may pen a sentence or 
 a paragraph, and it will travel through the nation, into tens of thous- 
 sands of families, and, in a few weeks, pass through Europe, and in- 
 fluence millions of immortal beings. You are coming forward at a 
 time, and in a nation, where a good education is a sure passport to 
 respectability, to influence, to office. No difficulties stand in your 
 way. The teeming, busy millions of this land invite you to mingle 
 your destiny with theirs, and aid them to rise in Virtue, in knowledge, 
 and in religion, as they roll on toward the judgment-day. You have 
 Mends to cheer you on in every worthy enterprise, who will uphold your 
 
CONCLUaiON, 
 
 
 [CH, X. 
 
 hands when they fall, encourage you when the spirits fail, share your 
 burdens, and rejoice in your success. You come forward with the 
 history, the experience of all other nations before you; and at your 
 feet lie pictures of men whose example it will be honor, and glory, and 
 immortality to follow, as well as of men whose example is death. You 
 have the Bible, too — that mightiest of all weapons — under whose broad 
 and powerful aid, individual and national character soon| ripens into 
 greatness, and one which is, of all others, the grand instrument of 
 blessing the world. Tens of thousands, breathing the spirit of that 
 book, are already in the field at work, trying to bless and save the 
 earth. Some fall — strong ones, too — “too much for piety to spare;” 
 but the plan is the plan of God, and the removal of this or that agent 
 does not a moment retard his great plans. Under the full, the pure, 
 the purifying light of the Gospel, you are called to live and act. If 
 you live for God, fulfill the high destiny which is before you, you have 
 thousands all around you to cheer you onward, to strike hands with 
 you, and go forward as agents of a benevolence, whose aim is, to 
 bring many sons and daughters to glory. Above you are the pious 
 dead, watching around your steps, and ready to minister to your wants. 
 And there, high above all principalities and powers, sits the everlasting 
 Kedeemer, holding a crown which shall shortly be yours, if you are 
 faithful to him. He will be near you. You shall never faint. Every 
 sin you conquer shall give you new strength; every temptation you 
 resist will make you more and more free in the Lord ; every tear you 
 shed will be noticed by your great High Priest; every sigh you raise 
 will reach his ear. Up, then, my dear young friends! up, and gird 
 on the armor of God. Enlist under the banner of Jesus Christ, and 
 let your powers, your faculties, your energies, your heart, all, all be 
 his. Bright and glorious is the day before you; white and full are 
 the fields that wait for you: girded and strong are the companions 
 who will go with you ; beautiful upon the mountains shall be your feet, 
 wherever they carry tidings of mercy. The state of the world is such, 
 and so much depends on action, that ever 3 rthing seems to say loudly, 
 to every man, ‘ ‘ Do something’ ’ — ‘ ‘ do it 1” — ‘ ‘do it !” Keep your heart 
 with all diligence; break away from every sin; repent of every sin; 
 live unto God ; and your reward shall be what ‘ ‘ ear hath not heard, 
 eye hath not seen, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to 
 ^onceive.” 
 
 THE END.